Growing up in the U.S., August meant a very specific kind of anticipation: a trip to the mall with my mom for new clothes and shoes, a fresh backpack, new notebooks with pristine pages, very particular pens and pencils I was irrationally excited about, and the feeling that somehow with the right supplies, I might become an entirely new and much more organized person by the first day of school.

I don’t actually want to become a new person anymore, but nonetheless, I do find myself craving a bit of a reset by the time September rolls around each year.

When I started to feel that familiar itch this week, I asked myself: If I were making a back-to-school list for myself now, what would actually be on it?

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my grown-up back-to-school shopping list would mostly be made up of things that would help make the life I already have a little easier to live day-to-day.

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Quick ShopMy disclaimer before we get into the good stuff: some of the links in this post are affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you decide to buy something through them, at no additional cost to you. As always, I’m not here to convince you to buy a bunch of shit you don’t need—I’m sharing the things I’m genuinely considering/recommending because they make my life easier, more comfortable, or more fun.

the uniform

Thankfully, I am no longer in the market for a wardrobe designed to make other people think I look cool on the first day of school. I just need a travel writer uniform that works for the days I’m writing from my home office and the days I’m on the road.

If I can’t wear it while a) working from my home office, b) walking 20,000 steps in a new city, or c) squeezed into the middle seat on the plane for hours at a time, I’m probably not putting it on my back-to-school list.

for durable, comfy wardrobe staples that go with everything:

• Lightweight linen trousers in classic black: These ones look dressy, with dramatic wide legs and a pleated waist, but they feel like pajamas thanks to a subtle elastic waistband. And they have pockets!

• High-rise crop jeans in mid-wash denim: The stretchy material—and the fact that they come in a curvy fit, for those of us whose waist-to-hip ratio usually makes jeans shopping a nightmare, as well as in an already-petite length so I don’t have to pay extra to get them hemmed—make them a wardrobe workhorse.

• Twill pull-on barrel-leg trousers in olive green: The 100% cotton twill fabric and elasticated tie-waist make these extra comfortable, the color basically feels like a neutral that can pair well with almost any other color, and the embroidery on the back pockets adds a little flair.

• Boxy heavyweight white tee: A truly boring-but-perfect foundation piece that works tucked or untucked, on its own or under a shirt/jacket/cardigan, and has a substantial enough fabric to look intentional rather than like an undershirt.

• Blue-and-white striped button-down shirt: To add a little pattern and color into the mix without taking away from the goes-with-everything of it all, this cotton-linen-blend pick with mother-of-pearl buttons can be worn buttoned on its own, open over a tee, peeking over the collar of a sweater, etc.

• A gray cashmere crewneck sweater: Cozy enough for WFH, polished enough for travel days/meetings/dinners, and gray works beautifully with black, denim, and olive.

Six pieces, 18 possible outfits, and approximately 900 fewer opportunities to stand in front of my closet having an existential crisis because I can’t figure out what to wear.

for the boring behind-the-scenes (seams?) infrastructure that makes these clothes actually work:

• A bra I can forget I’m wearing: Especially important for WFH and long travel days! This one is wireless, made with a seam-free bamboo fabric that’s moisture-wicking and temperature-regulating, and offers different levels of support for those of us with D-F cups.

• Underwear that doesn’t ride up: Mundane, but crucial. These ones are the same material as the bra mentioned above, and I like the Brazilian Bikini style in particular because they’re comfortable without looking like total granny panties.

• Socks that don’t suck: These quarter crew socks are my favorites. They’re cushioned and breathable, and I buy them in bulk so I don’t have to worry about my socks matching because they’re all the same!

To which end…

for shoes that can handle my actual life:

• The everyday sneaker: Something comfortable enough for 20K-step days, but sufficiently polished that they don’t make every outfit look like I’m going to the gym. I have wide feet (I inherited them from my mom and her mom; we call them our Fred Flintstone feet) and I love that these classic white leather sneakers come in a wide fit with extra soft cushioning.

• The “I need to look like a person” shoe: For when sneakers aren’t appropriate but I still want to be able to walk comfortably, these black leather loafers are the ticket. They’re polished enough to make me look like I made an effort, but they don’t require me to sacrifice my feet on the altar of looking put-together. And, bless, they come in a wide fit and have plenty of cushion.

• The travel and/or shitty weather shoe: Were you aware that Birkenstock was doing shoes other than sandals and clogs now? Because I sure wasn’t! These waterproof black leather ankle boots still look smart, but won’t leave me with cold, drenched feet during a canonically rainy Dutch fall.

the stationery department

I think what I really loved about fresh school supplies was the sense of possibility.

A blank notebook isn’t just a notebook, it was the possibility that this time I’d take beautiful notes, write down every brilliant idea, keep up with all my homework, and become the kind of person who kept their shit together.

A fantasy? Sure. But as an autistic ADHDer, I’ve learned that there’s actually something to that little jolt of novelty. A new notebook or fresh planner does make me want to re-engage with my routines… at least at the beginning, anyway.

The trick is making sure the thing I’m excited to use on September 1 is still something I actually want to use by October 17.

• A planner I won’t abandon after the first week: First and foremost, I’ve learned that an undated planner is usually the best choice for my AuDHD brain, because I will for sure miss a few days (or weeks) at some point. But I especially like this one because it folds so many of the things I might otherwise forget to do into the same weekly spread. There’s space for an intention for the week, three top goals, a habit tracker, meal planning, a “don’t forget” box, and a “things I’m grateful for box” in addition to the actual day-by-day schedule. That means I’m not trying to remember to fill out a separate habit tracker and meal planner and gratitude journal etc. It’s all already in one place.

• A notebook that doesn’t make me feel afraid to “ruin” the first page: I love a beautiful notebook, but there is something deeply counterproductive about spending €25 on a gorgeous book and then becoming so precious about it that I’m afraid to put the first mark on the first page. Give me nice paper and a cover I love, yes, but also something I can scribble in without feeling like I’m defacing a museum artifact. A classic Moleskine ruled notebook never fails me on that front.

• My ride-or-die pens: Smear-resistant ink that won’t bleed through the page? Check. Ultra-fine point for more precise penmanship? Check. Available in a rainbow of colors as well as in classic black? Check. Paper Mate Flair Felt Tip Pens in 0.4mm Ultra Fine Point really are That Girl.

• Sticky notes absolutely everywhere: On my desk. In my planner. Next to my computer. Inside books. Wherever a thought might occur to me, essentially. I have accepted that my brain does not reliably put information in the place where I theoretically should be keeping it, so sometimes the best organizational system is simply to put the reminder directly in my line of sight. Bonus points if they’re cute and whimsical, like these ones. If I’m going to outsource my memory to a piece of paper, it may as well make me smile.

the library

Because reading is what? Fundamental!

But for real: reading is definitely a part of my reset ritual. Not from a productivity standpoint, but from a keep-my-attention-span-trained-on-something-other-than-scrolling-on-my-goddamn-phone-for-extended-periods-of-time standpoint.

Because I don’t think reading needs to be about self-improvement. It can just be about pleasure, and about being a person who thinks about things.

soon-to-be-released books I want to sit and read:

• Murmuration by TJ Klune

• The Wishing Game by Meg Shaffer

• We Chase Shadows by Richard Osman

already-released audiobooks I want to walk and listen to:

• Travel as a Political Act by Rick Steves

• All in Her Head by Elizabeth Comen

• Thank You For Calling the Lesbian Line by Elizabeth Lovatt

the cafeteria

Because, much like during my high school years, if I don’t make a plan ahead of time for breakfast and lunch, there’s a very real possibility that I will simply forget to eat. And I have learned the hard way that I can’t learn or think or write or do much of anything particularly well when I’m running on an empty tank.

The goal here, essentially, is to do whatever I can to make the desired behavior easier. So it’s not so much about “That water bottle is cute!” as “If I keep a full bottle of cold water near me, I am approximately 400% more likely to remember that my body requires it.”

I’m trying to remove as many little points of friction as possible between me and the things I need in order to feel like a functioning human being.

• A water bottle that keeps water nice and cold: If I can see it and the water inside is still genuinely cold several hours later, I’m much more likely to drink it.

• A travel coffee mug that keeps coffee nice and hot: Are we sensing a theme here? A good travel mug means I can make my coffee, immediately get distracted by a dozen unrelated tasks, then come back to it hours later and find it still warm and waiting for me without having to repeatedly remember to reheat it.

• Meal-prep containers for make-ahead breakfasts and lunches: The fewer decisions I have to make/actions I have to take between “I am hungry” and “I am eating,” the better. Having a few grab-and-go meals already portioned in the fridge means I don’t have to summon the executive function to figure out what sounds good, find the ingredients, make something, and clean up before I can eat it.

• Easy snacks I can grab before I realize I’m starving: So there’s a middle ground between “I’m not hungry enough to make anything, I’ll do it later” and “I am now so hungry I have become a tiny, furious Victorian orphan desperate enough to eat literal gruel.”

the study hall

As an AuDHD adult, I’ve learned that I don’t necessarily need more discipline. I need to design my spaces around what I actually intend to do in them.

For actively working at a computer, that means I know my WFH setup will need:

• A laptop stand to help with my posture

• A visual timer within my field of vision, so I have an external representation of how much time I have left instead of relying on my brain to somehow intuit the passage of time

• A physical to-do list within arm’s reach, because making my tasks visible makes them easier to remember and checking things off gives my brain the little dopamine hit it apparently requires to function

• Fidgets to give my hands somewhere to put all my extra attention during meetings and interviews, so the rest of my brain can actually listen to what’s being said

• Anything I can do to make sitting at my desk a physically pleasant experience, whether that’s a chair that allows me to sit whatever weird way my body wants me to that day or an aromatherapy diffuser with a “focus” essential oil blend going

While for studying or reading, I’ll benefit more from:

• A “book seat” to prop up my book at eye level, so I can sit in a position that won’t make my neck or back ache

• An ergonomic reading pillow that lets me get cozy and supported, rather than curving my already messed-up back into full shrimp mode

• Proper lighting so I don’t strain my eyes squinting at a page in a dark room

• Instrumental background music, because complete silence gives my brain too much room to wander, but vocals give it something to get distracted by

The more I’ve learned about my own brain, the less interested I’ve become in forcing it to work the way I think it “should” work. If a visual timer helps me transition between tasks, I’ll use a visual timer. If a pillow makes reading physically comfortable enough that I’ll actually do it, I’m getting the damn pillow. If a fidget keeps half my brain occupied enough that the other half can listen during an interview, pass me the fidget.

things that are not on my list

I love the fantasy of a total September reset, but I’m trying not to confuse newness with necessity. So I’m definitely not going to be:

• Buying a whole new wardrobe just because it’s fall

• Picking out a planner just because everyone on the internet loves it

• Purchasing organization systems that would require me to become a completely different person to maintain them

• Getting any “aspirational” items that will just end up making me feel guilty for not using them

• Ordering anything just because it might make a nice Instagram photo of my imaginary organized life

Basically, I’m not trying to shop my way into having my shit together. Instead, I’m going to choose the things I know will actually make my life feel a little easier, more comfortable, and in some cases, more whimsical.

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here’s to a gentle September reset

Maybe that's what I loved about back-to-school shopping all along: not the clothes or the notebooks or the very specific mechanical pencils, but the feeling that a new chapter was about to begin.

I don't need to become a completely different person this September. I just want to give the person I already am a few better tools, a little more support, and perhaps a couple of cute new things to be excited about.

What would be on your back-to-school shopping list this year? Geek out with me in the comments!

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It was a late November morning, and my partner and I had just wrangled two checked bags, four carry-on bags, two personal items, and our dog Stella through customs at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. We groggily made our way to the airport transfer I’d booked in advance, still bleary-eyed after an overnight flight (with a slightly drugged pup asleep at our feet against the bulkhead).

It wasn’t until we got everything stuffed into the van and began to drive toward our new home that we realized… it was 7:30 a.m. and the sun wasn’t up yet.

We got to the flat half an hour later, and the sun still wasn’t up yet.

That was my introduction to fall in the Netherlands: a dark morning until around 8:30 a.m., followed by a short day of gray skies and on-and-off-again rain showers, then an early and dark evening starting at about 4:30 p.m.

But my god, the foliage.

The oranges, golds, and reds cast such a vibrant glow, it looked like the trees were literally on fire. I’d never seen anything quite like it before, and I’m not sure I have since. So yes, I’ll admit that it’s partly due to the treetops burning so brightly that—despite the shorter days, longer nights, and fairly dismal weather—I still find myself looking forward to autumn here each year.

But that’s not the only thing I get excited about as summer fades. After living here for four years, I’ve learned all the different things that make autumn in the Netherlands special, from fall festivals and forest walks to crisp bike rides along the canals and beyond.

Because autumn here isn’t about just one big bucket-list experience (unlike, say, tulip season in the springtime) so much as all the little things that come together to create that distinctly Dutch feeling of gezelligheid—the kind of coziness, warmth, and contentment you might experience while laughing with friends over a few pints in a cozy brown cafe, the fireplace crackling and twinkly lights sparkling overhead.

So if you’re visiting the Netherlands between September and November, here’s how I’d spend the season—not as a tourist trying to cram every attraction into a weekend, but as someone who has actually lived through four Dutch autumns and learned to genuinely look forward to these darker, colder months each year.

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when to visit the Netherlands in the fall

September, October, and November are all going to be dramatically different experiences, so you’re going to have to choose your own adventure here. Dutch weather is famously unpredictable, so there are no guarantees—but broadly speaking, here’s what you can expect:

September: If you want a little bit of summer with a hint of fall, September is your month. Temperatures can still climb into the 60s and 70s°F (roughly 15-22°C), terraces are still buzzing, and you’ll have plenty of daylight for exploring (about 7:15 a.m. to 7:15 p.m. by the end of the month). Most of the trees will still be green, though you may start seeing the first hints of yellow and orange toward the end of the month. This is the best choice for travelers who want to experience the Netherlands in a more transitional season without committing to cold weather, rain, or early sunsets just yet.

October: The days are getting noticeably shorter—around 8 a.m. to 6:45 p.m. before the clocks change, then closer to 7:30 a.m. to 5:15 p.m. afterward—and temperatures start dropping into the 50s°F (roughly 10-14°C), but there’s still a decent amount of daylight for exploring. By the middle to latter half of the month, the trees are usually putting on their spectacular orange-and-gold show. You’ll have a fair chance of crisp, sunny days and the occasional stretch of classic Dutch rain, so pack accordingly. If you’re coming for the foliage, I’d aim for mid-to-late October.

November: The days are short (8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. by the end of the month), the weather is colder and wetter (40s°F, about 4-10°C), and by the end of the month, many trees will have lost most of their leaves. But this is also when the Netherlands gets really cozy: brown cafes, fireplaces, museums, hearty Dutch food, seasonal beer, and the first signs of Sinterklaas and the holiday season. If you’re here for maximum gezelligheid, November has its own kind of magic.

My rec: If you want the best combination of fall foliage, reasonable daylight, and crisp-but-not-frigid weather, come in mid-to-late October. If you’re more interested in the cozy, rainy, candlelit version of Dutch autumn, November is your girl.

where to see fall foliage in the Netherlands

One of the things I love about autumn here is that you don’t necessarily have to “go somewhere” to see it. The Dutch have planted so many trees along canals, in city parks, around old estates, and throughout the countryside that by October, there’s color everywhere.

That said, some places do offer more jaw-dropping views than others.

in Amsterdam

• The canal belt: Don’t overlook the most obvious option! Some of my favorite autumn scenes in Amsterdam happen when the trees lining the canals turn gold and their reflections ripple across the water. You don’t need a special route or anything, either—just wander around and keep your eyes up.

• Vondelpark: Amsterdam’s best-known park becomes especially beautiful in October, when its enormous mature trees turn shades of fiery orange and yellow. It’s also a nice, easy addition to a normal Amsterdam itinerary, since you don’t have to go out of your way to dedicate a whole day to “seeing the foliage” if you don’t want to. You can just grab a coffee, meander through the paths at your own pace, then keep going with whatever else you had on the docket for the day.

• Amsterdamse Bos: It’s not really that from the city center, but it feels like a total escape into nature. The Amsterdamse Bos is one of Europe’s largest urban parks and landscape forests in Europe, at about 2,500 acres (1,000 hectares) of woodland, water, and outdoor space. If you’re up for it, renting a kayak or canoe here has been one of our favorite ways to see the foliage from the water!

outside of Amsterdam

• Haarlem: I know I’m biased, but Haarlem is genuinely lovely in autumn! The historic center has leaf-laden canals and tree-lined streets, while spots like the Haarlemmerhout offer a proper park/forest experience without having to go far from the city. It’s also an easy day trip from Amsterdam (or better yet, a place to base yourself for a few nights!)

• Bloemendaal: For the extra gorgeous combination of fall foliage + Dutch beach! Easy to reach from Haarlem or Amsterdam, Bloemendaal sits at the edge of the Zuid-Kennemerland dunes, so you get an especially beautiful blend of changing trees, sandy paths, and a windswept coastal landscape. Plus, unlike in summer when everyone seems to have the same idea about going to the beach, in autumn it often feels like you have the whole place to yourself.

• Zuid-Kennemerland National Park: This is where I’d go for a proper boswandeling (more on that concept later). The landscape is super different from what you’d probably picture as the postcard version of the Dutch countryside, with wooded paths transitioning into rolling dunes, deer and other wildlife roaming around, and the North Sea not far away.

A note on timing: North Holland’s foliage usually looks its best around mid-to-late October, but there’s no exact “peak weekend.” A few warm or cold weeks can shift the timeline from one year to the next, so keep that in mind as you plan.

Also: The Dutch countryside isn’t New England, so you shouldn’t come here expecting like, miles of interrupted maple forests or whatever. The landscape is different, you know? Canals lined with trees, beach forests, sandy dunes, old country estates, little village streets… that’s the charm.

Dutch autumn rituals worth experiencing

There’s plenty you could do in the Netherlands in the fall, but these are the activities I find myself looking forward to most when temperatures begin to drop.

go for a boswandeling

One of my favorite Dutch words for autumn, boswandeling literally translates to “forest walk.” And while that sounds pretty straightforward, I think it’s worth pointing out the difference between a boswandeling and what I, as an American, would traditionally consider “going hiking.”

A boswandeling isn’t about conquering a trail, or getting your steps in, or packing a backpack full of trail mix and emergency supplies. It’s literally just… taking a leisurely walk through the woods, simply because it’s beautiful outside. You trudge through the trees, kick through some leaves, maybe stop to take ~700 pictures of the foliage, and eventually find yourself somewhere warm for coffee, lunch, or a beer.

embrace the brown cafe

Brown cafes are the traditional Dutch neighborhood pubs. Think: dark wood, low lighting, old photographs and memorabilia on the walls, slightly scuffed tables, a good selection of beer, and overall, a space that sort of feels like it’s been there forever. They’re called bruin cafes because all the woodwork and amber lighting tends to give their interiors a characteristic sepia-ish glow.

And they’re exactly where you want to escape to when it starts raining sideways outside. Or in the late afternoon, just as the sky is getting dark and the lights inside begin to glow. Or anytime, really. You can’t go wrong with a brown cafe.

cycle like you’re not made of sugar

There’s a Dutch expression I learned pretty quickly after moving here: “Wat ben je, van suiker?” i.e., “What are you, made of sugar?”

It’s what someone might respond when you complain that it’s raining and suggest taking the tram or bus instead of your bike. The implication, obviously, is that you’re not going to melt if you get wet, so shut up and let’s go!

To be fair, this is a country where people regularly cycle through rain, wind, cold, and the occasional horizontal hail without giving it much thought. Kids cycle to school. Parents cycle with children (yes, plural) sitting in their bike baskets. People arrive at work with rain pants stuffed into their bags and shake the water off of their jackets before heading inside.

I’m not saying you need to become that Dutch while you’re here. But I would encourage you to embrace bike life during your visit, if you’re comfortable giving it a shot. Just dress appropriately: a waterproof jacket is non-negotiable, and if the forecast is legitimately miserable, rain pants will be your friend. You may want to keep a pair of gloves in your bag, too.

And if it starts raining halfway through your ride, before you’ve had a chance to change into any of the above? Congratulations! You’re now officially participating in Dutch culture.

go to the beach

One thing I’ve learned since moving to Haarlem: the Dutch coast in autumn is so underrated!

Summer is obviously when most people want to go to the beach, but fall is when I actually prefer it. The crowds thin out as the temperatures drop, so you can actually walk along the enormous stretches of sandy coastline without feeling like you accidentally wandered into a beach club in Ibiza.

