Amsterdam is a city of layers. You can find whatever version of it you are looking for, depending on the time of day and the street you choose to turn down. On this particular Tuesday, my version of the city stretched from the profoundly intimate world of the Van Gogh brothers to the midnight calm of the historic canals.
If you want to truly see Vincent van Gogh, you have to beat the crowds. Having reserved my ticket well ahead of time, I stepped into the museum at 9:30 AM. The morning light was soft, the galleries were relatively quiet, and for a few hours, I could lose myself not just in the heavy, textured brushstrokes, but in the tragic, beautiful story behind them.
I have always been deeply moved by the bond between Vincent and his brother, Theo. It is rare to find a relationship so fiercely supportive, yet so filled with shared pain. But during this visit, I found myself thinking about another crucial figure in this story: Jo van Gogh-Bonger, Theo’s wife.
Learning more about her sisterly devotion to Vincent added a whole new layer of emotion to the gallery. When Jo and Theo welcomed their newborn son, they named him Vincent Willem, after his uncle. To celebrate the arrival of his little nephew, Vincent painted Almond Blossoms—a breathtaking canopy of delicate white and pink petals reaching into a brilliant blue sky. Standing in front of it, knowing it was meant to hang over a baby's crib as a symbol of new life, was unforgettable.
Before leaving, I spent some time in the museum shop, wanting to take a piece of this history home with me. I walked out with two books: Vincent van Gogh: A Life in Letters, and a beautiful little volume titled Vincent van Gogh and Japan.
Diving into his letters feels like stepping directly into his mind. In one of his letters to Theo, Vincent beautifully captured the very drive that made him paint until his final days:
"I am a man of passions, capable of and prone to doing more or less foolish things, which I happen to regret more or less afterwards... It's a matter of trying to use this passion to good end."
— Vincent to Theo, July 1880
As night fell, the mood of the city shifted entirely. I decided to walk through the Red Light District (De Wallen). It was exactly what you would expect: a dense, swirling crowd of tourists, flashing neon signs reflecting off the dark water, and a chaotic, buzzy energy. It is an undeniable part of Amsterdam’s identity, but after a while, the sensory overload made me crave a change of pace.
I crossed over into the Jordaan district, and it felt like stepping into another world entirely. The transition was instant and incredibly relaxing.
The historic streets were fascinating—narrow, quiet, and lined with beautifully lit townhouse windows. I lost all track of time, walking well past midnight, entirely content to aimlessly wander the charming, labyrinthine neighborhoods.
Eventually, I found exactly what I was looking for: a little spot called Spanjer en van Twist. I grabbed a seat outside, right by the edge of the canal. There, under the glow of the streetlamps, I sat back with a chilled glass of Chardonnay and a plate of warm empanadas. Watching the occasional bicycle click past and listening to the water lap against the canal walls was the perfect, quiet bookend to a day that began with the vibrant blossoms of Van Gogh.
