I arrived in Amsterdam to an ordinarilly drizzly day and made my way in by some combination of train and bus, the details of which are kept foggy by jetlag. It’s easy to be struck by either of the city’s extremes; the picturesque and positively poetic canals are met with a grungier (though hardly seedy) undercurrent that is simultaneously ill-fitting and well devised, but don’t let yourself be distracted by the Italian tourists or the medieval architecture, Amsterdam’s strength is in its subtleties, not its smokeshops.

The residents of this self-acclaimed “global city” are an international bunch, diverse enough that finding traditional Dutch fare is somewhat of a rarity among the numerous Indonesian, Surinamese (which is from…where exactly?), and Mediterranian fast food joints lining the alleyways.  The hotspot strikes me as constantly in flux, somewhere between a celebrity A-lister and a novellist only revered post-mortem. Amsterdamers have already changed their identity once in my short lifetime and I’ve no doubt that the faces of the populous, the city itself, and the cultural vibe will change yet again well before this current generation cedes to the next.

Adding to the general topsy turvy, the Holland hub is blanketed by a layer of seemingly endless construction and urban revitalisation projects that knock the tourist in me straight out of paradise; I can only imagine how it grates on the locals, all of whom appear to be managing just fine on their menagerie of bicycles. The famed must-sees are nothing compared to the impressive image of a single dad carting three toddlers and four bags of grogeries on his single-gear bicycle, or of a tuxedo-clad resident toting a contrabass to what I assume is practice, though from the way he’s matered the delicate balance required to keep such an unseemly load semi-stable has me convinced me he’s capable of anything. I’ve been even more taken aback by the Dutch sense of hospitality, gezellig as they call it, which extends well beyond common courtesy and differs from other European sensibilities foremost in its depth.  Such observations, quite impenetrable at first glance, are quickly broken by a squabble with a passing tram or a nice big wad of spit aimed in your vecinity.

Idyllic it is not, but still, I remain struck by how three dimensional Amsrterdam is. There are a number of assholes and ill-wishing Amsterdamers, but for each is a warm, if eccentric person such as Jay of Jay’s Juices, who has nicknames for his regulars and calls each new patron pet names. Each traveller has his or her preferences and opinions, but to call the Dutch cold would seem inaccurate to even the most disapproving of passers-through. Reserved, yes, formal, perhaps, but when has a strong conviction in defense of personal choice been anything but admirable?  Nor is misunderstood or overlooked an accurate descriptor.

In fact, verbalising the Dutch experince is precisely the problem. How do you explain the outlook of a people with a history as rich and a culture as diverse as these? How do you give creedence to a place so one-off and yet so pilfered as this? You see for yourself, drinking alongside the clientelle of a local brown cafe. You watch and learn at any of the small parks tucked inside the crook of intersecting canals. You listen to tellers effortlessly switch between languages when you’re in line to buy your kaas and broog (cheese and bread). You feel it when you walk the border between the old and new sides of Amsterdam, because, as I’ve tried to illustrate in these meagre words, this city surpasses and disappoints all your conceptions beyond description. Simply put, Amsterdam marches to its own beat.