Digital discontent
Interview six was to take place yesterday. We were in the last day of our short Amsterdam leg and I got a message from Bernd saying that there was an independent, dissident Dutch magazine engaging in an anti-war campaign and they would be happy to grant us an interview.
But our train for Bonn was scheduled to depart at 1 o’clock and I’d already promised Andy that we would do at least one fun touristy thing in Amsterdam and our generous host Karel had already lent us his two guest passes to the Rijksmuseum. Still, my opposition to these senseless wars, the war fever the media drums up, and the idolizing of the military is all a big part of what keeps me in the battle for truth, and I figured this was an interview I didn’t want to miss.
-Andy, I’ll ride to the museum with you and after we get in, I’ll hang around for a few minutes then I’ll leave and go do the interview.
- Are you sure you don’t want to just let me go to the museum and then you can take your time doing the interview?
Wise words from a teenager and the old man should have listened. Instead, we got on our bikes and fought over how to get to the museum. He has a better sense of direction, a better ability to read the map app on my iPhone, that without cellular or WiFi service only gives partial information and is super confusing regarding what direction you’re facing (“super confusing for you,” sez Andy), and his ability to remember landmarks is better.
What I hate is this double-minded approach where I try to rely on my once-good but now atrophying orientation and map-reading skills, and rely on my infernal iPhone at the same time. Give me hot or cold, but I spit out the warm, says our Lord.
Cold: Like everyone else, I could have bought a Sim card upon arriving in Germany and just let the phone do all the thinking for me.
Hot: Or I could be like Bernd and most of his family and make my way in life without the phone, like I did for two years after leaving Japan.
After a bit of bickering with Andy on the busy streets during morning commute, we made it to the museum
We climbed the stairs to the 3rd floor and I left Andy in the Dutch Masters area.
I briefly glanced at Vermeer’s milkmaid, had a look at a self portrait of ol’ Vincent in his two-eared Paris period, and got outta there.
The double-minded approach didn’t get me back to the apartment very quickly, as I kept going in circles reading the information-deprived map app. It would tell me to go left and I would follow directions and then 30m down the road it would say I was going the wrong direction and I’d have to turn around. I finally made it to the apartment, frantically packed up the camera gear and sped off to the interview at the magazine office 45 minutes away from downtown. Of course I had the same problem with the app guiding me in all directions and back and forth along the same streets. I asked a guy “How do I get here,” pointing to a screenshot of my destination and he showed me the way. I said to myself “I should have done it this way from the start.”
Finally pointing in the correct direction I took a look at my watch and realized there was no way I’d have time for the interview. Disgusted, I threw the smartphone in my bag and told myself I’d make it back without it. Then I looked up and saw the bell tower in Karel’s neighborhood.
With head up, eyes on the tower, and dumb-phone in pocket, I made it home easy.
The thing is, Amsterdam is indeed confusing with all the canals and little streets going every which way, but the city is chock full of friendly people, speaking perfect English and eager to help. You could buy the Sim card and get around quite easily, but why deny yourself this great chance to talk and meet people, and keep your orientation skills sharp?
When it was time to drop off the rental bikes and make our way to the station, Andy said, very slowly and clearly,
Put your phone away
Don’t ask anyone for directions
And don’t talk to me
With that I just followed him, only opining once about an alternate route (he ignored me), and we got to where we needed to go with time to spare.
OK, with real, paper tickets in hand, bought face-to-face from the real ladies in the ticket office, with semi-real food in our bags, we’re off to Germany.
PS: the magazine people in Amsterdam were understanding and we’ll still get that interview - though not face-to-face :(