Taken 4: Amster-Damn That Was Scary

This is an old one but looking back I can't see why I've never told it. Possibly because of the statute of limitations but I can't think why that would be an issue.

In October 2013 I took a trip to Amsterdam. It was my first holiday sans family so I wanted to go somewhere that I'd never been before and this seemed as good an option as any.

Sadly I booked my tickets two days beforehand so the rooms were very hard to get at the hostel I wanted to go to so I had a tricky situation where I had to switch rooms halfway through. Either way it was the Flying Pig and by far one of the coolest places I have ever stayed.

I left in the early hours of the morning on the Eurostar to Brussels and had to catch my connecting train to Amsterdam Central Station. Everything went well and I boarded the train with time to spare. Sadly I was sat next to the only woman with a baby and the baby must REALLY not have been looking forward to the holiday as it was screaming the entire time.

Or so I assume because I spent most of the journey in the food cart doing battle with an absurdly hot croque monsieur in a constant lunge position due to the fact that the train was going at an absurd speed. Anyway I caught my connection after a brief and terrifying encounter with the the Brussels' train timetable.

I was greeted with what only can be described as a shitload of windmills. Like seriously. Windmills fucking everywhere. Like the scene with the grandpa from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on steroids.

Either way after an uneventful train ride I reached the station and started the 20 minute walk to the hostel. For those twenty minutes I was Into The Wild. An oversized backpack on and the wind in my hair and trams up my arse. It was freeing in a way but the terrifying idea of having to make friends on this solo trip was freaking me out.

I got to my hostel and checked in. This kind woman behind the reception had written down my checkout day for me in a very confusing manner. But I went to my room nonetheless to be greeted by eight fast asleep Canadians and one not so asleep Canadian.

I introduced myself like the social butterfly I am and we promptly decided to go check out what Amsterdam had to offer. Which predominantly consisted of going to the Blues Brothers coffee shop across the road to enjoy the benefits of a more relaxed drug culture.

Inside we went upstairs and bought the weakest strain they had on offer as I didn't want to spend my time lying on the ground thinking of myself as sleeping beauty as I drifted off. I stupidly asked how much a ten bag was. I know, it's idiotic but hey, that's me after being up for 24 hours.

We left an hour or so later and went back to the room, his friends were currently at the Heineken brewery so we decided to sit by the bar and chat. The barmaid was also English so we got a few drinks for free and I felt like a celebrity.

His friends came back and I thought I'd give them some time to themselves. The man at the bar gave me some drinks so it would have been rude to refuse.

Either way when they told me they were going out and I decided to tag along I was fairly drunk and in-between I had taken advantage of the smoking room. I was enjoying life so to speak. We went out and decided to go to a gay bar as one of the group was gay and I had never been to a gay bar.

We stepped inside and what I found inside was basically the running gag for every Police Academy movie of the Blue Oyster bar. I was way out of my depth. They all seemed like lovely guys but I had never even owned a pair of chaps let alone seen them.

We hit the next place and after an hour or so I decided I had drunk too much and tried to head back to the hostel. Tried.

This was a great idea. Stumbling down the streets of a foreign country with no idea where I was going and no-one knowing I was gone.

Luckily I had the bright idea of hailing a taxi.

This was my error. Probably one of the worst mistakes I've ever made.

In a flash a black BMW pulled up. It looked way too expensive for a taxi but this was another culture so I thought, what the hell. I got inside and there were two guys in the front seat.

Of course I think this is normal.

They ask for 25 euros up front before we've even moved.

Of course I think this is normal. 

They ask for another 25 after we start moving.

Sadly this is the only moment in the night my brain kicks in and thinks this whole situation is weird. And I remember there is nothing on this car to signify it's a taxi. Nothing. I'm a British tourist being kidnapped in a foreign country. I'm a Daily Mail article waiting to happen. The comments section would be filled with people blaming the Tories for absolutely no reason.

So I say I have to get out. I feel ill. Of course these guys don't want to rob me of 100 euros and have to clean out a car. So they stop and I get out and start walking away as fast as I can with wobbly legs and wet cobbles beneath me.

End of the situation. I did something stupid and I paid for it in money. Far less than a lot of people.

Not so.

The passenger climbs out and start running after me. He is very athletic, I am not. He grabs me by the shirt. At which point the car is well on it's way, reversing up the road towards me. I turn around and put on my serious face and tell him he better let go. I'm not giving him any more money or I'm going to beat the crap out of him.

I turn and run, throwing caution to wind I go as fast an I can. Usain Bolt in the making of course I run past several women in windows with dead eyes. The man keeps running after me but I'm away. I'm gone. Like dust in the wind. I have a stitch, and have to stop.

Who would have thought poor health would be the reason I left this planet early.

The man catches up to me and grabs me. Telling me I owe him money. Now I'm not a financial expert but I assume that 25 euros for 100 metres of travel is overpaying. I tell him to let me go or I'm going to release the Hulk. Apparently this doesn't cross the language barrier because who isn't scared of the Hulk?

Either way I struggle like Houdini and shove him off of me.

He let's go and calls me names you wouldn't find in the phone book. The driver who pulled up beforehand is looking through the rear window as this is happening with a look on his face that I could only describe as pure hatred.

I turn and walk. Slowly. It looks as if it's with purpose but really it's so I don't trip and fall.

I find my way back to the hostel to be greeted with my Canadian friends asking what happened. I mumble the word kidnapping and fall asleep. Which pretty much describes the entire trip.

On the other hand did you know that Amsterdam puts mayonnaise on their chips like ketchup? I've seen 'em do it, man. They fuckin' drown 'em in that shit.

