Category: Travel

In retrospect, the chances of certain events coming together in that specific exact order, and during those specific exact time slots, seems highly unlikely if not impossible. The following chain of events takes place on a crowded train on my way back home from work.

With my left hand I continue to make various movements on the touchpad while at the same time keeping my netbook balanced precariously on my knee. With my other hand, I pick up the Cola bottle with my lower three fingers, and using thumb and forefinger I try to unscrew the cap.

This movement proves a bit too challenging for the anatomy of my hand and its fused metacarpals. At once the plastic cap is screwed off completely loose, and the awkward pressure between thumb and forefinger flicks the cap to the side. It falls to the floor and keeps spinning on its side.

The uncapped bottle is put back down on the narrow mini shelf next to the window. I then bend over, try to reach down and grab the spinning cap which has purposely hidden itself between the other passengers' feet.

At that exact instant, the train comes to an abrupt halt. This jerking motion gives my bending back just the right extra momentum to reach far enough and scoop up the little cap.

At the next instant someone in the adjacent compartment yells, "Did someone just knock over a Cola bottle or what?"

The law of inertia dictated that my uncapped soda-pop bottle should tip over and fall perfectly between the arm rest and the wall. It angles downward slightly so that most of its shaken contents had sloshed out and foamed the poor passenger sitting behind me.

Sorry about that. Oh, it doesn't matter, don't worry about it.

I'm thinking what a mess and see tentacles of amoeba-like protrusions spreading along the floor as the train shifts back and forth. Do I need to clean up the mess? How then, when I don't have anything with me which can absorb it.

Feeling embarrassed, I grab an old newspaper and go about rubbing non-absorbent paper on the liquid. The gesture that I am trying to improve the situation, when in fact I'm making matters much worse, seems to calm down the passengers around me. Though the one guy across from me has this aggravating snicker on his face, though it could be a smile of compassion.

When the train arrived at my destination, I felt very relieved to escape this uncomfortable situation. The soles of my shoes kept sticking to the cement walkway, but after passing through a couple of puddles the stickiness went away.

Just as in life with its many difficult decisions, when entering the train one must choose between sitting on the right side or on the left side. A correct decision will define the quality of the trip from beginning to end, so it's fairly important that a certain amount of deliberation takes place.

Assuming that there are still enough unoccupied places in the current carriage or in one nearby, the choice is based on a couple of non-trivial though important factors.

The right side of the train. This is the sunny side which is nice if you are seeking some extra warmth on days which are not too overcast, say when the temperature is a bit cooler than usual. There might be a slight glare while looking at the beautiful countryside passing by, especially during the fall and winter when the sun drags its feet a bit lower on the horizon. If reading a book or a newspaper, the extra light makes perusing such literature a more pleasant activity, at least for me where clarity and contrast of black on white is important.

The left side of the train. This is the shadowy side which is better if one is trying to read email on a laptop or on exceptionally warm days when a crowded train carriage can cause one to sweat and huff and puff more than usual. While more pleasurable to sit in the shade during the latest heat wave, most others are thinking the same as you. Meaning that the extra mass of human cytoplasm will tend to collect on this side of the train and make any available seating much more cramped and uncomfortable. Especially if that fat lady who always smiles at you comes and sits next to you again.

The main problem for me is trying to remember which is the right side and which is the left side of the train. In the afternoon, the train travels in the opposite direction as in the morning. So remembering is a bit less obvious than just looking at which side of the tracks you are standing on. The same train might stop several meters further up or even at a different platform. Once inside of the train, searching a while for an unoccupied seat, one becomes confused and disoriented. On hot days vertigo might kick up the dust in your head.

If by chance you are rushed and forget to think about right versus left, then the odds remain fifty-fifty anyway. Just don't think and get on with your life like all of the other normal folks sitting around you.

This is a little bit creepy, but my early morning train is almost completely empty. Has there been some kind of nuclear holocaust I'm missing out on? Hopefully when I arrive in Amsterdam, there'll be many more kind folks milling about and bumping into me.

The oriental guy sitting across from me was neatly dressed in his suit and tie, and he had opened up about the largest Gannt Chart I had ever seen.

Right there during rush hour in the middle of the cramped train was this poor soul with a panicked look on his face, unfolding and refolding the large chart this way and that, trying to make sense of the chaos with squinting eyes through thick lenses.

At the same time, he had a ruled notepad precariously balanced on his left knee, scribbling it with various arrows and boxes, despite the bumpy ride and the squeezed bodies around him, which resulted in jagged lines and oval, squiggly boxes.

On his other knee he had his laptop and a stapled file of technical specifications, which he had to refer to continuously in order to make sure that his Gannt Chart and the scribbles on the notepad and the complex thoughts inside of his head all made sense and matched up perfectly.

No cracks or other inconsistencies to be found, he hoped. His boss was known to be an abrasive character, and he would be demanding one hundred percent accuracy, bombarding him with a long list of difficult and prying questions.

This was definitely not the most conducive surroundings to make last-minute preparations for such an important meeting, indeed one prone to error and mismatches which could put the million dollar project at serious risk.

When the guy packed up and left the train, I wished him luck and thought positively for him. However, he could only afford me a nervous half smile as he disappeared off into the distance on his way to the his own personal fork in the road.

Some people are capable of sitting completely motionless during the whole train ride and do nothing except stare into the thin air in front of them.

One young man in particular, who commutes the same sixty minute trip as I do, accomplishes this feat quite admirably.

The only major movements he makes are when he enters the train carriage and takes his seat, and then an hour later stands up and exits the train.

Are these people truly thinking beings?

This is a pretty funny story which happened to me on the train this morning.

Sitting across from me was this guy curled up comfortably next to the window, sleeping and motionless, and having sweet dreams.

This huge woman whose wide-angle bottom didn't even fit between the walkway squeezed her way to our spot, took a couple huffs and a puff, and plopped down hard next to the sleeping guy.

