Groningen FTW

"It says Robin and Charlotte on the door bell."

That was the tweet I received on my iPhone as I was walking up past the northside train station, just passing under the tracks. It was from a close friend.

It was our second day in Groningen, our first full day there. We'd arrived on the late afternoon train the day before (hoo was it packed coming up from Amsterdam---we barely found a place to stand coming up from Amersfort after changing). Red had found our bus outside the train and we had hastily boarded it with our bags, after it had arrived so quickly in the hub-bub of the bus station, that was just outside the rail station and by the main canal.

It took us a jolty and jerky ride through the narrow streets of the central part of Groningen---a college town in the north of Holland, teeming with activity. We had jumped off when our smartphone maps told us we were at our hotel, although it seemed nowhere in sight in the thick commercial district, but we had soon found it.

The reception was actually inside a bistro pub. It turned out the entrance to the hotel proper was inside a courtyard of a refurbished chemical lab from the university, and was now centered on the creative arts. The hotel and bistro combo was ultra hip. The rooms didn't have televisions, but were common area. We also had fridge access in the common kitchen. It felt very Dutch.

Upon checking in, I had sent the obligatory text to my close friend, saying we had arrived. We had made a pretense of possibly getting together that first evening, but it seemed rather absurd, given the hullaballoo of getting there, and getting checked in. We'd have plenty of time to see each other, given that we planned to be in Groningen for a while, to catch a breath amidst the pace of our travels. It seemed as good a place as any, especially given that I had close friends who were staying there.

Now on the second morning, walking north past the train tracks, that curved around from the main station, I was texting while walking (and talking pictures of things in Dutch of course). The texts took me to an address on a quiet residential street of tidy small apartment buildings in brown and grey and black and white. I found the address, and the names mentioned.

They were of course not the names of my friend, but the names of their AirBnB landlords in Groningen, from whom they had rented the flat in which they were staying for a couple months that fall.

When they opened the door and I walked in, I greeted them heartily by their real names: Fergus! Audrey!