London to Amsterdam

10/5/93

All day train and tube and ferry travel can really suck if you don't keep a firm grip on your sense of humor. Lots of inconvenience, luggage crises, baggage lugging, and waiting in lines. Customs is always a hassle. London Liverpool Station didn't announce what platform our train left from until the very last minute, leaving us to sweat and bite our nails with two unwieldy luggage trolleys to race through the the station with.

Getting on the ferry to Amsterdam took a while. Customs. Long, fat waiting lines. Nice ferry, though.
Our cabin was what one might describe as compact. Once inside we were pretty much up against it. Had to go outside to scratch our butts. Slept well, though.

The ship's restaurant served a lovely buffet with excellent wine and service. It was "American Month," so there were flags and pictures of James Dean and Charlie Chaplin all around. Tried to eat some herring. Tough and chewy, like eating an inner tube.

Holland was a surprise. One sees the photos of fields of tulips and lovely old windmills and gets the feeling that the whole country is just one big picture book. Indeed, some of what we saw was very pretty--the fields with cows and sheep and horses, the canals--but a lot of it is just as unsightly as the average eyesore in the States. Modern, no-character buildings, some leaning at cockeyed angles because their foundations are insecure. Even in downtown Amsterdam where the buildings are old,
some lean this way and that. They are built so close together that they must hold each other up when they begin to lean.

One thing about train travel is that you feel as though you've really had a taste of the country and not as if you'd just caught a glimpse of it as your plane landed. First class tickets put you in a lovely, clean, and quiet compartment so that your nerves are soothed and you settle down to enjoy the ride.

Yesterday we got on a second class coach from Hoek van Holland to Amsterdam by mistake. Pretty grim. Our companions were pleasant except for the shaggy teen-aged boys who entertained themselves by belching and laughing about it. What is it about being gross that teen-aged boys think is so amusing?

Amsterdam was a big surprise. Downtown, in front of its picturesque old buildings, hang tacky signs of neon in gaudy colors. The signs run from "Jesus Loves You" to "Amsterdam Sex Museum." Sex through the ages. The history of sex. It makes you wonder, but somehow not enough to check it out.

Beggars roam the streets. Some openly ask for money, but most attempt some form of entertainment in return for a guilder or two tossed into a hat or onto a pillow. In front of the train station a group of about ten Indians in costume played various instruments, drawing a large crowd. An artist painted pictures. A mime did nothing but strike a pose and hold it, looking like a statue. He was holding that pose when I passed him the first time and still holding it about 30 minutes later when I passed him again. My favorite, the saddest, most touching one, was a bearded, rangy street person who sat leaning against a wall with all his possessions around him, including his dog, who slept on a blanket all day. When it started to rain, the man put an umbrella over the dog. He played a plastic dime-store flute. He wasn't very good. We gave him the little bit of Dutch change that we had.