Amsterdam was almost everything you’d want from a city. Then, without meaning to, I stopped going...
Our Return Journeys series delves into the pleasure of a trip back to a place from one's past - whether it's a summer camp from one's childhood or a first job overseas that really left its mark.
This week, The Telegraph's fashion editor Lisa Armstrong is heading back to Amsterdam. On her first visit to the Netherlands, she was barely older than the boisterous Texan high-school students in her charge as a tour guide then. Returning proved to be a more refined – but by no means foreseeable – experience, and a truly emotional one too.
Because I was too young to go, my younger sister Katy, who was 13 at the time, went instead. That was the typical situation back then. Or more specifically, that's how it was in our household, which was a bit chaotic. Family holidays were never taken when I was a teenager. My parents' business was busiest during the summer, so holidays were not an option.
Luxury and the recreational image of the SS Uganda disappeared the moment we set off. The vessel was far from extravagant and probably even had to be upgraded when it was drafted into the Falklands War eight years later. We were crammed into large dormitories and sea sickness was extreme. The teachers advised "Batten down, it's a learning experience."
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We weren't educated about the Second World War or the Holocaust in school. As my parents and grandparents never discussed the latter, I had to gather information from various channels, such as historical romances and Anne, contemporary war footage and also a visit to Dachau.
Katy's Amsterdam adventure was a completely new level of educational. The trip was a group affair and the accommodation was on a barge. Museums, galleries and the usual boring sightseeing tours were far from essential. The adults in charge were not much older than teenagers and there seemed to be a vast array of something called cannabis on offer. My mum likely had no idea what cannabis was, let alone the other things that Katy had tried to describe.
I didn't set foot in Amsterdam until I was 21, a university break coming at exactly the right time for me to snag a job as a tour guide. I won the role in 1982, but I have to admit it was a bit of a scandal legally - there was no formal training or certification, and I had a disturbing lack of map-reading skills, not to say experience leading tours in the places I'd be taking a group of 40 American schoolchildren.
I was studying French literature at the time and had a working knowledge of Molière’s plays, including the aspect where the character says, "Everywhere I find nothing but base flattery, injustice, self-interest, deceit and roguery." It was this sort of educational background that made the people at Gungho Ltd think I was the perfect candidate.
'A fair measure of good cheer always seemed to weather any uncertain situation.' To be honest, it (mostly) did.
A comment on the groups who attended these tours. Some were extremely unruly and dubious. And that was just the teachers, who we were told would be our morally responsible and authoritative guides. ‘Cheerio,’ said Gungho at the end of our ‘induction’ day in a questionable Bayswater hotel. ‘Any difficulties, our contact hours are eight to five.’
My trusted second-in-command on my first trip to Amsterdam, accompanied by 40 Texan students in high spirits, was someone we'll refer to as Patrick, a charismatic anti-establishment figure. As we were settling into our unpretentious hotel in a part of town that didn't exactly live up to the postcard image, Patrick took charge of the evening's agenda: a late-night visit to the Rijksmuseum or a trip to the red-light district?
Out of the 40 people who voted, Alphonse, a Texan lad with a rather sophisticated French name, was the only one who nominated the museum. He stood out as he owned the first Fendi wallet any of us had ever seen, and was singular in not asking for directions to McDonald's when we took a gondola ride down the breathtakingly beautiful Grand Canal in Venice.
It being the year 1982, it was impossible to seek permission from the parents of a Texan expedition. Even if it had been possible, Patrick didn't strike me as the sort to ask permission. ‘Don't worry,’ he told a disappointed Alphonse and me, ‘it will be enlightening.’ Where had I come across that phrase before?
I came across a report that the area notorious for its red-light district has undergone quite a transformation and is now considered family-friendly, with even tourists strolling through the area with their young children. The thought of this is quite disturbing, especially given the experiences I had. The visit I made was indeed a bleak and exploitative affair, with the performers clearly under the influence of something much stronger than cannabis.
I can't comment on how others reacted, but everyone was eerily silent on our way back home, aside from my dear, studious, and on the brink of coming out, friend Alphonse, and three others, who scaled out the window under the hotel's sheets and went AWOL for a few hours. As a natural consequence, it was the ripped sheets that sealed fate for the hotel's management, haven't they just been trespassing when they turned hostile towards us? That earlier incident earned Gungho Ltd a black mark. Ever since, whenever Amsterdam came to mind, it was surrounded by a haze of seedy associations.
Subsequent visits were never as eventful, but I found them more enjoyable. The hotels continued to improve over time. I discovered that it was best to steer clear of the streets lined with vendors selling tacky flower arrangements and gaudy pubs. One winter, I accompanied an Australian who had settled in the UK because he detested the hot weather in his birthplace, and I saw the locals ice-skating on the canals. In the summer, red and white flowers flowed from the colourful flower boxes.
