So I had to go to Belgium for work and thought for some ridiculous reason it would be a good idea to fly in to Amsterdam instead of Brussels. I was meeting two people from work on Sunday afternoon at Amsterdam airport, one was flying in from Manchester and the other from Edinburgh.
Didn't get off to a great start. I took my cocktail of meds to get me on the flight (and not puke/shake/faint/cry hysterically into the lap of the unfortunate stranger next to me) one hour before take off, like you're supposed to.
2 travel sickness tablets, 2 decongestants, 2 anadin extra, 2 ibuprofen and a sumatriptan. Put my little sea bands on, went through security.
My one bag (for I was flying with Easyjet and that is all you are allowed) came through the X ray machine in several pieces (note it went into the X ray machine fully intact). I dragged my bag through to the departure lounge with half of the handle hanging off and one wonky wheel and checked the board. Only one delay. Yup it was the Easyjet flight to Amsterdam. One hour. Good job I brought War and Peace (that's not a joke, mind you I've been reading for months and I'm still only about 10% through.)
Eventually we were allowed to board the plane so, bearing in mind my drugs were taken a full hour too early, the plane hadn't even started moving before I started to feel queazy. I was in the very back seat on the aisle. I started rifling through the pouch in front looking for a sickbag and the man in the aisle seat next to me grabbed his and flung it at me, looking down sadly at his cheese sandwich. Who takes a cheese sandwich onto an aeroplane?
Anyway you will - I'm sure - be pleased to know I was not sick and the cabin crew were all lovely and one of them kept bringing me glasses of water.
But the handle of my suitcase came off completely on the steps getting off the plane and I was forced to carry it round for the rest of my stay like some prehistoric bloody person.
The automatic passport reading machines at immigration were broke so everything was being done by hand and at one point the queues were so long they had backed all the way to the back of the arrivals hall and people were treading water on the escalators. At this point all the Dutch people in the waiting area started shouting what sounded very much like obscenities at the immigration officers and they finally got off their (fit) arses and opened the gates. At this point the scene became much like when the steerage passengers managed to break the gates in Titanic and someone ended up getting shot. Actually it could very well have gone like that cos there were a lot of guns about. Anyway nobody's passports got looked at, we all got a cursory glance and a wave through.
I finally arrived in the main airport over two hours late. My colleagues had been waiting for a veerrrryyy long time and had had enough of Amsterdam Airport so we decided it was high time we went to find our hotel.
It is very important at this point I feel to tell you that when I was three I spoke fluent Dutch. Unfortunately I grew up and moved away. I most definitely no longer speak fluent Dutch.
We attempted to buy railway tickets from the machine. Thirty minutes later, after enlisting the help of anyone who glanced in our general direction for more than a nano second we headed for the escalators clutching our precious tickets. Upon arrival on the designated platform it became very clear that this bit of the station was shut. After asking the nearest person to translate one of the - very many - signs plastered about, we discovered that yes this part of the station was indeed shut but, apparently, the signs did not tell you where the alternative platform to Amsterdam city centre was. So back up the escalators we went, eyes darting round desperately trying to attract the attention of friendly locals. For the record there were many of these, who all spoke very good English and were all very helpful.
We were directed to the correct platform by some friendly ladies and the train arived at the exact time it said it would - not a second earlier or later. A DOUBLE DECKER train! We sat on the bottom deck, this meant your head was level with the platform, which was a bit weird. The train was proper dirty mind so not everything is efficient.
When we got to the city centre we passed all the fast food kiosks and the smell was amazing. All I wanted to come to Amsterdam for was a frikendel with frit sauce out of a vending machine. But it was late and we just wanted to find our hotel so we hurried past - I told myself I would get one on the way home but I never did. When we stepped out of the station into the night air the smell of weed was overpowering. We all looked at each other in shock and laughed hysterically (maybe we were inhaling too much of the stuff). What a cliche though. We got on a bendy bus (that wasn't special they have them in Bristol) and managed to find our hotel in one go. We all hoped our husbands were impressed that three women managed to make it all the way to a hotel in Amsterdam ON OUR OWN. No taxis, no sat navs. We rock!
