Page 18 of A New Life in Amsterdam

Some days it’s nice not to have to be anywhere and have no commitments.

Today, I can finally take my time since I don’t need to do any jobs on the barge.

With no rush to get anywhere, I admire a row of crooked seventeenth- and eighteenth-century gable properties that line the canal with their thin structures standing tall and proud.

Then I turn to study the houseboats beneath them.

I enjoy looking at the different styles with modern and old juxtaposed along the canals.

One has practically got a whole garden on the roof, while another looks well insulated and is all white and pristine.

I think of the occupiers and wonder if the houseboats reflect their personalities.

One has a painted red door with big yucca plants framing it.

The houseboat looks like an Instagrammer’s dream.

Eventually, I get lost down the backstreets of Amsterdam and then I am overcome by a feeling of déjà vu.

I remember this street from when I came with Nicky.

As I look up at the building beside me, I realise that I am standing in front of the museum known as ‘Our Lord in the Attic’.

I seem to remember it is a seventeenth-century church that looked like an ordinary canal house, which was once used for clandestine church meetings.

I consider going inside but decide I will save the museums for when Debbie decides to visit.

I can’t wait to show her around, even though I am only just getting my bearings myself.

Next, I walk all the way to Dam Square, passing a man feeding the pigeons.

The birds flock around him – he must be the famous birdman of Amsterdam.

Tourists gather round to take photos and videos as the birds ignore the attention and focus on their food.

I don’t remember seeing him when we came here in the early Nineties, but I suppose as young women in our twenties we were more fascinated by the shops.

The cowboy boots we bought were so different to what was available in Dolcis or Stead and Simpson back home; the shoe shops of the day then.

I would love to find the shoe shop we splurged in again, but I can’t seem to retrace my steps.

Perhaps I will never find it; maybe it’s long gone, just like my beautiful friend.

Life has moved on since I came here last, and I don’t remember the shops that I pass selling leather coats and touristy jumpers with ‘AmsterDAM’ emblazoned across them.

I do remember the fabulous cheese shops, although I can’t help thinking the artisan cheeses for sale at the Sunday market are perhaps more authentic.

The good thing is that, despite the fabulous shops here, I don’t find myself tempted to buy anything.

It is only when I have walked around the shops for most of the afternoon that I realise this, and I am proud of myself for not spending.

Perhaps it’s because I know there won’t be the space for it; or maybe it’s because I am out and about and finally enjoying my life.

It’s a new environment to explore, a place where everything is still exciting and ripe for adventure.

Even when I see the sparkly clothes on mannequins that have already arrived in the stores to tempt the forthcoming Christmas revellers, I show restraint.

Living on a houseboat, I am more likely to need a thick fleece than a twinkly black dress.

I watch as three women head inside the shop excitedly, pointing to the dresses on the rails and looking at themselves in the mirror.

I feel like an outsider as I realise that I am happier getting my hands dirty, and find myself surprised by how content I am with this new leaf I have turned over.

All I care about is my houseboat and enjoying each day as it comes as I establish myself in this beautiful city.

It’s a lovely autumn day, and as the sun beats down on my face and I start having to unravel my layers, I decide to stop at a pub selling Dutch craft beers.

The seats outside are right on the canal and Frank Sinatra blasts out from inside the pub.

Sometimes, there are moments in life when you sit back and are grateful for all that you have.

This is one of those moments where I am thankful for everything.

As I hold the pint of craft beer in my hand and taste the golden ale, its bitterness biting at my tongue, I acknowledge to myself that coming here was the best thing I could ever have done.

Bogged down with everyday life and societal expectations, I didn’t realise quite how much I needed a change of scenery and a new start.

I am enjoying myself so much that I order another beer and then another.

By the time I am on my third beer, the bar gets busier, and some English tourists ask if they can share my table. I am only too pleased to have the company.

‘That’s fab. My feet are killing me,’ says the woman.

‘You certainly do a lot of walking around here.’

‘Yeah. That’s the problem when you only come for a weekend break. So much to see in such a short time.’

‘I’m lucky as I live here.’

‘You live here? How fabulous.’

