When we touched down in Amsterdam I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that I had almost made it. Much to my dismay, I hadn't. At the time I didn't realize my trip from the airport to my hostel would be much worse than the three flights.
I stepped off the plane and walked to the luggage area where my bags quickly came around the belt. I was relieved my luggage wasn't lost or damaged. Then exchanged US dollars to Euros and headed toward the symbol that looked like a train.
Mind you, I am still wearing the wool coat an untied shoes, but this time I picked up two over sized bags containing all my worldly possessions for the next five months. I have a very nice rolling suitcase with an awkward waterproof camping duffel bag stacked on top. These bags didn't get along so well. Every 50 to 100 meters I would have to stop and readjust something.
I finally purchased my train ticket and asked which train to take. The gentleman at the ticket booth told me I could take train number 1 or 2. Which came out as "Tram 1 da Tram 2, leaves in eight minutes." with a heavy accent. Confused as to which train I should take, I quickly ran down to loading area and awaited my train. Train 1 and train 2 boarded on separate sides of the station and, judging by the signs, it looked as if they went to two completely different places.
I hopped on train 2 because it was the first to arrive. Once on the train, I asked the man who checked my ticket "Sir, what stop do I get off?" and showed him my ticket. He simply held two fingers in the air and kept walking.
To make a long story short, I got off at the second stop and had to take two more trains to my final destination, Utrecht Centraal Station, where I could catch a bus to my hostel. I got on the correct bus and didn't pay (which I soon found out, could be a 45 Euro fine) but I didn't get caught. Thank goodness.
I got off the buss and walked a few hundred meters (I'm trying to get used to the whole metric system) in the wrong direction, of course, because I did the typical male "I can find it on my own". Soon after, I realized I couldn't, swallowed my pride and asked someone for directions. I am thankful that a large majority of Dutch can speak English.
Later on in the day I discovered that, if I would have jumped on train 1 instead of train 2, I could have had a direct ride to Utrecht Centraal Station... Regardless, I found my hostel and after 17 total hours of traveling was ready for a hot shower and a long nap.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
First day in Utrecht
Today started with a tiny bid of panic... After sleeping 4 out of the 9 hours on the international flight, we touched down in London at 10:13am local time. My next flight was from London international to Amsterdam which departed at 11:10am. Due to some sort of problem with the terminal, our plane didn't start unloading until 10:35.
On a side note, I was in the rear of a Boeing 777. Which meant there were plenty of people exiting the plane before me. Also, I was wearing a three quarter length wool coat with a dress shirt, blue jeans, and untied Reebok classics. I was carrying a 35 liter day pack along with a computer bag.
I didn't physically step off the plane until 10:43am. This allowed 27 minutes to find my terminal, gate, and flight before they stranded me high and dry (or standing on the ground). I was at a brisk walk from the gate to where I thought I needed to go and where I thought I needed to go really meant; I went the wrong way three or four times.
Soon after the mass confusion in the World's fourth busiest airport, I found my way to the correct terminal only to be stopped by a 20 person line for customs.
Those who don't know me, let me explain my perspiration habits. I sweat a lot. I'm not just saying that to sound funny, or make the situation sound worse. I really, really sweat a lot. I sweat when I walk. I sweat when I stand still. I sweat when I'm nervous, anxious, or simply excited.
So here I am, running through a very large airport, wearing heavy clothing, carrying too much to be comfortable. Then, coming to an abrupt halt at international security with roughly 15 minutes to catch my flight to Amsterdam.
Needless to say, I was a little nervous. Before I arrived at the scanner belt to load all my belongings, I had sweat through just about all of my clothing and was starting to feel a little woosey. Because; number 1. I thought I was going to miss my flight. Number 2. I hadn't eaten a good meal or drank a bottle of water in over 9 hours. And number 3. I didn't have a phone, nor anyone to call if I missed my flight.
Once through the checkpoint, I went the wrong way one more time and arrived at the appropriate gate at exactly 11:17am. MY FLIGHT WAS DELAYED 40 MINUTES AND WAS SCHEDULED TO LEAVE AT 11:50! I wasn't sure if I was over angered that I had to sprint through the airport or exuberantly happy that I didn't miss my flight. Regardless of what I felt at the time, I made it. In one piece and with all of my belongings.
The next step of the journey is another story to come...
On a side note, I was in the rear of a Boeing 777. Which meant there were plenty of people exiting the plane before me. Also, I was wearing a three quarter length wool coat with a dress shirt, blue jeans, and untied Reebok classics. I was carrying a 35 liter day pack along with a computer bag.
I didn't physically step off the plane until 10:43am. This allowed 27 minutes to find my terminal, gate, and flight before they stranded me high and dry (or standing on the ground). I was at a brisk walk from the gate to where I thought I needed to go and where I thought I needed to go really meant; I went the wrong way three or four times.
Soon after the mass confusion in the World's fourth busiest airport, I found my way to the correct terminal only to be stopped by a 20 person line for customs.
Those who don't know me, let me explain my perspiration habits. I sweat a lot. I'm not just saying that to sound funny, or make the situation sound worse. I really, really sweat a lot. I sweat when I walk. I sweat when I stand still. I sweat when I'm nervous, anxious, or simply excited.
So here I am, running through a very large airport, wearing heavy clothing, carrying too much to be comfortable. Then, coming to an abrupt halt at international security with roughly 15 minutes to catch my flight to Amsterdam.
Needless to say, I was a little nervous. Before I arrived at the scanner belt to load all my belongings, I had sweat through just about all of my clothing and was starting to feel a little woosey. Because; number 1. I thought I was going to miss my flight. Number 2. I hadn't eaten a good meal or drank a bottle of water in over 9 hours. And number 3. I didn't have a phone, nor anyone to call if I missed my flight.
Once through the checkpoint, I went the wrong way one more time and arrived at the appropriate gate at exactly 11:17am. MY FLIGHT WAS DELAYED 40 MINUTES AND WAS SCHEDULED TO LEAVE AT 11:50! I wasn't sure if I was over angered that I had to sprint through the airport or exuberantly happy that I didn't miss my flight. Regardless of what I felt at the time, I made it. In one piece and with all of my belongings.
The next step of the journey is another story to come...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
first day of travel
Today started somewhat slow but, like any day of traveling, got hectic in a hurry. I finished packing all my bags, double checked my flights, and made sure I had all forms of identification in a safe, easily accessible place. By this time I was informed we had to leave for the airport.
My mother and I, picked up some jimmy johns and took the short trip to AZO (Kalamazoo's airport). We sat and chatted for a few, mostly about how neither of us could believe I was leaving the country for five months, a joke or two to ease the tension, and some old memories.
When the time came, we said our goodbyes and took a few farewell photos. No tears were shed, there were no regrets, simply the mix of anxiety, excitement, and fear that both of us would soon be experiencing.
I walked into the terminal and saw my mother waving from the other side like I did on my first day of school. It dawned upon that this is really happening. I'm actually going to be a foreigner living in someone else's country, abiding by their rules. Whoa
My mother and I, picked up some jimmy johns and took the short trip to AZO (Kalamazoo's airport). We sat and chatted for a few, mostly about how neither of us could believe I was leaving the country for five months, a joke or two to ease the tension, and some old memories.
When the time came, we said our goodbyes and took a few farewell photos. No tears were shed, there were no regrets, simply the mix of anxiety, excitement, and fear that both of us would soon be experiencing.
I walked into the terminal and saw my mother waving from the other side like I did on my first day of school. It dawned upon that this is really happening. I'm actually going to be a foreigner living in someone else's country, abiding by their rules. Whoa
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