Schiphol

I remember or imagine feeling the plane taking off and later touching down, but in truth registered nothing until we emerged from the gate into the terminal at Schiphol. Tulip bulbs and Dutch accents and beautiful advertising graphics and endless moving sidewalks: just as I remembered it. Not like coming home, but certainly familiar. A thousand childhood memories swamp my addled head, and we head to baggage claim and the family here to pick us up.

The baggage handling is delayed, so we sit on our carry-ons and listen to mysterious languages from tanned girls in bikini tops and small children in yellow rubber boots and men in blue suits on cell phones, flights from all over the world landing simultaneously and sharing this same luggage belt.

For Mia at eleven years old, an indelible adventure…for Polly and I, a welcome break. We pass through what used to be customs, see family ahead, and know we have arrived. Outside finally, it rains.

Amsterdam, Netherlands