Amsterdam was not a place connected to our lives. No friends waiting for us, no familiar streets, no stories already attached. In March 2017, Victor and I went simply because we were curious.
I tend to travel slowly. I like returning to places and seeing them through the eyes of someone who belongs there. But every so often, it feels important to arrive somewhere without context. Amsterdam was one of those places.
We landed on a cold Wednesday evening and took the train into the centre. Public transportation in the Netherlands is refreshingly intuitive. Within the hour, we were walking along narrow streets toward our hostel, pulling our bags over uneven brick. Even in the dark, the city was distinct. Tall canal houses leaned gently forward. Windows glowed warmly against the water. Bicycles rested in clusters along the railings, locked in place like part of the architecture itself.
Amsterdam did not overwhelm on first impression. It revealed itself quietly.
The Van Gogh Museum
The following morning began with a visit to the Van Gogh Museum.
I have loved Vincent van Gogh for years. Our shared appreciation began in New York, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of The Starry Night at the Museum of Modern Art. Since then, we have sought out his work wherever we travel, whether it was in Paris, London or Washington DC. We even visited smaller American museums where a single Van Gogh painting can anchor an entire gallery.
Although many people associate Van Gogh with the south of France, he was Dutch. He was born in the Netherlands in 1853 and spent his early artistic years there, studying light, landscape, and the lives of rural workers. Amsterdam plays a crucial role in preserving his legacy. The museum holds the largest collection of his paintings and drawings in the world, many of which were preserved by his brother Theo and later by Theo’s wife, Jo van Gogh-Bonger. Without her dedication, much of his work may never have reached the public.
Seeing his art in Amsterdam felt different. This was not a single painting encountered abroad. This was the full arc of his life gathered in one place. The museum, redesigned and reopened in 2014, guides visitors chronologically. Early Dutch sketches appear dark and heavy, grounded in earth tones. You then move into his experiments with colour and perspective. The southern light of Arles changes everything. Blues intensify. Yellows vibrate. The brushwork grows more expressive, more urgent. In the final galleries, the paintings feel restless and searching.
Letters to his brother Theo punctuate the experience. They reveal a man who was thoughtful, insecure, ambitious, and deeply devoted to his craft. The myth of the tortured genius softens into something more human.
Standing in front of so many canvases at once, you begin to see the evolution not just of technique but of temperament. He was not painting for decoration. He was painting to understand the world and his place within it.
Engineering a Golden Age
Leaving Museumplein, we walked toward the canal belt, the physical embodiment of Amsterdam’s 17th-century rise.
During the Dutch Golden Age, the Dutch Republic became one of the world’s dominant trading powers. The Dutch East India Company, often described as the first multinational corporation, connected Europe to Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Spices, textiles, porcelain, and sugar moved through its networks, and extraordinary wealth flowed back into Amsterdam.
The city did not respond with palaces or grand boulevards. Instead, it expanded outward in carefully measured semicircles of canals: Herengracht, Keizersgracht, and Prinsengracht. The layout was deliberate and highly engineered, designed for both defence and commerce. Water functioned as infrastructure rather than ornament. Ships could transport goods directly to warehouses lining the canals, integrating trade seamlessly into daily urban life.
Along the Herengracht’s so-called Golden Bend, wealthy merchants constructed elegant townhouses that still define the city’s silhouette. Their façades are narrow because property taxes were historically calculated by width. Hooks extend from the rooflines and are still used to hoist furniture through upper windows. Many houses lean slightly forward by design, allowing lifted goods to clear the building below.
In Amsterdam, beauty and utility are inseparable. The city’s elegance is not accidental but the result of careful planning, commercial pragmatism, and centuries of calculated expansion.
The Floating Flower Market
Continuing along the canals, we reached the Bloemenmarkt, Amsterdam’s floating flower market.
The market sits on a series of houseboats anchored along the Singel canal. Flowers were once delivered daily by boat from surrounding farms, and although today it caters largely to visitors, it still reflects a distinctly Dutch relationship with cultivation and trade.
Tulips dominate the stalls, their bulbs packaged neatly for travellers who want to carry a small piece of the Netherlands home. It is impossible to see them without thinking of tulip mania, the 17th-century speculative frenzy that briefly made bulbs one of Europe’s most valuable commodities. Even flowers here are tied to commerce and ambition.
The colours are vivid against the grey water. Stacks of bulbs, fresh bouquets, and small gardening tools line the floating platforms. If the canal houses represent accumulated wealth, the flower market represents cultivation. Beauty in Amsterdam is grown as much as it has been built.
Water as Identity
It is impossible to walk through Amsterdam without becoming aware of water. Canals intersect constantly. Bridges arc over narrow passages. Reflections double the city, creating an almost cinematic quality. But the relationship between the Dutch and water is not romantic. It is existential.
Much of the Netherlands sits below sea level. The country exists because of deliberate land reclamation, dikes, and pumping systems. Water management is not simply civic maintenance; it is national survival. The canal belt is part of that larger system — a network that balances drainage, transportation, and urban life.
Standing along the water’s edge, you realise that Amsterdam is not just built on water. It is built in negotiation with it. Perhaps that is why the city feels measured rather than extravagant. Every expansion required calculation. Every structure had to justify itself.
Begijnhof and the Inner City
Hidden behind a modest doorway in the centre lies the Begijnhof.
One of Amsterdam’s oldest hofjes, this enclosed courtyard once housed beguines — religious women who lived in semi-monastic communities without taking formal vows. The movement flourished in the Low Countries and parts of France, offering women an alternative to marriage or convent life during the Middle Ages.
Inside, the city noise softens. A small green lawn sits at the centre, framed by modest houses. Flowers bloom along the edges. The space feels contemplative, almost improbable given its location.
If the canal belt represents commerce and ambition, the Begijnhof represents introspection. Amsterdam has long balanced these dualities — trade and faith, openness and structure, pragmatism and principle.
Stroopwafels and Simplicity
By midday, we had earned a break. We stopped at a small bakery to try fresh stroopwafels — two thin waffles pressed together with warm caramel syrup in between.
The ritual is simple: place the waffle on top of a cup of coffee so the steam softens the filling. It is not elaborate cuisine. It is comfort.
Food in Amsterdam often reflects that same practicality. Cheese shops display wheels of Gouda stacked like golden coins. Sandwiches are straightforward but generous. Nothing feels overly styled. It is sustenance, not spectacle.
Even this simplicity seems connected to the city’s broader character. Amsterdam does not try too hard. It knows what it is.
First Impressions
By the end of our first day, Amsterdam had begun to reveal its structure. It is not theatrical like southern Europe, nor monumental in the way some capitals are. Its confidence is quieter. Art is not separated from daily life. Water is not decorative. Architecture is not ornamental. Everything has purpose.
Amsterdam was built carefully — on trade routes and engineering, on tolerance and calculation. It expanded deliberately, and it still feels deliberate. And as we crossed another bridge at dusk, watching the canal lights flicker on, I realised we were only beginning to understand the city beneath its calm surface.
Stay tuned for Part II on markets and the modern side of Amsterdam.
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