I suggest heading to Bloemendaal aan Zee, Zandvoort, Wijk aan Zee, or one of the smaller coastal towns along the North Sea and just walk.

take a canal cruise

If you can find a smaller, open boat with blankets and warm drinks rather than a glass-topped tourist boat, even better! Just dress warmer than you think you need to, because the canals are windy. (I’ve learned this the hard way.)

visit a museum

In the summertime, spending three hours inside a museum can feel like you’re wasting precious sunshine. In November, when it’s 8°C, pouring down raining, and the sun has clocked out for the day? Please, take me to the museum.

In Amsterdam, I’d recommend the Grachtenmuseum (i.e., Museum of the Canals), the Rijksmuseum, or the EYE Filmmuseum on a rainy day.

In Haarlem, I love wandering around the Frans Hals Museum, Teylers Museum, or Museum Van de Geest (i.e., Museum of the Mind) anytime the weather takes a turn.

This is also the season when I’d recommend resisting the urge to cram three museums into one afternoon. One museum + one cozy cafe is a much more enjoyable Dutch autumn experience than trying to speed-run the entire Museumplein.

go to a sauna

The Dutch love a sauna, and autumn is arguably the perfect time to join them for a schvitz.

There are wellness centers and saunas all over the Netherlands, often with multiple sauna rooms at different temperatures, steam rooms, pools, relaxation areas, and outdoor spaces. Some are elaborate spa complexes where you could genuinely spend an entire day, like Zuiver in Amsterdam or Sauna Van Egmond in Haarlem.

Of course, there’s one important cultural difference you should know before you go: many Dutch saunas are clothing-optional. Some have dedicated swimwear days, while others are firmly and forever fully textile-free, so make sure you check the rules before you go.

If you’re cool with that, a chilly autumn day is pretty much the ideal excuse to spend a day sweating in a sauna, cool off outside, sit in a relaxation room with a book and a cup of tea, repeat, and eventually emerge feeling like you’ve been rebooted.

Dutch-inspired fall food and drink

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Dutch autumns, it’s that the weather is a lot easier to tolerate when there’s something delicious waiting for you after.

appeltaart

Dutch appeltaart isn’t like the double-crust American apple pie you might be picturing. It’s a super tall, buttery pastry filled with layers and layers of cinnamon-spiced apples, often served with a big ol’ dollop of whipped cream.

bokbier

Bokbier is a dark, malty seasonal beer that starts appearing on Dutch taps as the weather cools down, usually around September or October.

bitterballen

If you’ve never had a bitterball, imagine… a breaded ball of gravy, kind of? Wait, that makes it sound gross. Okay, it’s a tiny, crispy, deep-fried ball of rich, savory beef (or vegetarian) ragout, usually served with mustard for dipping. It’s more delicious than it sounds, a classic Dutch bar food, and practically mandatory with a beer at a brown cafe.

stamppot

The ultimate Dutch comfort food: mashed potatoes mixed with vegetables (usually kale, sauerkraut, or carrots and onions) and typically served with a sausage or meatballs on the side. It’s hearty, unfussy, and exactly the kind of dinner you want to warm you up after spending an afternoon outside in cold, wet weather.

fondue

Okay, fondue isn’t technically Dutch. But! It has become a beloved cold-weather ritual for us here, and I’m including it because sitting around a bubbling pot of melted cheese with friends feels very appropriate for this particular season. Around October, Dutch restaurants start bringing out the fondue pots, and it’s one of my favorite excuses for a long, cozy dinner.

snert

I will admit that snert is maybe not the most appealing-sounding name, and snert itself also may not be the most appealing-looking meal at first glance. But it’s actually delicious! It’s the Dutch name for split-pea soup, traditionally made with dried peas, veggies, and smoked pork or sausage until it’s thick enough to practically stand a spoon upright in. It sounds humble, and it is—but a steaming bowl of snert on a cold November day is a soul-warming experience.

oliebollen

These deep-fried balls of dough, sometimes studded with raisins and always absolutely buried in powdered sugar, are one of the first signs that the holiday season is approaching. You’ll start seeing temporary oliebollenkramen (oliebollen stands) pop up around the Netherlands in November, and yes, you should absolutely stop at one.

autumn events in the Netherlands worth planning around

Fall is when the Dutch cultural calendar really kicks into gear, with everything from film and literature festivals to major music events and very Dutch public celebrations. These are the ones I’d actually consider factoring into your plans to visit.

in Amsterdam

• Amsterdam Fringe Festival (September 3-13)

• Open Monument Day (September 12-13)

• Read My World (September 10-12)

• TCS Amsterdam Marathon (October 17-18)

• Amsterdam Dance Event (October 21-25)

• Imagine Film Festival (October 9-November 8)

• Amsterdam Storytelling Festival (November 6-15)

• Museum Night (November 7)

• IDFA (November 12-22)

• The arrival of Sinterklaas (November 15)

• Super Sonic Jazz Festival (November 20-22)

outside Amsterdam

• Vinyl Festival in Haarlem (October 2-4)

• “Day of Freedom” celebration in Leiden (October 3)

• Dutch Design Week in Eindhoven (October 17-25)

• Crossing Border Festival in Den Haag (November 3-8)

• Le Guess Who? International Music Festival in Utrecht (November 5-8)

autumn day trips from Amsterdam

If you have an extra day to spare, these are the day trips I’d choose depending what kind of autumn experience you’re after.

for foliage

The Veluwe: If you’re serious about fall foliage, head east toward The Veluwe, one of the country’s largest wooded regions. Its forests, heathland, and sandy paths feel worlds away from Amsterdam. This is the place I’d choose if you want an entire autumn day in nature, rather than a pretty park to walk around between sightseeing stops.

for charm

Utrecht: For the romance of Amsterdam without quite as many tourists, spend a day in Utrecht. Walk along the canals, browse the independent shops, climb the Dom Tower, and settle into one of the city’s famously cozy werfkelders (water-level cellar cafes and restaurants) when the weather turns chilly.

for something quintessentially Dutch

Kinderdijk: Yes, it’s a little touristy, but there’s a reason people go! The UNESCO-listed landscape of 19 historic windmills is particularly beautiful in autumn, and there’s something so Dutch about cycling between windmills under a dramatic gray sky.

for something whimsical

Efteling: We visited the Netherlands’ beloved fairytale theme park in mid-September and absolutely loved it! This year, I think we’re going to try to visit around Halloween, as apparently they put up seasonal decorations and host events that make it feel totally different from a standard park visit.

my top tips for visiting the Netherlands in the fall

These are the little practical things that I’ve learned after four autumns here—stuff that’s easy to overlook, but can make a surprisingly big difference in the moment.

check the sunrise/sunset times before planning your day

Particularly in November, daylight disappears fast. By the end of the month, the sun doesn’t rise until 8:30 a.m. and it starts setting around 4:30 p.m., so don’t accidentally schedule your scenic bike ride for 3 p.m. and expect to catch two hours of golden-hour magic.

dress with the wind in mind

A 10°C day in the Netherlands can feel so much colder if you’re standing by an open field or cycling into a headwind. By this time of year, I care less about the temperature in the weather app than I do about the wind speeds. Be sure to bring a proper coat and lots of layers to actually block the wind.

pack a rain jacket, even if the forecast says you won’t need one

Dutch weather has a funny habit of changing its mind halfway through your afternoon. Even if the forecast looks perfectly respectable when you leave your hotel, I’d still throw a rain jacket in your bag. You’ll be happy to have it when the sky suddenly opens halfway through your canal walk.

wear shoes you can actually walk in when wet

This is not the season for cute shoes that become miserable the second they encounter a puddle. You want something comfortable, water-resistant, and grippy enough that you’re not sliding around on cobblestones. Otherwise, you’re likely to experience a whole different kind of Dutch fall.

go outside when the sun comes out (immediately!)

Perhaps my most important Dutch autumn tip of all: If you see blue skies, go outside. Now. Don’t assume it will still be there in an hour—the weather can change ridiculously quickly, and that unexpected patch of sunshine might be the only one you get all day. Cancel what you were doing, put on your coat, and go for that walk!

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let’s get gezellig

Four years later, I do still occasionally wake up in November, look outside in the darkness, and think, Oh, right. This again.

But then I go outside and the trees are glowing, then there’s a fire going in the cafe, and then I’m cycling home with a belly full of warm comfort food as the sun sets, and I’m like, Oh, right. That’s why I love this.

I have a hunch that you’ll love it, too.

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Let me just start off by saying that my therapist and I are constantly talking about how my life is not meant to be an optimization problem. Like, sometimes good enough really can just be good enough, and there are usually better things to spend my energy on than figuring out the theoretically most efficient way to do something.

But we also spend a lot of time talking about how I can design a life that doesn’t feel so goddamn hard all the time! Like, okay, how can I make things a little easier on my busy brain, which is so often hyper-focused on literally anything other than remembering where I put my keys, or the last time I vacuumed up Stella’s dog hair?

How can we—meaning, my ADHD partner and my AuDHD ass—set things up in our space so that the things we struggle with require a little less executive function and sensory ick? How can we make it so we’re both able to lean into our strengths, instead of constantly trying to force ourselves to overcome our (literally-hardwired-into-our-brains) weaknesses?

Because tbh, sometimes the answer is simply that no, I am not going to reliably be the one to unclog the shower drain! And also no, my partner is not going to consistently be the one to text someone back to make plans and remember to put them on the calendar! And maybe instead of treating those things as personal failures we both need to overcome, we can just step in for each other!

I handle the logistical things—vet appointments, correspondence with landlords, etc.—because those things come more easily to me. He handles the hands-on tasks that are more of a sensory burden for me, like taking out the trash. Neither of us is “failing” or whatever at the thing the other person does. We’re just dividing up our household tasks in a way that works for the brains we actually have, instead of the ones we think we’re supposed to have. I mean, if we can make the “easier” choice the default choice, why wouldn’t we?

Alllllll of that to say: this list is a mix of things we have now, things we’ve had in previous homes, and things we’re working on setting up in our new apartment. They’re the little (and sometimes not-so-little) things that just make sense for us, as a dual-neurodivergent household.

And hopefully, some of them will be helpful for you, too—whether you’re ADHD/autistic like us or not.

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Heads up: These links are all from a collection I curated on ShopMy page, so if you click through and make a purchase, I may earn a commission—but just know, I only ever include items I truly believe in!

in our entryway

Everything has a home.

• key hooks

• shoe rack

• coat/bag/dog leash hooks

• mail drop

• lint roller

• purse bowl with all the basics I know I need at hand even if I switch bags (lip balm, hand sanitizer, hand cream, sunglasses, etc.)

• a designated spot for things that need to leave the house (returns, things we need to bring to someone, etc.)

• a basket for “I don’t know where this goes yet”

in our kitchen

Combatting object impermanence and sensory discomfort one step at a time.

• Google Nest Hub

• Ember Mug

• clear “eat this first” bins in the fridge

• backup meals in the pantry and freezer

• gloves for doing dishes/other icky tasks

• nice-smelling soaps and cleaning solutions

• multiple types of cups/bowls/plates/silverware for different preferences (I love a tiny spoon and a small plate)

in our living room

Prioritizing total comfiness > everything.

• clear dopamine bins for crafts, games, etc. so we don’t forget they exist

• plenty of blankets and pillows available for nest-making

• lamps and other low lighting options (no big light ever)

• dedicated tray for remotes so we don’t lose them

• a charging station for all the different kinds of devices we have

in our home office

Maximum focus, minimal distractions.

• noise-canceling headphones

• visual timer

• physical task list

• habit tracker charts (with star stickers for each day, naturally)

• a “not right now” pad for ideas we don’t want to forget but also don’t want to interrupt our flow state to act on immediately

in our bedroom

Because without a good night’s sleep, we’re both screwed.

• white noise machine with dual speakers

• blackout curtains

• earplugs

• sleep masks

• separate duvets

• bedside water bottles

• chargers on both sides of the bed

• laundry basket with dividers for each of our clothes and linens

• smart lights on a schedule to fade on/off at sleep/wake times

• no-spoons nighttime routine in a bag so I can do lazy skincare etc. from bed, including a tiny trash can

in our bathroom

Keeping routines visible, accessible, and as not-icky as possible.

• daily pill containers

• quick-drying stone bath mat

• shower speaker

• bins for morning routines and evening routines

• electric toothbrushes with timers

on our balcony

Mostly just for the vibes, tbh.

• hammock for swinging to regulate

• comfy outdoor blanket

• string lights

• plants that are hard to kill

in general

How can we outsource our executive function as much as possible?

• Philips Hue smart lights on a schedule

• self-emptying robot vacuum

• chargers everywhere

• fidgets everywhere

• shared Google Calendar, connected to our Google Nest Hub

• shared password manager for subscriptions, household accounts, etc

• repeating reminders for recurring responsibilities (give the dog her flea meds, change the air filters, etc)

• automated subscriptions wherever possible (dog food delivery, household essentials, etc)

things we agreed to stop pretending were issues

Some of the biggest changes we made aren’t so much things we bought or systems we implemented but just… things we decided to stop treating as problems to be solved.

eating the same meal several days in a row

If we make something we like, we can eat it again the next day. And the next day. There’s no prize for making a totally different dinner every night of the week!!

splitting up tasks “untraditionally”

We divvy up household tasks based on what each of us is actually good at and what we can each tolerate, rather than based on what couples are “supposed” to do. It’s not exactly 50/50, but it works.

going to bed at different times

Sometimes one of us wants to go to bed earlier. Sometimes one of us wants to stay up later. Literally who cares? We can have different sleep schedules and still be very much happily married!

not spending every moment we’re both home together

We don’t need to be actively interacting with each other every second that we’re in the same physical space! Sometimes we’re in different rooms doing our own things. Sometimes we’re in the same room doing body-doubling or parallel play.

But we still intentionally make time for things we both enjoy—board games, movies, whatever—because giving each other space and connecting with each other aren’t mutually exclusive. My partner calls this “your stuff, my stuff, our stuff” and it’s been working for us for going on 14 years!

having no-spoons nights where we do absolutely nothing

Sometimes the answer is just nope! And on those nights, we do absolutely nothing and don’t feel a lick of guilt about it.

Because the goal of all this is to make our home feel like a place where we can exist comfortably entirely as full, weird, unmasked ourselves.

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what makes your life easier?

I’m sure this list will continue to evolve as we figure out what works in this apartment (and what absolutely does not, which I’m sure we’ll uncover the hard way) but now I want to hear from you!

What are the weird, wonderful, maybe a little unorthodox things you’ve done in your own home that just make sense for your brain? What systems/accommodations/purchases/routines/etc. have made your life noticeably easier or more enjoyable?

Tell me! I’m always looking for more ways to make our home work with us instead of against us, and I’d love to try out your ideas.

Now, back to measuring every inch of this apartment to see where the hell we’re going to fit my WFH setup. Wish me luck!

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Traveling is an absolute sensory nightmare.

More specifically, air travel is a fiery hellscape of sensory doom… or at least it can be, if you’re not properly prepared for it.

Thankfully, I’ve spent the last decade carefully crafting the ideal sensory-friendly personal item packing list, which has helped me maintain a semblance of comfort and sanity through 10+ years of long-haul flights and lengthy layovers.

So without further ado, here’s every single thing I pack in my personal item to make flights suck less—printable checklist included. Plus, my go-to personal items of choice (one casual option and one upscale option).

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But after enough family vacations and weekends away with friends, I've landed on a simple grocery list and meal plan for group trips that works every time. Instead of trying to cook every meal, we stock our Airbnb with breakfast stuff, snacks, drinks, and one easy group dinner. It keeps everyone fed, cuts down on restaurant spending, and means nobody has to think too hard first thing in the morning.

This particular list was originally put together for one week away with six adults, but it's easy to scale up or down depending on the size of your group and the length of your stay.

Nothing on this list is particularly exciting, and that’s kind of the point! I try to buy flexible basics that everyone will eat rather than planning ambitious meals that end up going to waste.

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my rules for stress-free group trip grocery shopping

• Plan to eat breakfast at home each morning

• Offer to cook just one at-home dinner

• Only buy stuff people will actually eat

• Choose ingredients that’ll work across multiple meals

pantry basics I always check for first

Every Airbnb is stocked a little differently, so before heading to the grocery store, I take a sec to check the fridge and cupboards for:

• Olive oil

• Salt

• Pepper

• Butter

• Cooking spray

• Sugar

• Honey

• Ice

• Coffee filters

• Aluminum foil

• Trash bags

• Paper towels

• Dish soap

• Sponge

• Dishwasher tablets

no-cook breakfast buffet

So everyone can mix and match depending on what they're in the mood for each morning.

• 2 packs of bagels

• 2 loaves of good sliced bread

• Cream cheese

• Jam

• Peanut butter

• Greek yogurt

• Berries

• Apples

• Bananas

• Milk (and/or non-dairy alternative)

• Ground coffee

• Breakfast tea

snacks

• Pretzels

• Hummus

• Baby carrots

• Cucumber

• Crackers

• Cheese

• Grapes

• Mixed nuts

• Popcorn

• Cookies

• Chocolates

drinks

The exact quantities depend on how many people you're traveling with, how long you're staying, and who does (or doesn’t) drink what, but I'd rather buy a little extra than make another grocery run halfway through the trip.

• Orange juice and/or apple juice

• Lemonade and/or iced tea

• Sparkling waters (24) and a couple of lemons/limes

• Wine (6 bottles, 3 white and 3 red)

• Beers (four 6-packs)

• Hard seltzers (two 6-packs)

If you’re traveling somewhere that doesn’t have great tap water, I’d add plenty of bottled or filtered water to this list, too.

one DIY dinner

A build-your-own taco bar lets everyone customize their meal—and the leftovers make easy snacks or lunches the next day.

• 3 lbs (~1.5 kg) ground beef or chicken

• 2 cans black beans

• 2 packets taco seasoning

• Rice

• Tortillas

• Lettuce

• Tomatoes

• Avocados

• Sour cream

• Shredded cheese

• Salsa

• Tortilla chips

more easy group dinner ideas

• Pasta night with a green salad and garlic bread

• Sheet pan chicken, potatoes, and broccoli

• DIY sandwich or deli board with meats, cheeses, vegetables, and good bread

• Baked potato bar with chili and all the fixin’s

• DIY Greek spread ft. orzo, tomatoes, cucumber, black olive, hummus, feta, hummus, tzatziki, and pita chips

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what’s your go-to for group trip meal planning?

Group trips don't need elaborate meal plans to go smoothly. A simple breakfast, plenty of snacks, one easy dinner, and a well-stocked fridge are usually enough to save money, reduce food waste, and make mornings a whole lot easier.

If you have a go-to group vacation meal or a grocery item you never travel without, I'd love to hear it in the comments. I'm always looking for ideas to add to our list!

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Because for the first time ever, Amsterdam is hosting WorldPride, bringing together two weeks of celebrations, activism, arts programming, parties, community events, and cultural festivals from July 25 - August 8, 2026. Whether you’re coming for the iconic Canal Parade, the human rights programming, or simply to experience one of the world’s most LGBTQ+-friendly cities at its most joyful, there is genuinely something fun and queer happening every single day for two glorious weeks.

The only problem? There are so many events that it’s hard to figure out what deserves a spot on your itinerary.

That’s where I come in!

My credentials: I’m a travel writer who’s called North Holland home for the past four years. I’m also the author of Lonely Planet’s The LGBTQ+ Travel Guide, featuring queer-friendly destinations around the world—including Amsterdam—and I’ve spent years covering the city’s LGBTQ+ scene for my own work. And as an autistic, ADHD, bisexual immigrant, I know firsthand that “the best Pride experience” looks different for different people. Some travelers want packed dance floors; others want museums, cafés, and quiet community events that won’t totally wreck their nervous systems for days afterward.

This guide is what I’d send a friend visiting my city for WorldPride 2026—the biggest events worth planning your trip around, the experiences I’d prioritize for each type of traveler, and a few tips for enjoying Amsterdam respectfully while you’re here.

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why having WorldPride in Amsterdam is a big deal

Amsterdam has long occupied a special place in the heart of LGBTQ+ history, but hosting WorldPride 2026 in this welcoming city feels especially meaningful.

ICYMI, in 2001, the Netherlands became the first country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage, and those first marriages took place right here in Amsterdam. WorldPride coincides with the 25th anniversary of marriage equality, making this year’s festivities as much about honoring decades of activism as it is about celebrating how far we’ve come.

