Journey to the land of tulips and windmills 5

I'm in Schipol Airport outside Amsterdam. There is no free internet here, presumably the Dutch will catch up to Pearson International and the Canadians at some point. They lagged behind in anti-smoking laws as well, though progress has been made to the extent that Schipol is finally smoke free. One occasionally wonders how certain people persist in continually translating the prefix 'Euro' as meaning 'progressive' or 'superior'.

I'm near a mournful display encouraging people to avoid buying ivory and so save the elephants. Eminently politically correct and commendable but the background soundtrack of elephant moans or wind between massive, bleached bones (or whatever) is losing some of its toe-tapping cachet. So too, the images of sagging, tusk-less elephant corpses are not aiding the digestion of my travel sandwich of smoked salmon, gouda cheese (so good and so cheap here, now that's progressive) and fresh cucumber which was grown in pots in my mother-in-law's darling little greenhouse. The beer and gouda diet I've been on is incidentally not recommended for those who would like to return less hefty from a vacation than when they departed.

The gong has sounded; the journey to gate G9 begins. Other travelers must take their turn hearing the elephants' mournful songs while we head for a distant cheap flight gate that is hopefully somewhere this side of the Zuider Zee.


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