Trying to find the Sittard Train Station

So, the Alien Child will be visiting in a few week's time (hooray! A family vacation at last!).  We'd like to take a day trip on the train to Amsterdam, and there is a train route that goes directly to that city from nearby Sittard just across the border in the Netherlands.  We plan to drive to Sittard, park in the Park and Ride garage, and go from there.

But there is one problem:  where is the train station?  More particularly, where is the station parking garage?  Easy!  You go to the Netherlands train web site to find out, right?

Wrong!  Click on the link to the web site.  Try to find directions to the Sittard station.  Not there?  Hmm. How about directions to the parking garage?  Not there, either, or if it is, I haven't found it after more than a couple of hours of searching.  How about just the address of the station?  Nope.  The web site assumes that if you do not speak Dutch, but only speak English in the Netherlands you must of course know where the various train stations are.

Paris, Part Three

You can't put such a thing as that poor hurt French girl out of one's mind; obviously I haven't put it out of my mind even now.  But, facts were facts:  we had done all we could, and there was nothing more to be done.  As John and I headed back to our hotel, we discussed the incident, and then tried to think of other things.  It was hard.  When you witness something that shocking, the rational part of you understands the limitations of the situation, of being human, of not being able to do more, and understands that those with medical experience are much more able--should be the ones--to deal with it, and that ordinary civilians could do more harm than good.  But the heart doesn't reason like that, and there is always a bit that wishes, hopes, wonders if somehow you could have done more. And for us, there isn't closure.  We will probably never know what happened to that young woman.

We are old enough to know that unless you move on past something that hurts and is difficult, unless you make the best of what you have, you do no one any good.  It was our first day in Paris, a Friday.  We had Saturday and Sunday, and then we'd leave on Monday.

We would make the best of our stay in Paris.

Paris, Part Two

I noticed that the prior post's map didn't show our route accurately.  Though Google Maps has a train route option, it didn't want to show the train route from Geilenkirchen to Paris, or even show the train route to Aachen to Paris. I mean, really, Aachen used to be called Aix la Chapelle (and still is, for the French), and there is the high speed train from there to Paris.