The Dutch pronounce V like “Fa” and so for the longest time we didn’t know if the Indian chap gallantly manning the reception on Sundays was Faisal or Vishal. But that’s not important. What’s important is that he agreed to print our “combi-ticket” to Keukenhof.
Armed with the printouts we landed at the designated bus stop outside Schiphol to board our bus. This being the peak season, the bus only had standing room and in a short while, not even that. We were making this trip exactly the day after we had landed in Amsterdam. The fact that Netherlands has left hand drive hadn’t sunk in yet. Each time a car would overtake us, the passenger next to the driver would inadvertently be looking at the colourful spectacle of jam-packed tourists that was our bus. “Why isn’t he/she looking at the road!” my heart would whisper to me and skip a beat.
Well, one doesn’t visit Keukenhof for stories. One goes there for the pictures. And here they are: