Travelog: Amsterdam 2009, Part II

Thursday, September 03, 2009 7:40 AM (Amsterdam time)

The sun had risen by the time we landed in Amsterdam, and I had to make a diligent effort not to do the math on what the “real” time was, as I figured that would only make me feel even more tired than I was – or knew I’d be later. My bag arrived unscathed, and my next stop was to exchange money. Except the exchange booth didn’t open until 9 AM. I hadn’t counted on that. I needed Euros for the train into Amsterdam’s Centraal Station, so I tried my credit card in one of the self-serve machines. Funny thing, here in Amsterdam, you need a PIN for your credit card. And while I have one, I never use it, and frankly, don’t know what it is.

So I found an ATM, and withdrew some money. Great, I thought, I’m in business. But there’s only one self-serve ticket machine (that I could find in a sea of self-serve machines) that takes something other than credit cards. And it only takes coins. I diverted to the manned ticket booth. They don’t take cash!

So, I went to Starbucks and the newsstand and bought enough to break the 50’s the ATM had spit out, and give me enough coinage to buy a ticket. Which I did successfully, and then an older woman who was standing near me looking perplexed asked me for directions. I guess I looked like I knew what I was doing, since I’m way too short to actually be Dutch.

Another transportation challenge averted (I forgot to mention the shuttle bus from the economy parking lot to Boston Logan airport broke down right in the middle of an intersection a quarter mile from the terminal), I made my way to the platform, and boarded the two-level train. A helpful Dutch man showed me how to store my luggage in the space between two back-to-back seats so it was out of the way of traffic, and he was very kind about it. Not resentful or anything. I was surprised at this, and relieved. It was a good introduction to the people of the country.

Fifteen minutes later the train slid into Centraal Station, and a flood of passengers evacuated the train and spilled out of the station onto the streets. Immediately in front of the station are the trams. And I mean immediately. You can almost get run over by one as a newcomer if you’re not careful. I made it through the three side-by-side tracks and onto a pedestrian / bicyclist way. I’d been warned about the bikes in Amsterdam (that they have, or will take, the right of way when it comes to pedestrians, so it’s good to watch out so you won’t get run over), so I was constantly looking over both shoulders.

My iPhone with Google maps was a god-send for finding the hotel. The hotel is only a half-mile, maybe, from the Station, but with the tram lines, car paths, bike lanes, and sidewalks, the roads get congested and complicated quickly, and the road signs are posted on buildings, not on sign posts like in the States, so it can be daunting if not difficult to get oriented and moving in the right direction. But with the trusty blue dot tracking my progress on Google Maps, I headed off in the right direction, and found the hotel with little difficulty.

The hotel is beautiful. It’s a converted warehouse, and has only been a hotel for two years, which is hard to believe because it looks like it’s been an establishment for some time. It’s embellished in Art Deco styling, with wrought iron and geometric shapes everywhere. I absolutely love it.

My room faces east and has a 20-foot or more ceiling. The curtains are so high that there’s a remote to open and close them. There’s ample space in both the sleeping area and bathroom to overcome that sometimes claustrophobic feel of hotel rooms. As I mentioned, the mini bar is included in the room fee, and restocked daily. A Nougatti is included. I’d never tried one before, but oh are they good!

One really neat, though not functional, aspect of the hotel is the old elevators. They were used when this building functioned as a warehouse, and instead of being the type of elevator that is idle until summoned, these operate non-stop. And I mean non-stop. To use one, you’d have to time it just right to step into a car (there are several on top of each other), and then step out of it at whatever floor you want to be at. Needless to say, these are not in operation for guests, though they do run behind glass doors during the day. I caught it on video with my iPhone.

After a quick shower and change, I bounded back downstairs with my laptop bag and summoned a taxi to take me to the office. I figured I’d forego public transportation this time, in favor of getting there quickly.

I have to say, though, I was really struck by my experience getting from the airport to the hotel on this trip. Typically, I’ll have a pre-arranged shuttle or taxi take me from airport to hotel, bypassing any challenges of public transportation or car rental, and it’s amazing how insulated that experience is. You get to the hotel, and while sighing in relief for actually being at your destination, you’ve really just moved from one comfort zone to another, and prolong the experience of diving right into a new place. By taking the train, and then walking from the station to the hotel, I had to quickly figure out the local logistics, patterns, customs and etiquette. By the time I’d reached the hotel, I felt like I’d earned my right to be here. It was incredibly empowering and a lesson I’ll take with me on future journeys.

The office is over in the east part of town in a very modern looking building that houses the city janitorial workers headquarters and offices for one of the city’s paid-for newspapers, Het PAROOL. Apparently, newspapers are faring better here than in the States, especially the free publications. Everyone was reading papers – on the train, in lines, in cafes, you name it.

After settling into a cube, I quickly got rolling with work and meetings. Then, our marketing team went out to lunch at The Boulevard, not too far from the office. I chose a goat cheese, honey and dill sandwich, which was divine. The tart tanginess of the goat cheese was softened by the bright sweetness of the honey. It was a difficult sandwich to eat cleanly, being on ciabatta bread, but it was definitely a do-again type meal.

The afternoon was full with meetings with the team here, which was great, as we rarely get to do work face-to-face. After work, the office leader, another colleague from my home office and I went to dinner. Casa di David was another “score” in the food department for Amsterdam. It faced out on one of the canals in the Centre district, and at that time of the evening the sun was noticeably setting, but not yet so far set that the streets were dark. Rather, the sunlight warmed the facades of the canal houses across from us, the wind was blowing, and it was generally a pretty scene.

The restaurant’s menus were written on 18-inch wide parchment scrolls. Opening up the menu was like unfurling a treasure map. And the food was a treasure, too. I started with the Citrus and Fennel salad. A bed of greens and paper-thin slices of fennel were ringed by colorful wedges of lime, oranges, and red grapefruit, and punctuated with plump red raspberries. It was just the right combination of tart acidity and smoky licorice.

The main course didn’t disappoint. I’d selected artichoke ravioli. It was the perfect portion to follow the very large salad. The sauce comprised sliced artichokes and something light – white wine or butter or the like. The ravioli were lightly stuffed with cheese and more artichoke. This was paired with a reserve Chianti that I picked on the urging of my colleagues. That was a first, by the way. I’m no wine connoisseur, but I have never been the one nominated nor expected to pick out the wine. And I’m knowledgeable enough, I do know that. Anyway, it was another score on the personal front.

After dinner, my colleague dropped me off at my hotel, having driven past the floating flower market, and other notable Amsterdam sights I didn’t really register. I’d now been up since 6 AM Eastern time on Wednesday, so I was lightheaded and feeling disconnected with reality. Even though it was 9 PM local time, it was still afternoon back home, so I logged on, checked my email, connected with my loved one back home, and tried to get one or two more morsels of work accomplished.

Dropping into bed was heavenly. And I’m certain I would have slept like the dead had I remembered my travel alarm clock. But it’s been awhile since I’ve been in Europe, and I’d forgotten that hotels here don’t typically have clocks in the guest rooms (go figure!). And while there’s an alarm on my iPhone that’s easy to set and reliable, I didn’t trust that the phone had synced to local time and was concerned I’d oversleep. So I kept waking up every two hours. I know, I know, I could have asked for a wake-up call. But who wants to be jarred awake by the phone ringing? That only makes my adrenaline spike in ways I don’t want to purposely repeat.