At some point I had to decide: is it worth it to miss someone for weeks and months just to spend a few days together? You might've guessed, it's about my best friend and occasional \*ship copilot. The answer depends on whether I'm here, with her, at a table with good food, natural jokes, complete trust communicated by the fact that we would talk about workout routines or pregnancy, childhood trauma or sexual preferences, childlike jokes or uncertain hopes and dreams about the future without so much as a second of hesitation; Or whether I'm far away, in my own life, unhappy with my own recent decisions (or absence thereof). In the moment, I vibrate like a taught string: "Of course it is, every second with you is worth a lifetime". When I'm alone and feel very distant from her, I sound like a cracked vinyl record: "Just let her go, let her go, let her go..." But then another caring message arrives, or an invitation to a call and I can't help but smile. And maybe I don't feel like talking or she's down a bit, but on average the fact that we can continue to talk with this connection, continues to slightly nudge life in the right direction. I'll be nicer to the next person I meet. I'll smile and be patient with my gf. I'll do the dishes every evening and be happier in the morning when I make my tea next to the tidy sink. I'll send a "get well soon!" to an unknown recipient next time an ambulance drives by and like the kid sending off a message in a bottle, feel in harmony with the world and the people I imagine living in it. In general, it makes a difference with whom you travel. Alone is the best way to grow, especially if you push yourself out of your comfort zone or if you intend to develop your thoughts for some specific goal, like writing. The moment you step into unknown territory, your mind races, every minor act like buying a ticket or saying ""Dank je wel" in a foreign language, every street corner and person you see turn into exciting adventure stories of you the protagonist in a world of wonder. You begin to discover entire new concepts, like courtesy or friendship or repair and rebirth and are in a unique position to incorporate them into your living. Traveling with unknown people is best to let yourself be guided by the moment. No plan, no quiet reflexion, but a current of unknowns pulling you along. Think hostels. You never know who you meet but there is always going to be someone. You'll say yes to a couple of them and do things that you wouldn't even have thought of otherwise. My new friend J recently spent a week or so in some of New York's hostels. She tagged along with people to discover architecture and bookstores she didn't even know, was charmed in her own native language by a standup comedian, discovered that she was a "pool shark" unaware of her own monumental skill and learned about modern internet business practices useful for her own activity. Traveling with a fixed purpose like go to that scenic spot or this famous museum or subscribe to a travel agency's program or show Rome or Paris or Athens to your kids: is boring. You'll be guided too, but it will feel like a commute. Highway, slide to the right, follow this route for 5km until the roundabout, then take the third exit. You will see new things in the absence of any foreign ambiance. You'll experience yourself in front of a backdrop that could just as well be a greenscreen. No matter where, you'll feel mostly the same. And then you have traveling with friends, which is a composite of these. I have traveled with romantic interests, with people just becoming friends, with artsy-fartsy types or workaholics. There is a little baseline excitement, and that unknown current bringing you to unexpected experiences, the feeling of belonging to a special clique of unique minds that "get it" better than anyone else. It's a privilege, a shared memory, a bonding experience. Not entirely free, not very stressful, not a complete lifechanging conceptual enlightenment but more like a hypothesis. "What if I'd change one or two aspects of my life for a while?". You live more or less like you normally would, just somewhere else, concentrate more than you normally would on friends, discover new sides about them and get closer to them, if you discover common rhythms, interests and conversation topics. When you make the choice to travel with a really good friend, you expect less discovery and more a deliberate coloring of your experience with what you know about their personality. In the case of my best friend F, the match between her character and the destination was almost perfect. F is a social, sunny, inclusive person who sometimes almost acts like a magnet for people. In a particularly good mood, she can end up with a dozen strangers in some bar to share life experiences. Amsterdam is exactly the city to do that in. People talk openly, the city is relatively clean and in order, curiosity and coexistence reign, the authentic is only one street away from the main tourist path, the country as a whole made the world, happiness, sustainability and positivity it's point. One night we went to the cinema to watch a movie I wanted to share with her: The Phoenician Scheme. People ate and drank in the cinema, all without being a nuisance. The advertisement before the movie was about mental health awareness, cancer research and help, climate change, tree planting initiatives, private initiatives mostly all the way to the cinema itself which seems to be running on contributions by it's audience. At