Half of his body became smothered under the excessive mass of cytoplasm, the whole of his right arm and shoulder disappeared, and he was shaken awake as if from an awful nightmare.

He looked so confused with his wide eyes, freaked out for half a minute before he could make sense of what just happened.

He sat there being overly polite for a couple of stops, and our gazes would meet occasionally, me cracking a subtle smile. However, he was too grumpy to react.

Then he got up and sat next to me.

The man standing next to me was wearing a fancy suit and carrying a leather briefcase in his right hand. He was waiting to take the same train that I was.

The next time I turned to look in his direction to see if the train was coming yet, he'd collapsed right then and there in front of me. A group of people attired in various kinds of uniforms was kneeling on the ground attending to him with urgent motions and concerned looks. Considering the gravity of the situation, they remained quite calm following closely a coordinated process of unwritten rules.

One tall skinny guy wearing a cap was talking into his porto-phone saying that they needed an ambulance right away. He walked right past me and was having some difficulty orienting himself so that he could provide the proper directions on how to get there. At the front of the train station, no better come in from the back, wait I'm on platform three next to the snack bar, so better come in from the side entrance and ...

The poor businessman was lying on the ground with his head tilted at an awkward angle on the leather suitcase, which served the purpose of a make-do pillow on the otherwise hard cement ground. He was motionless and his face was ashen like a wax-figure stricken cold by Medussa's gaze. The people who were bent over him were talking to him in muffled voices, assuring the waxen figure that everything was going to be alright.

I would say that this person was not much younger than I, at most five years. My first impression was that he seemed pretty healthy standing there next to me just a minute ago. Holding the leather briefcase so firmly in his right hand. The one moment glancing quickly at his wristwatch and then the next moment something cracking open reality and slapping him hard in the face.

Although I had been originally feeling pretty grumpy this morning having to go to work again, I think I'm feeling more thankful about life. Might as well enjoy life while I can.

Just stop for a moment. Have a look around and you'll see mobs of people rushing to get who knows where. They never seem to reach their destinations.

Nothing more than a non-stop parade of meandering souls coming and going. One lady isn't looking where she is going and jars me to the side. Another person passing in the opposite direction, bumps me back into the mass of cytoplasm.

Brownian motion at its best.

From the slightly elevated entrance, I can look pretty far down to the end of the main hallway. I feel like I am floating on a restless sea of bobbing heads.

My train is running late again, for the third time in less than a week.

This is bad news because I was hoping to get to work early in order to prepare for a fairly important meeting in the afternoon.

The good news is that I choose to take things in stride.

Once I've accepted the delay and the fact that no matter what I do or how I react, I'm going to be late, I can just relax and absorb the world around me.

The world around me could care less who's late and who's on time.

Sometimes while sitting in the train, it can be quite entertaining watching the strange behavior of your fellow passengers. Especially when it results in an unbroken cycle of this and that which refuses to stop despite the obvious reasons.

Take for instance the overweight guy with a grayish beard who was sitting across from me yesterday evening. He kept trying to read his large hardcover book and stay awake at the same time, but that was too much for him and his tired mind. The book balanced precariously on his protruding belly, teetering back and forth as the train negotiated the various curves and bumpiness of the terrain ahead.

He'd nod his head a couple times, lay his chin on his chest, start snoring and then let his heavy book drop like a rock to the floor. The resounding bang! would startle him back awake, and then realizing that he'd just been reading, he'd bend down and pick up the book. Then he'd have to thumb through the various pages to figure out where he had stopped reading, but I didn't get the impression that he returned to the same page each time.

The cycle repeated itself very predictably. His head would nod a couple times, snoring sounds would occur and then bang! Time to wake up and start reading again. Now where was I?

The bang! would not only startle him awake each time, but also the passengers nearby would jerk from the unexpected strike.

I'm not sure how many times this comical scene repeated itself, but that is not important. What is interesting is that this person was obviously tired and refused to accept that fact, although he kept on nodding off over and over.

Why keep on going and not accept that you are too tired to read? If it were me, I'd simply put the book away and have a good nap. No need risking a giant bang and startling me awake each time.

What normally is a one-hour commute from Amsterdam to Gouda turned out to be nearly two and a half hours of waiting, standing compressed in crowded aisles, and taking three different trains. All because some stupid bovenleiding was stuk,.

The nice, invisible lady with the soft voice announced every five minutes that there would be a delay "door een defecte bovenleiding tussen Woerden en Gouda".

From Amsterdam I took a different train to Utrecht, from there all the way back west to Alphen a/d Rijn, and finally from there back to Gouda. Zigging and zagging all over the Dutch countryside. I finished four chapters of my new book, so it could have been worse.

I was feeling the can of coke in my bladder and was glad to get home to familiar territory at last, what a relief.

A bovenleiding is that length of parallel thick wires held tightly above the train providing it with energy in the form of high voltage electricity, and causing sparks to fly in the air once in awhile. Defect or stuk or kapot, in case you haven't figured it out, meaning broken.

I hope it's fixed by tomorrow morning.

During the long one hour commutes by train, there are basically a limited number of activities I care to do before arriving at work. In order of preference:

• Read a book.
• Stare out the window.
• Do things on my netbook.
• Listen to music.
• Talk to the person next to me.

Just killing time is not the correct term for this, but in a way it does seem like that sometimes. Retaining a sense of usefulness and/or oneness with nature is a worthy pursuit.

I felt a little nervous standing so close to that guy on the tram. He had greasy hair, these large tattoos on his arms, and when he saw me looking at him, he stared back hard as if he was considering stabbing me.

He looked like a hooligan and kept staring in my direction. The tram was too crowded and it was impossible to move. So I patiently stood there hoping that we'd reach the train station quicker than usual.

At the next stop, another mob of people pushed itself into the tram. Everyone was getting squeezed more and more together. There was this old guy who was obviously having problems standing on his wobbly legs in such an uncomfortable situation.

Much to my surprise, the hooligan guy stood up, gave the old man a friendly grin and offered him his seat. The old guy thanked him sincerely and plopped down hard on the seat.