I sampled pickled herring breakfasts, my personal favourite, and explored smoke-free cannabis cafes for a unique experience. At the Anne Frank museum, I was emotionally moved to tears. I also developed a deep appreciation for Van Gogh's paintings and a greater interest in the works of the Dutch old masters.
Amsterdam was virtually the perfect city in every way - grand, homely, welcoming, energetic, unpredictable, and wonderfully pedestrian-friendly. However, my mini-breaks to this city came to an abrupt halt after having children. My offspring were always a bit too energetic for a leisurely visit. Meanwhile, our kids' ageing meant seaside holidays were now the preferred choice for our family vacations. For my husband and me, Amsterdam was still a place we normally associated with young travellers who were backpacking, such as when he travelled by InterRail, and free-spirited twenty-somethings.
While abroad with friends, we had stops in Bologna, Zurich, and Paris - although it's true the trains operate punctually in Switzerland, not in other places. As for meals, be grateful for British railway sandwiches - during many trips, we only had crisps to eat.
This stay was an absolute upgrade in comparison to my previous visits, I'd have expected someone to remove the climb-up sheets and sneak off. I'd heard fantastic things about the comfort, the beautiful setting, the bars which flow between the inside and outside, the Dyson hairdryers, the restaurant and the new spa – but I wasn't prepared for the unique and quirky touches.
Converted from 25 houses of merchants from the 17th to the 18th centuries, each room has a unique character, filled with old and vintage pieces. We started in The Flower Collector's Suite, a charming two-storey tribute to the city's rich floral heritage, which opened this year. It's a recreation of a 19th-century trader's home from the tulip era – a pastel-pink drawing room; a dark green bedroom with a wall of pictures – due to being fully booked, we moved on to our second night to a smaller room overlooking a large, verdant courtyard.
The affluent merchants who constructed these dazzling seven-storey buildings, a sight all too familiar to anyone who's walked around Lower Manhattan, would likely appreciate the Pulitzer's contemporary state, which encapsulates Amsterdam's spirit: outwardly harmonious and traditional, yet unexpectedly quirky on the inside.
The canals were untypically quiet as far as tourists were concerned. Initially, the seemingly endless cobblestone streets lined with red-brick gabled houses appear to be a perfectly uniform example of harmonious urban design. However, a closer look reveals each house is unique, with many having been tastefully renovated to a high standard, complete with lovely cottage-style gardens in containers outside, and even occasionally in the canals themselves. Sometimes, though, you'll pass by a house occupied by squatters, flaunting anti-gentrification signs (displaying a call for the revolution).
Others sway precariously, making you worry they might topple over at any moment. You could easily spend your days wandering along the three main canals that curve around the city's medieval centre, popping in and out of coffee shops (some of which serve cannabis, by the way - unlike Amsterdam, it's not as smoky in London) and browsing the quirky homeware and fashion boutiques.
Amsterdam boasts a good balance of big names and a thriving local design scene. Róhe, a young three-year-old fashion line that's gaining a significant cult following, is often compared to Toteme, a popular Swedish brand. High-end options include Ace & Tate eyewear and Wandler's stylish bags and shoes, both of which have won international admirers. A visit to Carmen Amsterdam, a chic café, guest house and shop that features only Dutch designers, is also a good idea. If you're in need of a pick-me-up, the newly opened Beauty House on Prinzengracht offers bespoke massages and facials courtesy of The Putlizer.
You may have to wait for the crowd to disperse – or go to the Van Gogh Museum. In both cases, we employed an audio tour – they're not great but ensure you see the highlights.
Which gave us a 90-minute tour of what it was like living in Amsterdam when that was the global hub. If you're not familiar with VoiceMap, give yourself a treat and download the app. You'll be able to choose from 1,300 tours across 68 countries, with prices ranging from £0 to £16 - a true bargain if you connect two sets of headphones to a mobile phone, allowing you to split the cost between two people.
Took us down narrow lanes, past Rembrandt's impressive house and the head office of the Dutch East India Company (a source of much of Amsterdam's 17th-century wealth and its lovely buildings with a somewhat dubious history), and out into its present-day harbour.
A visit to Anne Frank's house, which has now been considerably expanded. The expansion has been carried out tastefully, with an exceptional audio guide and footage of Miep Gies, one of the people who took a huge risk to support the families in hiding, and Otto Frank, Anne's father – although I only discovered this time round that he passed away just two years before I first visited Amsterdam.
A larger section has been added to the house, but the cramped flat where the Frank and Van Pels families lived in hiding for two years remains within its sleek glass extension. Those visiting can gain access through a narrow, claustrophobic staircase that is concealed behind a bookcase. This area has become a popular spot for taking selfies, despite the fact it is a restricted area. Some visitors, however, seem to think that a photo opportunity is more important than respecting the poignant history of this site.
If you only have time for one thing in Amsterdam, this is it; the city's diverse essence, covering both the dimly lit and the radiant, the commendable and the unpleasant.
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