In Amsterdam, cyclists weave seamlessly within the flow of traffic. They continually merge for brief moments into crowded intersections to find the next bike lane.
This March an old friend weaved her way back into my life, unexpectedly and to my delight. I had decided to meet a crew of friends for impromptu drinks one evening, and when I arrived at the restaurant, I found the party had begun hours ago. I immediately scolded the most raucous of the boys: “I hope you’re treating the waitress well. The poor girl!”
That’s when I noticed her taking an order at the far end of the table. “Eloise?” I said tentatively. Confusion quickly shifted to excitement. “Eloise!” This lovely lady and I had worked together as waitresses years ago in Saskatoon but lost touch. I didn’t even know she’d moved to Calgary. In the “What’s new?” portion of our happy reunion, we quickly established we had mutual plans to move abroad, and decided some coffee dates were in order.
Several months later, here we are in Europe. I made the trek to Amsterdam last weekend for a visit — and I don’t use “trek” lightly. Rather than booking the relatively cheap round-trip flight, I booked a one-way flight, Amsterdam to London, and opted for a very cheap night bus to Amsterdam. Aren’t I clever with my money, I thought.
Now I’m no stranger to the bus, but a bus inside a train inside a tunnel under the ocean? Maybe not the best option for someone with massive claustrophobia. Oh yeah. That was not a good time. Deep breaths, Rachel, deep breaths. Just don’t think about where you are. Thankfully, the Chunnel adventure lasted only thirty minutes. And thankfully, my seatmate decided to get chatty at just the right time, providing a welcomed distraction.
Twelve hours later, I arrived bleary eyed and in awe. I had heard a little of Amsterdam: people bike a lot and certain substances and practices are legal. But this picturesque gem of a city is so much more than that. I felt as if I’d stumbled upon a fairy tale.
I’ve never been much of a cyclist, but I had to adapt quickly! There really is no better way to see the city.
At the airport, after patting myself on the back for booking a flight home, I thought about how odd it was to be flying “home” to London for the first time. And as I weaved my way onto the Tube for the last leg of my journey, I thought about how people don’t just weave their way into our lives randomly. They merge when the time is right. And they remind us that home is never very far away.