I'm always on the guard not to be prejudiced, and I often pride myself that I do not make quick judgments about people, especially those that I may not know well.

This was therefore a good reality check for me to start being more that way again.

The fact that this entry exists is proof that my Vodafone Mobile Connect Card driver for Linux is working from the speeding train.

The thing doesn't work ideally, but after restarting the program and re-inserting the USB-stick a couple of times, I can connect and fire up my browser.

One advantage is that my one hour trip goes by in a flash, or so it seems. Must be careful I do not miss my stop.

When the train stops running, it is no less than pure chaos which blocks me every which way I turn.

What normally takes around fifty minutes, became a grueling three hours plus this evening.

I had to get off at Bijlmer, go back to Duivendrecht, change trains at Schiphol and then transfer at Den Haag before I finally made it back to Gouda.

Although I did my best to relax and not get stressed about the delays, I've developed a pretty bad headache.

The good thing is that I felt thankful when I finally made it back home, and that my dinner tasted ten times better than normal.

Tomorrow is another day of traveling and coming back home (hopefully) in time.

Every minute and a half or thereabouts she received yet another text message. The notification beep of her mobile phone pierced the air. The high-pitched beep was so sharp and loud that it startled all those poor souls sitting next to her.

No one dared say anything, either they didn't notice, didn't care or were too polite to say something and risk a heated argument.

One wonders why folks crank the volume up so high like that. Why every incoming text message should be announced with such an aggravating peep seems strange to say the least.

Let's make it immediately known to everyone nearby that yes this young lady is so darned popular. She is sure receiving alot of text messages from one and another distant admirer. The public will go home and spread the word about the really popular girl in the train and it will be the talk of the town.

There I was observing this strange behavior from a distance. The next text message arrived right on schedule. She had the biggest smile on her face. When she looked up and saw that I too had noticed, she had to blush in purest satisfaction.

Now that I've been stuck sitting across from the notorious foot tapper guy and recognize his face for future reference, I know who not to sit next to again while in the train.

Earphones blaring music, shoulders bouncing and the whole way home both his overgrown feet tapping loudly right next to mine.

A few times he shifted somewhat which resulted in direct hits to my toes, my grumpy glance not phasing him one bit.

Seek comfort when possible and make it so when the situation is temporarily otherwise, if you know what I mean. Humankind has much to offer. Each new episode is a learning experience while it lasts, so make the best of it.

When the train is overly crowded, like it was again this morning, I'm always relieved when I find an unoccupied seat over there.

I try to squeeze myself ever so politely next to the kind fellow passenger without disrupting things too much.

What really bothers me are those few uncaring folks who do not move a single iota to the left nor to the right in order to give you some extra wiggle room.

Their left leg remains extended outward with the bony knee jabbing your outer calf, and a misplaced elbow pokes into your side.

Not even a subtle cough or poking back with your shoulder seems to help, in fact the immovable form becomes even more resistant to your unwanted presence.

Tomorrow we will be traveling to the Spanish island of Mallorca where we'll be staying for eight days at a small place on the east coast called Cala d'Or. I look forward to a fun and relaxing time. According to the weather forecast it will be a warm and sunny week there.

It had been a pretty busy day at work, so sitting in the train I gave a quick yawned and stretched my arms in the air and back of me.

That's when I felt something unusual, something scratchy and furry at the same time. Confused, I felt it with my fingers and rubbed the scratchy mass between my thumb and forefinger.

What is that?!

When I turned my head to the left and craned my neck backwards to see what this eerie object might be, my two eyes met the two eyes of the passenger sitting behind me.

We were sitting back to back and that furry object happened to be his bushy hair at the back of his head.

An uncomfortable grin and a quick nod were my non-verbal apologies, and when he nodded back at me with an equally slight grin I felt better.

What an idiot I'd been.

Not everyone is familiar with the idea that in Holland bike paths are everywhere, especially not foreigners. In Amsterdam they are all over the place, which is good because one can pretty much bike easily from one end of the city to the other.

The foreigners are unaware of this and walk along the marked bike paths thinking that they are designated pedestrian walkways.

So I'm walking back to the train station from my work, and this old guy on a bike wings by, ringing his bell in continuous spasms screaming at the top of his lungs:

"Get out of the way, can't you see that this is a bike path, watch out!" And continuing in Dutch he proceeds to cuss and offend kind folks because he's too much of an idiot to understand.

He gives no regard to the poor unknowing pedestrians who are innocently trying to find their way to the nearest place of interest, and almost runs them over. In fact, he glances off of one older person nearly knocking him over into the canal. People run for cover as if some complete maniac is doing who knows what.

I simply continue my way to the train station, knowing that no matter what my opinion is, it doesn't really matter and will not change things. Better to accept those demented bike maniacs and continue on your way.

Is that guy sitting next to me on the train watching porn on his portable DVD-player? How disgusting.

Although secretly I gaze from the corner of my eye to see what is happening (and see half-naked folks frolicking this way and that).

When caught looking that way I turn my head to look out of the window as if nothing unusual is happening.

I'm really excited about my daughter Marlies having a fun adventure in Australia.

She's leaving on November 19th for several months with a Dutch organization called TravelActive that's specialized in these kind of travel and work trips for young adults.

Although it is so far away, and I will certainly miss her very much, the trip will prove to be a fine learning experience for her, which matters the most.

Half the people in this train are sleeping or at least their eyes are closed and that's how it seems to be. I wonder why. Have they all had such a hard day at work? Slept so lousy last night? Perhaps hung over to one degree or the other? Exhausted with life and in search of something new? All I know is that I should not waste too much of my time being concerned about these issues and need to concentrate more on the more urgent needs. Close my eyes and doze off into wonderland.

With the warmish sun beating down through the semi-transparent window of the train together with a few splotches and other smudges here and there the temperature slowly but surely exceeded the limits of what is comfortable and what is not for a passive observer of external happenings. You can stare as long as you like at the nice landscape and the green grass but if nothing happens then it is probably time to look elsewhere.

