Chasing Rabbits

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." ~Joseph Campbell

April 12, 2013
I skyped with Mom last night, and we talked a little longer than I expected, so I didn’t get anything packed before I went to bed. Even so, packing this morning went a lot faster than I anticipated. I had time to run across the street and grab lunch at the Italian restaurant (I surprised the waitress when I ordered Kofola to drink instead of Mirinda.) After I finished eating I went back to my room to grab my stuff.

Andy (my guide) had suggested bringing a rain coat. His exact words were, “It always rains in Amsterdam this time of year.” I have a rain jacket with me, but it is huge and impossible to pack. I considered wearing it, but it wasn’t cold enough outside for a rain jacket. I decided to just take the little black coat I wear everywhere and hope for warm weather.

I left earlier than I really needed to, but I was hoping to find batteries for my camera on my way to the airport. I checked with a few of the vendors in the subway station and sure enough, one had them. They were completely canisters but looked like double AAs. I asked for two, and she opened the package and sold me two. I put them in my pocket and went to catch the train.

On the train, I realized I had never taken the usual way to the airport before. I’d come back this way when I returned from Barcelona but I hadn’t gone out this route before.

When I got off the train, I went up the escalator to the bus depot. Up at the ground level, I didn’t see any signs for the airport bus. I didn’t even recognize where I was. The bus from the airport must drop off at a different end of the bus depot from the pickup.

My next clue was to look for people with suitcases. Scanning the crowd, I didn’t see any. Surely someone was going to the airport today. If they were, they weren’t here now. I followed the largest group of people, thinking that the airport bus must be one of the more popular. I considered asking someone for help, but I didn’t anyone I thought would be young enough to speak English.

The crowd stopped at red sign that indicated this was a pick-up site for one of the routes. I stopped with them. I looked around. It was a little bit sunny out, not nice enough to skip a jacket, but not cold either.

I waited with the crowd for a few minutes, sort of scanning around the depot. Suddenly, I saw a sign across the courtyard from me with an airplane logo on it. Walking over to it, I found that it had been vandalized. The part with arrows directing to the shuttles pickup point was missing. I scanned around again. Looking just up the street passed the sign, I saw bus 119.

Somehow, 119 seemed familiar to me.

It was long, about three times the length of a normal city bus. The hinges in the bus made its movements seem almost caterpillar like as it slithered up the street. I started to follow it and found where it stopped. A large crowd was waiting for it. Some of them even had suitcases. I climbed on board.

Sure enough, the last stop on its route was Terminal 2. This was the Airport bus!

The ride to the airport took about 30 minutes. Seeing the route in the daytime was so different from the weeks before when I went to Barcelona. The rolling hills were grassy green, while the occasional cliffs were rough and rocky. Because the bus was so long, simple moves like rounding corners or accelerating on the highway magnified the inertia, throwing passengers from one side to the other.

I figured out from the broken Czech that I could understand, that Terminal 3 was for private planes, Terminal 1, was for flights out of the Schengen Zone, and Terminal 2 was for flights within the Schengen Zone. Just as my trip to Barcelona, I was again flying out of Terminal 2.

Inside, I checked the board to see where my check-in counter was. I hadn’t printed my boarding pass this time, since I figured I had extra time to do it here. My flight was out of counters 216-218. When I arrived there, two women in flight attendants told me the counters were only to check bags. To print my boarding pass, I had to go to one of the kiosks.

At the kiosk, it asked for the identification number of my booking. Crap! I hadn’t written that down this time. Luckily, there was an option for not having it. Selecting that one, it gave me instructions to scan my passport across a barcode scanner. I tried it a few times, but nothing happened. Going over to ask one of the women at the gate how it worked, she showed me I was holding my passport upside down.

Stupid American!

I returned to the kiosk, and scanned my passport. My boarding pass printed. Luckily, I had a window seat again!

Being the middle of the day, there was a line at security this time. It appeared that a large part of it was a high school tour group. None of the kids spoke English so I couldn’t be sure, but they were clearly being corralled by different adults. Either way, the line moved very quickly. When I got up, I unloaded my pockets and liquids into a tub, and sent my back pack through on its own. This time, I remembered to take my passport keeper out from under my clothes. Passing through the scanner, I didn’t set anything off.

On the other side though, a security woman came up and grabbed my backpack. “Is yours?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I need to search,” she said.

“Ok,” I agreed.

She opened the main compartment and pulled out the smaller bag I had my clothes stowed in. There was nothing else in that compartment, so she put the clothes back in. Opening the next compartment, she pulled out my journal, my prayer book, my scarf, and my little safe.

“What is?” she asked holding the safe.

“Its a little travel safe,” I said. “For money and things.”

“Can you open?” she asked. I entered the combination and popped open the lid.

“Ok,” she said satisfied. “You can go.”

