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Amsterdam is somewhere I've always wanted to go without really knowing why or much about it. I'm not sure if I read about it in a book once when I was young and devouring stories, places, and people at a frightening rate, or if I saw a poster once in a subway somewhere. During the vacation-planning process with my family this year, I floated Amsterdam by everyone and it worked. I readied my bucket list and my Instagram account.
One little problem. What's in Amsterdam? What is the language? What do they even eat?! Questions that occurred to me after the flight was booked and I found myself in charge of the itinerary. After a forehead slap for my cluelessness, I cracked my knuckles and opened up Google.
And even though I learned a great many things that proved useful to me in my travels, it couldn't prepare me for Amsterdam. There's the problem with travel research: you'll never be short on places to see, foods to eat, or the right phrases to use. But you'll always be short on the actual feel of the place. But it's easy to forget that in the whirlwind of Google searches: "public transportation in Amsterdam", "Dutch for dummies", "what time does the Van Gogh museum open", "for the love of god how do I get into the Anne Frank museum without waiting in line for 6 hours". In the end, those will always be the details you forget when recalling the magic of a place.
So, armed with a terrifyingly detailed itinerary, an arsenal of Dutch phrases I could never hope to pronounce printed on a handy cheat sheet, and loads of written directions copied off Google maps, I was ready to take on Amsterdam. Even if getting there involved a 7-hour layover in London Heathrow airport in the middle of the night, kept company by a handful of other unlucky jet-lagged travelers sleeping on terminal benches and one particularly active mouse which took up residence in a vent near my head.
And then finally, my first glimpse:
The first glimpse of a new place through extraordinarily jet-lagged and hangry eyes is definitely an experience. Even more of an experience is attempting to put aside every basic survival need your body is demanding in order to figure out how to a) make sense of the signs in Dutch, and b) get on the correct train, and c) walk with all your bags to the Airbnb apartment you rented using Google map instructions that seemed super clear to you when you were copying them down 72 hours ago but now seem like complete gibberish.
Not all travel is as glamorous as Instagram makes it out to be, but it's these little ridiculous details that make a story good, right? So I'm telling you about them. I'll tell you how we got lost at least 5 times, how everyone nearly had a mental breakdown from hunger and no one could find the cafe my Dad said was near the Airbnb, how we ended up hauling luggage up and down cobblestone streets for 2 hours, and how we finally bought a bunch of groceries with Dutch labels no one could read and ate on a street corner. How we finally managed to get into our Airbnb early and the Dutch guy cleaning the apartment handed us a hodge podge of beers and politely shooed us onto the back patio, where we were greeted by this view:
This is the stuff Google can't prepare you for. And it's the stuff that ultimately matters most.
But let me stop here. I want to tell you all every little spectacular and mundane detail. I want to tell you everything. Instead, I'm going to tell you about my favorite moments. The challenge I'm issuing to myself is to only tell you about the things that feed me, and hopefully will feed you, as a writer. I'm going to try to skip all the practicalities. The travel research. The recommendations. I'm only going to tell you what I lingered over.
1. The roof of Amsterdam Centraal Station.
I waited for a bus in the afternoon sunshine under this roof. I was eating a stroopwafel (caramel waffle cookie thing). I remember blinking a lot. Walking out of the apartment (post-food, shower, water, and a little rest) finally allowed me to let the magic of Amsterdam settle in. It's truly a city built of minor, extraordinary details.
2. Castle Muiderslot.
We decided to be cool kids and take a boat to the castle instead of a bus. (Of course, finding the boat is a different story for a different day.) The boat ride was pretty neat and the weirdest part was the bugs. There were these huge clouds of gnats swarming my sister and mother's hair like personal storm clouds. They followed them everywhere, always hovering just above their hair like a demented halo. This was really only funny and inspiration for my writing because it wasn't me. If it was me, I would have probably sulked because I hate bugs.
Anyway, we were on this boat and then we caught sight of this (relatively) little castle tucked away on a bit of a hill. No one knew what to expect and it was a longish boat ride, so naturally everyone was a bit restless. When my family saw the moat, everyone lost their shit.
Us: "OMG IT HAS A MOAT NO WAY"
Me: "LILY PADS HOLY SHIT YES"
Dutch guy trying to get us to the ticket booth: "It's a castle, DUHHHHHHHH."
It really was a nice moat though. (As moats go.)
