Noordwijk, Netherlands: The almost daddy-daughter day trip

Running on Noordwijk Beach in the Netherlands last weekend, with friends from around the world

How did last weekend's impossibly fun day trip to Noordwijk turn out differently than planned? There were a couple of last minute changes:

1. I swapped out a friend visit in Amsterdam for a one night stay in the coastal town of Noordwijk, the Netherlands.  Why?  Because...
2. ...This trip was intended to be a daddy-daughter weekend away.  But at the last minute, the decision was made to keep our precious two year daughter old at home.

Lena would've loved her quality bonding time with Daddy in the Netherlands, and her hard working Mommy surely deserved a relaxing bachelorette weekend at home. And on the heels of my brief friend-visiting spree in northern Italy last month (link), I was anxious to squeeze in one more overseas family outing before our baby's January due date.

Sadly, Mommy was concerned that Lena may have still been recovering from a cold. So less than three hours prior to departure, Lena was removed from my flight listing.   Kathy requested that I reshape our travel plans for the Netherlands into to a solo day trip.


Even with these two last minute changes, the trip played out like a dream.

The bus from Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport to Noordwijk took about 1 1/2 hours (2 hours for the return trip to Amsterdam the next morning) to reach the coast.

The peaceful views of the Netherlands' misty countryside made my transition from a cushy 8 1/2 hours in Delta's Business Elite cabin to a public bus that much smoother.



My early morning arrival at the Flying Pig Beach Hostel gave me a chance to rest up before heading out for the day. Bianca from northern Ireland at the reception desk generously invited me to join the community for breakfast, making up in advance for my 5:45 a.m. checkout time that would send me away hungry the next morning.

I explored the town of Noordwijk for a while before heading back to the Flying Pig to round up some people.  A brisk beach run was the cure for my airplane/bus ride blues. Ishai and I assembled a crew of the willing and able from our hostel.  Israeli mountaineer Ishai, Brit Sophia (training for a marathon!), and Americans Christine, David and I all hit Noordwijk Beach to stretch out our legs.

It wasn't all sunshine and sand, of course. A couple miles or so in, a light drizzle escalated into a hail storm. We turned around, but not in time to spare our faces from a stinging microdermabrasion of ice pellets. We splintered apart into pairs running all directions, yet somehow hilariously got back to the hostel doorstep at the same time.

**********

Here's a first: That night, we stayed in. When checking into any hostel, my customary shtick is to drag my fellow backpackers/accomplices out of their beds, couches, hammocks, etc. to join me for a rambunctious night out on the town.

No need. The Flying Pig is already a popular hangout for Noordwijk's locals. And our beach hostel had all the right ingredients for a memorable night: a fun party atmosphere, music for dancing, comfortable places to chill, and the perfect mix of people.

Our night at the Flying Pig beach hostel begins!

As always, it was my mates who made the night so unforgettable. The night flew by for our gang of five fearless beach runners plus Stu, Mariah, Rick, Jacques, Keelie, Kat, Michael, Bianca, Vanessa, and everyone else who drew us in for the laughs, stories, surprisingly deep discussions, and ridiculous drama.  I wouldn't have traded a minute with those friends for the extra hour or so I could've spent sleeping.

My night continued straight on until dawn. It was cringe-worthy to wake up Sophia (and Kat!) at 5:45 a.m. to get my passport back, but the rest of my return trip went off with a hitch.  Fading quickly, I was out like a light as soon as I boarded the early morning bus to Amsterdam.

It seemed as though I didn't finally wake up until my plane prepared to land at PDX 13 hours later.

Waking up to the familiar views of two of my favorite climbs, Mount St. Helens and Mount Adams

Back in Portland I helped a friend in Italy fly back to the U.S. with one of my buddy passes, hooked up with a compadre here in Beaverton, and then hurried home to Lena and Kathy, the love of my life.  I walked into the house to find my baby girl in good health.

Lena, I'm glad that you're feeling better now. I still owe you a daddy-daughter trip.

Better start packing!

Coming up on Garth's Blog...

Recent family surfing weekends at the Oregon Coast!

And then...

Lena's 1st international trip to Madrid, Spain!!

Northern Italy: Confrontation in First Class

This is Part 1 of 3 (plus a possible 4^th post, now that I’m back in the U.S. to write one), typed from northern Italy last week while hanging with friends old and new:  Carli, Chris, Piotr, Sarah, Leslie, Chad, Jorge, Jenny… and the rest of the gang who surprised me in Venice!

Kathy and our two year old Lena drove to Salem and Bend with family for a few days last week.  Due to a work scheduling conflict on their first day, I wasn’t able to join them.   So I resumed a mini-version of our European trip, solo, that was interrupted last month when our family was in Madrid.  The blog posts about last month’s family trip to Spain are coming soon!

A few of my Delta vacation days were cancelled (and one wasted) late last week trying to fly standby from Portland to hook up with friends here in northern Italy.  But so far, this trip has been worth the wait!  Here’s a little pre-adventure story to kick things off:

Confrontation in First Class

I "live tweeted" about the following dust-up as my plane was returning to the gate in New York.  The passenger seated next to me had waaay to much to drink in the Delta Sky Club prior to boarding.  He was so loaded that his hands couldn’t even hold his pre-departure drink steady.  As our plane taxied off to the runway, he started making a fuss… and a mess.

Warning: This is gross.  My seatmate (a dead ringer for zombie-slayer Michonne, from the Walking Dead) and I gagged as this guy coughed up what looked like blood all over himself.  There were red droplets and chunks splattered everywhere:  the floor, his clothes, his seat, the TV monitor.  I asked him if he was alright, and he calmly assured me that it was merely wine and not blood.  He had regrettably “spent a little too much time drinking at the Sky Club this afternoon.”  So then what in the name of Gilbert Gottfried were those red chunks?

The pilot announced that our plane was returning to the gate.  No surprise there.  The tanked passenger started a series of arguments with the Delta flight attendants, then the captain, then the returning gate agent, and then finally launched a 2^nd and final bout with the captain.

While the utterly smashed passenger was being escorted off the plane, a collective wince fell across our Business Elite faces at his parting imagery.  He was trying in vain to prevent his sagging slacks from falling down around his ankles.  Pure horror.

Cleanup on Aisle 2: The cabin service crew earned their paychecks that night.  It took THREE of them to clean up that disgusting mess before our plane could taxi back out to the runway again!

The moral of the story is:  don’t drink and… fly, I guess?  Maybe the moral is even more obvious.  Just don’t be that guy.

Kudos to the New York-based Delta Airlines team for their professionalism in handling this heated situation.  Our plane departed the second time and made it to Venice, Italy without incident!

And a big congrats to the bewildered buddy pass rider who was suddenly upgraded from Economy Coach to the Business Elite seat of the crime.  Friend, your new seat was most likely sparkling clean by the time you sat down next to me.

But just in case, I hope you packed a change of pants.

Coming this weekend early next week

on Garth’s Blog…

...Pt. 2- Northern Italy: Verona, Venice, and Beyond!