Amstelveen and How I fell in Love with Albert Heijn

“Strength and growth come only through continuous effort and struggle.”

Napoleon Hill

After waking up with more rashes on my arms, legs, and neck, I started to feel the onset of hyperventilation. As I was on the futon, trying to calm myself down and coaching myself through breathing exercises, I took 5 minutes to assess the situation, then immediately looked on Airbnb for a room. To make matters worse, my legs felt like they were going to break off from the rest of my body, and the throbbing pain was not exactly something I needed in a country where the main form of transportation is bicycles.

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How to Manifest an Airbnb

I couldn’t find anything in Amsterdam, so I began to look in Haarlem. I shook my head and thought that it was crazy that I would fathom the thought of being a 30-minute train ride away from where I wanted to be. I searched near Schiphol without any luck.  Since my thumb was taking a break from push-ups, I figured I would start getting my clothes for the day and my shower kit together.

Pacing up and down the loft, I messaged other Couchsurfing hosts only to come to the conclusion that I might as well stay.  I was trying to remember street and neighborhood names to get a better idea of where to look. Searching for rooms only brought back expensive results.  Coming to the realization that I may need to spend the rest of my budget on housing, I let out a huge sigh and started to meditate.

For five minutes, I sat at the edge of the futon repeating affirmations. Remembering the time I rented a room hours before arriving in Orlando, writing my most convincing sales pitch, I crossed my fingers and gave it one last go.

“Cosy room for short stay.”

“Where is Amstelveen?”

The price was right, but this wasn’t an instant booking.  That is, I would have still waited for a response, and sometimes a response takes days.  This is all while trying to figure out the best way to get to Zaanse Schans! I’ll spin the wheel and hope to get the grand prize.

There is still the issue of how to leave the keys since there is only a common mailbox in the lobby. I go through my backpack in search of stationery (I always carry cards with me) and pull out an orange thank you notecard. I’m not even sure what to write because I can’t tell Jay, “Hey thanks for the coffee, but the bugs on your futon had me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” I can’t recall what I scribbled down before placing it on the suitcase, since I was interrupted by a push notification, then an email from the host, and finally another notification that my credit card had been charged. YES! I have exactly an hour to get there or else I’ll have to wait until 7 pm when she gets home from work. Grabbing my toiletries, I rush to the communal shower to get my day started.

You Can’t Always Trust Google Maps

Upon my return, I grabbed the rest of my belongings, hoping I wouldn’t have to have an uncomfortable conversation with Jay. I can’t help but feel like I’m leaving a friend behind. I take one last look around, ensure I have all my belongings, and take a moment of silence.  With the loft keys and notecard in my hand, I say to myself, “Quel dommage.” Then I placed the keys at the door, pushing them through a small crevice with the notecard until both were secured inside. The GVB didn’t help me the last time, so I put my trust in Google Maps again. It failed me miserably.

According to Google Maps, I should skip the Amsterdam Lelyaan station and walk to Heemstedestraat. Fuck you, Google. Because of this error, I ended up walking for 20 minutes in the heat, hungry, tired, and with luggage. If it weren’t for the crap I was lugging around, I probably would have enjoyed the leisurely walk while singing People in Your Neighborhood. I made it to the station just as my train to Amsterdam Zuid was departing.  I was too exhausted to scream, so I took pictures instead.

Ok, which train do I take next? It looks like I have two options according to the GVB app. I’m exhausted, and each minute counts. Now I’m sweating, and this bag lady is fighting off confused stares from other train folks. What I don’t want is to have to lug all of my stuff around for another 8 hours.  I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m going to drop. The host is texting me asking for my current location.  She’s started her lunch break sooner than expected, so my allotted time has been slashed by 20 minutes. I look around and see a billboard for Boom Chicago and a show called Angry White Men: Trump Up the Volume.  I chuckle a bit and can’t help but think that even miles away from home I am still haunted by U.S. politics. There’s no escaping it. Why am I worried about this now?

51 Westwijk to Zonnestein

The chariot was clean, and while I looked like I just rolled out of bed, everyone else was done to the nines, reading their newspapers and minding their own business. Surprisingly quiet, my eyes fixated on the GVB app, while trying not to miss the rhythm of life outside of the window. I text the host, Siri, to apologize profusely and give her my coordinates.

“I’m about 10 minutes away.”

