So far, all of my blog entries have been written looking for
the humor in a situation. Some situations have been funny even while we were in
them and others didn’t seem to have a funny side until long after they had
ended. My trip home from Belgium last week was not funny in any way and it
remains void of humor today. I don’t expect that to change anytime soon so I
will write about the trip as I experienced and remember it.
My family and I traveled to Bruges, Belgium for the weekend.
We had a wonderful time exploring the old town, quaint shops, churches, a
museum, and my favorite destination, the gelato stands. We left the city at
6:00pm, pulling luggage behind us and preparing ourselves for the challenge of
taking 3 different trains to get back to Eindhoven. We took the first train
which arrived in Antwerp at 7:35, plenty of time to catch our 8:00 train to Dordrecht.
The Antwerp train station is a cathedral-like building with ornate architecture
and four different levels of tracks. We found our platform and waited for the
train, surprised that there weren’t more people waiting with us. The digital
sign read “trein”, Dutch for train, and then a 12 letter word that we didn’t
recognize. We went back upstairs to the
ticket office to ask for a translation and learned that the word meant
cancelled and we would have to wait until the next train at 9:00. We used our
extra hour to eat dinner and return downstairs to the platform. Because the
9:00 train would be carrying the 8:00 and 9:00 passengers, the platform had
already become very crowded with anxious, disgruntled, weekend travelers. Jim
and I took charge of the suitcases and kept Grace and Katie ahead of us in line
so they could get into the train car quickly and find seats, hopefully
together.
When the train pulled into the station, we were amazed to
see that the train was already full. People on the platform began to push and
crowd together to be first in line to board the train. As soon as the doors
opened, people shoved and pushed, trying to get what little standing room was
left. As instructed, the girls jumped into the corridor between the 2 cars and
disappeared. Jim stood in the corridor with our 2 suitcases and I began
searching for the girls. I guessed they had gone into the car on the right so I
opened the metal and glass door to find a sea of faces, totally packing the
seats and aisles. Luggage, as well as
people, filled the aisles, making it impossible to take one step forward. I
told the person closest to me that I needed to get by to look for my children.
I was told no, because there was no way I could walk in the aisle. I could hear
Jim behind me in the corridor, yelling that we had children we couldn’t find.
My mother adrenalin kicked in and I began pushing people out of my way,
stepping on whatever got in my path. I began yelling the girls’ names at the
top of my lungs, panicked that the train would be leaving in 2 minutes and I
didn’t even know if they were actually on board. A woman standing in the aisle
said, “Tell us their names and we will call down the row.” Like a bucket
brigade of words, people began yelling down the line of people who passed it on
to the next group, all the way down the car. No girls answered. I turned to
retrace my steps, pushing luggage into people, stepping on feet, whatever it
took to get back to where I had started. The only other place to look was the
car to the left of the corridor. I began pushing through the passengers in the
hall, passing Jim and yelling the girls’ names again. I got almost to the door
of the other car and saw a little hand waving in the air and a voice yelling,
“Mom! We’re here!” I could just make out the top of Grace’s head in the sea of
people. I told her to stay right where she was and not move anywhere. I went
back to Jim and our luggage and straddled one of the suitcases since there was
no more floor space to stand.
All of the passengers in the enclosed room stood front to
back and shoulder to shoulder, trying to hold on to family members and
belongings. Some were speaking French, some Dutch and others English. One woman
standing almost nose-to-nose with me had a tiny daughter with her who was getting
anxious, standing among the mass of legs and rising temperature. The mother picked her up and stood her on top
of one of our suitcases. Most of the trip, the little girl stood with one foot
on our luggage and the other against my black pants, pushing with her foot to
keep her balance.
I knew our station
was the third or fourth stop but I didn’t know how long we had to travel. An
hour? Forty minutes? Twenty? I closed my eyes and began saying the alphabet
slowly, just to pass the time. People began defending any personal space they
had by pushing arms and elbows into whoever stood closest to them. Others gave
stern glares if their floor space was invaded. Touching someone’s foot meant
they could step on yours. One man leaned his body against the back door so
hard, we knew he would fly out if it opened just a crack. A woman standing with
her back to the front door kept searching each passengers face while everyone
else chose not to make eye contact since we were standing so close. The room
grew hotter and all of the windows in the doors fogged over, making it
impossible to read station signs. Finally, the train began going slower and slower,
coming to a stop even though we had not reached a station. Silence.
We stood and waited. Then, a
woman made an announcement in Dutch on the PA system and the train started
moving again. A man who spoke Dutch and English translated for us and said the next stop would
be the terminus and everyone would have to leave the train and get on another
one. As we traveled to the next station, I couldn’t help but think of the
people who were forced into freight cars during World War II, totally out of
control, no space to sit down, not enough air, and no idea how long their train
ride would be or what was going to happen to them. My situation was so minor
but it gave me such an appreciation for the words and images I had seen on a
history page.
At the next station, the car doors opened and people
streamed out, racing to the edge of the next platform, trying to be first in
line. We were now going to add all of these people to another train full of
passengers. When that train pulled into the station, people began running for
its doors. I was afraid we would get separated from the girls again but they
stayed by Jim’s side and I constantly scanned the crowd for his red coat. The
new train was a double decker which gave us more space. Again, we ended up in
one of the corridors between cars but it held a set of stairs to the second
level. Every step held a passenger and their belongings. Jim and I stood with
the girls at the bottom of the stairs. A woman outside of the door struggled
with a bicycle, trying to lift it up into the walkway. A conductor walked by
the train car and told her she couldn’t get in because there was no room for
her bike. She continued to struggle and push the bike, determined to somehow
get on board. Jim reached down and helped lift the bike inside. I watched him
and wasn’t sure if I should be proud of him or irritated that now we would
share our limited space with a rusty bicycle and basket. I decided he was
noble.
We arrived in Dordrecht station and all four of us climbed
down from the train, so glad to be out of the mass of people and heat. The air
felt so good. We waited for our last transfer, sitting on the platform bench
and discussing our adventure of the last 90 minutes. I was so thankful for a
place to sit, some personal space, my family safe and together, and the freedom
to go wherever I pleased.