I opened up my can of beer in the train and accidentally sprayed the poor guy sitting next to me. He jumped as if I had poured a bucket of ice on him, leering angrily back at me as if he had been doused in slime. Sorry about that young man.

So why is the train slowing down at this very moment and why is the surrounding terrain looking so unfamiliar all of a sudden? Within five minutes of this near stop the train is speeding along full of glee as if nothing ever happened in the first place.

Ever so subtly the speeding train wobbles in its tracks, as all of the passengers (whether standing or sitting) sway back and forth and from left to right and back left again, like some kind of jerking ballet in perfect harmony, barely in control yet just enough to make some sense.

I thought that it was a young woman behind me that was giggling and squealing with laughter, but it was just the train that was swaying back and forth, thereby creating various high-pitched creaking human-like sounds.

Although it turned out to be a chaotic situation with so many trains running behind schedule, I was pleased when the train I thought was mine finally arrived and opened its doors in front of me. I jumped inside and easily found an unoccupied seat. Sure seemed more quiet than usual but no matter. What I didn't notice was how everyone got out at the next stop and I was the last one left. No matter can happen so what. So I nodded off feeling confident that I would soon reach my destination as usual. When I woke up it was a whole different story. There I was alone in an empty train carriage stopped and completely motionless in the middle of nowhere (endless meadows on both sides filled with cows and water and other rustic objects) and not a single living soul around.

This is just too weird to imagine like some kind of horror film - what next? Stuck there for thirty minutes ready to pull the emergency chord, but first I have to break the glass, not really something I want to do. Let's not panic and just see what happens. And then before I realize it after a slight shaking and steam coming out of the side, the train heads back to the previous stop. I have been saved, there is hope. Get out of the train and wait until I can retain the original direction I was meant to follow but now in a slightly different slice of time. Made it to work (slightly late), did alot, and now I am back home writing about this interesting adventure and then life goes on as if nothing ever happened.

What I personally find very interesting while sitting on the train staring at all of the expressionless faces before me is measuring the frequency that people pull out their arms, rotate their wrists ever so slightly, and glance at their watches.

What time is it?

Checking and double-checking the time, whether or not the train is on schedule, the most recent stop and how it overlaps with what one had expected.

Here's the scenario.

The train slows down to a complete stop and the hydraulic doors pump themselves open, first with a slight hesitation and then with a quick snap at the last moment.

Some people step out of the train and other people get in, criss-crossing each others paths, so let's look at the time. Arms raised for viewing purpoises, twist of the wrist, a quick realisation of the time.

So what if events occur according to time or not?

The hydraulic doors pump themselves close again and the train jerks forward, despite what the passengers view as a possible delay or whatever.

All I care about is getting home in time and whether or not it is raining when I have to cycle back home.

Just dropped my oldest two kids off at the Schiphol Airport saying farewell and seeing them off for a fun and educational stay in the States.

Waving good-bye to the two distant heads as they approached and disappeared past the passport control turnstiles and off into the real world.

An eight hour flight across the Atlantic and then pleasant landing at Washington Dulles.

Will see Marlies in a little over two months, but may not see Lennart again for nine months or so.

Nice feeling to see your kids growing up and turning out to be so fine, but also slightly emotional and not that easy letting change happen.

Simply part of being a parent who hopes for the best. That's all.

Video.

There was this youngish person standing on the escalator just in front of me as I was ascending to the main level of the train station in Utrecht.

Dressed in a pin-striped suit, a bright purple tie which glittered, and carrying a chic-looking attache case.

But he was wavering slightly from left to right and then plainly wobbling. At the top of the escalator he almost fell over and stumbled his way to the next train, wherever that might be.

Nice looking chap but obviously drunk.

A couple of snowflakes randomly fell from the cold icy sky and landed on the tracks. Complete chaos reigned as the trains were delayed, cancelled, whatever. Hard to believe what a little bit of snow can do to ruin one's day.

You would think that after all these years I would finally get used to the fact that here in Europe they use the twenty-four hour clock as the default time format.

That means that eleven-thirty in the evening is represented as twenty-three-thirty so you can pretty much forget about all that PM and AM stuff altogether.

Look up in the TV-guide what programs are showing after dinner at eight-thirty, I mean eight-plus-twelve-plus-thirty-minutes is twenty-thirty. Confused? I (still) am.

So this might seem like a slight inconvenience, at least until it goes terribly wrong. Here's an interesting and entertaining example of such an oversite, though at the time I did not find it very amusing at all.

While in Amsterdam one evening late last week, I knew that the last direct train back home left at eleven-thirty, at least that is what I had carefully looked up the day before on the NS Treinplanner website.

Little did I realize while standing there in the dark on the platform waiting for a train which never came, that I had inadvertently looked up eleven-thirty European time which can only mean eleven-thirty in the morning.

I should have been more careful and looked up the correct time of twenty-three-thirty, e.g. twelve-plus-eight-plus-thirty-minutes.

Fortunately, upon closer inspection of the yellow list of times posted over there behind glass, there was a train traveling south via Utrecht. There I could change trains to nab the last stoptrein to Gouda.

Next time I will have to be more careful.

Ladies and gentlemen. Watch your luggage carefully. Don't leave your luggage unattended, not even in trains ready to depart. I repeat. Watch your luggage carefully. Don't leave your luggage unattended, not even in trains ready to depart.

There are basically two ways to be seated while travelling on the public transportation: either you are facing forward or you are facing backward. The question that I have been pondering lately is which of the two possibilities is the safest?

By positioning my arm in a certain way just at the precise orientation to the sun, I can cause a certain ray of light to fall on my watch face at just the right angle so that it is reflected and beamed to the wall across from me. These are a bunch of physical laws taking place. Velocity, electromagnetic energy, beams of photons, scattering light rays and densities of certain solids - and I am controlling it all.

