The second-most frequently asked question after “Why did you do this?” is “How did you do this?”  After thirty years in the computer software industry, we needed to try something different.  When we took a barge piloting course with Roger Van Dyken in France, my husband Paul and I had come back with the dream of owning a barge and living in Europe at least half of the year.  The timing was right for us personally.  Paul’s two children were both in their thirties and on their own.  We no longer had aging parents or relatives to take care of and we were still young enough and healthy enough to handle the physical aspects of a large boat.  Methodically we wrote up spreadsheets and tested the validity of our financial premise:  if we sold our house, our two cars and most of our furniture, and took along a few paying passengers on the barge, we could buy a barge and make ends meet until we reached an official retirement age.  Both of us had faithfully been contributing to our 401Ks and IRAs over the years but we didn’t want to touch them yet.  When we weren’t in Europe, we would live in our thirty-two foot motor home that tows our 1969 VW bug as a dingy. Our expenses would be minimal compared to having a large house in Boulder Colorado and two cars.

Some people, it seems, share our dream.  In the meantime, we put our house in Boulder on the market in January and in just a few weeks, it was under contract with a closing scheduled for April.  I jokingly told Paul our barge’s name should be “Our home equity”.  I could see that we would be able to sell or donate most of the things we had accumulated during our lives and especially the last fourteen years of marriage.  What we needed now was a barge.

Back on the Internet, Paul was busily chasing down links and finding various boat brokers who sold the type of boat we wanted.  Roger Van Dyken’s boat Vertrouwen had made her mark on us and we want the classic lines of a Dutch barge.

Our appointments are in France and Holland.  We decide to start in France at two of the largest barge centers in St. Jean de Losne and St. Symphorien sur Saone.  The high-speed TGV train whisks us in ninety minutes from Paris to Dijon where we rent a car.  We arrive one day early for our appointment and perhaps this is the reason for a rather cool reception by the woman at the first center. 

We walk around the harbor and see one of our candidates, which she tells us, is already under contract to someone else.  It is a lovely boat, quite large, and at the absolute top of our price range.  She shows us the kitchen area, a separate room. I don’t comment.  It’s not the kind of layout I’m looking for, but it’s not likely we will be purchasing this boat anyway. 

She stands in the kitchen for a moment looking and says,” There was a trend, for a while, to have an open kitchen, a la American.” She sniffs and winces as if she has been insulted by the very idea.  “But many French prefer the separate room, to keep unsightly mess and odors from the rest of the house.”  Obviously she considers Americans unsophisticated boors who don’t know an odor from an aroma when we smell one.   Another candidate is in ruin – so much for the photos on the Internet!

The next appointment is at Bourgogne Marine in St. Symphorien.  We meet Roger Walster, an Englishman, who owns the marina located in a wide spot on the Canal du Rhone au Rhin, the canal linking the Rhone River to the Rhine.  It is a beautiful location in the French countryside; an old mill sits by the side of the canal, water flowing over a small falls.

With no viable choices in France, we drive up to Nijmegan (pronounced Ni-may-gen) in the Netherlands, about a five-hour drive north.  On the way up, we take the time for quick visits to Sedan and Reims to get a feel for the area we might be cruising in the summer. Neither of us has been here before and we’re impressed with the rolling hills of northern France, the cliffs of Belgium and the well-tended fields of Holland.  Nijmegan is located almost in the middle of the country and is the oldest city in Holland.  It is located on the Waal River that flows into the North Sea.  Further east, in Germany, it is the Rhine.  River traffic abounds, huge commercial barges operate twenty-four hours a day to get their cargo to its destination as quickly as possible.  I watch them barreling down the river and feel that any personal barge is so vulnerable – will they be looking out for the smaller, older versions of themselves? 

After several disappointments, I steel myself for another letdown.   I am beginning to worry.  With only eight boats to start with, half of them were not viable for us for one reason or another.   What if we don’t find a boat?  After all, we’re only spending a week here.  We’ve bought and sold several houses and I know from experience it can take weeks, even months, of looking to find the right home. We drive over to the harbor and locate “Blue Boat”. 

From the outside, it is almost as pictured on the Internet.  Only a large blue plywood box near the front of the boat has been added since the photograph, which puzzles us.  Pallieter is even bigger than Vertrouwen, an additional three meters long for a total of twenty-five meters.  She has the same graceful lines and I’m favorably impressed with the exterior, all it needs is a little painting.  The owner is a young Dutch woman who speaks good English and tells us her name is Desiree.  The pilothouse view up the deck is formidable, I try imagining getting this into one of the small French locks and I think, “This boat is long!” Well, it is almost ten feet longer than Vertrouwen and the pilothouse is set further back. 

Down a few steps, we check out the aft cabin, half of which is a bathroom containing a large bathtub, a sink, a toilet and a washing machine. The other half is being used as a grubby storage area and the owner hangs her laundry here in bad weather.   Paul and I had previously decided that this area shown on the floor plan might become our cabin and bath and afford us some privacy when we have guests on board. 

We go back up to the pilothouse and then down a steep set of about seven stairs backward.  I’m seriously considering whether I can handle this climb on a regular basis when I turn around and look at the kitchen and huge salon.

When we leave after about an hour, I tell Paul how much I loved Pallieter.  He points out that the engine is an old 1959 Volvo Penta marine diesel that may be problematic and may even need early replacement.  The mysterious blue box on the deck turns out to have been a recent addition by the current owners – it’s a   big, cheap, noisy generator that we would have to replace. The existing bathroom needed work and two needed to be added.  “We’ll have to take that all into account when we make our offer,” is all I will say.  “What about the feeling in there?  Didn’t you feel it?” I ask and Paul admits it is as close as we’ve seen to our ideal, but we have another boat to see today and a new broker to meet up in the north of Holland tomorrow.

