Chapter 28: Going Dutch?

Rachel and I fled the summer crowds of Scotland to relax in a small Dutch city an hour east of Amsterdam. After learning that I was let go from my job and she was leaving hers, we needed some time to regroup and figure out what we want to do when we – uh – grow up.

We had come across the Dutch-American Friendship Treaty (DAFT), which would give us two-year visas to stay the Netherlands – a welcome respite from our current situation of moving countries to dodge tourist visa expirations every few months.

The Netherlands is clean, efficient, well-run, pleasant, and…not for us. I would never be so xenophobic and close-minded as to apply a single adjective to an entire country of millions of disparate human beings, but all Dutch people are boring.

One day Rachel and I went on a long drive to reconnoiter the Dutch countryside in search of possible townships to live in. After hours of seeing the same flat farmland edged by a few dozen trees planted in a perfect row, it began to sink in that the Netherlands was not for us. What now?

For a few years, Rachel and I have kicked around the idea of living on a sailboat. We began discussing this topic in earnest in the car, and then I glanced down and nearly swerved off the road in surprise.

“Rachel! The car dashboard just flashed up a picture of a sailboat and the word ‘Sailing’!”

Rachel’s face contorted itself in a number of ways as she tried to assess just how insane I currently was, and if it was safe for me to be piloting a motor vehicle at high speeds. She peered over, seeing nothing but the gauges, and I sensed her disbelief.

“I promise you, it showed me a picture of a sailboat! That’s a sign, let’s look at boating.”

We started talking through the details, and I kept on eye on the dashboard, waiting for confirmation that the visual wasn’t just a fit of prairie madness.

When we got back to our AirBnb, we went online and rented a live-aboard canal boat for the next week, to slowly motor the inland waterways of the beautiful Alsace region of eastern France. And Rachel still didn’t believe me, but she patted my head anyway.

“Sam, I believe that YOU believe you saw it.”

A few days later we packed our things, and drove to drop off the rental car before taking a train to France. On the way:

The car apparently shows this icon when you take your foot off the gas at a high speed, and coast.

You didn’t believe me either, did you?