It’s also happening during a moment when LGBTQ+ rights are under pressure in many parts of the world. WorldPride isn’t just one giant party, you know—it’s a global gathering of activists, artists, community organizations, and travelers committed to visibility, solidarity, and human rights. That’s reflected in this year’s theme: UNITY.

And then there’s Amsterdam itself. Pride here has always felt a little different here than in other cities. Instead of one central parade, the event unfolds for weeks across canals, parks, museums, neighborhood squares, and community spaces. You don’t feel like you’ve entered a fenced-off festival for a day so much as like… the entire city has become one big, queer celebration for a large chunk of the summer.

the top 3 can’t-miss events

Pride Walk to Pride Park (Saturday, July 25)

When:

• 10:30 - 11 a.m. Walk-in at Dam Square

• 11 a.m. - noon: Podium program

• 12 - 2 p.m. Pride Walk

• 2 - 10 p.m. Pride Park festivities

Where:

The Pride Walk begins at Dam Square and winds its way to the Vondelpark.

The route goes: Dam > Rokin > Vijzelstraat > Weteringschans > Museumbrug > Stadhouderskade > Vondelpark

How to get there:

Take the train, tram, or metro to Amsterdam Centraal and walk to Dam Square, or take Metro 52 to Rokin if you’re staying elsewhere in the city. (Pro tip: Plan to get there about an hour early if you want a good position near the front!)

Know before you go:

• The walk is about 3km long and can get crowded—if you’re autistic or otherwise sensitive to noise, bringing earplugs or noise-canceling headphones is totally normal and encouraged!

• A sign language interpreter will be present to translate the speeches (which will be partly in Dutch and partly in English)

• There’s an area in front of the stage for wheelchair users that will be marked off with tape, and ~30 chairs will be placed in front of the stage for anyone who wants to sit

• The toilets at Bar Blend XL can be used free of charge by Pride Walk participants (but FYI, they’re not accessible to wheelchair users)

The afterparty:

The walk ends at Pride Park in the Vondelpark, where there will be:

• 10 hours of programming at the Open Air Theater ft. a mix of emerging talent and celebrated stars from the LGBTQ+ community

• A Rainbow Market where you can browse stalls ft. handmade products and giveaways

• Junior/Youth/Student Pride activities like drag contests, face painting and glitter competitions, crate climbing, and more

• Sport Pride events from boxing to pilates to chess tournaments

Canal Pride Parade (Saturday, August 1)

When:

• 12 - 6 p.m.

Where:

The Canal Parade travels through Amsterdam’s historic canals along the following route: Oosterdok > Nieuwe Herengracht > Amstel > Prinsengracht > Westerdok

How to get there:

Your best bet is to walk or use public transportation—a lot of the streets in the city center will be closed or extremely busy, so driving is definitely not recommended.

If you’re staying outside the center, take the train to Amsterdam Centraal or the metro to Waterlooplein, Weesperplein, or Vijzelgracht, then walk to wherever you’d like to set up camp along the parade route.

Know before you go:

• This is Amsterdam’s busiest day of the year—expect hundreds of thousands of spectators!

• Arrive at least 2–3 hours early if you have your heart set on a particular viewing location

• Mobile networks can become overloaded, so decide on a meeting point with friends ahead of time

• Amplified music isn't allowed on the quays or on privately moored boats, helping keep the focus on the official parade while reducing noise for residents, so don’t plan to broadcast your own playlist

• Restaurants, cafés, and public toilets all have long queues and typically require a Euro or two to use—plan accordingly! Here’s a map of toilets available along the route, and I’m begging you not to be the dude that gets drunk and whips it out to pee in public (you’ll be fined €140 if you do; you’ve been warned)

• Absolutely do not sit or stop on bridges, block bike lanes, or climb onto canal railings for photos. It’s not just disruptive, it’s dangerous!

• Pretty, pretty, pretty please dispose of your trash responsibly so our city doesn’t look (and smell) like shit the next day

The afterparty:

Once the last boats pass, the celebration continues across the city. You can head to:

• MainStage Pride at Dam Square, featuring free performances all weekend long—though if you don’t want to be elbowing 10,000 others for standing room, you can also purchase a seat on the Pride Deck for a fee, which includes a welcome drink on arrival and access to your own bar

• Your choice of the maaaaaany official Pride street parties happening throughout the city, like

  • Our People: a Celebration of Black and Queer Voices (from 8-9:30 p.m. at the Concertgebouw)

  • JANEY for the girls who love girls (from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. at Bitterzoet)

  • Gay Disko for all the glitter-loving queers (from 11 p.m. to 5 a.m. at Club Oliva)

WorldPride March (Saturday, August 8)

When:

• 2 - 4 p.m. Gather at Martin Luther Kingpark for podium presentations

• 4 - 5:30 p.m. WorldPride March

• 5:30 p.m. - 12 a.m. WorldPride Closing Concert at Museumplein (tickets required!)

Where:

The march begins at Martin Luther Kingpark and ends at Museumplein.

The route goes: Martin Luther Kingpark > Rijnstraat > Van Woustraat > Ceintuurbaan > Roelof Hartstraat > Van Baerlestraat > Museumplein

How to get there:

Take Metro 52 to Europaplein or De Pijp, or use tram and bus connections serving Amsterdam Zuid. If you’re planning to join the march, aim to arrive at Martin Luther Kingpark by 2 p.m. before the walk begins.

Know before you go:

• Unlike the Canal Parade, this is a participatory march, not just something to watch from the sidelines—visitors are encouraged to join alongside LGBTQ+ organizations, activists, and community groups from around the world

• This march is about visibility, solidarity, and human rights as much as celebration. During the procession, you’ll see the flags of countries where homosexuality is still criminalized, serving as a reminder that many LGBTQ+ people around the world still cannot safely live or love openly

• Expect a slower pace than a typical protest march, with pauses for speeches, performances, and community groups along the route

The finale:

The march concludes at Museumplein, where WorldPride wraps up with:

• The WorldPride Village ft. community organizations, exhibitions, and food/drink vendors

• The WorldPride Closing Concert (tickets required) to, in the organization’s own words, “celebrate what this Pride has meant: a city open to the world, a community that found each other, and a message that echoes beyond Amsterdam’s canals… we will look back, but above all, we will look forward”

My take:

If I had to choose just one event that captures what WorldPride is really about, this one would be it. The Canal Parade is iconic, but it happens here every year; the WorldPride March is where you’ll feel the global movement behind the local celebration.

events for extroverts

If your ideal Pride itinerary involves making new friends in the bathroom line, dancing until sunrise, and accidentally ending up at three different afterparties you never planned to attend... congratulations, Amsterdam made this festival for you!

Here are the events I’d prioritize, if I were an extrovert:

Milkshake Festival (July 25 - 26)

Think: world-class DJs, outrageous outfits, drag performances, and thousands of delightfully queer people dancing in Westerpark. Tickets sell out every year for a reason!

WorldPride Dog Walk (July 29)

Equal parts adorable and social. Whether you’re bringing your own pup or just want an excuse to chat with strangers while petting everyone else’s dogs, this is one of the most wholesome ways to meet people.

Midnight Market Party + Queer Makers Market (July 30)

Local artists, DJs, food, drinks, shopping, and a crowd that’s a little less intimidating than a giant nightclub.

Queer Speed Dating (July 30)

Single? Newly poly? Just looking for queer friends? This is one of the easiest structured ways to meet people during WorldPride.

International Drag Olympics (July 31)

I mean… Need I say more?

PRIK Pride Street Party (July 31 - August 2)

PRIK is one of Amsterdam’s best-known queer bars, and its annual street party is legendary. Expect big crowds, lots of dancing, and absolutely no personal space.

Sunday Daytime Rave (August 2)

For those who love dancing but also appreciate catching the last train home well before midnight.

Queer Prom Night (August 5)

The queer prom many of us wish we’d gotten to have the first time around!

Wedding Party XXL (August 6)

A celebration marking 25 years of marriage equality in the Netherlands—and one that feels especially fitting during Amsterdam’s first WorldPride.

My tip:

Even if you’re the most extroverted person on the planet, don’t try to attend everything. Pick one major party each day and leave room for spontaneous discoveries. Some of my favorite Pride memories have come from wandering into neighborhood celebrations I wasn’t planning to visit!

events for introverts

Listen. I love Pride. But I also love sitting quietly in a museum café after two hours of social interaction.

If, like me, your social battery comes with a warning label, just know that Amsterdam has plenty to offer beyond packed dance floors.

Personally, I’d prioritize:

Proud to be a Mouse Workshop (July 25)

Spend an afternoon painting and personalizing your own little Het Muizenhuis mouse with artist Anouschka Boswijk, then take it home in limited-edition Pride packaging.

Pride Art Route (July 25 - August 8)

Queer art pops up all over Amsterdam—in galleries, cafés, churches, hotels, creative studios, and even shop windows—giving you an excuse to explore neighborhoods you might otherwise miss while supporting LGBTQIA+ artists along the way.

Queer Power at Eye Filmmuseum (July 25 - August 8)

35 queer films from around the world, alongside talks, lectures, and special events celebrating queer storytelling in all its forms.

Rijksmuseum: A Pink History Tour (July 25 - August 8)

This guided tour explores centuries of Dutch queer history through masterpieces already hanging in the Rijksmuseum.

LGBTQ+ Storytelling Night at De Mezrab (July 28)

An evening of true stories shared by queer storytellers from around the world. It’s donation-based, held in English, and known for being warm, funny, emotional, and deeply human. (Just get there early, as it usually fills up.)

Bi+ World Conference (July 28 - 30)

As a bisexual, I couldn’t not include this one. Three days of workshops, discussions, and community building dedicated entirely to the global bi+ community.

Amsterdam, A Queer History Book Presentation (July 29)

Author Monique Doppert presents two of her books alongside local historian Henk de Vries and Jennifer Hopelezz, with conversations about Amsterdam’s LGBTQ+ history and culture.

Water Tower Art Show (August 4 - 8)

A historic water tower in Westerpark becomes an illuminated public art installation featuring paintings, poetry, projections, and Pride flags.

WorldPride Human Rights Conference (August 5 - 7)

The intellectual heart of WorldPride. Across three days, activists, researchers, policymakers, and community leaders from around the world come together to discuss LGBTQ+ rights, health, culture, migration, religion, and the future of the movement.

World Pride Run (August 8)

Not every introvert wants to hide in a museum! If crowds are easier to handle when everyone has something to do, this inclusive 5K through Vondelpark is a wonderful alternative to another packed street party.

My tip:

As your resident autistic travel writer, I’ll offer one piece of unsolicited advice: schedule downtime on purpose. Spend a morning wandering the Nine Streets, have a lazy lunch by the canals, or read a book in Vondelpark before heading out again. Amsterdam will still be plenty gay when you come back, I promise.

events for families with kids

One of my favorite things about Pride in Amsterdam is how normal it feels to see families celebrating alongside everyone else.

If you’re traveling with kids, I’d recommend:

Junior Pride at Pride Park (July 25)

Face painting, arts and crafts, Dutch games, inflatables, a photo booth, and plenty of activities for kids, alongside organizations promoting diversity and inclusion.

Natural Heroes Expedition at ARTIS (July 25 - August 8)

ARTIS Zoo has created a special WorldPride trail that teaches children about diversity through the animal kingdom, reminding us that nature has never believed there’s just one “right” way to be. Kids complete challenges, collect seven “hero powers,” and learn that differences make ecosystems (and communities!) stronger.

WorldPride Kids Opening at ARTIS (July 26)

If you’re already planning to visit ARTIS, this festive opening celebration is worth timing your trip around. Alongside the launch of the Natural Heroes expedition, there will be animal stories, family activities, and the premiere of two new children’s books celebrating diversity and belonging.

The Bookshop Kids: Pride Edition (August 2)

Children aged six and up can enjoy story time with a drag queen, followed by theatre games, dress-up, coloring, and imaginative play.

Youth Pride Model United Nations (August 4)

Ideal for older teens with an interest in politics or activism. Young people from around the world step into the shoes of LGBTQ+ advocacy organizations, debate global issues, and develop policy recommendations that feed into the WorldPride Human Rights Conference.

Ei, i.e. “Egg”: A Musical for Kids (August 8 - 9)

Based on the true story of Roy and Silo, the famous two-dad penguins who raised a chick together, this heartwarming musical celebrates families in all their wonderful forms.

What’s cool about WorldPride for families:

One of the reasons I love Amsterdam is that family-friendly doesn't mean "hidden away in a separate kids' zone." You'll see children participating in the Pride Walk, waving rainbow flags during the Canal Parade, and dancing alongside grandparents in neighborhood squares.

supporting Amsterdam’s queer community

WorldPride lasts two weeks.

Amsterdam’s LGBTQ+ community is here all year.

If you're visiting, one of the best ways to say thank you is by supporting the businesses, organizations, and community spaces that make this city feel so welcoming long after the rainbow flags come down.

If you have room in your itinerary beyond the official WorldPride events, these are the places I'd recommend spending your time (and your euros). They're the businesses and community spaces that keep Amsterdam's queer scene thriving all year long.

queer bars and cafes:

• Bar Buka - A favorite for women and other LGBTQ+ folks looking for a relaxed place to grab a drink; just as good for an afternoon coffee or board game as it is for meeting friends before a night out

• Bar Spijker - A true Amsterdam institution that's been around since the late 1970s ft. an old-school neighborhood gay bar with plenty of regulars, pool, beer, and a distinctly no-frills atmosphere

• Café ‘t Mandje - Opened by lesbian icon Bet van Beeren in 1927, this is one of the world's oldest LGBTQ+ bars and still feels like a living piece of queer history

• Café Saarein - Tucked into the Jordaan, a cozy brown café that’s long been a gathering place for Amsterdam’s lesbian community and an easygoing spot where anyone can settle in for a drink and a game of pool

• De Lellebel - One of the city's most welcoming queer venues, with regular drag shows, comedy nights, and famously lively karaoke

• Pamela - Part neighborhood bar, part community hub, and one of Amsterdam's go-to spaces for queer and BIPOC nightlife (and the fully vegetarian and vegan menu is a nice bonus if you're stopping in for food as well as drinks)

• Prik - Ask almost any local for a queer bar recommendation and PRIK will probably come up—it’s colorful, friendly, and an excellent place to start the evening before deciding where the night takes you

• Taboo - A lively choice for cocktails, casual meals, and regular drag entertainment; especially popular as a pre-party stop before heading to the clubs

• The Queen’s Head - A canal-side gay pub with a loyal following and plenty of character (if you're in town on a Tuesday, don't miss the legendary Drag Bingo!)

where to dance:

• Club Church - Amsterdam’s most famous sex-positive club, combining dance parties with cruising events in a space built around consent and respect (every night has a different theme, so it’s worth checking the calendar before you go)

• Club NYX - One of the city's biggest LGBTQ+ clubs, with several floors playing everything from house and hip-hop to guilty-pleasure throwbacks—a great choice if your group can’t agree on the music

• De Trut - A volunteer-run institution that's been bringing Amsterdam's queer community together for decades! Open on Sunday nights and known for its unpretentious atmosphere, affordable drinks, and the fact that proceeds support LGBTQ+ causes

• Eagle - One of Europe's best-known fetish venues, hosting a wide range of themed nights, from men-only events to more inclusive parties for different identities and communities

• Exit Café - A lively, welcoming, and a reliable stop for late-night dancing in the heart of Amsterdam's LGBTQ+ nightlife district

• Raum - One of Amsterdam's premier queer techno clubs ft. excellent DJs, a strong community focus, and a carefully enforced code of conduct that helps keep the atmosphere inclusive

community spaces and orgs:

• COC Amsterdam - One of the oldest LGBTQ+ advocacy organizations in the world organizing community events, supporting queer people of all ages, and fighting for equality in the Netherlands.

• Homomonument - A striking memorial near Westerkerk honoring LGBTQ+ people who have faced persecution throughout history

• Gay Swim - Whether you're a serious swimmer or just want to meet people in a relaxed setting, GSA welcomes visitors of all skill levels—and tourists are welcome to join, making it a fun way to connect with locals

• IHLIA - Located at the OBA Oosterdok, IHLIA houses one of the world's largest LGBTQ+ archives, spanning centuries of queer history and culture

• Kindred Kuts - A Black queer-owned barbershop specializing in gender-affirming haircuts and creating a welcoming experience for people of every identity and hair texture. As much a community space as it is a place to get a fresh cut!

• LGBTOUR - If you'd rather discover Amsterdam with a local guide than wander on your own, these LGBTQ+-focused walking tours cover everything from queer history to today's community and nightlife

• Pink Point - Amsterdam's LGBTQ+ visitor information center and an excellent first stop after arriving in the city for anyone in need of recommendations, maps, or local advice

• Queer Bird Club - Proof that queer community doesn't have to revolve around bars! Join fellow bird lovers for relaxed walks through Amsterdam's parks and nature reserves, followed by plenty of conversation

• The Living Room - Weekly ballroom classes hosted by House of Vineyard, welcoming everyone from complete beginners to experienced performers. Come to learn voguing, runway, and ballroom culture, or simply to experience one of the most joyful corners of Amsterdam's queer community

• The T-House - A dedicated community center created by and for trans people, offering social gatherings, support services, and a safe place to connect (for privacy reasons, its location is shared directly with participants rather than publicly advertised)

• We Are Queer gym - An inclusive fitness community offering everything from yoga to strength training in a judgment-free environment

most importantly, be respectful!

As someone who actually lives here, please, I am begging you to review the government’s “How to Amsterdam” campaign before you get here—and:

• Never stand in bike lanes. Ever. If you need to stop for a photo, step onto the sidewalk first!

• Don’t block bridges during Canal Pride. They’re critical pedestrian routes when the city is this crowded

• Ask before taking close-up photos of drag artists or other attendees. Wide crowd shots are one thing, but strangers deserve consent

• Don’t treat Amsterdam like one giant bachelor party. Remember, Pride is joyful, but it's also deeply political for many people (though tbh I’d actually love if visitors followed this one year-round)

• Throw away your trash. Future me—and everyone else who lives here—will thank you

• Use an actual toilet. Seriously. No one wants to see you peeing into a canal, and the city will charge you €140 for doing so

• Support queer businesses, not just rainbow marketing. Remember, not every venue with a Pride flag is LGBTQ+-owned!

• Remember that Amsterdam isn’t a theme park. People live here. Be kind to residents, tip your servers, keep the noise down in residential neighborhoods late at night, and leave the city a little better than you found it

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looking for more Amsterdam recommendations?

I hope this guide helps you spend less time staring at the event calendar and more time actually enjoying Amsterdam!

If you're extending your stay beyond WorldPride, I've got plenty more Amsterdam recommendations waiting for you here on Substack, from my favorite brunch spots and museums to neighborhood guides, day trips, and the places I actually take visiting friends. I'll link a few of my most helpful Amsterdam guides below.

And if you're planning a bigger LGBTQ+ adventure through Europe, I'd love for you to check out my debut book, The LGBTQ+ Travel Guide for Lonely Planet. I wrote the Amsterdam chapter alongside born-and-raised local Daan Colijn of Couple of Men, so you'll get recommendations from both an adopted Amsterdammer (me) and someone who's known the city his entire life (him). Between the two of us, I think we've got you covered!

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They’re choices.

Someone, at some point, designed them that way.

Someone decided the only route from security to the departure gates should snake through a perfume-scented capitalist fever dream, and that we could absolutely fit three seats on each side of the aircraft, and that baggage claim should be a free-for-all where everyone crowds six inches from the carousel before the bags have even arrived.

None of those things are like, laws of physics. They’re just how the Powers That Be decided airports should work.

The older I get, the more disgruntled I become that airports have been optimized for retail revenue and passenger throughput—rather than for the actual experience of the human beings (and their nervous systems) moving through them.

So, in the spirit of having entirely too many opinions about airport infrastructure: here’s what air travel would look like if someone handed me, an AuDHD travel writer, unlimited funding and absolutely no supervision.

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before security: make the rules visible

First and foremost, put clear markers on the floor—painted footprints, perhaps, or person-circumference circle stickers—indicating where each person in line should stand so as not to crowd anyone else.

Add them in the queue where folks will wait for their turn to place items in bins, in the queue where people will stand between putting their items in bins and going through the security detector, in the queue where people wait for their bins to make it through the scanner, in the queue where they may have to wait if their bin was selected for an additional security check.

