Three and a half decisive years ago my uncle made the move across the Atlantic to the waffle and fry loving country of the Netherlands, right to the crown city of the nation: Amsterdam. Around the same time, I was attacked by the notorious (and highly wallet threatening) travel bug after attending my first international trip to Spain with one of my closest friends Ava, as a part of an educational opportunity with the Spanish program. Now as one thing led to another, and as I progressed from a freshman to senior, the once timid 15 year old leaving her parents behind on her first international trip began to crave the sense of independence that is natural at this age. So, on a spontaneous Sunday in October, I phoned my former travel buddy Ava, proposed the idea of a solo trip to Amsterdam to stay with my uncle, and moved forward with the booking process. Just like that, my bank account was drained, but my spring break was full.
Now as the months prior to the trip passed, and we neared the almost mythical departure date posted on my KLM Royal Dutch Airlines app, I faced a melting pot of emotions in regards to the trip, manifesting in several phases depending on my proximity to the trip. The first stage, christened the “Is this actually happening phase?” hits immediately after your tickets are booked. In this stage it is too early to experience the stress of planning an itinerary or realize the somewhat overwhelming aspects of solo travel, and instead, you live in this sort of dreamy, euphoric state where the trip seems too good to be true, as if it will never actually arrive. Next, you move into the second stage, arising in those middle months as you start to look into more specifics of the trip. This stage, the most overwhelming stage, is known to me as the “What the heck was I thinking?” phase, and is characterized by an overwhelming sense of doom in regards to the trip. Of course, you are grateful and excited for the opportunity, yet at the same time, as the planning process begins to crash down on you, your fight or flight instincts are activated, and at times it feels as if it would have all been easier to just stay home. The final stage, and arguably the most exciting of the three, hits as soon as you crack open your suitcase to start packing. The “Did I pack enough?” phase occurs in the flurry of preparation in the days leading up to your departure, building off the adrenaline that the excitement of the encroaching trip mixed with the joy of stress packing brings. Now none of this is to say I wasn’t absolutely thrilled to have this opportunity, yet at the same time I held on to a little fear, as I had never navigated a foreign city fully on my own, and if I’m being honest, the itinerary I had planned was very loose and a bit too open to change for my typical style, leaving me slightly overwhelmed.
KLM offered a top tier flight experience, transporting Ava and I across the Atlantic on a direct flight where we enjoyed our highly luxurious 8-hour economy seats. Ava and I weren’t quite sure what to expect upon landing, however, my uncle greeted us at the airport with a welcome sign and an escort back to his apartment resting in the outskirts of the city. Amidst the fog that jet lag left us in, my uncle and his fiance Patty dragged us out of the house and to the nearby town of Zaanse Schans, where we spent the day staring at centuries-old windmills, engaging in a cheese tasting, and posing inside giant dutch clogs that had people lining down the block to snap a pic in. One of the good things about Amsterdam is you can use the city as a sort of home base, and easily take 30 minute day trips to the hundreds of storybook towns surrounding it.
The rest of the trip passed in a series of ups and downs. The first several days of the trip proved to be both the point where our energy was highest and our itinerary the most packed. We spent our time wandering museums such as the Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh, both of which proved surprisingly interesting for art museums, though I’m not typically a fan of old-timey art. However, topping the list of museums we visited, was the Anne Frank museum, allowing us to tour the very annex that Anne spent her teenage years as a Jewish girl in the midst of World War II. The annex was far larger than I had expected based on my previous reading of the book, but still, for housing eight people for several years it is easy to imagine just how exhausting that must have been. Few museums have made me emotional in my life. The Hiroshima Museum in Japan brought me close to that point, yet because it was so overcrowded, it was almost impossible to actually experience the museum. Opposingly, the Anne Frank Museum held just the right amount of people, allowing Ava and I to fully immerse ourselves into the environment and understand the immensity of Anne’s story.
Ava and I spent the majority of our time wandering the city without much of an itinerary, exploring small shops, bakeries, and lounging in the beautiful and serene Vondel Park. We took our days slowly – a benefit of spending a week in a singular city. We partook in the traditional tourist activities, traversing both the city and countryside by way of bicycle (mind you the ones we rented were motorized and I wore a helmet unlike most Amsterdammers, so the experience wasn’t quite as aesthetic as I’m making it out to be). On top of that, we visited the famous Keukenhof Gardens, open only six weeks out of the year and covered nearly entirely with hundreds of varieties of Amsterdam’s crown jewel: the Tulip. While Keukenhof wasn’t entirely in bloom when Ava and I visited, as the gardens had only opened the day before, it still felt as if we were living in a postcard. We spent the afternoon laying on a picnic blanket amongst the tulips, listening to the wind whisper through the trees, carrying the voices of our fellow tourists exclaiming at the beauty of their floral surroundings.
Now, with all the upsides to Amsterdam, every trip has its weak moments. Without warning, jet lag that had been left unattended all week attacked me with full force the second to last night of our trip. Ava and I called our day of exploring quits early, skipping out on clubbing with my uncle and Patty, and instead devouring an entire pizza each before turning on ‘The Meg’ to fall asleep to. Amsterdam itself had few faults, such as the occasional near death experience with an overly confident biker weaving through pedestrians, and honestly, I think it is my favorite city I’ve ever visited. We devoured multiple stroopwafels over the course of the trip, experimented with the coveted fries and mayo (which surprisingly converted me from a ketchup lover), and explored the famous Tony’s Chocolonely store, which even had a make-your-own-chocolate opportunity if you were willing to wait. I will say, toward the end of the trip Ava and I definitely felt as if we had experienced all the city had to offer, however, that is never a bad thing. Because we were in Amsterdam for so long, Ava and I had the chance to see everything we wanted to but still have enough down time to relax and actually enjoy the experience. Ava and my’s trip to Spain was extremely rushed, spending an average of one full day in each city, leading us to feel the most immense exhaustion of our lives. Amsterdam, while still tiring at times, was more enjoyable overall, and there was no stress of having to pack our bags every night and relocate to a new city.
Amsterdam averted my expectations. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to offer so much in terms of beauty, food, culture, and fun. From the canals that carved veins through the city, to the skinny homes built as a tax incentive, to the tourist obsession with tulip paraphernalia, Amsterdam was a pinnacle of beauty, even amongst its European counterparts. My rave of the city even persuaded my older brother to schedule a visit for himself. Closing out my final year of high school with a solo experience abroad felt very full circle, bringing me back to the freshman that had been scared out of her mind to leave her family for 11 days with an unfamiliar group of students. This time there was still fear, yet it rested more on logistical problems such as not knowing how to navigate a foreign metro system, rather than homesickness. Regardless of the type of discomfort I experienced, I walked out more prepared to handle life on my own. As silly as it sounds, I learned to navigate a foreign flow of traffic, properly operate a bicycle parking garage (yes those are a thing), signal for a check, locate the exact type of pastry I was craving, spot a tourist trap (hint, if you see a lot of people who look like they love hamburgers, turn around), distinguish modes of transportation by color, and enjoy a day on the town without any form of a schedule. It is in these little moments that are nothing revolutionary in which you gain the most, because simply put, that is precisely what life is: a navigation of the little moments. Step out of your comfort zone, take opportunities, because every time you say no, you are missing out on a chance to develop the parts of yourself that are sometimes difficult to reach without getting a little uncomfy.
