Train Story

Here's a snippet from my afternoon on Tuesday:

Out in service with Tina (the sister living here for years, originally from Texas), walking between calls. She just finished helping me "top up" my phone minutes, because the directions on the receipt, and the phone tree you have to call into, are in Dutch.

My phone rings, it's Charlotte (the sister who just moved here for a 2 year stint, also from Texas). Can I come to Heemskerk for a study at 4:30 (16:30)? Sure I can. Can you give me the train information, since I won't be able to get to a computer to look it up? Charlotte SMS'd (Dutch version of texting) me the information. Done. It's about an hour train ride north.

Tina and I go on a last call to a lovely woman from St. Kitts. Her doctor makes a room call in her building to administer eye drops. Talks about college. I think...it's all Dutch. I smile, nod, smile, nod, catch every tenth word. Suddenly, the time on the clock registers with me. I have just under an hour to be in Amsterdam Central Station to catch the 15:27 train from Spoor (platform) 2a, to Heemskerk. I'm a 15 minute walk to the metro station, a 20 minute ride to the train station. If we don't have to wait for the metro.

I still need to buy a train ticket.

That means finding a ticket machine quickly that will take cash or credit cards instead of just a local bank card. Few and far between.

I signal Tina, we say our goodbyes, and run for the door. Tina does rapid metro and train schedule calculations in her head. We walk like Roman soldiers on march hefting book bags, slamming our nice boots down in the muddy terrain trying to select the optimum cut-throughs to the Kraainest Metro Station where Tina's (fold up) bicycle sits locked up and waiting.

As we site the station, we see the metro scoot off without us. We're power walking, making good time. We get to the platform just before the next metro arrives, 7 minutes later. That's how far you can see ahead in flat, flat Amsterdam. Tina, diving into undercover-operative handler mode, instructs me on every detail of what I may and may not encounter on this mission. I listen with rapt attention. Board the first metro car, so upon arrival I won't have to negotiate so much of the inevitable mob. It's the fastest route to the train station entrance, which will be immediately on my left. She tells me, after I have located the correct big yellow ticket seller box, and purchased my ticket, walk up the first set of stairs to the left. That will be spoor 1 and 2, and, she continues, spoor 2a will be heading north. She thinks it will be to the right at the top of the stairs. IF I follow her directions correctly, quickly, I should be able to catch the 15:27 train to Heemskerk. Just.

She rides the metro with me as far as Weesperplein, her stop. I ride on alone. Wallet uncharacteristically in hand. No time to waste digging for it when ticket time comes. Jacket, scarf, and bag positioned to not interfere with high speeds. I mark the stops as they flow past. Three to go, two. Amsterdam Central Station.

Push through the milling metro crowd towards the open doors. Spot the stairs. Run. If I saw myself, this grown person running around and through the metro crowd, I'd have given myself a healthy tisk.

Jump the steps quick like a bunny. Weave through the slow motion crowd. Choose escalator over stairs. Pass the motionless escalator riders on the left. Lift the toes, do not trip. Pretend I'm not out of breath already. Enter the main terminal hall. Locate the ticket purchase terminal. Make sure it takes the forms of money I can pay. No. Pass on. Next machine: Yes. Choose payment type, return trip ticket, single day use, full fare or discount. Enter the first letter of the destination name. The second letter. Find Heemskerk on the list, punch print. Hesitate too late, momentarily balking at the $19.40 euro price tag. Chalk it up to the sacrifices made in order to participate more fully in the ministry here. RUN.

First stair way on the left, spoor 2a. Clock reads 15:27. Look for Heemskerk on the sign post. Don't see it, jump on the train anyway. This has to be it. Once safely on the train, peek out the open doors again, try to assure that I am on the correct train. No luck. Turn to two girls sitting behind me, hoping they speak English, ask if this train goes to Heemskerk. Instantly, one says yes, and one says no. The more adamant of the two gets up to look out the still open doors, but the opposite direction I had looked. As they shut, she tells me, yes, it said Heemskerk. I still don't quite believe her. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop so I can call Charlotte and Tina and tell them I've failed.

