Nooks & Nookie

Chapter III

There I was, fourteen years to the month from having left this place for my home country and about to do it again. Only this time, with trepidation. My faithful companion stared up at me from the furthest single bed, eyes wide, confused and afraid. "Welcome to Amsterdam Koru." I made my way over to him. "I'm sorry we're here, Bud. It's only one night. We'll be okay soon, I promise." He snuggled into me as I sat down beside him, burying his ears to block out the noise seeping in through a window that refused to close. At least the sounds across the hall had stopped. Grunting, slapping, and groaning had been our entrance music upon arrival as an indeterminate number of participants frantically played their roles in a BDSM orgy behind the door across from ours. Lugging our last bag through the crack-scented corridor, the grand finale ended in a terror-filled scream of apology and submission: "AAAAHH! I'm sorry. I'm sorry! AAAAAHH! I'm sorry! Sorry! Sorrrrrryyyyyyy…" Silence. Thankful it was over, I shook my head at the lengths some people would go simply to feel alive. To each their own.

Luckily, the crack-flavoured potpourri wasn't thick enough to breach our door. Stained yellow like a smoker's teeth and equipped with enough latches to resist an invasion, this gateway to our derelict kingdom stood firm and silent, keeping all it had witnessed over the years to itself. I was grateful in that moment that doors couldn't speak. I'd rather not know. Stroking Koru reassuringly, I managed to coax him into eating some dinner. Now distracted from the arguments and dealings going on in the parking lot below our gaping window, my furry friend wagged his tail as he scarfed down two helpings of overpriced kibble. The sounds of crunching and swallowing made my stomach growl. 

When he'd finished eating, Koru hopped back onto the bed, and I tucked him in. The night was getting on, but I knew the beast in my belly would not relent. It was awake, and it was hungry. "Stay here and be a good boy, okay? I won't be long." My words were met with concerned eyes. "It'll be okay, Bud. I’ll be fast." I kissed him on the head and walked toward the wooden guard, locked firm and protecting us from the night. I could feel Koru's stare on my back as I undid each creaky latch. "You'll be okay. I love you. Good Boy."

I made my way quickly along the hazy corridor, through the large door and down the stairs. A shiny, wooden bannister accompanied me down each hollow step, cloaked in a thick red carpet decorated in dated patterns. The place resembled a Burlesque parlour more than a hotel, but it was the cheapest in the area that allowed dogs. We were on the outskirts of Amsterdam, less than a ten-minute drive from Schiphol Airport. The restaurant on the ground floor was packed with senior citizens in denial, all donning costumes akin to what you'd see in wedding photo booths. They were drunk, rowdy and weird but also harmless. In fact, not even the tubby giant in a leather jacket and fedora laughing to himself at the landing intimidated me. It was a gathering of Boomers unafraid of expressing themselves, and they were happy. Good on them.

There was a window at the bottom of the stairs on the left where people checked into the hotel. It was on a ninety-degree angle with the bartop that separated the staff from the party next door. I glanced in, hoping to see the lass who had greeted us earlier. She was tall, blonde and had incredible blue eyes. There's something about Dutch women where even the chubbiest is stunning. That evening's hostess was no different. To top it off, she was hilarious. Her confident, bubbly personality oozed with character as she charmed and entertained hotel guests and restaurant patrons alike. She looked up, I smiled, and she quickly looked away with a forced grin. That's another thing about Dutch women, something I'd learned fourteen years earlier when I called Amsterdam home: they usually have no time for goofy foreigners with heart-shaped eyes. In a city known for its debauchery and legal prostitution, men from around the world visit and quickly get the wrong idea about how things work. 

There are two different Amsterdams: One full of seedy joints catering to inebriated strangers and the other full of culture, students and locals who want no part of the former beyond a brief interaction if necessary. Not every female in Amsterdam is available, interested or for rent. If a guy doesn't understand this, he risks becoming just another stupid tourist. And that's precisely what happened in that moment. In a desperate attempt to feel special due to my fragile emotional state, I broke the cardinal rule I'd learned all those years ago of not flirting with locals and had become just another stupid tourist.

Realising my error, I snapped back to reality just in time to push open the glass door straight ahead and step onto the wet footpath out front. Licking my wounds, I made my way past the Dutch-style Mardi Gras in the packed hotel restaurant. The rest of the street was quiet. The evening was dark, cold and damp. I walked quickly toward a kebab shop, thinking about poor Koru alone in that wretched old room. My gut became a battleground as guilt and hunger went to war. I sped up.

