Amsterdam, The Netherlands


A Trans-Atlantic Trance: Getting to Amsterdam

09/05/2002, 2:00 pm (We're still in the USA at this point, remember?)
O'Hare Airport Chicago, IL
Waiting...that's what I'm doing. Considering my previous experiences with last-minute arrivals at the airport for flights, I decided this one was important enough to arrive a bit early, even for an International flight. The flight is due to leave in 3 hours and 45 minutes, that leaves me with a lot of time on my hands. I suppose I could read, I could sleep (exposing my personal baggage to any random terrorist walking by!), I could even work on my laptop. What do I do? Take advantage of my last few hours on the US long distance system and talk to a few people from college and Milwaukee. After a while I thought I might be a phone hog and decided to read and watch the line of people waiting to go to Budapest (which everyone else pronounces Budapesht).

My reading and oberserving were interrupted twice, once by a lady who SAYS she was with the airlines doing a survey. She did have a badge that looked convincing, but John Ashcroft's visage suddenly appeared in my mind, urging me to be cautious in line with the country's state of "Yellow" alert and alert the authorities by some form of anonymous telephone terrorist-threat system. But, darn it, she didn't have a pocket knife and only God-faring US citizens who have passed thorough interrogation are given that phone number anyway, so I complied with the survey of the "evil one."

She asked if I was a US citizen (ah...see, she's trying to figure out how many casualties she can rack up) and if I had flown Internationally more than three (illustrating this number as she said it with three fingers) times in the past six months. I answered yes and no respectively to her Islamic-Jihad sounding questions and this seemed to satisfy her freedom-destroying intentions as she promptly thanked me and moved on to the next unsuspecting patriot.

My next encounter was with a nice fellow from France. He didn't speak any english and wanted to know if the seat next to me was taken. He indicated this through a few words in English and some gestures, I got the idea and moved some of my bags (careful to look for any terrorists that might be lurking nearby) so he could sit down. At this moment, I thought to myself, "Hmmm...I know a few phrases in French, what an opportune time to use these gems of knowledge!" So I promptly introduced myself with a "Je'm appelle Jay" (hey folks, I can barely speak it, I don't guarantee spelling). He seemed to enjoy my feeble attempt at French and introduced himself as well. I was quite pleased with myself after this, and took great pride in telling the terrorist-she-devil posing as an airline surveyor that he didn't speak any English when she attempted to question him later. This satisfied her, and she left him alone in search of other liberty-laden folks and plot their destruction.

09/05/2002, 5:15 pm
Big Airplane owned by British Airways
Finally, they announced that boarding would begin for British Airways Flight 296 out of Chicago, departing at 5:45 pm. About 20 minutes later, when the top and back of the giant plane have gotten settled in, I'm allowed to enter the largest plane I've ever flown in, and I find my seat. It is by the bathroom. On the asile. You would think, "Ah, what a good thing for those long-flight bathroom trips." However, that bathroom was out-of-order, and as I soon discovered, my seat didn't seem to recline as well as those around me, due to being next to the bathroom. At least there weren't any small children near me, and my neighbors didn't smell (at least not at this point during the flight). I marveled at the sheer number of people that modern engineering can pack into a aluminum tube. With three people on either side and five (I think) in the middle, I rather felt like a sardine and the plane hadn't even taken off.

There were certainly enough flight attendants on this flight, but for as many hours as we'd be gone, I suppose they have shifts or such. In any case, we got underway and the plane taxied in line to the runway. Meanwhile, I was trying to find a place for all the things I had been given as a passenger of an International flight. I had a big blanket in a plastic bag, a headset for in-flight entertainment in a plastic bag, a headrest thingy in a plastic bag, and a barf bag (not in a plastic bag) along with the magazines that nobody reads and the safety manual which nobody reads until it's much too late.

09/05/2002, 5:45 pm
Big Airplane just about to rocket down the runway owned by British Airways
So, eventually the airplane was next in line for takeoff, and all the many flight attendants had found their many seats. The pilot, or at least the computer that must do much of the work these days, hit the engines and zoooom went the plane. The plane went faster, and faster, which rather worried me, since a critical element of flying, being airborne, didn't seem to be happening yet. But just then, the plane began to lift up into the air, in that predictable diagonal-line movement. At this point, the plane shutters a bit and the computer figures that that everybody bought WAY too much stuff on this flight and the fat guy in the back had a big dinner just before getting on the plane. A few more shakes here and there, a few more carbon monoxide emissions from the engines and the plane leaps into the air, gliding up away from Chicago and towards London, well at least relatively towards London.

