Last night was extremely pleasant. As I looked out of my bedroom window towards Hamburg Hbf, I suddenly realised what a difference a comfortable hotel makes.
When I originally started booking for my trip to Amsterdam, I followed a recommendation made by The Man in Seat 61 for a hotel in Hamburg and booked into the Hotel Fürst Bismarck. There then followed a whole load of kerfuffle. And I booked different places in a flurry of panic. When I finally booked a room for the Friday night in Hamburg, the Hotel Fürst Bismarck was fully booked (it was holiday time in Germany) and I opted for one a few doors down.
Now, looking back, I realise I should have just booked what I know. For a start, there was an NH boutique hotel not far from the Rijksmuseum with a tram stop almost outside. Our experiences with NH have always been excellent and, had I known, I’d have not hesitated to book there.
Of the accommodation, the hostel in Amsterdam was easily the worst. Ignoring the horrendously squeaky bed and the noise outside my room as drunken roommates dribbled home at all hours, the smell of weed floating up to and through my third floor window was a bit cloying. To be fair, the weed probably helped put me to sleep.
There was a high point of amusement on the train this morning. Not long after leaving Hamburg, two young customs officials asked for papers and searched some people’s luggage. They were looking for drugs, alcohol and/or cigarettes.
According to the rather bitter chap sitting across the aisle, he “…knows these people!” He’s lived in Germany for 60 years and had seen it all before.
The tension was broken by a lot of shared humour. Though, according to the bitter chap, they were rather more thorough with the black people in the carriage. I had my back to all the action so cannot confirm.
Then, when we reached Padborg, the Danish police wanted to check passports. I was wondering what the point of the Schengen was as we sat in the station for ten minutes.
As soon as we crossed the border, the sun came out, the morning having been rather grey and gloomy.
It was then just the long haul up to Copenhagen where I had the usual dash to platform 26. I was a bit worried I wouldn’t make it. The change was 18 minutes and I knew I had the up and down stairs malarkey again. And I wasn’t convinced the train would arrive on time given the couple of delays, so there was that too.
But, I made it and climbed aboard my final long distance train and, would you believe it? I was travelling backwards again. That’s every, single leg.
The train was gloriously empty until Malmo. Then, gradually, at each stop, we took on more passengers. Not that it mattered. I dozed, caught up with the Archers, read and watched South Korean TV. A great way to wile away the five hours.
Then, on the t-bana I was sitting backwards. Just because other people are faster than I am. At least I was facing forwards on the bus.
I walked into the house just before 21:00 and was soon relaxing with Freya.
And, finally, I realised on the way home how slow travel makes a break feel much longer than it was. It has a lot to recommend it. For me, anyway. I know a lot of people prefer putting up with airports.
