What doesn't kill you, part 3.

After going back and forth with Train Station Guy a few times, trying to find out if there were any other options at my disposal, I left in a huff and went back to the hostel to get online and see if I could change the method of retrieval of the ticket.  Well, after 15 minutes of searching the (unhelpful) French site, I finally came across a page that said, “method of retrieval cannot be changed.”  So that was great.

My only option at that point, it appeared, was to just buy another ticket.  That wasn’t going to happen.  I was already pissed off at the SNCF because the price of my ticket jumped up 30€ during a two hour window when I was going to buy it the first time, so I was already paying an outrageous price for a three hour train ride.

I found out about not being able to change the ticket just as I was supposed to be meeting one of the guys I met at the hostel for drinks.  It was his 25^th birthday, so I put my worries to the side for the time being and we went and had some delicious Dutch and Belgian and Irish beers.  It was a lot of fun.  Jason, a Brit, had been living in Africa for the past two years working with this bicycle distribution NGO.  He was just back for two weeks to put together a portfolio and apply for a graduate program at Eindhoven.  So, he wasn’t there to party hearty.  That being said, it was his birthday, plus it was St. Patrick’s Day, so we had to do something.

The next morning I woke up and went back to the train station first thing to see what the cheapest price I could find for a new ticket would be (130€).  Not an option.

I was trying to go through all these different options in my brain to see what I could possibly do.  I begrudgingly came to the conclusion that, as I am now an “adult,” I should just do the mature thing and exchange my ticket for a new one, rather than brazenly jumping on the train without a legit ticket.

My original ticket said that I could exchange it once and get a 50% refund, so I figured, all in all, it would still be cheaper to just buy a new gd ticket than get a fine on the train.

So that’s what I did.  As I was refunding my ticket, I was surprised to learn that I got refunded for 100% of the original ticket.  There was a brief period of 2 minutes where I actually thought fate was smiling on me.  Then I went to buy my new ticket.

I selected my desired date: same day.  Selected country of retrieval of the ticket: The Netherlands.  Selected origin and destination: Amsterdam Centraal, Paris Gare du Nord.  Selected the time of the ticket I wanted: 14:15.

The screen came up asking me to put in my credit card info, and then I was allowed to select my options of ticket retrieval.  When I bought my ticket the first time I had the options of printing the ticket at the train station, printing it at home, or going to an SNCF boutique and doing it.  I picked “print ticket at train station” because then I wouldn’t have to worry about carrying it around with me/forgetting it/getting it stolen/whatever.  It’s just simpler and it’s what I always do.  Wouldn’t you know that the only options it gave me this time were: retrieve ticket at station or retrieve ticket at French SNCF office.  Why can’t I print it off at home?!

I was discontent, to say the least.

By this time it was about 10:30 in the morning, so with my new ticket, I still had a few hours to explore the city.  I had made friends with a girl in the hostel who’s studying in Sevilla, so we hung out for a few hours, went to the flower market, did a Rick Steves walking tour (it was awesome), then I split off to catch my train…and quite probably be put in a French prison for not having abided by French railway regulations.

Some more pics from walking around the city.

Real Dutch Tulips.

Nieuwekerk (New Church) at Dam Square (Dam Square).

Anne Frank huis.  I was thinking about going...but my interest didn't outweigh the entrance fee.

More sights and bikes.

Entrance to the Amsterdam History Museum.

I get on the train and we leave Amsterdam.  We arrive to and leave the airport.  We arrive to and leave Brussels.  We arrive to and leave Anvers.  Next stop Paris.  No one had come buy to check the tickets.  I thought, “Wow, maybe this won’t be a problem.”  It was just as I started to get my hopes up that the two guys walked onto the train and said, “Tickets please.”  Blast.

I show him the email I had received in confirmation of having purchased a ticket.  It had my name, date, train number, car number, seat number, dossier number, transaction number, price of ticket, credit card info, SSN, NIE, pet’s name, favorite color and favorite ice cream flavor.  My feeble brain thought, “there’s no way they won’t accept this as a ticket.”

Ticket Checker Guy: “Ticket please.”

Me: “Here you go.”

He checked the reference number.  No dice.  Checked it again.  No dice.

Ticket Checker Guy: “I’ll try using your name.”

Checks the name.  No dice.  Then he looks at the ticket and says, “Oh, you didn’t print off the ticket like you should have.”

I launch into rapid fire French describing my sob story about how the evil SNCF wouldn’t let me do it and blah blah blah.  (I was extremely fortunate that my French came back.)

