Amsterdam: The City of Cycles

Amsterdam is agreeable, attractive, affable. Lekker. It’s the feeling of listening to a music box, delicate and nostalgic, or shaking a snow globe, where the messy chaos is mesmerizingly contained. Amsterdam isn’t a diva, but she’s not mundane, or suf, either. Poffles (not poffertjes) and houses defy gravity, balanced on stilts in a silent battle against the canals.

Sure, Amsterdam smells like Amsterdam… but it also smells like the natural rubber from bike tires, and hops from a brewery (inevitably) nearby. The smells of Amsterdam are unmistakably Dutch, organized, crisp, and quietly intense. As you walk away from the canals’ waters, a damp earthiness softens into tastes of butter from a bakery, and the honeyed-green fragrance of tulips.

Amsterdam is a quiet city, softer than most, save for the sharp trill of a bicycle bell. Friends and lovers cycle hand-in-hand, rolling rhythmically over brick, a pleasing harmony in motion. Contrastingly, the loud voices of tourists echo in a church converted into a gallery, or really any hollowed space. Not very lekker.

Amsterdam is autumnal, cloaked in hues of russet, amber, and gold. It’s a city as satisfying as the crisp click of heels on stone, or the smooth shuffle of a deck of cards, split perfectly down the middle. Yet, amist the muted contentment, you’ll still find sparks of respectable vibrancy, in the rain boots and dancing houses of Amsterdamers. The occasional neon loudness feels intentional, almost clinical, with the same boldness as pairing a blazer with a hoodie.

On this particular Saturday, someone has discovered a small, unassuming table at a market. Simple and brown, with two drawers and plain black handles. Very lekker. Propped effortlessly on their bike’s handlebars as they cycle home. The quiet balance, the sheer elegance of it all — that is Amsterdam.

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