Ve be off!!

Here ve be, back in den Olde Country!

It was a LONG day yesterday.  On our first leg, we flew from Portland to Amsterdam.

We were in business class, the food was excellent and alcohol, most fortunately, was involved.  However, it was still 10 hours in a chair, which while incredibly comfortable for a limited time, got less so as you realized things like "7 hours left until your destination" after I swore I'd already been in the plane for 8 hours.  There were times when, looking blearily at the time counter, I thought they were messing with me, "5.4 hours left until your destination; 6.2 hours left until your destination".

I do like the personalized television monitors.  On extended trips like this, I am able to see the "shoot 'em up" movies that I am unable to watch when I am at home.  I took in several of the "incredibly old actor guy effectively shoots everyone in film" movies that have become so much a part of our current culture.  Liam Neeson, Pierce Brosnan, Bruce Willis, etc...  I am waiting for Steve Martin or Pee Wee Herman to come out with one of these.

We got off in Amsterdam at their airport "Schipol" (don't bother trying to pronounce it, the locals will tell you you're saying it wrong; I don't think they know how to pronounce it either).  Actually, we landed somewhere that must have been miles from Amsterdam and then taxied for about an hour.  We suspected that the pilot got the wrong airport and had to take the A-20 to Amsterdam.

After finally getting off the plane, we walked and walked and walked down Concourse D.  We seemed to go forever.  We started to think that perhaps the pilot had the right airport the first time and we were just walking back to where he started taxi-ing (not sure that is a verb).

We had to show our passports to get to Concourse B.  Really, just show them.  They looked and stamped them and passed us through.  I think even security is getting tired of security.

We made it to our gate and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  Eventually, they called us to get on the plane.  Actually it was a bus.  I wondered a bit why they made us go to a particular gate when they were just going to load us onto a bus.  Particularly when the gate was such a long walk.  Couldn't we have just gone to a bus stop and waited?  As ever, my thoughts turned into realities and we waited on the bus.  And waited and waited.  The Norwegians were very polite, they didn't mull about and start to mutter, "WTF is going on, are we moving or what?"  I think I'm the only one that said that.  Everyone else just stood there, waiting.

Finally, a woman in an orange vest (well, she had on clothes too, this is Norway, not Sweden) came aboard, asked us to be patient (she was mostly looking at me), that there were technical difficulties and they were looking into it.  She then left, leaving us on the bus without seats (it was one of those transport buses not designed to have anyone in them for more than five minutes) while outside and upstairs there was a perfectly uncomfortable waiting room with seats just waiting for us.

After some time, the woman returned and told us that the technical difficulties had been solved by getting us a new plane and that we would have to go back to the waiting room until it was ready, which would be soon.  We herded out the bus and up the stairway to our old waiting room.  It was like coming home, except without any welcome, comfortable seats, food or drink.  At least it was familiar.

So we waited some more.  All this time, at our gate, there actually was an airplane.  One with wings, engines, the KLM insignia (which we were flying) and everything.  Someone pointed out to it saying "Why can't we take this plane, it looks free?"  It might have been me.

After an incredibly long time, they called us to the gate again, checked our tickets in a very preemptory manner ("you look familiar, go ahead") and let us go down the stairs to another bus.  It's about this time that most people would go, "Hey, I bought a plane ticket, this is a bus!"  But I seemed to be the only one.  Everyone else just got on board, probably thinking "oh, vell, dis be good enough, better den sitting in da waiting room."

We road in the bus a long way.  We were all standing as there were no seats, trying to hang on to the swinging handles or the slippery poles while corralling our "carry-on" luggage (which really isn't designed to carry anywhere), while the bus driver was taking quick corners, slowing down, then speeding up, in an apparent attempt to knock us over.  I assume the bus drivers at Schipol have some sort of office pool back at the station, whoever knocks over the most passengers wins.

I have no idea how big or small Schipol is.  Between our taxi-ing, walking and bus tours, I'd swear it was the size of Greenland, but I might be wrong.

The ride from Amsterdam to Bergen was uneventful, as I fell asleep almost immediately and stayed that way through the entire trip.  Karen told me that good food and drink were served, the guys in the next seats were knocking back Scotches and she hinted that a Swedish girl with a vest might have been involved, but I think she was kidding.

We did make it to Bergen.  We got off the plane and our luggage, although drenched from the rain, came into the baggage claim quite quickly.  We headed out to the taxi stands.  For a city that lives in rain or snow about 120% of the year, they have surprisingly few covered walkways.  It was raining and we got soaked as we tried to find the place that taxis actually left from.

We did find the taxi stand and a guy who looked like the coordinator standing in the area helped me by putting all of our luggage into the taxi (not a simple task, as we looked like a massive caravan when we travel, only missing the Sherpas).  I was so pleased by his work I gave him a tip.  He looked at me a little oddly, but accepted it with a smile.

I then hurried over to the far side of the taxi and got in.  When I got into the taxi, I saw the same guy in the driver's seat who helped with the luggage.  I thought about telling him, "In America we always tip first to assure good service."  But I didn't.

The taxi driver got us to the hotel.  He was very nice, but did not speak English.  He wasn't a local boy and I don't think he spoke much Norwegian either.

We made reservations at the Clarion Hotel Havnekontoret, where we had stayed on a prior visit to Bergen.

This hotel, like many new hotels, has a feature which we have never quite got the hang of.  Clear glass doors to the bathroom.  Who likes this?  I'm a bit iffy on people even seeing me after I have awoke and before I go to the bathroom to determine whether I am fit for society, but in the bathroom?  Anyway, I knew that they had "glass-walled" bathrooms, but that other rooms with normal doors were available.  So I asked for a normal bathroom door room.  What I didn't know was that all of the normal door rooms had another standard for European hotels, twin beds.

I really cannot explain where twin beds have ever made sense.  Perhaps for children under the age of ten, who haven't grown too much, they would be okay.  But for any normal-sized adult, they just don't make it.  And if you are a couple who are still speaking to one another, the idea of pushing two twin beds together, neither of which by itself works for a normal human, that doesn't work either.

We went up to look at the room with the twin beds and it was clear that it would not be appropriate for our stay in Bergen.

The front desk was pretty patient with us and arranged for the first night a separate room with a king bed, but only a limited view.  We loved the room, it has an enclosed balcony (yes, I'm not exactly sure what that means either) and a glass door to the bathroom, but lightly etched so you can pretend not to know who is in there or what they are doing.

We had a wonderful sleep!!!!