No Wonder They're Everywhere

You cannot help but notice the propensity of bicycles in this country; I already told you that, but just today I read some stuff that I thought was interesting. Get this: the Netherlands has more bicycles than inhabitants. It has the highest bicycle density in the world. And, as if you might not already know it, the Netherlands has the world’s highest density of bicycle thieves as well.

It is estimated that the Netherlands’ sixteen million inhabitants own some twenty million bicycles. Why? Because many Dutch citizens own different bikes for different purposes. Many own a “decent” one for trips and travel and a “regular” one—usually an older model—for daily use, like shopping.

Estimations of stolen bicycles are as high as 800,000 per year! You will see bikes chained with several locks, attached to any immovable post available—street lights, trees, fences, and bridges. Then again stealing bicycles is big business, so it doesn’t really matter what is used, the thieves are way ahead with shears, grinders, and bolt cutters. Chaining the wheels and not the frame often results in the obvious.

My limited research on this topic indicated that the single most common excuse for lateness to work is—you guessed it—a flat tire.

Look Both Ways, Three Times

If you haven’t been here, then you don’t get it. Bicycles are everywhere, no no—e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e.

You cannot avoid them. In fact, you are often one of them. Me? I walk to work. (I haven’t found a bike old enough or cheap enough so as not to be stolen). It takes me almost 15 minutes. No problem; right? Well, let me tell you…it’s no problem if I remember one simple—but essential—rule: Look both ways, three times.

That sounds like hyperbole; I know. But that’s the point; I do know. Bicycles, motorbikes, motorcycles riding in bike lanes, cars and trucks, metro streetcars, trams and who-knows-what-else are ever-present.

Every street has clearly marked bike lanes

Believe me, somewhere in every Amsterdam travel guide it’ll mention that you must not walk in bike lanes. It’s not kidding. Besides the nasty looks, jingle-jangle bike bells, and hostile comments, personal injury is certain.

Here in Holland, bikes rule.

Sunday

I have known for a while that I would meet Cindy and Ronan in Amsterdam. A few months ago I told her that this whole thing might happen. She assured me that if it did we would spend some time together in Holland. When I got here, she immediately arranged a “Sunday brunch” for me. What I thought would happen was not what actually happened. Let me tell you…

About eight o’clock on Sunday morning I realized that I didn’t know how to get to the Van Gogh Museum where Cindy told me we would meet. OK, here’s a geography lesson: I live in Amstelveen (pronounced like a weather vane), which is the next area over from Amsterdam. It’s definitely close enough to say, “Yeah, that’s right, I moved to Amsterdam” but, as Cindy knows, that is not exactly correct.

It was about nine when I realized it would take about and hour to get to the Van Gogh Museum using the metro/tram system. At that point, I wasn’t quite as panicky as I became about an hour later when I realized that my brain was processing “Oranjebaan” “Van Baerlestraat” and “Museumplein” as “yergonnagetlost” “goodluckcharley” and “ohmanthisoughtabegood.”

One phone call to Ev and Jim clarified the entire trip. (Funny, once something is clear in your mind, it’ll be clear when you make it happen. There’s a lot of things like that.) See, I had it all wrong. I took the 51 metro to Oranjebaan where I transferred to the 5 tram (just like Jim said). Cindy found me at Museumplein (park by the museum) where I met Cindy’s companion, Chelsey—the Energizer Bunny Husky. After a delicious brunch at Cindy and Ronan’s apartment, the four of us set off for a walking tour of old Amsterdam.

Cindy, Ronan, and Chelsey the wonder dog

When you think about it, many, many people know stuff about Amsterdam; even if they don’t stop to think about it. Anne Frank hid here. Red lights prevail in a small district. Canals make it the “Venice of the West.” Rembrandt lived and painted here, and just like his art, Amsterdam is stunning.

The Anne Frank House

We walked for parts of four hours. (I appreciate that Ronan failed to realize that I am, in fact, not a 30-something Irish footballer, as he is. I was embarrassed to admit how exhausted I was.) We saw it all (although I don’t quite understand the red light bulb area; perhaps a return trip will be important); like I said, the architecture, the canals, the houseboats, the bicycles, the churches, the squares, the people—awesome.

Sunday could not have been much better. As I reached the Oranjebaan metro stop on the return trip, my phone rang. One delicious dinner later, Jim was dropping me off at the luxury digs I call “home.” Witnessing first-hand the demise of the Bengals and (the next day) reading the travails of you-know-who made Sunday a day to remember!

Ouderkerkerlaan

Saturday marked my second full day. After a grocery-shopping trip with Ev, I decided to try out the tram, the metro, the public transport. At the other end of that decision was the Apple store (inconveniently called iCenter, so it seemed impossible to find on the mall directory since I was looking for “Apple” or something with the word Apple in it.)

