A LEARNING CURVE

THE SUNDAY MORNING BOAT - WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PASSENGERS - A GOOD ADVERT FOR HEINEKEN!

 OUR BEAUTIFUL LOCAL CINEMA - THE TUSCHINSKI BUILT BY A POLISH IMMIGRANT IN THE 1920's

Buying stamps.  K asked me to post a letter to Canada while I was out and about yesterday.  There are not too many Post Offices around in Amsterdam our closest being in Waterlooplein but as I was shopping around The Dam I made my way to the very impressive Central Post Office behind the Royal Palace, all sweeping marble balustrades leading to the front door.  Once inside, I noticed the line-up of staff all with illuminated numbers above their heads.  It wasn’t very busy so I made my way to a free counter.  Can I buy a stamp here I said to Cashier No.5.  No he replied, you have to go to Cashier No.1, she sells stamps.  Now here we are with at least 10 cashiers waiting for a customer and only No.1 busy!!!  I joined the line and as I approached the front of the queue, I spoke across to cashier No.2 who was clearly bored to death standing there doing nothing and asked the same question – can you sell me a stamp?  Not unless you’ve got a number he replied.  Ah, where are the numbers I said.  In the machine at the back of the Post Office he responded.  Well, there was no way I was giving up my spot in the queue now I had made it to the front, particularly as the man with the huge parcel had just about paid up. Now it’s my turn – can I have a stamp for Canada please.  No, responded Cashier No.1, you have to buy a strip of 6 stamps at 95c per stamp or I have to charge you the minimum amount for a stamp transaction which is 1.12€.  Being the economist I am, I quickly decided that K MIGHT in the future be sending further mail to Canada so plumped for the strip.  The poor boy behind me from Australia trying to send a postcard to his Mum has probably used his backpackers weekly allowance on unusable Dutch stamps.

How not to use the tram.  I raced after a tram the other day and just caught it by hurtling through the back door behind another latecomer.  I used my ov-chipkaart – the latest technology, which all passengers using public transport will have to buy before the end of this year, when the Nationale Strippenkaart is phased out.  It works similar to the Oyster Card in London.   Out of breath I sat on the back seat.  Suddenly I realized I was being summoned by the conductor from her goldfish bowl in the middle of the tram.   You got in the wrong door she said. Did I, sorry, I replied I just followed someone else.  Well you can’t get in that door, you have to get in this door.  Does that mean my card hasn’t registered that I am on the tram because I did check in??   No, but you got in the wrong door she insisted!!!  Being facetious and in a loud voice I thanked her profusely for taking the trouble of pointing out my error, how kind she was and how it was greatly appreciated.  How stupid of me not to know which,  out of a choice of at least 5 doors, is in and which is out.    Irony wasted I fear… Actually, The Dutch don’t do irony or sarcasm at all so the British sense of humour is not effective. Everything is taken literally, no play on words.   In general, the conductors on the trams are a miserable looking, unhelpful bunch, but the drivers on both trams and buses are delightful.  They are always helpful if you are not sure where to get off, most have a little joke with you and some even chat or give you information over the microphone.   Last week on my first trip to find my newfound tennis club I asked the bus driver if I could get off at La Verandah a café close to the courts.  The driver went into real chatting mode telling me how they do a great cup of coffee etc.  I didn’t have the heart to say I wasn’t actually going there, although the tennis racquet over my shoulder should have been a clue!