Carmelita and Bert

Having navigated my way via tram and train to Amsterdam's Schiphol airport, I spent my last remaining Euros on a small snack and sat down to wait until my plane back to London was available for boarding. I was eager to get back to somewhat familiar surroundings, but I was also regretful of not having spent more time in Amsterdam. But, things were as they were, and I had a bed in another Easy Hotel waiting for me in London.

Not long after finding what I thought would be a seat in which I could sit alone for awhile, a large black woman approached, said something in what I assumed to be Dutch, then sat beside me. Not long afterward I dug my Flip video camera out of my pocket and tried to get a few shots of the airport's interior. The woman said something else, and I said, "It's a camera." I showed her how it worked, and she seemed quite happy. In a matter of minutes we exchanged names (hers is Carmelita) and talked a bit about ourselves: She is Dutch; she was born in Suriname; she has 2 daughters; and so on. We talked about many things: her life in Amsterdam, the history of Suriname, where she lives, how we both like to read, what we do for a living, the history of white people enslaving black people. Soon, she told me that the next time I am in Amsterdam, I (and my wife) should visit her, and she took my pen and notebook from my hand and wrote down her phone number and address.

When we said our goodbyes, I thought it would've been nice to talk with Carmelita a bit longer, but my boarding time was near and I had, it would turn out, a very long walk to the gate.

In the evening of my last day in Amsterdam, I walked by a street artist and bought 2 postcard-sized watercolors showing different views of Amsterdam's architecture and canals. When I removed the watercolors from my backpack not long after liftoff, the man next to me pointed to one and said "I used to live right there." This was Bert, and he described the building beneath his fingertip as a place he'd spent nearly a year. He explained that the artist had taken certain liberties with the painting, but none that detracted from the work's quality. A Canadian, Bert told me that he had lived in Amsterdam for 2 years, and I learned that he is a civil engineer by education and is now involved with the oil and gas industry though he has also started several companies, 2 of which had failed. He was flying to Houston, a city that he said he enjoyed. I have been to Houston, and I suppose I missed the enjoyable parts. I did almost have fun there one night, but that's not something I talk about.

But Bert, he loved the place, and he told me that the best sushi bar and steakhouse there are in nondescript strip malls. For most of our journey together we talked--about politics, about Canadians and Americans, about the Olympics, about the world economy, about global warming, about living in Europe. Once again I enjoyed the perspective of someone who is not from the United States, and as with Carmelita, I learned some things simply--and mostly, actually--from letting him talk.

At Heathrow, we went our separate ways--he had to catch a connection to Houston, I had to find the fast train to Paddington Station and then to my next hotel room. I already missed Amsterdam, but I was also glad to be back on somewhat familiar ground. I had 3 more days to fill, and I needed to find something to do.