09/05/2002, 5:48 pm
Big Airplane gliding up into the skies owned by British Airways
Having secured my immediate safety by concentrating on what MIGHT happen if the plane didn't lift off without a hitch, and not having much else to do besides pop my ears as the cabin pressure increased so that we would buy more duty-free items on this flight, I took stock of my fellow passengers on this wayward journey. To my immediate left was a middle-aged Indian fellow that seemed to be from America, and at the window was a woman who seemed to keep to herself and attempt to sleep IMMEDIATELY after takeoff. Across the aisle to my left in the "many people packed into the middle" section of the plane, was a little girl, and the rest of her family playing with their newfound plastic-bag-enclosed items.

Now that the flight was underway, in a very British-like way the pilot came on the PA system and thanked us for our patience during the taxi process. He advised us of our flight time and was quite polite overall. This was followed by our lead flight attendant's announcement of the dinner service and availability of in-flight-entertainment. In-flight-entertainment...that's a fun one. You've got radio of all kinds, TV shows from America and Britain, and familiar and odd movies all at the tip of your fingers. No more watching the same wide-audience movie that would make everyone from the Italian grandmother to the six-year-old happy - you've got choices now. You can watch one of SEVERAL of those types of movies.

Ok, ok, so in actuality, it wasn't so bad, I was thoroughly entertained and even watched an odd British Airways film on how to "live" on the plane during this extended flight. It included tips like, get up at random times during the flight and twist yourself into odd positions in the middle of the aisle for the entertainment of other passengers, and increased blood circulation. It also told me to spoil myself with some luxurious moisturizer so that my skin wouldn't dry up during the flight. As much as I trust any announcement from people who control a pressurized tube traveling several hundred miles (or kilometers as it may be) per hour more than 30,000 feet above a frigid ocean hundreds of miles from land, I decided to pass on the moistureizer for the moment. The film continued on for a while with similarly entertaining suggestions while overlaying the instructions regarding how to prepare for a crash landing with pleasant scenes of nature and fertile plains in the countryside. I came away from this film feeling rather odd and as if British Airways expected me to smile widely, jump into the middle of my section and after playing a bit of twister against an invisible opponent, be deviously selfish by spoiling myself with their luxurious mositurizer. I decided it was time for food and beverage instead.

09/05/2002, 6:25 pm
Big Airplane speeding high above America and Canada owned by British Airways
The many flight attendants were not standing idly by, but preparing dinners for all the passengers not convinced by the moisturizer film so they would then go to sleep shortly thereafter (with their seatbelts at all times securely fastened). I was served two small Sprite cans upon request, which I found rather odd, but as I would later find in Amsterdam pop just isn't the same size in Europe. I also had a very nice meal of chicken that initially squirted some sort of juice as I cut into it with my sturdy, yet non-terrorist-enabled, plastic knife. After dinner I explored the many options of my in-flight-entertainment system. The most interesting was the map showing our current location. This same channel displayed the local time at our departure location, time remaining in flight and expected local arrival time. It also toggled between speed in miles and kilometer and external temperature in degrees Celsius as well as Fahrenheit.

Eventually I had quaint conversation with my neighbors just next to me on the right and learned the Indian gentleman was a lung doctor from Chicago going on vacation (who had a sister-in-law in Amsterdam who is an artist) and a Greek woman who didn't speak too much English but did offer an interesting biscuit as an after-dinner treat.

09/05/2002, 9:25 pm
Big Airplane speeding silently high above Canada owned by British Airways
Any reasonable person would have slept at this point. But, I wasn't feeling reasonable and I was still trying to find the ENTERTAINMENT part of the personal in-flight-entertainment system that sat in front of me. I tried this for several hours, watched a bit of some movie I didn't go see several months ago because I thought it was a bad movie...I was right. At this point it becomes rather funny that people think that there's someone that takes more than 15 minutes to go to the bathroom since the "Occupied" sign has been active for the batroom behind me for that long. However, after about 20 minutes a flight attendant spots these people waiting and advises them to use another batroom since this one is out of service, thus indiciating to me that someone has again been waiting for the bathroom behind my seat.