The noise it is making sounds like a machine gun going off in the distance. He cannot hear it because he is listening to loud music through his earphones. Everyone else within a radius of ten meters can clearly hear it going off, but not a single person does anything about it. Should I go over and tell him?

The first day back to work went well and it felt pretty good to be in familiar territory once again: the wonderful world of challenging and unforgiving internet technology.

This is my boring predictable travel schedule every day of the week for who know how long.

First of all I have to wake up and (try) and get ready in time:

• Alarm goes off (6.12)
• Breakfast and coffee (6.15)
• Shower and brush my teeth (6.29)
• Comb my hair (6.56)
• Leave on my bike (6.58)

So I am sitting there in the train absorbed by chapter five of my computer networks book, when I hear the conductor announce that we have arrived in Gouda.

There is nothing that I hate more than the strong smell of tobacco except for the strong smell of tobacco combined with a stale alcoholic breath.

As the train approaches the next station I can see him standing there with smoke spewing out of his mouth as he takes his last puff and tosses the cigarette butt to the ground. The last swigs of beers have taken place already, and I hope he won't be sitting in the same train carriage as I.

Bad luck this time around as he gets in and makes a not so grand entrance. Although he plops in the seat at the opposite end of the carriage, it stinks so bad I have to put the back of my hand in front of my nose.

Perhaps I am exaggerating, falling victim to my own neuroses, not wanting to be the person I might have become, but that is just the way I can subconsciously protect myself.

Notwithstanding what could possibly go wrong at the last moment, just forgetting the time and the fact that departure is pretty much always right on time, it was a bit of a surprise to me when it actually happened. Never had that happened to me before.

I had scoped out a suitable carriage way back at the end. As I slowly but surely approached that self-imposed destination, the whistle blew. Pretty much right on time, as I glanced up at the clock and watched the red second hand click the last notch straight upwards. The second hand seemed to pause just for an instant, but that was a comical illusion. The passing of time just teasing me with a wink.

Since I was caught at the exact midpoint between the two doors on either end of the current train carriage, still three carriages distant from the finish line, the pressurized air whooshed out and closed the doors as quickly as that. Slam shut and take off will you.

I was stuck alone on the platform as the train rolled past me and disappeared off into the distance. A long forgotten wad of paper trying to keep up but despairing with a final gasp. Nor did I feel like moving even ever so slightly, as if I would give that teasing wink the satisfaction of telling me so.

Going to have to wait another thirty minutes for a second try.

Something desperate is happening. Just as I approach the train to return home, avoiding a small puddle of coffee someone had carelessly let fall, three police dash past me. There is the female one struggling to keep up, an erratic elbow that bumps into my side, and then she is running down the stairs holding her bag tightly to that bouncing petit waist of hers. Come on let's go, before it is too late.

What a pain but because of record snowfall and all the resulting delays, the trains were filled up and there was no where to sit. Squeezed in amongst all the other not so happy passengers, I made the best of it and simply thought about the work day ahead - when and if I would ever get there.

In my imagination I had wrongly assumed that the east European city of Bucharest was some drab, greyish, run-down, east-block place still recovering from the chains of an opressive dictator.

So is there anyone out there who can tell me where the heck this place called B. is exactly?

There's no quicker way to wake up in the early morning than the ten minutes to cycle through the freezing cold dark bike path to the train station.

At the same time I cannot wait until it gets warmer in the Spring although that is now too many months away.

Not until I was sitting in the tram did I sense that something was missing. Then I realized that I had left my laptop in the train.

I jumped out of the front exit of the tram like I was parachuting into morning nothingness, and I made a mad sprint for the front entrance of the train station. A man yelled at me twice and pointed to the ground where my nice winter scarf had fallen. In panic I retraced my steps and then kept on going again.

Would I be in time?

I ran as fast as I could back along the endless hallways of Centraal Station, dashed up the stairs and down the platform.

Boy was I sure relieved when I found it resting above my seat in the baggage rack where I had carefully placed it. At the time I had kept telling myself: don't forget it, don't forget.

Near disasters keep us alert, and as long as things turn out alright life will continue as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

Everyone is coughing, wheezing, hack and clearing their throats all around me.

Aren't you exaggerating a bit too much madam next to me?

One guy even sneezed three times in a row, not caring at all where he was casting the millions of microbes into the air.

Excuse me sir, but would you mind casting your microbes somewhere else?

At least I was not sick and hacking like all of the rest, nor was I planning on getting that way in the near future.

No thanks.

Who could have guessed that it was not the middle of the night but rather seven in the morning? The day had already begun and I was moving through it even if I was only half awake.

The spokes of the front wheel sparkled as if showing off some kind of fireworks display for an unseen microcosm down there.

Actually, it was the light of the moon (and a little bit of the stars and perhaps even a lone planet) being reflected as the wheel rotated and I rolled along.

Such a clear night sky, I mean early morning.

The click woke up the darkened morning as if someone had inadvertently unplugged the vacuum cleaner.

As the train glided onwards without power, there was complete silence, and it took the good part of three minutes before we came to a complete stop. The laws of physics, the immense mass coupled with the initial velocity, together with a carriage full of eyes averting every which way.

In exactly one week from now if all goes according to plan I should be wandering around aimlessly somewhere in California at or around this time.

Well not precisely.

Just a little over a week ago someone got robbed and now some bothersome man refuses to pay. There we were in the middle of nowhere and the train could not leave because this guy was making a big scene.

There she was this lady sitting next to me in the train this early evening.

The whole way back, nearly sixty minutes non-stop, she just stared into the world of nothingness ahead of her, blinking only rarely to let a microcosmic ripple of a tear-drop gently wash the flotsams from the surface of her eyes.

So what if the lady had her carry bag stolen? That is no excuse to hold up the train for twenty minutes or longer. There she was all ranting and raving as if her only child had climbed out of the moving train window and jumped. Oops, sorry about that.

There was this spider hanging from its invisible strand connected to the bosch clock above, and it was descending ever so slowly, not more than a foot and a half from my right shoulder.