This would help eliminate unnecessary uncertainty, awkwardness, and accidental personal-space invasion for everyone involved.

after security: let people regulate before they board

I cannot stress this enough: absolutely no mandatory trips through duty free.

Look. If people want to browse perfumes, buy a liter of gin, or bring home a Toblerone approximately the size of a small child, I love that journey for them. But it should be optional.

Instead, I’d put one or two dedicated quiet spaces between security and the gates. I’m imagining something like the “quiet car” on a train: soft lighting, comfortable seating, tables big enough to work or read at, power outlets, and sound-dampened announcements. Basically, a place where your nervous system gets a chance to recover after going through security before spending the next several hours inside a metal tube with hundreds of strangers.

And while we’re redesigning things, can we please stop turning entire waiting areas into greenhouses? Natural light is lovely, but being slowly roasted alive because the afternoon sun is blasting through an enormous glass wall with no heat blocking is decidedly less lovely. Shade exists! Let’s use it!

boutiques and businesses: prioritize utility

If airports insist on filling every square inch with shops, at least let them be shops that solve actual problems for passengers.

For instance, I’d like an “Oh shit, I forgot something important” shop. Chargers, adapters, toothbrushes, deodorant, sleep masks, ear plugs… The kind of things people suddenly realize they desperately need once they’ve already cleared security.

I’d also appreciate an “I’d love to resemble a functioning human by the time I land” shop. Electrolyte packets, hydrating skincare, lip balm, eye masks, heat-free curlers, and anything else that might make it feel possible to survive a long-haul flight without feeling like a shriveled, dehydrated prune on arrival.

In a similar vein (and being similarly vain) I’d also 100% use an airport salon. If I have to get to the airport two hours early, I’d genuinely be more interested in getting a quick blowout or manicure—or my partner getting a clean shave—than in browsing the aisles of yet another luxury retail shop.

And for all the people scrambling to wrap up work tasks before boarding: proper work pods! Soundproof phone booths and little spaces where you can take meetings without subjecting the rest of Gate 42 to your quarterly earnings call (or having someone else’s conference call become the soundtrack to your own work).

at the gate: offer transparent guidance on where to wait

Finally, every departure gate should have a clearly designated disability waiting area. Not a tiny spot tucked away somewhere impossible to find, but an obvious space where disabled passengers can wait without standing shoulder-to-shoulder in an increasingly dense crowd while everyone begins instinctively inching toward the boarding lane twenty-five minutes before boarding has actually begun.

And while we’re at it: If pre-boarding is for passengers who need extra time, then they should actually get extra time! Not just like, two seconds of a head start before the rest of the flight immediately surges forward behind them.

boarding: stop making accessibility an obstacle course

Nobody should ever have to board an aircraft by climbing an outdoor flight of stairs while carrying luggage.

Not just because it’s inconvenient, but because for plenty of disabled travelers, older passengers, and people with chronic pain/mobility impairments/balance issues, it’s an unnecessary barrier that simply shouldn’t exist.

If there’s a jet bridge available, use it.

If not, there should be another accessible alternative.

Accessibility shouldn’t depend on how much your airline paid for parking.

in flight: remember that human bodies take up space

I know airline executives will hate this one, and I simply do not care.

Instead of squeezing three seats onto each side of the aircraft because “technically they fit,” I’d have only two.

Overnight, you’d solve so many problems:

• You stop spending six hours pressed up against a complete stranger’s thigh

• Every passenger gets their own two armrests instead of passive aggressively negotiating shared custody over the one between them

• Your tray table actually fits both your meal and your drink at the same time

• Everyone gets enough leg room that reclining no longer feels like an act of aggression

• The seat pocket becomes large enough to hold everything you actually want during the flight instead of forcing you to play personal item Tetris

And every seat should get a power outlet, without exception.

While we’re redesigning the cabin, I’d also love heated and cooled seats. Temperature regulation is a genuine accessibility issue for a lot of disabled people, and it’s amazing we’ve collectively accepted that airplanes should somehow be simultaneously freezing and sweltering depending on which seat you’re in.

And bathrooms should be bigger. Like, you should have enough room to turn around without accidentally elbowing three different surfaces, and enough counter space for your toiletry bag if you’re freshening up after a long haul flight.

Also—and I realize I’m really getting into the weeds here—but could we perhaps have hand soap that doesn’t somehow leave your hands feeling simultaneously sticky and dry? And paper towels that are actually paper towels instead of what appears to be a single-ply facial tissue having an identity crisis?

disembarking: can we all agree on how queues work?

Possibly my hottest aviation take: Getting off the plane should have actual rules.

Rows leave one at a time.

You don’t stand until it’s your row’s turn.

You don’t retrieve your bag from the overhead bins until it’s your turn.

And you definitely don’t squeeze past everyone because you feel entitled to get to passport control thirty seconds faster than anyone else.

If people repeatedly ignore the process, flight attendants would actually remind them over the PA system.

Because the chaos that currently unfolds the second the seatbelt sign switches off serves absolutely nobody.

arrivals: don’t make passengers solve another puzzle

As soon as I step off the aircraft, I want signs telling me:

• Nearest toilets: 2-minute walk

• Baggage claim: 6-minute walk

• Arrivals hall: 8-minute walk

Not because I’m incapable of walking, but because predictability is calming. Knowing what’s coming next reduces cognitive load.

At baggage claim, add more floor markings (“Stand here,” “Leave this much space between yourself and the carousel,” etc).

From there, transport connections should be unmistakably obvious: Taxi rank here, ride-share pickup there, bus this way, train that way. No detective work required.

And if we’re filling the arrivals hall with businesses, let’s make those useful too:

• A café specifically designed for people waiting to meet someone whose flight has landed

• A “you forgot to buy your host a gift” shop selling flowers, chocolates, wine, and the sorts of thoughtful little presents people always remember approximately five minutes too late

• A “you’ve been travelling for fourteen hours and you both feel and look like it” shop with brushes, combs, dry shampoo, hair ties, skincare, makeup, deodorant, perfume, and all the little things that help you look and feel vaguely human again

And perhaps my most niche request of all: a space that isn’t a toilet, but has mirrors, sinks, good lighting, and enough counter space to wash your face, brush your teeth, or freshen up before meeting someone. Because sometimes you don’t need the loo, you just need somewhere to pull yourself together after a long journey.

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this isn’t actually about airports

Looking back over this list, I don’t actually think what I’m asking for is particularly extravagant.

It’s not like I’m asking every airline to replace economy with lie-flat suites. (Although that does sound dope.)

I’m just asking for predictability, clearer communication, and environments that reduce unnecessary stress instead of manufacturing it. For spaces that recognize human bodies and human nervous systems have needs, and for accessibility to be built into the design from the beginning instead of bolted on later as an accommodation that people have to request.

And the funny thing about universal design is that almost none of these ideas would only help autistic travelers. Parents traveling with young children, older passengers, people recovering from injuries, travelers navigating an airport in a language they don’t speak fluently, people with migraines, business travelers trying to work, first time flyers, people who are simply exhausted… Almost everyone would have a better experience. Which is exactly the point!

Design for the people with the highest support needs, and everyone else usually benefits, too.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be over here waiting for whichever airport or airline wants to hire me as their extremely opinionated AuDHD consultant. I have approximately 47 more pages of notes.

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We currently live in the Netherlands, in Potato Europe. Here, the temperatures are typically more mild and a rain shower is possible at nearly any given moment. Daily routines align a bit more with those we grew up with in the Northeastern US, in terms of mealtimes and workday schedules: Get to work or school around 8:30 a.m., lunch at noon, back to the grind at 1 p.m., wrap up around 5:30 p.m., socialize right away if you’re going to, then eat dinner by 7 p.m. People are typically efficient and organized, scheduling appointments to get together with friends weeks in advance and sending “pay me back” app requests to friends for the single drink they ordered at dinner. Plates are full of hearty, beige, starch-heavy foods: breads, root vegetables, and—you guessed it—potatoes.

But when we plan our vacations, it’s hard to resist the siren song of Tomato Europe. There, the weather is warmer, and it’s an anomaly for the sun not to be shining. People tend to be more relaxed, with a slower and more laissez-faire, no pasa nada kind of attitude. Daily routines are usually based around the temperature: Wake early and get to work or school while it’s still cool, leave for lunch around 1 p.m., then plan to stay indoors not working until the hottest part of the day is over (around 4:30 p.m.ish), back to the grind until 6 p.m.ish, a light snack and drink around 7 p.m., dinner around 9 p.m. at the earliest, then do your socializing after the sun has set. Meals are bright and vibrant, with fresh ingredients like seafood, olives, herbs, and—duh—tomatoes.

In an ideal world, we’d spend our summers in Potato Europe and the rest of the year in Tomato Europe. For now, we’ll settle for visiting as often as we can.

This year, our first escape to Tomato Europe came in the form of four blissfully slow days on the southern Italian island of Sardinia.

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why Sardinia

In May, we caught up with our well-traveled friend Rachel over oysters and Cava as she told us all about her recent trip to Sardinia. I’d assumed it was a destination on the pricier side, but Rachel insisted that it had been surprisingly affordable to get there and back from Amsterdam.

Before Rachel’s recommendation, Sardinia honestly wasn’t on my radar. I associated it with billionaire yachts, glamorous beach clubs, and the kind of Mediterranean vacation that costs approximately one month’s rent.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

What we found instead was an island with Caribbean-blue water, incredible food, charming beach towns, and surprisingly affordable flights from Amsterdam. Better yet, it never felt overdeveloped. Even on the Costa Smeralda—arguably Sardinia’s most famous stretch of coastline—we found ourselves spending our days reading books, swimming in crystal-clear water, and eating €8 pizzas instead of rubbing elbows with celebrities.

In other words: exactly our kind of vacation.

getting from Amsterdam to Sardinia

After a bit of research, I found that Rachel was exactly right. Schiphol offered plenty of not-too-pricy flight options to Sardinia’s three major airports (Cagliari, Alghero, and Olbia) but none were more excitingly inexpensive for us to get to than Olbia.

The timing of the outbound and inbound flights turned out to be a bit tricky to coordinate, so we ended up booking our flight to Olbia with EasyJet for €69 per person and our return flights from Olbia with Transavia for €59 per person. All together, we paid under €275 total for both of our flights combined.

From there, it cost literally €1.50 to get from the Olbia Airport to Olbia Station via ASPO bus, and the ride only took about 10 minutes. It doesn’t get easier or cheaper than that! The ASPO bus line 2 runs from 7:30 a.m. to 8 p.m., while line 10 runs from 6:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m., so the one you take will depend on your arrival time.

first night in Olbia

Thursday:

Since our flight landed in the evening, we decided to spend our first night in Olbia before making our way to the beach the next morning. It ended up being the perfect way to ease ourselves into Sardinia and to get a little taste of the city before entering full-on beach vacation mode.

We checked into Almasarda, a small guesthouse just a few minutes' walk from Olbia’s historic city center that cost us just €125 for the night. Barbara, the owner, greeted us personally, made sure we had everything we needed, and explained that breakfast the next morning would be at one of four neighborhood cafés using a little voucher she'd provided—a much more charming introduction to Italy than the standard hotel buffet. The room was blissfully air-conditioned (already earning five stars in my book!) and had everything we needed for a comfortable overnight stay.

After dropping our bags and rinsing the smell of our travels off of ourselves, we made a beeline toward restaurant Rosinita for the kind of first-night dinner I wish every trip started with. Instead of ordering one enormous plate and hoping we'd guessed correctly, we were able to sample tapas-sized portions of several Sardinian specialties we'd been excited to try: culurgiones (beautiful little stuffed pasta filled with potato and mint), fregola (the island's signature toasted pearl pasta), porceddu (roast suckling pig), seadas (a fried pastry filled with cheese and drizzled with honey), and a few rounds of Birra Ichnusa (Sardinian-made beer, which our server explained boasted the island’s former name) and Vermentino di Gallura (Costa Smeralda’s own crisp local white wine). By the end of dinner, we already had favorites, along with a much better idea of what we'd want to order again over the next few days.

From there, we took a little passeggiata toward Beer Spoon, whose terrace spills out onto Piazza Regina Margherita. Beer Spoon and its sister bar, Bar Spoon, sit directly across a tiny alley from one another, so you can order Sardinian craft beers, upscale cocktails, mouthwatering pizzas, and tasty bar snacks all from the same table. We lingered over a couple of Sardinian beers while watching the square fill up as the evening cooled off—our first real taste of that slower, later-in-the-evening Tomato Europe rhythm I'd been craving.

Naturally, no Italian evening is complete without gelato. We made our way toward Gelateria Da Brivido, mostly because a) it was next door to our accommodations, and b) its nearly perfect Google reviews convinced me it couldn't possibly disappoint. Reader, it did not! We ordered dark chocolate and salted caramel, both of which were outrageously good. Only later did I learn that the owner, Chef Michela, sources her ingredients directly from small Sardinian farms and dairies and makes everything with 100% natural ingredients. At the time, all I knew was that I would've happily gotten back in line for a second cone.

Back at Almasarda, we ended the night in the most American-millennial-tourist-y way imaginable: air conditioning blasting, gelato fully digested, watching The Lizzie McGuire Movie before falling asleep. No notes.

Friday morning:

The next morning, we packed up and checked out by 10 a.m., but Barbara once again came to the rescue by letting us store our bags at Almasarda until it was time to head to Pittulongu later that morning. It gave us a few extra hours to explore Olbia without dragging our luggage over every cobblestone in town.

First things first: our first proper Italian breakfast. As promised, Barbara's breakfast voucher was good at one of four neighborhood cafés, and ours happened to be New York Café, just around the corner. We indulgently ordered espresso macchiatos, fresh-squeezed orange juice, a chocolate cornetto, and a bombolone alla crema. If this is how Italians start every morning, I completely understand why they're in such a good mood.

Fueled by coffee and an irresponsible amount of pastry, we wandered over to the Basilica di San Simplicio, an 11th-century Romanesque church and one of Olbia's oldest landmarks. From there, we took our time strolling down Corso Umberto, the city's main pedestrian street, ducking into little shops, admiring the colorful buildings, and soaking up a few more hours of city life before trading stone streets for sandy beaches.

When it was finally time to leave, we headed back to Almasarda to collect our bags. We could've taken the bus to Pittulongu, but with luggage in tow, a taxi felt like the easier option. Barbara had already sent us the WhatsApp number for Taxi N.C.C. Olbia (+39 0789 609056, if you need it) when we’d dropped our bags off, so we'd scheduled an 11:30 pickup. Ten minutes later, we were on our way to the coast.

three nights on Costa Smeralda in Pittulongu

Friday afternoon and evening:

By 11:45 a.m., we were pulling into Pittulongu, a tiny beach town on Sardinia's famed Costa Smeralda that would serve as our home base for the next three nights.

Since check-in wasn't until later that afternoon, our taxi dropped us at Mamabeach, a gorgeous beachfront restaurant just a short walk from our rental. The space somehow manages to feel like a natural extension of the beach itself: open-air, filled with warm wood and lush greenery, and blessedly covered to offer a welcome break from the midday sun. Even better, the prices were surprisingly reasonable for such a prime waterfront location. We split an €8 Margherita pizza that was so enormous we genuinely couldn’t finish it. I paired that with a Bloody Mama, the restaurant's take on a Bloody Mary, which was every bit as delicious as it was beautifully presented.

After lunch, it was just a quick stroll to our apartment, La Terrazza sul Mare, where we'd be staying for the rest of the trip at just €145 a night. While it isn't the most stylish rental you'll ever stay in, it absolutely nails the things that matter: two bedrooms, plenty of room to spread out, reliable air conditioning (worth its weight in gold during a Sardinian heat wave), a covered terrace, and an incredible rooftop deck overlooking the sea. Diego, the owner, was communicative before and throughout our stay, and the location couldn't have been better—we were just a couple of minutes' walk from both the beach and the handful of restaurants and shops in town.

Rather than fighting the afternoon heat, we decided to fully embrace Tomato Europe and do as the locals do. Many of the businesses in Pittulongu close between roughly 2 and 5 p.m., so we followed suit, unpacking our bags, turning on the air conditioning, and taking a gloriously guilt-free afternoon nap.

Once the town came back to life, we walked over to Supermercato Nonna Isa—the only grocery store in Pittulongu—to stock up for the weekend. We grabbed bottled water, local wine and beer, coffee, breakfast essentials, sandwich fixings for beach lunches, and an assortment of Italian snacks that somehow all made it back to the apartment despite our insistence to each other that we were "just picking up a few things."

Groceries unpacked, we changed into our swimsuits and made the two-minute walk down to Spiaggia Lo Squalo for our first swim in the Tyrrhenian Sea (my geography nerd of a partner, of course, immediately had to research which bodies of water we’d be spending our time in—turns out, this one is a sub-basin of the Mediterranean Sea). Arriving around 6:30 p.m. turned out to be perfect: the day's heat had mellowed, the crowds had started to thin, and the water was every bit as crystal clear as Instagram had promised.

After rinsing off back at the apartment, we carried dinner and drinks up to the rooftop terrace and toasted to a great first (full) day in Sardinia as the sun began to set. Once our plates and glasses were empty, we made our way back downstairs. By this point, we’d accidentally developed a nightly tradition: crank the AC, watch a comfort movie, and fall asleep by midnight. My partner's pick this time? The Bob's Burgers Movie. No complaints here.

After the credits rolled, we spent a few minutes packing our bags for the next morning, since we knew we’d be waking up early. We'd already been warned that if we wanted a good spot on Sardinia's beaches in the summer, sleeping in would not be our friend.

Saturday:

Saturday was dedicated to doing what we came to Sardinia to do: absolutely nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

We woke up early and made our way to Mamabeach by 8 a.m. to claim a front-row spot on Spiaggia Pittulongu before the beach filled up. If you're renting an umbrella and sunbeds from them for the day, here's a tip we learned through mild public embarrassment: don't stand awkwardly by the rental stand waiting for someone to help you (like we did). Instead, just walk out onto the beach, decide where you'd like to set up camp, and wave over the person setting up umbrellas.

In our case, that person was a local named Andrei, who drilled a hole in the sand exactly where we wanted to spend the day, charged us €25 for an umbrella and two sunbeds, and then radioed his colleagues to come finish setting everything up just a few feet from the water. It was one of those systems that seems completely chaotic until you realize everyone except you knows exactly how it works.

Andrei also happened to be accompanied by the unofficial mascot of Spiaggia Pittulongu: his Australian Shepherd, India. She trotted up and down the beach alongside the umbrella crew all morning, periodically sprinting into the sea to cool off before returning to work. We were absolutely obsessed with her and probably spent an unreasonable amount of time watching her instead of reading our books.

Once our little beach setup was ready, we headed inside Mamabeach for breakfast, leaving our towels behind to mark our territory like everyone else. I ordered the Italian breakfast (an assortment of fresh breads with butter, jams, honey, and Nutella, plus an Americano and fresh-squeezed orange juice) while my partner opted for the Full Breakfast (with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and, to our great delight, crisp, cold tomatoes instead of the hot, sad breakfast tomatoes we're accustomed to elsewhere).

The rest of the morning settled into a wonderfully repetitive rhythm: sunscreen, reading, chatting, swimming in the perfectly cool-but-not-too-cool water, people-watching, more sunscreen, then back into the sea.

When we got hungry, we broke into the sandwiches and drinks we'd packed from the grocery store the night before. Another benefit of renting the sunbeds? Around 1:30 p.m., we were able to head back to the apartment for a proper siesta in the air conditioning while leaving our towels behind to dry. By late afternoon, we simply wandered back down to the beach and resumed exactly where we'd left off.

Around 7:30 p.m., we traded sand for aperitivo at Sa Joga, another beachfront restaurant just a short walk away. We ordered the grigliata mista con verdure alla griglia—a platter of grilled sea bass, tuna, prawns, squid, and vegetables—which tasted like heaven after an entire day spent in saltwater and sunshine.

After one last shower back at the apartment, we packed our beach bag for another early morning and settled in for the evening's featured film: The Birdcage. At this point, our nightly movie-in-the-air-conditioned-apartment tradition had become as much a part of the itinerary as the beach itself.

Sunday:

By Sunday, we were totally embracing the Italian dolce far niente philosophy: the sweetness of doing nothing. No alarms, no itinerary, no pressure to squeeze in any last attractions before heading home.

We woke up naturally, made coffee in the apartment, and enjoyed a slow morning before walking into town for lunch at Pizzeria al Volo. The restaurant's covered rooftop terrace catches a wonderful breeze and looks out toward the sea, making it an easy place to linger for a while. Even though we'd ordered the "normale"-sized pizzas instead of the “gigante” ones, they still arrived comically large.

