Dutch Treat

Haarlem was calling my name—no, not the Big Apple version, but the one with the extra A in Holland. I never tire of visiting Amsterdam, its close neighbor, but the prospect of settling down in this smaller, less-visited sidekick, with few cars, trams and battalions of bikers keen on ending my life, Haarlem seemed just the ticket.

To clinch the deal, Smithsonian Journeys advertised a week-long, small-group tour centered on Dutch art: no experience necessary. Even if you cannot tell a Renoir from a Rembrandt, it’s a relaxed and easygoing way to up your game. After a couple of slideshows by guest lecturer Lisa Baumann, who considers these artists “my Golden Age boyfriends,” you’re an instant insider.

We first met painter Frans Hal, who lived right here in Haarlem back in the 1600s, when we visited the intimate almshouse-turned-museum that today showcases his works. He’s the guy who humanized those stiff group portraits of, say, the weavers’ guild or charity board, bestowing individual personalities on what others painted like a yearbook’s class photo.

Wandering the main square a block from our hotel, I came across a Frans Hals satellite museum, saluting The Art of Drag, showcasing painting of those who “turned expectations on their head.” It stands virtually in the shadow of venerable St. Bavo Church, anchoring the site since the 14^th century—all soaring white walls and brass chandeliers. It’s where our dear Frans is buried. Haydn played its organ, and so did Mozart, at age 10. Time then to settle in at a sunny outdoor café for a slice of the country’s culinary icon, Dutch apple pie, studded with raisins and frosted with whipped cream.

That held me until dinner. The group visited neighboring Café Colette for shrimp-filled ravioli and roast chicken. Six of us singles, who immediately bonded to dine together on free nights, returned for an asparagus feast later in the week. We also discovered Thrill, where plush burgers reign, and Nolita, serving Italian fare (excellent eggplant Parm). Dining there on May 4, we joined the national moment of silence at 8 PM honoring those killed by the Nazis in World War II. Our favorite dinner discovery was nearby Moustique, boasting a Michelin star and offering three-course nouvelle-style dinners—tonight starring duck breast—with perfect, relaxed service.

Mornings, after a second cappuccino crowning the hotel’s bounteous breakfast buffet, we boarded our bus to head off to other nearby towns, with art on our minds. Passing tulip fields, canals aplenty and a windmill or two, we headed for a day in Amsterdam, leading off with the iconic Rijksmuseum, hosting a special Frans Hals exhibition, plus a guided meander through its galleries, where Rembrandt’s famed Night Watch came vividly to life.

We then enjoyed a canal cruise, winding our way under bridges aside the slender gabled mansions of the rich and famous of the Golden Age, past the behemoth train station, the Opera House and, finally, the house of Rembrandt himself, now a museum. We trooped from the kitchen up the winding staircase to the very attic, where the great man taught Dutch masters in the making.

Another day, we steered straight for Gouda, home of the famed Dutch cheese, for a mini tutorial on how and why it’s wonderful, underscored by tasting samples and, of course, a shopping op. A visit to St. John’s Church, dating back to the 1300s, awed us with its towering stained glass windows—Catholic before the Reformation, but allowed to retain its legion of tinted saints, earning it the title of “the most beautiful church in Holland.”

Rotterdam, another day, jolted us into the present. The harbor city was bombed to dust during World War II but rebuilt as a showcase of arresting Dutch architecture. A rollicking harbor tour floated us past the many shipping containers that earned it the title of the busiest harbor in Europe.

A vast market hall plump with food stalls kept us from fainting before dinner, back in Haarlem, at a rijsttafel restaurant—a Dutch favorite, which borrows from the East Indies islands the country once owned. It mirrors their classic feast of rice surrounded by scads of condiment dishes—beef to tofu to whatever, yours to spoon atop. Another day’s run-out to the seaside thrilled us with a view of the lashing ocean just outside the windows of our restaurant, which seduced us with an addictively delicious, sweet-spicy curry.

Delft is the famous town where for decades the famous blue-patterned chinaware was made. In its heyday, the city sported 32 factories, but today only one remains, and it welcomed our group to view the process and, ahem, shop. The town itself boasts a classic market square supporting a centuries-old church where the Dutch royals are buried. A tangle of boutique-filled streets surrounding it are laced together by more camera-ready bridges and canals.

The Hague, our next destination, is famed for its world courts of justice, but our goal was the equally illustrious Mauritshuis—a smaller museum whose halls harbor three precious Vermeer paintings of the 56 their homeboy painted. In one of the best gift shops of the trip, his “Girl with the Pearl Earring” appears on everything from socks and aprons to chopsticks and playing cards. Don’t miss Rembrandt’s spectacular “The Anatomy Lesson” while you’re in the building.

We return to Amsterdam and Vincent in all his wild and brushy glory at the Van Gogh Museum; thanks to Smithsonian’s planning, we always head right to the start of the line with our pre-ordered tickets. We encounter the mad artist a final time at the Kroller-Mueller Museum, a drive to middle of nowhere to marvel at his notorious self-portrait with bandaged ear, the Starry Night, those iconic Sunflowers, the dark Potato Eaters. Just as the artist was about to make the big time, he killed himself.

The enchanting museum is set in a breathtaking nature park punctuated by modern sculptures and a pavilion which served us a classic Dutch lunch: fish croquettes, salmon with potatoes and cucumber salad, and—yesss!—a slice of apple cake.

Time (sob!) to pack for our return—bought our cheese, bought our Vincent magnets—but wait! Where are the tulips? At the Keukenhof Gardens, by the millions—so off we sped to ogle its broad avenues shimmering with color—red, yellow, pink, white, striped, fringed, scalloped. It’s like a massage for the spirits. Now we can go home happy.

 Eager to plan a Dutch treat for yourself? Visit www.SmithsonianJourneys.org.