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Amsterdam.
A beautiful city, even with its endless torrent of bikers. The cute brick row houses seem to lean and sway into one another, giving them personality as they overlook the maze of winding canals. It was honestly the perfect introduction to my travels, and a city I’d suggest everyone should visit.
I arrived on Monday, and decided I'd walk from the station to the Flying Pig Uptown hostel, where I’d be spending the next 3 nights. Bad idea. Apparently there was a tram that went the whole way, but I ended up doing the whole 40 minutes on foot while lugging my heavy bags. I definitely gave off the "clueless American backpacker" vibe.
After finally dropping my stuff off at the hostel, I was so tired I didn’t know how I’d last the rest of the day. The best way to beat jet lag, in my opinion, is to simply not let yourself fall asleep. However, this was proving difficult, with the surprisingly-nice hostel bed calling my name. 36 hours of no sleep followed by an impromptu leg day? It'll catch up to you.
Yet there's something about a whole new city at my fingertips that's just too good to ignore. So I hit a second wind, and set out onto the street.
That first day, walking around in the late afternoon, made me realize how much I'd missed this. Traveling and making art. The novelty of a new city inspires me beyond anything else, and it felt great to get back into the swing of street photography by walking around Amsterdam. Losing myself in the act of wandering and noticing, with just a camera in hand. It's hard to describe that feeling - of being hyper-focused on the present moment, hours passing like minutes - to someone who's never experienced it.
Then I got back to the hostel and slept like a rock.
The next day, I felt rested, reinvigorated, and my jet lag was totally gone. On my way to the Foam museum of photography - which turned out to have some super interesting images of the Nazi occupation of Amsterdam during WWII - I met a woman named Diana. In between the constant task of wrestling a dirty plastic straw out of her dog Phillip’s mouth, she told me her story. An architect who moved from New York to Amsterdam 10 years ago, Diana has a son-in-law who went to Tufts, and a daughter who landed a job as a personal assistant to the CEO of Adidas in Boston purely because she spoke Russian. She taught me that New York was originally referred to as New Amsterdam, and that the name Manhattan is derived from the name Manhattoe, a name erroneously given to the Native Americans of Lenape Village that inhabited the region. Also did you know that Wall Street refers to the wall the Dutch settlers used to keep the natives out of "their" city? Cool, huh?
Diana and Phillip
Before coming here, I should mention that I had done practically zero research on what I should see. I built an itinerary from speaking to people in the hostel and out on the street, and realized that the museums are the place to be. Having now been to the Vincent Van Gogh, the Rijksmuseum, and the Foam museum of photography, I can safely say that you don't want to miss them. I'll leave it at that. Just don't do the Rijksmuseum a disservice like I did and only spend an hour there. I was in a hurry, but it should really take you at least half a day to properly see it all.
Rijksmuseum
Van Gogh Museum
On Wednesday, I decided I’d rent a bike, because I couldn't go to Amsterdam and NOT hop on a bicycle. My aim was to see the windmills of Zaanse Schans, to the north of the city.
While biking through the streets and along the canals, I found that you really need to act like you know where you’re going. Hesitate, and you risk upending the flow of bikes, trams, and pedestrians. I may have gotten lost once or twice on my way to the port, but at least I felt like a local getting around the city on my way to work.
I took the free public ferry across the river, and then took a long winding bike ride through the park Het Twiske. On the way I met some very friendly cows, as well as Anton and Robert, who tried, unsuccessfully, to teach me how to properly pronounce Zaanse Schans.
Leaving the winding rivers, cows, and fields, I am eventually greeted by a collection of windmills. Apparently, in the 1950s a bunch of them were brought here from various farms and restored, and they have all been turned into a museum of sorts. Even though it was all very pretty, it felt a little fake to me.
As I was sitting on the grass eating my lunch, a girl named Kelly randomly sat down next to me, and we chatted while feeding the crowd of chickens that had surrounded me begging for food. I learned from her, amidst constant squawking, that the Dutch Grand Prix was in Amsterdam this Sunday. Pretty neat - though I don’t understand the point of watching F1 anyways. To each their own.