another point we met a girl playing the hand pan, having just completed a workshop for the use of music for therapeutic purposes. F was like: "Oh wow a handpan, you have to play for us!" - "Oh no I'm not good yet, you play a bit!". So F started playing, then the girl showed us what she knew, while talking about this very nature of her city. A fast, relaxing encounter with a total stranger on a bench. For me that's the quintessential Amsterdam experience, which I also told that girl. And F has exactly the right mindset for it. Contrast that with Berlin, where this same mindset brought us into contact with heavily drunk people and F actually felt discouraged after a couple of days because of the many "lost" people in the streets. Of course we had a bunch of great experiences in Berlin too, but people talk about the openness of the german capital a lot, while I have the feeling, it has to be acquired with some effort and some compromise. Here in Amsterdam, I had the genuine feeling that everybody enjoys your company by default, at least for a little bit. With any other travel partner, I probably wouldn't have had quite the same conclusion. In fact, people told me of rude or impatient encounters and were generally a bit disappointed by Amsterdam (but not the other, smaller cities of NL!). But that's the point: I think it was impossible for people to be bothered by us cruising through the Grachten because we just had an amazing time, noticed and were being noticed, wanted to listen and talk. The experience could have been much more social, I imagine, being an introvert and all. But F very clearly came there to relax with me. She has had a couple of agitated weeks leading up to our trip and was glad to put her feet up and just chill. I'm of course fine with everything but the focus on relaxation meant that I was going to enjoy many calm and tender moments with F that I'll remember forever. The downside of that is that they were going to light up my feelings again and I would be left with severe heartache for weeks to come, but it was worth it. For one, I still discovered more about my friend. I was surprised to hear, that she's not very playful for instance, in intimate settings. Between us, she's the more experienced one, but when I was talking about the magic of touch, sensitive zones, the importance of small gestures I had the feeling we weren't quite on the same page. We talked about that while lying on Museumsplein to take in some of the late afternoon sun. She didn't want to come too close to me by sitting on my jacket at first, and instead chose the cold grass but then trusted me enough to nap on it next to me while I was people watching. Of course, she woke up just at the right moment to see dutch Adonis, the man among men, a person so accomplished to make all of us mere masculins look insignificant. Tall and blond, of course, upper body exposed, he was riding a bike without touching the steering wheel. Instead, he held a small guitar and nonchalantly played a little tune while smiling, the hair playing with his shoulder long hair, smiling at girls, who would have certainly fainted one by one if they wouldn't have already been lying in the sun before. What can you do but shrug! Another surprise came at the Moco museum. They had a room dedicated to Robin Williams, mental health and on one side there was a table to write down "Five things I like about myself". F asked me of course and I was able to answer quickly, saying things like "I like that whenever I close my eyes, there is a beautiful world stretching out before me" or "I like that I am a good listener", "I like that people trust me" and so on. It felt like the last few years of introspection were a success. Then I asked her expecting similar answers - but she hesitated. I took a picture of her next to a window from which you can see the Rijksmuseum, she seemed solemn and pensive and she said: "I like that I'm selfish and helpful for people", "I like to make people happy", "I like that I'm precise but also open for surprises". Her answers made sense, but I'm still thinking about the time it took for her to say them. For me, F is healthily self-centered, she seems to know what she wants and needs, identifies with her positive and uplifting effect on others. Why would the sun hesitate when you ask her to shine? Over the next couple of days it also really dawned on me, that she's surprisingly unromantic. In the museum, there was a 3D installation of some abstract version of stars. I wanted to watch it with her because she had introduced the finishing lines of each section of Dante's Divine Comedy to me, which all allude to the possibility of rising to see the stars together. She had also planned a similar experience with her husband, where they would watch the milky way together in Japan. After we had finished watching she said: "Stars! But it's not the same as with G". What does it matter? Both of us are here, we both remembered those lines we talked about, just let the moment pass knowing that we both care for each other . A couple of weeks later, I'll be reading about Camus and Casares. Apparently they had a strong affection that they carried out in an exchange of letters over 14 years or so. His writing is exceptional and I'm encouraged, all other aspects of this story aside, that you can derive immense strength from an attachment to a person you'll hardly ever see. When I cited a couple of passages to her, F said: "In the past I liked sweet words. Nowadays I'm more