“This afternoon we’re going to bring the boat back to where we live. There it is going to stay. Home for the winter.” Leonie Persoon.

The water gently brushes against the brick walls holding back the sand and dirt and leaning houses. Blue skies and high clouds dot the reflection on the surface. Autumn leaves drift slowly past in mottled clumps. Boats, tied to the side, softly clang against their neighbor. Out in the middle, swans and ducks preen their feathers and idly paddle their too-large feet. And high above, the church bells call to the believers.

And us? We are adrift on a canal in Holland.

“The most important thing in The Hague are the bridges. It’s going to be nose on your knees. But we will manage it.”

So, we all put our noses on our knees and drift under the bridge, not daring to look up until Leonie Persoon, our guide, gives us the high sign.

“One young man, with maybe a little too much drink, stood up just before a bridge to grab a flower from the flower box to give to me . . .  Fortunately, he recovered by the end of the boat tour.”

Leonie Persoon gives a soft laugh. At the situation. At herself. At her husband driving the boat in the stern. At the silliness of a lovely gesture that went awry.

Leonie’s husband, Jan, built this flat-bottomed boat just this year. He is in his 50’s and lost his job to downsizing. “He was fired,” his wife says bluntly with smiling eyes. Boats and restoring boats had always been their hobby. So, why not? Build a boat and start tours. And that’s what they did.

“What you also saw in the 19th century were fake windows. Like on this property. You need to pay window tax in those days. That’s why you make fake windows. You build a big house because you thought you were unbelievable rich and then you realize, oh my gosh, the taxes are going to cost me a lot of money. And then you cover a few windows.”

An irreverent tour. Laced with commentary on architects, nuns, the foolishness of dreams, poverty, the Dutch king and queen, the royal stables, city planners, and on and on. No punches pulled and heavily sprinkled with colorful history.

“It was a little bit weird that an architect got permission to build that house in the 70’s. No idea why. It is unbelievable ugly.”

“Well, over there used to live a famous spy. She came from the north of the Netherlands and came to live here before World War I. Married a guy from The Hague, which gave her access to high society. Already in those days, she divorced and went off to Paris and started a career as an exotic dancer. She was gorgeous, famous, and rich. She ended up being executed in 1917 because she was accused of being a spy by the French. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Mata Hari?”

“You know, even in this posh area, there’s a coffeeshop. If you want to smoke, not a big deal. We are still the Netherlands. You all know that you can’t order any coffee there, right?”

And so the tour went, on this unusually dry day in autumn, as we travelled from connecting canal to connecting canal, past the train station, around schools and museums, next to a restaurant that lowered meals in a basket to the passing boats, and into the downtown.

So, Leonie, do you ever have bad tour groups?

“The stag party is our hardest. The English or Dutch guys are very rowdy. We are not always pleased by that. But we hate it to have restrictions. I hate restrictions. Eventually, I like the guys as well with the stupid stories and their drunk and their laughing. I was young also once. We try to manage it.”

And can you manage working together with your husband every day?

“The good thing is that we already know each other for 32 years. So we were young teenagers when we met. It was a test on our relation when we built the boat, but now we know in 30 years how it works.”

And she smiled as her husband steered us straight.

Do you have a hard time getting away from the work?

“Of course, and I also have another job on top of this. I love that job too. But what we say is no talk about work in the bedroom.”

Then Leonie and Jan Persoon drop us all at the side of the canal and they head out-of-town to put the boat away for the winter. The season over. Last trip of the year. Time to come home.

And it is time to come home, folks. No matter how strange the politics and the world has turned, it is still home. The cold rains of winter have arrived here in Holland. My wife’s work with the prosecution of the last major criminal to come out of the Bosnian War is days from completion. Sinterklaas has already determined who of us gets the candy and who gets a whack from the chimney sweep’s broom. And, yes, even the holiday olibollen stands (“Oil spheres!” Really?) have opened on Frederik Hendriklaan selling their fist-sized chewy donuts that dramatically shorten your life in the best possible way. The signs are all there — it’s time to bring the boat home to Iowa.

So we will.

Joe