Eindhoven or bust......
As is occasionally the case I find myself in a foreign country with work, and as has been the case a couple of times before, I'm writing this from a warehouse in Eindhoven, Holland. Usually when I've had to come over here I've taken a flight from Stanstead at 6ish in the morning (those long time readers may remember avery sweaty dash across the departure hall 2 years ago), which by extension entailed me hauling my lazy ass out of bed at studpid o'clock to ensure that I didn't miss the only plane direct to Eindhoven.
However, this time I've done things a little differently, and instead got a plane on Thursday afternoon from London Luton (and no, I have no idea why it's called London Luton being as it's a good thirty miles outside of London) to Amsterdam, and from there a train down to Eindhoven. Simple, no? Well, almost.
The flight itself was great, a cheap seat on a bright orange Easyjet with a lovely view out of the window over the wing. Best of all, as we took off the sun was just going down so I managed to get some great pictures of the sunset across the wing. A great start to my short trip. That done, I lost myself in Chris Moyles's book for 40 minutes (and a surprisingly good read it is too) until we began our descent into Amsterdam. having thought ahead, I crammed everything I needed into one small hand luggage sized suitcase (laptop, camera, change of clothes and a couple of thousand power leads and adaptors) so there was no staring at baggage carousels like a lost soul for an hour while gorillas pulverized my cases before chucking them out of a hole at the top of the conveyor belt. Oh no, ten minutes after landing I was buying my train ticket to Eindhoven.
The trains in Holland, like those in France (and let's face it just about anywhere else in the world except Britain, and maybe India) run on time and are frequent, so I was pleased to discover that there was an intercity down to Eindhoven that took about 90 minutes every half an hour.
I climbed aboard and having thought ahead I got our my Long Way Round DVD (a fascinating TV series about Ewan 'Obi Wan' McGregor and his mate Charley Boorman riding around the world on motorcycles) and went to power up the laptop. I pressed the button and....nothing.
**Flashback**
I'm passing through security at Luton. I've opted for the quicker line which means that I will be scanned by this new machine where you just stand still with your arms above your head like you're doing the YMCA thang, and they whoosh you with x-rays. That done I pull my boots back on, put my jacket on and go to retrieve my laptop from the woman who asks me to turn it on just to check that it's not some thermonuclear device. I press the button and the screen comes to life. 'Thank you,' she says and I close the lid. Without. Turning. The. Fucking. Thing. Off. Again.
**Flashback ends**
So, away goes the laptop, and out comes Chris Moyles once more (well, his book, as he'd never fit in my case himself) and also my MP3 player. By now it's pitch black and as the train speeds through the various suburbs of Holland, the office blocks and flats lit up beautifully, I'm having Jeff Wayne's The War of the Worlds piped into my brain, and it makes a wonderful soundtrack to the passing scenery. I feel very much at peace and contentment washed over me as I read, listen and occasionally glance up, transfixed by the passing landscape. Occasionally I imagine seeing green flashes in the distance and burning buildings, but that's what you get for having an overactive imagination.
Some time later the train stops, earlier than I would have expected and everybody gets off. (Of course having had my music on I didn't realise at this point that I'd missed a crucial announcement, more of which later....) Not wanting to spend the night on the train, I pull my things together and get off, thinking that Eindhoven station looks a bit different to how I remember it (from the 15 seconds I spent in it two years ago when I was stumbling back from a club at 5am, but that's another story for another day), but undetered I decide to walk to the hotel, as it's such a nice night.
As I set off, there's a nagging doubt at the back of my mind that I'm not actually in Eindhoven, one that steadily grows the furthre I walk due to the lack of any mention on any shops or signs of the name 'Eindhoven'. Now, logic would dictate that I should simply ask someone 'Am I in Eindhoven?', but no, I'm a man, and so stubborn in asking such trivial and useless questions. Of course I know where I am, which I concede is not actually Eindhoven. So, where the fuck am I?
I retrace my steps to the station and check the schedules - I'm actually in a town some 40km from Eindhoven, and the reason people got off the train was because it was cancelled. Feeling a little stupid I wait for the next train to complete my journey and finally arrive in Eindhoven station 20 minutes later, and walk the several hundred yards to the Holiday Inn.
Four people I know from work are already here, having flown out earlier in the week, so I quickly freshen up and join them in the bar for a pint and a delicious home made burger and chips (sorry, fries here in the US-centric Holiday Inn). It's now 10 o'clock and someone suggests we go to a coffee bar. So, we all pile into a taxi and end up at a place called 'Pink' which sells lovely coffee and a selection of cigarettes that you won't find in Starbucks. As only one of us is a regular participant, we all try something very mild, three of us content to leave half of it, but one of us is very quickly mellowed out and proceeds to giggle for about half an hour, much to the amusement of the girl behind the bar, especially when we cruelly send him up to refresh our drinks and watch as he makes his way to the bar like he's walking through treacle.
As it happens, we're all cheap dates, as 20 minutes later we're back at the hotel and have retired to our respective rooms.
Today has been boring - we got to work at 9:30am, and it's now 10:15pm, and I've had two conference calls with the US and been working on the most tedious spreadsheet in the world. We're stuck here for another couple of hours, so that I can ensure, Gestapo-like, that no shipments leave the warehouse after the witching hour (for 'tis against Accounting rules and all that), but then a beer or two beckons.
