I slipped the keycard into a pocket and left the hotel just after sunrise. I was groggy, having slept fitfully. I was intent on clocking an easy run through a narrow park we’d strolled past the night before, and I’d spent the majority of the evening retracing the steps we had taken back from dinner.
Amsterdam is a beautiful city with its tall, narrow buildings, some of them leaning gently over boat-lined canals.
It looked different in the morning. Red lights surprised me. And I hadn’t noticed the confetti of cigarette ends, until I witnessed shopkeepers sweeping them into grates and the end of the sidewalks.
The plantings looked a little wild and untended but also fierce and fine.
Perfectly matching the blur of this morning commute. A young woman with a messy bun and a tailored coat sits tall on her bike as she glides quickly through an intersection and joins the flow of traffic. She is followed by a boy, then a girl; a mother with a child in cargo; a man with a briefcase; an older woman with flowers; two friends holding hands.
It was mostly quiet except for the occasional ting-ting of a bell.
The sun was intent on cracking into my skull as I made my way to Vondelpark, a 47 hectare- (about 116 acres) urban oasis with nearly three-miles of soft and hard track meaning through lush scenery.
The crocuses and daffodils had already made their debut. The early blossoms seemed like a gift to us, having practically shoveled our way out of the driveway a fortnight ago just to get to the airport.
Honestly, I was surprised but delighted to see the gate at only the five-minute mark on my journey. Perhaps all roads heading west would have led me there eventually.
I needn’t have worried myself awake, imagining myself a sprung spring in the Amsterdam clockwork … irritating the local folks just trying to get in their workouts, or taking in the fresh air of the new season as they make their way to school and work. And me - the stranger - destined to get in the way.
Because the flow of the city was apparent from just watching it move around me. I couldn’t even miss the gaps where I should aim to fit into its current.
On the street, the bikes rode on smooth, red lanes while pedestrians ambled down textured pavers. Where crossings happened, the peddlers slowed and the amblers sped up to accommodate each other. At intersections, each pack waited patiently for their symbols to turn green.
Bikes crossed where there were arrows painted on the asphalt and walkers crossed where there were parallel stripes.
In the park, the rules seemed to widen. Runners and bikers shared the main road; bikers stayed centered, navigating smoothly around runners who clung to the edges. Walkers, some with dogs on leashes, and one with a cat, kept to the pebbled pathways and grassy fields.
Together, we moved clockwise and counterclockwise around the park. The birds singing, bells chiming, the scent of blossoms in the air.
Before I knew it, and without ever stopping to take a single picture, I had connected my loop. I briefly considered making another circle before admitting there wouldn’t be time. I would still need to fit in a shower and breakfast before trekking out to the museum queue for our advance-ticketed time slot.
I still have miles to go before I sleep.
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