Sit back, tentative. Pretend the winter bundle of layers sheathed by a full length wool jacket isn't a sweat suit and that I haven't just raised the interior temperature of the cabin by several degrees just be being there.

First stop, Sloterdijk. Yes indeed, there in plain sight, I finally see with my own eyes that this train does go to Heemskerk. I begin to relax. After making sure I'm sitting close to the exit so I can bolt for the door and not miss my exit since I've gotten this far. I snuggle down into my seat, and pull out a magazine. Graffitied windows and soft drizzle make watching the world go by less appealing. Although I have no idea how many stops I have yet to go, it seems that all is well.

Mobile buzzes in my pocket. It's Tina asking if I've made it. I reply, yes, thanks to her. She SMS's back saying "Me of little faith". She watched me go saying to herself, she'll never make it. I smile.

Heemskerk station comes into view, I make my way to the door, and it even opens when I push the button. Glancing around, I don't see Charlotte waiting, so I walk to the exit. I hear my name, and Charlotte comes walking up behind me having been on the same train a few cars back all the while. As we walk together towards the study's house, I mimic my mad dash to meet her. I'm much calmed having someone who knows what they're doing with me. We get to the study early for once, and feeling good. She's not in. We figure it's because we're actually ahead of schedule, and wait in the lobby of her apartment building. A few minutes later, in she walks, saying she tried to call, she has to take someone to the doctor, she can't meet with us today after all. So sorry. In these moments I wish I could replay for people the journey I've made. For the sake of irony.

Charlotte reschedules, and we wonder off. No where else to go. There is a small grocery store, Lidl, at the station. We duck in and I buy dinner fixings. We bench ourselves to wait for the return train. Good news is, we can both make it to the gym after all.

On the train home, we talk about the day, and I mention the price of my train ticket. She looks shocked, and says that the longest train ride she's taken, south of Rotterdam to catch the ferry to England, only cost $13 euros. Something is definitely wrong. Just about then, the train steward comes into the cabin to check tickets. They do this randomly, but it seems to always happen near Haarlem Station, Charlotte's stop. The steward takes Charlotte's ticket, glances at it, stamps it. Takes mine, glances at it, starts to stamp it stops. A confused look blooms on her face. This is alarming because the fines for not having a ticket, or having the wrong ticket can be very steep. She reads the ticket to me. It says Amsterdam C. to Helmond Brouwhs. I have no idea what that means. But it's definitely not Heemskerk, which dwindles away behind us. Turns out, we're about 2 hours north of Helmond.

She stifles a laugh. She reads the price I paid. She says, lucky for you that you checked "discount fare" when printing the ticket, and got 40% off of the whole price. Apparently in my mad dash to catch the train, I found the correct stop name, but neglected to actually highlight it when I pushed print on the ticket. My round trip should have cost closer to $7 euros and change. I wish I had a euro sign on this keyboard... Instead of a fine or a lecture, the ticket steward consoles me with good humor for the small fortune paid out in error. Charlotte, coming to my defense, says, "we're new here". Response: "No, you think?" She kindly gives me a phone number I can call to try to get a refund for the extra amount. Smiling, chuckling to herself, exchanging smatterings of Dutch with the other passengers as she does so. I secretly suspect that it's so I can tell my story to her co-workers and give them a laugh as well. I haven't' called yet. Charlotte can't help but laugh too. I'm too bewildered to be overly bothered by any of it. I'm still amazed I made the train to begin with.

Charlotte said her goodbyes as we pulled up to Haarlem Station, and we made plans for dinner at her house next weekend. I'd like to see more of her town anyhow.

Incidentally, here's a picture of why the bus can sometimes take longer than it should. This little girl, safely seated where her mother is not looking, pushed the stop button every time that the bus pulled away from a stop. Regardless of people entering or exiting, the bus must stop, because some one has requested it. Thanks a lot 3 year old button pusher. At least it's free entertainment. The picture of the kissing statue has nothing to do with anything, I just like it. I bus past it most days, and finally took a picture through the window. We were stopped at a Bijlmerdreef stop with no one getting on or off anyhow. Let Op means Beware.