Week 01

April 10 - Amsterdam







 

Tired upon arrival at Schiphol

From the airport we were shuttled off to our hotel. The friendly driver was full of good advice as we drove the very short distance to our hotel. Now a few things need to be said about the hotel.

The hotel was from the NH chain. As we discussed our trip with firends, they joked, "Oh, yes! The "No Hope" hotels." We had booked the NH Schiphol Airport, in Hoofddorp.

On their website, they fancy themselves a 4-Star hotel. TripAdvisor gives them a rating of 3.5 out of 5. Too generous we reckon. We'd rate this hotel at 2.5. However, it must be said, quality of hotel and service aside, the hotel does have the benefit of being close to the airport.

Throughout the night of April 9-10, we both found it hard to shake the nine hour time difference and fall asleep. Around 11:30 I decided to get in some internet time in the hotel lobby. Upon checking my email, I was shocked by one bit of news. I spent about sixty minutes trying to resolve this issue, with partial success.

This makes for a fairly humorous story.  But not now. More on that later. Suffice to say, Hanne and I vaccilated between laughing and pulling our hair out.

Between tossing and turning, Hanne making tea, and then coffee, I finally got up and showered at about six. At that time, pulling back the curtain revealed a wet, windy, no, make that stormy morn.

Against my usual nature (extreme opposition to commiting to things that reduce future options) I had agreed that we'd buy tickets to the tulip displays at Keukenhof. The early weather did not look promising for a day to be spent wandering around tulip fields. Atlantic and/or North Sea weathers systems did everything to dispel any notions we might have had that Spring had arrived.


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The dilemma we faced was defined by the fact that I'm frugal. OK, cheap. Under normal circumstances, the Keukenhof expedition would have been called off due to inclement weather.  But how could we cancel? Did we not have money sunk into our combined bus and entry fees?

There was nothing to do but go. The bus departed from Schiphol, so we took the hotel shuttle back to the airport. What with the airport also containing a train station - trein as the Dutch say - we got to know Schiphol well.

We hadn't had breakfast yet, so we hoped to find someplace to eat at the airport. Ideally, we wanted something Dutch. What we got was Burger King, Starbucks,  and sundry other decidedly nonDutch eateries.

We opted for Starbucks.  Coffee and apple cake. We noted, not for the first nor last time that Amsterdam - not just the airport - operates en Anglais. The Starbucks menuboard was one hundred percent English. The service personnel begin the conversation in English. Bloody amazing!

The coffee was Starbucks, but the apple cake was, as we were to discover later, pure Holland. And, delicious.

It's clear that,  to the modern traveler, Wi-Fi access is almost essential.  Hats off to Starbucks and McDonald's for filling a void regrettably left by hotels unclear on their client's needs.

So, while sipping coffee and nibbling apple cake, we were able to chat - real time - with Barb. We checked our emails and then decided to use the time we had before the bus to Keukenhof, to see if could get our car rental paperwork out of the way before we checked out our rental the next day.

No such luck! Apparently the computer system can't handle things are fall outside the norm. Our request apparently did just that.  Not to worry, we'd just do it the "normal " way one day later.

Before I get back to our expedition to Keukenhof's tulips, allow me a few observations pertaining to cultural differences.  The car rental companies,  more or less in the same area have been assigned a number of seats - I'm guessing about 50 - for their waiting clients.  When we got there, Hanne could not find a single seat because they were all occupied by Chinese travellers and, most annoyingly,  their luggage.  Oh, and did I mention that not one of them - not a single one - was remotely interested in renting a car.  How thick does one have to be, not to see this behavior as rude and inappropriate? Does it become a cultural indictment if/when everyone in a group engages in the same behavior? As a group they ignored the inconvenience they were causing others. What conclusions can we draw?

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With breakfast and our Hertz business attended to, we lined up with a few others to await the Keukenhof bus. The rainy winds had not abated. We speculated that we and this handful of fellow travellers would be the sole visitors the tulips would have on this grey Tuesday. 

The bus arrived a few minutes late. Interestingly, everyone had been queuing, English-style, until the bus maneuvered alongside the curb. Suddenly a few people lurched foward, upsetting the natural, democratic order defined by the queue.  What makes people think they can queue jump with impunity?

Welcoming sight at Keukenhof

Having experienced this all too often in the past, my prejudices clicked in. "Krauts? " I asked. But seconds later, when one of the queue - jumpers exhorted the other to push ahead more agressively, my prejudices  were confirmed.  Krauts!  C'mon people, you are not more important or worthy of getting on the bus before others who have actually waited longer.

I have to say, the pushiness is an observable German trait. We could spend all sorts of time analyzing it. Schlechte Zeiten perhaps. East Germans having to wait unconscionable lengths of time for basic items. Whatever it is, forget the rationalizing analyses, it's just plain rude. Stop it!






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We arrived at Karin and Herbert's place, yesterday, around 2ish. A moment of panic when the ring of the doorbell failed to rouse the inhabitants.  A second attempt yielded some stirring from inside Lupinenstrasse 54. The door was opened by a bleary-eyed, sleepy Karin. She did a double-triple take and blurted out the inevitable, "Mann, dass kann boch nicht angehen!" After a few hearty hugs, Karin lead us to the living room where Herbie struggled up from his afternoon nap.

It was great to be able to resume conversations as though forty years had not passed since we first arrived in Bremen to take up teaching here.

After chatting about this, that, and the other, we opted for a walk to Blockland before supper. One thing that had not changed in forty years.




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