As the Boeing 737-800 accelerated down the runway, already an hour behind on its voyage, I knew that there was no way I was going to make my already tight connection in Amsterdam.
Wait… Haven’t we been here before?
Hmmm… right! We last left off with my flight out of Halifax being delayed by about an hour.
(55 minutes, for those of you keeping score.)
Considering my connection time in Amsterdam had been 80 minutes… and I had to get through immigration and the NEW AND IMPROVED!! EES (that had crashed border crossings all over Europe), things were not looking particularly rosy.
Whelp, nothing I can do about it, so might as well relax and enjoy the flight.
As much as one can enjoy a 6-hour flight in the middle of the night.
As the jet flew on into the night, I was (again) offered a menu for dinner.
I declined. I’d already eaten, done nothing but sit for the most part, and the thought of a big meal around 1am just didn’t have the appeal it might have had for a much younger me.
(I remember being a teenager and eating a massive cheeseburger, fries (with chili!) and Coke around midnight and sleeping like a baby an hour later…)
I lost track of time, but at least 2 hours later, the pilot made an announcement that due to turbulence at higher altitudes, we would remain at 25 thousand feet for at least another 30 minutes. Now if you don’t know anything (or little) about flying, this is nuts. These planes work best (i.e. fuel efficient) at higher altitudes. We should have been above 30 thousand feet after 20 minutes or so. I was shocked. Your mileage (or reaction) may vary.
I spent the flight pretending I could sleep (I just don’t sleep on planes and am quite envious of those who can/do), or watching shows on my phone. Not long before our arrival in the Netherlands, we were served a light breakfast.
Soon we were flying over Dutch land. I was agog at the amount of green I was seeing through my window.
Compare this to what I’d left only a few hours earlier:
As we neared the airport, I wondered what these large buildings might be. Hmmm… factories of some sort, I surmised.
My seatmate, who was Dutch-Canadian, informed me that they were greenhouses. Huh! And unlike my pilot seatmate of the previous flight, I had no reason to question her knowledge on the matter.
We arrived at 11:43am. My next flight was at 12:20… and we hadn’t even reached the gate yet. I connected to data once we were told we could, and I immediately received two emails from WestJet. One informing me that they were working on a solution to my problem and the second with the solution to said problem.
My new flight was going to depart at 4:15pm and arrive Prague 5:40pm. This was better news than I had hoped for. I had envisioned having to spend the night in Amsterdam. I had no idea how many flights there were on any given day from Amsterdam to Prague. Apparently… at least two.
What was even better news, was that originally, I was going to arrive in Prague at 1:45pm and Liesa was scheduled to arrive at 5pm. Now we were scheduled to arrive within 40 minutes of each other. I’d be waiting in Amsterdam instead of Prague. Probably the better alternative, I think. (I could be wrong, too.)
Exiting the aircraft, with new flight confirmed, the first thing I saw was…
Tulips. Netherlands is known for their tulips. Did you know that to this day, the Netherlands sends 20,000 tulips to Canada (as a gift) every year? It’s to commemorate two significant events that occurred between our countries. One is Canada’s significant role in liberating the Netherlands during WWII. The second reason is…
In 1940, when Nazi Germany occupied the Netherlands, the Dutch royal family fled to Ottawa, Canada, for safety. In 1943, Princess Juliana gave birth to Princess Margriet at the Ottawa Civic Hospital. To ensure the baby held solely Dutch citizenship, the Canadian government temporarily declared the hospital room to be extraterritorial Dutch soil.*
*wikipedia
I think that’s a pretty cool story. 🙂
Okay… now I need to get a boarding pass. And get through immigration? Maybe? There didn’t seem to be any clear direction on where to go.
I checked the big board of departures and discovered that I had to go to Terminal C. So I decided to go to my gate and see what would happen.
What happened is I got to immigration.
Liesa has already described her experience with EES in Prague. I went through the same process, but in Amsterdam. My experience, while similar, wasn’t nearly as long. A few seconds at the (apparently useless) kiosk, and then maybe 10 minutes tops of standing in line. Voila. I’m in!
