Anyone who has spent much time on the river Cam has probably had some sort of run-in with a houseboat. For those who row, that might be a literal run-in if the cox wasn’t paying enough attention, or it might be a more psychological kind of clash: “Get a life!” one houseboat resident yelled at me while I was rowing last week, triggering a minor existential crisis about how I am choosing to spend my time.

Occasional hostilities aside, houseboat residents tend to fade into the background for many Cambridge students. This is perhaps particularly true for rowers who are trained to view any solid object on the Cam as merely something to push off of. This is a great shame: it’s their river too – they live there, after all. So, on a sunny Sunday afternoon I set off on a walk down by the riverside to speak to the Cam’s residents and learn more about what houseboating is like.

“There are hippy symbols, pirate flags flying, and, on one boat, a set of riddles painted on the side”

Houseboats on the Cam are a pretty heterogenous bunch. Some are just rusting hulks which appear to be abandoned or are used for storage purposes. Others look like fully-fledged family homes, with washing lines and children’s toys in view. Still, others have a slightly more eccentric appearance: there are hippy symbols, pirate flags flying, and, on one boat, a set of riddles painted on the side. Some boats also display signs that their owners aren’t the biggest fans of rowers. One boat has painted on its side in clear, bold letters the message: “ROWERS, KEEP YOUR OARS OFF OUR PAINTWORK.”

However, there isn’t a hint of resentment from the first person I speak to. Dave has lived on his houseboat, the Winslow Revival, for 20 years, and has just celebrated his birthday when I speak to him. The number of cards on the wall testify to an active social life, and he is friendly enough to come out and talk to me while I’m still working up the courage to knock on his door.

We have a fascinating chat aboard his boat, where he explains that he chose to live on a houseboat because of the freedom and the spirit of adventure waterborne living affords.

I also ask Dave about his relationship with the rowers, and to my suprise, he not only likes them, but he even claims that the rowers like him back. “Everyone loves me,” he boasts, “When I see them after the races with the twigs in their hair, I give them a big cheer.”

Of course, the early-morning shouting is annoying, he admits, but he points out that if you choose to moor on the Cam, that’s what you have to expect: “You get used to it.” I also ask him about the practice of pushing off from houseboats. He laughs: “I say to them, ‘scrape off a bit more rust! ’”.

“It’s a privilege to live on the river”

I get a similar impression from Nicole, whose partner lives on a houseboat: she loves living on the Cam due to the beauty of the surroundings, and that seems to be enough to compensate for the lack of lie-ins. “It’s a privilege to live on the river,” she says, “It’s lovely.”

But according to John, who I meet at Gonville & Caius where he works as a porter, there is a feeling that rowers sometimes lack respect for houseboat residents. John has lived for 17 years in a private marina in Isleham, far away from the havoc of the Cam, but close enough to Ely to come into contact with the University team. He mentions the noise and how fast the rowers go – but says that’s part of the houseboating lifestyle: “They’ve been here longer than houseboats anyway.”

When I ask him what the best thing about living on a houseboat is, he uses one word: “community.” He says, “If you need something, everyone will help everyone.” He explains that because there isn’t a lot of space on houseboats, not everyone has everything they always need, but neighbours are more than happy to lend a hand. But their camaraderie extends far beyond lending some sugar: when there were gale-force winds a few years ago that unmoored some of the boats, everyone came out to help with the rescue effort. And John’s boathouse community isn’t just one homogenous group; police officers and pilots coexist alongside the musicians and retirees.

Before John became a porter, he worked in the armed forces and the home office. He lives on a boat to be close to nature, and loves waking up to the sight of deer in the morning. However, he did mention that the price you pay for being that close to nature is having to continuously maintain the boat, as well as having to put up with some strange noises. “It took me six months to get used to the noises,” he said, and when he first moved aboard, John was particularly worried about bubbling sounds he could hear coming from underneath the boat, but it turned out it was just fish, not any leaks.

After speaking to these houseboaters, it was clear that there were both fantastic opportunities and novel challenges to living on the river. Contrary to what I expected after my initial clash on the Cam, I certainly didn’t find any united front of hatred for rowers. As expected, we annoy them a little, but the people I spoke to all seemed resigned to the early morning noise and racing chaos. And for them, the inconvenience is far outweighed by the beauty of their surroundings and the freedom that houseboating brings.