THE Date

Now for me dating is something that doesn't happen much. Not because I'm not incredibly charming and "ruggedly handsome but not in the traditional way" but because I work long hours. So I usually turn to the internet for such things meaning that I have an OKCupid profile like a surprisingly large amount of people it turns out.

The first girl I met was great and it turned into a three month relationship but then failed due to me and her not being available at the same time. She was an air hostess (I know, right?!) with crazy hours and I generally just had long hours. 

I'd been messaging people for a while but nothing had come of it until I met the next girl. We'll call her "Sarah" as that's not her real name. 

"Sarah" was great, she was dry, and had a wicked sense of humour so we talked for a month. I thought things were going really well and I knew they were for a fact. More on that later.

So we decided to meet. Or rather I perhaps sent the sweetest message ever and she accepted and we decided to go get burgers at a place that was enough of a restaurant for people not to assume your first date had been in a rest area and served out of a van. 

But something had happened a couple of weeks into us talking. She had a blog. It was not like this where I occasionally post stories but she treated it more like Twitter with constant updates about everything. Everything.

Now I don't mind this as you can do what you want on the internet as long as you're okay that people will read it. But this was different, I had found she was posting things about her online dating adventures (that was the hashtag she used). The first message was innocent and sweet, something along the lines of "But in case you were wondering I have found a really sweet guy on there who I'm probably going to do something with. He's super tall."

Now I would have been suspicious that it wasn't me but I am tall compared to her and I am incredibly sweet when I need to be. So we carried on and she had no knowledge I was looking her account almost every day. Looking for feedback and what she really thought of my messages. 

It was like The Departed. I was Michael Douglas feeding information through and waiting to see what would come out of the other end. She was Matt Damon. 

So on the day of the meet there were several posts about how she was nervous. I expected nothing less and was still looking forward to it. Towards the end of the day I was nervous but still excited and that's what caused me to make my first mistake. I decided to go to the pub with a female co-worker to relax and wait out the time until we were supposed to meet. This in itself wasn't a mistake but then leaving the pub which was coincidentally next to where we were meeting with the girl from work was. 

I saw her and she saw me, and then she saw her. I'm not sure what she was thinking but I then rushed over to clarify that she was from my office and not in fact the first part of a double feature Friday for me. Not a good start. 

Either way I could tell she was terrified. Incredibly nervous so I took it easy and started with a handshake. But then I found she was a very different person in real life. In terms of looks she was lovely. The same. But she wouldn't say anything. Didn't start any lines of conversation. But again I thought maybe she needs time to ease into it, it's okay. It's nerve-wracking for anyone. So it was all on me. And I'm fine with that. Anyone that knows me knows I love to talk. But at first I was struggling. I mean none of our in jokes seemed to have any effect so by the third minute of the date I was pointing out where I got my hair cut. Not a good sign. 

Then we got lost. This was all my fault as I hadn't been to this place before but it did help her crack a smile which I was happy about. 

I was confused, none of her blog posts had indicated that it would be this difficult. But I persevered, knowing that there was no way we could talk for this long before the date and be this quiet and that she would soon become comfortable enough to talk candidly.

We arrived at the restaurant and sat, down, I ordered a burger and a beer and she ordered a burger and a coke. I got chips and indicated that she was more than welcome to have some but she declined. I get it. Some people want to stay away from carbs, no judgement. 

But then she took the red onion off her burger. How could you abide by taking the sweet delicious crunch of red onion rings from your burger. I was flabbergasted. 

Either way we sat and the table was wobbly. And due to my lack of material that became the topic of conversation. It would be the anecdote that we would always bring up when we thought back to our first date. And the story we would tell at dinner parties with our other married friends over wine, which I would eventually learn to love. But sadly not. 

We paid and left feeling our stomachs more full but the chances of a second date slowly emptying out of the bucket that was the evening. 

I rejoined her upstairs and I could tell she wasn't feeling any more comfortable so I decided to slowly walk back to the station so that if somehow she seemed more receptive to me we could always grab a couple of drinks in the pub next door. 

But then something happened. I always thought it was a possibility but never really considered it. It was quite a coincidence considering the timing involved and the distance we had to walk. 

We ran into my boss. 

To be fair he was great about the whole thing. He stayed for the appropriate amount of time which was about thirty seconds. But it was the like the thirty seconds that the main protagonist has to defuse the bomb at the climax of any movie. As it actually is more like five minutes. After he left we were back on our way. I still felt no excitement from her. 

We arrived back at the station and I knew it was time for us to part ways. I thought a one-armed "well we tried!" hug might be appropriate but she felt differently. We ended on  handshake. I mean seriously I expected nothing but a handshake is far more awkward than nothing in my opinion. I would have taken a relaxed wave but sadly not.

All in all I picked her up from the station at 7pm and she was back on a train by 8:15pm. Which really is an excellent advert for Byron and their fantastic service. 

I went back to the office to pick up my belongings and then headed back home. She texted me sorry that she was so awkward and I replied telling her not to worry and get home safe. There has been no conversation since sadly. 

I checked her blog later that night. Two posts. One, whilst I was in the bathroom about her being nervous. By this point that was a running theme. 

And two, which I found particularly difficult. #not bad not good.

Like, no shit?

But when I went home I did have time to catch the 11pm showing of Whiplash. Which is incredible by the way. Especially with a completely empty cinema and the beers I managed to sneak in my large jacket pockets. 

I highly recommend you go see it. Either way I'm reworking the profile.

I realise the irony of her writing about it and now I'm doing the same. I'm okay with it.