I miss Amsterdam like one misses a good friend they haven't seen in ages. Sometimes, on Friday evenings I long to jump on my bike and pedal in the chilly dark to the train station. I long to find a seat by a window and listen to good music as the train speeds and stops, speeds and stops. I long to stand on the platform in Zandaam for just a few more minutes until the connecting train to Amsterdam arrives. I long to feel that thick excitement in my stomach as Amsterdam grows and grows as the train pulls closer and closer. I long for that moment when I step outside the station and begin my march through the city. I long for an adventure in Amsterdam like those weekends passed because the sense of freedom and fun were the best company I have ever had. I miss Amsterdam, my best friend.
Nearly every single time I rode that bike from the last house in the village to the train station in Purmerend, I timed the journey. I did it so often that I am having a hard time even believing that I cannot doubtlessly recall how long it would take to go from the house to the station. 18 minutes on a good day? Or 21? Or did the train leave the station on the hour and then at 21 minutes past the hour? What was the train schedule? I don't even have the stops memorized anymore. Zandaam, of course, was where I would have to switch lines. Purmerend Overwhere was my stop coming back to the village.
But I can recall with certainty the feeling of walking out of Centraal into the open air with the buzz of the city funneling down the main thoroughfares. No matter what the weather and if it was day or night, that feeling was always there. Almost immediately I said that it was akin to meeting a best friend for a weekend get-away. A best friend that is reliable - always there for you to support you. To make you smile when you need it most. To comfort you with chance encounters. To charm you with little moments that seem immeasurable in the span of your entire life but little moments that make you feel infinite nonetheless.
I remember that feeling so well. I didn't really know myself so well then. I was an adventurist. I did not just want to go paces, I wanted to be somewhere. And I still don't know myself all that well right now but that feeling and those excursions and that best friend was all I ever needed, could ever need, if I weren't an adventurist.
The first time I wore this sweatshirt was on a white night in Amsterdam. I had stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve years before but that snow-filled night in a city that was once foreign to me, I was so full of heart. Now I'm living vicariously through that piece of clothing and the memories.
"Oh, hello, old friend," I'll say tonight, even if it is in my sleep. India is my first love. Italy is my greatest love. And Amsterdam is my new-old best friend.
