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Amsterdam, the Netherlands (Solo)
Saturday, October 18, 2025
When I was younger, I used to tell others that I "didn't like to travel". In fact, some of my early posts on this very space contained such claims, writing off going on trips as a frivolous activity, and they can of course still be that way, if planned in a particular manner.
The truth is, those statements were probably made with the intention to convince myself of that fact, stemmed from an unacknowledged insecurity, because I never had the privilege of going abroad often while growing up. To be clear though, I never felt lacking in this regard.
In between then and now, something changed. I started relishing discovering cultures other than my own, and enjoying the strange irony of feeling smaller the more countries I opened my heart and mind to. I even considered taking a two year gap before starting university to become a flight attendant in bid to take in as much of the world in my "youth", but eventually chose a path in university that allowed me to go abroad on the school's dime, which then led to my current job that I get to travel pretty extensively for, while also being in a position to afford trips for pure leisure.
Yet, I still hadn't experienced anything quite as life changing as the 10 days I spent in Amsterdam on my own in 2023, a trip I can only describe as the best trip of my life. And this status still holds true two years and 27 trips later, including a repeat visit to the beautiful city, because the pure moments of serendipity from summer that year showed me that I truly needed to be there at that point in time, at that point of my life. I could not make these moments up even if I wanted to.
Instead of my usual trip/ itinerary recaps, I want to focus on what made it all so incredibly soul-moving.
The Intention
more than a decade-long dream fulfilled
While I had been on solo trips or solo legs of extended trips, I'd usually meet someone in the foreign city, so I do consider this trip to be my first full-fledged independent travel experience. So what was the pull factor for me–why Amsterdam, and why then?
Until today, my favourite artiste of all time is Watsky, and I've blogged about him on here several times before, with the earliest one dating 2011 and the most recent in 2016. Admittedly, over the years I've become less expressive about my love for his craft, but he never fails to top my Spotify Wrapped charts annually, even in the years that he doesn't put out any new music.
Over 15 years ago, I'd posted on his Facebook wall (yes, when that feature still existed), saying that I'd hope to one day see him perform live, perhaps when he does a world tour which includes Singapore as a stop. Unfortunately, Watsky's talent remains somewhat undiscovered in Asia (to everyone's loss, may I add). At the ripe age of 26 and as someone earning my own keep, there was absolutely nothing stopping me from travelling to where he actually has a fan base.
And so I did.
The concert experience deserves its own standalone recap, but beyond that, the act of attending a concert I could only dream of more than a decade ago was a tangible representation of several facets of growth for me personally; of independence, of (relative) financial abundance, and of courage.
The Foreshadowing
an unknowing glimpse into my future
Interestingly, Amsterdam was not my first choice destination. When purchasing tickets for the concert, I'd literally searched up 'safest city' to narrow down the list of cities he was touring and had initially bought tickets to Dublin, Ireland; which as we know now is where I'd consider my second home.
However, a friend's wedding date turned out to clash with the Dublin leg of the tour and I decided to give away the ticket to an Irish fan via the Watsky Facebook community, and got a new one for the Amsterdam date instead (yes, that was the next safest city).
Obviously this is a revelation that only hindsight can provide, but I absolutely adore how my first brush with the emerald isle was via my muse.
The Being
doing things just because
As someone who was brought up with a scarcity mindset and am still actively teaching myself to take on one with abundance, I don't always feel comfortable spending money especially on what I'd consider indulgent treats. I tend to also optimize how I spend my time.
Yet, for this trip, I decided to do the opposite, within reason. I splurged on experiences, and I did things (at times, repeatedly) without a clear purpose. Doing so allowed me to just soak in the act of just being, and to bask in my own presence; and somehow it all felt strangely serendipitous.
On one of the evenings, I'd booked myself a seat at one-Michelin-starred De Juwelier (with a no-show deposit so I couldn't get cold feet). While I've dined solo before, it's never at such a fine establishment. Though initially self-conscious, the acute awareness of my own consciousness soon became something I appreciated. With growing life responsibilities and distractions all around, how often am I able to simply focus on just being fully present? And how lucky am I to be able to take myself out in a beautiful, random city halfway across the world?
Food was unsurprisingly impeccable, and surprisingly unpretentious. Plating was refined, but not at all over-the-top. It felt like a homely hug. As I was sat by the chef's table, I got to see all of the action, and the precision required in a kitchen of this calibre was incredible to see.
