a lady of leisure in amsterdam

There's a particular relief in (and pride to) the ease I feel in a city like Amsterdam. "Oh, how cosmopolitan you are," I tease myself.

Yet the pride is sincere. I spent so much of my early twenties searching for a sense of belonging to a place after having lost that in a person. I struggled to define myself while blending in, to simultaneously indulge my intellectual as well as my immature cravings.

And in doing so, I learned how to be comfortable be in unfamiliar settings. What made Paris special had little to do with the fact that Paris is Paris but that I chose it and made it home (as opposed to having accepted convenient opportunities). I imagine Amsterdam holds a similar significance for my brother—who's now taking a Spanish course in Spain and will have to repatriate soon enough.

Los Angeles and I, on the other hand, have a slightly different relationship. I came back to the U.S. because I could as much I felt I should—how irresponsible it'd be not to accept a serendipitous job offer. I chose a career, perhaps, but I did not choose this city.

Has it grown on me? Most definitely, though I continue to say I won't stay. I'll admit (as I roll my eyes at myself) that this fact pioneers my insistence of returning to Europe at least once a year. I need the reminder of that aforementioned feeling; to hold onto it.

My days in Amsterdam last fall were spent as a "a lady of leisure".  I walked miles through its narrow streets and ruffled through more shops than I had in all 10 months prior and stopped into museums deemed as having the most intriguing exhibitions. It was so wildly unlike my reality. And each evening, I met up with a beloved "local" at a traditional beer bar or modern food hall. Too good, almost.

The fall before then, I'd chosen to make as many active life choices as possible—I moved across L.A. to a walkable neighborhood feel; I took the time to enjoy the friendships I'd found; I stringently applied for new jobs, a.k.a. only those that 100% excited me. Although I was barely getting by financially, I became happier, firmly self-assured, and eventually, I joined a company that fit the bill.

It was hard to wrap my head around how fortunate I'd gotten—and yet it shouldn't have been. I've worked hard to earn my life here. I have all I need inside me to move forward. And however prideful, I will never once worry I won't be able to relocate when needed.

wilde zwijnen

After my 2009 pre-orientation visit, I didn't expect to return to Amsterdam. Of course I'd enjoyed the charming city, and I'd been introduced to Indonesian cuisine there— as well as polarizing populism: we studied the tensions following Theo Van Gogh's murder by Mohammed Bouyeri, a Dutch, Moroccan, and Muslim man—but I wasn't exactly hooked. Then, Lorelei was hired to work in the Hague and Jorgie was accepted to a Master's program at the University of Amsterdam. Last November 19th, I returned to the Dutch capital for the third time (via a train from Paris) to reunite with my brother and best friends. Rachael had flown in from London.

From Centraal Station, Rachael, Lorelei, and I ventured to Brouwerij't for a beer before our dinner reservations at Wilde Zwijnen, where we then opted for the chef's tasting menu and sparkling apéritifs. By the time Jorgie came to meet us, we were a few glasses of wine in, giddy in our catch-up. We'd already fully debriefed on the then-recent election results. For a night, all felt right in the world.

And it really was, because there's something to be said about being thoroughly cozy and well-nourished, surrounded by those with whom you can freely express ridicule of impending new rules and the elimination of others while also admitting cynicism towards infinite Bey-worship... we're all equally human, no? (I suppose the question itself suggests some of us do "opt for enlightenment".)

cycling along the canals

I had one full day in Amsterdam, and very little planned. Marie (being Marie) had more musts in mind; first and foremost: rent bicycles.

Bonne idée ! And yet, first and foremost we breakfast-ed. We set out for coffee bru--which happened to be closed for construction, but (lucky for us) had set a little mobile stand outside serving caffeine and sugar coffee, tea, and cakes. Then we rented bikes.

We (read: I) haphazardly rode east until coming across a neighborhood market that constituted a quick stop. You should've seen how I struggled with my bike lock. Many onlookers did. But, it was worth it for the chance to mingle with locals and drop into cute shops like this one. From then on, I got "it." What a lovely Dutch way to soak up the scenic city streets and canals! It was also a convenient way to get to the Van Gogh Museum, where we had planned to meet Jorgie and Lorelei.

Marie and Charlotte chose to spend their afternoon in the museums. Jorgie, Lorelei, and I decided otherwise; it was just too gosh darn beautiful out. We enjoyed a food cart-lunch before Vondelpark, where my brother's soon-to-be classmates would picnic. After hellos, Lorelei and I continued on to an outdoor exhibition. It was perfect--the sun, the art, and quality time with my dear friend.

As the sun fell, Lorelei and I shared a quick glass of rosé with my brother and the other fresh new master's students. We felt a happy-nostalgia in their company. We also came up with a plan for the night: rent another bike, freshen up at my airbnb, and finally, meet Jorgie at Campo de' Fiori for a nice, care-free "ciao for now" dinner. After all that walking and cycling, we were ready to feast.

And feast we did! We laughed, and drank too much wine, and filled ourselves to the brim with bruschetta, and pasta, and tiramisu. Special because it'd been shared with Jorgie and Lorelei, the meal made for the most wonderful 3-hour parting with Amsterdam.

My brave brother and I exchanged a short but sweet goodbye. Lorelei and I went for one last Dutch beer at a nondescript pub. Before long, she left to catch a train to The Hague while I waited for Charlotte and Marie to meet me. The three of us rode back in the rain, eventually. I hadn't had any hopes or expectations for that one full day, but holy crap, how my cup runneth over.

happy hours in amsterdam-oost

I stood at the door. The host had given me clear directions to the flat and promised me his friend would meet me at 3 o'clock with the keys. It was 4:18pm (or, 16h18). I called the friend. "Oh, your friend should be inside. She was on time." Which friend, I wondered. Following his instruction, I buzzed up to the flat. It wasn't long before I heard feet running down the stairs. Marie's cousin greeted me. Though I'd never met her in person, I was relieved to immediately recognize Charlotte. She felt the same; little introduction meant she could rest her lost voice. She turned to lead me up three steep and narrow flights. I practically held my suitcase above my head.

Fortunately, the airbnb was as cute and airy as expected. Worth the hike, in other words. My brother rang up a few minutes after I'd caught my breath. Soon after, Marie followed. Properly reunited and introduced, we set out on a leisurely walk to the De Gooyer Windmill. We had made plans to meet Lorelei for happy hour al fresco at Brouwerij 't IJ, Amsterdam's leading organic microbrewery.

The evening advanced organically (pun intended) from there. Thanks to Lorelei's local scoop and Dutch data, we tipsily strolled over to Roest. The laid-back industrial setting was perfect. We enjoyed a couple more beers with a casual spread of picnic food. We also boldly participated in the inflatable backyard fun--a bungee run and a two-man joust--until we discovered it'd been rented for a private event...

Eventually, the night winded down with gin cocktails, whiskey, and wine at Walter's, the Walter Woodbury Bar. It was a classier yet just-as-local haunt with a beautiful interior that was clearly influenced by its namesake--the 19th century English photographer who was one of the first to capture the "exoticism" of the Dutch East Indies. Given the atmosphere and plethora of libations, our conversation became a debate on culture and identity. My brother was absolutely enthralled. "The wonder of grad school abroad," I told him with a smile as we walked back to the airbnb. What a special understanding Jorgie and I now share.