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Holland Herald Media Kit, targeted at leisure travellers
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Holland HeraldMedia Buyers Handbook 2011
Providing journeys of inspiration to over 2.5 million passengers every month
Holland HeraldMedia Buyers Handbook 2011
Providing journies of inspiration to over 2 million passengers every month
KLM flies over 2.5 million passengers every month*
65 European destinations
14 African destinations
4 Carribean destinations
7 South American destinations
15 North American destinations
* EMS data sourced 2011
19 Asia destinations7 China destinations
9 Middle eastern destinations
Our readers have an average annual income of €65,000*
KLM Royal Dutch Airlines is the national airline of the Netherlands. Since their merger with Air France in 2004, the AIR FRANCE KLM holding company is the world’s largest airline partnership in terms of financial turnover. Ink sells targeted advertising on KLM boarding passes, produces their inflight retail catalogue, as well as publishing the monthly inflight magazine Holland Herald and its associated website. The magazine was first published in January 1966 and over the years an astounding 123.7 million copies have been produced and read by a staggering 700 million passengers. The monthly, English language magazine covers the entire KLM network with a focus on exceptional photography, clean design and first-rate travel journalism.
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Holland Heraldnovember 2010 your copy to keep
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Holland HeraldJANUARY 2011 YOUR COPY TO KEEP
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people
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65% Male
35% Female
Rest Europe/N.Africa 20%
Asia / Pacific 8%
Netherlands 16%
UK & Ireland 17%
Germany 6%Northern Europe 12%
<25 25-34 35-44 45-54 55-64 >65
Africa & Middle East 5%
North America 14%
Mid/South America 2%
Point of Sale passenger
tickets
28% of our passengers are between 35 and 44 years old.
8%
23%
28%
23%
14%
4%
10% of our passengers are first/business class passengers
Factfile
Holland Herald
2.5 million
26 Holland Herald
Scotland with swagger
rigHt Glaswegian youngsters
shopping on Buchanan
Street below The
Trongate Clock Tower
Once considered the toughest city in Britain, Glasgow has bloomed into a home of high culture, haute cuisine and gentle banter, says local writer Mike MacEacheranPhotograPhy: Marleen Daniels
TravEl glasgow
The Kibble Palace glasshouse at the Botanic Gardens
42 Holland Herald Holland Herald 43
Generation nextChatroulette brings random strangers together online for idle conversation. Mark Smith meets the worldillustrations: Carolyn ridsdale
Chatroulette is the Web phenomenon that connects strangers from all around the world for live, Skype-style video conversations. You visit the site, enable your webcam, and find yourself immediately connected to one of Chatroulette’s many thousands of users, entirely at random.
Don’t like the look of your chat partner, or what they have to say? Hit the ‘next’ button and dispose of them without warning. Their screen goes
dark, they’re cast back into the babbling ether, and it’s on to the next encounter for each of you. Unless, of course, they ditch you first.
In the year since Chatroulette’s creation by 17-year-old Muscovite schoolboy Andrey Ternovskiy, the site has made headlines for its eccentric and inventive users (for example, ‘Merton the Piano Improv Guy’, a hooded pianist who makes up fun ditties inspired by his interlocutors) and
is the design-savvy interface of the iPod generation, Chatroulette looks like a Soviet fridge (although, admittedly, it’s more impressive than anything I ever produced when I was 17). The shock of suddenly seeing a grainy and jaundiced version of myself, mug in hand, being beamed from my sofa in Amsterdam into the studies and kitchens of strangers all over the planet, makes me profoundly uncomfortable. My shoulders freeze in panic, and for the next 15 minutes, I ‘next’ absolutely everyone at first sight – a young Japanese woman in pyjamas and fluffy bunny slippers, endless middle-aged men, mixed groups of friends drinking beer on sofas, their faces bathed in
synthetic light, peering out at my sofa. I simply can’t stop. The thought of
halting the dizzying merry-go-round of faces for long enough to engage with any of them is just too horrid. What if they scorn me? My haircut? Or my curtains? I honestly haven’t felt this insecure since my first day of primary school. And there’s no hiding behind mother’s skirt.
It takes me until the following Sunday morning to suppress my newly acquired ‘stranger danger’ to the point that I can muster a repeat visit. My fear is largely incomprehensible; I’m not a socially inhibited person, on- or offline. I can engage with other guests at big parties, with or without a
drink. I have long since exceeded the ‘Facebook 500’, and have even dated online, not entirely unsuccessfully. This should be a walk in the park. Yet for some reason my gut violently disagrees. Deep breath. Here goes.