‘Thanks. I love it here so far.’

‘If you’re a local, perhaps you can tell us all the best things to see.’

I try to remember the places Abe mentioned, but I feel too insecure to pronounce the names.

‘I’d love to, but I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. I’m not that familiar with things yet. I mean, I know all the main museums and stuff.’

‘Ah, right. Do you live near here?’

‘Yeah, not too far away. I live on a houseboat on one of the canals.’ I’m still so proud of my new home that I love telling random people that fact.

‘No way? That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to live on a houseboat, haven’t I, Barry?’ she says looking at her partner.

‘Oh, yes, she loves them. You’ve started her off now. I’ll never get her to stop talking about them. I’ve promised Tracy we’ll try the Norfolk Broads one day.’

‘That’s definitely our next holiday after meeting you. We must do it,’ she says enthusiastically.

They both start asking me all sorts of questions about the houseboat and as I answer them, I feel like pinching myself.

For the first time in my life, I am not Hannah’s mother, or the accounts assistant at the council, but an interesting woman who owns a houseboat on the canals of Amsterdam.

My next mission is to learn Dutch; after all, I can’t live in a country and not attempt to speak the native language.

‘So, what made you move to a houseboat? It’s quite a big thing to do.’

‘It was one of my wilder moments, I suppose. I saw an advert on the internet and bought it. I hadn’t even visited it and just bought it from what I saw online.

I truly don’t recommend you do that, but it paid off.

I’m very lucky that it was a risk worth taking.

We’ve got to take risks sometimes, don’t you think? ’

‘I always say that, don’t I, Barry? You’ve got to grab life with both hands. Make the most of every moment. You’re so inspirational and brave. You should do TED Talks about giving it all up and moving here.’

‘That’s very kind of you. I’m neither inspirational nor brave, to be honest. I just realised that I didn’t have much to lose and took a chance.’

‘Well, I really admire you,’ she says.

‘Thanks.’ I drain the last of my beer, which is quickly going to my head. That beer was stronger than I thought. Then I bid the couple goodbye and head off in what I hope is the direction of home. Now I understand why Gerrit gave me the floating key ring.

The sun is already starting to go down as I head towards home.

The temperature has dropped since I was sat outside, and the thought of a nice hot cup of coffee is spurring me on as I walk.

As I pass some of the buildings, I count the windows as I go by, remembering a story about how people used to be taxed by the number of panes.

Some of the buildings I pass have so many windows that I wonder how the owners could ever have afforded to pay the taxes.

Maybe they were showing off their wealth.

I would have probably chosen to put up wooden boards in front of the windows, like some of them have, to avoid such a hefty penalty.

Then, as I am looking at the next set of windows, I reach a house on the corner where I see a large stork built into the architecture.

For a moment I wonder quite how many beers I have had, until I recall what Abe told me about the stork house.

I take a photo of it on my phone and excitedly hurry back to tell Abe I found it.

I feel like I have been on a treasure hunt.

I have a spring in my step as I rush home to tell Abe and Beatrix about the stork, but as I approach, I notice that something has been moved on my doorstep.

It looks different, and then I realise that something near my front door is slightly off.

There is something different about the location of the reclaimed rocking chair I picked up in a flea market.

I hold my hand up to the wind. Has there been some kind of huge breeze that is strong enough to shift a rocking chair?

It’s been the most beautiful day, so that wouldn’t make sense.

As I get closer, I can see something orange either side of my door.

How strange. Someone has been here. At first, I feel afraid.

What if someone has burgled my houseboat?

I have heard of things like this happening when I did my research back home.

I even heard of someone stealing a houseboat and sailing off with everything inside; fortunately, this one can’t move.

It’s bad enough having someone break in, so imagine having your whole home stolen.

Nervously, I approach my front door, wondering if I have anything heavy in my bag to knock someone out if I have to.

But, as I get a closer view of my door, I notice the orange objects I saw from afar are two beautifully round, large pumpkins.

Surely a burglar wouldn’t leave a calling card, unless there is some kind of Pinching Pumpkin Thief of Amsterdam that I am blissfully unaware of. How strange.