This morning I went on an adventure.
I had not been planning to but as I waited so very patiently for my morning train a strange and curious desire for exploration overtook my legs and propelled them, one in front of the other, forwards. At first I did not think anything odd of this for it is my habit to wonder about, back and forth, up and down, around and around as I wait for any number of things. But this morning the realization dawned upon me that they seemed to be taking me in a single determined direction; towards the end of the platform.
Do not be alarmed dear reader. This was not a suicide attempt on the part of my legs due to wiriness of country wonders and tiredness of long walks on the beach. Nor am I writing this to you from beyond the grave. My legs very much like life and walking, as do I. No, they were not taking me to the ‘edge’ of the platform; they were taking me to the ‘end’ of the platform, the far end where no one goes.
Have you ever wondered why station platforms are so very long and yet trains are so very short? No one ever does but I was starting to. As I got closer and closer to the end of the platform my mind started to question what amazing and wondrous things I would find there. Would it be the home of a monster? An eight legged tentacle thing? Or a troll perhaps that ate railway line bolts?
I stopped and looked back for a moment to see how far I had come. The people, the other commuters, seemed so far away back where I had started. I wondered if they could even see the end of the platform, if they could even see me? For a moment I wondered if I should turn back, if such adventure was foolhardy. But the desire to discover what was at the platforms end was growing stronger and stronger within me.
Slowly, with each step the end of the platform drew closer and closer, until… suddenly… I was there. My toes were at the very edge of the platform world, softly touching the void. I looked out at the realm beyond the platform and beheld…
No matter how amazing the wonders contained within the view at the end of my adventure are there is one thing, one detail which is the most amazing of all. Do you see it? It’s the most fascinating thing. Do you see it yet? Look closer. There. By the stairs. A fiets goot (a bicycle ramp)… How Dutch can you get?
I looked back down from the window, sighed and reached for my phone. I dialed the number for my beloved girlfriend, put the phone to my ear and waited for her to answer.
“Hello.” She answered happily.
“Hi honey. What’s the train station after ours?” I enquired; trying to sound like nothing was wrong which anyone can tell you simply makes you sound like something is wrong.
“It’s [station name]. Why?” She answered and counter questioned with a sound of child like curiosity, as if she knew my question meant that an amusing story was about to follow… I was not going to disappoint her.
“How far away would you say that is from our station?” I asked, trying to avoid her question like a game of intellectual dodge ball.
“10 minutes. Why?” Answer, counter question, giggly anticipation, direct hit.
“Wellllll…..” I added a few extra l’s to the end of the word, hoping to buy myself some time to think of the least stupid sounding way of explaining my predicament.
“…I might have just missed our station… kind of… just now.” It was the best I could come up with. I clearly should have added more l’s.
“Hehehe. Oh oh oh. How did you manage that? Did you fall asleep?” She asked. I got the impression that she was not disappointed with the level of amusement in my simple tale.
“No. I was writing a blog post and didn’t realize we had arrived at the station until we were leaving it again.”
This was true. When I had looked up from the screen of my laptop and gazed out of the window into the winter night the station on the other side of the glass had looked very familiar. The sound of the train door closing was only matched in volume by the sound of the penny dropping as I realized it was my train station, the one I should have just gotten off at. Half an hour, two trains and a phone conversation later I finally arrived home.
This is what this blog costs me occasionally; time… time and stupidity.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of the humble Dutch strippenkaart (strip card) as it passes on into the realms of nostalgia to be replaced with the new electronic OV-chipkaart (public-transport chip card) system. Many of you who have gathered here to pay your respects will remember our friend the strippenkaart as a simple means of exchanging money for transportation on Dutch trams, buses and metros. I would like to share some of my memories of it with you too.
I first encountered the strippenkaart in the summer of 2001 when I arrived in Holland as a young and confused expat. I had only been in the country for two hours when I first tried to board a tram and buy a ticket. It was then that I was presented with my first strippenkaart. It was only a small strippenkaart, barely more than a strip, just enough to travel one zone but I was instantly intrigued by this system of transportation payment. It was so new and fresh too me. I think it was something in the way the driver smiled at me and stamp my ticket that reminded me of a simpler happier time, when the teacher would stamp my work with a little star to show that I had done well. From that moment on the strippenkaart had a special place in my heart.
Later, I discovered the larger strippenkaart, the kind with 16 strips that could be used for traveling through even more zones whenever I wanted. At the same time I also discovered the large yellow self stamping machines. At first it was a relationship of some confusion as I tried to work out how many strips I was supposed to stamp for the amount of zones I wanted to travel. However, I eventually came to understand the system (after a lot of very cheap travel and one encounter with a tram ticket inspector).