I ordered the Pizza Sarda while my partner went with the Arrabbiata, and we paired them with two bottles of lemon-flavored Birra Ichnusa—a refreshing, sweet, citrusy beer that reminded us a bit of a German Radler. We happened to be the first customers of the day, so the wood-fired ovens took a little while to get going. Our server was so apologetic about the wait that he offered us another round of drinks on the house, which was incredibly kind, though we honestly hadn't minded at all. Between the oversized pizzas and the beers, we ended up packing half of each pizza into a takeaway box, unknowingly setting ourselves up for one of our favorite dinners of the trip.

On the way back to the apartment, we made one final stop at Supermercato Nonna Isa to pick up the finishing touches for our last evening: a few local beers for the beach, antipasti for aperitivo, and one last bottle of Sardinian wine to enjoy on the rooftop.

Then, in keeping with our new Tomato Europe routine, we spent the hottest part of the afternoon exactly where we were supposed to: inside, in the air conditioning, doing absolutely nothing.

Before heading back out, we messaged the same taxi company that had brought us to Pittulongu on WhatsApp to arrange our early-morning ride to the airport the next day. We could've taken the bus, but with such an early flight and luggage in tow, this felt like one of those moments where spending a little extra was worth the convenience.

Around 5:30 p.m., we made our way down to Spiaggia Lo Squalo for one final swim. Families were starting to pack up for the day, and we happily took their place in the water, making our way past the coarse, rough sands at the shoreline to the soft, white sands further out. We dunked our heads in, soaking our hair in salty seawater, then floated on our backs with our hearts and bellies pointed up toward the sun as the afternoon sky grew golden.

On the walk back, we stopped at the beachfront AF Chiosco Bar for gelato before heading home to shower, finish packing, and transform our leftover pizza into the world's easiest final dinner. Alongside our antipasti spread and that last bottle of local wine, it felt even more satisfying than going out to a restaurant one last time.

We carried everything up to the rooftop terrace for one final aperitivo overlooking the sea, lingering outside until it grew dark enough that the only thing left to do was continue our increasingly ridiculous vacation movie marathon. My partner's final pick? The 2002 live-action Scooby-Doo, set on Spooky Island. A surprisingly fitting end to a trip that had become less about checking sights off of an itinerary and more about settling into a slower, sweeter (and in this case, sillier) pace of life.

Monday:

Monday morning came early.

We were up around 6:30 a.m., grabbed our bags, and met the taxi driver we’d arranged the day before for the quick ride back to Olbia Airport.

There was just enough time for one final Italian breakfast before boarding our flight: cappuccino for me, fresh orange juice for my partner, and the same assortment of flaky pastries we'd fallen in love with on our first morning in Olbia. It felt like the appropriate bookend to the trip.

A short flight later, we were back in Amsterdam, trading turquoise seawater for tree-lined canals, late-night aperitivi for early-evening borrel, and Tomato Europe for Potato Europe until next time.

if we were feeling a little spendier next time

Honestly, we both agreed that we wouldn't change much. This itinerary struck a really nice balance between affordability and feeling like we were on a proper Mediterranean holiday. But if our budget were a little bigger next time, here are a few upgrades we'd be tempted to make:

• Rent a car. We loved how easy it was to do this trip without one, but having our own wheels would make it much easier to explore more of Sardinia’s beaches, villages, wineries, and mountain towns at our own pace.

• Book a beachfront hotel with breakfast and beach service included. We adored our apartment, but I can absolutely see the appeal of somewhere like The Pelican Beach Resort & Spa, where breakfast is taken care of and your umbrella and sunbeds are already waiting for you each morning. The fact that it’s adults-only certainly doesn’t hurt, either. (No offense whatsoever to the children enthusiastically screaming, splashing, and launching soccer balls across the public beaches we frequented. They’re entitled to their vacation, too!)

• Spend an afternoon on the water. We kept eyeing the boats from the beach and agreed that next time we’d love to book a half-day excursion with SN Boat by Summer Service to explore hidden coves and swim in some of the more secluded parts of the Costa Smeralda.

• Splurge on one truly memorable dinner. We talked about making a reservation at the slightly-further-away Nuska Beach Restaurant more than once, and the chef’s tasting menus—especially the seafood option with wine pairings—looked incredible. We never quite convinced ourselves to make the trek or spend the money this time, but it would probably be the first reservation I’d make on a return trip.

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miss you already, Sardinia

Between inexpensive flights from Amsterdam, affordable accommodations, simple meals built around incredible local ingredients, and beaches every bit as stunning as the ones splashed across luxury travel magazines, Sardinia ended up being one of the best value-for-money trips we’ve taken in Europe.

More importantly, it gave us four uninterrupted days of living on Tomato Europe time.

If you’ve been looking for an excuse to book a long weekend somewhere sunny, consider this yours.

Just don’t make the mistake we did on our first morning at the beach: skip the umbrella stand, find your spot in the sand first, and wave down Andrei.

Give India a pat from us.

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Whether that’s because you’re autistic, have a chronic illness, take medications that affect temperature regulation, burn easily, sweat a lot, or simply hate feeling sticky and overstimulated, you’re not imagining it and you’re not alone.

Over the years I’ve assembled a collection of products, habits, and accommodations that make hot weather significantly more manageable—and this is the list I wish I’d had much sooner.

Why you should trust me on this: I'm a professional travel writer who has spent years living through AC-less European summers. I'm autistic and have ADHD, with sensory sensitivities that make temperature swings especially difficult. I'm also on SSRIs, which can increase heat intolerance and sweating. I'm a curvy girl all too familiar with the realities of chafing and boob sweat. And I have vitiligo, which means I'm extra careful about sun exposure.

In other words: if there is a way to make summer more comfortable, I've probably tried it.

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If you’re wondering which cooling blanket, portable fan, anti-chafe stick, etc. made the cut, I’ve linked my favorites throughout the post. No pressure to buy anything! This list is meant to be helpful whether you’re shopping or not.

Obviously not all of these tips will be accessible or realistic for everyone. Take what works for you, leave what doesn’t, and adapt as needed!

create a cool sanctuary at home

Think of these as your first line of defense: small changes that can make your home feel noticeably cooler and more comfortable, even without air conditioning.

• Fans everywhere (ceiling fans, table fans, outdoor fans, etc.)

• Blackout curtains to keep afternoon sun from turning your home into an oven

• Screens for windows so you can maximize airflow without inviting in every mosquito in the neighborhood

• Still and sparkling water in the fridge at all times

• Ice cube trays that are actually easy to refill and empty (the little things matter!)

• Electrolyte packets stocked in a kitchen drawer

• Grapes, watermelon, popsicles, etc. in the fridge/freezer as a sensory-friendly cooling snack

• Cooling products in the freezer: cooling neck ring, migraine cap, ice roller for face

• A lightweight cooling blanket for sleep, and cotton percale sheets (a game-changer if heat tends to keep you awake)

• Breathable pajamas

• Cooling shower products like this minty-fresh shampoo and body wash

• Clinical-strength antiperspirant before bed (trust me on the timing! it works better this way)

set yourself up for success

A little preparation goes a long way. These are the things I do before walking out the door so I'm not spending the rest of the day trying to recover from heat, sweat, sunburn, or sensory overload.

• Morning skincare routine, ending with face SPF and SPF lip balm

• Antiperspirant deodorant

• Powder under the boobs

• Lotion-to-powder anywhere else that tends to get sweaty

• Anti-chafe stick between thighs (a non-negotiable for me)

• Anti-chafe shorts (easily my most-worn summer clothing item)

• Sweat-wicking bra (the difference between “slightly warm” and “swamp tits”)

• Hair tied or clipped up off your neck, if long hair makes you overheat

• Outfits entirely comprised of natural fibers so your clothes can breeeeeathe (linen and cotton co-ords are ideal)

• Comfortable walking sandals or sneakers with sweat-wicking socks

• Keep your body sunscreen and bug spray by the front door so you don't forget either

what’s in my bag all summer long

My goal is to leave the house prepared for the version of the day that inevitably ends up hotter, sunnier, and sweatier than I expected.

• Portable fan—plus a paper fan backup, because batteries have a sense of humor

• UPF sun hat (especially important if you’re prone to burning!)

• Non-slip sunglasses you won’t have to push back up your nose all day long

• Refillable water bottle and electrolyte packs (particularly if you take meds that make you run hot)

• Facial spray and/or blotting sheets, depending on your sensory preference

• Cooling towel (especially useful for travel, festivals, outdoor markets, and theme parks)

• A quick-dry hand towel for sweat emergencies

• Foldable tote bag, so you’re not stuck carrying extra layers once the temperature rises

• Mini versions of all the essentials, for reapplication as needed: antiperspirant deodorant, anti-chafe stick, face sunscreen, body sunscreen, bug spray, SPF lip balm

• Peppermint essential oil roller for a temporary cooling sensation

• Instant cooling patches (I was skeptical until I tried them)

• A spare shirt if you’re going to be outside all day

if summer wins anyway

Despite our best efforts, sometimes we still end up overheating. When that happens, these are the things that help me cool down and recover before I hit full sensory meltdown mode.

• Cool water on wrists, neck, and behind the knees

• Change into dry clothes as soon as possible

• A lukewarm (not ice-cold!) shower

• Electrolytes before you think you need them

• Give yourself recovery time instead of pushing through

sensory accommodations matter, too

Possibly the most important section on the list! Products can help, but sometimes the real solution is adjusting expectations, making accommodations, and remembering that your comfort matters, too.

Summer doesn't have to be something you white-knuckle your way through.

• Permission to decline outdoor plans during peak heat hours

• Choosing restaurants, cafés, museums, and activities based on air conditioning availability—and not feeling guilty about it!

• Building extra transition time into your day if heat tends to trigger fatigue or sensory overload

• Scheduling walks and errands for early morning or evening whenever possible

• Treating overheating as a legitimate accessibility issue rather than a personal failing

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it’s hot, but you got this

None of these things make summer disappear, but together they make it a whole lot more manageable.

And now I want to hear from you!

Did I miss anything?

What's your secret weapon for surviving summer when heat and humidity feel less like a season and more like a personal attack? Let me know in the comments! I'd love to keep adding to this list and learning from the collective wisdom of sweaty, sensory-sensitive people everywhere.

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Which means I now have an entirely new venue through which I can ask you all extremely specific questions and collect your opinions on things.

God help us all 🥲

If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that some of my favorite parts of writing Carry On happen after I hit publish—when someone tells me about the weird little travel accommodation that changed their life, or shares a destination recommendation I never would’ve found on my own, or shows up in the comments with an incredibly niche perspective that somehow ends up helping half the community.

So rather than waiting until the bottom of a newsletter to compare notes, I figured we might as well have a dedicated place to do it.

Some conversations will be practical:

✈️ travel planning

📍 destination recommendations

🎒 accessibility, packing, and travel hacks

Some will be deeply important journalistic inquiries, such as:

🍕 what’s the best pre-flight meal?

📚 what are we reading right now?

🎬 what comfort shows are getting us through gestures vaguely at everything?

🧀 what is the correct amount of cheese to bring home from a trip? (the limit does not exist)

And some will inevitably become discussions about queer life, neurodivergence, mental health, moving through the world, building community, and all the other things that tend to happen around here whenever I give us the chance.

Basically: if the newsletter is me talking to you, the chat is where we get to talk to each other.

And because I physically cannot launch a new thing without immediately asking for feedback, the first discussion is already live:

I’m currently updating my Amsterdam recommendations guide and would love your thoughts: what structure actually makes a travel guide useful?

Do you prefer recommendations organized by neighborhood? By budget? By interest? By trip length? By “just tell me where the good snacks are and stop making me work for it”?

Come tell me!

And while you’re there, say hi. I’d love to know who’s hanging out in this little corner of the internet with me.

Love you. Mean it.

💜 Alicia

Join chat

How to join the chat

1. Get the Substack app by clicking this link or the button below (or access chat on the web).

Get app

2. Once you're in the app, tap the Chat icon (the little speech bubbles at the bottom of the screen). You should see Carry On waiting for you there.

3. Then come say hi! Introduce yourself, lurk quietly in the corner, answer the Amsterdam question, share an extremely niche travel opinion—whatever feels right.

And if technology decides to be a menace, you can check out Substack’s FAQ or reply to this email and I'll do my best to help.

A quick heads up: unlike newsletters, chat messages won’t land in your inbox. If you want to follow along as things happen, make sure you're using the Substack app and turn on notifications.

See you in the chat!

For decades, the Dutch capital has marketed itself internationally as a place of queer freedom: rainbow crosswalks, canal-side Pride celebrations, and a reputation for tolerance so deeply ingrained it borders on mythology.

As a queer American immigrant living in the Netherlands, I’ve learned how quickly that branding can flatten the city into something overly simple. Amsterdam can absolutely feel liberating and affirming for LGBTQ+ travelers—but it is also a place shaped by protest movements, grief, nightlife workers, activists, refugees, artists, archivists, and generations of queer people whose stories often remain invisible unless someone intentionally points them out.

That tension is what drew me to LGBTOUR Amsterdam, the queer storytelling project founded by Sanne Pols.

Part walking tour, part oral history, part communal space, LGBTOUR moves through Amsterdam via conversations about queer nightlife, protest, identity, sex work, belonging, and survival—often through intensely personal storytelling.

When I spoke with Sanne, what struck me most was that she rarely described herself as a historian or educator. Again and again, she returned instead to emotion, intuition, discomfort, and connection.

“I’m connected first with emotion,” she told me. “That’s always up front.”

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“I thought I was straight”

Sanne moved to Amsterdam from the south of the Netherlands after finishing journalism studies and ending a long-term relationship with her boyfriend. At the time, she still thought she was straight.

Then she met another woman in her master’s program.

“In the beginning, I found her really annoying,” she told me, laughing. “She was in my head all the time, and I didn’t understand why.”

The two were part of the same student group, and Sanne remembers suddenly catching herself putting on makeup before group meetings and internally asking: “Sanne, who are you doing this for? What is going on?”

At first, she tried to rationalize it away. “I thought, ‘okay, I live in Amsterdam now. I’m single. I can kiss a girl and have a fun story for my straight friends.’”

Then they kissed underneath the rainbow flag outside the first lesbian bar she had ever visited.

“And it wasn’t just some good story like I thought it would be,” she said. “I remember thinking, ‘this isn’t funny. I have all these feelings. I don’t understand what’s going on.’”

The relationship that followed changed not only how she understood herself, but how she moved through public space.

“For a long time, I had this privilege of being ‘in the norm,’” she said. “When I walked hand-in-hand with my boyfriend, nobody reacted. Suddenly people felt like they could voice opinions on my relationship.”

Rather than trying to ignore those experiences, Sanne turned toward them.

“I thought, ‘I don’t want this to become normal to me,’” she said. “‘I don’t want to forget about it. I want to see if I can do something positive with it.’”

She began working on personal storytelling projects centered around authenticity and identity, eventually winning a national prize in 2015. Later came DE&I trainings for corporations—work she described as “less fun, very hard work”—before she realized what she missed most was genuine human connection.

In 2017, she launched LGBTOUR Amsterdam.

“I already had these favorite pink routes through the city,” she said. “And I realized I could meet all these queers and allies from around the world and speak about pride, protest, coming out, all these things—through the city itself.”

Very quickly, she said, the tours developed their own emotional rhythm. “There’s laughing, crying. On every tour, someone takes part in that. Including me.”

Queer storytelling as preservation

Over time, Sanne says, the tours became less about trying to explain all of queer Amsterdam and more about creating space where people felt emotionally safe enough to be honest.

“For me, LGBTOUR is like a lifelong education,” she said. “The tours reflect how I’m doing, what’s top of mind in my life at that moment.”

As she became more comfortable as a guide, she also stopped pressuring herself to make the tours comprehensive.

“It’s a tour of two hours,” she said, laughing. “I can’t put everything into it.”

Instead, she follows the energy of the group.

“With my ADHD, I will never get a story straight in my head,” she said. “Something else happens, or I get distracted, or I forget where I was.”

For a long time, she saw that as a weakness.

“I punished myself for that in the beginning,” she admitted. “Because I can’t do what some other tour guides do, giving a lecture in this structured way, telling stories from a script.”

But eventually, she stopped trying to perform a version of professionalism that didn’t fit her.

“Now I let it go,” she said. “And I enjoy myself much more. The guests do too.”

Listening to her describe the tours, I found myself thinking about how different this approach feels from the way queer tourism is often marketed internationally. So much LGBTQ+ travel advertising reduces queer experience to nightlife, spectacle, or rainbow symbolism. But Sanne is trying to create something slower, more raw, and emotionally porous.

The tours, she explained, constantly absorb whatever is happening in the wider world.

Earlier in LGBTOUR’s history, she regularly hosted Russian travelers. After Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, that largely stopped. More recently, she says many trans travelers from the United States have stopped traveling altogether because of fears around politics and safety.

“The groups reflect what’s happening in the world,” she said.

Amsterdam itself has changed, too. City regulations have altered some of the historic walking routes she used to guide through freely. But the biggest shift, she said, was personal.

Two years ago, Sanne lost her partner.

At first, she removed their picture from the tour photo album that she always shares with guests and tried to continue working normally. But grief followed her into the tours anyway.

“What ended up happening was that I started coming with this deep queer grief into the tours,” she said.

Unexpectedly, the emotional dynamic changed.

“It was not only me taking the lead anymore,” she said. “I had to lean a little bit on the group.”

And then, she said, queer grief itself became part of the experience.

“When grief is the topic, the connection becomes even more intense.”

Now, Sanne proudly has her late partner’s picture back in the photo album she shares with her guests, and it offers groups the opportunity to open up about queer grief during their tours.

That part of our conversation stayed with me long after the interview ended. Queer tourism so often emphasizes celebration and freedom that it leaves little room for mourning, exhaustion, or vulnerability, despite the fact that queer history is filled with all three.

Sanne doesn’t separate those things from one another.

“I’m following my discomfort”

That emotional honesty, Sanne believes, is part of what differentiates LGBTOUR from more conventional city tours.

Sometimes she laughs at herself while guiding. Other times she cries while telling difficult stories from queer history.

“I can feel the energy from the people on the tour,” she said. “Even when I’m thinking about what we’ll do next, I’m feeling what they’re feeling.”

That openness also changes how guests respond to one another.

“I see this relaxation happen,” she said. “Like, ‘Oh, okay, we can really be ourselves here.’”

As an immigrant myself, I recognized that feeling: the relief of entering a space where you no longer have to simplify yourself for strangers.

At the same time, she’s careful not to present Amsterdam as some perfect queer utopia.

“People sometimes want this one story of how great Amsterdam is,” she said. “But nothing is black and white.”

That tension becomes especially visible with visitors who arrive expecting affirmation rather than complexity.

“Yes, you’re in one of the queer capitals of the world,” she said. “But it’s also not perfect.”

Sanne regularly discusses topics many tour companies would likely avoid entirely: sex work, queer nightlife, cruising culture, trans spaces, neurodiversity, political tensions within LGBTQ+ communities, and the changing landscape of lesbian bars globally.

“I give my opinions very strongly sometimes,” she admitted, laughing. “For example, about sex work and stigma.”

Then she asks guests what they think.

“I’m not trying to be the one with all the answers,” she said. “I’m searching for conversation.”

Again and again, she returned to one phrase in particular: “I’m following my discomfort.”

“When I share stories that maybe are uncomfortable for me, it feels like reclaiming,” she said. “Wherever I feel uncomfortable, I want to go to.”

Queer tourism and community responsibility

As LGBTOUR has grown, Sanne has slowly expanded beyond herself, bringing on additional guides and building something closer to a collective.

“No one is like me,” she said. “Which is a good thing.”

Some of the guides were former guests she instinctively connected with during tours. Others arrived through Amsterdam’s queer community networks.

The expansion also allowed her to stop forcing herself into experiences that didn’t fit her personally—especially nightlife tours.

“I tried to do them myself,” she said, laughing. “But it was too overstimulating for me as an ADHD person, going into all these bars and doing small talk.”

Now, newer guides lead many of those experiences instead.

When our conversation turned toward Amsterdam Pride and tourism more broadly, Sanne repeatedly emphasized intentionality over consumption.

“There will be a thousand things you cannot go to,” she said of WorldPride visitors. “So first ask yourself what you actually want.”

She encouraged travelers to look beyond the Canal Parade and seek out grassroots events, trans-led programming, Black Pride events, volunteer-run spaces, and community organizations.

