Thursday

It is nearly 4:00 pm and here I am at gate A12 of Cleveland Hopkins airport, tired and wondering just what the heck I am doing back here. I shouldn’t complain since it has been all of nearly three days since I was last here, at Hopkins, but in that time I’ve tried, and failed, to get a week’s worth of work in at home, and then managed to pull something in my back while weeding my no-longer-recognizable garden. Thank goodness for Motrin®, but am I really ready to get back on a plane? And given that I am, am I really prepared to set down in yet another country where I don’t have any specific place to stay and am just barely aware of the language spoken?

Last night, after barely pulling myself off the floor, a victim of last-minute packing around a rapidly deteriorating back, I plopped myself down in my easy chair and popped in a DVD. For some reason I picked “A Bridge to Far,” a recent acquisition, perhaps because I had my doubts that I would ever leave for the airport, much less fly to Europe. It was only after the opening images that I recalled, from vague memories of the book, that this was not just a movie about a disaster in Europe, from the Allies perspective at least, but about a disaster in Holland. No small comfort as I envisaged strapping myself to a jet and flying to Amsterdam. At least I’ve had more than a week to plan for this trip.

Or have I? When last I wrote I left off somewhere North of Bled in the Slovene Alps (see 0011Slovenia-text.htm). It is a testament to how busy I’ve been this year that I’ve not only left you hanging for nine months in Europe, but also have a chapter from Arizona and one from Massachusetts that remain unentered on my computer much less sent. In the mean time I’ve obtained tenure (Yippie!), taught Biochemistry for the first time (Egad!), been to Arizona once, Massachusetts three times (once for six weeks), and spent two weeks in Washington state (not to forget to mention a few side trips to Vermont and Rhode Island), and had my house reroofed, partially rewindowed. Did I mention that my son turns one this month? It’s been a busy year, and I’m ready for a break.

So, having returned from Washington just last Monday, what am I doing flying to Europe late afternoon on the following Thursday? More to the point, why aren’t I going to Arizona for a few weeks of reality and relaxation rather than flying to Europe for two and one-half weeks of unplanned chaos? Well, once again, Science has reared its very ugly head. I’m going to a meeting, my third this month. Oh boy, and here I go.

Saturday

Have I mentioned that I never left? And that even that is almost a lie because here I sit on an “Embracer 145(!)” somewhere I assume over rural, Western Pennsylvania, heading East, but on Saturday rather than Thursday? What happened? Why haven’t I been enjoying two pre-meeting days in Europe? Four words: Free round-trip tickets. OK, and my back hurt, and I had nothing much planned for those two pre-meeting days in Amsterdam, and, obviously, I was already burnt out on traveling, and a few windows were due for reinstallation on Friday (yesterday) in my house, etc. So when the U.S. Air agent declared, “We are overbooked and are looking for volunteers whom we will reward with vouchers for a roundtrip to anywhere in the U.S.,” how could I have said no?

Of course, when I told the ticket agent that they would have to Figure out how to get me to Amsterdam by an alternative route, the balked. But everything became nicey when I said that I wouldn’t mind flying two days later. “Are you sure?” Of course I’m sure. I had just spent 12 hours trying to figure out how to get out of flying to Amsterdam that day. For good measure, I then had my return trip changed to a week earlier. I’m just not in the mood for an extended trip, or, at least, so I hope. Then, to maximize my costs of not traveling, I rented a car to return to Mansfield. Ah the price of world travel.

Regardless, here I sit heading towards Philadelphia on a commuter jet, actually even a little bit psyched about to be heading off. Nothing quite like, I think, going with the flow rather than trying to fly against it.

Philadelphia

We’re on the ground, and we’re waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Plenty of time to do a little planning ahead. I check my Phili-to-Amsterdam ticket. A 7:30 flight, plenty of time. It’s 7:00 PM as our plane pulls up to the terminal. And 7:05 by the time I make it off of the plane. By 7:10 I’m on a shuttle bus bound from terminal F to terminal C. On boarding the bus I’m told to get off at the C terminal which will lead to the A terminal where I’m due to catch my flight. Upon exiting the bus I try to confirm this, and I am confirmed, but with a look that suggests that I am both crazy and in trouble. Since I already know that I am crazy, but perhaps am too stupid to admit that I am in trouble, I head up the escalator on my way to the A terminal.

