Amsterdam in Springtime is more than a city and a season. It’s almost as though the warm sun, canals, spring blossoms and undulated streets form a character of their own. It’s a city teeming with history and yet, in spring time, it feels like it’s barely beginning.

Waking in the city, we head straight for coffee. The cafés in Amsterdam are a plenty and it’s on my first trip here that I find ‘my’ coffee shop – a big deal for someone traveling all the time. That’s how this city has always felt to me, actually. Like it opens itself up to you to find your favourite parts.

We get around on bikes, of course. Sixty-three percent of Dutch people use bikes as their main form of transport so all of the city is designed for the constant quiet clicking of wheels. In fact, in the city, there are actually more bikes than residents. Between that, pedestrians, trams and some cars, it’s a city of chaotic design and the best thing you can do is to slot into its rhythm.

We ride to Vondelpark and loop through the wide pathways, the sun starting to heat up and people opening their picnic rugs to the day to come. Soon the rugs will be filled with cheese and wines but for now, it’s young and old lovers making the most of the morning.

We weave out of the greenery and back into the more bustling lunch time. There is a spot in Amsterdam that enchants me every time and I return there like a touch stone to pass by. The first time I was here, I was so surprised by the city. What I had heard were tales of tourists but not the story of the city. The buildings have quirk and charm and often a little slant to them, the accent around you is strangely familiar and all the while, totally undecipherable and all of the parts of the city that make outsiders think it scandalous are really…just…not. And all of this culminated in me falling in love with the city slowly and all within a moment. We head to the Rijksmuseum, home to paintings of Rembrandt, Vermeer and Van Gogh. The building in itself is a deep red brick, tall and proud standing. But my favourite part is the arch beneath – the portal through the very centre of the museum with glass windows giving you a peak into the underground exhibitions. It’s my favourite because of the echo. Violinists, cellists and classical musicians frequent the area for the acoustics. It was my first time in Amsterdam and, overwhelmed by the need to keep my wits about me cycling in this whirlwind city, we passed through into the belly and all of a sudden, my whole head swelled with the echo of the music. It gets louder and louder as we pass the source, the wind around us with our cycling speed and then, all of a sudden, it over. We are out the other side, the echo gone. Like we passed through the museum, through the music, and out the other side to another new part of Amsterdam waiting to greet us. I remember how enchanted I felt in that moment. How free I felt in my life.

We spend our days thrift shopping, eating cheeses on the grass, walking through the flower markets and commenting on the unique houses all sardined together, each a little different than its neighbour. I always think of Princess Diana in the afternoon as we wander through markets full of tulip bulbs. Dutch white tulips were laid at her funeral as a gift of solidarity and sadness upon her death and it always strikes me as the simplest, sweetest gift between two countries in a time of grief.

We ride past the palace and marvel at its centrality. So public, so golden. We wander through Dam Square and I revel in being amongst people all my height, a real rarity.

As the afternoon sun starts to dip into golden hour, revellers of the incoming Summer find strange boats to float down the canals on. I see couches turned into sea-faring vessels and small boats packed to their brim. There is music and costume and laughter under the bridges of the city and always an unusual site to be seen. We drop off our bikes at our local store and head to shower before the night begins.

Spring evenings are still warm and we walk ourselves to the base of St Nicholas’ Church. The structure is so impressive and ominous, it’s an easy meeting point to find. Built in the 1800s, it became home to Catholics forced to practice their faith in secret in the Netherlands and beyond. Nowadays, its often a place weary tourists come to find a moment’s quiet in the city. An evening in Amsterdam is incomplete without descending to sea level and so we board the river cruise for our dinner. The city itself sits below sea level and has more bridges than Venice so the journey around the endless canals, while we sip our wine amongst the fairy lights, is a dream.

It’s early as the sunsets and the city is warming up for the night that is to come but for now, it’s simply calm and golden. We too, will head out into the merriment in a few hours and join the fun. We will head for London tomorrow, always a little sleep deprived but always wanting to return to this place I can’t quite get enough of. I’d love to see it now without quite as many tourists. I can imagine the city offering up little surprises to its unknowing passers-by, maybe a small thank you from the cobblestones having a small reprieve from centuries of foot traffic. But it won’t be long until its back in the arms of all of us who feel like we’ve only scratched the surface. As John Green said, “Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the centre.” I mean, isn’t that a little true for all of us?