Page 26 of A New Life in Amsterdam

I knew exactly which cruise I would take Debbie on for our last day of exploring.

I have seen it passing the houseboat enough times to know that it looks great fun.

I can’t wait to see Debbie’s face when she sees the boat.

We make our way down the canal and, sure enough, when Debbie spots the boat we are going on, she is delighted.

‘Am I hallucinating or does that seriously say unlimited pancakes and prosecco?’ asks Debbie, pointing to a sign on the side of the boat.

‘Yup, I’m taking you on the pancake and prosecco cruise!’

‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Did I tell you how much I love this place?’

‘Now you can see why I moved here at the drop of a hat.’

‘I must say, I’ve never seen anything so perfect for us two,’ says Debbie, grinning.

I am also chuffed that I can finally go on the boat as Debbie being here gives me the perfect excuse.

It is a little awkward to go on something like this on your own when you are a resident.

I love having the excuse to be a proper tourist while showing Debbie the hot spots.

Normally, when I have seen the boat pass by, it has been full of holidaymakers, but today it seems a large group have cancelled at the last minute, which means we can have our own private tour.

The super-friendly Dutch host takes our money, and we set off down the canal as she pours us a welcome glass of prosecco before starting to cook us fresh Dutch pancakes.

The cold wind bites at our cheeks as we set off, and we are both grateful for the cosy blankets that are provided as we wrap them tightly around us.

It’s yet another reminder that my first Dutch winter will soon be upon me, and that will be the real test of my endurance on board the houseboat.

‘Did you want fresh fruit, cheese or Nutella on your pancakes?’ asks the host. Of course, there is only one answer to that, and both Debbie and I reply at the same time.

‘Nutella!’

As we bite into our steamy-hot pancakes, the host turns into a knowledgeable tourist guide. She starts by telling us all about the old-fashioned window tax that I knew about, and then tells us why the Dutch often leave their curtains open. Something that I have been most curious about.

‘So, it dates back to the war when families of soldiers could keep an eye on each other. If they left their curtains open, neighbours would know if the people inside the home were okay or not. There are some stories about it being because the Dutch are open and have nothing to hide, but that is the true history of it. Nowadays, people don’t really expect you to stare in, as it’s not good manners. ’

‘That’s so good they looked after their neighbours like that. Almost sounds like home,’ I say.

‘Yup, it does. People trying to have a nosy inside your home. Sounds just like our street,’ says Debbie, giggling.

As we cruise further along the canal, we reach my houseboat.

It is exciting to see it from this angle.

Although it still stands out next to the other homes for all the wrong reasons.

It is easy to spot the one that looks worn and shabby.

I promise myself that the minute Debbie has left I will sort out the exterior paintwork.

The paperwork will hopefully have gone through for the name change and the exterior modifications soon, then I can paint the new name on it too.

I look up at my place and realise there are so many jobs that need doing when I compare it to others.

But who cares? I am not in a competition with anyone any longer.

Although it doesn’t look quite as loved and homely on the outside as I would like, I try not to be too hard on myself by remembering that it’s still early days.

In the short time I have been here, it has come on in leaps and bounds.

While it is missing the pots of flowers that the neighbouring houseboats have, with the winter incoming, that will be a job better saved for spring.

We soon drift past my home and move next door to Abe’s.

As we run alongside it, I can see into his bedroom, a room I have obviously never seen before.

I find myself staring in, suddenly oblivious to what the guide is saying about the district.

No matter how much I try not to look, my eyes are fixed on the man inside who is removing his top.

His body is well-built and firm, just as I expected, as I’ve seen it in my imagination when I can’t sleep at night.

I am horrified with myself for not averting my eyes.

What has become of me? I have stooped to becoming a Peeping Tom!

I am about to turn away when Abe looks out the window and catches me.

He looks directly at me, surprised. I am mortified but, then again, if he keeps his curtains open with all the canal cruises going past, what does he expect?

Perhaps he thinks people will be polite enough not to be nosy and look inside.

I wave and then quickly look away. I have been caught gawping and there is nothing I can do about it.

‘You alright?’ asks Debbie who, fortunately, seems not to have noticed what has just happened since she was looking at the other side of the canal and listening to our guide, like I should have been.

‘Yeah, where were we? What was she saying?’

‘Oh, were you daydreaming? She was just telling us that the buildings here are narrow because the government wanted to fit in as many properties as possible. So, they’re narrow but tall.’

‘Ah, that explains all those steep and scary stairs in the buildings then.’

‘Yeah, I wouldn’t fancy going down those to use the bathroom in the middle of the night when you’re half asleep.’

‘No, indeed.’

‘She was also saying how no more houseboats are allowed on this stretch, but I remember you telling me that too.’

‘Yeah, that’s why I was so impulsive, but I have zero regrets.’

The host asks if we’d like more pancakes, and Debbie and I look at each other knowing that we really shouldn’t but we can’t possibly refuse. After all, I didn’t choose a cruise that offers unlimited goodies for nothing.

‘Oh, go on then. I’ll just have the squirty cream and the chocolate drops this time,’ says Debbie.

‘I’ll have the Nutella again, please.’

The hour-long cruise flies by and soon we are full of pancakes and prosecco. The cruise was worth every penny.