We took a neat multi-language tour (English, Spanish, and Dutch) of a few rooms in the Castle which was quite enjoyable. During the bits in different languages, I watched the faces of the listeners. Which was likely a bit creepy, but there was something nice about the look of recognition when someone could not only hear the tour guide but listen to him as well. It made me think a lot about what I communicate without my language, and also what it means to be outside the circle of understanding. I imagine that moving somewhere you don't speak the language has to be the loneliest experience.
We wandered into the great hall. People looked down from the walls. Kids on the tour frolicked about. I stood off to the side and ended up staring at the well-worn floor after awhile. I had one of those "down the rabbit hole" moments where you start thinking about the history of a specific spot. Who else stood at the edge of the hall and observed the daily proceedings? Who else might have looked down at their feet at the same floor?
3. Zaanse Schans
Okay, so there's the Insta-wonder I put out on the Internet. It's lovely and charming and absolutely everything I had pictured in my head.
Here's what I turned around to:
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| YES THAT'S A CHICKEN EATING A CHICKEN SANDWICH A F**KING CANNIBAL CHICKEN |
That chicken fought a person for the right to eat its brethren. I swear to god dystopian music swelled in the background and I let out a hysterical squeal. This was an assault on my poor, sleep-deprived senses and it nearly undid me. To my credit, I held it together. I snapped my photo and pushed that shit down real deep.
Here are two more cheerful photos of Zaanse Schans:
4. The canals at night.
This is a canal near where I stayed. One night, returning late with my sister and our significant others, I caught a glimpse of lights in the water. We all were drawn in like moths, hovering around the magic but not quite sure how to land. This is a moment I'll return to. The night crisp, cool, and lovely, the water black as ink and speckled with what seemed like starlight. And everything was so still. It did happen to be midnight so I made a wish.
5. The Red Light District.
I have no photo for you. If you're surprised that a shutterbug such as myself walked away from an opportunity to photograph one of the most infamous spots in Amsterdam, you're right to be surprised. And I'll admit it: I have one photo of the Red Light District. It's a photo of an empty window, illuminated in surreal red light. There's a red lantern hanging nearby. There's no nudity. There's not even any people. If I think about the Red Light District, the myriad of beautiful, alluring women have faded away and all I see when I close my eyes is this otherworldly red light. It makes people seem like beautiful devils. It's a street where people revel in their own delightful devilry.
I digress. I will not share my photo of light and empty windows with you because a "woman of the night" flew from a doorway and hollered some choice Dutch expletives at me. I realized a few things while my face was frozen in shock, shame, and terror.
First, I had been a thoughtless tourist and I should have stuck to the mental snapshots.
Second, the ire of this woman was such that I could feel her insults whip against me as I walked away. I vowed to never piss off a Dutch prostitute again.
Third, damage aside, it's my most cherished photo from Amsterdam. I'm still trying to figure out what that says about me.
Beautiful devil is the closest I've gotten.
6. The moment I dozed off with the patio door open and church bells starting ringing in the middle of the night.
7. THE FOOD.
To recap: chocolate, pancakes, waffles, and cheese. Be still, my heart. I actually brought back an insane amount of Dutch chocolate. The creation of this post necessitated that I hear half a block because AMSTERDAM.
I am a glutton.
I'll find a way to work this into my poetry. Prepare yourself for food metaphors.
8. The Van Gogh Museum.
I love Van Gogh. I've always been drawn to him, and for the past few years I've been trying to put my finger on why. It's complicated. But visiting this museum gave me an entirely new lens to view his life and art. The museum is organized like a timeline. The farther up you go, the deeper into his life you walk. It's like following a thread round and round through the building. I only have three photos from the museum, none of an actual Van Gogh painting -- a very friendly security guard informed me that no photos are allowed, and this time I was less thoughtless. I thanked the man for his help, put my phone away, and gave Van Gogh my whole attention.
Two of my favorite parts of the Van Gogh museum: his palette and photos of his handwriting. There's something very intimate about viewing these items as a fellow creative type. I looked at his tools and his handwriting and felt like I'd been offered a window. I had the distinct feeling of being caught staring too long at a stranger who you thought you recognized.
I understand the desire to hold on to the physical manifestations of artists and writers: their pens, their grocery lists, their dog-eared books. Proof that they existed, that the history books didn't make them up. A reminder to us that the man existed before the museum. That he breathed on this artwork just like we're doing now even though we're not supposed to be so close.
***
I hope you enjoyed my observations, anecdotes, photos, and inspiration. Stay tuned for more on my travels this summer! Up next: Paris, and then London.Until then. Safe travels, friends.
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