The ring Amsterdam

“Rijkswaterstaat advises you not to drive via Utrecht, because there is a traffic jam,” comes the voice from my speakers. Oh, dear. How intensely sympathetic of Rijkswaterstaat. As in aaah-goetsie-goetsie-goetsie friendly of them. I don't want to complain, but hey, I'm a Hollando, so what do I care. Here it comes. Yippee there Rijkswaterstaat, all commuters who were looking forward (with tequila and streamers) to a traffic-free summer around Amsterdam got a big, fat finger from you. Yes. And now you suddenly warn about a traffic jam? In UTRECHT?! That after six weeks of dozing at the coffee machine you suddenly think: let's give those guys a heads up now, while in the weeks before you started closing one highway after another with signs and banners around Amsterdam and only threw out those messy matrix signs and here and there a from A-to-Better?

You should know: I was rubbing my hands together in anticipation of the start of the big, long school holiday. Those weeks were mine. With two fingers in my nose (so to speak, a tap on those same fingers for all the drivers who do this behind the wheel, yuck) I would be whistling to the editorial office. In twenty blissfully zooming minutes I would swing the door open with a big smile. And vice versa. I was standing with a real apron, stirring in a pan finally cooking when he stepped over the threshold. Or I would already be lighting the coals of the barbecue as a surprise. Or maybe sitting ready with an ice-cold drink to spontaneously go out to dinner and make it seriously late. But do you know where I was, Rijkswaterstaat? In traffic. Right in the f-ing summer holiday. While everyone was lounging on the beach, I was stuck to the sporty little chair of my car. Variation, by the way, you did bring in. It went from South to West and just for fun also closed off for a few days the exit that EVERY employee from the southern part of Amsterdam needs in life. Closed. Locked. And then just watching the cameras to see what happens, right?

I can just see it. That they moved the coffee machine to the traffic control room. They start the morning with a cup of coffee and a medium little traffic jam at exit number one towards Sloten. At noon they have lunch with a small hiccup around West. And at four o'clock the cork can pop, because then it's really time for some laughs and pure entertainment. All those poor souls who thought they would be home quickly, whahahaha, who’s throwing the bitterballen in the fat, guys?

Okay, now I understand that this was a one-two punch, right in the holiday. I'm not one to complain. The train was also on its back for a week. But as I said: in. the. holiday. Whoever thought they could just add this week on, is completely verrückt (in a German way, indeed, that sounds more dramatic). A percentage of the drivers returning from vacation have already somewhat forgotten how to operate a vehicle and then this. Rijkswaterstaat, I really don't want to hear about a little traffic jam around Utrecht anymore. But I think you understand why.