At first he got all defensive because he thought I was blaming him, but then when he actually started listening to what I was saying, his demeanor totally changed.

“Oohh, I see.  Yes.  Well, I can guarantee you’re not the only this has happened to.  We’ve been telling the SNCF to put a ticket machine in the Amsterdam station for years, but they refuse.  It’s so stupid.”

This was encouraging: Someone in charge understood my predicament and felt sorry for me.  My spirits were lifted to new heights!  I thought, “This is great! I made the mature, adult decision to buy a new ticket, did all I could, and this guy realizes this and is going to help me out!”

He then went on to say, “So, all I need is your credit card so I can write you out a fine.”

What doesn't kill you, part 2.

(This part is kind of long….stick with me, please!)

So where was I?  Ah, yes.

The lady went to talk to her manager, and left me anxiously awaiting my fate at the camera counter.

After a few minutes, she sauntered back over with my information and said, “Well, we can’t do anything about it here, but it’s possible that if you go to the exact same Corte where you bought it (in Sevilla), there’s a slight chance that they might possibly be able to look it up on the same computer you used when you checked out, maybe.  It’s not a sure thing, but that’s your option.”

This may not seem encouraging, but considering I was basically expecting to be laughed at, I took the news to be tidings of great joy.  This by no means solved my problem of having a camera for my trip, but at least it meant I might not have to spend an extra 240€ on a camera in the near future.

I had posted something on my Fbook page to the effect of “fml" upon returning to my apartment.  I promise I’m not one to seek pity or attention with Fbook updates.  I was just really frustrated with being sick, not having a camera, and (I forgot to mention earlier) finding out that I did NOT in fact have two extra days off school like I thought.  I believe the word here is, “bleak.”  I had to say it somewhere.

My dear friend Jeanette chatted me up and was asking what was going on.  I gave her the abbreviated version and the first thing she said was, “well, if you want, you can just use my camera until you get the situation worked out with yours.”

To be perfectly honest with you, it had never even occurred to me to ask someone to just up and borrow a camera for a weekend.  I would of course let someone I trusted borrow my camera, but the idea of me asking someone else for the same thing just didn’t cross my mind.  I met up with Jeanette later that evening and got the camera.  It was a nice camera too, btw, so I was very happy, and very grateful that she let me use it.

The next morning I got up (still feeling sick) at 6 to catch my bus to Málaga, got to the airport sin problemas, and arrived in Amsterdam to sunny skies, and an even sunnier disposition on my part.  I met this kid, Jason, in my hostel within 10 minutes of having arrived, and we hit it off and made plans to hang out, maybe hitting up a museum or just getting some drinks.

My first afternoon in Amsterdam was great!  I just walked for a few hours, went to the Rijksmuseum and saw lots of Vermeer, Rembrandt, Hals, and many more.  I’ve always been a big fan of the Northern School, so it was great to see it all.  Unfortunately, most of the museum was closed due to renovation, so I only got to see about ¼ of everything.  Still worth the 12,50€ entry, but…just barely...

Rijksmuseum.

Eventually I started feeling worse, so I grabbed some dins and headed back to the hostel and chilled and read for a while until I went to sleep.  Luckily most of the other people in the room (8 person dorm) were back, so we didn’t have anyone stumbling in at 4 am from the clubs.  Also, for the first time in living history, I was in a dorm with no snorers!  I couldn’t believe it.  If my throat hadn’t been hurting so bad, I probably would have slept as well as if I were back in my own bed.  But it wasn’t to be, unfortunately.

The next morning I woke up feeling down right awful (and felt pain creeping up into my ear….), so I got up early and went to the front desk, got directions to a pharmacy where I could ask for medicine.  Got to the pharmacy, but they couldn’t give me anything except the address of a doctor.  I went to the doctor, but he hadn’t come in that day, so it was just the nurses there.  They gave me the address of another doctor, one who sees a lot of expats.  So I finally get there, wait 30 minutes for the office to open, and eventually get seen by the doctor.  I told him that my tonsils hurt and it felt like I was possibly getting the beginnings of an ear infection.  He took a look at my throat and said, “yup, your tonsils look enflamed.”  Then he looked in my ears and said, “yup, your ears look a little enflamed.”  None of this was shocking to me.

What was shocking, however, was that he then proceeded to say, “You have an upper respiratory infection.”  ¿Excuse me?

