TCS Amsterdam part 2 - The medal that brought trouble

TCS Amsterdam part 2 - The medal that brought trouble

Strike Three

“Three phenomenon at once!”

That was my sigh as I opened up the curtains and looked out the windows at ten on this Saturday.  It was shining.  I could see the brightness of the sun hit the white student hostels just across the road from my sitting position.  And secondly, it was raining.  The droplets were slowly staining my window pane and kind of blocking my view of the outside.  And finally the third occurrence… the large rainbow was prominently colouring the sky, in the background just behind the student hostel blocks.  

The view was spectacular from my sitting position.  It was only spectacular because my room heater was on, at about 32 degrees, the windows were tightly closed and the cold out there was only in my imagination.  The winter was on its way.  Eight weeks ago, the trees and shrubs were green.  Hardly two months later, the few remaining leaves of the trees and shrubs were now coloured yellowish-orange.  The once dense leaves had mostly fallen off to the ground, littering the undergrowth with layers of dead leaves.  These were becoming an eyesore on the tarmacked parking spaces.  It made them leafy-dirty.  

The branches of trees and shrubs were now becoming more visible – actually they were becoming skeletons of the plants that were there before.  At this rate, it would not be more than a month before there was no leaf left on anything.  Even my favourite forest area, where I do my runs, visible on the left background from my sitting position, was starting to turn yellowing from its usual dark green.  Whether the forest shall also shed off to a skeleton remains to be seen.  

I am already taken aback….

I had intended to sleep early after the marathon.  I did not.  My host was having an African party in NL.  Apart from Dori whom I already knew from that trip to the marathon and James from Kenya who co-shared the apartment, I had to opportunity to meet another three guests.  Two gents from Kenya, whom I learnt were both graduate students, and one lady, Loraine.  We just sat at the dinner table, dinner going on, and talked about dis-and-dat for over two hours.  The house cleared around eleven.  I slept past midnight.  

The house was empty when I woke up Monday morning, past ten.  Fay and James had already left for school.  I was scheduled to visit a friend at Amersfoot, two trains away.  However, my day become uncertain when the person that I was to visit cancelled at the last minute, due to unavailability.  I just stayed indoors until evening, when I was taken around a tour of the University of Wageningen, a life science university.  To be politically correct, sorry, academically correct, the place is called Wageningen University and Research (WUR).  However, there is political correctness to this name, since I learn that the place is a merger of a university and research institute.  

At 100-year of existence as at 2018, the institution was surely well established.  At the walk of fame, a paved walkway of about fifty-metres, I saw at least three Nobel laureates associated with that university.  Not far this, there is a work of art, the giant ‘water beetle’, that is flying without moving, on top of the water, just next to a pedestrian walkway bridge.  In the water, under the beetle, one can clearly read the illuminated sign – “Must leave”

“It is getting dark, We must leave,” I tell Fay.

It is already dark, though it is hardly seven in the evening.

“It is cold, can you feel it?”

“This is nothing,” I respond, “I can shed my jacket and survive this place.  Norway is twice this cold.”

I take some time thinking of that beautiful beetle that is flying but not moving, even as we walk back. The symbolism of having to fly away from the usual habitat really gets me.

Night in the morning

I was to sleep early in readiness for my early morning travel back to Amsterdam, then back home.  However, I found myself just typing on the keyboard for my stories until I realized that it was way past midnight.  I surely had to sleep, or otherwise risk oversleeping on one of my many changeovers planned for the next day as I travel.

It was Tuesday morning before I knew it.  I left the apartment when it was still dark.  I was not very sure of the route to take, especially from the apartment to the stage.  I was just getting familiar with the geography.  Fay showed me to the walkway outside the house.  James had said his goodnight and goodbye the previous evening.  

I was now on my own.  The timing from now henceforth had to work like clockwork.  Any missed travel or missed connection would spell my doom.  I was only wary of missing my first bus stage.  If I got to this bus stage, then I was surely making it to Schiphol.  I walked from the apartment with apprehension.  It was still dark, but the streets were well lit.  It was cold, but comparatively, not as cold as the North.

