Two slips of paper flutter to the floor of the tram, jam packed with Amsterdamers heading home after work. Without delay, at least two riders have pointed it out, politely tapping on my wife’s elbow, informing her in Dutch.
Welcome to Amsterdam. It would happen twice more, as we juggled cameras and scarves, tickets and tram passes, the kindness of strangers saved us from losing something we’d dropped. Often, I watched multiple passengers quickly offer help—to the old, to mothers with bulky strollers—in a way that seemed natural and routine. Only once did I see slight annoyance, when a crew of mothers and strollers had blocked access to standing room further up the tram.
Visiting the city of Amsterdam fills the senses with delightful sights and sounds and, best of all, introduces one to a uniquely public-oriented citizenry, people who do many things that make city living more tolerable for all.
Despite being built on sand, the city has an underground metro line, along with extensive tram lines that make getting around easy. Visitors may buy an hourly pass, available in one day increments (24, 36 hours and so on), to match the duration of a stay. At seven Euros per 24 hour period, the radio frequency pass is a bargain.
And, that flexibility in the passes (unlike, say, Paris, where you need to commit to a weekly pass at minimum) typifies the attitude of Amsterdamers—practical minded and tolerant yet still friendly towards the hordes of tourists in their midst. Which brings me to something rare and wonderful about Amsterdamers: their bicycles.
I heard the ring of bicycle bells often, many times because I had again blundered on to a bicycle pathway, which is very often wider than the sidewalk. In Amsterdam, the bicycle has the right of way. It fits with the prevailing attitude: clearly, bikes are the fastest, most ecological and healthiest way to get around, so they take priority.
The bikes are everywhere. Every street has bunches of leaning bikes, mostly black, single speed and basic. Our Amsterdam tour guide told us most local people own two bikes: one for everyday use left locked out front of the apartment and the other for the weekend, when riding into the countryside is easy, especially since bikes are allowed on the metro (with handy hooks for stability and tire guideways that make stair bumps obsolete).
The biking scene seems fantastical to someone from Vancouver (and not only because there are no hills to climb in Amsterdam!). No one wears a helmet, adults nor children. Yet everyone rides— white haired grandmothers, guys in suits, women in mini skirts and heels—and parents carry children on special bikes with wheelbarrow-like carriers on front. Often, I saw two children strapped in and enjoying the ride and wondered to myself if we were in Vancouver whether the mom would be arrested for endangering her children!
The highlights of my experience of these civic-minded citizens of Amsterdam came when I heard about the Second World War on my tour and on a subsequent visit to the Anne Frank House.
Joe, our capable guide, had majored in history and ended his tour in front of a house where a Jewish man had been sheltered, successfully, for four years. Thousands of Jews were saved by fellow citizens, who thought of them as Amsterdamers first. Joe told us of the uprising, the only one in any European city already occupied by the advancing Germans, that took place over two days in June 1941. Amsterdamers wanted to let it be known that they supported the Jews and objected to their treatment in the city.
The results were predictable: the Germans separated women from the men and then executed the women, publically. Amsterdam paid a heavy price for its resistence.
After I heard this story, I knew I had to visit Anne Frank House. There, we wandered through the rooms (emptied of goods to respect her father’s wishes) and watched various video installations that explained the history that led to Anne and her family hiding there for over two years.
It was when I heard Miep Gies that I fully understood Amsterdam and her people. She related the tale of her employer coming to ask her if she could help the Franks (and others) by obtaining food for them using counterfeit ration cards (an act that could have lead to her execution).
Her answer, given without hesitation? “Of course I will.”
—748 words
3 comments:
Though I hate travelling by flight, the other scale of being at “far away” place always overweighs.
All the Airports (based on my experience) have been designed to provide flights only at night time. With a great respect to the people who provide air service, a factor of “deadly killing” time always accompany me. My last trip to Mexico in March was not an exception: 5 am flight, coming to the airport three hours prior, a taxi driver who seems to do his “last shift order”, and a small girl quietly sleeping on papa’s hands in the line for the flight registration. How much I would wish to escape from this world for another six hours duration flight!
Earlier or later, dreams become true; I am at Cancun!
Fresh-warm sea air awaking my mind and I manageably put my luggage in a line created by other travelers around the bus which takes us to the hotel.
So sharp feeling to stay along: just me and the sea! “We are so glad to see you here,” says the guide, “Be careful with money, use in the hotel room safe box”. All his words are circling somewhere around, just slightly touching the brain. I am already at the shore, still being in the bus.
“Such a beautiful white gloves,” I could firstly think in the very morning when a Mexican man helped me with my luggage, taking it from the bus. “Welcome to “Princess Resorts,” said a “chocolate” sunburn hotel keeper, securing all-inclusive blue bracelet on my hand. “Sorry, but your room will be ready at 11a.m,” he started with a warm tone in his voice,” We had informed all the travel agencies and believe they passed it to you”.
