The Hague (and the Hassle)

I decided, more or less on a whim, to go to The Hague to visit Ian (he's there for a Model UN conference, which happens to be sponsored by Radboud University!). Getting there required some adept navigation of the Netherlands rail system. I figure we're long overdue for an extended airing of grievances, so here we go:


Why You Should Avoid Taking Netherlands Rail If At All Possible: The Definitive List

1. The trash receptacles on board

They are made of iron. They are extremely heavy. They adhere to Dutch design standards, which means that they look very practical but are absolutely useless. You can't open or close them without unleashing a giant THWAP that is just forceful and metallic enough to send shockwaves through your entire skeletal system. If I had a nickel for every time I was jolted out of a comfortable doze-bordering-on-blissful-nap by the guillotine-like thud of someone disposing of an apple core or bottle of Dubbel Friss, I would...have a whole bunch of useless American currency.

2. Children


There are bratty children, and then there are Dutch children. I saw a lot of those monsters on my train ride over. I can't say I wasn't warned...we had a speaker during our orientation week to educate us on Dutch culture, and he sort of jokingly hinted that they might not be the most well-disciplined bunch.

Cut to Maggie nursing an intense headache on a train stopped interminably outside of Utrecht Centraal. A father, clad in the typical Dutch uniform of hip canvas jacket emblazoned with some nonsensical English phrase, sits placidly as his two blond spawn SCREAM AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS. AND SCREAM AND SCREAM. AND RUN UP AND DOWN THE AISLES. AND PLAY WITH SOME TOY THAT MAKES A NOISE SIMILAR TO THE "PULL IT!" LEVER ON A BOP-IT. FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES STRAIGHT. AND NOBODY ON THE WHOLE FRIGGIN' TRAIN THINKS THIS IS WEIRD AND ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE BUT ME. Sorry, a lot of caps. But you get the point.

3. Personal Space Guy

There's a Seinfeld episode about "close talkers". There should be a Seinfeld episode about close train sitters...more specifically, about sketchy, sweaty, overweight forty-year-old men in ill-fitting double-breasted corduroy blazers who sit in the awkward seat immediately facing you despite the fact that there is NOBODY ELSE IN THE TRAIN CAR. They reek of cologne and they usually do something horrid like drain a can of liquid, lukewarm Optimel yogurt with a weird smacking sound, wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, and then lean over and place said grimy hand on your personal (!) tray table. You're not hot and I'm not interested. Please go away.

And even if you're giving off that electric-fence vibe like nobody's business and they eventually let out a big sigh and concede a few centimeters or so of personal space, they will still find some way to make up for it. Like utilizing the trash receptacle (see no. 1) for said Optimel container. Or talking really loudly on the phone as if to emphasize that they're important enough to receive a phone call.

Don't worry, though, he'll eventually leave. Unfortunately, his personal scent won't.

4. Telepathy

Since I don't have a Dutch bank account and Ye Olde Bank of America Visa lacks the PIN computer chip necessary to complete card transactions, I buy my train tickets at the service desk. This morning, I purchased a ticket back to Nijmegen and was just starting to walk away from the desk when I realized that it might be a good idea to triple-check that I'd need to change trains at Utrecht like I did on the way over.

She looks at me like I have five heads and a pitchfork-shaped tail. "There's been an accident," she says cryptically, and types something on a computer and hands me a printed sheet of paper. Due to this mysterious accident, it looks like I'll have to change trains THREE TIMES to get back to Nijmegen. I'd have to take the aptly named sneltrain to Leiden, then switch tracks to get to Schiphol, then get on a different train at Utrecht and hopefully end up at Nijmegen sometime before I have to fly home in July. The part that kills me? I was just supposed to glean these transfers from the air.

Okay, so all my connecting trains have been at least fifteen or twenty minutes late and I'm sitting at Schiphol when I see on the train departures board that there's a 11:30 going directly to Nijmegen. I wait. Nothing. But no worries...there's also an 11:45. Hmm. Nothing there either.

I go to the information booth and relate my concerns. Another with the pitchfork-tail-and-multiple-heads look. She tells me that there's a train at noon as well.

"Okay, but why didn't the other trains show up?"

"Oh. We...skipped those."

WHAT IS MY LIFE?



It was a bit of a hassle actually getting to where I needed to be (damn you, similarly named hotels in different parts of the Western Netherlands), but once there, it was nice to do some exploring. At the risk of casting this entire journey in a comically bad light, I managed to pick the one day that every single museum and public building of any importance is closed. Boo. But there was some nice hanging-outage in a cute cafe, lots of strolling, lots of greenery, lots of cool architecture (see my Picasa account, why don't you), and it was fun to pretend to be a MUN delegate at the Global Village party. Even more fun to be sober and watch the world's future leaders get completely sloshed.

On the menu this week: on Friday, an American Studies conference at Groningen University (Amerikistendag 2009! Say that four times fast), which my geeky multidisciplinary soul is super excited for. Sadly, lovely Bea from Spain is spending her last week on Erasmus, so her goodbye party is on Saturday. Other than that...not much. Harsh reminders to work on my thesis would be appreciated.