I have been going on solo trips for many years now. Each new trip even if it is to a repeated destination has a different story to tell and allows me to explore myself and the world around me in new ways. Over the years my traveling tastes have changed, I don’t get excited by conventional touristy stuff anymore and sometimes just prefer to sit quietly in a new place instead of running around exploring. But like all our favorite things to do, the first time is always special and memorable. My parents’ love for travel had taken me to many beautiful places all over India but I had never been anywhere on my own. I always dreamed of having my own money, traveling alone to the Himalayas or the beaches in Goa without the supervision of parents and all the things I would do then.

As it turned out, my first solo trip didn’t happen in India. It was in the land of tulips – the Netherlands where I first discovered the joys of solo travel. It had already been two months I had arrived in Holland to study for a Master’s degree. I was still adjusting to living alone in a foreign country, a different education system, the Dutch life, the guttural pronunciation of the ‘g’, understanding the items in supermarkets etc. Among all this, the thought of visiting Amsterdam was constantly nagging me. Yes, I know it is appalling that how could I have not visited Amsterdam after being in Holland for two months, but the introvert, middle class Bengali boy in me was still trying to gather the confidence and the perfect opportunity (whatever that means) to take his first solo trip and that too to Amsterdam – one of the most famous cities in the world, known for its art, canals, bikes, coffee shops, and red light district.

So one Saturday, I finally overcame my fears, laziness, procrastination and took the NS intercity from Enschede (where I was living) for a day trip to Amsterdam. I had observed and consulted three different people on using the ticket vending machine at the station so that I don’t end up buying wrong tickets or paying more money. Living on a scholarship allowance and still mentally converting Euros to Indian rupees, the 28 Euros ticket was a princely sum for me.

The 2 hours 10 minutes train journey was uneventful. I had changed trains at Utrecht and all along I was admiring the Dutch countryside, and the calm, noiseless environment inside the train where people were sitting quietly reading a newspaper, having coffee and conversations in soft tones with their co-passengers. This was before the world had become obsessed with social media and smartphones. Facebook was still in its early stages of popularity. Instagram and front facing cameras didn’t exist so the selfie craze hadn’t hit the people. I wasn’t bothered about getting the perfect click and the perfect caption to go with it. Unlike now when I do quite a bit of reading before traveling anywhere, in those days I wasn’t into reading travel blogs or checking out Trip Adviser’s ’10 Best Places to visit in Amsterdam’.

I was ignorant of Dutch art, history or culture, had never heard of van Gogh or Rembrandt. For me, Amsterdam was this beautiful European city where Tracy Whitney and Jeff Stevens carry out their last con in Sidney Sheldon’s thrilling ‘If Tomorrow Comes’ or where the Night Fox makes a fool of Ocean’s Eleven. The city was like all faraway lands which we only know through books and movies, and are on our travel bucket list for their unseen beauty.

So when I exited the Amsterdam Central station and had my first look at a major European city, I didn’t have any clue of what to do or see but was buoyant with joy and enthusiasm. I bought a cup of bitter coffee and a tasteless hot dog at a kiosk in front of the station and wandered around aimlessly for hours. With my newly purchased first point and shoot camera, I took all sorts of random pictures with the enthusiasm of a kid in a chocolate shop. The architecture of the central station, the blue and white GVB trams, canals, canal houses, white pigeons fluttering on the canal gates, well mannered crowd of bicycles, coffee shops, souvenir shops, shops selling sex toys, yellow wooden shoes, costumed characters, people walking around with their dogs, impoverished backpackers who could do well with a wash and a meal and many more. I even called my mom expressing my delight; like a loving mother she told me to be careful and return home early, and like a twenty something, I ignored her advice, wandered around late into the night and only returned by the last available train.

I took a canal cruise which even though quite touristy, is one of the best ways to explore the city. The one hour cruise with a running commentary takes you through the city’s perfectly framed tree lined canals, bridges, centuries old buildings, and many of its cultural and historical attractions. The Anne Frank House near the Prinsengraacht canal is one of the highlights; floating in that picturesque serenity, it was difficult to imagine the horrors faced by the people in the war times.

I strolled on the Damrak, visited the Amsterdam Dungeon which did manage to give me a few scares, and in spite of immense curiosity, avoided the Sex Museum to save money. I watched performers on Dam Square perform acts with various props and getting change money from the tourists. A performer dressed as Batman was visibly tired but was constantly obliging tourists for pictures.

When the hunger pangs hit me after hours of walking, like a boring Indian tourist playing safe, I walked into an Indian restaurant named ‘Tandoor Mahal’. This was because still learning the ropes of cooking for myself, I hadn’t had a proper meal in two months. I also hadn’t got used to the culinary delights (and I never got to) of bratwursts, stamppot, or the Dutch favorite, ‘Hollandse Nieuwe’ – raw herring fish with chopped onions. So I filled myself with substandard Tandoori Chicken. The fifteen Euros I paid for my one dish meal made me again think of my rapidly depleting allowance.

The Rijksmuseum was closed during those years for renovation. The ‘I Amsterdam‘ sign in front of it however was a crowd puller. This was before the selfie age so different visitors took their time to get themselves clicked by others with either all or some of the letters. I patiently waited for an empty slot, and as I got my chance I handed my camera to a gullible looking Chinese tourist and asked him to click me. It was my turn to make some of the others wait while I have my fun. I thought I would have to return the favor to the Chinese guy but he wasn’t interested in getting himself clicked, probably realizing the stupidity of the whole thing.

So that was it. I went on to appreciate the charm of Amsterdam over my subsequent visits to the city. The first time, however, was all about opening myself up far away from home in a foreign country. Wandering alone for the first time in a vibrant European city just tingled me inside making me realize something that I always knew – that I would like to see the world, that I would like to travel and that I don’t mind doing it alone. The next two years that I spent making a life in Holland and traveling to a few other European cities, inculcated a confidence, love and comfort for traveling solo. Over the years the naivete and childlike excitement has been tempered by the wisdom and experiences of adulthood. However, every time I pack my bag and head to a journey, the enthusiasm of exploring a new destination is as fresh as it was the first time.