I was one of the first people to wake up at the lovely time of 7am, well I thought it was a bit too early to cause to much hassle. 30 minutes later I thought stuff it. I got up, got dressed and walked out the room, not realising there was a real strong spring mechanism to shut the door. SLAM. Everyone in my room would have nearly been awake by 7.30am.
I quickly went to the lobby/ dinning area, had something to eat and went for an hour long walk. The walk was to try and make sure no one realised I was the culprit who woke them up, but also to appreciate what the city of partying was like during the early hours without people drinking everywhere. The day I ventured around, it was a pretty awesome place to see. I wish I had have brought along my camera for the views. Looking at the time, it was time to get a move on, but how would I get back? A couple of times I got to a dead end (with a canal blocking the way), but all ended up being fine soon enough.
Check out time was meant to be at 10am, more for cleaning purposes, by the time I got to the reception to get my bond back it was already 10.20am, but due to queues there was no real concern. I saw Martine and Brian, but forgot their names, so tried to scurry out before they called out (yea, it’s the soft way out.) It is kind of fun to try and lug 3 bags around, and seeing reactions of those around you. There were people who pretended not to notice, but looked out of the corner of their eyes, I suppose in Amsterdam they are either tourists themselves, or have seen so many of them that I am just another person. At the train station I was 0.30 Euro short in change (yea machines only take coins and cards), so I waited in a pretty lengthy line to try and save 0.50 Euro. At the front of the line, I asked for change and the guy pointed at a machine hidden at the back, mentioning it was the change machine but he would give change. After buying my ticket I was slowly heading to and got to the correct platform… be wary in Centraal Amsterdam station, the platforms are labeled with the number followed by ‘a’ or ‘b.’
30 minutes later, I walked around to the check in area. I was doing the self check in, but for some reason the machine would not accept me. I asked a lady and she directed me to the check in desk. After waiting a while for a few people, I got to the front with the aim of being quick. I gave the lady my details and anticipated to put my luggage onto the weight conveyor, “Mr Smith, you already have your paper ticket.” Now to cut a lot of whinging out, as well as useless attempting to describe the situation, the lady in Japan had already printed my ticket off, and I had either stuffed it somewhere in my bags, or it eventually ended up in the bin. I looked through everywhere it could have been, held up the queue some more, and could not find it. The lady eventually gave me another ticket after I showed her a photocopy of what the travel agent had given me (Proof of purchase).
Getting to the gate to head to Accra, the first wave of physical realisation dawned upon me, I will be away from the main populous of the white population for 4 weeks… oh well. I showed the lady my ticket that had just been printed, she read the text at the bottom and I showed her the photocopy. This was no hassle, with me just once again stripping off for the metal detector. Oh yea, Schiphol airport is the only airport I have been to where the detectors are actually at each individual gate, I suppose it reduces unemployment as well as congestion and for people to be held up. Getting all set up for the plane again, I began walking then was stopped by an airport market researcher. Wanting to get my opinion of various items related to the airport. The only criticism of Schiphol airport is the check in area, where people seem to not follow any effective sequence. The lady asked if I had any questions, I asked “How many languages do you know?” The response surprised me a lot “I know four languages, fluent. Three others not so. English is the worst”
Finally getting to the plane, I was not one of the last ones on. A group of 15 people were delayed from their last flight and it was a 25 minute delay… so we just sat there. I though this were to be one of those slow flights with nothing of excitement to keep me buzzed. The guy next to me (Patrick) seemed to enjoy his silence for the time being. From Amsterdam until after Algiers we did not really communicate, the guy in front of me and I had made more talk otherwise. The reason for us talking was due to the scenery, the way the clouds were pierced by the European Alps, the French coastline near Marseilles, the thousands of boats along the ways that would have gone over a third of the way from France to Algeria and even the beginning of the desert formation of the Sahara. For a little side note the Sahara used to be the once flourishing Sahel, a forested area which over the times of various empires in the region began the desertification process. Just after Algiers, the guy turned next to me and asked about one of the questions, this was the same question I had left blank in the Immigration papers. The guy, Patrick, was from San Francisco but originally Nigeria. He was in the process of studying Human Biology (North African) and was completing some voluntary work in Tamale, north Ghana. This work would help give him credit for his degree at Stamford. I guess we had similar views on life, and with this view I was forward enough to ask if his organisation could drive me to a hostel, or similar. It was apparently going to be alright, enough so that even though he was ahead of me in the transit from plane to the terminal (don’t ask) he was waiting for me in the terminal.
As we approached the front of the queue I realised that maybe I should be in the line ‘Visa on arrival.’ It is with that, that Patrick and I had our time together dramatically cut short, oh well.
