We set an alarm which neatly coincided with the early morning call to prayer to ensure that we were up. We checked out of the hotel which evidently required a lot of keyboard typing that went on for about five minutes. The inexplicable slowness would continue for the remainder of the morning. Our Uber driver managed to add over 15 minutes to a commute to the airport that had no traffic.
If you recall, we had uploaded all of our health attestations, covid tests, and vaccine records ahead of time which enabled us to use the “Verified to Fly” lines. This was crucial. The line for all the regular checkin lanes had hundreds of people and nearly went out the front door of the airport. We ended up being number ten in the queue for the “express” lines, though only two people were working the desks and we didn’t appear to be moving at all. It was about 45 minutes prior to departure when we finally got to a desk, and only because a worker asked if anyone was flying to Amsterdam.
Fortunately, customs simply required an automated gate with passport scan and we were through. We walked to the gate, and then boarded a bus, and finally our Etihad Boeing 787. The flight from Abu Dhabi to Amsterdam takes about seven hours. An hour into the flight, they served lunch. It was 9am in Abu Dhabi and 7am in Amsterdam. It was either chicken or pasta and was possibly one of the worst in flight meals we’ve ever had, giving United’s pancakes and omelette a run for their money. To be fair, eating chicken for breakfast isn’t super appealing under the best of circumstances. This was the only meal for the flight and we landed feeling quite hungry.
This will be our fourth or fifth time to Amsterdam, and our 900th time in its airport. People who are fortunate to travel may get there just once in their lives if at all, so the absurdity of our circumstances is not lost on us. We looked into other scenarios including Zurich, Brussels, or Milan, but Amsterdam always seems to win out on available seats. So here we find ourselves in Amsterdam . . .again. I keep track of all the flight routes that Nicole and I have done together and of all the airports in the entire world, we have done more flight routes in and out of Amsterdam than anywhere else except Los Angeles. That statistic is just . . .wild.
Each time we try and do something a little different to keep it fresh. We stay in new areas, walk around new neighborhoods, and try different places to eat. Yet, no matter how many times we are there, I seem to get bested by the rail and tram system. No matter where you want to go, all trains end up in Centraal station, and we seem to get dumped there even when we aren’t trying to. In an effort to avoid Centraal station again, we found a place in Amstelveen, just east of Schipol, where trains do not go…anymore. It used to be a train station, but has been converted into a B&B. We had to get an Uber, but I mentally prepared myself to end up at Centraal nonetheless.
Our place is loosely train-themed, but I don’t think they went far enough. Pictures of cabooses in the bathroom would have been a nice touch I think. We got the “Conductor” room, but I wasn’t given one of those fun hats upon checkin, and that’s just criminal.
With headaches and a dire need for fresh air, we set foot into Amstelveen. We walked around the neighborhood and ultimately ended up in Bloesempark, a forested area nearby.
It was certainly a different experience being out in Amstelveen than being in central Amsterdam. At one point we reached a pathway through the trees that looked like something out of a fairytale, but also a horror film. It was very dark and eerie looking, but at the same time quite pretty.
Nicole was getting quite hungry now having not consumed much of her pumpkin pasta on the Etihad flight. We went to a sort of casual pub place for some burgers and beer. Some very serious gentlemen came in to play pool. One brought his own cue stick. Serious stuff.
Finally we returned back to the train station turned bed and breakfast to attempt to warm up. It is quite strange that yesterday we were in the middle of a scorching desert and now we find ourselves sniffling in the cold. Travel is wacky, and so are seasons. Sometimes we Angelenos forget about such things. Tomorrow we are slated to fly to Newark with a decent chance at business class. Let’s hope they’re not serving pumpkin pasta. Thppbbt.
passports & pepto bismol 