"English? Deutsch? Español?" I asked the man at the counter. In all my time spent in the Netherlands, I'd never learned Dutch. Any attempt had left me coughing, so I'd immediately popped it into the 'too hard basket'. "English," he replied with a nod and a smile. Relief mixed with shame was my appetiser that evening. Prior to learning any other languages, I was perfectly content travelling to foreign countries and asking people in English if they spoke English. However, that all changed as I became functional in tongues other than my own, feeling embarrassed anytime I had to use English in non-English speaking countries. 

It's silly, I know. English is universal and common in most places. This is especially true in Europe, where there are so many languages in close proximity that it's impossible to learn even half of them. For example, take someone from Greece on holiday in Finland. It's just as unlikely that a Greek person would speak Finnish as would a Finn speak Greek. So, more often than not, English would be used in such a scenario. I have no issue with that whatsoever. What I do have a problem with is the laziness of us English speakers. It's as if the majority of us expect everyone to speak our language. If Germans go to Australia, they have to speak English. If Australians go to Germany, Germans will also speak English to them. It's because they can and most of us can't. English is so widely used that those who speak it as their mother tongue become expectant and lazy. Sure, there are certain exceptions, but in general, native English speakers don't even try.

My train of thought was broken as a group of lads walked through the door. They were Dutch, loud and very drunk. Having just come from a football match, scarves and jerseys on display like flags, it was time to soak up the alcohol to avoid a rough start the following day. They were polite enough, albeit demanding, but meant no harm. The guy behind the counter served them with all the tolerance and politeness in the world. He was young with a dark complexion. Having an ear for the local language despite being unable to speak it, I knew he wasn't Dutch. Unlike football fans I've encountered in the UK, however, he was treated as any member of society should be. They even nodded to me and said hello on their way in. They didn't make small talk with either of us, but they were polite and respectful. And that's the other Amsterdam I was referring to. The one where five local guys walk into a kebab shop intoxicated after watching live football and greet the Turkish proprietor and a foreign tourist with manners. Drunk, loud and hungry, yes, but also classy. They carried on and kept to themselves. 

My falafel was ready. Upon approaching the counter, the young man and I locked eyes and grinned. It was an unspoken understanding that we both preferred how quiet things were before these lads came in, but the shop was making money off them, and they were alright. Just a group of friends having a good time. I wished the young man a good night, then called "Doei" to the lads. "Doei!" they all replied as I stepped back onto the street with a smile. "Koru," I said to myself and resumed my Olympic Race Walking pace. "He shouldn't eat this food, but I want to bring him something back for being a good boy." Usually, I try to keep my lips still when I talk to myself in public, but it was Amsterdam, and the sight of someone yapping away to themselves was not uncommon. So, I continued, "I'll go to the grocery store and get some yoghurt. We can share that as dessert. He'll love it."

Like an asshole, I raced into the store just before the doors locked. I grabbed a tub of yoghurt, then darted across the road, past the rowdy restaurant and pulled open the glass door. Inside, it was chaos. A large group of Moroccan teens were clogging the entire entrance and shouting over each other. The blonde bartender slash receptionist confidently quieted them down and had the lot shuffle their luggage to one side. As I walked past the fat man in the leather jacket and fedora and up the swanky staircase, I could hear her choosing one person to talk to while instructing the rest of the troupe to stay quiet. 

The corridor, now smelling of weed instead of crack, was silent. No smacking, no groaning, no apologising. Only my muffled footsteps thudding against that relic of a carpet as I approached the room could be heard. I stepped inside to a wiggling, wagging Koru at the entrance, celebrating my return. One whiff of my dinner and he sprang back onto the bed and assumed his patented 'I'm not begging, but please give me some' pose, staring a hole right through me in hopes of getting a share of the bag's contents. I fixed all the latches and tucked into my falafel. After horsing it down, we got stuck into the yoghurt, Koru nearly licking through the side of the carton so as not to miss a drop. 

With Koru snoring away and my stomach at peace, I looked over at the writing nook. I'd noticed it when we first arrived but had yet to have a proper look. Set between a green feature wall and a white wardrobe, it was slightly less than shoulder width and consisted of one flat square top without any drawers. In the left corner was a collection of dried-out fern fronds spouting from a black vase. To the right, centred in the middle of the back wall, was a mounted light shining down on the surface. There was a small, old, wooden chair tucked under the desk. The little nook was basic and simple, the perfect spot to clear my head and write. It was calling to me, but I couldn't just yet. I had things to do.

