Amsterdam, the City of Unforced Creativity

Last October, I happened to find my way to Amsterdam for the third time in my life. This time, however, it was different from any time before. Mostly, because this time I separated from the group of people I knew and found myself wandering around the streets of Amsterdam all by myself. I fell in love with the atmosphere of this place so much that I could easily imagine myself moving into a little apartment in one of the tiny streets. Following the footsteps of so many writers and painters who came here to create, collaborate and dream. From Rembrandt to Van Gogh, this place has unleashed the muse of some of the most famous artists of all time.

Among the general public, Amsterdam is known as a spot which gave the term "coffee shop" a very different meaning and I'd be lying if I said I did not enjoy that as well. Despite being a big supporter of THC and psychedelics legalisation, Amsterdam, in my opinion, deserves recognition for so much more than that.

After two days of an intense Biohacker Summit which I originally came for, I felt like spending some time with no one but my camera. I planned to visit the Van Gogh museum for the second time, nearly nine years since my first visit. As you can imagine, as a seventeen-year-old at the time, I was not quite ready to savour Van Gogh's creative genius properly. This time, on the other hand, I left the museum feeling deeply astonished and inspired. I put on a podcast about the life of Van Gogh and started wandering around the city, leaving any possible destination to chance. With each passing minute, I found myself lost in the palette of early autumn leaves and picturesque architecture, all while diving deep into the unfortunate fate of my favourite impressionist. Somehow I appeared in a mysterious part of the city which was poetically quiet. Hardly anyone could be spotted on the streets, and a car barely ever passed by. No shops, no bars, only dozens of bikes parked in front of each house to discreetly suggest the presence of local life. It was like a hidden part of history, surviving years of touristification to carefully preserve the touch of old times.

Who would have thought that a simple walk on one's own could be so fulfilling? As it started to get dark, I was pulled out of my trance by the cold. The podcast finished, I took out my headphones, and could hear some voices around the corner. I then saw a couple of people having a cigarette in front of a place which, from the outside, appeared to be a very local pub. I thought that it would be a good idea to have a tea before I figure out where I am. As I walked inside, I felt again like stepping beyond the curtain of time. The inside was decorated inconspicuously in the style of the 50s with wooden lining, and old photos hanging on the walls.

The place was neither busy nor very quiet, and the only language I could hear was Dutch. I ordered a tea and sat down by a window. Oh, how much I enjoyed that tea. Every sip of it. I drank it slowly and fully, just like I did everything that day. Sometimes even something so simple, such as drinking a tea, can be the most beautiful moment. Then, a guy with a bowler hat gently snapped me out of it as he started talking to me. He himself looked like from a different century, kind of as an embodiment of Jazz. He was asking about my camera, which laid on the table. “I like the old school look”, he said about my dear Fujifilm xt-4. The guy was from New York, and he revealed to me that collecting cameras was his hobby. “Today I bought another one” he said and pointed towards the table he was sitting at. He came to Amsterdam for a short visit. Despite me never having been to New York, I couldn't help but somehow see New York in him. Probably because of the whole jazzy look, namely his hat and a leather jacket with a shirt underneath. After our short but interesting chat, he returned to his table.

I opened the maps to check where I was and set up a meeting with my friends. On the way out of the bar, I stopped by the guy's table to have a look at his new film camera. It was a Kodak. I wished him all the best and stepped out of the café. In about three minutes of a peaceful walk I got to a busy road, loud trams passing by and many people walking down the street. "Back in 2022", I thought. I went to meet up with my friends for dinner and a ''coffee'' which I couldn't say no to.

After that day, I was running on inspiration and felt at peace with myself and with the world. For a long time, I had struggled to sense my inner muse. I knew she was there, however, silenced by the limitations of the unfocused and troubled mind of mine. It must have been the Amsterdam air that woke her up again. The consequences of one day in the streets of Amsterdam were immediate. After coming back, I finally launched my Instagram photography page, something that I was putting off for so long. I also started editing a documentary after about ten months of not even touching it.

My advice for anyone who is struggling to overcome the figurative blank page syndrome (so not only you writers, but anyone who's feeling stuck) would be to spend at least a day on your own. You can listen to a podcast on creativity or about someone who inspires you. Visit a nice coffee place, bookshop, gallery, or a museum. Don't make a plan, don't stress yourself about how many tasks there are on your list, just ease yourself into the possibilities of a new day. And always keep your eyes open, even if only metaphorically.