Now, I’m no doctor, and I’ve never had an upper respiratory infection, but last time I checked, it’s hard to diagnose said malady without an x-ray.  Right?  And what does my ear looking red have to do with my lungs?

Basically I left the doctor confused, but successfully got a prescription for antibiotics, which is all I was after.  (I felt 100% the next evening, btw.)  They also gave me hydrogen peroxide to wash out my mouth and gargle with.  I did it twice, got freaked out I was going to accidentally swallow it, and then just dumped the rest out.  Not after having spilled a good bit of it on myself while trying to open it though.

By the time this had all come to pass, it was only about 11 am, so I grabbed some food and went to the Van Gogh museum, which was terrific.

The museum was great not only because they had lots of art by Van Gogh, but also because they showed you the things that inspired his work and his ideas.  I’ve studied Van Gogh and the Impressionist movement before, but it was interesting to see where all these things began for the individual person.

Rijksmuseum from the Van Gogh museum.  No pictures allowed inside, so this is from the outside stairwell.

Then I decided I would go to the train station and get my train ticket printed out a day early, just because I had time, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

I hopped on the tram and got to the train station.  Got a number to wait my turn, got called up to counter, and gave them my ticket info for my ticket.

Me: I need to print my ticket for my trip to Paris tomorrow.  Here’s my info.

Train Station Guy: Umm, did you buy this ticket on the French national railway site?

Me: Yes…

Train Station Guy: And did you select “Print ticket at train station?”

Me: Yes…

Train Station Guy: Ah, well, then you have two options: We can’t access the French system, so you can either try to change the method of retrieval online, or you’re going to have to buy a new ticket.

Me: Say what now?

What doesn't kill you, part 1.

This was my mantra during my past trip.  Well, not really, but it should have been.

Mostly what I said were a lot of things that aren’t suitable to be repeated here.

I think I might dedicate a few posts to my trip, just because there was so much that happened, both good and bad, that it’d be better to break it up into manageable chunks.

Let me start out by saying Amsterdam is amazing, and if you get a chance, you should definitely definitely go.  The houses are beautiful.  The canals are beautiful.  The art is beautiful.  It’s an extremely walkable and calm city, too.  Mostly what you find while meandering around is that the streets are full of about 10x as many bikes as cars.  I think this is great.  I didn’t rent a bike while I was there, just because I was content to walk and observe everything at a slower pace, but it’s a good option if you’re looking for more activity.  Be careful though!  Because of the ubiquitous bikes, readily accessible public transportation and ever present cars, crossing the street is especially dangerous!  Bikes don't make any noise until they're plowing you down!

Only proof I was in the Dam.

And now for some of the stories that went on leading up to and during my trip.

On Sunday, in the Canary Islands, I woke up with what felt like a swollen tonsil.  This is never great news.  But, it’s happened before, and usually goes away in about two days.  So I was hopeful that things would go back to normal before I left on Wednesday morning for my next adventures.  Well, that didn’t happen.  It got a little worse, then a little better, then a little worse, etc etc.  I ended up catching the bus to start my adventure to Amsterdam feeling rather miserable, but I wasn’t about to not go: That’d just be crazy.

On top of that, my camera started fritzing on me in the Canaries, so I was frantically trying to decide what to do before my trip.  Having a camera, while not an essential part of travel, definitely makes things more fun.  I was especially upset because I just bought it in September, so there was no reason why it should be giving me problems.

I went to El Corte Inglés in Granada and asked them what my options are.  I thought there was some kind of warranty with it, so I wanted to find out the details.

The Target/Wal-Mart/Macy's/FNAC/what-have-you of Spain.

Saleswomen: There’s a 2-year warranty on all cameras sold by Corte.

Me: Yes!

Saleswoman: All you need is the receipt.

Me: Oh.  I don’t have that…what can I do?

Saleswoman: Well, without the receipt we can’t do anything.  But you probably used a credit card to buy it, right?  Go look online on your bank and see what you can find.

Me: Qué buen idea.

I said that to her.  She laughed.  It was a tender moment.

So I went back to my apartment and got online and looked up all the bank transactions that had occurred on both my credit card and my debit card during the month of September.  I looked and looked but came up with nothing.  I was pretty surprised, because I definitely didn’t pay in cash.  Then it hit me: Why would I have used my American cards when I had a French debit card at my disposal?

Well, in retrospect, the answer to this question would be: So that I can look up my transactions later.

