BootsnAll Travel Network



Coming Home!

My trip from Delft to Schiphol Airport was about as eventful an airport run as I had in my entire trip. I woke early, early in the morning and wrote a quick thank you note for Eric and Diane before departing.

I’d tried to book a treintaxi ticket the previous night, but had left my call too late. (The treintaxis are a wonderful component of the Dutch rail system: discount rate taxis that provide direct service from anywhere in the city to the train station.) As I had lots of time and few Euros left, I decided to retrace my steps and walk back to the station. With all of the bags I had it was actually a far from easy walk, but the beautiful sunrise over Delft and the city coming to life all around me made it a little easier to take.

Things didn’t get any easier when I arrived at the train station. It was still FAR before the ticket office opened, and the ticket vending machines only took coins. I eventually managed to find someone who could make change for me, only to discover that I didn’t have quite enough for a ticket to Schiphol.

I bought a ticket to the Hague and spent the remainder of the morning stopping at various stations to see if the ticket office was open and explaining my situation to various railway employees in an attempt to get to the airport. In the end I simply hopped on the train sans-ticket and rode to Schiphol hoping that I wouldn’t be asked for one.

I was lucky and made it there with no trouble, save for cutting it a bit close with the time. But before long I’d made it on my flight and was saying farewell to the Netherlands and on my way to London.

London marked the briefest “official” stop on my trip. I only had about two hours before my flight to Toronto, which allowed me just enough time to go through British customs and then right back through security (I’d wanted to get one more stamp in my passport 🙂

For a while it looked as though the remainder of my trip home would be smooth and simple. The flight er… flew… by, the lineup at immigration was short and to my utter astonishment the customs people hardly blinked at the fact that I’d been away for almost a year and had claimed under $800 on my customs form. I would have breezed right through, save for the fact that I practically insisted they look at the tulip bulbs I’d brought home for my parents.

Through immigration and customs, I headed outside to meet my parents who were coming to pick me up. I’d been looking forward to seeing my mom and dad, and taking a quick ride home, followed by a nice long sleep. It wasn’t to be. Of all the days I’d picked for my return, I had to choose the one where Toronto taxis were showing their displeasure at new licensing practices by blockading the airport.

I waited for perhaps 90 minutes, slowly learning what was going on, and finally my dad appeared on foot, explaining that my mom was parked outside the airport. He grabbed a couple of my bags and we wandered out past the jammed entrance roads and (after a bit of confusion about where she’d gone) met up with my mom for the ride home.

The return to my parents’ house and, indeed, the next few weeks were something of an anticlimax. I’d expected to be instantly and powerfully struck by well… by something or other… upon my return. In fact, being back in Toronto felt like the most natural thing in the world. There were just a few oddities that made it feel like I’d returned from something more than a long weekend in Montreal.

First was the fact that I had a strange compulsion to continually wear the same outfits over and over again. Before departing many people had told me that I’d never want to see my travel clothes again once the trip was done, but I felt just the opposite. I never wanted to wear anything ELSE. Probably a function of my attitude towards clothing and fashion generally.

Second was an odd impulse that would come over me now and then. The second day back I went out grocery shopping with my dad and felt the strongest urge pull my camera out and take photos of everything as we wandered through the aisles.

Finally, though it didn’t come often, there was a feeling similar to what had often struck me on the road. A big smile would spread over my face and I’d be filled with almost indescribable joy to simply be THERE.

And so I was. While I may not have learned anything particularly deep or profound while I was away, one thing I’d realized was that no matter how much I loved travelling to exciting and exotic locales, no matter how much I felt the call of the road, this would always be home, and that eventually I’d always need to return home, to its familiar places, smiling faces, and most importantly, to my friends and family.



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