Schiphol

Ah, Europe. There is a woman cleaning the men’s room while I’m doing my business.

Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport is one of the more pleasant airports to transfer through. It lacks the sprawling, brooding, decrepit character of Heathrow. It is instead sprawling, bright, architecturally up-to-the-minute. In one plaza there is a floor to ceiling lighted advertising display. I am guessing it is on loan from Times Square. The effect is that of an affluent shopping mall, which is largely the reality. I browse the electronics shop to scan the cameras and portable DVD players and to see if they had any high capacity flash cards (they didn¢t). The lenses are not a bargain, even if I pretend the Euros are dollars. My breakfast—a ham croissant and a cappacino—might have been, had the Euros been dollars. I will quickly have to ignore the 35% surcharge to every transaction if I am not to distract myself with the cost of travel now. It’s like we’ve exchanged our American dollars for Canadian ones. If only we could have exchanged our politics while we were at it.

Ah, Europe. Cigarette smoke drifts across my balcony perch. Robin read an item to me from the paper yesterday morning, before she took me to the airport. “Look. Italy’s banned smoking in public places. You’re going at exactly the right time.” I fear I may be entering a country full of grumpy Italians who badly need a smoke.

Comments

[Jacques Halber ASMP/fa]

Much appreciated and enjoyed the very useful
hard photographic info data that comes with your Venice-Venezia blog. It reminds me of my visit to Venezia several years ago, with its interminable staircases and ways of getting lost when you're just next to your hotel. Although b & w is fine and your panoramics emit the city's flavor surely it also deserves color. I ended with my legs around my neck there. Unforgettably esthetic. Thanks for the useful info.I'll be reading you I hope. Best Regards from Santiago de Chile.