Boat Delivery

After moving to Amsterdam it seemed only natural to get a boat. The fact that I had never driven an outboard motor before seemed only a minor setback, as I arranged for delivery of a second hand 3.7 metre steel boat. A small group of young Dutch people turned up early one Saturday morning opposite my house on Herengracht. The boat’s owner suggested that I try out the engine before handing over payment, which seemed only reasonable. I didn’t fully pick up on the slight look of alarm on his face when I sat on the wrong side of the tiller. As I am right handed it seemed only natural to grasp the throttle on the end of the tiller in my right hand. WRONG! The outboard is designed to be driven using your left hand. Sitting on the wrong side means that it is almost impossible to steer the boat to the right, and steering it to the left can result in unwanted increase on the throttle. As I stumbled up the canal (really – I know it’s a boat but stumble is the word) the look of alarm on the passengers’ faces grew slowly into one of panic, until one of them calmly said “You haven’t done this before have you?”. I had to admit that I hadn’t, and it was politely suggested that maybe I could drop them off somewhere nearby.

Thoroughly embarrassed and rather shocked I managed to moor the boat to some steps near the house. After a long walk to the water authority office to get a mooring permit I discovered that it was closed until Monday morning. The only other option was a booth actually in the middle of the Amstel (Amsterdam’s major waterway), and I had a feeling that I should get a bit more practice before attempting such an audacious trip.

Monday morning inevitably came (doesn’t it always?) and I was perturbed to find upon opening my curtain that there was a white official-looking paper in a plastic bag taped to the boat.

An amusing interlude with BabelFish made it clear that I hadn’t actually been fined (yet), but that the boat was to be moved within three days, as it was moored to steps meant for people who had inadvertently fallen into the water (of which more later!). After a brief struggle with errant mooring ropes I was out on the open canal. Sitting on the correct side helped no end, and I made it the 100 yards or so to a mooring on the other side of the water. The boat was secured. It spent the next week bailing out water and collecting empty beer cans, before appropriate weather conditions coincided with sufficient courage to try again.