Christmas in Holland

I had a long layover in Amsterdam on my trip, from 8:00 AM to 2:00 PM. Six hours seemed like a long time to sit in the airport with jetlag, so I decided I would surprise my friend, Nelly, and her family in Rotterdam. I was hoping they would be home on Christmas day, but didn’t want to ruin the surprise to check.

It was 25F (about -10C) when I left Medford, so I was dressed in Jeans, a tanktop (for Ghana) under a sweater, and a down vest, with running shoes. It is often rainy in Holland in winter, but snow seemed less likely. At 7:50 AM local time, I arrived in Amsterdam a few minutes early and looked out the window. There were 2-3” of snow on the ground. That’s OK, I told myself. From the end of the tram to Nelly’s house is only 2 blocks. So I put my carry-on luggage in a locker at the entrance to my departure gate’s concourse. Then, I cleared Customs with nothing but my purse, my passport, and a box of See’s candy.

I went directly to the train platform to discover a train would be leaving for Rotterdam in about 5 minutes. Excitedly, I hurried to the ticket machine to purchase my round trip ticket, only to have it refuse to accept my Visa. I looked frantically from the clock to the airport baggage claim area, scanning for an ATM. Nothing in sight.

At 8:54, in a split second decision, I decided I would get on the train and figure something out with the conductor who came to collect tickets. I took a seat on the upper level – very nice trains, even in second class – thrilled to be on my way to a brilliant surprise. I waited and waited for the conductor to come and ask for my ticket, planning my explanation – it’s Christmas, I want to surprise my friends, I don’t have any Euros (I even left my travel portfolio which contained my US dollars in the locker), my credit card would not work in the ticket machine, there was no ATM nearby, it’s Christmas, did I mention that…

No one ever came to collect a ticket, but my planning came in handy on the next leg. Again at the central train station in Rotterdam, I looked about for an ATM, but the station is undergoing construction and there were barriers and detours everywhere. I didn’t see an ATM and time was ticking – 6 hours total layover – currently 10:00 and 4 hours remaining. I went to the tram stop and the #25 tram to Schiebrock came in about 10 minutes. I knew from previous visits that I needed to take it to the end of the line, to the stop in Schiebrock just before it turned to go around the block and return to central station.

Every tram, it seems, has an attendant to sell tickets and ensure everyone validates their ticket – in a timeclock-like machine just inside each door. I went directly to the attendant and began my tale. He was very nice and asked how far I was going. I told him I was going all the way to the end, which is a couple of zones, I think and should have cost me two or three punches on a trip strip, which is about 1.80 Euros or something. He was amused by my silly story and said I could ride. So I sat and watched the city go by, getting more excited by the minute.

Every stop was announced by an automated computer voice and I waited anxiously for mine. After 10 minutes or so, I heard “blah blah blah Schiebrock”. Bless the Dutch, who have done an excellent job learning English, but my Dutch is non-existent. To me, it sounded like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons. But it said the magic word, “Schiebrock”, so I jumped up and went to the door to wait for the tram to stop. I glanced back at the attendant to wave and smile in a “thanks, you’ve made my day” sort of way, then stepped off the tram in a neighborhood that did not look at all familiar.

Having had a lot of time to ponder the entire adventure, I have decided that the automated voice was, in fact, announcing that this was the Schiebrock line, for the benefit of passengers who had just boarded the tram and not announcing the Schiebrock stop (ah, hindsight). I looked at the map in the tram-stop shelter and decided, optimistically, that there must be two stops in Schiebrock and that this must be the first and I was supposed to go to the second. I kicked myself and calculated how much time I would lose by walking the rest of the way. I met a man on the street walking his dog and asked him if he knew the street. He said it wasn’t nearby but he pointed in the direction the tram had gone and said it was about a quarter of an hour walk. Since the trams are about 25 minutes apart, it seemed I would arrive sooner by walking – and walking seemed a better alternative to standing, as it was near freezing. However, it had begun to rain and the snow was rapidly turning to slush.

I walked for the requisite quarter of an hour... or more, until I came to the next tram stop, around 10:45, and on I went, thinking it couldn’t be far. I was becoming wet and miserable. Finally rounding a corner just past the tram stop I saw a man shoveling his driveway. I stopped and asked him if he knew the street. He also had not heard of it. This should have been a clue since the street I was seeking is quite long. I told him it was at the last tram stop in Schiebrock. He looked at me skeptically – or perhaps like he thought I was crazy – and said it would take three quarters of an hour to walk to the last tram stop. Inside my head I was thinking, it’s Christmas, I’m soaked and middle-aged and harmless. Surely he’ll offer me a ride. I know that a good deed loses some of its satisfaction when you ask for it – or hope for it – but I couldn’t help it, I was frozen, my hair was dripping, my shoes and socks were sodden, and my jeans were soaked up to the knee. It really is impossible to tell how deep a puddle is when crossing a street.

Alas, the man went back to shoveling and I turned to go back to the tram stop I had just passed and catch the next tram, which I posited, should be arriving any moment. And it did! While I was still ½ a block away, I saw the tram approaching. I began to run, waving frantically, and searched for an opening in the chainlink fence, that would allow me to reach the tram stop. Running in snow is difficult enough, but trying to cross a slushy street, while running, yelling, and waving a hand and a box of candy becomes rather comical if you look at it in the right way. As the tram pulled away from the stop without me, I was not looking at it in the right way.

I arrived on the other side of the street, watched the tram disappear, then bent over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath and cried. My surprise was a bust. It was 11:00 – my layover was ½ over and I reckoned I needed to be back at the airport by 1:00, to clear immigration and security, collect my luggage and go to my gate. The next tram would be 25 minutes plus another 15 to get to Schiebrock, then 5 minutes to walk to the house, making it nearly noon. At that point, I would say hello and have to turn around. Worse, I was afraid Harman or Nelly would insist on driving me back to the station, which defeats the purpose of the surprise, by actually imposing on a family’s Christmas morning, rather than adding a bit of cheer.

So, I crossed the tracks to the opposite tram stop, going back toward the city center. This time, upon reaching the central station in Rotterdam, I did find the ATM and actually purchased a ticket to the airport, even though I think trains should be free on Christmas - just sayin’.
XO