Meanwhile, the little girl across the aisle from me has decided that her dinner doesn't really agree with her. After a short argument between her, her stomach, and the barf bag, everything is settled again. However, it seems things got a little messy later on in round two. I try to humanely pretend like I don't notice the state of affairs across the way so that the little girl doesn't feel ashamed of being motion-sick. The flight attendants are honestly quite good in comforting the girl and bringing her water and anything else she'd like as well as cleaning up after the accident. I'm quite happy that I'm not as prone to motion sickness as I was earlier in my youth.

09/05/2002, 10:45 pm
Big Airplane speeding silently high above Canada owned by British Airways
At this point, I still haven't found the entertainment part of the system embedded in the seat in front of me, and it becomes rather annoying that the "Bathroom out of service" announcement continues a few times an hour. I guess that's why they don't put pens, paper and tape in a flight, so the attendants have SOMETHING to attend to. I read a book for a while.

09/06/2002, 10:50 pm
Big Airplane speeding silently high above Canada and the Atlantic Ocean owned by British Airways
Ok, so I've now given up on the entertainment system and after a quick trip to the bathroom at the back of the airplane I'm headed back to my seat. As I do, I really wish I had my camera with me, the sight of people sleeping in sardine-formation in front of little screens is rather striking for some reason.

09/06/2002, 11:00 pm
Big Airplane speeding silently really high above the Atlantic Ocean owned by British Airways
I drift into some semblance of sleep brought on by sheer guilt, knowing that I'll be shifting my schedule by seven hours in the near future.

06/09/2002, 06:30 (GMT)
Big Airplane speeding above the Atlantic Ocean owned by British Airways
Ah, I wake up only two and a half hours or so later with the 6-hour adjustment to GMT since we're landing at London Heathrow. A very nice breakfast is served and I feel oddly refreshed.

06/09/2002, 07:35 (GMT)
Big Airplane landing at London Heathrow owned by British Airways
Again I concentrate on what MIGHT happen if the plane doesn't hit the runway just so therefore ensuring the safe landing of my flight at London's Heathrow Airport. After landing, as the British Airways film at the start of the flight suggested, I get used to my new surroundings with some light exercise, they suggest a short walk. Well, taking their suggestion to new lengths, I take a rather long walk through a maze of tunnels and walkways that I swear doubles back on itself several times.

06/09/2002, 08:00 (GMT)
Small airplane terminal someplace within the massive London Heathrow Airport
Eventually I find a pathway going to transferring flights to Amsterdam and I find myself after a short security check in another, smaller airplane terminal. My flight leaves at 9:40 am, and it's about 9:00 am when I get to this new terminal. My flight, number 430 from London to Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport, is listed on the board but there's no gate listed with it. I sit around for about 10 minutes and faintly hear an announcement for flight 430 and hear a gate number, so I wander over to the right gate and board the flight. I did find it odd that with only a half hour to go before takeoff the gate wasn't listed. This was suggested to the people at the gate by the person behind me, but they didn't seem very bothered by this fact. I figured this would mean there'd be more room on this flight, perhaps it wouldn't shutter when taking off without that extra luggage from lost passengers. In any case, I headed down to this new airplane.

06/09/2002, 08:15 (GMT)
Small airplane waiting at a gate at the massive London Heathrow Airport
After getting on what I would call a normal-sized plane compared to the first, I recall that I have business-class seating for this flight. I'm not sure what exactly this means, but I think I should be happy. I'm offered a paper as I board, either the Times or the Sun (if I recall correctly). Not knowing which of the competing papers I should go for, I smile and say "The Times" and take the last major metropolitan newspaper in English that I'll see for a while. I find my seat, happy that it's much larger than my last and seems to be more comfortable. After a bit I hear a flight attendant attending to the business-class passengers by offering them a hot towel. I think to myself, "Why do I need a hot towel?" Then I notice that everyone ELSE is taking a hot towel, I figure they've got to be good and take it poitely when offered.

