Life in Hamsterdarn

Land of klompens en windmolens

At dinner before I left for my trip, my son (7) declared with no embarrassment that he would miss me when I went to Hamsterdam. Even after we laughed at him, for days he couldn’t stop himself from calling it that.

The internet tells me he isn’t the first to make this mistake.

Meanwhile, my big girls had sanitized the city name from Amsterdam to Amsterdarn. (It may be the world’s most liberal city, but Greenville, South Carolina sure ain’t.)

By the time I pulled out of the driveway, my family was waving from the front door, shouting a bunch of nonsense about a place called Hamsterdarn.

All of which to say, hallo from Hamsterdarn! I am thrilled to report that, so far, the trip has been amazing, magical, glorious. Glorious!!

My little travel journal is so much fun.

Sunday, I flew overnight out of Atlanta. Now that I’ve become afraid of flying in my old age, I am always worried I will involuntarily accost the stranger beside me when the plane withstands the slightest turbulence. I’m happy to report that I kept my cool. I did not pee for the eight-hour duration of the flight (you’re welcome for not disturbing you, Daniel), slept one miserable hour against the frosted window—literally rubbing my hands together against the inhumanely refrigerated air—and forfeited both my on-flight “chicken” dinner and “egg” calzone breakfast.

I did, however, make liberal use of the in-flight entertainment, watching the film Origin (highly recommend) and a season’s worth of Couples Therapy. Once in the Amsterdam airport, I waited two hours in a passport line, rather gleefully actually, because I was not trying to entertain four children while doing so. (At least give me a challenge.)

I danced a little jig when I arrived at my adorable AirBnB canal house in the city, then collapsed dramatically onto the bed, only to awake three hours later, my chin coated in drool. I showered.

That evening, Sister arrived! It is a miracle of time and space that (a) we like each other, (b) we like to travel, (c) we were reunited for an adventure halfway across the world despite living in the same city.

On our way to dinner, we walked past a sing-along in a bar, something straight out of Ted Lasso. This is a terrible video, but it is worth listening to for the #vibes. It will warm your heart so! (Can you imagine random Americans liking each other this much? Ack!)

We had an amazing dinner out at a French spot called Cafe Parlotte, drinking “wijn” and catching up on my sister’s just-finished Italy trip. Then we snuggled up in our little bed to vanquish my jet lag once and for all.

We woke up wonderfully refreshed, had breakfast at a little cafe, and rented bikes for the day. Without much forethought, we decided to bike to a village called Zaanse Schans. It rained, my thighs burned, we were unexpectedly made to board a giant ferry to traverse the water, my thighs burned some more. Every time we didn’t think we could make it, one of us raised a fist and shouted “Zaanse Schans!”

We did make it… to what turned out to be the weirdest little place in all the land. It was a collection of little Dutch houses, a cheese shop, a wooden shoe shop, and a chocolate shop. Everything was for sale. We ate pancakes. Zaanse Schans!

We told the bike guy it was a weird place. He responded, “Everything here is weird.”

That night, with severely bruised behinds¹, we dined inside a greenhouse in the middle of a park, at a place Restaurant De Kas. We declared it our favorite meal of all time. The next day, we didn’t want to eat any food because we were afraid to ruin it.²

I am oh-so-grateful. The following day was—no exaggeration—life-changing. More tomorrow!

1. from the bikes

2. We did though.