Way off in the distance I can hear a female voice which I vaguely recognize, but I am unable to place it correctly in my mind.

Alright so I decided to make it final. I will be visiting good old California for the first two weeks of November.

The plane tickets have been arranged and I have warned my mother.

Here are the main reasons why I will probably skip my 25th Stanford reunion and go to America two weeks later:

• All the cheaper flights for that period are already booked.
• The reunion would cost me a whopping $400, believe it or not.
• Only about three people I would like to see are on the attendees list.
• The reunion events are boring, overly intellectual and snobby.
• I would gain two days extra to spend with my family and friends.
• I would not miss Maarten's 10th birthday (most important reason).

All in all pretty darn good reasons I believe.

For anyone interested, I made a photo gallery of our summer vacation to Crete.

Just click on the following link:
http://www.cyber-gish.com/pictures_crete/

Hope you like it.

Two weeks seem like a long time, but when it comes to a fun and relaxing adventure in Crete, time flies by pretty darn quickly. And then again.

In other words, we made it back safe and sound.

The fine village called Matala where we stayed hadn't changed much in the twenty years since Thea and I went there on our first romantic journey way back in the good old days.

Except that this time around we had four wild-and-crazy kids keeping us occupied and entertained.

Quite an adventure you could say.

Alright, we're finally off to Crete.

Away from it all, enjoying the sunny beach.

Just relaxing and doing nothing in particular for as long as possible.

See you in a little more than two weeks.

Hopefully.

So how the heck am I supposed to get in shape as well as sufficiently tanned in preparation for Crete when it has been pouring down rain here for most of the summer?

Hopefully, I will not get burned to a crisp the first few days that I am there, and my flabby belly will not hang out of my swimming suit too badly that I feel overly embarrassed.

I never could have imagined that I would be able to nod off in the train while sitting up. However, during the last week I have slowly but surely mastered this fine art of sleeping while on the move. When you think about it, things could get nasty if you fail to wake up in time. You open your eyes and the train is empty and you are sitting all alone at the final destination somewhere random in Holland. This almost happened to me in the afternoon on my way back home. Not like you are sleeping real deep, but it is close to the edge. A semi-light wavering dream state during which your hearing is blocked off like you have been placed in your own sealed jar. At the last possible moment when the train was slowing to a stop at the Gouda station, I just happened to wake up thank God. Kind of like when you somehow wake up ten seconds before your alarm clock goes off.

Just to be on the safe side, I decided to sit with my back facing the direction that the train was going. While I prefer to sit facing the direction I am traveling, you never know when an accident might happen. That way, if there was a head-on collision, I would not be flung across the aisle and get smashed into the front wall of the wagon. Hopefully the wagon would not be smashed like an accordion, and I would be able to escape by climbing out of the window.

Fortunately for me, I decided to leave work one hour earlier yesterday afternoon. Had I heeded to my usual predictable routine and left sixty minutes later, it could have been a whole different story.

Treinbotsing bij Amsterdam CS

Try to be careful out there. The mistress of fate is not always as forgiving as you might hope she would be.

Matala Beach front.

Alright then, after a difficult and sometimes stressful previous year, we decided this time around to splurge a little and have more fun in life. As a kind of celebration of life and how thankful we are that everything is going so much better.

So for summer vacation, we will be spending a couple weeks in Matala, Crete.

Back in the romantic days before the arrival of our kids, Thea and I had the times of our lives there. We feel that it would be nice to go back and show the children.

Hard to believe that that was some twenty odd years ago.

Today is the last day before we set off on our three week long adventure through France, our long awaited for summer vacation. We have been looking forward to it for some time now, and while it may not be as exotic as our trip to America last year, it is a much deserved break which we will certainly enjoy to the fullest.

July 12 - July 13 : Nancy, stay over night in a Formule 1 hotel.
July 13 - July 18 : Murs-de-Gelignieux, camping Ile de la Comptesse.
July 18 - July 28 : Frejus, camping le Frejus.
July 28 - August 2 : Vesoul, camping International du Lac.

See you all in three weeks or so. Off we go...

Now that summer vacation is approaching quickly, I gave in and let my wife trim off all of that excess fur of mine. You know, all that hair I have on my chest, arms, neck and back.

[An aside. I do not mind having so much hair at all, but it sure bugs the heck out of my family (for some strange reason). I kind of like the feeling of that flowing, grayish hair rising as a thriving bush above my chest and flowing forth from my open collar. Although the hair is curled inward and does not seem at first glance to be that much, if I pull at a single and random hair just right, one is amazed to watch the strand stretch taut at no less than about six inches.]

"You have got to get it shaved!" they keep yelling at me. "Alright, do it then," I succumbed to an attack I could no longer ward off. Wads and wads of the fluffy fur were sheared off in single strokes of the mad machine, butchered into non-existence, falling like globs of leftover spaghetti, on my lap and then on to the ground.

Now that I have been transformed into a somewhat acceptable vision of a father, I can feel better wandering around the swimming pool knowing I will not be embarrassing my family (too much). I feel relieved that through exercise and diet at least my last year's pot-belly has all but disappeared. Otherwise who knows what means would have been necessary to shear it off also at the last minute!

Right now, my upper torso is itchy, terribly itchy and unbearably so. It is driving me crazy, but in a few days it should get less.

It sure feels good to be sheared for good reason, I mean measure.

For those of you interested in exploring the coast of California, that wonderful sunny state where I grew up, check out the California Coastline Project web site.

Highlights for me were the following hotspots:

• Carmel Beach


• Santa Cruz, Beach Boardwalk


• Bixby Creek Bridge, Big Sur

You can click along the whole Californian coast and discover the rest of the pictures yourself. Have fun!

Looking at that mangled mess when I drove by hit me hard and really got me thinking. About how short life is and how it is over an an instant. The burnt out frame of distorted metal had been blackened so badly that it barely resembled the automobile that it had once been. The driver flamed into non-existence without a chance. You see, one moment you are there and one moment you have disappeared, perhaps one last instant of awareness just before the inevitable happens. I could not stop and think much about the event and just continued with the regular flow of traffic onward to who knows where.