Anton and Robert
Zaanse Schans
On my bike ride back, I figured I’d go jump into the lake in the park. It was cold. Enough said.
Anyways, as I was drying off, a chubby pitbull shuffled over to me. Turns out his name was Kerel, and his owner was a woman named Bo. We chatted for a bit, and I asked her - as a Dutch native - whether she had any recommendations for where else to go in the Netherlands. After all, this night was my final stay at the hostel, and I still had one more night to kill before I could leave for Berlin. She mentioned that outside of the town of Aachen, just over the border in Germany, you could reach a spot where the 3 countries of Belgium, Germany, and The Netherlands met. That sounded like such a random but totally cool thing to see, so I figured why not. I booked a hostel in Aachen that afternoon, and it was settled.
On the evening of my last night at the Flying Pig, I went out to explore the Red Light district with an English guy named Cameron I met at the hostel. He's taking a travel gap year similar to mine, so it was good to chat about things with him. And now I guess I can check the Red Light district off of my list of things to see in Amsterdam. What a weird, *interesting* spot in an otherwise lovely, quaint city.
Bo and Kerel
Hopefully you remember the Dutch Grand Prix I mentioned earlier.
Well, the reason it's worth mentioning is because it has caused a lot of trains to be diverted off of select railways in and around Amsterdam. Don’t ask me why. Now, of course I only found that out once I was sitting on the platform at Amsterdam Centraal, ready to leave. Unfortunately, as I frantically looked at the online map, it seemed most lines on the route I was going to take to Aachen were closed. I had already booked the night at a hostel there, so I was not about to give up. I decided I would have to take a more roundabout, scenic route, going through Antwerp, because on the map it looked like it would avoid most of the railways that were down.
I was forced to quickly become super comfortable with the Eurail app, because there was only a 3 minute turnaround until the next train left for Antwerp. Let me tell you, sprinting up a train station staircase with 3 heavy backpacks plus a cheeseburger in my hand is not a pretty sight. Luckily, I managed to make it into my seat at the last second, sweating and stressed.
Unfortunately, this train fiasco meant I didn’t have time to buy a stroopwaffel, which was my plan originally. That’s my only regret of this trip so far.
Oh, and it gets better, because the train I was to take from Antwerp station to Aachen got cancelled last minute, so I had another hour to kill. Turns out Antwerp central station is a street photographer’s paradise, so I was actually grateful to have more time than I was expecting to wander around.
All in all, what was supposed to be a 3 hour journey took almost 8 hours total. But it's about the journey, not the destination!
Ghosts in Antwerp Station
The hostel in Aachen was the complete opposite of the Flying Pig. A good, thought-out system for luggage management and socialization was replaced by a drab building without lockers. What did I expect, staying in a random small German city?
However, it was all worth it the next morning when I rented a bike (for 20% of the price of the bike I rented in Amsterdam, by the way). I made my way up out of the city to get to the 3-country intersection. Coasting down hills in the German countryside that morning, with the wind in my hair, I felt completely and utterly free. That is what travel is all about.
The borders of Belgium, Germany, and The Netherlands
I can’t believe I only got to Europe on Monday. It has felt like so much longer. I’ve learned a lot about how to take care of myself. What to take out of my bag to take into the shared bathroom, how to manage my things and charge my devices efficiently, etc.
I've been slowly getting into a routine. Routines are important, especially when every day is something new and amazing. I've been prioritizing time in the early evenings, after the day’s events are over but before the night’s start, to sit down, edit pictures, and get everything organized. And by now, I really do see the benefit of a Eurail pass. Being able to change and book trains instantly with just a click, and decide the next destination on a whim, is definitely worth the up-front cost. I was skeptical at first, but it just makes the whole process a lot less stressful then it could be. If you're ever planning on traveling Europe like I am, I highly suggest you invest in one.
P.S.
You want to know a useful travel hack?
TooGoodToGo.
On my first full day in Amsterdam, I purchased a 5-euro bag on the app which gave me enough food to last the ENTIRE rest of my stay in the city.
There's nothing like cheap food.
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