“The most meaningful community events are often not during Canal Pride itself,” she explained.

She also spoke candidly about allyship and tourism ethics.

“You can’t just say, ‘I’m an ally,’” she said. “You have to work for it.”

For visitors wanting to support Amsterdam’s queer communities materially, she recommends spending money intentionally: booking queer-led experiences, supporting volunteer-run venues, attending community-based events, and recognizing where tourism money actually goes.

She told me that 50% of tips from LGBTOUR guests are used to help cover tours for queer refugees and others who otherwise could not afford them.

“So you can actually see how your money contributes to something positive,” she said.

Oral history against erasure

Toward the end of our conversation, Sanne told me about guests who joined tours immediately after coming out and leaving religious families behind.

“We were both crying,” she said.

At the time, she handed out Dutch candies during tours, each printed with a Dutch word. Some guests later tattooed the words from those candies onto their bodies.

“It was liberation,” she said. “Finally being yourself.”

She also described asking older American guests about their first experiences with Pride.

“One woman suddenly said, ‘I didn’t even know I was at Pride, and Harvey Milk was there,’” Sanne recalled. “And everybody was like, ‘Oh my god!’ Suddenly history came alive.”

Then she said something that felt, to me, like the emotional center of the entire conversation:

“Oral history for minority groups is one of the most important things, because we are constantly being erased.”

That idea feels central not only to LGBTOUR, but to queer travel itself.

The most meaningful queer travel experiences rarely come from rainbow branding or curated checklists. They come from conversations. From hearing someone explain how a particular street corner changed their life. From understanding the grief, protest, intimacy, joy, and survival embedded in places tourists often flatten into symbols.

Amsterdam may market itself as a queer utopia. But what Sanne offers is something much more human: a way of walking through the city that leaves room for contradiction, vulnerability, memory, and connection all at once.

And maybe that’s the real value of queer travel at its best—not just seeing a destination differently, but understanding queer history as something still alive and being carried, person to person, in real time.

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Walk queer Amsterdam differently

If you’re planning a trip to Amsterdam and want something deeper than a checklist of “must-see” queer landmarks, LGBTOUR offers something increasingly rare in modern travel: the chance to experience a city through conversation, memory, and lived experience instead of branding alone.

Sanne’s tours are funny, emotional, challenging, deeply human, and shaped as much by the people who join them as by the streets themselves. Whether you’re visiting Amsterdam for the first time or think you already know the city well, walking it alongside someone actively preserving its queer stories in real time changes the experience entirely.

And if you’re visiting for WorldPride this year, LGBTOUR is also launching a new Canal Pride experience that offers guests a reserved place to watch the parade with their group—including access to bathrooms, drinks, food, and a much less stressful way to experience one of Amsterdam’s busiest days.

Learn more about LGBTOUR Amsterdam and book a tour before your next visit to the city.

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I imagine myself becoming the kind of person who leaves the house for hours with wet hair and no plans, who reads paperbacks in parks and eats popsicles on porches. I always hope the season itself will transform me, at least a little bit.

And every year, instead, I feel like I end up spending June through August the same way I spend the rest of the year: indoors, alternating between staring at my phone and laptop and TV screen, while the season itself happens elsewhere.

I assumed this was just adulthood—that summer only feels magical when you’re young enough to have three months off with no responsibilities. But I’m not so sure that’s true anymore.

What I’ve realized is that I didn’t actually miss summer. I just missed having a season that felt different from the rest of my life.

Adult life has a way of flattening everything into one long stretch of emails, errands, and screens. January and July start looking suspiciously similar. So maybe the goal isn’t recreating childhood, but recreating contrast.

So this year, I’m experimenting.

I’m going to try to build an adult summer that functions more like the ones I remember: more physical, more local, more communal, and as offline as possible.

To start, I hung up a little clay wall “hook” for my phone. Outside of my designated screen time, it lives there now like a tiny ceramic landline from the days of yore. If it rings, I answer it. Otherwise, it stays put.

I also put my laptop on “computer room rules.” It lives in one place and gets used intentionally (and ideally, for whimsical purposes only).

This isn’t meant to be a digital detox. I’m not trying to “optimize my life” or get all holier-than-thou about technology. I just don’t want to spend another beautiful July evening staring at three different glowing rectangles from the couch instead of going outside to touch grass or whatever.

I think a lot of us—especially queer adults, child-free adults, and anyone building a life outside the traditional adulthood scripts—have to be really intentional about creating our own rituals, seasonal rhythms, and community experiences.

Kids get summer handed to them. Schools close, camps start, pools open. But as adults, especially those of us whose lives don't revolve around school calendars or raising children, nobody does that part for us. If we want summer to feel different, we have to create the difference ourselves.

And so: offline summer!

Here’s the scaffolding I’m building to make it happen, plus all the activities/rituals/games/foods/outings/sensory stuff I’m hoping will transport me back to that feeling, as hard to catch as fireflies: summer magic.

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the infrastructure of an offline summer

Sorry to spoil the fun right off the bat, but: joy isn’t spontaneous, it’s planned.

So, set yourself up for success!

I think the main components to build the foundation for a joyful offline summer are:

• A DIY landline: Your phone lives in one physical spot instead of following you from room to room like a cursed little talisman. Maybe it stays there overnight, or maybe until after breakfast, or maybe all weekend. The point is to make checking it intentional instead of reflexive.

• Computer room rules: The laptop belongs to one designated area of the house now, just like the family computer did. No bringing it into bed. No balancing it on the couch while half-watching TV. Ideally, you sit down to use it for a specific purpose, then leave it there when you’re done.

If you’re typically dependent on your phone for other things, now might be a good time to invest in a:

• Watch

• Camera

• Alarm clock

• Kitchen timer

• Radio

• Video camera

The final piece of the offline summer infrastructure puzzle will be stocking up on all the stuff you’ll need to stay cool and comfy throughout the season (think: sunscreen, bug spray, anti-chafing supplies, etc.), which I’ll share in more detail in next week’s post.

daily menus

You can use mine as inspiration, but I suggest you make your own menus to pick and choose from each day. And I mean that literally! Especially since a lot of the timing and suggestions here are based on my typical 9-5 WFH schedule, and yours may be different.

Figure out what you want to put on your menu, then print or write it out on paper and hang it on the wall somewhere you’ll see it every day.

morning menu

i.e. before work

• Wake up to an alarm clock (or naturally!)

• Turn on the radio or a TV show, then either dance around or jump on a little trampoline during commercials or between episodes

• Make yourself an easy, nostalgic breakfast: cereal, pop-tarts, etc. (annoying adulthood note: if you’re ADHD like me and need protein in the mornings, I found sneaky substitutes that are still nostalgia-driven for both protein cereal and protein pop-tarts)

• Grab a pen and do some word games, a sudoku, or whatever gets your brain grooving in an actual book

afternoon specials

over your lunch break

• Go for a walk or bike ride without your phone or headphones—remember what your brain used to sound like without input?

• Find a nice spot outside to eat your lunch (Lunchables, perhaps?) and read a physical book, draw in a sketchbook, write in a journal, or partake in whatever other analog activity tickles your fancy

• Take a nap!!! One of the greatest scams adulthood ever pulled was convincing us this isn’t a legitimate summer activity

evening features

after you clock out for the day

• Grill your dinner

• Arts and crafts time! Work on a DIY project

• Play a nostalgic video game or computer game

• Take care of your indoor and/or outdoor plant babies (water them, weed their beds, sing to them, whatever)

• Watch a movie outside on a projector screen, or inside from a blanket fort

• Read outside

• Have a fire and roast s’mores

weekly specials

One thing I didn't appreciate as a kid is how much structure was hiding underneath all of our assumed freedom. Summer felt spontaneous, but it was actually full of recurring rituals: swim lessons every Tuesday, softball practice every Thursday, library trips every weekend, etc.

The magic wasn't the absence of structure so much as having the right kind of structure. Recurring obligations are underrated when they’re fun and chosen on purpose!

classes/practices/lessons

bc it feels weirdly great to be like “oh, I can’t, I have kickball on Tuesdays”

• Swim, tennis, pottery, or sailing lessons

• Dance, improv, language, or yoga classes

• Woodworking, sewing, or printmaking courses

• Kickball, softball, volleyball, or bowling league

• Birdwatching walks or gardening workshops through your local parks district

• Run club, bike club, walking club, or rollerskating club

• A standing “craft night” with friends where everyone brings whatever project they’re working on

third spaces and public life

part of what made summer feel alive as a kid: it happened in public

• Pools

• Libraries

• Parks

• Arcades

• Boardwalks

• Flea markets

• Public beaches

• Batting cages

• Roller rinks

• Local diners

• Farmers markets

• Drive-in theaters

• Anywhere you can think of that will allow you to loiter without demanding that you spend $40

TGIF celebrations

bring back ceremonially kicking off the weekend every Friday

• Pizza Fridays

• Mini golfing

• Going out for ice cream

• Game nights

• Backyard hangs

• Grocery store snack runs

• Movie nights

• “Everyone come sit on the porch” evenings

big ticket events

Part of what made childhood summers feel so endless was that there was always something coming up. Vacation next month, the carnival next weekend, fireworks on Friday, your cousins visiting in August… anticipation stretched out the season and gave it landmarks.

On the flipside, adulthood tends to flatten time a bit (especially if you work a standard 9-5 job like I do). So, it’s our job to manufacture anticipation on purpose! Put things on the calendar that become tentpoles. Give yourself a reason to count down the days again.

trips and adventures

future you is gonna be like, “remember that one summer we went to [awesome place]? that was fucking awesome”

• Beach trip

• Lake weekend

• Camping trip or cabin getaway

• Road trip with an aggressively specific playlist

• Amusement park pilgrimage

• Hike or bike somewhere beautiful

• Water park day

live events

the kind that make you giddy to buy your tickets

• Concert or music festival

• Minor league baseball game

• Outdoor movie screening

• Shakespeare in the park

• Drag show

• Wrestling match

• Carnival or county fair

• Car racing (Nascar felt… too specific to say? but here we are)

• Renaissance fair

• Fireworks

• Any hyperlocal event advertised exclusively through flyers and posters around town

parties

celebrate good times! come on!!!

• Backyard BBQ

• Pool party

• Pride parade

• Bonfire night

• Rooftop hang

• Park picnic

• “Everyone bring your favorite summer snack” party

• Sleepover (or a sleepaway weekend) with your best pals

general offline summer-core

I think half of summer nostalgia is actually just environmental storytelling. Certain tastes, smells, sounds, outfits, and activities become so deeply associated with specific moments in our lives that they can transport us instantly.

So the goal isn’t just to “do fun summer things,” but to surround yourself with enough sensory ~texture~ that summer stops feeling like every other month.

These are some of the things that remind me of my childhood summers (as a kid growing up in suburban America in the late ‘90s-early ‘00s).

Think about it: What reminds you of yours?

food and drinks

don’t read on an empty stomach

• Popsicles

• Lemonade

• Ice cream

• Hot dogs or burgers from the grill

• Beach sandwiches and chips

• Capri Suns

• Watermelon with salt

• Corn on the cob

• Tomato sandwiches

• Gas station slushies

• Strawberries that stain your fingers

• Pasta salad at a function

• Iced tea in a giant tumbler with a straw

• Late-night diner fries

sensory cues

the stuff that makes my brain go “ohhhhh, it’s summer”

• Ocean waves

• Coconutty sunscreen smell

• The sound of the ice cream truck

• Citronella keeping mosquitos at bay

• Box fans humming at night

• Grass sticking to your legs after sitting outside

• Cicadas screaming from the trees

• The smell of someone grilling or having a fire nearby

wearables

summer wardrobes are about becoming at least slightly more whimsical than usual

• Jelly shoes

• Comfy swimwear

• Fun sunglasses

• Friendship bracelets

• Baseball caps

• Jean shorts

• Tote bags full of snacks and sunscreen

• Flip-flops that have seen better days

fun and games

it’s about doing something a little silly, just for the joy of it!

• Nostalgic computer games (Neopets, RollerCoaster Tycoon, The Sims)

• Throwback video games (Mario Party, Crash Bandicoot, Spyro)

• Board games (Ticket to Ride, Wavelength, Codenames)

• Card games (SET, Phase 10, Uno)

• Actual deck of cards (Spoons, Spit, Capitalism)

• Outdoor games (cornhole, ladder toss, Kubb)

• Capture the Flag

• Water balloon or water gun fights

• Sidewalk chalk

• Friendship bracelet assembly line

summer reads

My good pal Anna of All Too Well Read put together a list of books that feel like summer already (she also hosts a summer reading challenge a la Pizza Hut’s ‘90s-era “Book It” challenges on her Bookstagram!) but here are a few of my favorites, too:

• That Summer Feeling by Bridget Morrissey

• Sandwich by Catherine Newman

• Dolly All the Time by Annabel Monaghan

• My Friends by Fredrik Backman

• Funny Story by Emily Henry

• Bad Tourists by Caro Carver

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summer is a skill

You have to practice! Practice leaving the house without infinite entertainment in your pocket. Practice building anticipation and ritual back into your life.

The goal isn’t necessarily to recreate childhood, but to recreate the conditions that allowed us to feel alive and present in real time.

Maybe by September I’ll still spend too much time on my phone. Maybe I’ll miss a few sunsets because I got distracted by work. Maybe I’ll never become the kind of person who effortlessly frolics through summer with wet hair and no plans.

But if I end the season with a few mosquito bites, some blurry instant-camera photos, a stack of library books with sandy pages, and a calendar full of things I was excited to attend, I’ll call that a win.

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Given that, rather than writing a generic “Top 10 Things To Do in Amsterdam” list for those traveling to the Netherlands for the Together, Together tour this month, I figured I’d map the city according to the ~vibes~ of different Harry eras instead.

All of these are real places I genuinely recommend as someone who lives here, writes professionally about travel, and spends a frankly unreasonable amount of time thinking about where to bring visitors depending on the kind of experience they’re hoping to have. And as someone who loves Harry Styles, obviously.

Here’s me having the time of my life at his last Amsterdam show in 2023:

Whether you’re in town for one night or turning the concert into a full long-weekend city break, here’s where I’d send you based on your Harry era.

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if your Harry era is Love On Tour glitter maximalism

You packed sequins “just in case,” want somewhere fun for pre-show drinks, and firmly believe the energy of the evening starts wayyyyy before Harry even walks onstage.

Your main-character Amsterdam activity:
Book an open-boat sunset canal cruise with a group of friends before the concert and treat the entire thing like the glamorous pregame montage in a coming-of-age movie.

Amsterdam genuinely looks its prettiest from the water around golden hour, especially once the bridges begin lighting up for the evening.

Other spots worth bookmarking:

• Foodhallen, i.e. a maximalist foodie’s dream, to taste-test all the culinary excellence Amsterdam has to offer, from tacos to dim sum and beyond

• The Nine Streets (De Negen Straatjes, in Dutch) for vintage shopping and statement outfit hunting

• De Japanner to live out your “Music In A Sushi Restaurant” fantasy

• Your choice of pre-concert drinks: colorful cocktails at Flamingo’s, fine natural wines at Fabus, or women-brewed beers at Gebrouwen door Vrouwen Bar

• Waterkant if you want to keep the party going at a canalside bar after the concert—they’re open until 1 a.m. on weeknights and 3 a.m. on weekends

if your Harry era is Fine Line emotional softness

You want your Amsterdam trip to feel cinematic: wandering canals at golden hour, lingering in cafés longer than necessary, and staring out rainy tram windows with headphones on.

Your main-character Amsterdam activity:
Pick up a coffee and spend an unstructured afternoon wandering through the Jordaan with absolutely nowhere specific to be.

Cross random canal bridges, duck into bookstores and little galleries, and let yourself get pleasantly lost for a few hours.

Other spots worth bookmarking:

• The Grachtenmuseum for genuinely beautiful context about the canals and canal houses surrounding you

• Just around the corner, you’ll find the iconic bench from the film adaptation of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars (and if you want to keep that particular theme going, make sure you get your tickets to the Anne Frank Huis online a few weeks before your trip, because they tend to sell out)

• Mathilde Gallery (because Matilda, obviously), Art gallery Carré d’artistes, or any of the other dozens of art galleries in the Jordaan

• American Book Center and Athenaeum Boekhandel for browsing books and magazines near Spui (Athenaeum is the one with the Hudson Williams ad in the window, FYI)

if your Harry era is Pleasing-core

You care about aesthetics in a thoughtful way. Beautiful interiors, handmade ceramic cups that somehow make the coffee taste better, and a really good natural wine list are all top priorities for your visit.

Your main-character Amsterdam activity:
Spend a slow afternoon browsing boutiques and design-forward destinations through the Center and Oud-West, stopping for a drink or snack whenever somewhere with good lighting pulls you in.

Other spots worth bookmarking:

• the PleasingLand pop-up shop, obviously, at Kalverstraat 166 through June 7th

• Restaurant de Kas for a Michelin-star meal, but only if you make your reservation weeks in advance (pro tip: go for lunch, not just because it’s less expensive for the same quality of food but because the greenhouse setting is gorgeous in the daylight!)

• HAY House for design objects and homeware

• Baskèts for upscale modern streetwear, sneakers, and accessories

• Chenin Chenin for one of the city’s best natural wine selections—perfect for picking up a bottle for a canalside picnic

if your Harry era is queer joy and “Medicine”

You’re looking for the kind of night Amsterdam does especially well: somewhere a little chaotic but very welcoming, full of people dancing like they have absolutely nowhere to be the next morning.

Your main-character Amsterdam activity:
A walking tour with LGBTOUR Amsterdam, a locally led company offering daytime queer history tours, nightlife tours, cannabis tours, and family tours, depending on what kind of experience you’re after. I can’t recommend them highly enough.

Other spots worth bookmarking:

• Café ‘t Mandje, one of Amsterdam’s historic queer bars—it’s been around almost 100 years, since 1927

• De Trut, a non-commercial Amsterdam queer party that has been organized 100% by volunteers for 40+ years (!) with profits benefitting LGBTQ+ projects worldwide

• Spuistraat and Reguliersdwarsstraat for hopping between LGBTQ+ venues

• For drag performances, Café The Queen’s Head (competitions on Mondays, bingo on Tuesdays, trivia on Wednesdays, shows on Thursdays, karaoke on Fridays, and DJs on the weekend) and/or Lellebel Queer Bar (see their agenda for upcoming events, but there’s always karaoke on Sundays)

• Club ChUrch if you’re specifically looking for something more unapologetically wild

if your Harry era is Harry’s House wellness escapism

You somehow turned this concert trip into an opportunity to “reset.”

You packed activewear alongside your concert outfit, bookmarked matcha spots before cocktail bars, and would genuinely enjoy a long canal-side run before the show.

Your main-character Amsterdam activity:
Go for an early-morning run through the Vondelpark before the city fully wakes up. Amsterdam is unbelievably peaceful around 7-8 a.m., especially in good weather.

Other spots worth bookmarking:

• Tea Culture Club & Tea House Moychay, whether it’s just to treat yourself to a perfectly prepared matcha or to stay for a mindful tea ceremony

• Saint-Jean for house-made plant-based pastries that are genuinely wait-in-the-line-that-goes-all-the-way-out-the-door worthy

• A tasting menu that happens to be plant-based but is also freaking delicious at award-winning vegan restaurant Meatless District

• A long bike ride, a chance to get out on the water with a canoe or pedalboat, or even a goat yoga class in the tranquil Amsterdamse Bos just outside the city

• Wellness Spa Zuiver (also located in the Amsterdamse Bos!) for saunas, steam rooms, thermal baths, pools, and more—basically, the full reset circuit when you need to properly switch off for a few hours

if your Harry era is tiny venues and vintage vinyl

You love the big arena moment, obviously, but you’re equally interested in the quieter side of the city: record shops, off-the-beaten-path live music venues, and places that still feel a little undiscovered.

Your main-character Amsterdam activity:
Spend an evening venue-hopping between tiny live music spaces and old-school brown cafés below instead of committing to one giant night out. Some of Amsterdam’s best music experiences happen almost accidentally.

