Getting to the Flat (my arrival in holland)

I arrived in Amsterdam around 10am Monday morning. Fresh off three flights, and no sleep in 22 hours at this point. I wander about the airport, go through customs, then by a train ticket to Utrecht, my new home.

I wait on the correct track. I was pretty sure it was the right track. I read the signs a few times. Ask a guy. Yeah, I’m on the right track… I figure out from his broken English. Then an announcement comes over the loudspeaker. I don’t understand any of the words except 10:40 and Utrecht. My train to Utrecht was due for arrival at 10:40. Then I understand “three.” I put two and two together and head over to track 3.

Hope on the train, ride to a switching station. They didn’t mention this in the ride description! I follow the crowds upstairs, and eventually hopping on another train, praying to end up in Utrecht (and deligently watching the signs at stops for the words “Utrecht Centraal”).

I wander around central station for a good long while, making my way to an area with 40 buses lined up. I look for route 12. I look and look. Can’t find it. I ask some old guy, he doesn’t speak English. He starts yelling and pointing really far down the road. I grab my bags and head the direction his crooked finger illuminates. Yeah, I see the 12. I stopped to readjust my bags… he follows, yelling and pointing. I got it man! So I stop, say thank you far too many times and wait for the bus.

It comes, it’s packed. I lug my bags into the middle of few people. I double check the stop my instructions tell me to get off at several times. I get off. Look around and see the office I’m supposed to sign my lease at. I’m greeted, told to take a seat. I sit down, beside my two suitcases, two carry-on bags.

Eventually Yvon comes out and gives me a few papers to sign. I do. Not like I had a choice. Sign these papers or find another place to live for 5 months in a city with 18 month waiting lists for apartments. I ask for directions to my apartment. She tells me to head over a street, go up a couple, get on line 3 and ask the bus driver where to get off.

I follow her walking directions, lugging a good hundred pounds of luggage with me. I look and look, but don’t see a bus anywhere, much less a bus stop. I give up, decide to head back to central station on the bus that took me here. I walk towards the office of my landlord. Two blocks later, I see the stop Yvon told me of. I head over to thus bus with a big 3 on the side. I ask the bus driver for help. He looks at the map and address I shove into his lap. Nope, can’t get on here. You need to take bus 4. I lug my bags back off the bus, walk one bus over and rap on the window. The driver opens the door and I ask him if he can get me near “Kruisstraat.” He tells me yes, and he’ll let me know when to get off.

I ride the bus forever. Finally, I ask the driver. He forgot to let me know when to get off. I get off the bus, he pointed somewhere across the street where I was to go. I stare at the map on the bus stop for quite a while. I figure enough out. He wanted me to walk across the street and get on the same bus line, going the other direction. Ahh. I do this, ride the bus for 10 more minutes, and hop off, quite cheered.

I walk down the street, find my building and enter. There’s kids lined up and down the halls to do something. I couldn’t care less. I haul my bags up one flight of the stairs and enter my new domicile “Kruisstraat 159 B.”