Everyone Visits Amsterdam — But This Dutch Town Was Way Better

When I planned my trip to the Netherlands, Amsterdam was my obvious first choice. The canals, the museums, the tulips — it felt like a travel rite of passage. And for the first couple of days, it lived up to the hype. I cruised the canals, wandered the Van Gogh Museum, and even navigated a Dutch pancake menu without embarrassing myself.

But by Day 3, the novelty wore off. Amsterdam was buzzing — maybe too much. Between the crowds, the overpriced restaurants, and the sea of tourists jostling for selfies on every bridge, I started to feel like I was in a theme park version of Europe. I needed air. Space. Something real.

I remembered something a Dutch friend once told me over drinks: “If you want the Netherlands without the noise, take a train to Haarlem.” I typed it into Google Maps. Fifteen minutes from Amsterdam Centraal. That was it. I packed up, bought a ticket, and stepped onto a nearly empty train platform without a plan.

What I found when I arrived in Haarlem was the kind of town you don’t just visit — you fall into it. The pace slowed instantly. The streets felt lived in, not staged. Locals zipped by on bikes, balancing groceries, kids, and the occasional dog in their front baskets. No tours, no influencers — just real life unfolding.

My first hour in Haarlem set the tone. I checked into a cozy guesthouse tucked between two brick row houses. The owner, a woman in her 60s named Petra, handed me a paper map and drew a circle around “my favorite lunch spot — it’s not on TripAdvisor, and that’s a good thing.”

That spot turned out to be a tiny lunchroom called Anne & Max, where the avocado toast wasn’t ironic and the coffee didn’t cost €6. I sat by the window, watching people greet each other in Dutch like they’d known each other for decades. I eavesdropped on two elderly men playing chess and arguing about football. The longer I sat, the more I realized: Haarlem didn’t care that I was there — and I loved that.

I wandered toward the Grote Markt, the main town square framed by St. Bavo’s Cathedral and a patchwork of shops, cafes, and tulip stands. A man played soft jazz on a saxophone while children danced around a chalk drawing. I joined a small group heading into the cathedral and paid €2 to climb the bell tower. The view? Unreal. Red rooftops, winding alleys, and in the distance — the soft blue line of the North Sea.

The town has its share of history too. The Teylers Museum, the oldest in the Netherlands, felt like walking through a forgotten library in a Wes Anderson film. Glass cases held fossils and hand-drawn maps. I even stumbled upon an exhibit on early electricity — complete with working machines from the 1700s.

But what made Haarlem special wasn’t in a guidebook. It was in the little things. A barista who told me to skip the popular windmill photo spot and go two blocks farther for a better angle. A bike shop owner who let me rent his personal city bike “because the other ones are crap.” A random jazz concert I wandered into at a riverside bar where everyone knew the lyrics but me.

The food? Surprisingly diverse. On my second night, I ate Surinamese roti at a place called Warung Mini. It was cheap, spicy, and unforgettable. I paired it with a local beer from Jopenkerk — a former church that now brews some of the best beer in the Netherlands under stained glass windows. Try their Mooie Nel IPA and thank me later.

I stayed in Haarlem for three days — longer than I planned, and still not long enough. I biked along the Spaarne River, through windmill-dotted trails and into the nearby dunes. I found a bookstore that sold nothing but cookbooks, a bakery where everything was gluten-free but still magical, and a flower market that made Amsterdam’s famous one look like a side project.

The irony? I had originally planned Haarlem as a quick detour. A half-day escape from the chaos. Instead, it became the heart of my trip.

What makes Haarlem better than Amsterdam — for me, anyway — is that it doesn’t try to impress you. It just is. It’s confident, comfortable, and deeply Dutch in a way you don’t fully understand until you’ve walked its quiet streets at 8 a.m., when the only sound is a single bike bell and the faint clink of a spoon stirring coffee.

Would I go back to Amsterdam? Sure. But next time, I’ll base myself in Haarlem and take the train in for a few hours — not the other way around.

So if you’re planning a trip to the Netherlands, leave room for the unexpected. Everyone visits Amsterdam. But if you want to remember your trip for more than the Instagram pics, skip the lines, hop on the train, and give Haarlem a chance.

You won’t regret it.