When it comes to organizing things I guess you could say that I am boringly predictable. For example, our summer vacation has been researched in depth and finally arranged. The times, places and accommodations. This is where we will be headed:

• July 13 - July 17 : Ile de la Comptesse in the Ain Provence (mountains)


• July 18 - July 27 : Camping Caravaning le Frejus - Frejus in Cote d'Azur (beach)


• July 28 - August 2 : Luxeuil-les-Bains in the Vosges Provence (countryside)

A nice well-balanced vacation of mountains, beach and countryside.

This is a pretty loosely made schedule with a resolution of one week at most. In the past, I had it down to the day with a daily itinerary up and running one year in advance. Even certain days were subdivided into hourly activities.

Times have changed. After all, a vacation is supposed to be fun and relaxing, isn't it?

For our wedding anniversary, Thea and I spent the weekend spoiling ourselves in the south of Holland at a health retreat called Thermae 2000.

Just floating around in luke-warm water, inhaling all the super-healthy fumes and other scents, soaking in the afternoon rays, running around naked from one sauna to the other, savoring a fancy five coarse dinner of French cuisine, etc. All the while far away from the noise of the kids and society.

Hard to believe that we have been married now for exactly 18 years, and that we have known each other exactly 23 years. That is exactly half my life time ago.

The letter came from Southern France, and when I opened it this is what I read:

"Nous vous remercions d'avoir bien voulu confier vos vacances à notre camping. Nous avons bien reçu votre contrat de location d'emplacement ainsi que votre versement de... Aussi, nous vous confirmons pars la présente la réservation définitive d'un emplacement camping à votre nom pour la période ..."

Hurrah, it is now official! We are going to the Côte d'Azur (Frejus) this summer for our vacation! At the Camping Caravaning Le Frejvs to be more precise. We are sure excited.

In exactly two weeks this time we will be in California. Well, not quite exactly, if you really want to be precise about it. There is a nine hour time difference between Gouda NL and Monterey CA. This means that it will be two o'clock in the afternoon, such that the plane we are in will be flying somewhere above the States between Dulles Airport and the San Francisco. We have all been waiting a long time for this exciting adventure, especially the kids, and before we realize it we will be back at Grandma's house. I hope that three weeks will be enough time to see everyone and everything.

Tons of flickering lights all over the place. Some of them decide not to stay any longer and turn around. Out the back door, down the hill, through the trees where the car is parked. Because night has fallen along with the temperature, beads of moisture have formed on the windshield along with the foreheads, and at first it is hard to see where they are driving. Wipe that sweat off the eye brows. But it does not matter. Does not matter. Once the bottom of the driveway has been reached it is full speed ahead. Roll down the windows to let out the smell of sweat, they are all sweating. Sweating so hard that it is easy to forget that the temperature has dipped below zero. Degrees centigrade that is. Alright, when the journey has ended they will have to decide what the next step will be. The next step. There is no need, nor the slightest concern as to what this could possibly be. The reason for this is because not even the halfway zone has been reached, the point in the road where the vertical climb upwards begins again, the minima followed by the maxima. Once the halfway zone has been reached, crossed over, then it will be time to decide. Up the long hill sloping upwards again. Yes, they can see it, they can see it alright. What now?

There was this guy carrying a duck under his arm as he walked down the aisle. Strange, I thought. I had on occasion seen dogs, cats and even once a tarantula in a glass jar, but never had I seen a live duck in the train before. The guy walked past me and then on into the next carriage. As the door between carriages slid shut again behind him, I could barely make out the ducks beak and its beady eyes. At the next train stop it was time for the guy and the duck to get out. The door at the opposite end of the carriage slid open, and the man with the duck under his arm approached me. Kind of like everything was happening in reverse motion. As the guy got closer to me I tried not to be too rude by staring at the duck's head and beady eyes. All of a sudden I realized that it was not a duck at all, but an umbrella he was carrying. The wooden handle of the umbrella was carved by some artisan's hands into the shape of a duck's head with an orange beak and two shiny black gems for the eyes. Can you believe it? I mean, who in his right mind would buy such an awful looking umbrella? This person was obviously from a foreign land where it is more than likely some kind of status symbol having an umbrella with a handle in the shape of a duck's head. There I was trying to figure things out when the guy with the duck under his arm jumped out of the train and continued on his way. As the train picked up speed, it passed him walking on the platform. For the life of me I still could have sworn that it was a real duck he was carrying, seen at that distance. Life remains deceptive in more ways than one.

If you do not believe me that this really happened, then I invite you to check out this duck handle umbrella google search.

I looked up from the book I was reading and the person sitting diagonally across from me was staring right back at me. My instinct was to look away quickly in slight embarrassment, which I did. But as I could still sense this person's eye still peering at me, I slowly regained my composure and looked back. Still staring at me. What was he looking at that caused him to stare unwaveringly at me or in my general direction? It could have been some object in the distant landscape as the train skirted along, or he was enamored with my bald spot, or perhaps the title of the book I was reading, or something else at which he had to look for a long time in order to understand. I looked down and continued reading my book. And then I looked up again, and though the head was now slightly bent to the left and his left hand was raised to support his forehead, the staring eye was still watching me. Or was it? Then I realized the truth of the matter, and it was this. The person sitting diagonally across from me had nodded off like many an average fellow passenger does after a long and weary day. The only difference was that while this person's left eye lid was closed, the right eye lid had failed to slide down like it was supposed to. The glass eye remained exposed and for a one eyed person this was no big deal. He could not see out of it anyway. But was it really a glass eye, or was he fooling me for fun? I bent over and looked more closely. I waved my hand up and down, and then wagged my fingers violently in front of his eye. With a swift movement I then made a jabbing motion with my forefinger so that the tip ended up no more than half a millimeter from the surface of the (artificial glass?) sphere. Not the slightest motion. I noticed some other fellow passengers watching my antics and reacting a bit surprised, but I just smiled and raised my shoulders as if I knew what I were doing. So this is reality then. A glass eye giving the appearance of sight and observation and thinking when that was not the case at all. What would my life be like with only one fully-functional eyeball? In a way I felt thankful, and then I understood the meaning of all this, the meaning of life. We are all looking through glass eyes and we portray to others that we are really seeing them. But in reality we are not. Not really. When the train came to a halt at the next station, the guy woke up and got off the train, with his carry-bag dangling to the side, one eye looking this way and the other eye looking that way. I vowed to focus on the future with both my eyes no matter if I was really seeing or not seeing with glass eyes or real eyes.