The next boat we look at reinforces my decision.  I liken it to a floating three-bedroom ranch house similar to the one I grew up in; beige sculpted-wall-to-wall carpeting, three bedrooms jammed together, one dated bathroom and a tired kitchen off by itself.  It has as much work or more to do as Pallieter and amazingly, Pallieter has the lowest asking price, by tens of thousands of dollars.   The broker meets us at the showing and as he also represents Pallieter we cautiously indicate our interest in it and briefly discuss how a purchase is made here in the Netherlands.  He tells us that a German has also expressed interest in Pallieter and is scheduled to come back for a second visit.   Paul and I have both been salespeople and we have purchased our share of large items. One of the oldest tricks in the book is the mysterious other party who may come along and snatch something you want away from you.  There’s a reason “As seen on TV” ads command you to “Act NOW!”  It’s an artificial way to create a sense of urgency to keep the buyer from deciding to either do nothing or look elsewhere.  Do the Dutch barge brokers know and use the same trick?  We don’t know, but it plants a doubt in my mind that I don’t need right now.  We have a sense of urgency without worrying about the German.

Our final appointment is with a broker in the north of Holland.  As we begin our three-hour drive, we start seeing windmills, old ones made of brick and wood, and modern ones, like tall white metal fans.  I wanted to count the windmills, but I lose track, there are too many.   It’s early for tulips but we go past large fields of squares ranging from deepest royal purple, through lighter lavender, bright yellow, cream and finally white.  I guess that they are hyacinth, jonquils, and crocus. 

We arrive barely on time for our appointment but the broker, Mr. Doeve, is gracious. We spend time chatting about the weather, he has his son brew up some coffee and he offers us a cigarette.  We decline and he carefully rolls his own and begins to tell us about the boat we are about to see.  He’s an elegant man, tall, sliver-haired, his long legs crossed out in front of him and he tells us the story of the boat.  A Dutch couple had lived full-time on this barge for seventeen years and they finally felt it was getting to be a bit much for them as they were in their eighties so they listed it with Mr. Doeve. The son takes us over to the boat.  Looking through the boat we realize that there is only one bathroom – with no bath or shower, just a small sink and toilet.  “They lived here for seventeen years with no tub or shower?” we whisper to each other. It is too large really for the French canals. This boat belongs in Holland on the wider waterways. To be courteous, we spend time looking the whole thing over, but we’ve already ruled it out.  Paul spends a while in the engine room while I survey all the decorating that would be in need of updating and it’s a daunting task.    Pallieter is looking better and better. 

We started barge shopping on Monday and now it is Friday.  We arrange to meet with our broker, Mr. De Haan, and begin the purchase.  He explains the procedure and it is not unlike purchasing a house or boat in the United States.  We will make an offer in writing with some earnest money that must be wired to the broker in Dutch Guilders and the couple who own Pallieter will accept or counter the offer, although this may be verbal and not written. We know from our research that a final contingency is a detailed survey of the boat by a professional inspector who we will hire.  The steel hull must be at least four millimeters in thickness and we will want him to look at various other technical items such as the engine and other mechanics. Desiree told us that they had entire hull was doubled in thickness only two years ago, so the hull should not be a problem. We make an offer.  We wait.  Later that evening, Mr. De Haan calls us at our hotel.  They have counter-offered, not budging much on the price, with the explanation that it is early in the season and they have already had a great deal of interest. (“The German,” I say to Paul).  We rationalize that this barge is one of the lowest priced ones already and come back with another offer.  We wait all day, wandering around Nijmegan.  Another call from Mr. De Haan tells us they have accepted our offer.

We come back to the States elated with our find but with an enormous amount of work ahead of us.  Our house sale is due to close in four weeks.  I run ads for our cars and furniture.  People respond almost too enthusiastically and pieces of our furniture began disappearing leaving impressions in the thick carpet.  I feel disoriented.  Every evening our shy black cat, Bear, comes out and sniffs around the areas of any newly missing items and looks at me quizzically.  Our other orange tabby, Sundae (as in “Butterscotch Sundae”) has a more relaxed attitude. She seems to know something’s about to change but she is ready for it.  They will be coming with us; they are fourteen and fifteen years old and I will not leave them. The cats are now allowed in the aircraft cabin in bags that fit under the seat in front of us.  We purchase two of the Sherpa brand soft-sided cases and leave them open for the cats to explore.  They sniff them once and then avoid them.  People I ask are also uncertain as to the exact vaccination and certificate of good health requirements.  I always keep their shots current anyway but the final information I receive is that I need a certificate of good health from a veterinarian just before we leave.  It was just one more thing to add to our ever-growing to-do list.

It’s not bad luck to rename a boat in Europe as it is in the States.  Barge names often change with ownership so it was perfectly fine for us to come up with a new name.  I ponder name choices while I disassemble the exterior of my life.  Each item has to examined and relegated to a category: sell it, give it to someone, donate it, throw it away, recycle it, bring it to France, place it in storage, or put it in the motor home.

I come up with a list of names for the barge and present it to Paul.  I start with my favorite. We both love the John Lennon song and its sentiment of peace and world unity. Webster defines the verb as “to form a metal image of, to picture in one’s mind”.  The name has layers of meaning to us; this boat represents the fulfillment of our shared dream, I want to spend some time aboard writing, the word is even the same word in French.  Paul says, “That’s it.”   So we agree on Imagine