The towel was hot...very hot. After I let it cool a bit, I find it a rather refreshing experience after sitting on a plane for several hours recently. I place the used now lukewarm towel on the metal edge of my seat that seems to be custom-made just for this purpose. Later, the attendant comes back to gather the towels and we begin our taxi.

06/09/2002, 08:40 (GMT)
Small airplane speeding away from the massive London Heathrow Airport
This airplane takes off in short time without a hitch, and I get breakfast for a SECOND time. I gloat at my clever ploy to beat the European airline food system so quickly! This breakfast is very nice, with bread with REAL British marmalade jam, bacon and sausage and some very nice fruit and yogurt. I decline on the tea and coffee several times and read my book some more.

06/09/2002, 10:50 (GMT +1 / CET (Central European Time))
Small airplane landing at the massive Amsterdam Schiphol Airport
This is a very short flight, and soon the captain tells us we're approaching the airport. I look out over what I expect to be a massive city and find only lots of farmland and a river with some port-looking features. I figure we're still a bit away from the airport. I am wrong. We land shortly and I'm in Amsterdam shortly ahead of time around 10:45 am CET (Central European Time). After going through customs with nothing to declare (I decided to save the speeches for later) I got a nice stamp on my passport and claimed all my bags.

06/09/2002, 11:20 (CET)
Waiting around at "The Meeting Point" in the massive Amsterdam Schiphol Airport
After lugging my bags to an area honestly known, and labeled, as "The Meeting Point" I look around for the relocation consultant that GE has outsourced to through their outsource of my relocation to Cendant Mobility who has chosen Settle Service locally to acclimate me to Amsterdam. I find the representative after a bit of looking around with my best "relocated employee looking for their relocation consultant at The Meeting Point" face. Soon we're off to the first task of the day - getting a Sofi number (Social Security in The Netherlands) at the Tax Office.

06/09/2002, 11:30 (CET)
Sitting on odd furtniture at the Tax Office in Amsterdam
Shortly we arrive at a normal-looking building in the city where I can possibly get a Sofi number as long as we happen to get a nice clerk and I let the consultant do all the talking (which sounds fine to me, considering my Dutch is rather rusty and I don't quite know what a Sofi is number anyway). So, in what I will later learn is rather normal Dutch fasion, we get a ticket so everyone is on equal ground waiting for service. B54...good vitamin and my number. That's a few away, so I'm led over to one of the rather colorful and odd 50-ish furniture pieces that dot the lobby as the consultant goes back to her car to get the welcome packet of materials. She returns in a few minutes and we go over a couple items from the very dorky looking red plastic box containing lots of relocation material for me.

06/09/2002, 11:45 (CET)
Staring at a rather independent clerk at the Tax Office in Amsterdam
This is where life gets rather odd (in a soon-to-be-familiar way). When my number is called I gather up my backpack and stand in front of a clerk as the consultant begins talking in a rather gutteral language, Dutch, all about me. This becomes more unsettling over time as it appears they're in conflict about something. It seems that a Sofi number should only be given AFTER the Foreign Police process has begun officially, which is done via a stamp in my passport 2-3 weeks after arrival when some paperwork winds it's way through a complex path, which has already been started. However, our clerk is quite the independent soul and a stickler for the rules. My consultant is determined to get to the bottom of things, and so we wait for another opinion.

This entire time, I stare at the wall, at the floor, at the clerk, my consultant, not knowing if I should smile, be serious, or frown in frustration. I settle on confused-neutral as my stance. After some more terse discussion in Dutch, we leave and my consultant says there will be no Sofi number today. Oddly, I'm not all that upset, despite the fact that in order to get a telephone she thinks you need a bank account which requires a Sofi number which unfotunately requires the registration with the Foreign Police to be further along. If you think that's confusing I'm not even getting into the application to the Foreign Police which doesn't require a Visa but does require a Work Permit which requires an application that takes 3-6 weeks and about seven documents and can take much longer than that if your clerk happens to get sick while processing your Work Permit. On to the next task anyway, we'll try to get a bank account without a Sofi number. Hey, it can't be as bad as trying to get a Sofi number without a Foreign Police application (which of course already required a Work Permit). And just think, this system is several HUNDRED times less complex than US Immigration.