The front desk attendant, Sonia made it sound easy peasy. Just “walk down this street, I dunno da name it is, but find da Ouderkerkerlaan and take da 51 to Amstelveen Center. No problem, yes?” Wait, what? No. If I’ve learned anything it’s that Dutch people are direct, so they prefer if I am, too. My response was something wordy like, “What did you say?”

“Ouderkerkerlaan.”

“Uhhh, can you write that down?”

She did, but to be honest I had no clue what the heck we were even talking about. As it turns out, it was as easy as it seemed to her (with one important additional example of what appears to be the Dutch willingness to help.) At the platform of the 51 tram, labeled “Ouderkerkerlaan” I could tell easily which direction I would need (you try it; it isn’t as easy as it might seem.) But, I could not tell from the signage how to pay. Enter the next person I have asked the most helpful question of all—do you speak English? She did (thank goodness) and her explanation came replete with the admonition that violating the honor system was risking a huge fine if discovered by the authorities that apparently monitor such things. (OK no worries, I intend to play by the rules.)

To any Dutchman reading this, it would all seem so silly. Of course, it is perfectly obvious; but to a guy from Essex it wasn’t. Here’s how the system works. You load a credit card-looking thing called an ov-Chipkaart with money from your bank account. So far so good? The machines used to transfer money are found in many places, especially on platforms where you can engage public transportation. I have an ov-Chipkaart , loaded with plenty of euros. As it turns out there is a post with a device mounted to the top against which you hold your ov-Chipkaart when you want to ride. That’s it. The system then knows that you are starting your trip. When you depart, you find another such post and show your card (in other words, you don’t even swipe it). The system then calculates how far you traveled and deducts the appropriate amount of money from your ov-Chipkaart account.

Did I mention that it's cold?

It is surprisingly easy. Much to my delight, I didn’t travel far either. The Amstelveen Center was the next stop, and after only about forty seconds at fairly high speed, we stopped at the Center. I still had no clue where to go or what to do (other than find one of those posts and record my “ov” destination.) I did what any clever boy would do—I followed the crowd. Hey, it’s a mall, so I figured that’s why everyone else was there.

Once inside, I could not read the directory very well. Like I said, I was looking for the word “Apple” among the store names. Silly me. Two inquiries later, I found it and the part for which I was looking—the Mini-DisplayPort zu HDMI Adapter (Video & Audio*). Why, you ask, go to all this trouble for a Mini-DisplayPort zu HDMI Adapter? Because this is the device I will use to display my computer screen onto my HD television just as soon as the first NFL playoff game begins!

Go Ravens!

Appearances Can Be Tricky

When I tried to check-in on-line, I was informed that I had to do that at the terminal. I assumed that that meant that I would be speaking to a person once I reached the terminal; but when I arrived the only available person was the employee on duty whose assignment was to help people, like me, use the automated teller. No problem, right?

I did my homework and knew the bag fees would be $270 (three bags: first one “free”, second one $70, and the third one $200, which made me wonder why obscenity laws do not include airline baggage fees.) I decided to pay by credit card, and to be honest, it was easy enough. After I declined the $700 option to upgrade to first-class through to Amsterdam, I swiped my card. $270. Done; or so I thought.

I got to the counter where the little game I like to call “Let’s See How Accurate the Bathroom Scale Is” began. Sure enough, after some minor repositioning of several items from one bag to my backpack, I appeared to be on my way. Appearances can be tricky. As I hoisted the backpack and bent to pick up the shoulder bag and CPAP machine (uhh, yeah, that’s a different story) the agent said, “Why didn’t you buy the first-class upgrade to Philadelphia? You’d’a saved about twenty bucks and you could sit in first class.”

“Because that machine said it cost seven hundred dollars,” I told her as I pointed to the culprit still standing perfectly still behind me where I left it, leering at me knowing it had deprived me of my opportunity to sit with the big kids.

“Oh no, Sir. The upgrade is just for the first leg—to Philly. The first two bags are free (I love the use of “free” in this sense; don’t you?) and the third is still 200. With the upgrade you still only pay 250.” (Again, “only” seems so innocent; doesn’t it?)

Hello. You don’t have to hit me on the head; so I said, “Wait…what? Can you say that again?” She did, and more than a few key strokes later, James F. was sitting in the all-the-booze-you-can-drink-in-an-hour-and-ten-minutes lap of luxury!

If you prefer a happy ending, stop here. If, on the other hand, you are the kind of person who believes that there really is no such thing as “something for nothing” read on…

Despite the obscene application of baggage fees in the amount of $270, the entire fee would have been reimbursed by my soon-to-be employer, ISA. Here’s the “something for nothing” part: reimbursement applies to baggage fees not upgrades. Yeah, like I said—tricky.

My Dutch Welcoming Committee--Eva and Jim