Day 15: AMS-LCY

Woke early again. The neighbours were a little noisy last night, but they quietened down after midnight. Breakfast was ready when we went down. Again, I availed myself of the sprinkles and bread. Then it was time to go.

We waved off the front desk’s offer to get a taxi (apparently they can make it up the street) and instead made for the taxi rank. A good choice – vans were unloading in the street, thus blocking any taxi that would have tried to go to the hotel. The drive wasn’t too bad, even in peak, and we were at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol super early.

Check in went well. Bag drop went well. Boarding passes let us into the security area. All kept going well.

Then disaster struck.

We bookended a seething queue of people, a mob that seemed to stretch into infinity. My anxiety began to gnaw at me. The pain in my shoulders and back from my heavy bag compounded the problem.

I squirmed, unhappy, miserable, unable to break out of my exponential panic. We were never going to get out! The people were pressing in around me! We merged with yet another queue, then finally we go through security. A woman gave me a pat-down, which sparked my dislike of being touched.

A whole hour had passed since we’d joined the queue. And now it was time for passport control. Ugh – none of the chip-reading gates were open, so hundreds of people from multiple outgoing flights were squished through a handful of staffed gates. We got into the fast-moving EU queue (British passports at the ready) and watched many people get turned away from the “premium” queue before they desperately joined our queue instead – I’m sure some people missed their flights!

I started having the stirrings of an anxiety attack. I must have looked awful because a security guard came over to ask if I was okay!

Finally, we made it out, with much less time to kill than usual. But I still had an hour to drink a hot chocolate and eat something sweet. I’m glad we always arrive at airports 3 hours before our international flights, even in Europe. What a disaster that could have been.

The flight to London City Airport was as packed as the Heathrow one. I couldn’t fit any of my hand luggage overhead due to too many people bringing on those bulky mini suitcases. Squished all my stuff under the seat in front of me.

Though we left late, we landed a whole minute early – which made it feel like we’d never left Schiphol, because London is one hour behind Amsterdam and the flight time is less than 60 minutes!

We escaped with our suitcases to the car rental place, where it take agggges for them to release a car to us (they had a newbie on the front desk who looked like he had no idea what he was doing). I’m glad we booked ahead – a group of men beside me, who’d only booked that morning, wanted a small car and ended up with a minibus!

The woman overseeing the newbie was concerned that we had a lot of luggage, but we wanted a small car (and managed to fit everything) to get through tiny country lanes.

After some mishaps (the GPS was stuck in French and I didn’t know where the parking brake was), we got on our way, hoping to go around the city.

Our Troll GPS had other ideas.

It started okay. But then I looked out the left window and saw the Tower of London!?! Oh shit! We got tangled in the streets of downtown London and the GPS tried to make us drive down The Mall, even though it was closed. Mayhem!

Somehow we ended up free in Hammersmith. I worried about the congestion tax, but later discovered that it’s a bank holiday, so no tax was required (and that’s why The Mall was shut!).

Whew.

We recovered in a Services on the road to Salisbury. It looked very familiar – I realised I’d been there 4 years ago on a tour to Stonehenge.

And I saw Stonehenge again.

It looks oddly small as you drive past it, though the stones are actually quite large in person. I was reminded of my trip in 2013 and smiled. I am so fond of those times Cazy and I shared together.

A huge traffic jam was outside the Neolithic monument (coming from our direction), but it was not there because people wanted to see Stonehenge. No, it was the end of a long weekend and everyone was queueing to go home.

Troll GPS returned to take us down questionable B roads. We came across families with prams and they crossly told me to slow down – I was bemused to see them in the middle of nowhere. I’d rather people didn’t cover an entire road when they’re walking in a pack, since there would have been ample room for the car if they’d kept to the sides. It wasn’t my intention to annoy folk; I had kept to the signposted speed until they appeared.

The GPS then nearly killed us on a route that took us across the A road we needed. I was honked, narrowly avoiding disaster, but how could I have seen any cars coming around that blind turn? Ugh. Driving in England is…harrowing, to say the least.

But at last we came to Lyme Regis. Yay for narrow lanes that induce heart attacks!

Having just read on the plane the bit were Jane Austen’s characters in Persuasion enter Lyme (the Regis came later), I felt like I was walking – er, driving – in the footsteps of fiction and history.

Picked up the rental keys and fumbled our way to Coram Tower, a historic building with a fucktonne of stairs. Why oh why did I rent the apartment with a view? In such an old building, no less!?

Coram Tower - starring STAIRS

A trip to Tesco revealed the bank holiday that had been chasing us from London. The shelves were a bit bare (the Tesco will be closed tomorrow in lieu of today – we were grateful!) but we managed to get what we needed, including toilet paper!

