Getting from the plane to the customs area was complicated. We boarded a shuttle, which went weaving around for a while and dropped us at a building, then we went upstairs and around a bunch of roped corners like mice running a maze where the cheese at the end was Amsterdam. Along the way I spotted this:
Once we got to the line for biometric scanning and other digital shenanigans, an employee came by with a bag full of stroopwafels and handed them out indiscriminately.
For a while we were all trapped in tiny glass boxes where we had to hold our passports up to a machine and then grip a fingerprint reader while gazing into a lens. The feeling of being a laboratory mouse was really intense. Then we were released to find our bags.
I walked a couple miles of carpet and ramps, and managed to find my stuff by following the Airtags. The suitcases were where the displays said they would be, but the bicycle was at the wrong oversize station. I would have searched for hours without the Airtag. Whew!
I hooked everything together and pulled my long tail of luggage over to a relatively traffic-free spot, just inside the big revolving doors. For the next two hours I slowly, methodically re-assembled the bicycle, and unpacked the suitcases of gear onto it.
As I was doing that, a couple of security people wandered up, wearing all-black combat gear and carrying really enormous rifles partially strapped to their chests. (Can they even run with those things?) One of them asked me what was inside the box, which I had just finished closing up with straps.
“Nothing,” I said. “There used to be a bicycle inside, but I put it together.” I pointed at the bike. “Now I’m folding up the box for transport. My friend will take it when he arrives.”
“And what about those suitcases?” said one of them, indicating with a tilt of his head.
Drat. My plan had been to just abandon those at the airport, with a little hand-lettered sign saying “FREE!” I couldn’t tell the guard that.
“Oh, my friend is taking those too,” I said.
They nodded, and moved away to a different part of the enormous room.
Zach arrived just at the right moment, and after some big hugs we chatted about transportation. I could ride the bike to his apartment, but in the meantime, could he bring the big box there, in his car? He said he would. What about the suitcases? If he didn’t want them I could find some way to dispose of them later…
He said he would take those too. My hero!
And thus unburdened thanks to my friend, I emerged into the wild wilderness of the greater Amsterdam area. In less than a minute I found the first of many bicycle paths, all separated from the cars. Lovely!
A few minutes after that, I went through my first bicycle tunnel. A guy on a moped went farting past me at a startling speed, but still it was way better than being harassed by cars.
A first bit of Dutch graffiti. No idea what it means.
I had to add and remove my jacket, as the clouds obscured and then revealed the sun. My first of many “layer management” experiences, no doubt. It wasn’t long before the thrill of being outdoors on the ground again overwhelmed my sleep deprivation and I felt a bit hungry, so I chomped the free stroopwafel.
As I passed around the edge of the airport, I stopped and took some cool photos of the runway. Then I followed the OpenCycle map in the direction of Zach’s place, which took me on a nice series of bike paths, mostly through parkland.
If this was on a different continent, I’d call it a Burning Man bike.
Before I knew it, I was at the apartment. Zach helped me maneuver the bike into the back yard, and shortly after saying hello, I brought my things up to the spare room and went SPLAT.
Once I was indoors again, the exhaustion of a night without sleep hit me like a wave. Would going to bed in the early afternoon help with the jet-lag? Maybe; maybe not. Either way, it’s happening.
