All three of the others who went to Amsterdam last weekend have already posted about it, but I will attempt to do so in a slightly new and, I hope, entertaining way.
I met the others at the Hauptbahnhof for our train which left at 10:02, which went just as we expected. We made our connection for the train from Köln to Amsterdam, but just when we began to relax, there was an announcement that no trains were going into Amsterdam, and instead we would be let off at Münchengladbach, where they would provide buses to Eindhoven and Utrecht. Upon questioning, the train staff assured us that we would be able to catch a train from Utrecht to Amsterdam.
After about half an hour of waiting for the buses to show up, we began to wonder if they were, in fact, coming, and there began to be talk of turning back, but the stout of heart do not falter before so slight a challenge! To Amsterdam we had set out, and to Amsterdam we would go! We were rewarded for our perseverance when the buses arrived, and soon we were seated and on our way once more, confident that our troubles were over. We were, however, sadly mistaken, for upon our arrival at Utrecht, we realized we had been deceived as to the availability of trains from Utrecht to Amsterdam. There were, as far as we could tell, no trains going anywhere from Utrecht that day. Nor could we discern the cause of such a massive failure of the Netherlands' train system, for upon questioning, the entire staff of the Utrecht station seemed as clueless as ourselves as to what was going on and when it might be remedied. By this time, we were not feeling quite so stout of heart as before. Not knowing the cause of all the mayhem, we feared lest we should be unable to return to Bonn the next day. One look at the crowds of people at the station, watching the blank departure screen with varying degrees of desperation and boredom for any sign of a train, had us anxiously wondering whether we would be stranded in Utrecht for the foreseeable future. To forge bravely, or perhaps foolhardily, onward, or to return to the relative safety and certainty of Bonn? Was it even possible to get to Amsterdam? In an agony of indecision, we formulated many desperate plans. However, any method of return home seemed vague at best, and we were intrepid explorers, intent upon our quest! Rallying our spirits, we resolved not to be put off by such paltry inconveniences as trains! We found a bus that would take us to Amsterdam, and with only a slight hesitation, we seized our chance and climbed aboard. It was on this bus that we met a nice young woman who explained to us that the problems we were experiencing with transportation were indeed due to the weather (we had dismissed such an idea as impossible earlier, thinking that surely the Netherlands would be used to snow by now, having had it annually for as long as anyone could remember). Every year, she said, they were assured that the problem was fixed, and yet every year, at the first sign of snow, the train system shuts down again.
When we finally arrived in Amsterdam, she kindly showed us and another bewildered traveler (from Spain) where we could take a local train to Amsterdam central station (the local trains in Amsterdam did, thankfully, appear to be running). We eventually made it to the central station, and without any further complications (besides needing to find a map) we found our hotel, checked in, got dinner, and went to bed, exhausted from the day's adventures.
The next morning we went to the Anne Frank house followed by the Rijks Museum. I was very impressed by how realistic some of the still-lifes looked.
Look closely; that's not a photograph. Well, ok, it is, but it's not a photograph of a photograph. It's a photograph of a painting that looks almost as real as a photograph. Notice how the metal pitcher has reflections in it and catches the light exactly the way a real pitcher would. The handle almost seems to come out of the painting.
After lunch we decided to separate, since I was the only one dead set on going to the Van Gogh museum. The others walked around Amsterdam and went in the park and probably had a grand old time, but I was becoming better acquainted with Mr. Van Gogh so I didn't mind. I really liked it, since Impressionism is probably my favorite style of art (Van Gogh is technically Post Impressionist, but they're pretty similar, and there were some Impressionist pieces to show the time period and influences which I enjoyed very much). Some of my favorites (for anyone who might remember which ones I'm talking about since I don't remember the actual names) were the bedroom, the flowering fruit trees, the ship on the sea in a storm, the sunflowers, and the irises.I met back up with the others, and we headed back to the central station and waited for our train, crossing our fingers and hoping that the trains were actually running. While waiting, we became very tense every time we heard the PA saying “meine Damen und Herren,” in case it was followed by more disastrous announcements such as those we had heard on the train there. Thankfully, the trains were running, and we departed on schedule, though after hearing it for hours on Saturday and many times on Sunday, we agreed that if we heard “meine Damen und Herren” one more time, we might have to kill someone. There was a small (by earlier standards) delay when we had to pick up the passengers of another train (that broke down?), but all in all a much more pleasant trip than the one getting to Amsterdam.
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