I was excited but apprehensive about meeting our 24 new travel companions, with whom I’d be stuck for the next three weeks. Would we have anything in common to chat about? Would they all be travel snobs, going on about blah-blah-blah and how they loved Venice back in ’92 and ’95, but that they were hoping it’d be less crowded this time? On the train from Belgium to the Netherlands, I got tired just thinking about it, which may explain my cozy church pew nap later in the Grote Kerk during the afternoon pipe organ concert.

Months prior to this trip, I’d spent time every day poring over guidebooks, maps and itineraries, engrossed in each city, scarcely able to believe I’d one day see them in person. And since the cities of Haarlem and Amsterdam marked the start of the fully guided tour, I’d read and re-read its details in particular.

To have a place come alive that you’ve only previously imagined or read about is an amazing thing. I was astonished when I exited the Haarlem train station and immediately knew my bearings. “We go south from here!” I triumphantly announced to Angie, and we set off at once, following my pocket compass. Our hotel, a church concert, an inevitable group orientation meeting, and a delicious Indonesian dinner lay waiting ahead.

Red-Light Running

Shuffling through the streets of Amsterdam, I gradually got to know my new friends. True, tour guides Matt and Ragen were essentially paid to be my friends, but their genuine enthusiasm was obvious, and they helped carry us all through one adventure after another. From Hawaii came Sandy and her son Chris, whose suntans made the rest of us jealous. Then there were Jerry and Leslie, who had managed to wrangle their two teenage nieces and a nephew into coming along for the ride.

No, we did not smoke pot or make any red-light district purchases in Amsterdam. But while everyone else was admiring Rembrandt’s Night Watch at the Rijksmuseum, Angie and I instead stood transfixed in an acoustically grand corridor beneath the museum, listening to a trio of young Russian accordionists belt out yet another shivery rendition of Bach’s Toccata & Fugue.

We later met up with Dorothy and Lura—friends since elementary school, now looking to reconnect through travel—and together we set off in search of dinner back in Haarlem. Vincent’s Eethuis, a humble former soup kitchen, looked promising but our Dutch language skills were sadly lacking. We all nervously eyed the indecipherable menu for a minute before Angie spoke up.

“Um, yes, I’ll take whatever you've got. Something delicious?” she smiled hopefully at the chef. Nodding and laughing heartily, he piled tasty traditional meat and vegetables high on her plate, and we all followed suit.

On the Road Again

With the help of our ultra-suave tour bus driver Ricardo, we left town and headed south, stopping first at Arnhem for a few hours of strolling around windmills and traditional Dutch houses as part of its outdoor folk museum.

On the tour bus, it soon became clear that we who had chosen to sit near the rear were obviously destined to form the mischievous, motley, back-of-the-bus crew. Among us were recent career-switcher Debra from Chicago and her teenage son Zach, who saw the trip through artistic eyes. The three cousins—Kyle, Kelle and Natalie—along with sun-loving Hawaiians Sandy and Chris rounded out the posse, and we entertained plenty of visitors who would drop by the back of the bus to find out what we were up to…