Tomorrow, however, will be interesting, as I will be rising early, catching the train back to Amsterdam for an 8pm flight, and making the most of several hours of free time in Amsterdam itself.
>>to be continued........
However, this time I've done things a little differently, and instead got a plane on Thursday afternoon from London Luton (and no, I have no idea why it's called London Luton being as it's a good thirty miles outside of London) to Amsterdam, and from there a train down to Eindhoven. Simple, no? Well, almost.
The flight itself was great, a cheap seat on a bright orange Easyjet with a lovely view out of the window over the wing. Best of all, as we took off the sun was just going down so I managed to get some great pictures of the sunset across the wing. A great start to my short trip. That done, I lost myself in Chris Moyles's book for 40 minutes (and a surprisingly good read it is too) until we began our descent into Amsterdam. having thought ahead, I crammed everything I needed into one small hand luggage sized suitcase (laptop, camera, change of clothes and a couple of thousand power leads and adaptors) so there was no staring at baggage carousels like a lost soul for an hour while gorillas pulverized my cases before chucking them out of a hole at the top of the conveyor belt. Oh no, ten minutes after landing I was buying my train ticket to Eindhoven.
The trains in Holland, like those in France (and let's face it just about anywhere else in the world except Britain, and maybe India) run on time and are frequent, so I was pleased to discover that there was an intercity down to Eindhoven that took about 90 minutes every half an hour.
I climbed aboard and having thought ahead I got our my Long Way Round DVD (a fascinating TV series about Ewan 'Obi Wan' McGregor and his mate Charley Boorman riding around the world on motorcycles) and went to power up the laptop. I pressed the button and....nothing.
**Flashback**
I'm passing through security at Luton. I've opted for the quicker line which means that I will be scanned by this new machine where you just stand still with your arms above your head like you're doing the YMCA thang, and they whoosh you with x-rays. That done I pull my boots back on, put my jacket on and go to retrieve my laptop from the woman who asks me to turn it on just to check that it's not some thermonuclear device. I press the button and the screen comes to life. 'Thank you,' she says and I close the lid. Without. Turning. The. Fucking. Thing. Off. Again.
**Flashback ends**
So, away goes the laptop, and out comes Chris Moyles once more (well, his book, as he'd never fit in my case himself) and also my MP3 player. By now it's pitch black and as the train speeds through the various suburbs of Holland, the office blocks and flats lit up beautifully, I'm having Jeff Wayne's The War of the Worlds piped into my brain, and it makes a wonderful soundtrack to the passing scenery. I feel very much at peace and contentment washed over me as I read, listen and occasionally glance up, transfixed by the passing landscape. Occasionally I imagine seeing green flashes in the distance and burning buildings, but that's what you get for having an overactive imagination.
Some time later the train stops, earlier than I would have expected and everybody gets off. (Of course having had my music on I didn't realise at this point that I'd missed a crucial announcement, more of which later....) Not wanting to spend the night on the train, I pull my things together and get off, thinking that Eindhoven station looks a bit different to how I remember it (from the 15 seconds I spent in it two years ago when I was stumbling back from a club at 5am, but that's another story for another day), but undetered I decide to walk to the hotel, as it's such a nice night.
As I set off, there's a nagging doubt at the back of my mind that I'm not actually in Eindhoven, one that steadily grows the furthre I walk due to the lack of any mention on any shops or signs of the name 'Eindhoven'. Now, logic would dictate that I should simply ask someone 'Am I in Eindhoven?', but no, I'm a man, and so stubborn in asking such trivial and useless questions. Of course I know where I am, which I concede is not actually Eindhoven. So, where the fuck am I?
I retrace my steps to the station and check the schedules - I'm actually in a town some 40km from Eindhoven, and the reason people got off the train was because it was cancelled. Feeling a little stupid I wait for the next train to complete my journey and finally arrive in Eindhoven station 20 minutes later, and walk the several hundred yards to the Holiday Inn.
Four people I know from work are already here, having flown out earlier in the week, so I quickly freshen up and join them in the bar for a pint and a delicious home made burger and chips (sorry, fries here in the US-centric Holiday Inn). It's now 10 o'clock and someone suggests we go to a coffee bar. So, we all pile into a taxi and end up at a place called 'Pink' which sells lovely coffee and a selection of cigarettes that you won't find in Starbucks. As only one of us is a regular participant, we all try something very mild, three of us content to leave half of it, but one of us is very quickly mellowed out and proceeds to giggle for about half an hour, much to the amusement of the girl behind the bar, especially when we cruelly send him up to refresh our drinks and watch as he makes his way to the bar like he's walking through treacle.
As it happens, we're all cheap dates, as 20 minutes later we're back at the hotel and have retired to our respective rooms.
Today has been boring - we got to work at 9:30am, and it's now 10:15pm, and I've had two conference calls with the US and been working on the most tedious spreadsheet in the world. We're stuck here for another couple of hours, so that I can ensure, Gestapo-like, that no shipments leave the warehouse after the witching hour (for 'tis against Accounting rules and all that), but then a beer or two beckons.
Tomorrow, however, will be interesting, as I will be rising early, catching the train back to Amsterdam for an 8pm flight, and making the most of several hours of free time in Amsterdam itself.
>>to be continued........