Our Return Journeys collection delves into the pleasure of revisiting a location from your history—be it an old summer camp adventure or a transformative initial work experience overseas.
This week, The Telegraph’s head of fashion Lisa Armstrong returns to Amsterdam. On first trip to the Netherlands, she was barely older than the rowdy Texan high-school students in her care as a tour guide. Returning proved a more refined – but by no means predictable – experience, and a moving one too
I became enamored with Amsterdam When I wasn't able to go, I was 15 years old. My younger sister Katy, who was only 13, took my place instead. This is how things worked back then—in the '70s—or perhaps this just reflected life in our somewhat disorganized household. Our family didn't take vacations together; with both of my parents being extremely busy during summer due to their work, we had to rely on what schools offered for trips. Since people thought I wouldn't do well at skiing, they sent me on a school cruise as an alternative.
All notions of luxury and Jackie Kennedy vanished as soon as our journey began. The SS Uganda was incredibly rudimentary; perhaps they had to spice things up when, eight years later, she was brought back into service during the Falklands conflict. We were crammed into large cabins situated just beneath the portholes, and the motion sickness was intense. Secure yourselves, the instructors told us. It’s part of the learning experience.
I eagerly anticipated discussing experiences with Katy after her cruise two years later. However, we somehow overlooked the signup deadline, which led my guilty mother to suggest that Katy seek out another form of education—whatever caught her interest. She decided on Amsterdam. Instantly, I felt envious. I didn’t know much about the city, but canals—who wouldn’t love them? Anne Frank .
We didn't learn about the Second World War or the Holocaust in our schooling. Neither my parents nor grandparents ever discussed the latter, so I gathered information from various places such as historical novels, modern war documentaries, and eventually, a visit to Dachau.
Katy’s visit to Amsterdam took education to an entirely different dimension. She went with a group, and their lodging was aboard a houseboat. Visiting museums, art galleries, and attending dull historical tours was highly discretionary. The supervisors were scarcely older than teenagers themselves, and cannabis appeared frequently among the offerings. Nobody contacted child protective services after Katy returned and shared her “enlightening” experiences. I doubt my mother had even heard of marijuana before this.
Before reaching my 21st birthday, I visited Amsterdam for the first time. During summer breaks from university, I managed to secure employment as an untrained tour guide. Reflecting back, this seemed like a violation of the Trade Descriptions Act at the time—assuming such legislation existed in 1982. Frankly, I lacked professional training and orientation skills; reading maps was barely within reach, let alone navigating places where I would lead groups of 40 American high school students who were eager to explore new lands.
However, I was pursuing a degree in French literature and could quote, “ Everywhere I encounter nothing but shallow compliments, unfairness, selfishness, dishonesty, and trickery,” in the language of Molière. The touring company, which we can refer to as Gungho Ltd., concurred that I was perfectly suited for the role.
Gungho possessed an abundance of Coles-style notes for guides. As long as you made sure to read them, you could come across as a blend between Alan Whicker and Mary Beard "When in doubt, smile!" was my guiding principle. Honestly, it (for the most part) proved effective.
Regarding the participants in these trips, some exhibited behavior verging on debauchery. This observation particularly applied to the staff members, whom we expected to serve as role models and sources of guidance. "Ta-ta," remarked Gungho after our 'orientation' session concluded at a seedy Bayswater hotel. "Should you encounter any issues, our working hours are from 8 AM to 5 PM."
The main support during my initial visit to Amsterdam was someone we'll call Patrick—a charismatic rebel. Our group consisted of 40 affable yet extravagantly-living Texans. As soon as we had settled into our mediocre hotel located on one of those less-appealing, out-of-the-way streets away from the picturesque canals, Patrick decided to take charge of the evening itinerary: should we go see the late-night opening at the Rijksmuseum or explore the red-light district instead?
