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The Sun
a day ago
- Lifestyle
- The Sun
I live full-time on a boat & save thousands every year – it's much better than a house… but I've seen some awful things
A MAN who moved out of his home to live on a narrowboat has saved a fortune after growing tired of suburban life. Joel Sanders, 57, ditched his one-bedroom flat in Watford, Hertfordshire, after getting the bug during a stint on water. 3 3 3 The comedian was offered a gig on a cruise ship and wanted to replicate that feeling when he got back to the UK. After a brief chat with boat owners along the canal in Hemel Hempstead, Joel put his money where his mouth is. "Within a week I had bought a boat, travelled across London in it and was in that same marina," he said. "I am very intolerant to noise and in a flat I felt that my private space was invaded by other people's noises. "You could always hear your neighbours. "A boat has all the benefits of a detached home and if you don't like the place where you are because it is too loud then you move. "I live a simple nomadic existence. You get a sense of independence and freedom on a boat which is very hard to get on the land." After spending a year in the Hemel Hempstead marina, Joel upgraded to a bigger boat- a 1996 Colecraft- for around £60,000 and began moving across the country. Since the switch, he has docked in Nottingham, Birmingham, London, Oxford, Bristol, Reading, and Gloucester. However, life on a boat is not all positive, with Joel adding that it is extremely hard work managing your own limited water, gas, and electricity supply. Woman who pays no rent and lives in London gives a tour around her amazing houseboat Joel forks out around £1,600 annually on his boat licence, is set back £800 on heating and spends tens of thousands of pounds on upgrades and maintenance. The boat owner has also experienced tragedy since he took up his marine residence. Recently, Joel found a dead body floating in the canal in Nottingham. Despite its flaws, he says he doesn't regret a thing. He continued: "With boating the good days are great but the bad days are very bad. It is a life of extremes. "Boating is a fairly intensive part time job. It makes you feel more alive somehow when you have to manage those things that you once took for granted. "It really toughened me up. I have learned a huge amount. "Most of my friends when I bought it said I was mad, and I wouldn't last three months. The things it gave me were so thrilling to me that I ploughed through the difficulties. "I will take the physical challenges for as long as my health will allow me to for the benefits." Joel added that the main trick is to find the right boat, saying that if you buy a bad one with lots of problems then you would "have a better quality of life on a park bench." Joel said: "With the housing crisis a lot of people are deciding to buy boats, but it is not a lifestyle that is right for people who just can't afford to live on the land. "You need to want the lifestyle." The Pros and Cons of Living on a narrowboat It might seem an idyllic lifestyle living on a narrowboat and taking this at a slower pace but it's not always plain sailing. The Pros Freedom – you get to choose where you stay and can move from the countryside to a city in possibly a few hours. If you don't like your neighbours you can simply move. Work anywhere – remote working has shot up with the Covid-19 pandemic and what could be better than working from a barge. Declutter your lifestyle – There's not a lot of space on a narrowboat but this can be an advantage as it forces your to get rid of things you don't actually really need. Decluttering your life can do wonders for your wellbeing. Life at a slower pace – anyone fed up of the 9-5 rat race and the pressure to earn money to pay for high-cost living can benefit from the easy-going life on a barge. More environmentally friendly – while not entirely carbon neutral, living on a narrowboat can help the environment as you use less electricity, gas and fuel. Improve fitness – living on a narrowboat doesn't suit a sedentary lifestyle. There are endless tasks that will keep you active, such as operating locks, carrying coal and gas canisters, toilets to empty, wood to chop and weed hatches to clear. Sense of community – many boaters feel a strong sense of community as they are with like-minded people to share tips and advice. Saving money – one big advantage is the amount of money you can save. Big savings can be made on monthly living costs not only from using less gas and electricity but you don't have any costly mortgage or rent payments to cover. The Cons Having to plan ahead – if you have a cruising licence you will need to move every 14 days, so you have to think about the future, where to next, do you have enough supplies to get there? Limited space – narrowboats are restricted in space and you may find you feel claustrophobic living in a confined space. Plus, you may have to chuck out some prized possessions to fit everything you need in. Lack of security – criminals may see a narrowboat as an easy target and you may need to invest in some quality security to keep your things safe. Maintenance – Beware that you will need to learn about engine maintenance, such as how to repair a bilge pump or water pump. You will also need to ensure it is properly insulated and ventilated or you could be battling dampness and condensation. The cost – while living on a boat is certainly cheaper than living in a property, it is not cost free. You have to pay for things like: a Canal and River Trust licence, insurance, engine and pump maintenance, blacking the hull, as well as running costs such as fuel and a TV licence.
