‘I was thinking how I’d love a stall in the market we went to the other day. I make things – like crafts – so it would be great to sell them there.’
‘If you’re serious, I’ll ask Beatrix. She knows everyone down there. I’m sure she can help.’
‘Yeah, I am serious. I think. Give me a few weeks and I’d love to talk to her about it. I can’t believe how kind you’ve been to me since I turned up. You’ve helped me with everything. From kneepads to work.’
‘We couldn’t have you wearing those fake kneepads, could we?’ Abe laughs and my face flushes with embarrassment. How could I have been caught in such a state?
‘Well, thank you. You’ve really helped me settle in… both you and Beatrix.’
‘It’s not a problem. Maybe I’m trying to make amends for being a little self-centred before. I worked in a business surrounded by greed. I learnt the hard way what is not important and what is. Kindness, compassion and being helpful are much more important than material things.’
‘Oh, I can relate to that. I guess shopping and buying far too much to try and fill an empty space in my life was a bit like that.’
‘It looks like we really get each other then,’ says Abe.
His ponytail flips to one side as he looks at me for a moment. His lopsided smile sends a tingle down my spine.
‘Yes, indeed,’ I say with a big grin.
But then I quickly kneel down to play with Ted and change the subject. Abe and Beatrix are the only friends I have here, and I don’t want anything to spoil that.
Chapter Fourteen
Ambling along the canals of Amsterdam, I smile to myself as I think how nice it was to share the evening with Abe. It would have been even nicer if Beatrix had been there too, but I do enjoy being with him and it makes me remember how nice male company is. It’s good to have male friends. They give you a different perspective on things and, with a Dutch guy like Abe, there is no beating around the bush, which I like. Why have small talk and dance around a subject, when you can get straight to the point? It was interesting to learn more about him and his suggestions for what I must see around Amsterdam. Last night he told me that there is something like 165 canals here, and they form a ring of canals which they call Grachtengordel. I wonder how long it would take me to get around all 165? I think I’ll stick to the main ones for now.
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.’