06/09/2002, 12:30 (CET)
Staring at a rather confused clerk at the ABM-AMRO bank in Amsterdam
So, we leave the Tax Office and drive over to the ABM-AMRO bank to try to get a bank account, or at least verify that I can withdraw money using my credit and/or debit/credit card in The Netherlands. Upon inquiring about setting up a bank acount with a Sofi number, it turns out we can only do this at the Fortis Bank unless I'm having my pay deposited directly at the ABM-AMRO bank. I decide I'm rather opposed to switching my direct deposit, especially considering I'd rather not try to switch it to a new International account. So, I settle with verifying that my credit card works in cash machines in Amsterdam. My consultant shows the card to the bank clerk as if it's a moon rock. The clerk looks at it and back at me, as if I'm a martian bearing a moon rock. Then, she spies the Visa logo, says a few phrases in Dutch, smiles and at least the consultant and clerk are done with their conversation.

Later, I discover that they're fairly certain the card will work here, which I was 99% certain of already. But, with the faith of the people of The Netherlands, or at least their representatives in this matter, behind me, I insert my card into an ATM at the bank. Everything goes fine, until I type in 80 and hit another zero, expecting to have to type in the full 80.00 to get 80 Euros. As soon as I type in the second zero, my consultant dutifully informs me that 800 Euros is a lot of money. Rather annoyed, I try to explain the idea of having to put in two extra zeros to get $80 in America. Regardless, I have a funny feeling that she thinks I don't know the conversion rate of the Euro to the Dollar...which at about 1-to-1 makes me feel like I'm being underestimated. As a cultural transplant, this feeling will find it's way back into daily life on a regular basis. No matter, after correcting it to 80 Euros and getting the money from the machine, we depart for the KPN-owned Primafoon store, where I can pick up a phone and apply for phone service. Of course, this could be tricky considering KPN may require a bank account to withdraw monthly charges from, which I don't have due to my Sofi number, which I don't have due to my Foreign Police application being in progress, which I don't have completed because I just arrived. Optimism, don't say the Dutch don't have this trait on occasion.

06/09/2002, 12:50 (CET)
Staring at a rather perplexed clerk at the KPN Primafoon store in Amsterdam
Next, we stop at the Primafoon store where it seems everyone has decided to adjust their service on the same day I visit to apply for service with KPN, the local telephone company in The Netherlands. No numbers here, just people waiting in line and too few clerks. It seems each patron takes about 30 minutes to accomplish anything, and I meditate on why any country would still market ISDN to consumers when ADSL is available.

In a bit, we finally get to a clerk and I'm told that the minimum contract for a phone is 12 months, so I'll have to pay that even though I'm only in town for six months. I find this hard to believe due to the large expat population in Amsterdam, many of whom are not in town for 12 months. After a bit of research the clerk finds out that although I will have to pay twice as much for installation I can get a 6 month contract. Therefore, we begin the application process.

You would think that filling out an application for a phone would be simple. Not so easy when everything is in Dutch, you've got an eager clerk and a consultant trying to translate at the same time for you while you wonder if you're filling out the right line and what your address really WAS in Dutch format. After a bit of confusion, I get the form filled out, somehow knowing that all the people waiting in line behind me would rather not have lived through the process with and instead have gotten their business done a bit faster. In any case, after that is done, I get a copy and go over to pick out a phone.

There's one model for 30 Euro and one for 25 Euro. After the application process, I decide that since the 25 Euro model doesn't seem to be around in easy reach of the clerk to get the 30 Euro model. Here, I'm introduced to the Dutch trait of frugality (an lack of capitalistic sense). Despite the fact that I agree to the more expensive phone, the clerk assumes I must have some brain illness and rummages around for a few minutes before finally finding one of the 25 Euro phones. I suppose they don't get paid on commission at the Primafoon store.

After buying the phone and reviewing the fact that because the Dutch don't yet grasp the idea of credit cards I'll have to pay for my phone bill by taking it to the post office and getting the equivalent of a money order and send that in each month. I just want to get out of the place, thank the clerk, smile to everyone else behind me in a line and we're on our way to our 14:00 apartment check-in at 83 Kerkstraat.

