Canals, Bicycles, and a Pocket Watch ~ wandering through Amsterdam
There is something about Amsterdam that works on you slowly, then all at once. I arrived tired from a long flight, dropped my bags, and walked out into the Old Center that first evening with no real plan. By the time I found my way back, I already knew this city was going to be special.
Amsterdam rewards wandering. The canals, the bicycles, the narrow leaning townhouses reflected in the water. It is one of the most visually captivating cities I have ever visited, and I never once tired of simply walking through it. Some of my favorite moments came from having no destination at all, turning down a street because it looked interesting, sitting by the canal and watching the boats and bikes drift past, stumbling into a vintage shop and walking out with a pocket watch from the 1920s. You find yourself wondering about every hand that held it before yours.
The museums here are world class. I spent a long, unhurried morning at the Rijksmuseum with Rembrandt and Van Gogh, and an afternoon at the MoCo Museum taking in contemporary works by Banksy, Warhol, and Robbie Williams. But the Van Gogh Museum was the experience of the trip. I gave it hours, and it deserved every minute. Seeing his work in person is something no reproduction can prepare you for. Each painting pulls you in emotionally. You feel the urgency behind the brushstrokes, the restlessness, the brilliance. It is one of those rare museum experiences that stays with you long after you leave.
One of the most quietly moving visits of the entire trip was a place called Our Lord in the Attic. As Protestantism swept through the Netherlands, Catholics were forced to worship in secret. Some noblemen responded by building small, beautifully crafted churches hidden inside the attics of their homes. Standing in one of those spaces, I thought about what it means to hold onto something you believe in, even when the world outside tells you to hide it.
I also ventured beyond the city. Zaanse Schans, with its towering windmills and cheese makers and wooden clog carvers, felt like stepping inside a Dutch painting. And then there was Giethoorn, a small village so enchanting it almost doesn't seem real. Thatched roof cottages, canals instead of streets, not a single car in sight. Everyone moves by boat or by bike. Both places stopped me in my tracks.
The weather shifted dramatically midway through the week, from sweltering heat to humid skies flickering with lightning, which sent me out to Haarlem and Delft. Delft, famous for its iconic blue and white pottery, was a revelation. Watching the artists work, you understand immediately why it has endured for centuries.
On my last evening I had a five course dinner at Restaurant D'Vijff Vlieghen, a centuries old Amsterdam institution recommended by my friend Craig Schieber. I walked home slowly afterward, taking one last look at the canals lit up in the dark. Though I was leaving in the morning, a part of me was already planning the return.