‘So, where do you fancy going next? Would you like to visit the Van Gogh Museum?’ I ask.

‘I’d love to. What a treat of a day I’m having.’

As usual, we walk arm in arm as we find our way to the museum. It’s not somewhere I have been to before, not even the last time I was here. So, today’s experiences are new for me too.

The museum building is more modern than the older parts of town that we perused around the canal.

Its large glass structure at the entrance is part of a new wing that has been added on in recent years.

Inside, however, is an immersive experience that is full of history.

Both Debbie and I gasp at the beauty of the bright yellow Sunflowers painting, while the blue and pink 1890 Almond Blossom is incredibly beautiful.

The Potato Eaters, with their bony hands, has the most amazing detail.

Every painting has its own merits, and we are both mesmerised by their beauty.

‘We’ve been truly spoilt. I mean, Rembrandt, Van Gogh – I just can’t believe the culture here,’ says Debbie.

Yet again I feel immensely proud that this is the city I live in. Surely there aren’t many places that has everything Amsterdam offers and comes with such a great lifestyle. It doesn’t even feel like city life here. I haven’t seen anyone stressed out since I’ve arrived, for a start.

When we finish at the museum, I ask Debbie what she would like to do next. We could go to an Eighties roller-skating place, a walk in the park, shopping; I don’t know where to start with the choices we have.

‘Right then, it’s up to you where you fancy going next. Is there anything else you’d like to do before we spend tomorrow planning the party?’ I ask Debbie.

‘I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of shopping. I might even pop into one of the lovely lingerie shops we passed now that Nigel is behaving. I’ll miss being with you, but it’ll be nice to get back to him now.’

How Debbie has changed her tune. I am so relieved things have calmed down for them.

As we head back to the main shops of Dam Square, we pass a flea market. Debbie is fascinated by the juxtaposition of the antiques with the newer items. She roots around the stalls excitedly, although she only manages to find a couple of bits to take home.

‘You know, there’s this fabulous Sunday market here. I went when I first arrived. There were stalls selling all sorts of crafts. Once my Dutch gets a little better, I was thinking of enquiring about a stall.’

‘That’s a fabulous idea. I still wear that gorgeous jumper you knitted for me last Christmas, and the felting is going so well for you too.

You should get your crafts out there. I’m so proud of you.

You know, I almost feel as though this was your destiny.

Does that sound weird? If things had stayed the same, you’d still be at home.

Look at the adventure you’re having. It’s brilliant.

You seem more alive than I ever remember you being before. ’

‘Thanks. Yeah, you’re right. Maybe that’s why I married an Aussie. I was never going to settle with one of the boys from school who’d not left the village. I was always drawn to adventure and travel. Hannah is a chip off the old block.’

‘Well, you made the right choice, even if you both went your separate ways.’

‘Yeah. I did. I have no regrets. I know it meant that Hannah moved to the other side of the world, but I’m glad for her. We all need to live the life that’s best for us. She has found hers, and I think I have found mine.’

Debbie gives me a hug before we head into a lingerie store where the conversation lightens.

‘Oh, my goodness, can you imagine Nigel’s face if I bought that?’ says Debbie, looking at a mannequin wearing a black corset and carrying a riding whip. ‘I think he’d probably have a heart attack. Or let me have my own way about the conservatory.’

‘Well, you never know. It might be worth buying if that’s the case.’

As always when we are together, we laugh and chat while we browse around the shop. After a good look round, it surprises me that Debbie leaves with only a pair of French knickers.

‘Don’t want him getting too excited.’ She laughs.

It’s already getting dark by the time we leave the store and stop for a drink at a bar in the Red Light District before heading home.

This is the only chance we will get since tomorrow we will be entertaining.

I still have no idea who will be joining us, so I’m hoping I will have enough food and drink.

The atmosphere in the Red Light District in the evening is different to when I have passed the area in the day.

The red lights above some of the windows are like a beacon in the darkness.

As ever, it is bustling with people from tourists to locals, men on their own and couples holding hands.

I glance over at the guys who stare into the windows, curious but afraid to go in.

When you’re in De Wallen, sitting outside a bar under a patio heater is like an interesting social experiment. There are all walks of life down here.

A stag night with the average age of twenty brushes past our chairs as they rush off to the next pub, already merry.

I look at them and think how I don’t miss my youth.

I wouldn’t change anything. I certainly wouldn’t want to be young now with camera phones recording everything.

I’m glad I spent most of my partying time in the Eighties.

I mean, the music was a lot better then, for a start.

We stay at the bar for an hour or two when a rowdy band starts to play, and Debbie and I both agree we should finish the night back home. Something else that has changed as I have got older is the fact that I can’t bear too much noise. Thankfully neither can Debbie.

Reaching home, I sneak a peek over at Abe’s houseboat as I open the front door. His lights are on. Perhaps, just like me, he prefers to be at home in the evenings.

Debbie is only too happy to head to bed as soon as we get in and, since we have a party tomorrow, it is probably for the best. Besides, I’m more than happy to have an early night.

After all, it means I can lie in bed and think about Abe and the bird’s eye view I had from the canal cruise today.

Now that will most certainly give me sweet dreams tonight.