Thought Picnic: Signposts for bicycles bearing West

The life of blogs

What I began in my last blog basically ended up in a narrative about visiting the graveside of a dear friend. That is one thing I have learnt about my blogs, I start to write and they can suddenly take on a life of their own and I just let it continue to the point where it appears to close off to the conclusion.

The main thought that inspired the blog then ends up in another blog and so here goes – I had planned to cycle out to Zandvoort which is at the coast and for once dispel that notion I have always had of beaches needing to be at certain latitude to be allowed the encomium of beach status.

Everywhere bearings awry

The implication being, you need sun along with your sea and sand to have a decent beach, but I was in for a surprise. It was a bit dull and at times the sun came out though there was the threat of rain, a few droplets were not going to dissuade me.

After viewing Google Maps for a basic idea of the distance, I decided I was going to use my bearings and rely on the signposts all along the way from Amsterdam to Haarlem and then to Zandvoort.

I ended up in the strangest places, deserted, desolate and sometimes dangerous, I knew there had to be a better way but I did not deviate from the advice of the bicycle path signposts.

The vista of amazing nature

By the time I got to Haarlem having ridden for the best part of 2 hours, it was comforting to know I still had another 17 kilometres to go, it was not tiring, the determination just kept me on.

Then I got the unusual landscape, the grassy dunes with the signs pointing in all directions that I put on my most English deference and asked a lady who had just blown her dog whistle to summon her dog how to get to the beach.

Another 4 kilometres straight down the path that was far from straight or direct but my bearings were towards the sea, a few double-takes later, the North Sea lay in front of me as I appreciated the wonder of the sea.

The Zuid-Kennemerland National Park

I rode up the promenade towards Bloomendaal aan Zee and then turned into a National Park which seemed to have interminable lengths of bicycle paths and ran for kilometres and kilometres.

The landscape was amazing; I never expected to see forests and the kind of natural features of land and water that I saw in this park especially not in the Netherlands and definitely not in the province of North Holland.

I was in awe and I probably did about 20 kilometres within Zuid-Kennemerland National Park and that hardly covered much of the large expanse of this jewel of nature.

A route so different

When I got back to the entrance some 3 hours later, I saw another signpost on the bicycle path back to Amsterdam, it literally was parallel to the main road back to Amsterdam and this time the 22 kilometre journey back to the outskirts of Amsterdam was without much adventure – a straight road and knowledge gained as to how to get to Zandvoort without getting marooned like the Israelites in the wilderness.

It goes to show once again that the journey of discovery can be quite complicated driven by determination but the return is always a lesson in knowing that there are probably better ways of doing what you tried out earlier.

It has taken me over 11 years to come to the realisation that I do live in quite a beautiful country, however, that depends on the willingness to travel, ride and walk.

Gosh! I'm in London again

London incognito

My sojourn to London this time is somewhat impromptu and unannounced; even though one had opportunity to announce long before time, spontaneity depending on scheduling and time allowing might just bring me in contact to the realists of my blog world.

Air travel never ceases to amaze, I have been through a time of flying as a kid, getting irrationally scared of air travel to the extent that I forsook my plane at the air for a 7-hour train journey to a point where I can better manage my anxiety, it does not bother me that much anymore.

I'm like a bird

However, when I think of the daring, genius and tenacity that made men put big metal vehicles in the air, take advantage of the air to traverse places and use the same to stop the aircraft, I am just too impressed for words.

Generally, I belong to the jet engine generation; there is no way you will get me to get in a turbo-prop even if I had to escape the savages of King Solomon's Mines, well, it might get me thinking.

But one thing I have noticed about Amsterdam Schiphol Airport is whilst it can be friendly to the elderly, handicapped or parents with young children, in that they can order a concourse vehicle to cart them around the airport, those with canes find that the elevators do not go to the connecting floors and we are not called forward to board flights first.

John Steed, I'm not.

I once had one long cane with a ivory ball for the handle, then acquired another which is quite versatile because I can take it apart - 4 bits that go into the customs check system - mercifully and thankfully, I do not have to take off my shoes.

It makes the cane easy to pack into my bag. So, when we landed at Heathrow and taxied around the runways till we all thought we were lost for 15 minutes we came to a standstill, when usually the impatient cannot wait for the seat-belt sign to go off before they open overhead bins and spill the contents on the sitting party.