Then we settled in for the night, watching Top Gear on BBC iPlayer (this place has a TV, so we assume it has a TV licence!). The apartment is quite draughty, owing to gaps between the glass windows and the stone sills, but radiators help with that.

Not a bad place to stay.

Day 14 - Amsterdam

Woke at 7am, having actually had a good night’s sleep, despite our hotel being inside the Red Light District (our room’s position on the third floor may be what’s keeping the sound out), we got up and got ready for the day’s events.

We had to wait downstairs for a few minutes before the buffet opened at 8am and amused ourselves by examining the wall in the foyer, which was decorated with fake books (barely an inch long) on fake shelves – one of the fake books was even loose.

I was delighted to discover that in the Netherlands it’s perfectly acceptable to spread sprinkles on your bread of a morning – in fact, they even sell portion-sized packs! It was one of these that I used on my breakfast, as well as a hot chocolate from a machine. A pretty decent spread for 8 euro each! And now I’m wondering if Australia’s fairy bread tradition harks back to immigrants from Holland.

Then it was time to find our way to the Anne Frank House. We arrived by the same roads that the Nazis paraded down when the Netherlands capitulated (they had decided to remain neutral at first, hoping this would save them from Hitler – it didn’t).

Daylight District

It was cold in the shade and there I was in one jumper, trying not to shiver. We were too early for our 9:15am slot. We watched many people get turned away and told to try again at 3:30pm, when online ticketing gives way to walk-ins. Waiting there, I could see nearby buildings that Anne Frank saw, heard the church bell that she had heard (well, not the exact same one, since the original was melted down in WWII for the war effort).

The time came to go inside. We were once again delayed, however, by the four women in front of us who needed their tickets sorted out – they had only printed one ticket instead of all four. They were pulled out of the line so we were able to move again.

As I entered through the secret door (behind a reconstructed bookcase) and began to ascend the steep stairs, I was confronted with questions – did Anne feel similarly challenged by this space the first time she saw it? Did her knees hit each step as she climbed the stairs?

The house was packed, but I enjoyed seeing the rooms mentioned in Anne Frank’s diary, including where she slept and wrote her pages. What a small, cramped and dingy place that formed her retreat, but brought to life by the “movie stars” she stuck on the wall.

It was fascinating, matching the other rooms to my memories of the book, recently read. I treated it a bit like a puzzle. But then I saw a photo of Otto Frank (Anne’s father and the only one of eight fugitives to survive), standing at the secret annex by himself in 1960. Alone.

I bought some items in the gift shop and walked outside, fighting tears.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” I said, clutching The Husband.

I always hope that the ending to Anne’s story changes.

But it doesn’t.

Back to the hotel, then we were fortunate to almost immediately board a canal tour near Amsterdam Centraal station (which, according to recorded voices in 4 languages, was built in the 19^th century on a manmade island).

We bought water from a vendor and just generally enjoyed the ride on both rivers that had been altered into canals. I had a great seat, one with a moveable window, so I took many snaps outside, though we were on the opposite side to the Anne Frank House.

Earlier, on our way to the Anne Frank House, we had seen removalists using a ladder-esque motorised platform to move someone out of their apartment. Then we noticed hooks set into the top of each narrow, listing house and thought rope must run through the hooks to help unload/load when the stairs won’t take your furniture – the audio tour confirmed our theory.

Land was in very short supply here in the 17^th century onwards, so that is why the houses are so tall and teetering. We saw a house that was less than 2 metres wide – and parts of the original medieval fortifications.

A typical Amsterdam view

The city wall is gone, now replaced by those tall houses, but it once ran along the opposite side of the canal, performing the purpose of a moat. Some towers remain, such as the one called “Crazy Jack” (18^th century additions included extra levels and a clock, which always ran on a crazy time), but they look odd and out of place.

We returned to the square where we’d set off from and acquired food. Well, first I had a chocolate-smothered waffle, which I ate while grinning at a cat (I’d seen it roaming the street yesterday). It was curled up and sleeping in an adult shop window, surrounded by vibrators.

Lunch (proper lunch!) was found at an Asian “pick your own noodles, extras and sauce” place. Pretty good food, giant portion sizes.

We walked down to Crazy Jack to get better photos of it and discussed whether or not the old wall would have kept the Nazis at bay. In the end, we decided no, because walls were old technology – and tanks would have made short work of them.

Back to the hotel.

Day 13 - TXL-AMS

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.

Bored, I Instragrammed last night's tea

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.