To be fair, you can look up your transaction history online with your French bank account, but considering I had closed the account in December when I was in Paris for my birthday, it didn’t do me a whole lot of good.

Sometimes I’m so efficient it’s astounding.  Not only did I close my French account, but I deleted the info for how to access the account from my computer.  Not only did I lose the receipt for my camera, but I took the box my camera came in home when I was there for Christmas.  I also got rid of 90% of all papers relating to my French bank account in an attempt to remove clutter from my life.  So, suffice it to say, I couldn’t find the receipt, and I couldn’t find any trace of what the card number was anywhere.  Normally I keep a scanned copy of my cards somewhere….just in case something happens.  Not this time.

I spent the next 30 minutes tearing through all the papers I have in my apartment looking for any trace of a card number, looking through any emails I have that might be a payment confirmation or something from a time I used my card.  I even got all CSI crazy at one point because I noticed an impression in my American wallet of a credit card.  I checked the numbers against my American cards, and unfortunately, it was from one of them and not from my French card.  Bummer.

Eventually, through researching blog updates, photo booth pictures, and all other manner of information retrieval, I figured out the exact date, and, thanks to the waking nightmare that is the SNCF (the French national railway union), I found 12 of the 16 numbers that were on my French card.  Incredibly random, I know, but I was looking for anything.

With this information in hand, high hopes, and a throat that wouldn’t quit paining, I marched back to Corte and presented this info to the lady at the camera desk.  I explained my situation (it was a different lady).

She took a look at the info I brought and said, “hmm…I don’t know, there might be something we can do.  Let me check with my supervisor.”

That's all for now.  Stay tuned for the next installment.

Low and high notes.

Today was a crappy day.

I'll write a post about it in more detail later (about how I missed my calling as a CSI-type detective), but to sum it up in a word or two, I found out my camera has a 2 year warranty from El Corte Inglés (they all do, actually...for those of you who find yourselves in a similar situation), but you need the receipt.

Well, I didn't.  So I thought I was going to have to spend 240€ on a gd camera for my trip.

Plus I was sick.  Plus it was cold outside.  Plus one of my teachers told me that my schedule changed for work this week.  Plus I had accomplished almost nothing on my To Do list.  Things were looking dire, friends.

Then, my wonderful and kind friend, Jeanette, said that I could just use hers for the weekend.  So I went to meet up with her, and it turns out she has a very nice camera, so problem solved...for the time being.

I was walking home after having met with Jeanette, and I was kind of playing around with the camera, just to see what's up.  And then I saw this.

The Sierra Nevadas.  Always there when you need them.

I've said this before: Sometimes we need to be reminded how small we are.  What's the very worst thing that would have happened if I didn't have a camera for Amsterdam/Paris?  I mean, you guys wouldn't get to see the evidence I was there, but really, that's about it.  I would still have gone, and I would still have enjoyed myself.

Thanks for the reminder, Granada.

The Dog Islands.

I'm making myself do this post because I leave in tomorrow for my next adventure.  I love writing these things, honest.  But I have a lot to do to get ready.

Anyway!  The Canary Islands were a freaking blast.  We (Brittany, her roommate, Carolina, and myself) arrived to 70º weather, met up with friends and then went to lunch.  There was this fishing village near the airport that consisted of 12 houses and a bar/restaurant.  So we went there, sat on the boardwalk and ate and ate and ate.

After lunch we dropped our stuff off at the apartment we were staying at (staying with the friends of a friend), then I met up with Joey, Mike, Karl and Merci.  Karl and Merci were there for a frisbee competition, so the guys and I entertained ourselves for a bit, then headed over to another beach for some foods.

After we ate a bit, we split up for a while and the guys went back to siesta while we went back to relax and get stuff to make dinner.  I had only slept about 4 hours the previous night, so in order to do the Carnival up right, it was imperative I get a nap in.  I laid down for like 30 minutes, but didn't sleep.  It was good to just be relaxing around the apartment and not doing anything though.  Eventually I got showered and we started making dinner.

Everything that follows is reflective of the typical Spanish timetable for socializing.

We started cooking dinner around 9:30-10.  Mike and Joey arrived around 10:30 or so.  A bunch of other people came over around 11 and we started eating and drinking and getting the party going.

A few hours go by and then we decide we should head out to the carnival.  We get in cabs and what not and arrive around 1 to the Carnival.  The party is almost in full swing.

We chill for about half an hour or so nearby, then enter into the huge outdoor club scene that's happening.  Different clubs and bars in Las Palmas had set up "minibars" (not like what you have in a hotel) all around this plaza and there was a huge area for dancing in the middle.

