The notetaker

On a rainy January evening, in the loquacious company of a Finn and a Czech, I am preparing to attend my first informal meeting of the Council of Ministers of the EU on digital stuff. Just my cup of tea, but with a twist. I am going to be... THE NOTETAKER.

Admitted everywhere, talking to everyone, unstoppable. The notetaker is the new power role in modern policy making.

Boat trip to the venue, futuristic videos, live music, geese from Schiphol airport to eat, the King's brother as host, entrepreneurs from small startups (like Uber Estonia or booking.com) giving speeches. All duly recorded. Ready for duly reporting.

Happily, January rainy night gives the stage to January sunny blue day and The Notetaker can therefore even take pictures. In fact, the Notetaker quite likes Amsterdam and would not mind spending a few extra days there.

Koningsdag on the Amstel

There are several eccentric things one can do in her life.

Visiting the Roman museum in Dublin; trying to go clubbing in sleepy Bonn on a weekday; looking for a slice of pizza in Casablanca; go walking along traffic-jammed Rue the la Loi to get the feeling of Brussels; bringing your hairdrier at the Ngoro Ngoro campground; paying a Bedouin with credit card in the desert around Petra.

But age brings the wisdom - or mainstream-ness - and one may happen to end up doing also normal stuff, such as going back to Holland on the most Dutch of the days, Koningsdag, riding a bike for 20 km along the Amstel, finishing with a picture of a windmill and a slice of appelgebak.

And yet, why  would one be too normal or too obvious. Why not getting a fine for speeding (by some extra 9 km) on an empty 5 lane-highway where the silly speed limit is set at 100 as a compromise with the environmentalist party?

Flat lands

A beautiful sunrise welcoming me back from Asia, a small plane waiting to take me home, a clear morning offering a great view above the low lands and over the Maas flowing into the North Sea.

The airport security checks were also pretty successful: a dangerous half litre milk pack and a certainly evil facial moisturizer seized with gusto by the acute staff.

"Do not worry, you are back to Europe" said the guy at Amsterdam passport control looking at my broken passport. And I find myself wondering about how long this will still hold true. How long before an Italian will become a stranger needing admission to a EU country?