{"id":114,"date":"2008-10-03T00:05:00","date_gmt":"2008-10-03T07:05:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/danoday.com\/blogWORDPRESS\/2008\/10\/03\/odays-travel-woes-6-going-through-my-back\/"},"modified":"2008-10-03T00:05:00","modified_gmt":"2008-10-03T07:05:00","slug":"odays-travel-woes-6-going-through-my-back","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/danoday.com\/blog\/2008\/10\/odays-travel-woes-6-going-through-my-back\/","title":{"rendered":"O’DAY’S TRAVEL WOES #6: Going Through My Back"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

September, 1993<\/span> (continued from our last exciting episode):<\/span><\/p>\n

Klaas Pieter Rieksen<\/span> from Radio Utrecht picked me up at the airport in Amsterdam on Sunday and drove me in the rain to Zeist, outside of Utrecht. There I was checked into the Oud London Hotel (below),<\/span> a very pretty, modern \u201c4-Star Hotel.\u201d\"Oud<\/a><\/p>\n

After unpacking, I went for a walk and discovered only woods and greenery. So, I assumed, Utrecht must be a rustic, bucolic community. Only on my last day, when Klaas Pieter took me downtown for some gift shopping, did I learn that Utrecht actually is a very wealthy suburb.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t say my initial 16 hours in Holland were very encouraging. While unpacking my suitcase, a zipper broke. This was the zipper keeping the \u201cgarment bag\u201d portion closed, and I couldn\u2019t imagine continuing on my trip with it flopping open. <\/p>\n

\u201cNo problem,\u201d I thought. I\u2019ll do what a sophisticated world traveler is supposed to do: turn the problem over to my \u201c4-Star Hotel\u201d and say, \u201cHandle this, please.\u201d <\/p>\n

This was late Sunday afternoon. At that time, my plans called for me to move to Amsterdam on Tuesday (this later was changed, and I spent all of my nights at the Oud London Hotel), so I needed the suitcase fixed by late Tuesday afternoon.<\/p>\n

I did not know, however, that in Utrecht the shops don\u2019t open until Monday afternoon….which, they said, definitely didn\u2019t leave enough time for an emergency repair. (There was some disagreement among the hotel staff as to whether it could be repaired in Utrecht at all.)<\/p>\n

Maybe that was on my mind the next morning, as I prepared to leave for my very first Dutch radio seminar. Reaching down for a box of materials, I felt a sadly familiar \u201cpop\u201d in my back, and suddenly I was hunched over in great pain. Yep, my back went out. (Or, as they say in Holland, \u201cI went through my back.\u201d)<\/p>\n

The bad back stayed with me for several days. That first day, especially, probably had seminar attendees thinking I was doing an impression of Groucho Marx. <\/p>\n

The suitcase problem was solved, however, by the determination of Klaas Pieter \u2014 who was infuriated by the suggestion that it couldn\u2019t be fixed in time for my move \u2014 and by a nice Radio Utrecht employee named Litsa, who improvised a repair that has held firm ever since.<\/p>\n

In all of their literature \u2014 and even on a big sign in front of their building \u2014 the Oud London Hotel boasts of being a \u201c4-Star Hotel.\u201d Hmmm. I didn\u2019t know Michelin rates hotels in Holland. Finally I asked a hotel employee, \u201cWho gave you guys the four stars?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe did,\u201d<\/span> he proudly replied.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Although the sleeping rooms were not luxurious by any means, the hotel probably deserves its four stars on the basis of its homey pub and its terrific French restaurant. <\/p>\n

On Sunday night I shared a very nice, long, funny dinner with Klaas Pieter, Ben Groenendijk<\/span>, and Rob Bakker<\/span>, publisher of Broadcast Magazine<\/span> and my host at the Dutch Broadcast Congress. (I still think, however, his most impressive career achievement was publishing the Dutch edition of MAD<\/span> magazine.)<\/p>\n

My session with the Dutch journalism students (I conducted four days of seminars in Holland) was the most confrontational of the entire trip \u2014 the only one featuring serious arguing. I naively thought these Dutch college students would be quiet, polite and respectful \u2014 Hah! They\u2019re just as obnoxious as their American counterparts. <\/p>\n

Not knowing exactly what I was supposed to tell them, I began by explaining that on the previous day I had taught a commercial copywriting seminar and that, in many ways, a good commercial has a lot in common with a good radio news broadcast.<\/p>\n

While I expected a few raised eyebrows in response, I was not prepared for the vehement protests. Journalism, they informed me, has NOTHING in common with radio commercials.<\/p>\n

No? I asked. To be effective, both need to tell human stories that affect people in some way. Both have to be written and presented in a manner that catches the attention of the listener. And to be effective, both must be remembered. <\/p>\n

Most of the students, I think, eventually saw my point. Well, some of them. I hope.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/span>Answers To American Tourist Questions:<\/span><\/p>\n

No, most Dutch people do not wear wooden shoes. A few in the countryside still do, as a deliberate lifestyle statement (not unlike the Amish in America). It was only a couple of generations ago, however, that wooden shoes were very common across Holland.<\/p>\n

In fact, one of the Dutch friends I visited grew up on a farm, wearing wooden shoes. Ad Roland<\/span> is a legendary European disc jockey who now runs his own radio school in Hilversum, between Utrecht and Amsterdam.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n\"Ad<\/a>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Novice announcers from throughout Europe \u2014 and especially Germany \u2014 stay for a couple of weeks, living in spartan dormitory rooms while they sleep, eat and breathe radio. It\u2019s quite a set-up, and Ad took me there for a visit after my speech to the Dutch Broadcast Congress.<\/p>\n

I saw only one windmill during my entire visit. Sorry.<\/p>\n

The first moments I ever spent in Italy were late Thursday night. The plane landed at Milano in the rain, I collected my luggage…and there was no one there to meet me. (I was 45 minutes away from my final destination, I speak no Italian, and no one in the airport spoke English.)<\/p>\n

While standing forlornly in the deserted airport, I noticed two policemen. Or, I should say, I noticed their weapons; each was carrying a sub-machine gun. Oddly, it did not make me feel more secure.<\/p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

September, 1993 (continued from our last exciting episode): Klaas Pieter Rieksen from Radio Utrecht picked me up at the airport in Amsterdam on Sunday and drove me in the rain to Zeist, outside of Utrecht. 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