Led by pure instinct and self-belief, I made my way through the residential estate and found myself at the bus stage.  It was now 6.25am.  I was waiting for the 6.30am bus no. 88.  I found one other person waiting at the stage.  Another person, suitcase in tow, would soon join us.  

The three waited for the bus at Bushalte Bornsesteeg and were swiping in at 6.30am.  

“I am making it home,” I sighed as I took a seat in the well-lit bus.

Getting this bus at this time was the only hurdle, which had now been overcome.  The rest was going to be smooth.

I was settling down to the quiet boring ride, when I remembered that there was ‘internet in de bus’.  I quickly searched the wifi on my phone, got the one ‘in de bus’ and was soon catching up on my route planner and other quick info.  

I alighted at Ede at 6.48am and swiped out of the bus, then crossed over to the train station in the next block.  I recall seeing a fare charge of about Euro 2.44 on the small screen of the swiping machine just as I alighted from that bus.

“Two-hundred and eight shillings?  For a 8k distance!,” I Kenyan-thought about it even as I headed to the train platform.

I swiped into the train platform and was ready for the train at Platform 3.  The display monitors overhang at the platform updated us that the train was expected at 6.56am.  The train actually arrived at 7.00am.

I remembered that final warning from Fay, “Do not get to first class... Unless you want to pay double”

Two is better than one

I looked around for a coach labelled ‘2’ and got in, then perched myself on the upper deck.  It was still dark outside despite being seven already.  The upper deck was virtually empty.  I found only one other person on the deck that could sit twenty of so.  I sat next to a window and started peering out in the dark.  I could occasionally see street lights and vehicle headlights somewhere in the background as the silent train went along.

It did not take long to remember that I was entitled to ‘internet in de train’.  I once again searched my phone for the train wifi, clicked on a button that I assumed meant ‘OK’ or ‘Continue’, and there I was online.  Journey planning, WhatsApping, checking mail and catching up with the going-ons in the world.  But that online presence would not last long, since I would soon hear the first English announcement in the whole of the hour trip.  

Before that particular announcement, I had heard some station names being mentioned in the midst of Dutch announcements, whenever the train approached the four intermediate stations – Driebergen-Zeist, Utrecht Centraal, Amsterdam Bijlmer ArenA and Amsterdam Zuid.  I especially remember ArenA as the place with that big Ajax Amsterdam stadium.  Now finally, the English announcement was loud and clear, “We are now getting to the last stop at Schiphol airport.  All are asked to alight”

I double checked my two phones as I got off the train.  I recalled that after the Sunday marathon, while on the train back from Amsterdam to Ede-Wageningen, I did lose my phone.  At some point, I had tapped my pockets while perched up on that decker, seated on one side, with Fay and Dori opposite.  We were chatting while the train pulled at my back.  I had decided to check on my ‘smaller’ phone to see if it was capable of the free wifi.  That is when I had noted that I did not have it.

“I cannot find my phone!,” I told the gals, “I believe that I must have lost it somewhere in Amsterdam.”

There was puzzlement.

“Are you sure? Check your pockets!”

“I have!  There is nothing!”

“Are you sure you had it today?”

“Positive.  I even remember viewing the stats from Runkeeper after the run.  I for sure had it upto the point when you went to have your medal engraved outside the stadium.”

I was already resigned to losing it already.  There was no chance of finding it, in case it had fallen somewhere on the route since end of marathon.  I had walked so many paths since the finish.  

In consolation, I stated that, “I only worry about my bank app.  I cannot transact without it.  And I cannot replace it until I can call my bank... whom I cannot call until I get back to Kenya... which I cannot do for some time!”

Out of desperation, I decided to send a text message to the phone, using my other phone with the Endomondo.  The sms just indicated that the phone was lost and if someone found it then the person should communicate to my email address.  Desperation, I told you.  Then….

Beep beep!

Beep beep!

All the three looked around, as we heard the vibration alert, as the sms-received-notification sounded from somewhere on the floor under my seat!

Reality check

Back to the moment.  It was exactly 8.00am when I got out at Platform 4 and took the escalator to the upper floor.  I did a final swipe out of the system and saw a charge of Euro 16.20 for that one-hour train ride.  I ‘Kenyan-thought’ about this eighteen-hundred shillings charge, and just shook my head as I headed to the ‘Departures’ gate of Schiphol.  It was a second time in one hour that I was doing such a ‘thinking.  My thoughts are momentarily distracted by that big twenty-five meter long “I amsterdam” sign, laid down on the tarmac just outside Schiphol on my right, just outside the building.  Each letter is like two-meters in height.  I remember pondering whether it was “I am amsterdam” or I misread it?

I subconsciously keep moving forward and get myself at the terminal.  Getting through the airport was smoother than I thought.  I walked the long distance to my gate and queued for security check.  While I passed through the metal detector scanner without incidence, my bag failed me for yet another time – the second time in 4-days!  My shoes and laptop successfully passed through the scanner and I would soon be receiving them on the conveyor belt out of the scanner.  I put on my shoes and picked up the laptop to now await the bag.  However, my bag was redirected to a conveyor belt that led to another security person.  

I saw some lady receive the bag at the end of that conveyor belt.  I followed in that direction to await my fate.

“%@(*S#@#!,” she said.

“I do not understand,” I responded.

“Is this your bag sir?”

“Yes”

“I want to check inside, can you open?”

I moved next to the table where the bag had been placed in a tray.  We were standing on either sides of the table.  I started opening the big zip of the main bag.  Clothes were clearly visible.  She motioned a ‘close that one’ message.

“How about here,” she pointed to the top zipped compartment.  The small one where I would usually keep small handy items such as keys, money, cards and other small emergency items.  It was a strange place to be checked.  I unzipped the small purse and removed the small items.  USB cables, keys, some money, ATM cards, then… 

Then I finally removed the TCS Amsterdam marathon medal with its blue lanyard and gold.

“Yes, this is it!” she said, causing a pause to my movement.  She took possession and looked at the medal.

I was surprised, waiting.  Unsure.  About to bolt!  Did these TCS people deliberately set me up!  Could it be real gold?

I then observed both relief and disappointment on her face.  Relief probably due to the apparent lack of a dangerous situation, but disappointment due to the unlikelihood of a big bust!  We just regarded each other.

Finally, she broke the stalemate, “This medal showed on the scanner.”

“I am just from the marathon,” I said for lack of a better statement.

“OK, you can close the bag and take it,” she said while handing back the medal with her gloved hands.

“It is OK.”

“OK, but I know you can outrun me!”

I just smiled at that.  My legs were too painful at the moment.  I could not outrun anybody for the next three days.  I kept this secret to myself.

Stuck on tarmac

Apart from a change of boarding gate for the KLM Citihopper flight, nothing eventful happened thereafter.  However, this change of gate at Schiphol was happening for the third time at this facility with the same airline.  Maybe that was the norm.  I had already learnt not to trust the gate number indicated on the boarding pass.  This would likely mislead you to the extent of missing out on your flight.  Just trust the display screens.  

Events would start unfolding when we boarded at 9.45am ready for the 10.00am departure.  It is then that we found ourselves stuck.  We just sat in the Embraer 190, a 100-seater that was full to capacity, and waited as 10.00am came and went.  We were just stationary, waiting for the start of our about 750km flight North, on top of the Atlantic ocean – actually the North Sea.  We had boarded this plane ‘deep’ in the tarmac, having taken a bus from the boarding gate to the plane’s parking position somewhere isolated in the parking tarmac.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, expect delay in departure by about twenty-minutes.  We are advised that the skies are busy today.”

“Now what do to?,” I asked myself, “Even a simple bus has internet, for crying out loud!,” I cried out loud as I sat there, next to the window, top of the wings, with no internet and no story book.  Just staring at the long fifteen-metre right wing, with a single engine beneath it.  Wondering of the marvels of aviation.  Wondering if we shall ever leave NL.

