It’s eighteen years ago since I made the journey from England to the Netherlands to start a new life. That day, moving to the Netherlands, is still fresh in my mind, as if it was yesterday………
The clouds above the port of Hoek van Holland are brewing, changing tones of grey before my eyes.
What looked like ants scurrying in the distant just a few minutes ago metamorphose into dockworkers in orange fluorescent jackets scampering busily around the port.
The sun-faded oranges and reds of the shipping containers, emblazoned with white letters, lining the dock edge are the first things I see from my vantage point on the outside deck of the freight ferry.
Distant shouts in a foreign tongue echo and reach my ears, intermingled with the voice of a smoker announcing something in Dutch over the tannoy speakers.
“She says we can go back to the car,” explains my future husband, smiling down at me.
We join a pack of lorry drivers in their uniform of stretched jeans and checked shirts heading for the vehicle decks below. The noise of us jostling for room on the metal stairs echoes in my ears.
We are all eager to return to our cars and trucks to get the next stage of our journey underway and leave the confines of the ferry behind.
As we reach the car in the dimly lit car deck, my partner smiles as he peeks under the blue tarpaulin that is wrapped tight over the trailer. “It’s all still here; everything you own safe and sound on Dutch soil,” he announces.
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