The diary of a Scot in Amsterdam

After another week of lectures, studio visits and presentations at the DAI we have been treated to a trip across the border to Antwerpen (same name without the “en” in English) in Belgium, which involved a visit to MuHKA (a contemporary art museum) on Friday afternoon, followed by a meal (complete with musical entertainment) and drinks. The college had arranged and paid for accommodation on Friday night along with return tickets to the Netherlands, and so we were free to do as we pleased on Saturday. Visited a few galleries and shops, ate pizza, then got home Saturday evening. A good wee trip, as it happened; would definately go again.

Our long-awaited delivery of Buckfast is finally with us. I got a call from the guy in the shop yesterday evening saying it had been sitting under the counter for the last few days, and so of course despite the January wind and rain this morning I hurried across town to pick it up. Didn’t fit in my bag or fietstas (cycle bag thingy), so I ended up cycling back through a minor storm with it balanced on the back, one arm steering and the other holding it in place. Back in one piece, though.

It didn’t really seem such a large box for €72, but its weight was reassuring enough. Let’s hope we can resist the temptation to drink it all at once.

A busy day. Had been at Laura’s mum’s house last night and up very late, then needed to be up earlyish today for meetings about our plans for a piece of public art, connected to our potential upcoming project in Beetsterzwaag (see earlier). I have been working on the idea of doing something around about the construction works on the Nord-Zuidlijn on the Vijzelstraat, but I’m still a bit vague. Not really able to articulate myself in the meeting very well and was quite annoyed about that.

Later on went out for dinner with Andy, Laura, Rick, etc. on account of Laura being 30 yesterday, and then for a few beers. Very nice, the problem is that I have decided this week to stop smoking, and tonight was the first time out on the town without a fag. It was quite tough, in fact, but I have managed to hold out. Fingers crossed I can keep it up.

I was out cycling this evening when a man called to me in English, as if he was going to ask the way somewhere. I certainly don’t have all the answers with regards to directions in this town yet, but I stopped anyway; I still like to pretend to myself that I do.

The man began to tell the story of how he had arrived here from Iraq, had subsequently been refused asylum in the Netherlands, and would have to leave the country within eight weeks. Further to this he added that he knew no-one in Amsterdam and had nothing to eat and no money, and was desparate for help in reaching a friend of his in Groningen.

All this time I had been torn between fear that all this was a ploy to capture me off my guard before pulling a knife on me, and obviously sympathy for his situation. I stammered awkwardly that I didn’t have any money, which was not true since there was €5 in my wallet, and that since I too was a foreigner there was little I could do to help. He asked where I was from, shook my hand, and his eyes took on a desperate sort of resigned look; I suppose in that sort of situation you’re never going to get your hopes up too much.

As I cycled off I felt of course like the biggest arsehole in the world, and however much I try to rationalise things the truth is that I did deal with the situation in a pretty cold-hearted sort of a way. I’ve never given people in money in that sort of situation because in the long run it ain’t going to change anyone’s lives and if you give to one it’s hard to know where to stop; this is the best way of reacting I can come up with to what is after all a depressing fact of life.

Why was I so cynical and incompassionate? Why was I afraid of this man? The worst is that my reaction was perfectly reasonable, and there was just as much chance as any other that things could have got nasty. But in the simpler and more likely truth the man had come all the way from Iraq and its unimaginable horrors to the cold shoulder of today’s Europe, a place where comfortable yet frightened westerners tired of the world’s ceaseless torrent of poverty and misfortune cannot help but shrug their shoulders, offer nothing but kind words, and turn the other way. What damned, hard creatures we are.

Look back through this blog and you will see that it is six months to the day since I arrived here. I suppose a year might be a better time to reflect on what has occurred, but I’ve nonetheless been thinking a lot about all the things that have happened so far.

As may be expected there have been some good things, some bad things, some extremely bad things which shall go unmentioned, and some completely unexpected things. Met some very nice people, drank too much and not worked hard enough, slept too late and stayed up too late, earned some money and spent it all too fast, paid off some debts and accumulated some new ones, became a wee bit better at speaking and understanding the language (though not as much as I might have hoped), and made some plans for the future, which may or may not work out. Let’s hope for more of the good things, less of the bad, and lots of the unexpected; that is, so long as it falls into the first of the previous two categories. A happy new year and good luck to everyone!

This has been, surprisingly enough, my first ever new year outside of Scotland. I’ve always made it back for Hogmanay, and truth be told I felt a little homesick.

After being at work all day I met up with Bani and Astrid and went home, where Tatia and her boyfriend (who have been staying with us while Julien is away) made us some food. There were plans afoot to go out for the bells, but in the end (mainly since it was raining) we ended up taking a toast on the balcony of our flat instead.

In an attempt at some culturial exchange I got everyone to sing “Auld Lang Syne” and do the little dance with arms crossed in a circle; no-one could really remember or pronounce the words but it didn’t mattter. It was a wee tiny bit of Scottishness in the middle of Holland!

As the clock struck midnight there was a sudden explosion of noise from the street as the local population simultaneously set off about a tonne of fireworks; apparently this happens every year. We took a walk down towards the Leidseplein, and I have to say that it was really quite a surprise to see Dutch people, who are in my experience usually quite reserved and faithful to the great burden of laws and safety regulations that exist here, go a bit mental and start setting off explosions in the street, on the pavements, at each other, and generally only avoiding horrific injury through a bit of luck and quick reactions. It was a pleasant sort of surprise, though. Even little kids were joining in!

Everywhere was completely packed and demanding an entry fee, so we ended up at a party on the Nassaukade at the house of a friend of Bani’s, where we stayed before wandering home at about 6.30am though empty streets. Fell asleep until after 2pm and didn’t leave the house for the rest of the day.