Let me prefix the next few sections with the very happy statement that I have yet to cry!!! What should be explained is that last night I was introduced to the other exchange students in the IBA program and most of the girls shared their stories of complete breakdown upon arrival to the Netherlands. Most expressed the similar desire to do the independent thing in Europe, arrive, live, explore on your own while meeting all these new and exciting people—except once one lands, one realizes that upon arrival one is completely and utterly alone.
Let me describe my arrival story:
My flight went as such—Portland, DC, Vienna, Amsterdam. Once on ground, where in theory I was to proceed to the train to Rotterdam and meet my exchange Dutch “buddy” at Rotterdam Central, where the two of us would go by tram to my hostel.
Theory is always quite lovely.
Flight:
As many of you know, I am cursed when it comes to flights. On each flight dating back to nearly four years ago, a loud, crying, kicking child and exhausted parent target me as the perfect flying candidate. (I seriously believe there is some underground network that keeps track of which flights I’m on and my seat location so that they can place these people near me). This trip did not disappoint. Particularly, my flight from Vienna had two lovely little boys dressed head to toe in orange with grown up version in form of dad. While yes these beautiful imps kicked and screamed (in Dutch nonetheless) that whole hour and half of flight time, I was welcomed to the Netherlands with these and about a dozen other similar dressed people. I know am quite proud of the fact that my brimming suitcases enclosed a nice little collection of orange. So far the guidebooks were correct!
Airport:
Once I landed, collected my baggage in a cart, bought my train ticket to Rotterdam, went to the “train station” part of the airport and tried to call my “buddy” to tell her which train I was going riding. I tried the pay phone for over half an hour. Little bit of useful knowledge that even the police officers who attempted to help me didn’t even know—airport payphones don’t make calls to Dutch cell phones. After much frustration one of them lent me his phone so that I could call her. Success.
Train:
Now my train adventure required that I take my 170 pounds of stuff off its majestic cart and carry it down to platform 5/6 to get on the train. Still success. Train arrives = end of success. I try to throw everything onto the train which has about a dozen or so stairs, before it leaves. I’m tired, panicked, and hungry and yes there was a savior! This random guy asked if I needed help at which I nearly yelled yes! Well thing is…at the exact moment at which I got on my train—my required platform switched and I was headed to another town (unbeknownst to me). When we arrive to said town (Dagg Han) everyone walked off, expect for guy number 2 who asked me if I realized that this was the last stop and if I needed help getting off the train. He helped, then random woman 1 helped me to the info desk, then I ran to a new platform to catch my new train to Rotterdam, chucked all of my things into the train and rode it into Rotterdam where I proceeded to launch my abused suitcases out the door, along with myself, where I took a breather—alone, on some random platform in Rotterdam, surrounded by my things, oh and to add a little bit more drama, yes, it started to rain.
After lugging my things about 100 yards, my arms are about to give out and I approach this woman with a stroller so see if I could borrow her cell phone to call Renee. Of course, because it is me—I approached the one person in the Netherlands without a cell phone. Yet nevertheless, she was kind enough to help me move my suitcase down from the platform and found the one (yes one single and very sketchy) elevator and I went to the back of the station. This is where I was greeted to another guidebook truth: bikes, bikes and then some bikes! Well, I ask someone else to borrow their cell phone, low battery; find a new pay phone that does call to cell phones!!! Find Renee.
Tram:
Well the two of us take my suitcases from the station to the tram where we take the number 7 to apparently a stop that’s situated in a “sketch” part of town that according to Renee one should never be caught on at night alone. We find my hostel and haul my things up two stories to my room.
First Night:
I say farewell to Renee who has exams the following morning and settle in.
That concludes my arrival to Rotterdam. Tough, but truly memorable; painful, but an amazing reminder of the good in people. I mean more than half a dozen folk took the time and energy to help me. I didn’t do a single thing to deserve their kindness. I am a firm believer in we reap what we sow—so please, please if you see someone in need, take a minute and help them out—it will be MUCH appreciated. It really will.
My room! I have two entrances, one private from the foyer and one that goes into the kitchen.
My building! (well one half of it)
See that building? Yeah, that's my business school building...we aren't even mentioning the rest of campus.
A common sight in Rotterdam. Despite the heavier than Seattle downpours here, the vicious winds defeat every unlucky umbrella. (But if you would like a free umbrella--come here, they're scattered all over town!)
My FIRST hostel ever!!!
The guide books don't lie. There is a nearly 16 million Dutch population. And over 16 million bikes. 
