Nearing Rotterdam and the thought of being on terra firma made me brave the elements and go out on the deck. Only the most hardened smokers were huddled in the corner. The deck on the other side was closed off. Doors had smashed during the night. Piles of tortilla chips spewed across the floor, half digested by someone who must have thought a midnight feast in a force 10 gale was a good idea.
Hair being whipped about my face, I went to quickly grab my hat out of my bag. As I did so a pearlised blue sequinned purse catapulted out of my hand and into the sea. Two cormorants looked askance at my Hello Kitty purse bobbing along beside them.
Notices on the side stated boldly not to throw things overboard because of the environment. The irony wasn’t lost on me. We’d travelled by ferry to reduce our carbon footprint rather than flying. We had endured a journey which although wasn’t hell it came very close to it. Only to near the harbour and dump a piece of plastic frippery into the sea. which will be there 600 years from now or realistically longer.
The colour drained from Pete’s face. He thought the euros were in it. I had actually thought about transferring them into but decided at the last minute not to. Phew!
The smokers roused, ‘Was it something expensive?’ No, no I assured him, just something I won from the 2p slots in Blackpool. As the words came out of my mouth I realised that what I had said was quite the oxymoron. Of course it was expensive. I had shoved pounds and pounds of 2p into the slots so I could get the ‘hallowed’ Hello Kitty purse. The look of realisation on my face prompted the man to say, ‘Looks like you’ ll have to go back to Blackpool.’ Now there’s a thought….
Going through customs was straightforward, although the passport control man seemed to fix his gaze overlong onto the molten cherry tomato burn on my chin.
Buses lined up outside to whisk us away. The rain lashing down vertically wasn’t quite the reception I was wanting but pretty much expecting. Got the front seats on the coach. Fantastic! Why hadn’t anyone else sat at the front? More leg room and the best view. Oh and also as the door was left open as more people piled in rain lashed in and hit us first!
Give a bus driver a microphone, a captive audience thrown in for good measure and you get someone who thinks their on stage at the Palladium. Hey guys! If you have come for the vegetables remember that it’s weed, don’t eat too much cake with it. Actually he was more surreal than funny.
Having both been to Amsterdam quite a few times between us I thought we would find where we’re staying quite easily. But feeling disorientated after the journey, tired and very wet, what should have taken 20 minutes top to find the hotel took considerably longer. There were indicators that all was going pretty badly when we passed the National Costume Museum for the third time!
On a positive, my step count for the day ended in stratospheric numbers.
We eventually found the Hotel Kooyk. Before we booked we’d found really good reviews. People had applauded it’s central location, the friendliness of the owners etc etc. As soon as we paid and looked at more reviews later the reviews sounded like we were destined to a flea ridden hovel. One particular one caught my eye, ‘Do not book rats in the room manager is rude about the problem was told if you book cheap it’s what’s to be expected breakfast was dry and looked mouldy please try to avoid the manger just shouts at everyone.’ (grammar and spelling are all Rebecca’s on TripAdvisor).
So although I was mightily relieved that we had finally found the Hotel I felt quite a bit of trepidation. I was expecting to open the door only for streams of rats to rush out.
Met the owner. Abrupt and to the point but not rude. She likes to keep the hotel shipshape, has run it for 42 years and insists on keeping to the rules. She spoke with a strange accent, a mixture of Irish and Dutch or maybe it was Dutch with a bit of Irish thrown in. Waiting while she went to photocopy our passports I created her personal story. She had saved her savings from her job at Woolworths on Donegal High Street and decided to backpack round Europe. She got no further than than Amsterdam, meeting and falling in love with Jansen.
She had an inordinate amount of peroxide blond hair. She proudly stated that we had a standard bedroom, not an ordinary standard bedroom but 180 years old with very high ceilings.
I’ve put you there she said because you British like those sorts of ceilings. I never thought of Britain as a nation of ceiling lovers. When we leave I am tempted to write in the Comments book, ‘great place’ love Sheffield Ceiling Appreciation Society.
Random Acts of Travelling 