I'm going to take a brief side note and talk about the Carnival itself.  I was a little nervous about how the crowd would be for the event.  I had heard less than inspiring stories from people about the previous weekend's Carnival in Cádiz (fights, getting separated because of uncontrolled crowds, messy messy streets, etc).  I asked someone about how crazy things were going to be and they made the interesting point that, in Cádiz, everyone that lives in the city leaves, and it's mostly people from outside who come, whereas in the Canary Islands, most everyone is Canario.  Typically people don’t destroy their own city.

Another big difference was that clubs were open in Las Palmas, whereas everything was closed in Cádiz.  There was literally nothing to do in Cádiz but stand around outside and drink.  In Las Palmas, there were tons of food stands up, 24hr markets, bars, clubs, plus a concert happening right next to where we were.  It was good to give people options, methinks.

So anyway, we were outside dancing for a while, then around 4 half of our group went back.  The half that stayed (consisting of mostly Americans, oddly enough), kept dancing for a while, then headed to a club around 4:30, and danced until around 5:30 or so.  One of the Spanish guys we were with had a car, so he drove us back to the apartment we were staying at.  By the time we got back to his car, dropped off Mike at his hostel, then got back to the apartment, it was 7:30 am.

It was an unbelievably fun night.  There's just something about dancing outside that makes the world seem right.  The costumes (practically the most important part of Carnival) were also really fun and creative.  Something that was really interesting was that groups of people dressed up in a theme.  So at any given time you could see groups of Ninja Turtles, bananas, fairies, ballerinas, cops, firemen, and everything else imaginable walking around or dancing together in a group.

The next morning, my beach instincts told me that it was sunny, beautiful beach weather.  So my brain turned on at 10 sharp, and I was up and ready to get things going.  I've been realizing lately that this isn't a common occurrence for most people.

For me the most important thing while traveling somewhere for the weekend is to see and do as much as possible.  You can sleep later.  It’s with this philosophy in mind that I make everyone around me get up earlier than they want so that we can get up and out and start doing stuff.  They pretend to complain about getting up at 9 or 10, but I know they secretly appreciate it.

In this case, my main concern was to get as much sunny beach time as possible.  Eventually I got Brittany up and a mere hour or so later, we were walking to the bus station to catch the bus to the beach.  We finally got there and it was glorious.  Absolutely glorious.  Full sunshine, slight breeze, not too crowded.  Pretty much everything you could ask for.

We got in a few good hours of sunshine, then Brittany and I went with Carolina and her friend, Meri, to the center of the island to this little town for lunch, then drove around the island for a few hours.  It was absolutely gorgeous.  The only bad part was that Brit and I kept falling asleep in the back of the car amidst all the beauteous scenery around us.  We also went to the southernmost tip of the island where, apparently due to the wind patterns, it’s pretty much always sunny.  It was nice, especially because it started raining in the middle of the island.  By the time we got to the south, it was sunny.  Crazy, eh?

Just being in the Canaries and having nice weather would have made the weekend fun, but going there with great people like Brittany, Carolina, Mike and Joey made everything that much more enjoyable.

Mike and Brittany.  Mike tells great stories, so I'm pretty sure that's what was happening here.

I have no idea what's happening here.  But this is pretty typical of Joe and Mike.

The most well-known beach on the Canaries.

Only picture of me, haha.

Brittany and Carolina at Plaza Catalina.

I wish I had pictures of the Carnival activies, but my camera was and is on the fritz.  I actually have to go and get a new one today.  I hate spending the money, but a camera is one of those things you can't not have when traveling around.  If anyone wants to donate to the "Peter needs a camera...but also needs to eat" fund, you can contact me here or via the facebook.  Any donation, small or large, is appreciated.  Especially the larger ones.

Ok!  I'm leaving for Amsterdam tomorrow morning, staying until Friday night, then taking a late train to Paris and staying there for two nights.  As I write this, I'm actually feeling sick.  My throat is kind of swollen and sore...and it kind of hurts to talk.  But when you've spent the money on a trip already, you're not going to let a little thing like sickness stand in your way.  Am I right?!  Of course I'm right.

In addition to traveling while not feeling 100%, this'll be the first time I've traveled alone in a while, so it'll be different.  I'm sure I'll meet some cool people though.  Normally hostels do a good job of having "social" events and what not for people.   We shall see!