Arriving at Terminal C, I checked for my flight and saw it was scheduled for gate C8. I moseyed over to the gate, but I was too early. There was a flight going to a different airport scheduled. Okay… So how do I get my boarding pass?
After some more wanderings, I found a KLM customer support center. My last leg, while booked with WestJet, was boing flown by KLM. I asked a nice young lady for help and she got my boarding pass printed off.
Unlike some people, who get upgrades.. I got downgraded. Middle seat in the bowels of the plane.
Oh well. It was only for an hour or so. I’ll live. Others have!
Usually.
Pretty often.
By 1:30pm I was getting pretty tired. I’d been up since the previous morning, (about 24 hours by this point.) I decided some caffeine was in order. I couldn’t resist buying this:
I’d had ice tea, but never sparkling ice tea. It was interesting. Not necessarily better or worse than any other ice tea I’ve had.
Of course, what goes in, must come out. You can’t buy an ice tea, you can only rent it, amiright?
The interesting thing about Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport (at least in Terminal C) is that all the bathrooms are down a long flight of stairs. Not escalators. Stairs. And don’t ask about elevators. As far as I could tell… there weren’t any.
Wearing a heavy pack on my (tired) back, I wasn’t thrilled at having to schlep down (and then back up) a long set of stairs. But when nature calls, one answers, or soon finds himself the object of stares and pointing. (And an angry someone with a mop.)
With a heavy sigh, I trudged down the stairs, only to find a sign blocking the men’s room. Well… okay, I suppose it’s a good thing that they clean these places, but did it have to be now??
With heavy heart, and full bladder, I climbed back up to the main floor and began searching for another bathroom. Eventually, I found another flight of stairs leading down to the restrooms.
Trudge
Trudge
Trudge
Why yes, that men’s room was also closed for cleaning, thanks for asking!
Trudge
Trudge
Trudge
I set out to seek yet another restroom. Maybe, in the Netherlands, their airport cleaning union dictated that all men’s rooms must be cleaned at the same time.
Finally, I located a third flight of stairs leading down to… who knew? Perhaps another cleaning lady? Just how many people does this airport employ to clean toilets?
Luckily this one was not being cleaned. I was never so happy to find a (slightly) dirty bathroom.
After being relieved to find an unclean commode, I trudged one last time up one last set of stairs.
My gate was still showing a different destination. I checked the big board and apparently my gate had been changed from C8 to C9. I set out to find the new gate. It’s relatively easy, you go down the hall and the gates are ordered with even numbers on the right and odd numbers on the left. Easy peasy.
I started off with high hopes.
Left – C5
Right – C6
Left – C7
Right – C8 (hello again!)
Left – Starbucks
Right – C10… wait…
I was fairly certain I didn’t have to go through Starbucks to get on my plane. Although, it would be pretty good marketing. “Do you have your boarding pass? Latte?”
I eventually found gate C9, hidden around a corner. There was no flight info displayed. Was I wrong? I schlepped back to C8 where I read that my flight had been moved to C9. Okay, that’s two sources telling me where to go.
I often get told where to go.
Eventually, the flight number and destination (Prague) showed up on the gate info board. Not long after, we began boarding. Hooray! Soon I could take my pack off my aching back.
I proceeded down the jetway and came to a sign indicating that the unwashed masses who weren’t seated in the nice section of the airplane would have to descend a flight of stairs (more stairs!!) to board the plane from the back.
Oh, goody… now I get to climb another set of stairs to get back up to the plane’s level. I looked upon the baggage conveyor belt with envy. The bags get to board the plane in comfort. Us? Not so much.
Once on board, I stuffed my bag in the overhead compartment and took my seat. I will say that KLM’s seats are pretty spiffy. Look at this cool little rubberized table for propping your phone on:
I took advantage of it and watched another show until “dinner” arrived. No more menus and mimosas…
Instead, I got a cello wrapped cheese sammie.
Gourmet all the way!
Soon we were landing in Prague. No fancy window shots this time, being stuck in middle seat purgatory.
After we landed and arrived at our gate, I made my way off the plane. Not long after, I spotted Liesa’s smiling face. I suspect, due to shear exhaustion, I might not have managed much more than a grimace in return. Oh well… I’d made it!