5 days in
amsterdam

Berlin Hauptbahnhof feels alive at every hour. It was 10am, and I wanted the 10:30 InterCity to Amsterdam. I was scared of missing it. I wanted a döner first, but decided to find my platform instead. The station stacks its platforms over several floors, and behind the big glass wall the sunlight came pouring in. I am a sucker for trains, and every platform held one from a different country (a blue České dráhy, a red Deutsche Bahn, a Swiss SBB, an ÖBB). Right. Platform first.

The ride was six hours of German factories and flat land sliding past the glass. Lunch was a Gemüse-Curry mit Reis from the Bordrestaurant. Warm, and better than it had any right to be.

At Bad Bentheim the train stopped, and stayed stopped longer than usual. I asked around: they swap the locomotive here. Germany runs 15 kV on the overhead wires, the Netherlands 1.5 kV, so a German engine simply can't carry on across the border, and Bad Bentheim is the last station before it. (I learned later that the newer trains are multi-system, so the swap doesn't happen on this route anymore.) Somewhere after, a voice came over the speakers: beware of pickpockets.

Amsterdam Centraal at five. A train on to Sloterdijk, a key, a simple dinner at the hotel. I was tired. Outside, the courtyard was lit up in slow ribbons of colour.

A quick breakfast, then Centraal by ten. Cold, cloudy, a wind off the IJ that went straight through me.

I was meeting an old friend. I came out of the station, called to ask where he was, and got: next to the police van, smoking a joint. You can't have a more Amsterdam welcome than that.

We hadn't met in a long while, so there was plenty to catch up on. We wandered De Wallen and found an Irish coffee.

At a cafe we fell into a long talk with strangers. A fashion designer from Paris. An architect from Barcelona who mourned the lost art of the European house, all concrete jungle now. A product manager from Korea at a software consultancy. We stayed with it a good while. It was eye-opening: how differently each of them had arranged a life, and what each had decided was worth caring about.

Later I walked my friend back to the station and grabbed a Frieten cone from House of Fries. It started raining around three, and I spent the rest of the day just roaming, looking up at the houses (narrow, leaning, beautifully built) until the canals went dark and gold.

Fresh fruit for breakfast, and then De Pijp, in the rain. Stroopwafels and churros, made fresh, at Albert Cuypstraat 101. I found an epic little cafe to take a pause in and watch the wet market through the window.

By the time I was tired enough to head back it was still raining, so I called an Uber. I wasn't expecting a Mercedes-Benz. The driver accelerated like he had somewhere to be. It was an interesting ride home.

A day trip to Zaanse Schans. A hot chocolate at Café de Slager, right before the bridge, and then the bridge swung up to let a boat through. On the other side: windmills turning over flat green pasture, wooden houses doubled in still water. The greenery, wow.

The Henri Willig cheese shop was packed. I tried the flavoured cheeses, and the fenugreek one was a surprise. Lunch was slow and easy at De Swarte Walvis. On the walk back I had a cone of fresh fries by the water (heavenly, honestly the best of the trip) and then the train back to Centraal.

In the evening I took the free ferry across to NDSM and wandered. Cloudy, then properly raining, but I kept walking. The canals, the lit-up houses, the Damrak holding all that gold on the water. Amsterdam at night is so beautiful. Dinner was pizza. I caught the last stretch home under the platform clock.

A good day. I rested till noon and then let the city pull me around. I'd bought a 24-hour GVB ticket and made the absolute most of it, trams and metros from one end of town to the other. Vondelpark, here and there. Dam Square, Holland fries. I picked up chocolates from Arti Choco, and they're very good.

In a chowk I spotted two Marathi guys and couldn't help myself: bhaava, photo gheshil ka maaza? They were from Manmad and Satara. The evening turned gold and lamp-lit, and I kept moving.