“And who cares that they did not,” I told to myself.
I am just 10 minutes from the sea shore; I can even hear the waves, and the palm-tree bending sing. “Please leave your luggage in the reception area until your room is ready,” the voice of the hotel keeper was louder now and more confident, probably because all of us have been done with “blue bracelet” hands which correspond to the proper behaviour.
I left the second level of the lobby, and entered the dream world picture of south mixture of the trees, birds, and something always crossing my pass and slightly touching my legs. “I hope that travel agency did not forget to tell me something else,” I thought.
It was still dark to walk to the shore without having a map. I took a comfortable chare in the right corner of the garden-house, build in the middle of the madden lake. From the left side there were a couple of water night lights moving together with a classical music magically coming from the sky. I fall asleep.
The very first strip of the south sun was carefully examining my face: checks, nose…I open my eyes and became frozen: another couple of eyes stare at me so close! I was so scared and stock with moving that the best I could do – close my eyes again! Nothing happened at the next couple of minutes, everything was so quite. Nobody around! “Tatyana, what are you doing here?” I heard my husband voice,” The restaurant is just open, let’s have a breakfast”
I breathe out slowly and followed my husband very close almost stepping on him.
The vacation has started brining with it lot’s of fun, jokes, and some other stories!
579 words
Escape To Dominican Republic
Christmas was coming when I decided that I desperately miss the sun in our Vancouver grey winter rain. I had two choices: first, to go to the solaria to get artificial suntan, or I could fly to the south. I visited "Capital Business Travel", the Russian travel agency, and figured out that it would cost twenty two hundred dollars all together for two of us, me and my boy-friend, to spend two weeks in Dominican Republic, Punta-Cana, in all-you-can-eat-and-drink four-plus-star hotel Catalonia. Wow! But, we should fly in couple days.
Seven hours fly by Canada Airline was not that happy for their seats were made for regular small Chinese people, not for big Russians, and the plane was packed as a fish-can with mostly chubby plain-skin Vancouverites suffering from the lack of the sun. I was watching a beautiful sunset above the clouds throw the plane window when I saw unusual blue ray coming from below the clouds to the sky in thirty degrees to horizon. The ray was so big that it lasted to the end of the sky above us. Later, I asked in Russian forum in the Internet, what it was. One pilot answered: tornado.
We landed late evening. I breathed in warm wet fresh air and smiled. At the airport, actually a modern building - concrete walls and palm-tree leaves roof - we were waiting in a line to go throw customs, listening to loud announcements in Spanish, English, and - you would not believe - in Russian. Russians are the only people on this earth who do not bother to study English for they know that they would be served in Russian in the end of the end. When our turn came, two pretty tall dark girls dressed like heaven birdies with the fresh-flower- garland on their necks stood on both sides of us and made us to smile into the photo-camera. Cheese! Good for security reason, though. When we were leaving the country, we could buy this picture here. Passport? Stamp. That was it. We are welcomed.
Continuation
To get the hotel we took a big fancy bus. It was crawling in complete darkness for half an hour and brought us to the brightly illuminated concrete-made with palm-tree-leaves roofs resort. A big Christmas tree decorated with huge white flowers instead of Christmas toys stood in the middle of the no-walls halls. Would you need walls when it is 29 degrees during day, night, summer, and winter? Most of the serving buildings had some walls, but instead of the rest walls there were just posts to keep the grass roof. We took a long walk to the cottage. Next sunny morning I figured out that our long walk was worth it. The cottage was the second one from the ocean. Palm trees were very loud under the breeze touching each other, as Korean people do while talking. The ocean was growling as a huge fat cat. First day under the so-badly-missed sun brought us high temperature at night and steak feeling on our backs.
By the middle of the night it was getting really windy. The TV said that the hurricane with the Russian name Olga was moving through the Hispaniola island. It was us! What to do? I looked out of the window: nobody is outside. Nobody phoned us to save us. Oh, yes, nothing should work. Checked the telephone: worked. Decided to wait until morning.
Another bright sunny morning came with the cleaning lady. She did not speak any English, I did not speak any Spanish. There was a foot-high of warm rain water everywhere on the ground: the hurricane leftovers. Since local people did not bother about hurricane, why would I bother? Seems like they were used to hurricanes. I made several pictures with my camera and played them back. The all were not in focus. I changed settings on the camera. No luck. The lens was covered with the moist. I countered how long would it take for the lens to be completely covered with the moist: four seconds. Started to take pictures faster.
We spent lovely fortnights in that hotel having all kinds of adventures and pleasure. You can go to Punta Cana as well, but wait till next Christmas, do not go right now: their rainy winter just started. Didn’t you have enough rain in here?
Post a Comment