Land life versus boat life

Life on a boat in London is a far cry from Arslan’s land-locked upbringing, 5,000km away in the mountainous Kazakh city of Almaty.

But since moving to the UK, where he works in the creative media industry, he’s found similarities between a life on a quintessentially English narrowboat and the nomadic existence of his homeland – particularly when comparing a houseboat and a yurt.

His self-described “metal tin can” floats peacefully along the Hackney waterways bordering the city. It rests in the shadows of London’s bustling Olympic Park, a cultural and sporting hub that attracts visitors from around the world. This contrast provides the backdrop for a unique lifestyle that is rooted in nomadic living.

“In some ways it was a stupid decision to move to a boat,” he reflects. “There are so many risks, but it’s crazy – and I like it that way.”

Finding physical and spiritual balance

Arslan invites me to sit on a traditional Kazakh “korpe” blanket on the floor – the one he wrapped proudly around himself in the portrait taken by Annie Leibovitz – and serves us black tea in a small Piyala-type cup, an important part of Kazakh culture. He prefers to sit low to the ground, since it seems to create a larger sense of space in the boat. The compact nature of his life has also inspired him to optimise every area of the two-metre wide, 12-metre long and two-metre high floating home, creating functional solutions that serve their purpose efficiently. Many of his appliances are located on one side of the boat, meaning he is also acutely aware of balance on the vessel.

Having lived on the boat for just over three years, Arslan feels acclimatised to the ways of the water, so much so that he sees noticeable differences between land and water.

“I feel like it’s two different time zones: sometimes I can sit back and zone out here for hours, which I wouldn’t do on land,” he says. “I notice that people move everywhere so quickly on land, and it gets so hectic, that when I get back onto the boat it feels like a relief. It’s like there are land people and water people.”

His parents currently live in Manchester, another English city with significant canal links, and are equally adventurous in outlook. They have a strong bond with the mountains of Almaty, a place where Arslan spent much of his youth snowboarding on the slopes.

“In Kazakhstan, we live a very minimalistic life,” he reflects. “Historically, we are very nomadic: you would bring your yurt, stay for a while, and then move to the next spot.”

The space on his boat is clearly designed for hosting communal gatherings, with a repurposed roof deck able to seat guests in the summer evenings, while Arslan’s open and engaging personality makes the home feel welcoming and warm.

“The lifestyle in Kazakhstan is very neighbourly and very hospitable; that’s a big part of our culture,” he explains. “So, to make the most out of the dining and seating areas particularly, in a small space like this, is a big part of it. I’ve even adapted my English friends to that culture.”

And he has learned from the quirks of British boating culture too. From his multiple vantage points around the boat, he loves to look out and engage with the local “boatspotting types,” each of whom enrich his experience of his adopted country and culture.

A boating boom

Recent years have seen a surge in demand for houseboats in the UK. Especially since the pandemic, thousands like Arslan have reconsidered their living spaces and sought a different way of life. Today, there are over 35,000 people with a narrowboat license in the UK, according to the Canal and River Trust, – the majority of those in London being permanent homes. In total, the Inland Waterways Association estimates there to be about 80,000 powered boats across waterways in England, Scotland and Wales.

Arslan has a Continuous Cruising License from the Canal and River Trust that enables him to travel over 25 miles each year. In keeping with his nomadic roots, every two weeks he and other boaters move in a pattern to a new mooring spot along the waterway.

While London is barely financially accessible for so many people, particularly younger generations and first-time buyers, the houseboat gives him the chance to remain in the city at a relatively low cost.

“It’s a great investment, he says. “I have lived here for three years and have already paid it off in comparative rental costs that I would have spent on land. It doesn’t lose value, either.”

A life overlooked

While media coverage of life at home tends to centre around housing and apartments, narrowboating is growing in popularity.

The IKEA Life at Home Report from 2022 found that 48% of people felt their home life was not authentically represented in the media: and Arslan, whose boat is modest but welcoming, finds this to be true.

Much of the media attention around narrowboating, he explains, is focused on the “overly polished,” luxury end of the market, with the traditional boating community often overlooked. And while narrowboat owners have traditionally aged between 50 and 60, many younger-generation boaters like Arslan are moving to the water, a trend that he believes will continue in the coming years.

“So many boaters try to sell the lifestyle on how great and how beautiful it is,” he adds. “But I want to show the real boaters, and show that it’s a mix of fast-paced, younger living, with an older, slower lifestyle.”

And does he see himself joining the “land people” someday – and moving into a property off the water?

“Eventually I would like to take a break from the boat,” he says. “But I would have to rent it out because I don’t want to lose my attachment to it: that sense of freedom and ownership.”