06/09/2002, 13:45 (CET)
Staring at a construction truck in the middle of the road along Kerkstraat in Amsterdam
As we move from the outer-ring of the city to the inner part of Amsterdam, it becomes clear that this isn't a car-friendly city. Soon, we find ourselves having gone quite a ways down Kerkstraat, a one-way street, only to be blocked by a a group shoveling some kind of construction remnants into a parked truck. Somehow we get the idea they won't be leaving anytime soon, so my consultant executes the longest and most narrow correction of course in reverse that I've ever been party to. We'll just have to find another way to Kerkstraat 83, where my apartment is waiting to be checked-into.

06/09/2002, 13:58 (CET)
Staring at a moving truck in the middle of the road along another street in Amsterdam
Well, it seems we've run into another bit of trouble with a moving truck now blocking our way. Again, it doesn't seem to be in a hurry or moving anytime in the near future. Course correction number two.

06/09/2002, 14:15 (CET)
Kerkstraat 83, Amsterdam
After a rather lengthy detour, we finally arrive at Kerkstraat 83 and I grab my bags from the back while my consultant tries to find a parkin space. I begin reviewing the apartment with the real estate agent, it is a rather thorough review. Being frugal, the Dutch are quite meticulous when it comes to noting damage or wear on an apartment. The real estate agent was finding more "damage" than I noticed, but as long as he's happy, I'm happy. In any case, we next reviewed the inventory of the apartment. Unlike I was lead to believe by the relocation agency, the apartment was fully furnished. This includes everything from the bedsheets to the toilet-cleaner. While I was happy at this, I could have brought quite a bit less with me if I would have gotten the correct answer from the relocation group when I asked a week or two earlier.

Certainly not the biggest tragedy of the year, I was completely satisfied with the apartment, and photos will be posted in the near future. The owner of the apartments in my group is an art dealer and therefore he puts art in the apartments. I actually told the real estate agent in all seriousness that he could take the four paintings each valued at approximately 6,000 euros away if he'd like, I didn't want to be held responsible for any damage. But, they're still here, and safe for now, but they certainly aren't anything I'd choose for my living space myself, much less pay 6,000 Euros for them. After we completed the inventory and signed some forms, I was given the keys to my first International apartment!

06/09/2002, 15:45 (CET)
Kerkstraat 83, Amsterdam
After a review of more documents with my relocation consultant, she let me get ready for a 5:00 pm meeting I had at work. After unpacking a bit and changing, I headed out into the strange world of a pedestrian in Amsterdam.

06/09/2002, 16:00 (CET)
Between Kerkstraat 83 and Rivierstaete, Amsteldijk 166, Amsterdam
After a review of more documents with my relocation consultant, she let me get ready for a 5:00 pm meeting I had at work. After unpacking a bit and changing, I headed out into the strange world of a pedestrian in Amsterdam. It turns out that pedestrians, at the top of the food chain in transportation in America, are at the bottom in Amsterdam. Although it isn't suggested, you can legally walk out into the middle of traffic in the US and cars should wait for you to cross, although technically you'll be cross illegally, they must yield to you.

Traffic in Amsterdam is a bit more complicated. There are at least ten levels to navigating as a pedestrian in Amsterdam. The first, and most important, is the tram. If a tram is coming towards you, it will hit you. Period. Do not walk in front of a tram or near a tram, they don't really stop all that well, or too quickly for that matter. You've got two levels there, one for a tram line in each direction in the center of your average road in Amsterdam (note that Taxis and busses will also travel on this center lane). Next, you have a level of traffic for general cars on either side of the road, adding two more levels. Cars are pretty easy to predict, but there are also little mopeds and motorcycles in this category, which think they can always turn to get around you. Most of the time, they're right. But you don't want to be in the way when they're not right about being able to get around you.

Ok, so we're up to six levels of traffic. This is where it gets dangerous. Bicycles. They're the tool of the devil. They are most often very old, there are hundreds of them coming at you from all directions, and they form the outer layer of traffic, both turning/stopping into side roads and moving along possibly in both directions. So, I'd say that justifies two levels for each side, bringing us to ten. Not to be discounted entirely, you've got other pedestrians who somtimes don't know about these levels of traffic and always think bicycles can wait for them to cross.