I’m ‘nexted’ instantaneously by the first seven users, all of whom are young men with disdainful expressions (I suspect they may be looking for something I can’t provide) before I make the fleeting acquaintance of Derek, a bald, fifty-something refrigeration engineer from Kent in the UK.
Derek is a divorcee with two teenaged kids, and it turns out he
celebrity fans, among them Ashton Kutcher and Paris Hilton. An acquaintance claims to have had a conversation with Hollywood actress Jessica Alba. She ‘nexted’ him in 30 seconds; somehow this has become his badge of honour.
On a rainy Thursday night, my own first Chatroulette session is deeply dispiriting. The site’s aesthetic is simple to the point of being crude. If Facebook
An acquaintance claims to have had a conversation with
actress Jessica Alba. She ‘nexted’ him in 30 seconds
“
”
web chatroulette people
46 Holland Herald TOGETHER Holland Herald 47
ADVENTURE STORY
Mysore, dated April 21, 1921. “His Highness has turned one of his numerous Rolls-Royce cars into a shooting-break to enable his guests to shoot game from the most comfortable vantage point imaginable,” Mountbatten had written. “This car is an unadulterated marvel. It crosses watercourses, goes up and down the steepest banks without ever requiring a change of gear, goes through jungle, making light work of any obstacles. Oh, if only a Rolls-Royce representative had been with us. How proud he would have been!”
That description made me inordinately happy. It was a salutary lesson for the under-takers in the London store. I photocopied that unforgettable page and placed it carefully in my briefcase.
Next time I travelled to the English capital, I rushed to the Rolls-Royce showroom. My Corniche was still in the same place in the display window. The salesman in the stiff collar recognised me instantly. I asked him to call the export manager. When the latter arrived, I gave him the photocopy of the extract from the diary of the Queen of England’s uncle.
“These words, sir, were written by one of your most illustrious countrymen,” I declared, pleased to have my revenge. “Allow me to present them to you. Read them. They explain without any shadow of doubt why you didn’t consider it prudent to sell me one of your motor cars. I am afraid today’s Rolls-Royces are not as good as yesterday’s.”
My unpleasant experience with the Rolls-Royce representatives scandalised Mountbatten who had been one of the most fervent Rolls-Royce users throughout his life.
“If they are not sure enough of their new cars to allow them to go to India, buy an old model,” he advised me. “A good old Silver Cloud, for instance. Go to Frank Dale and Stepsons, on Sloane Square. They’re the biggest dealers in second-hand Rolls-Royces in the world. You’ll fi nd something to suit you there.”
Bless you, dear Lord Louis, for this magical advice! Three months later, I was to receive in a crate in the port of Bombay the beautiful four-door, grey and black Silver Cloud I had bought on your advice at Frank Dale.
I had her spend her fi rst Indian night in one of the majestic garages of the Royal Bombay Yacht Club that had formerly housed the Silver Phantoms and Silver Ghosts of the empire’s high dignitaries. The next day, to the awestruck gazes and applause of passers-by, children and street peddlers, in the great square in front of the Gateway of India, I took the road to New Delhi where I was to begin research for my book Freedom at Midnight. At every stop, I was surrounded, submerged, engulfed by an enthusiastic crowd. India was sharing in my pleasure. On the road, some drivers seemed to be overtaken by a fi t of madness when they saw the car. They would let go of their steering wheels to clap their hands, blow their horns, resort to dangerous acrobatics.
In a few months, I covered almost 20,000 kilometres throughout the former British Empire, often on terrible roads, under the pouring rains of the monsoon as well as in the blazing heat of summer. In spite of the fi lthy petrol with which I quenched her thirst, my Rolls-Royce never complained. She proudly sailed everywhere like her ancestors had in the times of the viceroys and the maharajas. I couldn’t resist sending an enthusiastic postcard
“To which country do you intend to take this motor car?”He must have picked up a foreign intonation behind my truly British accent.
“India!”The salesman’s eyes rounded like billiard balls. If I had said “the moon” he could not have been more surprised.
“India?” he repeated, paralysed with astonishment. Clearly he was deeply disturbed. “Did you really say India?”
I nodded in confi rmation. He shook his head several times.“In that case, sir, I shall have to consult our export manager. He is the only one who can
take responsibility for complying with your wishes.”A few minutes later, I saw a plump little man with a thin Charlie Chaplin moustache arrive,
also dressed in black. A gold chain twinkled from his waistcoat pocket. He greeted me with a touch of disdain.