On our way to the hotel earlier that afternoon, I was notified that our flight was cancelled. I pulled over immediately and called KLM Customer Service in a panic. The hire car had to be at the airport by nine o'clock the following day. Then we had to check in at 09:30. With no flight and nowhere to stay, it was a tricky situation for a guy with little money, way too much luggage, a crate and a dog. The initial phone call hadn't gotten me far, so I told them I'd call back once we'd checked into our hotel. Now, instead of writing at this glowing shrine of literary promise, I'd have to ring the airline and deal with it. The nook would have to wait. 

Given that it was the weekend, the KLM main office was closed. Instead, my case was being handled by a call centre in the Philippines. "Mister Michael, I am very sorry for the inconvenience this has caused you. We have found a solution for you, sir, and I am going to explain it right now. Is that okay, sir?" Filipinos have to be the friendliest, most polite people in the world. Far too sweet to get angry with. She explained they could get me onto a flight on Monday, one day after my original booking. I asked if the flight times were the same. "I will just check for you, sir.' My eyelids were heavy. It was getting late. "Hi, Mister Michael, thank you for waiting. Yes, the flight times are the same, sir." I asked if there was still room for Koru on the Monday flight. "I will check for you, sir. One moment, please." 

I looked around the room. "What are we doing here? This is crazy. Do I really want to fly back to Canada?" Koru shuffled and let out a sigh. I was sitting up against the wall, and he was curled up, sleeping between my legs. He looked so peaceful there. So content. So safe. "He trusts me, and I'm about to put him under a plane in cargo for ten hours? How can I do that to him?" My bloodshot eyes began to tear up at the thought of Koru alone in the cargo hold, terrified, confused, and thinking I'd abandoned him. I felt sick.

"Hello, Mister Michael. Thank you for your patience, sir. I have checked, and yes, your dog can go on the flight. Would you like me to book it?" I had so many questions. My head was spinning like a roulette wheel. I explained our predicament of not having a place to stay or a car as of the following morning. I wanted to know where we would sleep the next night, how we would get there, how we would get to the airport Monday morning and who would pay for it all. "Mister Michael, I am very sorry again for the inconvenience. However, because it is the weekend, there is nothing I can do. You can find a hotel to stay in and keep your receipts. The airline should refund you up to a certain amount after your trip. You will just have to call them, sir." That didn't seem fair at all. Besides, the few places in the area that did accept dogs were astronomically priced.

I explained my plight once more, taking a punter's chance she could do something to help me out, like book a hotel room for us at least. "I am very sorry, sir, but I can not do anything. That is the only option, sir. Would you like me to book the new flight for you?" I looked at Koru. I looked at all of our luggage. I looked at the writing nook on my right side. I looked at the shitty radiator pumping heat out the stubborn, open window to my left. I felt so tired. So lost. I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up somewhere else. "What would you like to do, sir?" She was waiting.

"Could you book my dog and I onto a flight from Amsterdam to Spain tomorrow instead? Somewhere in Spain or Portugal… anywhere on the Iberian Peninsula? Can you rebook my cancelled flight and send us there instead?" Silence. She probably thought I was crazy. It made perfect sense, though, at least in my racing mind. I missed Spain. After four years there, we had only sold and left our property in the north the previous Spring. Since then, I had been constantly questioning why we'd left. I had Spanish residency, the weather was milder than in Canada, it was a shorter flight, and it was cheaper. It seemed like a solid plan B.

"Okay, so Mister Michael, you want to go to Spain instead of Calgary, sir?" I confirmed that was my request. "Okay, sir. I will have to look into this for you and call you back. Is that alright?" I asked if I would have to explain everything again each time I contacted them or if she'd made notes on my file. "I made a note on your file, sir, so you will not have to explain everything again. We will call you in a couple of hours, Mister Michael." I thanked her, dropped my phone on the bed and buried my face in my hands. 

This may not sound like such a big deal to the community of seasoned travellers out there of which I am most definitely a member, but my head wasn't right. I'd been in a dark place for far too long and couldn't find a way out. A series of events had led me there, physically in a seedy Amsterdam hotel, mentally at the bottom of a deep well. Ignoring that crucial advice back in NZ, I had been forcing myself forward and worsening the situation. I was in the weeds, and I was drowning. I needed to stop, go back, reassess, and untangle. But where too? Broke, depressed and aimless, I was a ship lost at sea. Spinning in circles and desperate for a direction to head in, I longed for land.

After a light sob, I kissed Koru. He sighed and snuggled in. I needed some air. My head was a mess of 'what-ifs' and 'can'ts'. I had to get outside and think, "You haven't been out for a pee since we got here, eh Bud? We'll go right now." I clipped on his harness and slid his rain jacket over top. On the way to the fortress gate, something caught my eye. I peered longingly in the direction of the bouquet of dead ferns, huffed, then stepped forward to tackle the series of latches. The writing nook would have to wait.