pragmatic. Wear some sunscreen, drink enough water is enough for me" I'm baffled. I'm all on board with someone not being easily swayed by mere words, that's good and healthy. But what about pragmatic expression of care and someone putting in the effort to make you feel exceptional about yourself? One has nothing to do with the other. Or a street sign would read: "What would you do on your last day?". Me? "I would kiss you.". F: "I would tell my mom some positive things". Honestly, wouldn't you rather take option A just goofing around? In reality though, I have many more vivid memories of just moments between us than from our last encounters. I think that is due to the fact that we really focused only on each other. And they represent all that I will forever admire about F. The lady with the handpan was one. Then there was a lady with a dog in our favorite coffee shop. The dog just ran towards us because F was calling him over. His name translated to something like "Little lottery ticket", because his now owner has seen him in an animal shelter in which she happened to help out and decided to adopt him. Small talk, good vibes, great coffee, my heart grows out of my chest and becomes a powerup for others to relish in. When this happened with a crazily inspiring Indian lady at Lake Como, I cried. Now I know why: This ease of connecting to good people almost intuitively is an extension of myself that I'm not quite capable of. I just don't do it. But if it happens next to me I know exactly what to do, I tune in, admire this new contact instantly and we could go on for a conversation about humanity's most beautiful acts and hopes. Two complementary skills coming together to create unforgettable moments, that for me are also proof that my humanism is not just a random thought I picked up in a book, but reality that you can build on. And then I have to leave the bubble every time and I know it exists but far, far away from me. Knowing that is still immensely empowering and every day is just a little bit brighter than before. And then sometimes, F says things that shake up your very soul. I don't even think she notices, it just happens. While walking down on Spiegelgracht, F suddenly smiles: "There is another thing I like about myself. I like that I make you want to live longer" Another day, at an Indonesian restaurant, F starts talking to me about a plate. She wants to buy a big plate, to take home, to lie down on Museumsplein again. I was thinking a souvenir, a dish as she was in the process of moving into a new home and maybe put some fruit on for a picknick? I didn't really register that "we would lie down on it and take a nap". After lunch, we go to a home deco shop, she rummages around, holds up a blanket: "what do you think about this color?" - "Take the blue one, it's the same color as the house you liked yesterday. But what about your plate"? "Plaid! This is it, let's go" I admit, I felt a bit dumb, "goffo" as my good friend R likes to call herself. I'm like that too but I like it that way. On Museumsplein we took a nap on the plaid under a bunch of trees. Between them, a visible sky with crows, pigeons and seagulls flying over us. The movement of the clouds, planes and the surrounding leaves massaging our minds to sleep. It was a perfect day, a Hirayama moment and watching her sleep I felt nothing but peace. Let the world end, or jump rope, switch the simulation off, piss against the wind - anything could happen, and I wouldn't give a damn. And then, the most picturesque of all: Zaanse Schans. Zaanse Schans is an ancient fortification which used to be a center of naval production where timber was cut into planks powered by windmills. Nowadays it is an artificial village, assembled from authentic buildings from the 18th and 19th century from all over the country. A convenient bus brings you there from Centraal in about 40 minutes. The driver was driving so energetically, that I had to hold my friend's forehead gently so as to not fall off my shoulder, where she was sleeping. The moment we stepped out of the buswe understood: this is a tourist destination, they walk like pinguins, oscillating left and right like a metronome as they shuffle from one foot to the other, advancing a couple of centimeters every time. Neither I nor F where in the mood for this so we decided to take our blanket and disappear behind one of the wooden houses. Suddenly, a scene that Monet couldn't have imagined better: lying on a blanket next to water, water lillies swimming on the surface, the windmills turning slowly in the background. F was sunbathing and I took in the almost complete silence and the frankly beautiful background. At some point F asked: "Would you help me braid my hair?" I said: "Yes of course", knowing fully well what her braid will look like if I start to overestimate my crafting ability. I tried a couple of times and the end result was, if not exactly a masterpiece, not catastrophic either. The moment of course was unforgettable, of a childlike innocence, while biting my tongue trying to remember which strand has to go on top of which other, I happened to touch her neck and, well, they say not to put your finger in the power socket but if this is how it feels like then that is worth it, too! Coming out from behind that shack, F is like: "Imagine we would just had a quickie", "If only", I joke because these moments are far better, as we go over to buy some ice cream and then discover more of Zaandam, where Csar Peter I had once learned shipbuilding.