I will always remember the feeling of accomplishment I felt when I had filled a strippenkaart up with stamps, my desire to shout ‘bingo’ upon doing so and collect a prize from the driver for getting a full house.
I will also remember listening fondly to the *klunk, ding* of the older stamping machines as they stamped the strippenkaart of early morning travelers with the date and time, the sound of which always making me think of a drunk north pole elf with a peg leg stumbling across a wooden floor.
*Klunk, ding, klunk, ding, klunk, ding*
Yes. I will always remember the good times… and so should you my friends.
It is also important that we do not hold any feelings of hostility towards the new OV-chipkaart system. It might feel like it has taken our beloved strippenkaart from us and now fills our ears every single day with the, “don’t forget to check in and check out with your public transport chip card,” announcement at almost every single stop in both Dutch and English without even saying a simple please or thank you. I to hear that announcement so often on a daily bases that I have started to hear it in my dreams, over and over and over again…
*cough*
What I mean to say is that despite all of that it is important to remember that the OV-chipkaart did not ask for the responsibility of filling such large shoes to be thrust upon it. We must give it time. After all it will be there to confuse the next generation of expats on their first day in Holland as the strippenkaart did with me.
Yes, we will morn but we must also celebrate and remember. I know I will…. Farewell my friend, strippenkaart… You will be missed.
This is not an easy thing for me to do but we need to talk about our relationship. This is why I am writing you this letter.
I accepted early on that I would have to share you with other people and sometimes it would be standing room only. I knew that you wanted to be treated first class but I could only afford second. We made it work back then but lately I feel that there is a distance between us.
At times when I think things seem to be going well you suddenly redirect your attention via another station. I try to understand where you are coming from and listen to where you are going but I am finding it harder and harder to relate to you. It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore. We’ve lost that connection we once had.
I know our relationship has changed over the years. I’ve changed where I want to go in life and you have changed your timetable. Sometimes the two are not compatible but I’ve always tried to make it work, I’ve always find other routes.
But then late last night you stood me up at Rotterdam central when I needed you the most. To make matters worse you wouldn’t communicate with me and tell me what was wrong. Later, when you finally did opened up a little you announced that you had issues between Den Haag HS and Schiedam but didn’t want to talk about it any further. I felt like you were shutting me out. I tried to ask how long you thought it would take you to work through your issues but you told me to check your website for further updates on the situation.
And so… I waited for you and I did not say anything else.
This morning you did your best to hide the events from last night and put on a happy face. I didn’t want to say anything but I could tell that whatever had happened the night before had affected you more deeply then you were willing to admit. When I couldn’t stay quite about it anymore I tried to ask you what was wrong you simply shut down again and dismissively suggested I take the bus.
I think it is time we both admit it. This is not working out. You obviously have a lot of your own issues to deal with. I don’t seem to be a priority to you anymore and that hurts. I think it’s just best if we end it and try to go our own separate ways.
But if you are ever ready, if you ever sort out all your issues… I’ll still be here, waiting for you, on spoor 8.
Have you ever done something on an impulse and never thought about the repercussions until it is too late? On Thursday I did just that. On Thursday I bought a mop.
I know this hardly sounds like earth shattering news. In fact it probably sounds like the only possible repercussion of buying a mop is that I would have to mop something such as a floor. However, while I was standing in Blokker and handing over 15 euros for the new floor cleaning device I forgot to take into account that I cycle to work from the train station. I remembered this fact later when I was standing outside my office, looking at my two wheeled transport with fresh new mop in one hand and bike keys in the other at the end of the day.
This provided a unique challenge. A unique challenge for me anyway since I am English and don’t have the super human like Dutch ability to carry anything and everything with me as I cycle. I thought about it for a moment and decided I was going to give it a go anyway.
What followed was what I can only describe as a jousting charge through the streets of Amsterdam which made me feel like shouting out loud, “Cycle men! Cycle casually into battle! Cycllleeeeeee!,” as I led the imaginary charge of my imaginary army.
The streets of Amsterdam are no longer safe.
Tourists jumped out of the way for fear of a drive by buffing, cats hissed at me as I passed and speed bumps presented an interesting balancing challenge which almost made me crash twice. I still had to stop from trams though since I doubted they would be intimidated by my mop.
Can’t challenge a tram…
…but that cyclist is going to get it!
Despite all these obstacles I made it successfully to central station and locked my mighty steed into the bike racks. I tried to do a cool victory spin with the mop and almost smacked myself in the face. After making sure no one had noticed I made my way to the train with mop in hand.
During the train journey I must have looked like a lazy NS cleaner ignoring his responsibilities.
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