Out of the 40 people who voted, only one chose the museum. We'll call him Alphonse—he had quite an elegant French name even though he came from Texas. He possessed the first Fendi wallet I'd ever laid eyes on and was the sole child on our tour who, as we cruised along the dazzlingly beautiful Grand Canal in Venice, refrained from asking where McDonald’s was located.
Given that it was 1982, obtaining consent from any of the Texas parents wasn't an option. Besides, Patrick didn't strike us as someone who would seek permissions anyway. He reassured a disappointed Alphonse and me with, "Don't fret; this will be educational." This line felt familiar somehow.
I came across some information lately stating that the red-light district has undergone significant cleanup and sanitization efforts. Now, it’s common to see families strolling through the area with young children as tourists. This feels far more disturbing compared to what Patrick did. To clarify, I wouldn’t describe my visit as uplifting; rather, it felt disheartening and exploitative. The performers engaged in explicit acts appeared visibly under the influence of substances that even at age 21, I recognized weren’t marijuana.
While I cannot comment on how it affected the rest, everybody remained unusually silent during our walk back. However, dear, diligent, almost-ready-to-confess-his-sexuality Alphonse along with three others escaped through the window that same evening using the hotel linens as ropes and vanished for several hours. As expected, the shredded bed sheets instead of the absent teenagers alerted the hotel staff, pushing them from merely annoyed to outright furious. This incident left a black stain on Gungho Ltd.'s reputation. In subsequent years, whenever I recalled Amsterdam, my mind often conjured images tainted by seedy undertones.
The following visits didn’t have as many dramatic moments, yet they were much more pleasant. Each stay brought better accommodations than the last. I made sure to steer clear of roads flanked by vendors selling cheap plastic tulips and flashy bars. Once, during wintertime, I traveled with an Aussie who had relocated to the UK precisely because he disliked the warmth back home; we found locals gliding across the frozen canals instead. In summertimes, vibrant red and white blossoms overflowed from window boxes.
I tried out pickled herring breakfasts – my favorite type – and visited smoky cannabis cafes (without smoking), shed tears at the Anne Frank Museum, became enamored with Van Gogh’s artwork, and grew intrigued by Dutch Old Masters.
Amsterdam seemed like just about every ideal aspect of a city: majestic, warm, welcoming, vibrant, spontaneous, and entirely pedestrian-friendly. However, unintentionally, I ceased visiting regularly. The arrival of young kids ended short getaways. As they grew older, our vacations shifted towards beach destinations... To us both, it felt more suited for backpackers (my spouse had once traveled there via train pass) and unencumbered twentysomethings.
Earlier this year, I had the chance to read Thunderclap by Laura Cumming , an art critic who adores 17th-century Dutch art and has a knack for making you feel compelled to view the paintings she writes about in person. We opted to take the train all the way up from Bari in southern Italy , where we had been vacationing with friends, traveling through Bologna, Zurich, and Paris... and indeed, the trains remain punctual in Switzerland, unlike anywhere else. As for the cuisine? You'll never grumble over a Great Western Railway sandwich ever again. During many trips, all they offered were chips.
We nearly burst out laughing when we finally reached our hotel three hours behind schedule – it was remarkably sophisticated, offering non-stop tasty meals. The Pulitzer near the Prinsengracht canal It was a significant improvement over my earlier visits; I half-expected staff to slide up the climb-on beds stealthily. I had been told wonderful stories regarding the comfort, stunning setting, indoor/outdoor bars, Dyson hair dryers, dining options, and the recently opened spa — yet nothing truly prepared me for how quirky and delightful it turned out to be.
Created from 25 historic townhouses dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries, each space offers a distinct experience filled with antiques and vintage treasures. Our journey began in The Flower Collector’s Suite, an enchanting two-room ode to the city’s rich floral heritage, newly launched this year as a reinterpretation of a 19th-century tulip trader’s abode—think pink parlor paired with a deep emerald-green bedroom adorned with pictures. Due to their bustling schedule, we relocated to another accommodation on our second evening: a more compact suite offering views over a spacious, verdant inner court.