The hotel was super posh but the rooms were tiny. I had a single bed and the bathroom door banged against the bed when you opened the door. But it was only for me and only for one night so all good. I threw what was left of my suitcase on the bed and went down to meet the others. The hotel bar was empty and there was no restaurant so we decided to go out and find some dinner. Our hotel was on the corner of a really posh shopping street so we walked down it looking in the windows of Versace, Louis Vuitton etc, but to be honest food was more important than handbags and shoes at this moment.
After walking for about half an hour we assumed Amsterdam must be shut on Sunday evenings as every restaurant was closed except this one really fancy one where everyone coming out was dressed super posh - but then climbing onto grubby old bicycles and cycling off. So we turned round and set off back to the hotel. After a few steps a 60 something man appeared from nowhere and asked if we spoke English. Turned out he had arrived earlier today on a coach trip from Portsmouth and he was clearly very lonely as he walked with us all the way back to our hotel.
"Ah well, this is us, bye then" says us politely.
"If you were looking for somewhere to eat all the restaurants are just round the corner" says he, "I'll show you if you like."
Well, we did like, although there was a chance we were going to be asking for a table for four, So we went the other way out of the hotel and low and behold there it was! Amsterdam! In all it's ancient, beautiful, drug fuelled glory. We walked along the river and said goodbye to our new BFF outside Hard Rock Cafe. He had already had his dinner, we didn't dump him that cruelly.
Dinner was nice but we were tired so we had coke with dinner (drink of not line of) and then headed back to the hotel. One drink in the bar and time for bed.
The next morning we had breakfast in the hotel bar, continental; meat, cheese, bread and a boiled egg and waited in the snow (beautiful but worrying) for the taxi we had booked last night. The snow stopped and didn't stick and the taxi ride was terrifying, remind me never to attempt to drive a car or ride a bicycle through Amsterdam during rush hour. We were due to meet another colleague who was flying in from Heathrow at 9 and had told us to wait for him by the car rental so we sat down and waited, watching the insanely long queue getting longer and longer. After about an hour one of us asked the others if we shouldn't get into the queue and hold him a place. So I was just writing a text to ask him when I glanced up and saw him joining the end of the incredibly long line. Whoops! So we went to Starbucks and brought back coffee for everyone while we waited. Another hour later our car was ready. Apparently the computers had crashed so everything was being done by hand. The car we were supposed to be hiring had been given to someone else so another one would be allocated to us when we got to the car park, which was a "short" walk away.
40 miles later (or something, please bear in mind everyone else has suitcases on wheels, I am dragging round a broken one and it's very heavy) we reached the car park and were given our replacement car. And very nice it was too, a Mercedes but I can't tell you more than that. It was silver too...I think. Maybe grey. Or black. Anyway, we couldn't get the sat nav to stick on the window so I had to hold it on my lap and navigate the 3 hour journey to Belgium.
We made it in one go, no wrong turns at all. When we arrived at the factory we were told we had come to the wrong reception and our hosts would come down and meet us but we were all desperate for a wee so we asked if we could use the toilet. The toilets stank of poo. It was disgusting.
Then we went to a restaurant for lunch which didn't have a menu, you just got what you were given and liked it. Luckily I did like it. We had these little cream cheese nibbly things, then soup, then stuffed peppers and pasta (which repeated on me something chronic all night, I shouldn't eat pork really). But it was all delicious.
After lunch we went for a tour of the factory which was less dull than I thought it would be then had a meeting with the managers of the factory. Then we went back to our hotel for dinner. Our colleague who was driving had to go back to Amsterdam that evening so he paid for our rooms and left us to it. I went to my room for a bit (to sort out the repeating mince) and then had a shower and got changed and met the others in the bar. The hotel was another super swanky one, it looked like an Ikea showroom, all white plastic and weird sculptures. The waiter brought over an iPad with the menu on. Fish or fish for starters, fish, fish or steak for main. I ordered a bowl of chips much to his disgust (and some deodorant for the waiter. Not really but he did need it). I didn't stay up late, to be honest I was feeling pretty poorly. In hindsight I was coming down with flu but I didn't know that at the time and blamed it on the pork.
