This was more or less the last view of the Dutch shore - the white clouds are from the ovens at the Corus steel works in IJmuiden.
The final day was always going to be rushed and it was rushed, but here I am on a ferry going to Newcastle. We made it by the skin of our teeth, but we made it.
It's difficult at this stage to know how I feel about leaving Amsterdam. I'm desperately sad to leave so many wonderful friends – it wouldn't be fair to name them, but you know who you are. It's sad to leave what is, by pretty much any standards, a beautiful city. It's sad to be leaving the English Reformed Church – the Engelse Kerk as it's known locally. There may not be another church quite like it anywhere on the planet.
The job situation was always a little unsatisfactory, but I paid my bills and enjoyed a reasonable life even if it didn't include champagne at every meal. Latterly, it was, perhaps, a little too easy and the move back to Edinburgh will hopefully provide the kick start that wasn't likely in Amsterdam.
Do I wish I was staying? Yes, definitely. But I remember feeling the same way when I left Edinburgh 6½ years ago. It wasn't love at first sight with old Mokum, but the city gets into you. I'm too British to be able to live in complete comfort with the near total lack of respect for rules, but I will admit that being able to nip along a one-way street the wrong way, or through a red light when nothing's coming the other way can save a lot of time. It makes journey planning much easier, if nothing else. On the other hand, when no-one seems to pay any regard for anyone but themselves, it can make life harder for everyone else. On balance, I think waiting at the odd red light isn't that high a price to pay.
Being an expat is an unusual existence. I'm sure that a better preacher than I would be able to work it into a sermon on those lines in St John's gospel about being in the world but not of it. Also, having had to deal with someone else's approach to ordering society gives you an insight into the way your own society is ordered. I hope I may be more sympathetic to foreigners trying to come to grips with Scotland.
Some aspects of Dutch life offer lessons that we could learn in Scotland. I love, for example, the way that a bicycle is treated as a perfectly normal means of travel and facilities are provided for cyclists in decent numbers. Of course, Amsterdammers are liable to abuse the facilities, but the thought is there. I like the Dutch ability to be patriotic without going overboard. On high days and holy days a fair number of houses will sprout Dutch tricolours. One of those days is what they call dodenherdenking (remembering the war dead) when the flags will be at half mast and quite a reasonable proportion of the population will turn out at 8pm to observe silence. The next day, the flags will have gone up to the top of the pole as liberation and freedom are celebrated. Here's a photo taken out the front window of my flat as an example:
The whole country has currently painted itself orange in preparation for certain victory in the forthcoming world cup. I don't have much interest in football, but I will say that it's been nice to live in a country which occasionally wins a game. I wish the oranjes every success in South Africa – I have a little Dutch flag at the bottom of my luggage in case it should prove necessary to wave it....
Well, enough for now. Dinner on the boat was lovely and my little room is comfortable, but it's time to sleep now.
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