However, bicycle are like water...they always flow with gravity no matter what. You're crossing with a green walk light? Good for you, but if there's a bicycle that can turn at the same time or get across, you had better be aware of it or else you'll be hit or scolded in short measure.

These were lessons I roughly knew coming to Amsterdam, but putting something like WALKING into pratice in a different way is tough to do. I was walking over to Vijzelstraat by way of Kerkstraat to catch the 25 tram to get to work, and without thinking walked rather into the path of a bicycle along the bike-only (and pedestrians on the side) street of Nieuwe Spiegelstraat. Well, this resulted in the sudden braking of a young cyclist who then promptly fell over after stopping scant inches from hitting me. This is not exactly the situation that you'd like to be in your first day in a new country. The poor kid didn't look too happy about the situation and I thought I should say something, but not knowing anything in Dutch, I thought I might not make much sense anyway, and I was blocking other traffic at the same time. The boy's mother scolded him to get up and get going, or was scolding me, heck if I'd know the difference. So, I said "I'm really sorry" and resumed my trek.

06/09/2002, 16:15 (CET)
Between Kerkstraat 83 and Rivierstaete, Amsteldijk 166, on Vijzelstraat waiting for Tram 25 Amsterdam
So, eventually I made it to Vijzelstraat to the Tram 25 stop, where I dreaded the arrival of the tram. This was all due to the strange, mystical, illogical strippenkaart. You must be asking yourself "What is the strange, mystical, illogical strippenkaart?" Well, even if you're not, I will answer the age-old question. It is a strip of tickets for the tram. Of course, I didn't have any strippenkaart (which come in strips of 15 or 45 at many stores) being new to Amsterdam, but you can buy 2, 3, or more strippenkaart on the tram if needed. Now, like many things in The Netherlands, the strippenkaart is a system, in my American view, derived to accomplish something much easier to do if only one weren't so obsessed with creating giant lists of rules and organizations to hold up governmental systems.

In this case, the strippenkaart works off what at first seems like a simple idea, that for every zone you travel through you must stamp another ticket either by inserting your ticket into a machine on the tram or giving it to a clerk who just SITS at the back of the tram to give people tickets and stamp tickets in addition to the driver. However, you must also add a ticket to the strippenkaart to start with, so that even if you're going within one zone, you need to use two tickets because one is a fee for just "using" the tram. In addition, the zones are not easily found on many maps outside of the ones at the tram stops, and asking more than one person if a stop is in or out of a zone can usually easily bring varied responses. Also, you can transfer within an hour of the ticket being stamped, but only within the center zone, at least that's what I think, I never did understand that part. Some of the trams run without someone at the back and trust people to stamp their tickets themselves. Usually these are less-used lines or for trams later at night. If you're caught on a tram without the proper ticket the fine is something around 30 Euro, of course a rather strange amount like 29,15 Euro (commas...not decimals....in Europe commas are for separating thousands of dollars). Maybe they only accept exact change, making a rather difficult fine to pay?

Anyway, enough about the tram system. I waited a bit for the 25 Tram, got on and had no idea when to get off the tram. Luckily it ended near the office and I only had a short way to backtrack to get to the easily-recognizable stack of blocks that is the Rivierstaete office building where I work. So, after starting on the "zero" floor since this is europe and passing through security by asking where GE was (they scrawled my last name on a piece of paper), I proceeded to the fourth floor. There, I found the office for EEM (European Equipment Management (I think that's what it stands for)) and actually met my manager as I was entering the office. The corporate purchasing digitization group for Europe is located here since EEM's CEO is the head of the Purchasing/Sourcing group for Europe due to the nature of their equipment management business. After my 5 pm meeting and some additional discussion with my new boss and the OMLP (Operations Management Leadership Program) previously in my role (who will be working with me for the next two months) we all went out for dinner. After a pleasant dinner, very European in length and format (long wait for food, no bill for quite a while), I headed back home. Luckily my new manager lives near me, so I didn't have to navigate my way to the right tram stop alone.

Finally back at my apartment, I continued with minimal unpacking, took a photo to make sure I got one in on the first day (below) and fell asleep about five minutes later. So there you go, my first, and hopefully longest, day in Europe as an expat! Thanks for reading.

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