Phili has changed, the airport at least. I recognize nothing as I run down one corridor after another. “A terminal this way.” You mean I’m not even in A terminal yet? More people. Less room to maneuver. I slow down. Still plenty of time. I reach the gate at 7:20. Piece of cake! And the flight is delayed for two hours. Oh whoopy. At least I can justify having delayed my flight two days since my now much-improved back never would have survived the trip from gate to gate on Thursday evening. On the other hand, it sure is crowded in the vicinity of gate A11, and sure is warm. From all those rushing bodies, including my own. But I’m now surrounded by people speaking languages I not only can’t understand but can’t even identify. I must be in the right place, and the adventure clearly has begun.

Amsterdam

I’ve arrived in Amsterdam after getting only one-hour sleep on the plane. Just wasn’t tired enough, and they kept the big screen TV on all night, just one seat in front of me. I only slept after I put a blanket over my head to keep the light out. Unfortunately, by then it was 2:00 am, which is 8:00 am Amsterdam time. So people started waking and talking almost as soon as I finally managed to doze off. Egad!

Amsterdam is gorgeous. It’s sunny with a coolish breeze. The city is clean, pretty, and extremely dangerous. Nearly every step is off of a curb into the way of a bus, or a tram (trolley), or a bike, or a car. And it doesn’t help at all that I’ve had only one hour of sleep and that the town is covered with scantily clad women. Either this is heaven, or a very cruel hell of competing distractions and disaster. Boston was a piece of cake in comparison, with basically only cars to worry about, which typically were in traffic jams.

2:25 am, Monday morning and, oh I get it now, our hotel room is directly over the hotel kitchen. The sound of handfuls of chinking coins, over and over, might be handfuls of chinking silverware. Wonderful. But why am I now wide awake so close to the middle of the night? Just wonderful. Couldn’t be that 2:25 AM is just 8:25 PM Ohio time. Could it be that it is way too humid, a consequence of a series of evening thunderstorms and no A/C (hence the open window, hence the chinking coins)?

Could it be also that I should shut up and stop complaining since I’m lucky enough just to have a hotel room in the middle of Amsterdam in the middle of the night? Probably the latter, but it still would be nice to be asleep right now rather than writing in a diary.

The opening of the meeting was tonight. The highlight was a lecture by Rita Colwell, the head of NSF and, surprise, surprise, also a microbial ecologist, even a phage ecologist at one point in her career (at least to some extent). This talk went very well, though I must admit to being sufficiently tired, and having allowed myself to become sufficiently dehydrated, that I barely stayed awake during the talk. I thought I had done fairly well until I was asked, after the lecture, “Hey, what about those acorns?” Acorns? When did she say anything about acorns? Oh well.

After the talk was a reception featuring free alcoholic beverages; too fatty, milky, and cretaceously food (I’m allergic to shrimp and lobster); and a loud room full of 2000 people, most of whom I had never met, much less was familiar with their work. Well, I knew that it was a bit of a stretch to call myself a microbial ecologist, but this was still a bit too much ignorance on my part than I normally would prefer. Exhausted, I staggered back to the hotel only to be awaked to chinking coins at about 8:30-9:00 PM (2:30-3:00 PM Ohio time). By 9:30 PM my roommate had returned and I was indeed ready to join him for a later dinner. An hour or so later we were both sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, and just a few hours after that here I am awake and complaining. This is not good!

The City that Bikes

More on Amsterdam. The city is indeed the city that bikes, though also the city of bike thieves, apparently, since all bikes are well locked to just about everything in sight. And most of these bikes are what we might call single-speed clunkers. Definitely city-commuting bikes built to not impress the thieves as much, for example, a bunch of low-end mountain bikes that one typically sees on American college campuses. Nice to be in a very bike friendly city, but remarkable that my first reaction would be to complain about the bikes, eh? Only slowly am I learning to not step blindly into traffic. The trams are just so quiet for such large vehicles, for example.

