AMSTERDAM -1-

ARRIVAL

5.22.2012

First time I am traveling to a distant land with plans of full reliance on public transportation. I can't believe this kind of American spoiled-ness has taken over me. I just got out of the plane. I am going to take the metro into Central Station in Amsterdam to catch the trolley down to my B&B. Hmmm, it may not be as easy as I thought it would be. My thoughts take me back to 1996, I am in Central Station, but of a different city. Perhaps not quite different a city, what was once New Amsterdam, after all. Second time I am in the big apple, but first time I am totally on my own. I feel like a fish out of water. I am looking for a ticket booth to purchase a ticket to go to New Jersey. Alas, none around. I am surrounded on all sides with what looks like ATM machines with long ques. A place loaded with people with tense faces, who have no time to answer a question, let alone help with my task at hand. All in a rush. The intense loneliness one sometimes feels when surrounded by a crowd; I am feeling it all the way to my bones, this intensely for the first time in my life. I finally lock my looks into the eyes of a woman, who seems to have softer eyes; more likely to listen to me. And she does, oh my, at last, somebody does listen to my "excuse me." Whether she has time or not, she listens and, believe it or not, is willing to help, too. Crash course on how to use this mechanized ticket-delivery system. I am so grateful, so indebted. I hope my body language is more telling than what my words can convey. I guess it does, I still remember the warm, humble but big smile covering her face as she drifts away to her schedule I am sure is as full as anybody around. In the years to come that will take me to the big apple as a resident, every time somebody stops me at Central Station for directions, I will affectionately recall that chocolate face and the big smile. Whatever rush I may be in, I will stop and help and leave with as big a smile on my face as she did years back. 

Amsterdam airport is no different than the New Amsterdam Central Station when it comes to buying tickets. What is worse is that on top of everything else, all instructions are in Dutch. I should've studied Dutch a bit more before arriving here, shame on me. I look around trying to assess the ques. Here is a line that looks like consisting of a diverse bunch of international people. There is hope they may all be going to Central Station. I am all ears to catch a Turkish word or two. I know that Turkish minority is the second largest in Amsterdam. I may be lucky, and sure enough I am, too. The two young men just behind me arrived chatting in Turkish. What a gift! I join in the chat. They are much younger than I. They tell me they are both engineers, have been living in Rotterdam for 10-15 years now and they are buying their tickets to Rotterdam. They don't seem to love or hate living here. Subtle discrimination is everywhere I will discover in the coming days. Fortunately nowhere nearly as bad as in Germany. The young men are so helpful, not only they make the ticket purchasing as easy as it could be but also hold me almost by the hand and walk me to the top of the staircase that will take me to the metro. I remember how grateful I was in New Amsterdam. The same feeling must be reflected on my face again, we depart with mutual warm feelings and best wishes.

I head directly to the Information Center and get my weekly passes for transportation and the museums and a transportation map for Amsterdam. I am all set. I finally find the trolley stop to catch the trolley that will take me to my B&B. Easy eye contact with the middle-aged woman sitting on the bench next to me. Smiling and chatting follow all too naturally. She lives in Amsterdam, returning from Rotterdam visiting her daughter and babysitting for her granddaughter for the weekend. Human scenery is the same, be it in Turkey, USA, or Netherlands. Grandmothers are reborn in their task of taking care of grandchildren. To a certain extent, I recall a conversation with my daughter recently. I was so relieved when she declared in peace that she understood I wouldn't be the sole caretaker of her child(ren), but would be happy to give her and her partner respite every now and then or when needed. She understood my passion for people and places and travel. I always believed that she carried a good head over her shoulders and a sparkling heart in her chest. She proves me right at every turn.

I am now on the bus, that is traveling south through huge structures from sixteen, seventeen hundreds; churches, museums, government buildings, lakes, canals, quirky shops and cafes, and coffee-shops, on and on and on. Once we are out of the core canal system, the terrain is more modern, less crowded, occasional lively neighborhoods here and there. What is most striking is the number of bikers all over. They are the owners of the roads, vehicles must submit to them, pedestrians alike, I will learn in the next couple of days after surviving couple of near-hit-by-a-bike incidents. I feel embarrassed for not having mastered this skill sooner. I make a resolution: As soon as I return to Iowa City, I will work on becoming a competent biker followed with becoming a commuter biker. That will happen before the end of 2012, I resolve.

There are 350,000 bikers commuting every day in Amsterdam.

I have arrived at my destination, not the B&B, yet, but this is my bus-stop, according to instructions. People are very helpful, They direct me toward the section of the neighborhood, where I will find my B&B, located in a tall, thin old canal building. Of course, we are just a few yards from the Schinkel Canal. My friend Betul is waiting for me at the window sill. Windows are open, curtains are flying in the air, cool breeze turns out to be not so cool upstairs in our room beat up with the afternoon sun for hours now. The evening will bring the cool air we need. We are content, we fall asleep after some chatting with the anticipation of the breakfast time. I love breakfast time at B&Bs, connecting with the clients, but more so with the owners. I guess that is why I travel, to connect with places and people. Breakfast will be fun.