Get Outta Amsterdam

Blinking red light. Swipe again. Red. Exasperated sigh and down I went to the lobby. At 10am. On a Sunday. Naturally to huff and puff for fifteen minutes behind all the useless tourists checking out. All of this just to get a key card that worked so I figured while I was at the desk I would book my airport shuttle too. Unfortunately the 6:40pm was already full so I was stuck on the 6pm - precious time in Amsterdam wasted at the airport.

Finally back into my room I packed and went out for the day - the markets, the canals, failed attempt at Anne Frank's house (massive lineup), FOAM photography, bike vs Benz, pancakes. Hurrying back to the hotel I had a short time to kill before the 6pm shuttle but nothing worthwhile to do. Boarding the shuttle it turned out they'd overbooked anyhow but I had my seat. By the time they sorted that out we got away a little late and were two blocks off when I started organising for security - firstly putting my passport in my pocket. My passport. Not in this backpack? Wait, not in this one either? I rushed to the front of the van and calmly but seriously informed the driver that my passport was still in the hotel room. He tried to figure out how to handle this and I told him I could just walk back so he circled one block back and let me out. None of the other passengers, now further delayed, said anything. From the sidewalk I took stock of the situation and then broke into a tear down the street just catching the van at the corner and banging on the back door. My heart sank as the driver pulled around the corner but then he pulled over and allowed me to retrieve my luggage. Hurrying as best as I could with this wobbly, two-wheeled duffle-style suitcase I rumbled over the bricked sidewalk back to the hotel. Fortunately there was no line at this hour and the manager accompanied me to my former room (still unoccupied) where the safe was still locked and my passport inside.

Back downstairs he stuttered through a few different routes to the airport - the next shuttle was still sold out and a taxi was going to be very expensive, plus I had the time. Or so I thought.

With his instructions in my head I hustled out of the front door and promptly decided to take a different route recommended by Google that involved a lot of walking but would be faster since I'm a fast walker. Partway into that I was worried that the dragging of my bag was slowing me down too much and Google suggested another route that took a tram to the main train I need to catch. Ok, fine so I moved off in that direction. But the path didn't seem right, so I went past the suggested GPS turn and carried on, only to rethink that and go back and through the parking lot as the GPS suggested. Two minutes down this the path on the map essentially said "climb this steep, bushy hill to a fenced-in train station." Bordered in by a lovely canal I had to double back through the parking lot and decided "forget it - back to the long walk but direct route" option. Now having lost the six ill-spent minutes I was in serious danger of missing the train I needed to catch to make my flight. This meant attempted sprinting (with a huge suitcase) for nearly a kilometre to arrive at the station a disgusting sweaty mess. Fumbling with the ticket machine I bumped my bag up the stairs with about sixty seconds to spare in order to stuff myself into the door of the already overflowing train. It was a good thing as once I got through security it was an 18 minute Stefan-speed walk to my gate INSIDE the airport. Is that not ridiculous? Time only to slam a crappy Heineken (literally the only option) and snack before last call for boarding. In the end I suppose it was fortuitous that the desired shuttle was sold out (granted, a very stupid thing that I forgot my passport in the room safe to begin with.)