The day began with me wishing we could stay in our junior suite forever, followed by the usual shower, then breakfast, then the horrid realisation that I’d had an allergic reaction to the shower gel. I was miserable.
So I itched (and scratched) as we were driven to Berlin Tegel airport, where mayhem and polizei greeted us.
The taxi driver was able to get us to Terminal D, where our KLM flight would be taking off from. We checked in and went through security, wondering what was going on – curiosity and anxiety peaked when evacuation orders came for Terminal B. Worried, I checked online (using Google Translate). Turns out someone had left their suitcase behind in Terminal B, sparking bomb concerns.
I once again had to remove the troublesome Uggboots for security. My shirt, which reads “I can’t adult today”, bemused one of the security guards who asked his colleague for a translation.
We boarded the plane on time (despite them moving the gate twice – we got there in the end) and all seemed well. But no – the number of people on the plane did not match how many had swiped their boarding passes.
So we sat there, bored, while they tried to figure it out.
Much to our confusion, the stewardess asked us all if we were going to Amsterdam. Yes? But two passengers were listening to their headphones instead…so it was a while before the mystery was solved.
Then it was discovered that these two passengers had scanned their tickets in a neighbouring queue before going down the wrong tube to the wrong plane. They should have been heading for Paris! I am not sure how they managed that – even though the gates and tubes were side by side, ours was beside the wall!
So, at last, 30 minutes late, we departed for Amsterdam.
The flight went well. Some snack food. And we only landed 15 minutes late! I always feel ill when pilots make up time on flights. This was no exception. Happily, everyone could make their connecting flights.
We found a taxi (after some confusion) and he was very chatty as well as aggressive on the roads – but he had to be. Cyclists seem to be the dominant species in Amsterdam. The road near our destination, however, was choked with pedestrians. Our agitated taxi driver took us as close as he could to our hotel (we later discovered a closer taxi rank), which left us slogging through the Saturday evening crowds, wielding suitcases instead of a more persuasive bumper.
Happily, we located our 3-star hotel easily enough (though my arm was sore from wrestling with 18kg of luggage). It’s not a terrible place to stay – unlike the streets outside, which assaulted me with noise, bodies and confusion.
We sought sanctuary from the rabble in an Argentinian BBQ joint. Seated by the front window, I felt safe and happy there, away from the chaos of Amsterdam. To me, it seems worse than New York City. Well, it is Saturday…and Amsterdam is quite popular for a weekend visit.
Many old couples and families came into the restaurant, seeking sanctuary along with us. I had duck, but it was so charred its provenance was unidentifiable.
Checked out the supermarket we found and then retired to our small room and its HDMI-capable television set.
Sailor Moon formed our entertainment and somehow I could not bring myself to write this entry on its appropriate day.
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