I’m on a narrowboat in Leiden, nursing a filthy hangover, watching this antique city floating past, when I’m awoken from my daydream by a strange whirring noise above me. The glass roof of the canal boat is rapidly descending, and the jolly Dutchman at the tiller is telling me to mind my head. I end up flat on my back, with the roof a few feet above. ‘We have some low bridges here in Leiden,’ says the tillerman, by way of explanation, as if this weird contraption was the most natural thing in the world.
For me, this canal boat with its collapsing roof encapsulates the quirky appeal of Leiden, and why I was so keen to come back here. It’s eccentric but entirely practical, a logical solution to a common problem – and though it seems like a daft idea, it works like a dream. A canal tour is the best way to see this quaint, beguiling city – even if you have to see a good deal of it lying down.
Nobody in Britain seems to have a bad word to say about the Dutch, and whenever I return to Holland I remember why.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in