I popped over to Holland for a meeting yesterday, flying from Birmingham to Amsterdam. It involved me getting up at the insane hour of 03.30. That's the time of day which requires two alarm clocks and a standby wife. Still by 05.00 I was at the airport tucking into a good breakfast and surrounded by hordes of people. Where on earth did they all come from? Outside the airport perimeter the roads were deserted and nothing moved save the odd scavenging fox and some likely lads nicking cable from electricity substations, a short but doubtless enlightening career. What is it about flying that requires you to be conscious at such a ridiculous hour? Eighteen flights left what is an average-sized regional airport between 06.00 and 07.00, eleven of those to holiday destinations. Obviously the great package holiday plan is to make sure that if you're not totally worn out by working every hour nature sent in the previous fifty weeks, the airline schedulers will make sure of it on the day of departure.
Anyway enough of that. My meeting was in Rotterdam, a pleasant journey by train from Schipol Airport which allowed me to see exactly how flat Holland is (and they hadn 't been pulling the wool over my eyes) and also a few iconic windmills. Missing were people in clogs and tulips - perhaps it was the wrong time of year. I spent the evening with a colleague doing some gentle sight-seeing, eating and drinking in Amsterdam. It's a city I've been tempted to visit in the past and now I have, I'm pleased I didn't spend any of my own money to do so.
I know that I only scratched the surface of the city but my first impression was one of downright seediness, a combination of litter, grafitti that would put London to shame, and a thick veneer of sleaze - the Yellow Pages guide book issued at the railway station listed twenty pages of adverts for call-girls and escort agencies compared to two inches for photographers and about an inch and a half for bookshops. Maybe I'm not the target audience, reactionary old grump that I am or perhaps I've got my priorities wrong.
On the plus side, there were a lot of bicycles of a very strange, sit-up-and-beg design. Every available niche was occupied by a parked bike, great swathes of them marching away from the railway station and along the banks of the canals. Not being mown down by these beasts was a feat in itself but they were fun to watch.
I'll not say any more as I'll be back over there in September to light the show and I don't want to be refused entry at the border. Maybe it'll look better in the autumn
5 comments:
Do I foresee a picture book in the offing?
Sit up and beg bicycles - such a dead-on description. I remember being in a restaurant quite late in Amsterdam and watching the people stream by on their bicycles with all manner of things - groceries, clothing, umbrellas, babies - sticking out of the ubiquitous baskets.
Only if the light is right, Peter, and in the unlikely event that I could find a new angle on the subject.
They are fascinating, Pauline, although I didn't see any babies!
My eldest son spent 6mths in Rotterdam and other dam places and loved it. He may have been smoking different things to you, of course.
I've only seen the industrial bit of Rotterdam so I'll look out for the scenic treats next month (without the aid of aromatic smoke!)
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