The wealthy merchants responsible for constructing these dazzling seven-story buildings, which evoke familiarity with anyone acquainted with Lower Manhattan, would likely endorse the Pulitzer's present form. This new iteration encapsulates Amsterdam's character quite well: appearing organized and conventional from the exterior but revealing an eccentric interior once explored.
The canals had unexpectedly few visitors. Initially, the never-ending cobblestone lanes filled with red-brick gabled homes appear as an ideal representation of cohesive city planning. However, upon closer inspection, every house stands out uniquely; although many have undergone extensive renovations rivaling those seen in Architectural Digest, boasting charming cottage gardens both inside pots and within the waterways themselves, some buildings still host squatters adorned with banners opposing gentrification (uprising awaits).
Some lean so dangerously that you worry they won’t last much longer. You could spend your days joyfully meandering across the three primary canals that encircle the city’s medieval center in a semi-circular path, frequently entering and exiting cafes (whether they serve weed or not — there's noticeably less marijuana smell in Amsterdam compared to London), and exploring the somewhat askew home decor and clothing shops.
Amsterdam boasts numerous chain stores as well, yet it maintains an active local design community. A prime example is Róhe, a young fashion brand established three years ago which rivals Sweden-based Toteme in popularity within the Netherlands. Additionally, Ace & Tate glasses and Wandler handbags and footwear enjoy recognition beyond national borders. Don’t miss out on visiting Carmen Amsterdam, known for being both chic and multifunctional – serving as a coffee shop, inn, and retail space dedicated to showcasing homegrown talent. Should you require some rejuvenation following your explorations, head over to the recently opened Beauty House featuring personalized massage and facial treatments located near Prinzengraft; this establishment falls under the management of The Putlizer group.
You can’t not visit the Rijksmuseum – packed, despite timed entry, and if you want to get within 15 feet of The Night Watch You might need to wait until the crowd thins out at the Van Gogh Museum. In both places, we utilized the audio tours—these were quite decent and guaranteed that we viewed all the key exhibits.
Even better was the VoiceMap audio walking tour we did through central Amsterdam. We selected one titled Power and Politics , offering us a 90-minute glimpse into the era when Amsterdam was at the forefront of global affairs. If VoiceMap is unfamiliar to you, I highly recommend downloading their app. It provides access to over 1,300 tours across 68 nations, with prices ranging from free to £16 (you can share this cost among multiple listeners by connecting several pairs of headphones). The audio content includes contributions from passionate locals as well as seasoned professionals such as guides, authors, and scholars.
Power and Politics led us through tight alleyways, beside Rembrandt’s impressive residence and the headquarters of the Dutch East India Company (the source of much of Amsterdam’s prosperity in the 17th century and its charming-but-troubled architectural heritage), before bringing us to its contemporary harbor.
We had also made reservations – well ahead of time, since you have to do that for everything Amsterdam’s main attractions — A visit to Anne Frank’s House, which has significantly grown since then. The expansion was handled tastefully, complete with a superb audio guide featuring footage of Miep Gies, one of the individuals who bravely assisted those in hiding, including Otto Frank, Anne’s father. It struck me during my recent trip that he passed away just two years prior to when I initially visited Amsterdam.
Though larger today, within the modern glass addition lies the small apartment where the Frank and van Pels families concealed themselves from the Nazis over a span of two years. Accessible through a tight spiral stairway hidden behind a bookshelf, this place has turned into a hotspot for unauthorized photographs (oddly out of place yet seemingly unavoidable for many visitors). The courage displayed by those who assisted these families evokes deep admiration; their suffering brings sorrow, but also highlights humanity’s remarkable ability to endure.
Even if you visit only one place in Amsterdam, make it this one; encompassing the darkness, the brightness, the virtues, and the flaws.
Prices for a standard room at the Pulitzer begin at £412 per night. The cost for the Flower Collector’s Suite starts from £850. For additional details, please visit pulitzeramsterdam.com
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