“I understand you have expressed the desire to purchase one of our motor cars and take it to…” He stumbled over the word ‘India’ just as the salesman had done, as if the connection of Rolls-Royce with that country was about as incongruous as anything could be. “The trouble is, sir, that we no longer have any agent in India,” he continued. “Were you to be the victim of some mechanical problem, trivial as it might be, you would have to send your car to… Kuwait.”
“I thought a Rolls-Royce never broke down,” I objected, surprised.“True, but mishaps can always occur,” answered the little man. “I shall have to consult the
person in charge of our after-sales servicing. Please take a seat.”Half an hour later, he and his colleague emerged from their deliberations.“We are sorry, sir,” declared the export manager with the untroubled conscience of a
magistrate sentencing a prisoner to penal servitude. “We cannot sell you this motor car.”I acknowledged the blow with all the dignity I could muster, then, with rage in my heart,
ran to Victoria Station to catch the train to the south of England where I was to interview Lord Mountbatten, the man who had been the last Viceroy of India.
The purpose of the journey was to ask Lord Mountbatten about his fi rst encounter with India when, in 1921, as a young ADC to his cousin the Prince of Wales, he had travelled around the country playing polo with the maharajas, hunting tigers and panthers in their jungles, and dining in ceremonial uniform on the terraces of their illuminated palaces. In his private diary, Mountbatten had recorded the outstanding moments of his
fantastic discovery of the British Empire in India. He had gathered his notes and thoughts in a red leather-bound volume, which he agreed to entrust to me so I could copy out the most remarkable episodes. Back in Paris later that night, I immersed myself in engrossing reading. Much to
my surprise, I discovered an account of a tiger hunt with the Maharaja of
Driving throughout India at the wheel of such a mythical car was the ultimate dream
“”
recognised me instantly. I asked him to call the export manager. When the latter arrived, I gave him the photocopy of the extract from the diary of the Queen of England’s uncle.
“These words, sir, were written by one of your most illustrious countrymen,” I declared, pleased to have my revenge. “Allow me to present them to you. Read them. They explain without any shadow of doubt why you didn’t consider it prudent to sell me one of your motor cars. I am afraid
with the Rolls-Royce representatives scandalised Mountbatten who had been one of the
“If they are not sure enough of their new cars to allow them to go to India, buy an old model,” he advised me. “A good old Silver Cloud, for instance. Go to Frank Dale and Stepsons, on Sloane Square. They’re the biggest dealers in second-hand Rolls-Royces in the world. You’ll fi nd something
recognised me instantly. I asked him to call the export manager. When the latter arrived, I recognised me instantly. I asked him to call the export manager. When the latter arrived, I gave him the photocopy of the extract from the diary of the Queen of England’s uncle.
“These words, sir, were written by one of your most illustrious countrymen,” I declared, pleased to have my revenge. “Allow me to present them to you. Read them. They explain without any shadow of doubt why you didn’t consider it prudent to sell me one of your motor cars. I am afraid
with the Rolls-Royce representatives scandalised Mountbatten who had been one of the
“If they are not sure enough of their new cars to allow them to go to India, buy an old model,” he advised me. “A good old Silver Cloud, for instance. Go to Frank Dale and Stepsons, on Sloane Square. They’re the biggest dealers in second-hand Rolls-Royces in the world. You’ll fi nd something
my surprise, I discovered an account of a tiger hunt with the Maharaja of
I acknowledged the blow with all the dignity I could muster, then, with rage in my heart, ran to Victoria Station to catch the train to the south of England where I was to interview Lord
Mountbatten, the man who had been the last Viceroy of India.
about his fi rst encounter with India when, in 1921, as a young ADC to his cousin the Prince of Wales, he had travelled around the country playing polo with the maharajas, hunting tigers and panthers in their jungles, and dining in ceremonial uniform on the terraces of their illuminated palaces. In his private diary, Mountbatten had recorded the outstanding moments of his
fantastic discovery of the British Empire in India. He had gathered his notes and thoughts in a red leather-bound volume, which he agreed to entrust to me so I could copy out the most remarkable episodes. Back in Paris later that night, I immersed myself in engrossing reading. Much to
my surprise, I discovered an account of a tiger hunt with the Maharaja of
I acknowledged the blow with all the dignity I could muster, then, with rage in my heart, ran to Victoria Station to catch the train to the south of England where I was to interview Lord
Mountbatten, the man who had been the last Viceroy of India.
