Adders in Amsterdam
Sep. 22nd, 2003 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
addersljThere's nothing that help cure your flying nervousness than a grey man clutching a vomit bag in abject fear for all 45 minutes of the flight to Amsterdam. I decided to stare out of the window instead, and realised that we passed over my flat on the way to the North Sea. Couldn't the plane have just picked me up there? We need more flexibility in our air travel, I tell you.
The view coming into Schipol was distinctly Dutch. The sheer geometry of the fields and the waterways around the airport quite took my breath away. There's a precision to it that marks it aside from the farmland around most European airports. The clean lines didn't follow into the airport, though. The arrivals lounge was a riot of colour and sound. I passed through quickly, searching for a taxi.
The Dutch, it would appear, believe that tailgating is a perfectly acceptable way do drive. "Dis is good music, yes?" said the driver, nodding his head to the music while neatly changing lanes and cutting up a van. I squeaked in abject fear and tried to focus on the architecture around us.
Like many European cities, the route from the airport to the city itself was lined with office blocks. However, unlike the uniform mediocrity of so many suburban office developments in British, these had a distinct favour all their own. I was most impressed. That feeling only grew as the taxi started hurtling down narrow streets and throwing itself across bridges over the many canals that make up this part of the city. The patrons in the bars were blissfully unaware of the screeching car and the terrified journalist within. They were far too busy having fun. Who can blame them? This looks like a fun city.
Mind you, I haven't come across many hotel magazines that devote two or three pages to extolling the virtues (if that's the word) of the local red light district...
The view coming into Schipol was distinctly Dutch. The sheer geometry of the fields and the waterways around the airport quite took my breath away. There's a precision to it that marks it aside from the farmland around most European airports. The clean lines didn't follow into the airport, though. The arrivals lounge was a riot of colour and sound. I passed through quickly, searching for a taxi.
The Dutch, it would appear, believe that tailgating is a perfectly acceptable way do drive. "Dis is good music, yes?" said the driver, nodding his head to the music while neatly changing lanes and cutting up a van. I squeaked in abject fear and tried to focus on the architecture around us.
Like many European cities, the route from the airport to the city itself was lined with office blocks. However, unlike the uniform mediocrity of so many suburban office developments in British, these had a distinct favour all their own. I was most impressed. That feeling only grew as the taxi started hurtling down narrow streets and throwing itself across bridges over the many canals that make up this part of the city. The patrons in the bars were blissfully unaware of the screeching car and the terrified journalist within. They were far too busy having fun. Who can blame them? This looks like a fun city.
Mind you, I haven't come across many hotel magazines that devote two or three pages to extolling the virtues (if that's the word) of the local red light district...