Other spots worth bookmarking:

• Concerto, one of the city’s most iconic record stores, which has been around since 1955

• Classic cozy Amsterdam brown bars like Café Chris, Café Slijterij Oosterling, or Café Hoppe

• Loop51, a vinyl brunch bar by day and snack bar by night with consistently good music and drinks

• Live shows at intimate venues like Cinetol, Tempel, OT301, or OCCII

• Café Sound Garden, especially in warmer weather, for alternative local energy with pool tables and a waterfront terrace

keep in mind: Amsterdam is a city that really rewards wandering

Yes, there are museums and landmarks and “must-sees,” but some of my favorite memories here have honestly come from the in-between moments: stumbling into a café because you needed to get out of the rain, catching a rainbow over the canals purely by accident, hearing live music drift out of a bar you hadn’t planned to stop at, or biking home after a long dinner with friends while the city glows around you.

So if you’re coming for Harry, I hope you have the best concert ever—but I also hope you give yourself enough time to experience the version of Amsterdam that exists outside the standard tourist checklist!

If you do want even more local recommendations while planning your trip, though, here are some of my top suggestions as a travel writer who has lived here for years:

I mean, kinda. Probably not one you could hear over the discordant oontz-oontz-oontz of three different songs blaring over one another from the beauty, jewelry, and food and drink sections’ respective speakers, to be fair. Still, at least a few people craned their necks around to try and find the source of the sniffling.

But I think the more important question might be: why are airports so determined to trap us in a mandatory maze of overstimulation immediately after we make it through the (already overwhelming in its own way) airport security line?

Why does the capitalist hellscape that is Duty Free get to reign terror upon poor, unsuspecting airline passengers, and why is there no way to opt out of experiencing its merciless onslaught of sensory input as you move toward your departure gate?

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In case you’ve never had the pleasure of traveling through it, you should know that a) the London Gatwick airport has no tables or chairs available after the security checkpoint, and b) no one there gives a single, solitary fuck about the sunflower lanyard program.

I’d finally straightened myself back up after spending a few minutes crouched in a yogi squat, putting my shoes back on and re-packing my carry-on bag after it had been selected for a random (unnecessary) security check.

I was beyond ready to find somewhere calm and quiet to sit until it was time to board my flight. I looked up to follow the signs to my terminal, and my heart sank as I realized the only way to get there would be an unavoidable journey through Duty Free.

And look, I know that not everyone shares my sensory sensitivities. I prepare for my travel days with the assumption that everything is going to be too bright and too loud and too much until I arrive in my destination, and I arrive armed with items to make that input less intense for me. So I already had my sunglasses on and my Loop earplugs in with noise-canceling headphones on top of them.

But there was nothing I could have packed in my Mary Poppins bag of AuDHD accommodations that would stand a chance against the goddamn Duty Free.

Duty Free, how do I hate thee? let me count the ways

It hits you before you even fully cross the threshold. Not one smell, but a wall of them, layered so thick it feels like breathing through someone else’s lungs. Every few steps, a new cloud: vanilla that turns cloying halfway through an inhale, citrus that stings the back of your throat, something woody and expensive that settles heavy on your tongue. Sales assistants stand sentinel beside glossy bottles, ready to baptize your wrists in yet another scent you didn’t ask for, the air already saturated beyond reason.

Spotlights bounce off glass and mirrored displays so everything glints and flashes, a thousand tiny suns reflecting directly into your retinas. Sunglasses dull it, but they can’t soften the constant flicker of movement: people cutting across each other at odd angles, stopping abruptly, doubling back, forming human bottlenecks around towers of Toblerone and two-for-one whiskey deals.

And then there’s the noise, which actually isn’t just one noise but a gazillion of them, stacked. The bass from one speaker bleeds into the tinny vocals of another, interrupted by boarding announcements that sound both urgent and unintelligible. A child shrieks while another sprints past, hands sticky, pursued by a parent whose already-tired scolding suggests this day started badly and will end worse. Somewhere to your left, a group of lads are negotiating how many bottles of something aggressively alcoholic they can carry onto the plane, their laughter loud and wince-inducing, cutting clean through your headphones.

You try to walk in a straight line, but the layout won’t let you. It’s a maze disguised as openness, guiding you past every possible temptation: perfume, then makeup, then chocolate, then alcohol, then back to perfume again, as if maybe the fifth pass will wear you down. There are no edges to retreat to, no quiet corners, no neutral ground—just currents of people and product that carry you forward whether you’re ready or not.

You must exit through the gift shop.

and for the autistic traveler, perhaps a meltdown by the time you make it through?

My body started reacting to all of this before my brain could even narrate it. Shoulders up, jaw clenched, breathing increasingly fast and shallow. The sunglasses dimmed the light, but not the motion; the earplugs and headphones reduced the volume, but not the chaos. There’s no single thing I could point to and say this is the problem, because it was all of it, all at once, with no pause button and no way out but through.

That’s the worst part, really, the part that tipped it from unpleasant into unbearable—I couldn’t opt out. There’s no alternate route, no quiet hallway for people whose nervous systems are already maxed out. You have to pass through, endure it, and keep moving forward like you’re fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine.

So when the tears came, they didn’t even feel dramatic. They felt inevitable, like a system overload warning that had been blinking red since I stepped through the airport doors that morning.

the most annoying thing is, it’s all on purpose

That’s the thing I can’t stop thinking about, even now that I’m on the other side of it and my nervous system has finally unclenched: this isn’t an accident.

Airports don’t funnel you through Duty Free because it’s the most efficient way to move people from security to their gates. They do it because it’s the most efficient way to move people past products. The confusion, the lack of seating, the winding path that keeps you just slightly disoriented—all of it works in service of one goal: keep you inside the shop for as long as possible, in just enough of a heightened state that you might buy yourself a little treat (or twelve) to take the edge off.

And if you happen to be someone whose brain doesn’t filter sensory input the way they expect? If, say, “heightened state” doesn’t translate to “ooh, maybe I’ll treat myself” but instead to “my entire body is about to short-circuit in public”?

Well.

That’s not really accounted for in the business model, is it?

There’s something so fucking bleak about the fact that the first environment you’re forced into after clearing security—a process that already demands that you surrender your space and time and dignity in a bureaucratically sanctioned way—is not a place to rest, regulate, or even just exist neutrally for a goddamn minute.

It’s a gauntlet, and you don’t get to opt out of running it.

airplane food used to be the joke; now, airport accessibility is!

Accessibility in airports tends to get framed in terms of physical infrastructure—ramps, lifts, assistance services—and those things are both hugely important and still quite far from perfect. Hell, every time I’m forced to awkwardly lug my roller bag up a flight of outdoor stairs to board a budget airline flight my company booked on my behalf, I worry about how my disabled friends and family would be accommodated and cared for in a similar situation.

But sensory accessibility in airports? The ability to simply not be bombarded at full volume, full brightness, full intensity the entire time you’re moving through a space? Pffffffttttt. That barely registers as a consideration at all. (Here, at least—though I know airports like Amsterdam Schiphol, Vancouver International, and more are working to change that.)

That’s how you end up with hidden disability lanyards that no one acknowledges, no seating where people might actually need it, and a mandatory retail labyrinth standing between you and the place you’re actually trying to go.

And it’s how you end up crying at the edge of Duty Free, right where the shop finally spits you back out into the airport, while three different songs play over each other and someone nearby is arguing about tequila.

If an autistic girlie cries in the airport Duty Free, does it make a sound?

Honestly, it doesn’t really matter.

The point is, it shouldn’t have to happen at all.

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We get this question all the time, and it really seems to throw people off that our answer isn’t “One of our jobs” or “To be near family in the area” or anything other than our honest answer, which is: “We visited, fell in love with the city, and agreed we’d both be interested in moving here, so we did.”

To us, though, it’s pretty simple. Since my partner and I started dating in 2012, we always talked about living abroad one day. A decade later, after an anniversary trip to Amsterdam, we decided that “one day” had arrived and it was time to make our move. And so, in November 2022, we officially entered our immigrant era.

Of course, the process was a bit more complicated than that. But on the whole, at least in our experience, moving from the U.S. to the Netherlands was not nearly as difficult as most people seem to expect based on the avalanche of questions I’ve gotten from people about it since we did so.

If you’ve ever daydreamed about running off to live in Europe or wondered how moving abroad might actually work, here’s a step-by-step guide to exactly how we moved from America to Amsterdam (with our 70-pound dog!) without totally losing our shit—forms, links, and printable checklist included.

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Or, more accurately: I’m interrupting your doomscrolling, because I cannot in good conscience keep these things to myself.

Reporting live from the Netherlands, a country that is as competent as it is whimsical when it comes to caring for animals. I respect it, and I’m also a little confused by it.

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a fish doorbell in Utrecht

Every spring in Utrecht, a whole cast of canal-dwelling characters—perch, pike, bream, the occasional eel—start making their way through the city to reach calmer waters where they can spawn.

Which is already a sentence I love, because it sounds like the opening line of a calm nature documentary narrated by someone who has never been stressed in their life.

It would be a straightforward journey if not for one small, hella Dutch obstacle: a picturesque, manually operated lock called the Weerdsluis that does not, unfortunately, open itself for fish with places to be.

So the fish wait. And wait. Burning energy, hovering in place, having an even worse commute than anyone stuck on the A10 at rush hour.

Enter: the fish doorbell.

Yes, this is real. I had to see it for myself before my brain stopped rejecting the concept.

There’s a camera pointed at the lock, streaming live online. And if you, a random person with Wi-Fi and questionable time management skills, spot fish gathering on the screen, you can press a button that pings the lock keeper.

Not every ring triggers an opening. But once enough fish—and enough humans with nothing better to do—show up, the gate opens and everyone moves along.

It is, genuinely, crowdsourced fish advocacy.

And people are weirdly into it. Millions-of-viewers-from-around-the-world into it. Which is both comforting and slightly alarming in the exact way the internet is always slightly alarming if you think about it too long. At any given moment in early spring, there are strangers in Brazil, the U.S., and everywhere in between, all staring at the same murky Dutch water, collectively thinking: wait… was that a fish???

I cannot stress enough how much I love this for us.

It’s low-stakes, mildly competitive, and weirdly soothing. Basically the opposite of everything else on the internet.

What I like most is the philosophy underneath it. The canals here aren’t just aesthetic—they’re infrastructure, ecosystem, and home. So instead of shrugging at the fact that human systems sometimes inconvenience animals, the response is: okay, how do we make this a little less annoying for the fish?

You can “ring” the fish doorbell from early March through late May, which means there is still time to become emotionally invested in the commute of a Dutch freshwater bream. I highly recommend it.

cat staircases in Amsterdam

If you’ve spent any time in Amsterdam, you’ve probably had the same thought I did when I moved here:

wow, these canals are beautiful!

and then immediately after:

wow, there is absolutely nothing between me and falling into one of them!!!

Which, it turns out, is not just a me problem.

Amsterdam’s canals are occasionally a hazard. Not so much for tourists with decent balance and a healthy fear of cold water, but for the city’s many free-roaming cats.

According to local experts, most of these incidents follow a very relatable sequence of events: cat is vibing on the edge of the canal, something spooks cat (a dog, a bike, an overly enthusiastic human), cat jumps the wrong way, and cat is suddenly in canal.

And cats can swim (news to me, honestly), but they are distinctly not built for “wet fur + vertical canal wall + existential confusion” endurance events.

So now: cat staircases. Or more officially, “fauna exit points,” which is possibly the most bureaucratic way of saying “tiny escape ladders for animals who did not consent to this situation.”

I love this country.

In a very Dutch twist, this almost didn’t happen because there was “no budget” …until someone looked again and found €100,000 just sitting there unused. I want to be clear: I am deeply, spiritually open to this happening to me personally.

The staircases are being installed in known trouble spots, based on reports from animal ambulances and residents—basically treating cat incidents like infrastructure bugs.

What I appreciate here—same as with the fish doorbell—is the scale of it. No one is pretending this will solve everything. It’s just a small, thoughtful intervention that makes a bad situation slightly less bad.

bee b&bs and a honey highway

I did not expect moving to the Netherlands to give me opinions about bees, and yet here we are. I’m now a person who points out their homes on my daily walks, out loud, to no one in particular.

Little wooden blocks with holes? bee hotels!

Bus stops with plants on the roof? bee buffets!

Random strips of wildflowers along highways? also for the bees!

And it’s working, because of course it is.

Every year, there is a national bee census here where people go outside for 30 minutes and count bees, which is possibly the most charming civic duty I’ve ever heard of. I would like more civic duties that involve sitting in a field counting insects, honestly.

Wild bee populations have been under pressure for decades here, especially in agricultural areas, so instead of waiting for that to fix itself, the country did what it tends to do: a coordinated, mildly adorable infrastructure intervention. The official framing is “bed and breakfasts for bees,” which, yes. Exactly. That is exactly the energy we are looking for.

Cities leaned in hard. Amsterdam replaced grass with wildflowers and installed bee hotels. Utrecht built “bee stops,” i.e., bus shelters with green roofs that filter air, absorb rainwater, and give pollinators somewhere to exist while you wait for the 12.

Then there’s the Honey Highway, which turns roads, railways, and waterways into continuous corridors of wildflowers.

And suddenly, I’m just out here casually aware of pollinator infrastructure like it’s normal. Which I guess it is here. I’m still adjusting.

trash-eating water robots in Zaanstad (& beyond)

At this point, I’ve accepted that if there is a vaguely whimsical, practical solution to an environmental problem, the Dutch are probably already doing it.

Case in point: trash-eating water robots.

They’re called WasteSharks—created by RanMarine—and they do exactly what you’re picturing. Small aquatic drones that move through canals collecting floating trash before it becomes a larger emotional and ecological problem.

I need to emphasize this again: at some point, someone looked at a polluted canal and decided the correct response was a tiny shark vacuum. And then built it.

They’re modeled after whale sharks, which filter-feed as they swim. Same idea, just scaled down and aimed at human mess.

Each one can hold a surprisingly large amount of debris (think: bags, bottles, general canal miscellany) and they run continuously, which matters more than anything. Because trash, famously, does not stop appearing.

A version is currently operating in Zaanstad, where locals have affectionately nicknamed it “Vuilvreter,” or “dirt eater.” And it’s not just dealing with the obvious stuff like floating litter. It also tackles things like duckweed, that bright green plant that looks kind of pretty until it fully takes over a canal and starts messing with water quality and flow. Previously, clearing all of that was a manual, labor-intensive job. Now, it just takes a tiny robot with a mission.

The result is faster cleanup, less labor, and low-emission operation, which feels very aligned with the broader Dutch instinct to engineer a livable relationship with water rather than fight it.

This is another one of those systems where the problem isn’t exactly “solved,” per se, but things are just… consistently less bad. And I find that quietly comforting in a way I did not expect.

& the world’s first “stray-free nation”

Globally, there are an estimated 200 million stray dogs. In the Netherlands, there are effectively none.

I know. I also did a double-take.

Because dogs are absolutely everywhere here. They just have schedules and emotional stability and apparently paperwork.

That didn’t happen by accident.

It’s the result of years of coordinated policy: neutering, vaccination, enforcement of ownership responsibility, and a welfare system that actually makes abandonment structurally difficult.

Which I know, sounds boring, but the outcome is not. It’s dogs existing in public space without distress.

Which, once you notice it, feels oddly emotional.

There is something about realizing an absence has been engineered that makes you look at the world a little differently. Like: oh, systems can remove suffering from visibility, and they can also prevent it upstream. That’s what “policy actually working” looks like.

So, in case you needed one more reason to feel good about life here: the dogs are doing great.

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see? genuinely good news!

It’s easy to miss stories like these when the internet is doing what it currently does best, i.e., vibrating with catastrophe at all times. But they are everywhere if you zoom out a little.

Small systems working in the background. Boring problems being solved properly. Animals getting slightly more room to exist in a world we built without asking them.

Not everything is fixed. But not everything is falling apart, either.

Some things are just… handled.

And I’m trying to get better at noticing that more often.

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This week made that split impossible to ignore.

I’ve spent the past week living my usual daily life here in Haarlem: making coffee, answering emails, walking my dog along the canals.

And also: waiting to see if the country I used to call home would follow through on its president’s threats to commit genocide. Watching the U.S. escalate a war that is already killing people, and waiting to see how much further it might go—how much worse it might become, how many more lives it might take.

These two realities have existed side by side all week, and I don’t know how to reconcile them.

I am physically removed from the United States, but emotionally, psychologically, I feel tethered to it in a way that distance doesn’t undo.

I am not there, but I am not not there.

It’s a kind of emotional whiplash: being physically safe, or safe-ish, while feeling completely tied to something unfolding elsewhere.

I move through routines that should feel ordinary. I bike past people sitting on cafe terraces in the sun, children running around playgrounds, people carrying groceries home. Nothing around me signals immediate danger. And yet, internally, it feels like bracing. Like waiting for impact that may or may not come, but could at any moment.

My environment is calm, but my nervous system isn’t. My life here continues at its usual pace, while my attention keeps snapping back somewhere else, trying to track something unstable—something I can’t influence, but can’t fully look away from either.

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The news feels different here, too. Not less serious, but differently paced, differently shaped.

There’s the hours-long delay because of time zones, obviously. Major developments in the U.S. land during our evenings and nights, when we’re supposed to be winding down. Instead, I end up sitting with new information precisely when I’m least equipped to metabolize it: when my energy is low, my guard is down, and there’s no immediate action I can take except to stay awake with it.

It’s not just when the news arrives, though, it’s how it arrives—how information is framed, what gets emphasized, how urgently it’s delivered. I find myself hopping between sources, trying to piece together something like a fuller picture.

So I end up in this loop, waiting for updates that arrive at night, trying to understand them in real time, and knowing that by the time I wake up the next morning, everything may already have shifted again.

Then there’s the way that current events show up in the conversations around me. Talk of fuel prices, supply chains, and what happens if things continue to escalate and energy becomes more constrained. Occasional mentions of European countries needing to rethink their security, of military coordination, of what it would mean for the EU to respond more collectively in a crisis.

None of it is framed with any certainty. It’s more like… background awareness? Like people testing out the edges of a possible future out loud before moving on with their days.

All of these elements come together in what I’ve come to think of as the “guilt/relief paradox” of living at a distance from your homeland.

Relief that I’m here in a place that currently feels more stable, where daily life can still unfold in relatively normal ways. Relief that I’m not directly inside the immediate blast radius of decisions I have no control over.

And alongside it, guilt. At the distance itself, at the fact that my life can continue to look like this while so much elsewhere is uncertain or already unfolding in violence. Guilt that my safety is, in part, geographic and privileged, the result of luck rather than anything earned.

Neither feeling cancels the other out. They sit together, unresolved, as I try to hold on to a normal rhythm of life, while repeatedly being pulled out of it by this huge, unresolved thing.

It has felt… destabilizing.

And I don’t really want to tie this up neatly, because it isn’t tied up. Not internally, and not in the world outside it. So I’m not going to try to resolve it here either.

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how I got through this week

Though I’m not sure “got through” is even the right framing. From the so-called president’s fucked up Easter Sunday post to his literal snuff film post on Friday (please do not watch it, it is graphic and horrifying—I’m only linking it for documentary purposes) that shifted the tone of the week to the stream of unfolding news that followed, it felt like I moved alongside each passing hour of consciousness in fragments rather than in sequence.

My days were… smaller than usual? I did the things that had to be done, and I let a lot of other things wait.

I made the same meals more than once, not out of intention, but because decision-making felt heavier than it usually does. I checked my phone way more often than I needed to, opening Threads or news apps in loops that rarely gave me anything new, but still felt hard to stop.

There were stretches of time where I couldn’t really take in anything additional. Reading felt impossible. Even music sometimes felt like too much input. So I just sort of sat in silence? My partner would walk in and ask if I wanted to put on a podcast or something to listen to, and I’d shake my head, no, not now.

There was also numbness. Not constant, but noticeable when it lifted. Moments where I realized I wasn’t feeling much of anything at all, which was simultaneously its own kind of relief and a kind of absence.

But there were still moments of joy and connection in between.

I watched shows I’ve been returning to lately, small comfort viewing that didn’t require much of me. My partner and I played Mario Party. I finished an advanced reader copy of a soon-to-be-released thriller and immediately wished I had chosen a different ending for myself. I played the NYT version of Scrabble with a good friend.

I FaceTimed with my family on Easter and got to laugh with my niece, who is growing up faster than I can track. An old coworker messaged me to say that something I shared recently had helped her feel less pressured to perform creativity in her own life. I heard from someone from my hometown who said I’d come up in conversation with her family, and that they wanted to send love.

I visited a friend’s table at a local makers’ market. I started thinking out loud with people here about small queer community events we could build toward Pride in Haarlem this summer (a queer bowling league, a drag afternoon tea, a rainbow floral workshop, LGBTQ+ trivia night).