The next morning it was chucking it down. We had another continental breakfast and walked over to the factory which was only a few minutes from the hotel, had another meeting, some nice rolls for lunch then they had called us a taxi to take us to Antwerp station to get the train back to Amsterdam. Antwerp station is beautiful, the most incredible architecture and bloody enormous. Again, the train arrived at the exact right time, not too early, not too late. An impeccably dressed lady conductor got off and showed us to our - prebooked - seats. Which some cheeky cows were sat in. They were not impressed to be moved but it was a busy train and our Belgian hosts had paid extra for us to prebook our seats. The train was lovely, very plush and clean.
We arrived at Amsterdam airport and one of my colleagues planes was boarding so we said goodbye and the two of us settled down in Starbucks for the 8 hour wait for our planes. After we had sat there long enough that we were starting to get funny looks from the staff , and there's only so much milkshake you can drink before you explode, we went for a walk round the enormous airport. I swear the shopping area is bigger than Newport town centre. But with less poundshops.
We had our tea in Burger King and I got a sachet of frit sauce. O M G. It was just as good as I remember. If only I could take some home with me but I only had hand luggage and a 100ml limit. Saddest moment ever. After we had exhausted the airport console we went through security. As I was walking away with the remains of my suitcase and my boots in my hand a voice shouts "Samantha Morgan, you might need this." So I went back to get my passport off the immigration officer that apparently had been on the floor under the conveyer belt. Not quite sure how that happened but ho hum.
Then I had a look round all the duty free shops to see if any sold frit sauce but other than some pasta sauces that were the same brand they sell in Tesco but five times the price there was nothing worth buying so I got some iced tea to take my cocktail of drugs with and we settled down to wait it out.
My flight left on time, my colleagues was late so I said goodbye and carried my hateful suitcase to the gate. Only half the people had gone through when they decided there was too much hand luggage and everything else had to go in the hold. I showed the girl the remains of my case and said "You can't throw this in the hold, it won't survive the flight. I need it with me." She looked at me like something she'd scraped off her sensible shoe and told me to wait for her supervisor. So I had to stand there like a dick watching while everybody else boarded the plane. Then the supervisor came over and the girl was talking to her in Dutch and kept looking at me and pointing. So the supervisor picked up my bag and said "Of course it can't go in the hold" rolling her eyes at the girl, "Put it under the seat in front." So I picked up my bag and strutted (as best you can when you're off you're face on prescription meds, shaking with fear at the thought of getting on the plane and clutching a broken suitcase) onto the plane, everyone looking at me like they thought I was that one passenger that had to be called for last boarding five times.
I was in an aisle seat again next to two 18 ish lads who looked like they'd spent their weekend getting stoned. While the flight attendant was trying to check everyone had their seatbelts on the boy next to me asked if he could get a toastie. Got the munchies have you love? She told him he could have one when the trolley came round IN THE AIR NUMBNUTS (she didn't add the last bit but it was in her eyes).
The trolley came, boy ordered his cheese toastie, took one bite and fell asleep. I spent the rest of the flight seeing and smelling a greasy stinky toastie and trying not to vomit at the thought of eating such a thing. As we were circling over Bristol airport the cabin pressure got too much and my eye blew (like it always does coming home, never on the way out though weirdly). The pain was so intense it felt like my eye socket was going to explode. I staggered off the plane and through customs in a daze. So much so the immigration officer looked at me strangely and asked if I was OK. I felt it important to explain that it was merely prescription drugs for fear of flying and exploded head, especially since I never even had a single alcoholic drink while I was away never mind space cakes or hash brownies or whatever else everyone told me to try in Amsterdam.
I walked the ten miles (it said it was half a mile but I swear it was ten) back to the car cos the shuttle bus wasn't running at that time of night and drove home with one eye. Not advisable.
Next day went to work, by 5pm that night I was in bed with vomiting and fever and spent the next fortnight in bed with flu and tonsillitis.
So, to conclude, I'm never flying again. If I want to go abroad again I will drive. However far it is.