Still I’ve not had too much additional impressions of the city. The trains and subway and commuter rails are wonderful to travel on. The subway station at the airport is eerily quiet, even with trains arriving and leaving. This compares with the almost deafening roar of the Boston subway (the “T”) I was riding half the summer. The doors on the Amsterdam cars also don’t open manually but instead must be pressed both to enter cars, and to leave.

I’ve met two people so far at the meeting, both by chance as we arrived at the train station at the convention center. I also recognize the person who sat in front of me, to the right, on the plane coming over. The one who was reading reprints on the plane, then The Rolling Stone, then complaining when I put on the overhead lamp an hour or so before dinner was served. I also recognized one person in the crowd at the reception, but he was otherwise engaged, so I guess, technically, I shouldn’t say that I knew nobody. But it sure seems fairly close to that. At least, should I ever fall back asleep tonight, I should be in some position to take in some science tomorrow (Monday). But still, at least I didn’t arrive in Amsterdam two days earlier as I had originally planned.

Tuesday

So it is Tuesday evening, about a quarter to midnight and I’m a little disappointed. In part this is because I just finished wandering in circles around the center of Amsterdam, but when I was ready to go back to my hotel, I actually, somehow, knew exactly how to get there. What fun is that? The sun is down. I don’t speak the language, and I still seem to know which way is North. I’m also disappointed with the tameness of the place. This is not to say that I don’t like it. It’s warm. It’s cool. It’s safe. And there are pretty girls and other interesting sights, everywhere. In fact, it is a pleasant, fun, party kind of place. Not like Tel Aviv, or even Ljubljana, but still fun. But, however, I was expecting raunchy, bawdy, and down right lewd. What good is a red light district, famous throughout the world, if the ladies are dressed more conservatively than many of my students on a warm Spring day? Apparently this is the downside of legitimization and legalization. It is legal alright, but unless you participate, I mean really participate (no thank you), then so what? My guess is that Amsterdam’s reputation for outrageousness comes from three sources. One is that it really used to be absolutely outrageous. The second is that for those individuals interested in Amsterdam particularly for sex for pay, it appears to be a fairly easy place to obtain such services, presumably within a reasonably safe and hassle-free environment. Finally, the safety and regulation of the environment makes gawking far more accessible to the ordinary folk than the under side of most cities, thereby making this red light district visitable by almost anybody. Sort of a Disney Land of Sexual Misadventure. Bring the kids!

The most interesting event of the evening was when a pretty young thing fell on my head. This takes some explaining (of course!). First I was tired of the meeting so headed back to my hotel and then off to dinner. There I stayed too long and found myself late for my ”Walking cultural tour of Amsterdam.” When I had walked nearly to the spot where we were due to meet, I realized that I had left my vest back at the eatery. No way I was going to leave my vest behind in Amsterdam (I’ve owned it nearly ten years), so I headed back, barely finding the place, but I found it. Ultimately I was twenty minutes late for the start of my tour. I figured they were long gone and that I had missed it. That was only partially correct. Yes, they were long gone. But, no, I ended up with one tour guide but only two patrons in my group (myself included). Fun! So we set off see Amsterdam culture.

I don’t know if it was jus us, two guys and our male guide, but what passes for culture in Amsterdam, if my guide is to be believed, is sex, a little bit of alcohol, but only at proper Dutch pubs, and drugs. Mainly, though, we were shown where to buy sex, or just merely view it, live and on stage, if that was our preference. He also showed us where the junkies used to hang out. As I said, the red light district is so tame, I actually had passed through it two or three times so far during my stay in Amsterdam without really realizing it. Almost like the bad sections of New York City, without the dirt and violence. Friendly city. Not lewd and naughty. Bummer!

Oh yes, the girl on my head. So one of the places we passed through on the tour, that I had already been through two or three times that evening, was essentially an out of doors film festival or, at least, a movie showing. A bunch of young people – though I still like to think that I could fit in – was sitting and standing around watching a movie called Snatch (http://www.spe.sony.com/movies/snatch/). Very funny, though a lot more raunchy and violent and otherwise R rated than films one typically views on the streets of, say, Ohio.