I finally got my bag, took out the 4 pieces of cane and proceeded to put them together when another passenger surmised, good weapon - I had to remonstrate vehemently, it is my cane, nobody carries weapons onto planes and please do not get me into deep serious trouble.

Some people have been watching too much monochrome Avengers, that is not helped that I also wear a hat, this time, not my bowler hat, though.

Sign for me properly

Then, the beauty of reading English properly written - Please have your passports ready for inspection as opposed to the literal translation in Schiphol which reads Please keep your passport ready - it narks me off when these foreigners cannot avail themselves of native speakers such that I do not have to be welcomed in London.

I got to my hotel which is beside the British Library, one should walk in and have a look, and much has been said about the architecture and more.

Stranger in my room

Just as I settled in my room, I had a shower, dried off and wist not that I was unclothed because I was covered with glory when my door opened.

Stranger: Oh!

Moi: What are you doing in my room?

Stranger: Reception, gave me this room.

Moi: Well as you can see, it is not your room, it is mine, this is outrageous.

Stranger tries to divert my vitriol to blame the reception for a sloppy job, I am having none of it.

Moi: Please close the door now; make sure you are not sent back here.

Stranger, scolded and angry walks away closing the door rather than slamming it, well, that would have been the end of him as he would have been defenestrated.

Why did I go for the stranger, well, I wanted to make sure he doubly expressed his displeasure at the reception, such that they do not mess it up again?

20 minutes later, my television goes off and a name; not mine appears on the screen, my second call to reception would not hear of the excuses that the system is down, I am having none of this nonsense in a 4-star hotel, it just does no augur well for my custom and their brand.

When I show my face at reception, well, maybe, it is best to leave out the tip when checking out.

What would we do without computer systems, what makes us thorough and meticulous has been lost that excuses suffice for unforgivable simple mistakes - not good, not good at all.

Is this London?

I’m leaving on the slow train

With the new developments in the mind games that have been the real war on terror, travelling by air to London is completely out of the question. If you have to arrive at the airport a day before you depart and might only be able to have your hair shirt as hand luggage, why bother?

The other alternatives are road, sea and train – I took the latter which involves travel through Brussels and then the Eurostar from Brussels to London, at least you can carry whatever you want before some nut thinks that is another little scare in the making.

All signs lead nowhere

So, I arrived in London this afternoon and missed something I usually see in stations in Berlin and Paris, good signs for locations above ground and local maps on advertisement type billboards. Nothing of the sort, I need to get my A-to-Z out to find my bearings, hopefully, the street names appear where they should.

Before I surfaced, I had to get a London Underground travelcard (it used to be mainly paper-based with a magnetic strip – shows how long I’ve been away from London), it is now known as the Oyster card – a nondescript credit card sized plastic thingy that does not show any obvious sign that it is a 7-day travelcard for all zones.

Then to the hotel where I should had a deal that extended my entire stay, but with two days left, the cost is too outrageous to contemplate – this city is not paved in gold but they pay diamond prices for things that glitter like dark wood.

The spectre of crimes recent

So, I had a rather long walk to one of my old haunts and could not help but notice two crime scene notices seeking information for events that happened in the last few weeks. One victim was shot and another looked like a racial attack by a mob, all within a 5-minute stroll. Makes me weary of what is happening in London.

Then, somehow I ended up at Elephant and Castle; I remember my cousin once saying important landmarks in London are named after places in the biggest city in Nigeria – Ibadan. He gave a few examples like – Ìtá aperin (translates as the Elephant Square or Elephant and castle in this case), then Eléyelé (translates as the pigeon’s keeper or Trafalgar Square, if you like).

The maze of castle with no elephants

Anyway, I had to get a bus to my hotel, the signs indicated I need to look for bus stop C which was on the other end of that area, I got there and found that the maps did not correlate with the realities I could see, having traversed tunnels till my orientation is as bad as compass doing 10 revolutions per second, I threw up my hands in absolute despair and incredulity that anyone could make sense of those location maps.

A lady who seemed to know what my frustration was and the nonsense that masquerades as help for tourists and non-locals alike then gave directions which had me walking off in another direction, then finally I found the stop, only to see the that location map at the stop should have been the same all through.

It is strange because the map of the London Underground is considered a work of art, a masterpiece of engineering drawing and it is the standard by which other city maps are drawn; that these ideas have not converted to locations maps for bus stops is unfortunate.

London after six years of absence – not too sure – I give my views in a week.