Perhaps I oughta provide counterexamples to my bad experiences so people (people? where?) don't get the wrong idea. Amsterdam, as you can imagine, is an awesome place. Trams running under historic archways; bicyclists, pedestrians, and motorists flowing (mostly) peacefully together; modern buses that run on natural gas stopping for ancient bridges lifted by chains. It all comes together in layers upon layers to form a modern, yet quaint little city. But damn, that bureaucracy. Oh yeah, but we're doing counterexamples today. Just as the annoyances are small things that pile up, so be the sweet trifles that make it all better.
One of these sweet trifles (not truffles) happened near my birthday, when I had only recently moved here and knew hardly anyone. Thus, the Happy B-day postcard dropped mysteriously in my mailslot came as a great surprise. I still don't know who put it there, even though I've read enough Agatha Christie that I should be able to figure out such a simple mystery. The card was stylish, but not edgy or touristy, and the handwritting appeared feminine, which narrows it down to about 0 suspects.
Another, more random occurence happened in nearby Utrecht, where I was riding the bus to attend a one-time event. Prices for public transportation in the Netherlands are based on zones. So in travelling to an unknown place, I usually just tell the driver which stop I'm getting off and they will inform me how many zones it is.* As the bus lurches through town, the stops fly by, with no signs or announcements to mark their place on my map. Twenty minutes go by, and I'm in la-la land, admiring the scenery, when the driver announces, in English, that the current stop is Sollanolaan or whatever, which is mine. Oops. So I wave to the driver and run off to my destination. What a nice guy.
*Unless I'm feeling evil and poor, when I just say 1 zone even if I'm going across town. It works best heading away from the center during rush hours.
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