September 22: Flying To Amsterdam

(this is being written a few days after the fact, as I've been severely jet lagged and such).

For about a month before I left I was constantly asked a variant of: how do you feel about travelling? are you nervous? are you excited?

My answer was always the same: "I don't know. It hasn't really hit me yet."

Well, I can pretty much pinpoint the moment when it hit me. I was sitting in the waiting area at the Calgary airport, after having been dropped off by friends, when I was suddenly aware of a nauseous feeling. To feel this way is rare for me; I can't remember the last time I threw up from sickness. (You may notice how I've phrased that sentence carefully). I didn't vomit, but it was an uneasy state to be in. After a slight delay, I picked up my duty-free items and we boarded.

The plane was small by international standards, but much bigger than any of the puddle-jumping Westjet planes I'd been on in the past few years. My seat was not roomy, but, incredibly, it was a) a window seat, and b) a window seat that had a view other than the wing. The wing was still in sight, but I could actually see the ground! Up to this point I was convinced I had an aviation-seating curse over me.

It was as the plane was taxiing to take off that I realized something else: I was about leave Canada for a long time. This bothered me more than I was expecting. I guess I've grown attached to our little country. So, watching as the plane lifted off, I can also pinpoint the moment where I left Canadian soil. It was a time of mixed emotion. But this line of thought was quickly replaced by the somewhat alarming observation that the wing seemed to be wobbling more than I thought it should be. Maybe choosing the cheapest airfare wasn't such a good idea?

The flight, needless to say, made it safely.

The flightpath took us over Northern Manitoba, Hudson Bay, Baffin Island, the Southern tip of Greenland, Iceland, and then over the Northern parts of the British isles. The cloud cover only broke as we were about an hour away from Amsterdam, but I was watching as we first passed over the coastline of Europe.

From the air, the difference between Canada and Holland is noticeable immediately. The first thing I noticed, and I say this with a rather negaitve connotation, is the artifical landscaping. While one could say the small patches of farmland separated by canals looks "quaint", I was struck by how unnatural it all seemed. All the waterways, whether small irrigation ditches or large shipgoing canals, have straight, manmade edges, as if carved by a jigsaw. After being used to so much wildnerness in Canada, I found it a bit ugly.

The other thing that leaps out right away is the number of railways. They're everywhere! I saw an equal number of rail lines as I did highways. I knew that Europe was big on rail but I underestimated the extent. The population density was also much higher and, this sounds a tad strange, the buildings were longer.

Over the past few years I've been to almost every major airport in Canada (Ottawa and Montreal are the only two big exceptions). Schiphol airport dwarfs them all.

Let me put it this way: you know how when you approach a city you can see the downtown skycrapers faintly in the distance? Well, and I'm only exaggerating a bit, that's how the control tower looked from the runway when we landed. We crossed over a busy highway as we taxiied towards the airport.

I can't even tell you what a relief it was to walk in and see the first sign all in English. Even the advertisements were in English! It makes it quite easy to navigate airports when your language is the international standard.

Customs was almost an afterthought. I stood in line for a while and got stamped after uttering two sentences.

Holland!

It was now about 6:00 in the evening. The public area of the airport contained a much higher proportion of Dutch, but English was still common. My first task was to phone my family, and then to buy a train ticket to the town outside Amsterdam where they lived.

After a bit of effort I was able to figure out how to operate the phone. For the train ticket, the most prevalent purchasing method is by automatic teller (like most movie theatres have now). I swiped my Mastercard to pay for it, and it asked me for a PIN. Come again? I wondered briefly if the machine thought it was debit, but no, I had hit a specific Mastercard sign.

Okay, so in Europe you need a PIN number for your credit card. (Afterwards I told this to the mother, and she says "Oh yeah, I meant to tell you about that.")

I ended up going to the ticket counter where you can just pay in cash. I was informed of which platform to go to, and I headed off awkwardly with my two suitcases, backpack, and laptop carrying bag. The train platforms are underneath the airport, and for each platform you have to take a particular escalator.

It was exciting waiting for the train. I've always wanted to travel by train; it's obviously not much of an option in Canada. The following pictures were taken by me in transit, going to my new home (and getting amused stares from the other passengers as I leaned out the window, snapping away).






I was picked up from the station by the father of the family I would be staying with. It was about 8:30 and now completely dark. We drove through impossibly narrow streets and finally ended up at the house.

I had a hot meal of chicken and potatoes waiting for me, which after a day of travelling was, and I use this word with full meaning, heavenly. I met the family briefly, was introduced to the house briefly, and by this time was teetering from tiredness.


I collapsed into bed around 10:00. It would not be a relaxing sleep, and I was not yet aware of the damage this trip was about to inflict on my biological clock.