A bunch of young men and ladies were sitting on a trailer which I decided to lean against to watch the movie. Apparently one of them, two or three feet above my head, decided that she wanted to leave and that she needed a hand down. Never being one to turn down a damsel in difficulty, I obliged to help, even going so far as to attempt to help break her fall as she made here way to the ground. I figured that anyway who wasn’t prepared to jump from that height without help certainly was not prepared to fall and then land. The long and short of it is that people plus gravity plus kinetic energy make for an interesting combination, no matter what she looks like. Ugh! But fun!

So, here I sit, the movie over, time to call it a night. It’s midnight. That’s all of 4:00 pm Ohio time. A man is asking me to buy him food. I guess there still is some raw edge to this place. I suppose I should help him, and then call it a night. Ta.

OK, so the night continues. I look around for the man in need of food, and he’s gone. Then yet another person comes up to me requesting something. That is what I get for wearing pants and a button down shirt. Apparently I’m no longer written off as destitute. No one else seems to be paying attention to me (except the lady above my head at the movie), though perhaps that is because I’m wearing a goofy baseball cap. But this new individual very nervously requests that I help him come up with his bus money home. Something about its being past midnight and his ticket being only good for one day, or some other excuse. I don’t know. It is remarkable how when it is not dollars, even when you know the exchange rate, one is less inclined to be hesitant about giving some of it away, at least on streets of Amsterdam just past midnight. So I give him 20 Guilder, and then he is on his way.

I return to my hotel and my roommate still hasn’t returned, so I am off for my second beer of the evening at a local restaurant. Sitting outside, sipping Heineken from the tap, and working on a manuscript. Does life get any better? I suppose it does, but I am alone in Amsterdam in the middle of the night so will just have to make due.

So now I’m wonderfully tipsy with still no roommate, attempting to write legibly before passing out. It is a losing battle.

Wednesday

Slowly I’m learning that while planning ahead may be a virtue, there nevertheless exists a nether world where some planning is worse than no planning at all. So began my day. We woke at a wonderfully late 8:00 AM, after falling to sleep sometime in the vicinity of 2:00 AM. Plenty of time to shower, dress, and eat before setting out to find the Yellow Bike Tours office, from which we will head off for a day of biking through the Holland country side north of Amsterdam.

It was after breakfast that I made my mistake. Upon assembling the pile of things that I hoped to bring with me for the day, I noticed that I had picked up an Amsterdam map where the locations of the various excursions for the day were indicated. Now, I knew that I had already passed the yellow bike location, and I knew that it was quite close to my hotel, though exactly where I was not so sure. Consequently, I checked this map to ID the exact location. There it was indicated, a good 2 kilometers in another direction entirely from where I had sort of remembered seeing it. OK, there must be two Yellow Bike locations, and so I set off towards this second one. Perhaps predictably, when I arrived at the indicated spot on the map, there was no Yellow Bike around. I rechecked the general vicinity, but there was still nothing. I asked various individuals where it was, but they didn’t know. Unfortunately that last bit of information was worthless since seemingly nobody on the street in Amsterdam knows where anything is, nor how to read a map.

I finally asked somebody at a touristy store and he convinced me that there really was no Yellow Bike Tours in the immediate area. So, at 10:10, I was 10 minutes late and truly clueless or, at least, almost clueless about where I was supposed to be. At least I knew that there was some other Yellow Bike location out there, and a quick look at the excursions map suggested what my original mistake had been. An accidental insertion of half a line in the map’s key aligned the number ”7” with Yellow Bike Tours rather than the number ”6”. ”6” on the map was right where I thought Yellow Bike Tours ought to be. Had I considered that I might have had a problem finding the place, perhaps I would have reconciled the address I had with the indicated location on the map. Oh well. That would have taken prior planning.

So, at least ten minutes late I began my trudge to nearly back to where I had started the morning, at my hotel. When finally I was certain I was now in the right area, still people had no clue as to where the place was nor even the ”street” (I use the word loosely) upon which the place was found.

