Some of my happiest moments in Amsterdam are when I'm cycling home from work at 6am. When the streets are empty and houses are just beginning to stir. The occasional jogger pants on by. But other than that it's still. It's silent. And it's mine. I make my way in a dazed state of post-work exhaustion and subdued tipsyness. Music in my ears and usually some crazy prop I've inherited from the nights work in my hand - the other night it was an empty 4.5litre bottle of Jamesons, and yes, it was bloody heavy.
It's my me time, my content time, my gezellig time. Time to unwind, reflect on my day, remember just how much I have to do tomorrow. But it can wait, it has to. Because now I'm cycling, and now I'm happy.
Amsterdam has this way of making you feel at home despite everything. Not like Paris, who did everything in his power to make me feel unwelcome, to let me do everything the hard way.
(...People consistently reassure me that at least I learnt from these experiences but believe you me, there are geen lessons to be learnt from being homeless for two weeks!)
But it's not just the kooky, crooked houses leaning over the canals, peering down at you to say hello. Or the friendly, little cobbled streets, each one inviting you in for an adventure. Or even the Coco's terrace, where there's always a familiar face, where everybody knows your name. It's the whole package of this city. The whole atmosphere that collects to create these big, open arms - and for a knuffel-whore like myself, it's just what I need.
I constantly return to this analogy of Amsterdam as my boyfriend. And if he was a human, I think he'd be a hipster. He oozes style. He has his own quirky way of dressing, he adores travelling by bike, he was made to be instagrammed. He's the kinda guy that all the cool kids want to drink and smoke with. But also has so much under the surface, so much culture, so much experience. Yes, he puts up a wall sometimes, makes you work for his affections (pda is soo mainstream), but he soon returns with quirky, romantic treats. Each time something new, something exciting. Always keeping you on your toes. It's when I'm cycling home from work that I get the real him though, the vulnerable him, that's when we talk about our feelings. I know he's a slut and all the girls go crazy for him, but in my contented, drunken haze, in the first few hours of sunlight I'm pretty sure he tells me he finds me lief right back.
And that's why last week I opened a Dutch savings account. Why the open tabs on my laptop are apartment rentals on Craigslist. Because Amsterdam, I'm sticking around. I've found a part of me here that I'm not willing to let go of just yet.
Plus, I'm learning Dutch. Where the hell in the world am I going to use that otherwise?
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