I did not wonder for long.  We taxied off at 10.15am and joined the long queue waiting to access the main runway.  Our time to join the runway came and we left at 10.25am and cruised mostly at 550km/h in the cloudy skies.  We touched down at Stavanger Lufthavn Sola at 11.38am, for a 3-minute taxing.  We disembarked and walked to the terminal building and got out of the terminal in less than 3 minutes.  

Of course, I did not have check-in luggage and hence did not have to wait for anything at the luggage claim.  However, I vote Sola as the most efficient airport in the world!  But read that again.  The size of the airport in terms of passenger traffic could determine efficiency – the smaller the better.  While at it, we have bigger ones that are efficient and we also have bigger ones that are not.  I am not naming names.  

Reality check

The carefree feelgood moment of speedy clearing would not last long.  Things would change as I got to the Kolumbus bus no. 42 at the door of the arrivals gate, ready for my trip to UiS.  I would have a change of bus at Sandnes, where I would either get an X60 or a no. 6.  Since I was paying cash, I had to pay up NOK 57 for the hour ticket, instead of the normal NOK 37 (KShs.370) if I had got a ticket from a ticket machine.  I am pained when paying 370/=.  You can imagine how 570/= feels like!  I am even lucky that I remembered to carry some Kroner.  I normally would have just had a credit card on such a travel.  This time luck was on my side because….

I got into the bus just as the person in front of me was in negotiations with the driver.  He was also an arriver.  

“You take credit card?,” he asked.

“No.  Cash only!”

“How about Euros?”

“No.  Kroner only!”

“So, what to do?  I only have credit card and Euros!,” he showed the driver his wallet.

“I don’t know.  I am just a driver!”

That was quite a welcome for this fellow traveler, as he was forced to disembark, uncertainty in each of his retreating footsteps.  He looked like a first-time student of sort – just my observation.  I could not think about him for long since I had trouble of my own.  Being slapped with almost double the fare was also quite a re-welcome, simply because I paid cash.  Surely, you cannot penalize passengers, where there is no chance of getting a ticket from a machine!  There is no ticket machine at the airport!  Was this ‘forced’ fare escalation a way of getting back at travelers?  What wrong have we done?

Double double

All these memories were flooding me, late into Saturday, as I was seated, looking out at the trees and shrubs that were shedding off their leaves in a hurry.  There would be no leaf left on any plant by next week!  This progression was more serious than I thought.  The weather was not relenting either.  It rains or drizzles every day.  The sun gives us the ‘luxury of its rays’ in short bursts of five minutes or so, for very few times in a day.  The outside is cold – truly cold if you were there and visibly cold by just looking out.  

I only observe how things can change.  Back home they have coined a phrase for this – ebindu bichenjanga!  Things change!  It is true.  It was just last month, September, when the sun would set down at 10pm.  I would do my runs until almost eight.  By then it would still be as bright as mid-day.  Hardly one month later and it is dark by six-thirty, pitch dark by seven!  It was just last month that it was bright by four in the morning.  Now it is dark by seven!  Surely!!  

This environment is just messing up my physiological clock.  I want home!  And the worse was yet to come, when we had to reset our clocks backward by one hour – a once-a-year event on the last Sunday of October.  I could not miss it.  I had to stay awake.  This was surely the knockout.  In Stavanger, this ‘extra’ hour was handed down at 3.00am early Sunday morning.  Imagine having an occasion when your clock reads 3.00am, then one hour later, it reads 3.00am again!.  What a night it was!  I could not sleep a wink.  I had to see this double 3.00 with my own double eyes, as I missed the Nairobi International Marathon on this same Sunday, for the first time in ten years.  How I shall miss the other once-a-year event, on the last Sunday in March when NO shall ‘lose’ 1hour as clocks are forced one hour ahead, as 2.00am is forced to be 3.00am!

It is a Sunday when Team KE was running the Nairobi city marathon, while I was appreciating a personalized e-magazine from TCS, with my pictures and videos and all.  Back home it was a street run in the city, with sweat and sweet joy of running – over here it was a relaxed seat in a heated room, with online results and online certificate.  Just another Sunday with everyone doing their runs – onstreet or online.

WWB - the Coach - Stavanger, Norway, Sunday, Oct. 27, 2019