IT'S WHERE YOUR HEAD IS AT

In the year that my father passed away I rediscovered Amsterdam.  That is actually not quite correct; I had rediscovered it several times before.  But when I went back to Holland to see my dad before he died, I had been gone for over a decade.  It was a welcome homecoming.
Since then Amsterdam, more than the south (Brabant and Limburg) has represented another home.  The area around Eindhoven has little left to offer, as everyone I knew there has either left this earth or left that place: there is no real reason to revisit the Kempen anymore.
But Amsterdam is always there. 
Amsterdam is a personality, a city, a familiar atmosphere.
A place where the head is, and the heart must follow.

In my teenage years I 'rediscovered' the city nearly every year.  Always I liked visiting the flower market first, followed by spending the entire rest of the day strolling through the city, browsing antique stores and curio shops, having coffee and snacks, drinking in the feel of the metropolis.

It's partly the trees. 
The city is dense with them, they shade the streets and muffle the sounds.
That, more than anything else, makes the place other-wordly.
It's like being in a private universe.
Leaf-speckled patterns.

When I visited my father that last time, I dawdled for four hours in Amsterdam before taking the train to the south.  I had not been around Dutch-speakers since the day I left twelve years before.  Let me just drink in what it feels like.
I discovered that I was one of the very few Dutch-speakers in town.  When I asked someone where a particular street was, he apologetically admitted that he too was visiting, and only spoke English. 
Several other tourists, hearing me speak the local tongue, promptly asked me for directions.
I must have rather disappointed them.  Sorry.

During the next several weeks I went back to Amsterdam a number of times.
As I have in the years since.


READ...

I am particularly fond of the area around the Spui Plein. There's the Atheneum bookstore on the corner of Spui Street, the Cafe Luxembourg with the desultory and undiplomatic waiters, Cafe Beiaard around the corner with a much warmer staff, as well as several other cafes nearby where one may read the livres purchased at the weekly book market held every Friday amidst the trees surrounding the square. Which, surely, is the major reason to come. The printed matter you will find represents all the languages of Europe, and several beyond - Amsterdam has been a trading city for eons, and this is where the fleets that fought the Spanish in Asia and South America came from; for over three centuries it was the centre of the spice trade.

In the immediate area of the Spui Plein are a number of antiquarian booksellers where treasures may be found, not very far away at all is Scheltema Holkema Vermeulen, which is another famous bookstore, and snacks as well as very nice formal meals can be had at various eateries and restaurants. 
The streets are shaded by ancient growth, and it's a relatively short stroll to other squares.

Many tourists only known the Leidsche Plein.  They shoot down the Leidsche Straat from the train station, and promptly swarm into the Bulldog to lose their minds on hashish. Thank heavens they never buy maps, stay on focus, and have no interest in anything else. 
Their 15 watt presence would darken the mood elsewhere.
Such as areas merely half a block away along the various canals.
Leafy spots, curio shops, bookstores, and antiques.
Plus comfortable cafes and eateries.

The Rembrandt Plein by comparison sees hardly any outsiders, and I doubt that anywhere nearby sells spacecake to young Americans. There's an English pub there, but its clientele and mood are profoundly Dutch.  Clean, bright, old-fashioned.  If I remember correctly they even have the rugs on the tables in lieu of damask, as many traditional drinking establishments in the Netherlands do.
The Rembrandt Plein is tree-lined, there are many antique store in walking distance.
I recall it as perpetually sunny - just haven't been there on rainy days.


AND EAT!

While Dutch food has always been infinitely better than what is available across the channel, the most exciting dining is at Indonesian restaurants. 
Indo food is a cuisine whose roots in Holland were planted centuries ago, when returnees from the tropics and newly available spices met head on. The exiles loved being home again, loathed the rediscovered Dutch climate, and longed for something exciting to eat.  Over the next several generations, the use of strong flavourings and subtle additions gradually found a place, eateries were opened up that catered to the Indies-gasten, and substitutions for ingredients not yet available added a different signature to several dishes.
After the war the flood of returning colonials added vigour, and, as a welcome change from the scarcity of the German years, East Indies food took off like a rocket.
Nowadays you can hardly find a Dutch kitchen without a spectrum of spices, condiments, sauces, and hotpastes whose origin lies halfway around the world.
For many ex-Indies folks, this was the taste of home.  They grew up eating it, and in fact had never been to the Netherlands till Sukarno expelled them.

Imagine......
A meat stew made dark with earthy kluwak nuts, next to something brilliant yellow, coconutty.  Red red hotsauce with a touch of fermented fish in a little saucer - the condiment - as well as grilled lamb skewers, slightly charry, with a drizzle of thick dark sauce.  A plate of blanched vegetables with some spicy peanut sauce. Shrimp stir-fried with chilipaste and kangkong.
Fish soup with tamarind, tomato, and fresh crunchy herbs.  Little fried snackipoos, and a spicy vegetable coconut mixture.  Raw veggies with a fiery dip.  A bowl of crunchy stuff to add on top.
Rawon, gulai, sambal, sate kambing, petjil, sambal goreng udang, ikan singgang, emping, urap urap, lalap, serundeng (these are all things I still cook at home, btw).
Everything in small portions, as it is the variety that counts. 
Followed by strong coffee, and a very thin slice of an incredibly rich and delicious cake, moist and aromatic: spekkoek ("bacon cake"), so named because of its appearance, being paperthin layers of brown and white batter alternating - one sweet with a faint faint hint of pandan, the other richly zapped up with cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, and cardamom.
Delicious.

[Spekkoek is something that really needs to be made by an auntie. It just tastes better that way.
I rarely do it myself.]

Then past golden-glowing windows home to the hotel, along streets darkened further by leaves and trees, but retaining the warmth of day long past dusk.

Holland is a wet and fecund place.  Green things thrive. 
Because of all the trees, Amsterdam smells good.
But that might still be the aroma of spices.



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