Modern Gonzo on the Eurail
« Return to Amsterdam and Berlin
If the sign on the platform says Amsterdam, and the sign on the train says Amsterdam, and your pre-booked seats are waiting for you, you would think: “I’m on a train to Amsterdam.” Well, Chris Rea is on his Road to Hell, and I’m on my Train to Dortmund. The carriage up front split, somewhere somehow, and suddenly, a simple six-hour high-speed train to Amsterdam turns into a 17-hour odyssey to every little town along, and not along the way. Like a second marriage, it’s one of those things you laugh about later, but not when you’re in it. Using the crust around my eyes, I smear down my top five train misadventures on the window for prosperity (or, perhaps, prosterity, a new word which now belongs to me):
1. The Tazara rail from Kipiri Mposhi, Lusaka to Dar es Salaam Tanzania, in which I was forced to listen to African pop music screeching from broken speakers, for 38 hours, surviving on biscuits, and drinking the sweat from my armpits.
2. The train from Rishikesh to Dharamsala, in which I awoke to find three men sitting between my legs on the upper bunk, a trans-sexual poking me for a donation, and the worst earthquake of the decade.
3. The mad dash from Krakow, Poland to Split, Croatia, in which I was forced to bribe the conductor for his Mars bar, make Indiana Jones-ish dashes across platforms, and fend off over curious Hungarian teenagers.
4. The train from Ulan Bataar, Mongolia, to Irkutsk, Siberia, in which I joined an international smuggling ring, urinated at the gunpoint of Russian border guards, and survived on cans of expired sardines and instant noodles.
5. The train from Victoria Falls to Lusaka, in which I had to beat away thieves and robbers exiting the train, before being accosted by four men armed with AK-47s, who decided to help me out, instead of killing me for my pair of hiking boots.
And so, in light of the smear, my epic Eurail journey was pretty tame, and since I was averaging only four hours of sleep a night anyway, it was possible to arrive in Amsterdam and head straight to Vondelpark to met a lovely local named Jona, who appeared by bicycle dressed like a Bohemian princess. Since those first few sunny days in Berlin, the rain invaded like a Viking horde, pillaging its way across Europe, the wettest June on record. Amsterdam, built on a dam by the river Amstel, was getting a carwash, so we hovered under a bridge until the storm passed, and proceeded to explore this unique city with its fascinating character. It’s hard not to get a buzz walking alongside houses that were built before Columbus accidentally discovered North America. Built on a swamp, those famous wooden structures of Amsterdam sit on wooden stilts, which are slowly sinking, lurching the houses above in all directions, like the teeth of Austin Powers. Amsterdam’s houses do not “sink”, instead locals say they “dance”. If anyone’s ever seen me dancing after two genevers (Dutch gin) too many, the description makes perfect sense.
The Dutch, who briefly ruled the world as a trading power, have given us so many things. Like the microscope (1590), the compact disc (1979), Australia(1606), and South Africa(1652). They have also given us Dutch Courage, the art of Going Dutch, and the less-known but just as spectacular Dutch Oven, in which one farts under the covers in bed.
They are the tallest nation in the world, and possibly its most optimistic, since they live largely below sea level and, as everyone knows (except those who can do anything about it), sea levels are rising.
“What happens when the sea levels rise.” I ask the striking Bianca, who is a shortish 5ft 11inches.
“We’ll build higher dikes,” she replies. We don’t yet know if employing thousands of giant lesbians will hold back the mighty seas, but the Dutch - who live in Holland, in a country also called The Netherlands, which borders a large country called Deutschland where they speak Deutsch - are used to paying the price for survival. For example, here one must pay to pee. It costs a cool 50c to use the toilet in a bar or restaurant. At the Park Pop music festival, you could even buy a €2 all day pee pass. Now that’s value! Fortunately, given the large amount of men who roam the streets of Amsterdam, swilling with ale, the new plastic outdoor pissoirs is just the sort of thinking that may save the city from the sea.
