Amsterdam

Ahhh, Amsterdam. How I love this city.
On my first visit to Amsterdam, when I was 20, I fell madly in love with it. I felt instantly at home. Here, I thought. I could live here! Have an apartment with view to the canal, a bike with a wicker basket, a pair of really hot boots and a set of fluffy scarves. I could live here. I could be one of them! I’ll have my favourite coffee shop where everyone would know my name, probably on Harlemerstraat, my favourite street. I’ll ride the trams free and jump the metro, like the locals do. At least once a year I’d have a near fatal brush with a tram (the silent killer). I’d hate it when August came and my city would be overrun by drunken tourists. I’d be an amsterdaamer.

It’s my ninth visit to Amsterdam and this time we have our own place, a funky studio apartment up two spiral staircases, in an old narrow house on the corner of Boomstraat and Boomwardstraat, right in the heart of Jordaan neighbourhood (the funky area, their very own Commercial Drive.) From our windows we can spy on our Amsterdaamers neighbours in their cool apartments, all hardwood floors and high ceilings, over stuffed book cases and white sofas. We can watch them walk home carrying groceries, riding their bikes with their blonde haired children behind them. I can actually pretend that all of this is mine, that I belong, that I’m a part of all this. But now I start to wonder, is that really what I want? Sure, it’s funky and charming and beautifully European, but in all honesty, it's not a very exciting place. Not truly. Not unless you’re a tourist easily excited by the prospect of legal marijuana, fascinated by the Red Lights District, and charmed by canals and trams. (And who isn’t?) But if you lived here... Well, good luck finding a pack of smokes and chocolate bar after midnight. The city becomes a ghost town at night, as calm and tranquil as the water in the canals. So quiet you can hear the sound of your boots echoing as you saunter down the cobble stoned streets (how do they manage to avoid getting their heels stuck in the gaps?)

I don’t know why I care so much. I do live in Vancouver, after all, not the most vibrant city in the world, and it’s not like I party all night long. But Vancouver is home now – I am no longer completely objective. I’ve learned to love its mellow nature and appreciate its calm. And when I talk about excitement it’s not so much that I wanna party all night as much as I love the air of excitement some cities have (New York, Tel Aviv, Montreal, London), that exhilaration in knowing that everything is possible, everything could happen. It's in the smell of the night, a buzz of anticipation that is carried in the breeze. A build up to something really special. A promise of good time, a hint of sex.

Still, I enjoy revisiting Amsterdam, sipping cappuccinos on terraces, strolling up and down canals and flaunting my ability to pronounce Dutch words accurately (comes with my mother tongue.) I love being able to say: "Berney's is just not what it used to be 10 years ago." and: "hey, this is new!" and: "I remember when you could smoke on the train." It is still one of my favourite cities. I just don’t think I’d end up living here after all. And that’s ok. Some cities are just more fun to visit.