Even though my flight was scheduled for 14:00, I got up early anyway. I had to check out of the hotel by 10:00. All my bags were packed. I took a shower, dressed, picked up my luggage, and went down to the front desk to return the key. Then I left the hotel. Before starting my way down Roetersstraat, I stopped at the bridge and took one last look at the charming Nieuwe Prinsengracht, at the lovely residences and quaint boathouses on both of its banks, the flowers, and the trees. The mid-July early morning sun was reflecting on its waters. Before descending to the Weesperplein metro station I did the same thing again:I took one last look at the exquisite architectural design of the buildings on Sarphatistraat that was already buzzing with pedestrians, bicycles, and trams.
Metro 54 took me to Amsterdam Centraal, which, being a transportation hub, was already swarming with people. There I took the Intercity Direct train 926 to Rotterdam Centraal, which makes a stop at Schiphol Airport. I arrived at 10:00.
The airport has one single enormous passenger terminal with four departure halls and eight concourses, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, and M. Depending on the gate from which my plane was going to depart, I would have to walk a long distance from the train stop. I sat down on a bench next to the first flight information screen I found. I had to wait until 11:00 to see on the screen any information about my flight. I had four hours to kill. As soon as my gate was shown on the screen, I went through Security and Migration, and walked to my departure hall.
By now, I was hungry, so I searched for a place to have breakfast. After picking up my food at the counter, I looked for a table to sit down at, but there was none. There was a young lady sitting by herself, on a table where there was an empty space. I hesitated to ask whether I could sit with her, but she saw me looking and signaled to me that it was alright. I thanked her. We introduced each other. Her name was Eryna. She was from the Far East, studying in Amsterdam and going home for the summer vacation. Her plane was departing from Gate G3 at 12:31. After finishing my delicious breakfast, which consisted of boiled vegetables, spinach, scrambled eggs, and salmon, I said good-bye to the girl.
Then I went to a book store. I usually buy a book in every country I visit. Most of the stuff was in Dutch. I didn’t find anything interesting in English. But they had some books in French. I was browsing «Sept petites croix dans un carnet» by George Simenon. A gentleman approached me and said,“That’s a good choice”. He was a fan of Simenon. Consequently, we had an interesting discussion about le commissaire Maigret. We introduced each other. He was a Dutch businessman going to the Far East on business. His name was Lasse. His plane was departing from Gate G3 at 12:31.
After more walking around the terminal, I got tired and found a seat next to a big glass window overlooking the tarmac, where I amused myself by observing the aircrafts with strange airline names that I had never heard of, like Aegean Airlines, Air Baltic and Pegasus Airlines. Two running children, a boy and a girl, bumped into me at the same time that their mother, who was sitting in front of me, scolded them, and ordered them to return to their seats and be quiet. I assured her that it was not a big deal. We introduced each other. They were from the Far East but living in the UK, going home to visit family and for the children summer vacation. They were only connecting in Amsterdam. Her name was Farah, the girl’s name was Ameera, and the boy’s name was Haruun. Their plane was departing from Gate G3 at 12:31.
When my plane took off, and from the window all I saw was water, canals, and green flat lands, I was gloating over the fact that KLM was soon phasing out the McDonnell-Douglas MD-11, but not before I had a chance to fly in the most beautiful tri-jet airliner ever built.
While flying over Greenland, I was dazzled by the snow-covered island with many rocky outcroppings. I was also thinking about my trip to the Netherlands. I thought Amsterdam, with all its canals, bridges, trams, parks, ancient buildings, and museums, was a magnificent city. The trip to Marken, Volendam, Edam, and Zaanse Schans was memorable.
When I was young, before the Internet and electronic mail, my favourite window to the world was short-wave radio. Every night I would spend a couple of hours sitting by the old Philips receiver, listening to radio stations from faraway places. They had Listener clubs, and correspondence lists. Those lists of names and addresses were sent to all members so that they could write to one another. That’s how I got to have many pen pals. For years, we exchanged letters, stamps, bills, coins, postcards, and details of our daily lives. But my correspondence with them was affected by the growing pains of university, work, marriage, children and emigration to another country, and it eventually stopped. Years later, I reconnected with Sara in the Netherlands. Even after the advent of the Internet and electronic mail, Sara and I continued to write letters by hand and send them by post. Forty years later we finally met face-to-face. It took me two metros, two trains, and a bus to get to the southern town where she lives, three hours away from Amsterdam. The experience was very enjoyable. We spent the afternoon together. We went for dinner, for a walk, for a drink, and finally said good-bye at the bus stop, knowing subconsciously, but not admitting it, that we probably would never see each other again.
Eight and a half hours later, my plane touched down. Only the following day, after having taken a shower, drunk my coffee, and turned on the television set, I heard the shocking news about what had happened the day before. Malaysia Airlines Flight MH17 had been shot down by a missile launched by Russian-controlled separatist forces while flying over eastern Ukraine. All 283 passengers and 15 crew members were killed. The wreckage of the Boeing 777-200ER aircraft fell near Hrabove in Donetsk Oblast, Ukraine, 40 kilometres from the Russian border; another casualty of the Donbas conflict, collateral damage, a crime against humanity, another sign of human insanity and the madness of war. The full weight of the tragedy came crushing down on me only when I realized that I had made it home safely, but Eryna, Lasse, Farah, Ameera, and Haruun had not.
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2023
