Usually my travel plans are well researched, documented, and rechecked into a tight and tidy itinerary that holds up well when the time for execution arises.
Except this one time in Amsterdam.
We pull into Centraal Station and the weather is gorgeous. The Amstel River is right where I left it a year ago, and the sun is shinning bright. We are excited for the next few days of adventure. The adventure is heightened with the fact that we have scheduled something novel: we have reservations to stay on a genuine Dutch river barge houseboat!
Being trained in the ways of Dutch navigation by my favorite resident-relative of Amsterdam, Cousin Dan, I immediately set off to lead our small two-man-band to our intended river barge. As we passed the canals and the other boats on the river, our sense of anticipation grew more and more intense.
We playfully articulate our excitement, "C'mon, we were about to stay in a river barge! Who even does that? Oh yeah, hardcore travelers...like us!" I myself being the party lead for this leg of the trip, felt even more confident that I had planned a rockin weekend.
After a mile or so we practically waltzed onto a dock which was berth to about 10 or so barge boats. Some looked like they didn't cater to travelers, and some looked like they had catered to too many (and the wrong ones at that). At the end of the dock was one that was glistening in the sun, freshly painted, with a cheery Dutchman sweeping up to make it look nice. This was the Amicitia, our intended destination. I knew who the man was because I had taken about 2.9 hours to fully investigate all the possible house boats in the area, and read every review posted about each of the top 5 that had been submitted in the last year. The Amicitia and its proprietor "Captain" Roy, were clearly the top choice for backpackers, and it was easy to see the outside comparison as we stood there in person.
Cpt. Roy kindly invited us in, and asked if we had a reservation. Affirmatively we told him our names and he warmly welcomed us and pulled up his records on the computer. He paused, and asked for our names again. I repeated my name, but was met with confusion as it didn't seem to appear on his list. "No problem," I thought, as I reached into my backpack folder of printed reservations I had just in case of such a problem (which of course there rarely is when I am planning). Here it was, my printed reservation for two people, for two nights, at the best boat hostel in the city! Roy took my paper with a smile, and then returned it looking slightly sullen, pointing to the answer to the confusion.
My paper was indeed a reservation listed for Thursday/Friday night, at his location, listed under our names; but...for the Thursday/Friday of the previous week. As I freshly realize my months-old mistake, all my confidence quickly vanishes faster than the immigrants that sell those knock-off purses do in Rome when the Policia come around the corner. Ugh, we don't have a place to stay.
Instantly, a dozen scenarios run through my head as Sam (no less frazzled than when we waltzed up the dock) queries, "Do you have any extra rooms tonight?" Roy replied it was the busy season, and he was booked for the month, much less this weekend. "But," he added, "For you...I will ask my associates." So he did. He walked a few steps out from the door of the boat, took a deep breath, and then started to yell loudly in Dutch down the dock.
Hé, buurman! Bent u er? IK heb hier twee dwazen die de verkeerde boekingen die behoefte hebben aan een slaapplek vannacht?
Almost immediately, a small face peered out from underneath the distant deck of the boat across the dock from us. The small face and Roy had a lengthy conversation in Dutch presumably about our predicament. For those of you who aren't familiar, the Dutch language is not the most pleasant to the ear, and is almost impossible to pick out any words since it has little resemblance to American English (though it is a very close lingual cousin of the High English spoken during the Middle Ages). After much discourse, Roy turned to us and declared, "I think my friend can help you. You go across to his boat." We graciously thanked him, and set off down the dock. What we wanted was an experience, and it appeared we were about to get precisely that.
Jimmy is not the captain, but he is the manager. Jimmy is a tall skinny Dutchman who was formerly trained as a French cook, and now runs the boat hostel for the Captain (who prefers to be seen and not heard). We walk across the dock to a completely new set of rules and expectations, not knowing exactly what we will find, what we will experience, and what we will pay. Sam and I are relieved as the situations unfolds.
Jimmy immediately puts us at ease with a big smile and a hearty laugh. He informs us that we only can stay for that night, but he is happy to have us. Without even asking for payment, he dives right into his 'script' of instructions of how the boat works. "She is not as...modernized (Jimmy smiles again)...as the Amicitia, but if you know the workings we are all happy," he declares. His list of instructions for boat happiness is not short, and because we are enjoying his jokes and the ADHD symptomatic way Jimmy has of telling funny stories about himself, we spend the next 40 minutes learning everything there is to know about staying one night in our new favorite hostel and its manager. Sam and I walk away convinced Jimmy is genuinely happy to have us (and our 50 euros), even if he isn't very convinced that two single American travelers aren't there for the beer, Red Light district, and the marijuana brownies.
photo credit: http://www.hostels.st/en/holland/amsterdam/hostel-hotelboat_amsterdam/index.html
Our adventure meter now buzzing at top gear, we travel across the city to my favorite spot in Amsterdam: The Hootenanny Hostel.
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