At 10:40, now forty minutes late, I finally found the place. I point out why I was late but I’m told that I can’t just take a bike off on my own since these were tours that they give, not bike rentals. Besides, she says, they don’t have any more bikes left to lend me. Of course, I was surrounded by bikes, and besides, there would have been a bike there for me had I shown up 40 minutes earlier. I point the latter out to her, and assure her that I am an experienced rider who is able to read maps and that, besides, I’m carrying plenty of money in case something goes wrong.

Grudgingly, and then with growing enthusiasm, she gives me a bike, and then a map, and then directions, and then she takes my driver’s license, and I was off.

The bikes, of course, are yellow but also clunky one-speeds like so many of the bikes in Holland. Still, the bike was surprisingly well suited to the terrain (crowded, bumpy, and flat). I braved the traffic and then, as directed, reached a ferry found on the other side of the Central Station. We crossed the water and I was on my own in unknown territory. I knew I needed to head North so, using the sun as my guide, I started down random roads, enjoying the speed and freedom of bike travel, and the remarkable degree to which bike travel is accommodated in Amsterdam. There not only are numerous bike trails, but more bike trails than there are even roads!

I continue onward, vaguely aware of attempting to keep going in the right direction. I reach a large highway that I figure is the North-South road found on my map. I don’t cross it but stay abreast of it waiting for a good point to cross. Finally I find one and immediately I enter the town of Landsmear, meaning that I had managed to veer about four kilometers away from the route I though that I was following. I then travel too far through Landsmeer, getting close to heading off of my map, when I realize that I’m heading in the wrong direction.

I make a turn to correct this but soon come upon a canal. I ask two nice ladies sitting outside their homes (how novel!) for directions. Neither speaks English, but between the three of us we direct me in a better direction. I head off and manage to pick the perfect road to get me back to the route my group was following. I reach a small ferry (60 cents, Holland, to cross) where I meet a young Dutchman, who is on a bike, and who is with a pretty French woman, also on a bike. I request that he point to my map to tell me where I am and, happily, he obliges. Yippy! I’m right on the correct route. We talk during the short passage across the canal and then a bit afterward. I then bid them farewell and get on with the business of catching up with my group, who I reach at about noon at a little restaurant in ???. I arrive before the group is served their meal, I order, and them are served as soon as they are. Fun! …

Smart Cars

”There is also a display of current models including the cute "Smart Car" which was originally the result of a partnership between Swatch and Daimler-Benz. The 58-mpg car has won numerous awards in Europe and can be purchased in many "mouth watering" colors. If a computer can be called an iMac then this car should be called an iCar. A number of governments are using this car as a basis for car-sharing plans. SwissAir has a program for first-class passengers to use this car at their destination while returning it to the airport upon their departure. The Smart Car is only 2.5 meters long and has excellent visibility combined with a very small turning circle and a semi-automatic transmission. The car has a top speed of 85 mph, accelerates from 0 to 60 in 10.2 seconds. The Smart Car features a state of the art Tridion alloy safety framework, ABS braking and a rear mounted Mercedes manufactured 599cc suprex-turbocharged 3 cylinder in-line petrol engine complete with catalytic converter.” From http://www.ddavid.com/formula1/merc_museum.htm

Uppsala

Later I was driven to my host’s company, Pharmacia of Uppsala, by a student with a professional interest in phage therapy. We talked for a while and then I was on my way into the Pharmacia complex, which is like a small city, or a medium-sized college campus. It is huge, with shiny, new buildings and much art. The labs are clean, well-organized, and stuffed full of shiny and new equipment. Nothing like your typically academic lab. On the other hand, he generally has to come to work in the morning.

The lunch at Pharmacia was the best food I’ve had in Europe this trip. It was an wonderful array of well-cooked food made with fresh ingredients. The green beens were crisp and sweet. The vegetable soup was wonderful, particularly with a matzo-like cracker crushed into it. The sauerkraut was well made and the potatoes scrumptious. But most of all the baked salmon was out of this world, cooked to perfection. After three platefuls two bowls of soup, and two glasses of beer, I finished the meal off with a plate of linguine with olive oil and about a half-pound more of the backed salmon. Yummy! My host simply watched, amazed that anyone could possible consume that much food, embarrassed that we were collecting so many dishes, and apparently quite happy to show off how well his company treats its employees.

Note that the rest of this story has not been entered (but with luck still exists)