I woke up in Amsterdam this morning and looked out of my apartment window at a scene that transported me instantly to 35 years ago. The summer of 1980 I had the opportunity to spend the season in a friend’s vacated apartment on the lovely Prinsengracht Canal of central Amsterdam. Eager to escape the aftermath of a failed romance, I jumped at the chance of a change of scene. Amsterdam proved to be a worthy choice of destination to replace my sorrows with everything new and different. I was learning then, about one of the great values of travel. But this morning, a few days after a birthday celebrating my advanced age, I’ve no need for escape. My view from the windows of this flat in a 17th century canal house, is a scene of winter sunshine sparkling on the water, of Amsterdamers bundled up against the cold, on bicycles going about their daily tasks, of smokestacks from the stoves of houseboats, of vendors setting up to sell mandarins and vintage furs and books and china at the neighborhood street market. The scene cheers me and makes me feel excited about the week I have ahead to visit this city I loved once, and so happy to revisit the places and memories that await me here.