As I re-packed my back, re-stowed my passport keeper, and re-arranged the items in my pockets, the same woman pulled a different man aside in line. Going through his duffle bag, she pulled out two huge, full-sized bottles of cologne.

“You are not allowed to carry liquids this big,” she said. “Please do not do it again.” With that, she returned the bottles in his bag.

So much for security.

Once again, my flight was out of gate D2. I noticed I was thirsty and a bit hungry. I didn’t have a lot of crowns on me (I didn’t want to take any extra money out this week before I left) but I had enough for a soda in the little Duty Free convenience store.

When I went to check out, the man ahead of me in line—he appeared to be of Mexican descent—was having quite the argument with the lady at the register. Her colleague called me over to a different stand to pay. As a lucky twist of fate, this stand had a display of Kit-Kats. I love Kit-Kats! They are definitely my favorite American chocolate bar. The wrapper and label was a little different, but I decided I needed to try one…wasn’t that the perfect travel meal: a Fanta and a Kit Kat?

I arrived back at the gate and journalled a bit about my journey to the airport. As I did, I noticed something odd. I wasn’t afraid. I thought about the situation I was getting into.
Amsterdam was a completely foreign city to me.
I didn’t know the first thing about Dutch culture.
I didn’t know any of the people I was going to meet when I got there.
The group I was traveling with had all spent the day together…I was going to be the new kid coming in late.
The reputation of Amsterdam certainly was legendary, and it was filled with things that would normally make me run the other way.

The entire situation should have freaked Zach out. Zach didn’t do new. Zach didn’t do foreign. Zach didn’t like being the “new kid” or being around things that made him uncomfortable…what was going on with Zach???

Because for some reason, I wasn’t afraid. I was excited. I was excited to be in a new and uncomfortable environment. I was excited to meet new people. I was excited to not be afraid.

Once again, the flight was late to board. By the time we got on the plane and shut the doors, it was a good 30 minutes after we were supposed to take off. Even though my ticket was through Czech Airlines, the flight was operated by EasyJet. The neon orange airplane reeked of sweat and body odor. Even in the window seat, I felt like I was suffocating with my knees practically jammed into my chest. A Dutch woman sat in the aisle seat and an Asian man sat in the middle between us. Shortly after takeoff, I dozed off.

I slept until the flight attendant tapped my shoulder asking if I wanted something to drink. I asked for a cup of Coke, and she poured one for me. I also got a little package of salty trail mix. The man next to me ordered a beer and the woman didn’t get anything.

I struggled to open the trail mix and when I did, the package exploded all over my lap. I pretended not to be bothered by it, and I think the two sitting next to me pretended not to notice. Picking the pieces off of my clothes and putting them back on the tray, I moved on to sipping my Coke and staring out the window.

The sun was beating into the plane and in my jacket I was getting quite hot. I reached up to turn on the air vent above me.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” the Asian man said.

“It really is!” I said.

“Are you from Czech Republic?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “I’m from America, but I’ve been living in Prague for the last two months…almost three now.”

“Oh like an exchange?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“And your classes in Prague will count back in America?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “My University determined the courses I could take, but I get credit for all of them back home.”

“Very nice,” he said. “I am a college professor in Prague.”

“Oh really?” I said. “What do you teach?”

“Chemistry,” he said.

“Oh ok! What type?”

“Metallurgy,” he said.

“Oh cool!” I said.

“You know it?” he asked.

He’d caught me. I’d been a stupid American. I’d been trying to be polite when, in reality, I had no idea what I was saying.

I chuckled. “No,” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“It is the study of metals and how they heat and cool,” he said. “I teach it in Czech so it a little hard for me in English.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

We continued to talk for the remainder of the flight. He was actually from the Czech Republic and was going to Amsterdam to visit his girlfriend (who was originally from Singapore.) She was studying nursing at a school in the Netherlands. As we began our descent, our conversation turned to the view out the window. The lush green fields were amazing, but not as amazing as the miles of canals stretching every-which-way. It was beautiful.

The entire flight was quite turbulent, but particularly the descent. It seemed that we were bouncing around from the time we started descending to the second we touched down. Once on the ground we taxied for what seemed like over a mile. We went over an overpass across a highway and drove for nearly 10 minutes. Seatbelt signs don’t seem to have much credence on European flights, particularly after the plane touches down. The second the tires touch the pavement, the metallic clink can be heard and people jump up out of their seats.

Pulling up to the gate at Schiphol Airport, it was obvious that the facility was huge. There was even an observation deck on the roof of the terminal were passengers could be seen smoking and taking photos. We were seated near the back so it took a while until we could get off. When we did, my travel companion and I wished each other well and speculated that we might be on the same flight back to Prague on Sunday.

As we parted company and drifted through the maze of Schiphol Airport, I was ready again to dive into the adventure.