Amsterdam, Day One

29 Sep 2024 

We arrived at Logan Airport, Terminal E, three hours before our scheduled flight to Amsterdam. I felt relaxed and prepared with my backpack and carry-on-sized bag. (We had bought one checked bag each, but I have a goal to pack only a carry-on and be able to lift it above my head as needed.) As we stood in line at the automatic kiosk, Jim said, I don’t have my passport. It was very difficult for me to relax at that point. He went to the counter, but the agent assured him he couldn’t check in without a passport. (Back in the 80s he once flew to Mexico knowing he didn't have his passport. I sent it to him for his return trip.) So we called a friend who agreed to drive to the airport: it’s about a 35-minute drive at 4:30 p.m. on a Saturday.

I had decided that if it she were late, I would go through security alone and get on the plane and wait for Jim at the hotel in Amsterdam. That wasn’t necessary. Our friend made an uneventful and efficient drive; Jim met her at the curb. At security there were four people ahead of us: I’ve never seen such a short line.

Shiphol Airport is huge. We walked and walked to get to the passport checkpoint, then walked even further to our baggage claim. Our two lonely bags waited for us there.

At the Victoria Hotel (my son Matt makes a game of noticing the names of his niblings (my grandkids) around the world. Victoria wins by far.) we were told, at 9:20 a.m., that our king room wasn’t ready but that one with two twins was immediately available. At first we declined, but when hearing that our original room might not be ready until 3 p.m., we rethought it and took the twin room. It was definitely worth it to be able to lie down before 3 p.m. We didn't nap long enough to disturb our night sleep.

In the afternoon we walked south (our hotel was across the street from Centraal Station) to explore. We saw canals and tall Dutch gabled houses and lots of people and bicycles, in motion and parked. Our van driver had warned us of the bike paths, but Jim still stepped into one. The next day on our walking tour a man stepped into an active tram track, which was a closer call. Bicycles, along with large, sleek trams, and pedestrians share space in close quarters. The bike paths look like brick sidewalks, so every time I turned a corner I had to study the road carefully. A tour guide told me the bikes are much more dangerous than the cars: cars will stop for you: the bikes never do. "They think they own the road," she said. I came to dread the little tinkle of a bike bell. The tram tracks present their own challenge. They are recessed, so not a tripping hazard, but they don't stand out. There are no warning yellow lines or curbs.

In Spui Square we found the Athenaeum, a large bookstore: Jim’s shopping drug of choice. Roald Dahl and The Neverending Story were in the Dutch juvenile section (I could tell by the illustrations of the BFG and the Auryn). We then had a lovely supper at an Italian Trattoria next door. I’m still on the lookout for some traditional raw haring (herring). I’ve read that the best, Hollandse Nieuwe, is caught between mid-May and the end of June. Didn’t quite make that deadline.

Since it was Sunday and our Arlington Ward doesn’t meet until 2 p.m. Eastern Time, we were able to see sacrament meeting on Zoom. I kept dozing off, but I tried.

And then to sleep!