To date I have visited the Netherlands only four times:
August 1978, as minor consolation for being jilted by Sarah. I hitch-hiked from London, via Folkestone and Ostend to Schipol from where I took a bus into Amsterdam. The entire journey took me 24 hours. I visited the Anne Frank House for the first time, listened to a rock band in Vondel Park, drank Heineken beer at the brewery and wandered the streets of the red light district. On the return journey, I took a train to Vlissingen, a boat to Shoeburyness, and a train to Liverpool Street station, London, UK;
August 1983, inter-railing, travelled by train from Croatia, via Brussels, to Amsterdam. Later visited Zandvoort, a small, unpicturesque, town beside the North Sea, with a big sea dyke on which to walk; Alkmaar, with its famous cheese market, which was being packed away on my arrival; and the place, the name of which escapes me, where the boy stuck his finger in the dyke, and they have a sculpture to prove it.
1997: my wife, daughter and I flew to Amsterdam. The journey from Durham, via Manchester and Schipol airports, to Amsterdam took between four and five hours.
February 1999, I took Sarah to Amsterdam. We flew from Luton by EasyJet. The journey into Amsterdam from Schipol by train is simple and inexpensive.
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