Nothing about the week resolved itself. But life kept happening anyway.

How’d you make it through?

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Which means two things:

(1) here in the Netherlands we’re officially in all tulips all the time mode, and

(2) the internet is suddenly flooded with Autism Acceptance Month content

Hot takes. Resource lists. Personal essays. Brand campaigns. “Voices you should be listening to.”

And every year, like clockwork, I feel the pull to add something to the pile.

As an autistic writer, I know exactly what I could write. I could curate a thoughtful list of books and podcasts. I could recommend films and TV shows with “good representation.” I could publish a sharp, ranty manifesto about the state of neurodivergent travel (don’t tempt me).

My brain had already started drafting headlines before I’d even asked myself a more important question: Do I actually want to do this?

Because here’s the less inspiring, less shareable truth: I am burnt out as hell.

And the idea of being perceived right now—of packaging my experience into something insightful, polished, and consumable—makes my skin crawl in the exact same way masking always has.

But Autism Acceptance Month has a way of making you feel like you should say something. Like silence is a missed opportunity, and if you’re not contributing, you’re somehow letting the moment pass you by. And that’s where I feel myself pushing back a bit this year (PDA, am I right).

Because if I have to override my limits to talk about acceptance, is that really acceptance?

If I have to push past my needs to be heard, what exactly is being accepted?

Forcing myself to produce a meaningful, well-articulated piece of content about autism acceptance while actively ignoring my limits doesn’t feel like acceptance. It feels like performance.

It’s the same old song and dance: Be insightful, be vulnerable, be useful. And above all, be productive.

Well, fuck that.

I’m not doing that this year.

Because I don’t actually think autism acceptance looks like more autistic people pushing themselves to create content on demand just to stay visible in an algorithm that will forget about us in two weeks anyway.

Opting out isn’t a failure to participate. It is the point.

The point is, accepting ourselves where we are. Giving ourselves permission to rest without turning that rest into anything inspirational. Not performing our inner world just because, for this one brief moment, there’s an audience for it.

Not everything meaningful needs to be made visible.

So instead of adding something new to the noise, I’m doing something far less exciting:

I’m pointing you to work I’ve already done.

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if you want to read something, start here

These are the pieces where I’ve already done the emotional labor. The ones where I’ve unpacked the contradictions, shared the strategies, and said the things I actually needed to say, without forcing it on an arbitrary deadline.

If you’re new here, this is a solid entry point. If you’ve been around for a while, consider this a list of my greatest AuDHD hits.

• I have autism and ADHD, and here’s how I keep my shit together - On the reality (read: total bullshit) of living with co-occurring autism and ADHD, and the constant tension between craving structure and needing novelty

• Travel isn’t about seeing the world, it’s about changing it - My Attitude Magazine feature on sensory overload in airports, the Hidden Disabilities Sunflower lanyard, and travel as a quiet form of resistance

• Writing advice that doesn’t work for my AuDHD brain – Why “write every day” is a trap (for me), and what I do instead

• Solo travel tips for neurodivergent travelers - From my first anxiety-ridden solo trip to 12+ years of figuring out how to actually make travel work for my brain.

• How I manage sensory overload while traveling – My “itinerary menu” method, plus the systems that keep me from completely short-circuiting mid-trip

• 5 neurodivergent travel resources I wish I’d known about sooner – The practical stuff: the IBCCES Accessibility Card, TSA Cares program, and more

• Packing list: Everything I bring in my personal item to make flying suck less – Noise-canceling headphones, safe snacks, silent fidgets, and a printable checklist you can steal

why this list exists (and why that’s enough)

Because I’ve already done the heavy lifting. I’ve already felt the feelings (which: ew), written through the discomfort, and hit publish on things that felt a little too honest at the time. And for once, I’m just gonna let that be enough.

I don’t need to keep reopening the same emotional files every April just to prove that my experience is still valid, still relevant, still worth reading. It already is.

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so, read something

Or don’t.

Save it for later, or close the tab.

And if you’re feeling that same pressure to publish something meaningful this month, or to turn your experience into something articulate and shareable and useful… remember that you’re allowed to opt out, too. You’re allowed to say “pass” on producing anything new and to just exist without turning it into content.

Love you. Mean it.

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P.S. If this resonated, feel free to restack it so fewer people feel like they have to perform this month.

Because what do you mean the U.S. changes its time zones a full three to four weeks before countries in Europe and the U.K. do each spring?!

I had no idea, and I can’t imagine I’m the only one.

Turns out, as part of the Energy Policy Act of 2005, the U.S. officially changed the start of DST to the second Sunday in March and the end of DST to the first Sunday in November—adding roughly four weeks to DST overall—while the EU did no such thing.

Which means that for about a month each year, I get confused as hell about what the time difference is between us in the Netherlands and our family and friends back in the States. Usually, we’re six hours ahead of the East Coast. For most of March, we’re five hours ahead. Then we’re back to six hours ahead. Then November comes, and there’s a week or two where we’re seven hours ahead.

At which point I throw my hands up in the air and abandon my efforts at mental math-ing the time difference and instead place blind trust in my devices. World Clock, take the wheel.

But what does reliably signal springtime here is everything else: the flowers, the markets, the terraces… which is why I’ve started making a little seasonal reset list for myself each year.

In celebration of the Netherlands and the rest of the EU fiiiiinally springing forward this weekend, I thought I’d share what’s on my spring bucket list, my spring wish list, and my spring playlist as things around us finally finish thawing out and begin to bloom again.

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my spring bucket list

Spring is notoriously one of the most popular times for people to visit the Netherlands (because tulips!) and it was the first time we originally traveled to Amsterdam before we moved here, too. I get nostalgic about that first visit every year as the weather starts to warm up—and extra motivated to take advantage of living somewhere that celebrates spring so enthusiastically.

I mean, we’re back to riding our bikes without gloves on! And drinking biertjes on terraces in 12°C sunshine, fully convinced it’s act! If that’s not worth celebrating, what is?

Here’s what I’m setting out to do over the coming weeks to make the most of the season:

see local flowers or trees in bloom

For us, that’s:

• crocuses, daffodils, and hyacinths all over North and South Holland, which usually bloom in that order from February through March

• the cherry blossoms at Bloesempark in Amsterdamse Bos, typically in bloom from late March through mid-April

• and of course, the tulips at all these non-touristy spots from mid-to-late-April

go to the farmers market

In Haarlem, our go-to farmers market takes place at the Grote Markt on Mondays and Saturdays from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. each week.

There’s also the Botermarkt, which plays host to farmers markets on Fridays and Saturdays from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. as well as a second-hand and vintage clothing market on Mondays and a books and antiques market on Wednesday during the same timeframe.

have a picnic in the park

The closest park to our place is quite literally steps away at the Staten Bolwerk. A unique blend of history and greenery, this park was built on old city fortifications but now provides elevated walking paths for people and doggos alike. This is one of our favorite places to walk our pup, Stella—and it’s lined with trees on both sides that burst into bloom every April, then offer ample canopy for us to find shade beneath all summer along.

But there are plenty of other parks in Haarlem to choose from if we’re feeling adventurous, like:

• Florapark: Lined with stately 19th-century homes and, since 1900, home to a statue of Frans Hals sculpted by Henri Scholtz

• Frederikspark: A peaceful green retreat, with wide-open lawns typically full of locals lounging in the sun

• Haarlemmerhout: The oldest public park in the Netherlands, dating back to the middle ages—featuring winding trails, open meadows, ponds, a petting zoo, a teahouse, and more

• Kenaupark: Named after local heroine Kenau Simonsdochter Hasselaar, combining landscaped gardens with tall trees and open lawns

visit a botanical garden

I’m nothing if not a botanical garden bitch, and unlike David Rose, I will happily go to the botanical garden by myself. Ever since we moved to the Netherlands, I’ve been obsessed with the Hortus Botanicus in Amsterdam.

Though I admittedly do wish our Museumkaarts secured us free entry here, I’ll still gladly fork over €13 for a ticket to spend hours wandering through the gardens, butterfly house, and more.

have drinks on a terrace

So many choices in Haarlem! A few favorites:

• Café de Paris: Known for their sunny terrace and iconic French onion soup (which, the menu notes, requires at least 20 minutes to prepare) as well as a kitchen open daily from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. serving all kinds of other delicious soups, sandwiches, salads, and more

• Theehuis de Haarlemmerhout: Right in the heart of the Haarlemmerhout park, this little teahouse offers tasty tea and treats you can either warm up with inside or enjoy on the massive green terrace

• Spaarne66: Technically, this is actually a restaurant and you could order whatever you want there—but ever since my pal Rachel invited me here to enjoy a tipple on the waterfront terrace, it’s been my go-to spot for a glass of wine with friends

dedicate a day to spring cleaning

Like, a real spring cleaning. Not just murdering dust bunnies, but ruthlessly emptying out all of our closets and drawers to sort through our constantly-accumulating mounds of crap so we can sell, donate, or throw out anything we no longer want or need. Clear out the clutter and bring on the zen.

buy and arrange a bouquet of flowers

Maybe even plant some flowers in the back garden, if we’re feeling ambitious!

check out a new local coffee spot

Hazel Cafe and Westhoff tend to be our go-to spots (and both for good reason), but I’m thinking about potentially becoming a regular at:

• Ax Specialty Coffee: A specialty coffee bar with a focus on quality and sustainability, and some truly groan-inducingly good artisanal pastries

• Maeva Cafe: An espresso bar serving delicious coffee and tasty treats with warm Tahitian vibes

• Mogador Cafe: Specialty coffee roasted in Amsterdam, in a space that feels like an extension of your own living room

kayak/canoe/get out on the water

We used to do this all the time at the U.S. National Whitewater Center when we lived in Charlotte, but for some reason, I always forget that we could also get out on Haarlem’s canals to kayak, canoe, or paddleboard if we wanted to!

Free Movement rents out all of the above—or if we just feel like being on the water without the exercise bit, we can always rent an electric sloop through Greenjoy for a sunny afternoon on the water.

make homemade lemonade or iced tea

Albert Heijn says all I need for “limonade maken” is six lemons, two tablespoons of sugar, 200ml of water, and a sprig of fresh mint, but I find making homemade iced tea even easier: Just drop two bags of green tea and one bag of mint tea into 500ml water, pop it into the fridge, and wait a few hours. Garnish with a lemon slice (or a sprig of mint, if you like) and boom, all set.

read a book outside in the sunshine

Pairs well with the above—and you can find my spring reading recs below.

plant herbs or succulents in pots

Because it would be nice to snip off a little basil or thyme that I grew myself from the front windowsill to add a burst of flavor to a dish, no?

take a day trip somewhere new

A beach day at Zandvoort, maybe, or an afternoon among the windmills at Zaanse Schans. They’re both so close!

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my spring wish list

In support of enjoying all of the spring bucket list items above, naturally—for April showers, May flowers, etc.

I can kinda split this wish list into three parts, I think—everything here is either (a) helping me get outside more, or (b) making being inside feel less like I’ve been in hibernation since November.

springtime home and garden upgrades

• glass Ikebana vase for asymmetrical, minimalist floral arrangements

• 5-liter drink dispenser jar with an easy-pour tap so I can make lemonade, iced tea, or fruit-infused spa waters in large batches each day

• mason jar indoor herb garden so I can start growing basil, mint, cilantro, parsley, and rosemary in the kitchen

• cold brew coffee maker and carafe to cut down a bit on spending out at cafes

• sturdy jute mix shopper and flower tote for easier farmers market trips

• picnic cooler basket, portable picnic table, and beach chairs for comfier picnicking (and a food umbrella, weighted outdoor wine glass covers, and outdoor wine bottle covers to keep bugs out of our snacks and drinks)

• botanical bug spray that actually works, but with a scent that won’t leave me gagging

spring wardrobe refresh

• adorable cherry red gingham raincoat

• with a cherry red leather tulip-shaped tote bag to match

• reversible quilted cotton jackets, in a bold floral pattern/waves combo and in a soft stripe/polka dot combo, to maximize my outerwear options during this awkward time of year when you’re shivering in the mornings and sweating by afternoon

• two soft and breathable co-ord sets, one in a light denim and one in black-and-white gingham, with ample ways to mix and match—and a bonus pair of culottes, for even more breezy outfit options

• comfy cardis in butter yellow merino wool, kelly green cotton, and sky blue merino wool

• fun footwear, like these organic-patterned mesh Mary Janes and these sheer floral socks

seasonal analog bag swaps

• bag charm bead kit that everyone from Oprah to the gals at Gee Thanks! Just Bought It seems to be obsessed with

• NYTGames premium puzzle book with 200+ pages of puzzles from Wordle to Connections and more

• cornflower blue gel manicure kit so I can start doing my nails at home instead of paying for them to be done at the salon (or as we should call it, for the sensory nightmare it really is: the hand dentist)

• global shopfronts coloring book ft. illustrations of real shops from all around the world

• crochet-your-own mini raffia bag kit—a fun activity and a cute new purse all in one

• watercolor coloring book for beginners, with faint outlines and easy-to-follow video tutorials—I need structure!

Refer a friend

my spring playlist

What I’m watching, reading, and listening to now—and what I’m looking forward to watching, reading, and listening in the weeks to come.

now playing

music

• Harry Styles: Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally — windows-down energy

• Robyn: Sexistential — dancing through an existential crisis

• Courtney Barnett: Creature of Habit — perfect for aimless sunny walks

tv

• RuPaul’s Drag Race, season 18

• Shrinking, season 3

• Scrubs revival, season 1 (!!!)

• The Pitt, season 2

• House of Villains, season 3

• Jury Duty, season 2

books

• Is This a Cry for Help? by Emily Austin

• Out of the Loop by Katie Siegel

• Clutch by Emily Nemens

coming soon

music

• Laufey: A Matter of Time: The Final Hour - April 10

• Noah Kahan: The Great Divide - April 24

• The Black Keys: Peaches! - May 1

• MUNA: Dancing on the Wall - May 8

• Bleachers: everyone for ten minutes - May 22

tv

• Hacks, season 5 (final season!) - April 9

• Euphoria, season 3 - April 12

• Beef, season 2 - April 16

• Running Point, season 2 - April 23

• Bob’s Burgers, season 16 (continued) - April 26

• Rick and Morty, season 9 - May 24

• The Four Seasons, season 2 - May 28

books

• Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About by Isabel Klee - April 28

• Saturn Returning by Kim Narby - May 5

• How Queer Bookshops Changed the World by A.J. West - May 7

• How to Be Okay When Nothing Is Okay by Jenny Lawson - May 8

• Dolly All the Time by Annabel Monaghan - May 26

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what’s on your list(s) this spring?

Bucket list, wish list, or playlist—whatever you’re planning or pining for or immersing yourself in this season, I’d love to hear about it!

In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be stocking up on non-drowsy allergy medication and pretending I’m the kind of person who can casually “stop to smell the flowers” without immediately sneezing up a storm.

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As an AuDHDer (i.e. an autistic ADHDer), I’ve found that self-care isn’t just about motivation or discipline. It’s about navigating textures, sounds, smells, temperatures, and executive function all at once. And when even one of those things tips into the “nope” category, the whole routine can collapse.

So instead of forcing myself into routines that feel like punishment, I’ve been slowly building systems that actually work with my brain and body.

Here’s what that looks like for me:

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sensory-friendly shower products

What I can’t stand:

• The big light

• Hearing nothing but the sound of the water hitting my body and the ground/myself using my shower products

• Products with overwhelming scents

• Anything that leaves behind “residue” or makes my skin feel greasy… but also, anything that leaves my skin feeling tight, dry, or itchy

• Stepping out of the shower and onto a sopping wet bath mat (brb, trying not to gag at the mere suggestion of that sensation)

• My wet hair dripping down my otherwise dried-off body

What I do instead:

• Use a wireless lamp + maybe a candle or two in the bathroom so I can shower in a dim glow instead of under overhead fluorescents

• Fragrance-free body wash, shampoo, and conditioner

• Immediately after showering: fragrance-free body serum and body lotion (before my skin can decide to feel Wrong™)

• A quick-drying stone bath mat that never gets soggy-feeling

• A dedicated hair towel turban thingy (game-changer, honestly)

My stripped down “struggle care” version for hard times:

• Shower wipes

• Hypochlorous acid spray

• Body oil spray

• Deodorant

also: transition buffers (this is a big one)

Sometimes, the stress doesn’t come from the shower itself so much as the transition into and out of the shower. Research + community advice both emphasize how important predictable routines and buffers are for reducing overwhelm when it comes to self-care tasks like showering!

What helps me start/stop:

• Playing a podcast or music on a waterproof Bluetooth speaker so I’m not alone with the sensory experience

• A waterproof shower timer (helps with the time blindness while I’m in there—both reminding me that showering doesn’t take as long as I worry it does and reminding me when it’s time to get out after I’ve gotten comfy in there)

• Doing things in the same order every time so my brain doesn’t have to decide anything

• Sitting down for a minute before and after to regulate instead of immediately jumping in/moving on

sensory-friendly skincare routine

What I can’t stand:

• Bajillion-step routines (my executive function—or lack thereof—says absolutely not)

• Overpowering scents

• Greasy residue OR tight/dry/itchy aftermath (why is it always one or the other??!)

• Drying my face with a washcloth that I’ll immediately have to toss into the hamper, because I know I won’t reuse it

What I do instead:

• Same fragrance-free routine for morning and night (minus sunscreen at night):

  • Cleanser

  • Serum

  • Moisturizer

  • Sun serum (morning only)

• Disposable face cloths for drying and removing makeup (removes a whole barrier for me)

My stripped down “struggle care” version for hard times:

• Rinse-free moisturizing cleansing balm

• Wipe off with a disposable face cloth

• Done, that’s it, that counts

sensory-friendly hair care

What I can’t stand:

• Leaving my hair wet and air-drying forever

• Detangling taking 700 years

• Flat hair, hair sticking to my neck/face, or tight styles that pull my scalp

• Complicated routines

• Crunchy/greasy/coated-feeling hair

What I do instead:

• Leave-in conditioner on the ends + a Tangle Teezer

• Foam mousse for volume (lightweight! not crunchy!!!)

• Blow dry roots until ~90% dry

• Two loose braids with silk scrunchies to finish drying (a few hours or overnight)

• Take braids out, shake my hair out, add a tiny bit of hair oil for frizz

• If needed: a few quick waves with a curling wand for definition

My stripped down “struggle care” version for hard times:

• Dry shampoo

• High half-pony or half-bun

• Ballcap or beanie (hero items in my wardrobe tbh)

sensory-friendly makeup

What I can’t stand:

• Complicated routines

• Strong scents

• Greasy OR tight-feeling products

• Anything cakey or mismatched

• Makeup that flakes, melts, or slides off

• Anything requiring skill beyond “put thing on face”

What I do instead:

• A true five-minute face, applied with fingers or exactly one (1) brush:

  • Glowy base serum (this is annoyingly non-negotiable now—the compliments don’t lie)

  • Complexion stick to spot correct or all over, depending on the day

  • Cream blush on cheeks, lids, and lips

  • Highlight balm on cheekbones + inner corners of the eyes

  • Tinted brow pomade for fluffy, non-crunchy brows

  • Mascara that I know won’t smudge

  • Tinted lip oil to finish

My stripped down “struggle care” version for hard times:

• Literally just lanolin on my lips

• Otherwise: bare face, and we move on with our lives

sensory-friendly self-care stuff I still want to try

In my cart:

• Full-sized glowy skin serum, because now I’m emotionally attached

• Fragrance-free in-shower moisturizing body balm

• Fragrance-free fatty acid moisture stick

On my wish list:

• Fragrance-free body exfoliator

• Fragrance-free body retinol

• Fragrance-free retinol hand cream

• Fragrance-free neck serum

• Spa terry robe for the post-shower cocoon experience

• Slippers so my clean feet don’t have to touch any dirty floors

Still researching:

• A wearable fan for summer survival (we don’t have ACs in Europe!!!)

• A faster, quieter hair dryer that won’t make me want to scream

the real point

Remember:

• hygiene ≠ morality

• partial care counts

• doing it differently is still doing it

The goal isn’t to become the kind of person who loves 10-step beauty routines. It’s to remove as many barriers as possible between you and feeling okay in your body. If that means dim lighting, disposable cloths, five-minute routines, or skipping steps entirely, good. That’s not failure, baby, that’s adaptation! That’s accessibility! We love to see it!!!

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what are your sensory-friendly self-care must-haves?

Always looking for recommendations from people who get it. Tell me your favorites!

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