We left home at 4am (not my planning) in a taxi to St. Pancras. We were there too early (what a surprise) so sat at a sticky table opposite a coffee shop and watched all the young people with heavy back-packs, and the hassled parents with fretful children. Then we joined the line of people snaking round the barriers, towards the check-in point. (Why do I always notice the people who  skip the queue, rudely pushing to near the front? It makes very little difference to me, but it irritates me intensely!)

Once we had scanned our tickets, we put our bags through the scanners. Liquids and computers were allowed in the bags, but we did have to lift them—which I wouldn’t have managed alone. Then we passed through the metal detector (which must be set quite high, because  usually I set them off—I assume due to the metal holding my skull together). We emerged into the ‘departure lounge’ which was every bit as unpleasant as at an airport. Everything felt overused and stale. But it was very easy — I didn’t find it as stressful as flying.

When our train platform was announced, we followed the crowd, up a moving walkway, to the platform. There was a high step up into the train—which again, would have been too high for me to lift my suitcase. Catching the train with a suitcase involves a strong back, so take a man.

We found our seats, and settled down for the ride to Amsterdam. Very smooth. There was a buffet car (not bad) and toilets (not too horrid) and it was much nicer than flying (in my opinion). I tried to read, and Husband tried to chat, and we managed to arrive without killing each other. As we entered the Netherlands, there was a windmill, exactly like the kind in picture books. (It probably had a mouse wearing clogs, but we passed too quickly to see.)

At Amsterdam station, we followed the crowds to the exit. There was what I assumed was another moving walkway down from the platform—realised too late that it was an escalator, and nearly killed several people by almost dropping my suitcase on their heads. Managed to hold onto it, precariously perched, with worried Husband trying to help. Survived.

We were travelling to ‘s-Hertogenbosch (which people call ‘Den Bosch’) for an Old Testament conference. We had no idea how to get to ‘s-Hertogenbosch (and couldn’t even pronounce it!) so went in search of an Information Office. There was a very helpful person, who spoke excellent English, and was un-phased by our massacre of her language, who told us the train and platform number, and suggested we time the journey and looked for the station after about an hour. When the train arrived, it was a double-decker, so more lifting of cases onto the train, and then down a few steps so we could sit downstairs. It was very busy, but we found somewhere for our luggage, and seats together and it was fun to watch the countryside whiz past the window while Husband tried to teach me about reclaimed land and dikes. The water in the rivers we passed was higher than the railway, which was interesting.

We arrived. Found a lift to leave the platform. Put the Airbnb house into Google maps, and set off. It was very hot. The town is pretty, with rivers, and old buildings with their stepped roofs next to modern ones. The traffic stops at zebra crossings (you can never be sure when in a new country) and there were lots of bikes, and it was clean.

The house is okay. We have never actually been scammed by Airbnb houses—so they always exist when we arrive, but the quality and comfort varies hugely (because Airbnb don’t actually visit to check). This one was in a great position, but was slightly worn out, and not very well equipped. It also had a funny sign in the bathroom, telling us to only use the downstairs toilet!

Husband needed an emergency Big Mac, so we left bags and returned to McDonald’s. Then we shopped in a supermarket we had passed, and used Google translate to decipher that the Dutch for ‘orange juice’ looks like ‘apppel juice’ and ‘roombotercake’ means ‘butter cake’ and is actually Madeira cake. We paid, and then couldn’t leave because the barrier didn’t open—watched another customer scan her receipt to exit and copied. Good system.

We ate in an Italian restaurant because it was easy, then walked round the town. We saw sculptures commemorating the Dutch resistance in the war, and one to Jewish school children who were all expelled from schools in 1940, and lots of unusual sculptures which I believe are based on the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch (who was born here in the 1500s).

Went to bed very tired. Didn’t sleep.

I will tell you more in another post. Thanks for reading. Have a great day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x