She’s understanding, and I have a good feeling about this listing. Amstelveen feels more metropolitan than Amsterdam, and that is just the vibe I’m getting as a passenger on a commuter train. That is, Amsterdam has an endearing quality and feels like a trip back in time with its maze of canals and tiny side streets, yet in Amstelveen I see fewer folks on bikes and more cars. As I’m pulling up to the Zonnestein station, I see the number 5 tram heading in the opposite direction, which reads “Centraal Station.” I’m quite familiar with the number 5 tram as it is the tram line I have been using the entire time here. Who’s playing these cruel jokes on me? Lesson learned: Drink coffee before trekking out. I tap my metro card, the doors open, and I struggle to get Beetlejuice and the blue Albert Heijn bag out, but eventually do so without spilling the entire contents of the bag all over the tracks.

Finding Serenity in Amstelveen

The apartment building is located 2 blocks from the station on Eleanor Rooseveltlaan. It could not have been a better fit.  Sitting above a business center, I become worried as I do not see any restaurants or bistros in sight. There are three different intercoms, and I get to play the mystery door prize game. I look like a fly desperately trying to get out but keep getting smacked by a window.

I gravitate towards the 2nd intercom, and I’m trying not to look like a creeper as people enter and leave the building. This seems like an episode of Seinfeld. I type in the apartment number on the numerical keypad and await my fate.  Siri answers and buzzes me in, although I can’t quite understand how it works; she has to do it once more before a lightbulb goes off and I pull on the door handle. Her apartment is located on the top floor.  That’s the 10th floor, by the way. I take a moment to take in the views from the top-floor balcony before ringing the doorbell.

Siri greets me with a huge smile and kindly asks me to leave my shoes in the foyer. I thank her for her patience, and she quickly shows me around the apartment.  She explains that she has to return to work and asks whether it is possible to leave the key in the evening. Also, I won’t see her for the remainder of my stay as she’s off to India to visit her family and then to London for a business trip.  Her roommate is in the room next to mine, and there’s another Airbnb traveler, an older woman, in the room next to the dining room. Zaanse Schans is definitely planned for tomorrow. I can feel the rest of my energy slowly depleting.

There’s Something About Albert Heijn

After meeting the rest of my roommates for the week, I entered the bedroom, locking the door behind me. The weight of the world is no longer on me, and I head outside for some fresh air.  From the balcony, I see a shopping center right on the other side of the building, technically in the back of the building, which has me wondering how in the world I get to it. To my right, there is a bright blue sign with the initials AH that makes my little heart jump for joy.  I discovered Albert Heijn the night before after returning to Amsterdam from Haarlem.  Instead of going straight home, I wanted to enjoy Amsterdam at night.  After leaving Centraal, I started to walk east, only stopping at Stach for another delicious cheese tray. I didn’t have a set destination, although I did want to get away from tourists. After 10 blocks or so, I started to feel hungry, and having forgotten all about the cheese tray, my eyes and my nose were on the lookout.  I kept seeing people with large, bright blue shopping bags with the initials OH, or so I thought they were OH. A group of girls almost got impaled by a BMW driving too fast right in front of me, and my stomach was less than sympathetic. The store location was about the size of a typical liquor store back in the States; however, it had Whole Foods quality items at Trader Joe’s prices.

Once I had an idea of my surroundings, I took a picture and then passed out for 8 hours. I woke up abruptly, hungry and thirsty. I grabbed my wallet and reusable shopping bag, hoping Siri had left the key somewhere for me. The first person I saw when I opened the bedroom door was Siri, who handed me the key before whisking herself away to the laundry room.

Albert Heijn was just around the corner and less than a 5-minute walk. While there were restaurants around me, I just wanted a quick meal.  Something I could take with me back to the house and enjoy in peace. I ended up with jamón Ibérico, Medjool dates stuffed with cheese wrapped in prosciutto, a fruit salad, orange juice (sinaasappelsap), mint and lemon-infused water, croissants, and soap.  I would have purchased more items, but unlike in the States, I was politely asked to take my items to the counter as they were about to close.

It was nice and cool outside. Also, I would have been a fool to let the evening go to waste. Instead, I found a beautiful park overlooking yet another canal, sat on wet grass, and ate dinner. I left the fruit salad and one of the croissants for breakfast the next day and scarfed down the jamón, dates, and a croissant. I ended up going to Albert Heijn almost every night I stayed in Amstelveen, selecting different cuts of meat, loaves of bread, fruits, and sweets. Not only was it cost-effective, but I also ate pretty damn well, too. I never bothered with the restaurants on the other side of the building. Albert Heijn had me covered.

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