Being a solo diner, both the kitchen and wait staff would stop and chat with me in between courses; and I got to speak to the head chef Yoran (whom I later learnt won the 2022 Michelin Young Chef Award in the Netherlands). He almost immediately clocked my accent, "are you from Singapore?" and shared that he'd lived and worked there a few years ago and loved the city. It was such a sense of warmth and familiarity that came completely out of nowhere—no one can tell me I wasn't meant to dine there and meet him.
In a very similar vein, I visited a bar on my own for the very first time on another evening. It was a speakeasy, Door 74, and I got sat by the bar counter, beside someone who was having a pre-drink before his birthday celebrations. Throwing my introversion aside, I toasted to him and also had a lovely chat with the bartender, Julien.
It was a luxury to be able to feel confident enough in my skin to both be alone, and to chat with strangers. After my last drink (a very delicious clarified soy-milk cocktail), Julien shared a curated list of restaurants and bars in Amsterdam that he'd personally recommend to me. I got immediate chills when I opened the Google Maps link and read 'Juju's Eats and Drinks List Amsterdam'—yep, his nickname is the same as mine. Another complete chance encounter that signaled how this trip was truly something special.
Continuing the trend of speaking to strangers, I'd also booked myself a spot on a beautiful boat tour in Amsterdam's iconic canals, and ended up enjoying it way more than I imagined, made better with the kindness of fellow boat-goers who shared great conversations and even offered to take photos of me.
The boat ride was probably a peak example of just being, seeing as I was literally forced to take a pause, take in the sights, and relinquish all control to our captain, Oliver.
By far though, the one example I'd cite when it comes to doing something just because, was when I visited the Van Gogh museum twice on consecutive days during the trip. The first day was planned, I'd pre-booked tickets and spent almost the entire day pinching myself while enjoying the original works of my favourite painter of all time.
The following day, I was walking in the city and caught sight of some people with sunflowers. It was a handful at first, but the growing volume soon convinced me this was not a coincidence of sunflower-loving folk simply populating the streets. My immediate thought was, "this has something to do with Van Gogh", and I decided to spontaneously hop on a tram that took me to Museumplein, without knowing if something was actually going on.
What greeted me there was the festival of my dreams. People were dressed in yellow, smiling & distributing sunflowers, alongside live music and street performers. As it turned out, it was the museum's 50th anniversary and there was a 'Sunflower Art Festival' that very day.
Carrying the sunflower around the city for the rest of the day made me feel inexplicably happy. It was probably a combination of the sense of accomplishment I felt following my intuition, and the fact that flowers are simply a beautiful non-necessity, so symbolic of how I want to live my life—to not just be obsessed with the pragmatic but to leave room for the frivolous.
The Nostalgia
a nod to my childhood
On one of my final days in Amsterdam, I was contemplating skipping a visit to a farmer's market on my list, the Noordermarkt, which opens only on Saturday & Monday, as I was feeling slightly tired. However, as I was texting JX about it, he encouraged me to head there, since I probably wouldn't get another chance, at least not on this trip.
I can't even make this up, but there was absolutely a reason why I needed to be there. As I was browsing through the stalls, I stopped in front of one that sold kid's toys and caught sight of someone all too familiar. There he was, in his pristine form, my childhood soft toy, also known as a 'chou chou' in Singapore, which literally translates to 'smelly' in Mandarin, referring to an emotional support pillow/ blankie/ toy that one owns since young.
For the unacquainted, my 'chou chou' is a duck hand puppet affectionately known as 'Mr Ducky Wacky Oh So Funny', and through many, many years of love (or mistreatment), now looks pretty damn ragged, spots a short haircut courtesy of my mum and her concern for my sinus as kid, and a huge hole on his right wing. And somehow, ten thousand kilometres away from my childhood bedroom, I come face to face with Mr Ducky's younger self when I've never seen him being sold in any store, anywhere, ever.
It was as though he was sending me a message from my younger self, saying "I'm proud of you for coming this far," both literally and figuratively. This encounter definitely choked me up.
And with that, thank you Amsterdam.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can quite confidently say that this trip was pivotal in showing me that the world was both so much bigger and at the same time smaller than what I thought it was. Bigger in that there was still so much for me to explore (and that I should), but smaller in that I was more than capable of exploring it if I wanted to, especially knowing that there'd still be pockets of comfort wherever I went, be it through the people I've yet to meet or physical manifestations of the familiar.
