Hallo! Waar komt u vandaan?

We touched down in a snowstorm. My first view of Amsterdam from the Schiphol train was grainy and diffusely gray – as if I was flipping through an old album, or watching the city pass in 8mm black and white. It was a pleasant surprise, but definitely not the effect I expected – I pictured sun, and trees, and birds singing in harmony, and yellow clogs. I found the clogs, but everything else was eerily absent.

And it continued to snow for three hours, which meant that – by the time Nina and I had finished our very much abbreviated Jordaan hike (an area of Amsterdam with scenic canals) – I was a shivering, mumbling mess of runny nose, pink fingers and numb lips. And I like snow as much as the next guy – more so, in all honesty: I like it heavy and thick, framing the windows and layering the sidewalks like a spread of icing, hanging on branches like so many dollops of whipped cream. I like it biting. It’s perfect café weather.

But this snow didn’t stick, or layer – it just sort of worked its way into every break in my clothing. And with all the cafés already packed to capacity, and with my being a little jet lagged and hungry for something not peanuts, I’ll be the first to admit: Amsterdam kind of kicked my ass in round one. But at least the canals were nice.

Then, as quickly and unexpectedly as it began, the snow stopped falling. So I collected my thoughts and my horde of Kleenex and set out again, stopping first to refuel. I chose the most crowded place I saw, which is usually a good sign (although I soon learned that all the people in line were tourists, probably of the same mindset as I) and ordered up a batch of Chipsy King frites. Dutch style, mayonnaise only. I can’t stand mayonnaise – I’ll scrape it off a sandwich if there’s a thin layer. But I thought “eh, who knows? Maybe the Dutch do it differently. Maybe they’re onto something here.”

I was wrong. Domestic or Dutch, mayonnaise is still mayonnaise.

I walked around for a couple of hours. Amsterdam started to grow on me. It’s actually a very charming little town, despite (in light of?) the red light district and the sex shops and the every other doorway smelling like pot. But there’s something about the tall, narrow buildings – the way they sag and tilt because of their log and sand foundation. There’s something about the canals, and the bridges, and the cyclists pedaling around town, scarves trailing in the wind. There’s something about the come-be-who-you-are attitude, the lack of judgment and the lack of discrimination. I may not agree with the methods, but I agree with the mentality – and there’s something gently reaffirming about that…


Amsterdam soundtrack: The Dodos - Visiter