The National
15-05-2025
- The National
Living with a Kazakh eagle hunter: A journey into the heart of nomadic life in western Mongolia
In the remote valleys of western Mongolia, near the snow-capped Altai mountains, I meet Khaiyr Galym, a traditional Kazakh eagle hunter. Despite the language barrier, I am given a holistic insight into the nomadic life, influenced by nature and rhythm of the seasons, and warmly welcomed into his home that he shares with his family. When I first meet Khaiyr, he is sitting on a low stool in his winter home, his cowboy outfit is complete with boots and wide-brimmed hat. He doesn't understand or speak a word of English, but smiles often, making the skin on his weather-beaten cheeks crack with the effort. His wife Shynat serves us endless cups of weak milky tea, along with aaruul, a salty hard cheese. With me is Shokhan, an English-speaking guide, who translates and helps make sense of this new, fascinating world. It's a land where the people are few and far between, and vastly outnumbered by the grazing horses, sheep and yaks. Our driver has scaled mountain passes and forded rivers, based, it seems, on pure instinct, before pulling up at Khaiyr's isolated home in a low valley. It is still early in Mongolia's short summer season, and the world outside this little two-roomed house is just beginning to turn green, with the distant hills still covered in splashes of white. On this trip to Mongolia, I have chosen to travel west towards the imposing and remote Altai mountains, located along the border with Russia, Kazakhstan and China. And here I am, in a yurt in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by strangers who have welcomed me into their homes. Staying in a yurt – a round tent also known as ger in some parts of central Asia, which serves as the summer home of nomadic shepherd families – is part of the attraction. But the main draw is a chance to spend time with the patriarch Khaiyr, who practises the traditional Kazakh art of berkutchi, hunting with golden eagles. And while eagle hunting is a winter sport, this is a rare opportunity to get a close glimpse into this rapidly vanishing tradition. Although berkutchi dates back several centuries and spans across the central Asian steppes, it has waned in popularity in recent times, with only about 250 eagle hunters to be found in Mongolia. Khaiyr's forefathers migrated to Mongolia in the mid 1800s, and like many other ethnic Kazakhs, he continue to speak in their native language, and follow other Kazakh customs and rituals. Berkutchi, somewhat similar to falconry in the Middle East, is a treasured sport, one in which the eagle is trained to hunt for small prey such as red fox and marmots, with the hunters using the skin as fur to line their hats and coats. 'It is simply a way of staying in touch with my roots,' Khaiyr says, adding that he hopes his kids will take it forward after him. The couple live with their two younger children, the older two having moved to big cities for higher education. Seruen, aged 10, is an expert horseman – he learnt to ride even before he could walk, says the proud father – and teen daughter Arujon, who captivates me with her quick smile and confident movements. Morning and evening, I see her at her mother's side, milking the sheep, rounding up the horses, feeding the yaks and riding her father's motorbike to fetch and carry heavy loads. She gives a shy nod when I ask if she would like to take over from her father. I am thrilled, the world could certainly use another rare eagle huntress. Although I am completely cut off from the outside world, with no mobile phone or internet access, the days fall into an easy and pleasing rhythm. In the mornings, after a hearty breakfast, I ride out into the hills along with Khaiyr, Seruen and Shokhan. Their eagle, Tas Tulek, has gained weight in the past few weeks and rides comfortably on Khaiyr's shoulders. The father and son are eager to show off their tricks, and soon rend the air with piercing calls that instruct the eagle to fly, hunt or return to base. The bond between a burkitshi and his bird is deep and abiding, starting from when the bird is only a couple of months old. When I catch Khaiyr caressing Tas Tulek's head during a quiet moment, he declares, 'This eagle is like my child, so I have to love her and pet her, and keep her happy". In the evenings, I walk down from the yurt towards the Sagsai river flowing gently nearby, to watch the family's horses drinking from the crystal-clear waters as the sun goes down behind the hills. Occasionally, Seruen tags along and provides entertainment with his eager attempts to catch fish. But for the most part, I am happy to just sit in silent introspection. These nomadic families pack up and move three to four times a year in search of adequate fodder for their livestock, changing their lives along with the changing seasons. Once I leave, Khaiyr's family will move into the yurt, Shokhan tells me. The yurt is decidedly warm and comforting, decorated with colourful and coarse hand-woven carpets, and the walls lined with the gleaming medals won in local horse-riding contests. This may be simple, but this is home for the family. And I am grateful for having been part of it for just a few days. The gateway to the Altai mountains is the regional hub of Olgii, three hours by plane from the capital city of Ulanbaatar, the country's only international airport. You can fly into Ulanbaatar from Abu Dhabi via Istanbul with Turkish Airways, and from Dubai via Beijing with Air China. There are also routes with stopovers in Hong Kong, Tokyo and Seoul available.
