To assuage the loneliness I escape for a weekend visit to my cousin Sarah in Amsterdam. I take the train.
Before leaving there is the tension of the inexperienced traveler. Which bus should I catch to the station? How much time to leave spare? What if the bus is not as reliable as it looks and I don’t make it in time, miss the train and lose the connection at Hannover? What platform will the train leave from? Will it really be the one on the timetable, or can it change at the last minute? In which wagon is the seat I reserved, and where will it draw up on the platform? What is the seat number? So many different numbers to keep in mind – platform, wagon, seat; I check over and over again, trying to memorise, but the next minute I have forgotten. All this on Deutschebahn which generally ticks like a clock, a well-oiled machine of precision.
At Hannover I resist the pull of the shopping arcade with its chains of take-away food counters, drug and stationary stores, go straight to the platform, and wait there patiently instead of roaming pointlessly and then rushing at the last minute. On the platform an earlier train pulls in, braking, and passengers step down and up. A father and daughter meet with generous kisses and hugs; a Turkish family embraces to post for a mobile phone snapshot before saying goodbye; conductors posture and strut in red caps and uniforms, blowing their whistles importantly for the next departure.
The connection is accomplished smoothly. Now I can settle and relax for the next four hours, until I arrive at Amsterdam Centraal. At some unidentifiable point, we cross the border. I do not notice because I am immersed in work, rewriting an article in response to a reader’s comments, and there is no passport control. But when I go to buy a cup of tea I realize all of a sudden that the countryside and the farm buildings are changed, the passengers look different, there is the sound of English, and German is replaced by Dutch. There is a perceptible relief, a weight lifts, and then a pang of conscience – is this conditioning nothing more than mere prejudice?
Sarah and Sammy meet me at the station, and the rest of the weekend is a flow of domesticity. I am in a proper home, with all its comforts, and we sit for hours in the kitchen talking. On Friday we go out for lunch, and afterwards I find a second-hand English book store where I browse and chat with the proprietor, and from which I emerge with a supply of paperbacks for bedtime reading. In the evening Sammy leaves to go to his dad, and later we go out to visit with friends. Then the weather turns cold and rainy, so we spend Saturday indoors, and I help Sarah tidy her closet, advising her on what looks nice and should be kept for another season, folding things to be given away, and also trying on those that match my taste and style. Finally, Sarah opens a worn suitcase packed full of old family photographs. This is one of our Ma and Pa, probably on the beach in Herzliya near the Sharon Hotel.
Before leaving there is the tension of the inexperienced traveler. Which bus should I catch to the station? How much time to leave spare? What if the bus is not as reliable as it looks and I don’t make it in time, miss the train and lose the connection at Hannover? What platform will the train leave from? Will it really be the one on the timetable, or can it change at the last minute? In which wagon is the seat I reserved, and where will it draw up on the platform? What is the seat number? So many different numbers to keep in mind – platform, wagon, seat; I check over and over again, trying to memorise, but the next minute I have forgotten. All this on Deutschebahn which generally ticks like a clock, a well-oiled machine of precision.
At Hannover I resist the pull of the shopping arcade with its chains of take-away food counters, drug and stationary stores, go straight to the platform, and wait there patiently instead of roaming pointlessly and then rushing at the last minute. On the platform an earlier train pulls in, braking, and passengers step down and up. A father and daughter meet with generous kisses and hugs; a Turkish family embraces to post for a mobile phone snapshot before saying goodbye; conductors posture and strut in red caps and uniforms, blowing their whistles importantly for the next departure.
The connection is accomplished smoothly. Now I can settle and relax for the next four hours, until I arrive at Amsterdam Centraal. At some unidentifiable point, we cross the border. I do not notice because I am immersed in work, rewriting an article in response to a reader’s comments, and there is no passport control. But when I go to buy a cup of tea I realize all of a sudden that the countryside and the farm buildings are changed, the passengers look different, there is the sound of English, and German is replaced by Dutch. There is a perceptible relief, a weight lifts, and then a pang of conscience – is this conditioning nothing more than mere prejudice?
Sarah and Sammy meet me at the station, and the rest of the weekend is a flow of domesticity. I am in a proper home, with all its comforts, and we sit for hours in the kitchen talking. On Friday we go out for lunch, and afterwards I find a second-hand English book store where I browse and chat with the proprietor, and from which I emerge with a supply of paperbacks for bedtime reading. In the evening Sammy leaves to go to his dad, and later we go out to visit with friends. Then the weather turns cold and rainy, so we spend Saturday indoors, and I help Sarah tidy her closet, advising her on what looks nice and should be kept for another season, folding things to be given away, and also trying on those that match my taste and style. Finally, Sarah opens a worn suitcase packed full of old family photographs. This is one of our Ma and Pa, probably on the beach in Herzliya near the Sharon Hotel.
And this is another of Sarah’s family, the Koenigs, who moved to Haifa in the early 1950s, with uncle Manny and aunt Ghisha, and Sarah as a baby.
I leave with a bag full of hand-me-down goodies, clothes, bags, music, food and a fragrant candle set to decorate my room. I unpack these small treasures one by one, with great pleasure and appreciation. They give a touch of home to the place I am living in.
