A Weekend in Amsterdam

Our weekend to the city a 45-minute flight from London coincided with Paul's birthday and the easing of covid restrictions across Europe. And we couldn't have picked a more beautiful weekend of weather for the city of over 160 canals. 

A'dammers filled the streets to sit canal-side moving their chairs with the sun. And we made it our mission to walk, wander and relax as best we could amongst these happy locals. We did very little of cultural significance (unless you count Febo, the introvert's dream hot fast food vending machine, as culture...we did):

We took in no museums, avoided most tourist hotspots and instead opted to see the city by foot and boat. 

Our hotel, The Albus, was ideally located right at the edge of the city centre, on the cusp of the canal belt and De Pijp, home to hipster cafes, a long, merry street of gay bars, the Heineken Museum and the Albert Cuypmarkt, a half-mile long outdoor ode to cheese, hot food and other random things you never knew you needed. 

It did not disappoint. The city built on marshland, off the ingenuity of windmills, dams and dikes is a stunner. Everywhere you turn is a waterway; the city is home to over 60 miles of canals. Big, small, tiny. They like their canals like they like their prostitutes in the windows of the Red Light District. And I've got time for them all. 

So what about the subsidence? It seems to add to the charm. And if you look closely at the photo below, you'll see a woman in a first floor window soaking in everything the sun has to offer. 

We wandered from De Pijp through the city centre to the even more charming Jordaan neighbourhood. We stopped for canal beers and more street markets. We took every opportunity to Just Be, something I'm often accused of struggling with.

Between canals, the city's streets were lined with signage, graffiti and reminders of the hub that Amsterdam once was/still is. 

Off a hot tip from my friend Lindsay who used to live in the Netherlands, we found our way to one of the city's many Indonesian restaurants, opting for the deliciousness of Indrapura in Rembrandtplein just a short walk from our hotel. The country's 'national' dish, Rijsttafel (translation: rice table), is the aftermath of Dutch colonial powers in Indonesia in the 19th century. Imagine the delight of a series of small and medium plates served with a huge bowl of rice and you can begin to imagine.

On Sunday we woke to less sun and more blustery weather but that didn't take the shine off the city. We hopped on one of those hop-on hop-off boats ubiquitous with famous waterways the world over. Our journey piped in interesting historical facts about Amsterdam,  its history and heritage, its moneyed, artistic past. And then we went shopping for Stroepwaffel, had a Heineken and made our way to Schipol via the cheap, convenient, reliable train network that crisscrosses the country. 

This ease put British transport to shame. Because of course when we landed at London City Airport later that evening, the overground wasn't working. And so we zigzagged our way through the city, venturing 1.5 hours from east to went to eventually find our way north wondering why the EU ever wanted anything to do with the UK in the first place.