uniform on the terraces of their illuminated palaces. In his private diary, Mountbatten had recorded the outstanding moments of his
fantastic discovery of the British Empire in India. He had gathered his notes and thoughts in a red leather-bound volume, which he agreed to entrust to me so I could copy out the most remarkable episodes. Back in Paris later that night, I immersed myself in engrossing reading. Much to
my surprise, I discovered an account of a tiger hunt with the Maharaja of
To the applause of passers-by, I took the road to New Delhi
“”
28 Holland Herald
TravEl glasgow
“I belong to Glasgow,” sang the jovial Will Fyffe in 1927, “but when I get a couple o’ drinks on a Saturday, Glasgow belongs to me!”
This is the music hall melody that once boomed from Glasgow’s Victorian tobacco factories and the beating heart of the city’s shipyards.
But as those industries slipped away, leaving ailing docks and closed factory gates, so did the joviality.
“The great thing about Glasgow,” famous Glaswegian comic Billy Connolly said back in the 1980s, “is that if there’s a nuclear attack, it’ll look exactly the same afterwards.”
How times have changed. While Glasgow remains ruggedly urban, it long ago shrugged off its tough guy reputation. Now, etched across the bell of the Tron Tower on Argyle Street, ‘Let Glasgow Flourish’ is the city’s optimistic aphorism, a message the city’s style advocates preach to the
masses. Glasgow has undergone a cosmetic makeover and, like the city’s famous musical sons Franz Ferdinand, comes dressed to impress and sporting a pencil moustache and a skinny hipster tie.
Winner of the European City of Culture, UK City of Architecture and Design, and Intelligent Community of the Year, the city has become an expert at forging its fiscal future out of its less lucrative past. Post-industrial sites have been pressed into creative service. A stroll down Scotland’s prime shopping mile, Buchanan Street, to the south bank of the River Clyde presents the Tramway, one of the most extraordinary theatre spaces in Europe, which began life in 1893 as the Coplawhill tram shed.
Even religion has been forsaken in the name of regeneration. A saunter through the leafy West End
”
Just look up - it’s one of the most architecturally stunning cities in Europe.
I even like the taste of Irn Bru!
West Nile Street, central Glasgow
“
frOM rIGhT A vegetarian take
on a traditional British breakfast;
George Square
KLM carries 58% of its passengers in European Economy Class*
Elsevier.nl
400,000
Flying Dutchman
170,000
JFK
80,000
Potential readership per issue
Holland Herald is also available in
KLM crown lounges which are situated
in London Heathrow, Dubai, Toronto, Amsterdam and
Houston.
Factfile
35% of passengers
are travellingfor business
Holland Herald and KLM offer a unique posibility for cross- platform destination advertising
Holland Herald offers 6 ‘touchdown’ destination guides in every issue.
KLM is one of the first airlines to offer boarding pass advertising
Over 900,000 passengers per month have a university degree*
Circulation
Published: monthlyPrint run: 155,000Passengers per month: over 2.5 millionPassengers per year: over 30 millionLanguage: EnglishDistribution: on board all KLM flights, KLM cityhopper and KLM Crown Lounges at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol
Rates per month full colour
Cover gate fold (3 pages) €46,640.-Cover 2 €17,565.-Cover 3 €17,565.-Cover 4 €18,525.-Dps €27,855.-Single page €15,425.-Half page €8,050.-
Surcharge special position 10% on gross rateFrequency discount 6 insertions per year: 5%12 insertions per year : 10%
Advertorial rates Dps €30,640.-Single page €16,967.-Half page €8,855.-example treatment shown here (left)
Sizes (width x height)
Dps page type area 390 x 230 mmtrim size 400 x 260 mm
Single page type area 170 x 230 mmtrim size 200 x 260 mm
Half page (horizontal) type area 180 x 110 mm
Half page (vertical) type area 85 x 230 mm
Plus propositions
Reply cards: binding-in, tip on and publicity costs*Single €5,550.-Inserts: binding-in and publicity costs2 pages €19,750.-4 pages €26,700.-
*Reply cards and tip on booklets are only accepted in combination with theinsertion of a 1/1 page advertisement. Other plus propositions on request.
Production Schedule
Copy Deadline: the 15th of the month prior to publication.
Above showcases just some of the brands we’ve had advertise with us in Holland Herald
inspirationalchoice...
Holland Herald
contactMark AustenSales ManagerT: +44 (0) 207 749 2334E: [email protected]