Amsterdam in particular and the Netherlands in general have been a draw for us for a long time. Granted, we got a taste last year, but rolling into the Europort in Rotterdam at 2am on a sailboat that just managed to avoid getting barbecued by lightning above the English channel doesn’t really constitute a typical Dutch experience. Not that I’m entirely sure what that would entail anyway…

Regardless, we decided early that on this second leg of our some-seven months European trip, we’d finally approach the Netherlands rather more conventionally. As we’d arrive from southern Sweden, having mooched sufficiently off of family there, we didn’t have far to go but we still had options. Last year we had taken a rather prolonged Flixbus trip from Rotterdam to Copenhagen. Scheduled 14h but that took 16 with only the first 10 with a working head so we were open to considering other alternatives. Found a cheap flight out of Copenhagen that we promptly booked, only to at check-in realize that despite going with SAS, we had unwittingly procured bottom of the barrel tickets for which checked luggage was not included and cabin luggage was limited to a single, small bag at no more than 8kg. The cost of adding our bags as checked luggage? A breezy 70 Euros each. More than it cost to fly the bags’ owners.

As we weren’t quite ready to give our luggage a viking funeral, we had little choice but to pony up the funds and make our way to Schiphol, Amsterdam. As nice as Amsterdam is, we were going to try something different this time. Owing to the reliable train system, we decided to stay in a sleepy suburb/hamlet called Bussum, right next to picturesque Naarden, instead of in Amsterdam proper. For people who have more than 2-3 days to spend, staying in a different town turned out rather well. While Bussum likely won’t win any prizes as the most action-packed place in the world, it nonetheless provided an authentic and genuine Dutch experience what with red-brick and sandstone architecture, canals aplenty, green space and enough bike lanes that you never had to worry that you might have just stepped onto one because odds are, you were already walking on one anyway.

I thought Scandinavians like to ride their bikes. Even though that is true to a degree, it does not compare to the Dutch. It was humbling of sorts to see a literal majority of all people in these smaller towns whipping around on their bikes. No matter the age. With only very few exceptions, the only people walking were those taking their dogs for a spin. People we reasonably guessed to be in their late seventies at least rode their bikes to pick up groceries etc. And basically no one wore a helmet. Even on motorized scooters which was a bit of a surprise.

Having spent a couple of days walking around in Amsterdam and marvelled at how much more pot people smoke in Vancouver, we decided  it would be shameful to leave without having gone on a proper bike tour through Amsterdam. After a bit of sleuthing, we settled on We bike Amsterdam and their three hour guided bike tour that would take us around the lesser-known sites while getting the skinny on the history of the city that started some 1000 years ago, give or take. Without a doubt, this is the way to get around in Amsterdam. Pedalling our sturdy Mary Poppins-style bikes we went willy-nilly around the various burrows of the city, each with their own story to tell. Normally I shun guided trips, but this was well worth it.

Even though we had had over a week in the Netherlands, we nonetheless got a bit rushed to book travel to our next stop Brussels. At least, I’ll use that as an excuse for the rookie error we committed. With our brains in cruise-control, we booked train tickets from Amsterdam to Brussels despite having experienced first hand that train, certainly in Germany, is a lot more expensive than coach-line buses. What ended up happening was that we stood there shell-shocked having just realized that we just paid 165 Euros for two second class train tickets when we could have taken the Flixbus in the same amount of time for 22 Euros for both of us. I’m not proud of what ensued, but we managed to get the clerk to pity us enough to wave the 136 Euro cancellation fee for the train tickets so that we could make our way south with a few extra bills in our pocket.