Thirty years ago, my father was sent by Philippine Airlines to Amsterdam to learn how to maintain the Fokker 50. It was his first trip outside of Asia and his first time away from the family for longer than a week. Long-distance calls cost an […]
“As we make our way to Montserrat,” Adria says, “let’s talk about the one religion common to most, if not all, of Europe.” I look at him and listen intently, wondering which religion he meant. As our van speeds up the highway and a complex of fields comes up on our right, Adria continues. “I am talking, of course, about football.”
The only thing that kept me from bailing on my busking in Amsterdam experience was the fact that I was leaving the next day for Leiden. Worst case scenario: I would embarrass myself thoroughly and never show my face again in Amsterdam (or at least around Leidseplein).
Well, it finally happened. A strike — the current French rail one — has finally managed to disrupt my carefully laid travel plans. My family and I are scheduled to take the TGV Lyria from Paris to Geneva on the 29th but that is looking like a no-go at the moment.