There is a moment in time when the speed of the decelerating train coming to a halt matches perfectly the speed of my person walking on the platform towards the soon-to-open doors. My speed is constant while the deceleration of the train is constant in that it approaches zero. There is a fraction of a second, a sliver really according to a delta function in time, when the passenger to the left looking outside of the window could be sitting in a stationary train with me standing still, but this is not so. It is an illusion of movement. One object slowing down and the other looking for an entrance which will slide open with a pumping sound of air exuding.

Once in awhile I get overly irritated by seemingly trivial matters. Take for instance this morning in the train on my way to work. I ended up sitting next to this fat guy. Not that I have anything against people who are overweight, but this guy was the sweating, burping, puffing type of obese person who is not exactly the ideal fellow passenger to be sitting next to on a busy hot Monday morning. Rather than just sitting up straight in his seat, he was turned sideways for some reason with his hefty backside rotated forty-five degrees from the more usual appropriate orientation of the body. Forget about sitting up straight, because he was slumped over and half lying. While he could easily have fit into the right half of the seat, he slouched so that his left buttock extended more than just a few inches onto my half of the cushioned property. Just enough that I was pressed slightly between the left side of the cabin and his sweating burping body. Why couldn't he just sit normally like the rest of us? You would think that he would be conscious of his massive size, and feeling slightly embarrassed or even concerned for the comfort of his fellow human beings, he would do his best to leave enough breathing space for the poor soul wedged to the left side of him. But he could care less and didn't even notice. Did he care? Sometimes he would even twist his trunk and belly back and forth banging into my right arm arm and elbow. Was this necessary? I should have said something, but what? "Excuse me sir, but your fat body is smothering me." Or better yet, something like "Could you please shift your left buttock over a foot?" Why was I so irritated? Perhaps I was a victim of the Monday morning blues which can get to even the most patient and content among us positive thinkers. Fortunately, the fat guy got out at the Zoetermeer train stop. He unwedged his person with a slight popping sound, a release of air suctioned outwards, nearly lost his balance in the suddenly unexpected release of fattiness, and left me forever. All of a sudden I had this oversized seat all to myself, and I did not know what to do with it. The reddish imprint he had left on my forearm was slowly disappearing. What a relief, I could breath again! I felt kind of guilty having been overly impatient and negative about this fat person. Should I feel sorry for him or just accept the way he is? We are all manifestations of the very same primordial form (some of us consisting of more weighty clay than others). My first morning of the week turned out to be alright anyway. No use getting overly irritated by some fat guy on the train.

This month I have a first class train ticket. At first I was a little hesitant about paying the extra sixty euros to be able to travel first class. Feeling a little guilty about forking out even more money for myself made the decision even more difficult. To be honest, I was sick and tired of having to stand all the time, thirty minutes each way, often in extremely crowded circumstances being pressed hard against other sweating and breathing bodies. Not that I have anything against my fellow human beings, but this was asking too much. Being pressed together like that is inhuman afterall. You would think that the train should offer an attractive service people would wish to buy. But that is not the case. Often enough I was in or near a smoking carriage which when combined with the swerving motion of the train made me feel pretty nauseas. However, now after having enjoyed the comforts of first class for three days now, I have to admit that it is a quantum leap in comfort. What an improvement indeed! So what, if you can afford it why not do it? Sitting is no longer a luxury as there is always at least one spot free. The people I end up sitting next to are far less grungy and more respectable in sight as well as in smell. I will try first class out for the month of June and come to a conclusion if it is really worth continuing. Being objective in making this difficult decision will be close to impossible as it is obviously biased by a month's experience of increased comfort and relaxation. The times just before work and just afterwords are important moments to contemplate and prepare. Time to catch the next train to Gouda.

My early morning bike trip to the train station takes only about ten minutes. Within that short interval of time I am able to attain consciousness at a relaxed pace. This in preparation for the unpredictable day ahead of me. If the weather is nice like it was this morning I am invigorated by the beauty of nature all around me. The water and the trees and the clear sky, reflected green in blue, blue in green and subtle combinations of the two. On the water there drift whole colonies of water lilies, an amazing sight when you are speeding along in one direction and the lilies are disappearing quickly behind you. Staying the same or maybe just changing a little bit in shape and color until the end of the day when I cycle back. Opposite direction but the same spot, the same view only slightly different. With so much water around and especially after a run of several rainy days, there is moisture in the air and a slight dampness on the asphalt evaporating at the last minute. Tiny little flying creatures and various types of insects clattering against my bared arms. Enclosing my face there is a gentle breeze, and all because of the motion I am making. The water lilies are floating and nothing more. I float with them in my mind. Nothing more.

This is the monthly train ticket needed to get me to and from my new work. Check out the hooligan who is covering for me with his picture:

Commuting by train back and forth and back and forth again. Sometimes we are pressed together like sardines and I have to stand up the whole way. The person behind me is breathing hot air down my neck. Other times I can sit down on the hard plastic seat. I pull out my PDA or a book or a newspaper and peruse across the lines of text. Next stop Den Haag Centraal and time to get out. The doors slide open and the masses of cytoplasm burst outwards like being vomited from the train, each droplet a separate human being who scurries off to the next touch point. Criss-cross until you get there. Later in the day we will all come back in reverse motion. Separate droplets coming back together into a single mass going back home again.