In a city where very few people have gardens, a boat ride is a great way to sit outside, and be active.

What fascinates me most isn’t the boats though… it’s how people behave once they get on the water.

On land, it’s easy to keep to ourselves: maybe we’re biking to our destination quickly, maybe we’re listening to music. However, on water, it’s different.

Passing someone? We wave.
Struggling docking the boat? Someone comes running to catch a line.
Need to clean the decks? Any café is happy to hand you a “sopje” (water and soap).

On top of that, a boat is a great conversation starter. From a local that lives on the corner, to a French family who’s visiting for the weekend, people get curious about the details of your project.

Boat culture wasn’t always this open. For a long time, it carried a certain exclusivity: ownership, maintenance, access. But then there came second-hand boats, shared ownership, rentals, and attitudes changed.

Last week, at Nick’s boat wharf - run by his family since 1984 - he emphasized this shift. The wharf is not just a place of repair, it is a social spot. People come in with practical questions and leave with conversations, tips, or simply the recognition of being part of something bigger.

Sooo… we all need to get a boat now?

No need, there are already many boats around to join! Initiatives exist that encourage people to invite strangers on already owned boats.

But also in a smaller way we can take inspo from the water, starting with a wave!

Ships came in with sugar, the canals brought it into warehouses that are still here. What we now call “beautiful canal houses” were part of that system: storage, offices, status.

By the mid-1600s, there were around fifty sugar refineries in the city. Amsterdam wasn’t just participating in the trade, it dominated it.

Today is Keti Koti, “broken chains” in Surinamese language Sranantongo. In the Oosterpark, people - including the prime minister and the mayor - gather to remember the end of slavery in the former Dutch colonies in 1863 (watch the speeches here). You hear the stories and the weight of something that lasted for centuries and did not end when it was abolished.

It is uncomfortable to connect those two things, the canals I cycle along every day and a system built on enslaved labour across the Atlantic, but they are connected. The wealth that grew this city came from somewhere very specific.

And that raises a hard question: where does your own story sit in that history? Not in an abstract, national way, but closer to home. Which streets, which trades, which families benefited?

For some Amsterdammers, this history is something their families endured. For others, it is something their families may have profited from, directly or indirectly.

“Only those willing to look honestly at the past can do justice to the future,” NiNsee’s chair Dave (Kleijkers) Ensberg said today.

The canals do not change, but how we look at them, and what we choose to do with that knowledge, can.

It is hot, hot, hot. If temperature reaches 30°C or higher for more than five consecutive days, and hitting 35°C on at least three of them, we’re officially dealing with a ‘super heatwave’ (WeerOnline, 2026).

In a country that is known for controlling water, we are dealing with a new element: heat. And this rise in temperature has led to a new cultural phenomenon, one that signals what I call the ‘Parasol Phase’’: the Dutch umbrella functioning both as a paraplu and as parasol.

We know the parasol from elsewhere: Japan, Mexico, on the beach during holidays, but in a Dutch city center? On a weekday? That’s new.

Lucky (?) for us, many of us already have one at home. However, a new name would be appropriate: a paraplol? A paraslu?

A few years ago I got to know Tarzan through a mutual friend. He lives on a houseboat (check our socials to see what his boat looks like) and although winters can be rough, summer is pretty amazing: drinks on the deck, a refreshing cold plunge in the morning, he’s really just living his best life.

After meeting Tarzan, I started dreaming of living on a houseboat myself, and decided to write postcards and put them in the letterboxes of random houseboats in the center, saying something along the lines of “you’re living my dream, would you like to have coffee sometime and talk about it?”.

One person responded and not much later I was welcomed inside his gigantic houseboat on the Prinsengracht.

What’s good to know is that living on a houseboat wasn’t always a cool and dreamy lifestyle. After World war II there was a big housing shortage and as a short-term solution the city allowed houseboats in the center. Back then it was quite uncomfortable: no connection to a sewage system, nor to electricity. It was a cheap and crusty way of living.

Out of necessity the conditions were quickly improved: (most) houseboats got connected to the sewage system, electricity, they even got a postal code.

Over coffee the houseboat owner explained the reality of his lifestyle, now hold tight: Being front row at the city’s events, also means having ten men lined up on the quay on Kingsday, peeing on the boat. Rats walking across the deck at night, close enough to hear, and boat tours passing by all day with guides loudly explaining your living situation (I may or may not have contributed to that at some point, oops).

Nevertheless, he’s very happy with his choice. From the water, he explained, the center feels even more alive. The maintenance isn't a chore, it's his hobby, a passion even. There's a real community out here, and there’s exclusive access to whatever party or event the city’s organizing. And the fact that the whole boat needs to get towed away for inspection every few years is an operational challenge, but it also makes life one big adventure.

The takeaway? You need to be willing to work hard and have a lot of patience for annoying tour guides. But if you do, I think it remains one of the coolest ways of living, and my dream is still very much alive.

Would you want to live on a houseboat?

For most of their history, aquariums worked on a simple formula: collect interesting animals, put them on display, and sell tickets. ARTIS was part of that tradition too. But the renovated version takes a different path. No new wild-caught animals were brought in just for show, and the few exceptions are there because the ecosystem needs them (for example, sea urchins: they balance out the ecosystem by eating algae).

That may sound like a small change, but it isn’t. It turns the aquarium from an entertainment show into informative and inspiring experience. Less “look what we have brought in,” more “look what depends on what.” And in a city like Amsterdam, where water is never just scenery, that fits our vibe muchhh better.

Have you been already?

At IJmuiden, where the North Sea Canal meets the sea, the sluices that should have closed with the rising tide stayed open. A technical issue. For about three and a half hours, the sea pushed toward the city and nobody noticed.

Then a sharp water manager looked at the computers and noticed something was off: the water levels were going up extraordinarily fast, and all measurement systems were going crazy. Immediately Rijkswaterstaat started looking for the problem, shut the sluices, and switched the pumps to full power to push the water back out.

But the extra water was already moving toward Amsterdam.

So a rare decision was made: close the entire IJ-front. Fourteen barriers, one by one, protecting the historic city center off from the outside water system, it hadn’t been done at this scale in decades. The force of the incoming water was hard to miss: at the Nieuwe Haarlemmersluis, the pressure slammed the gates shut and knocked over the heavy wooden beams used to operate them.

In another area, the Houthavens, which lie outside the barriers, the water rose to a few centimeters under the window frames of houses. Houseboats tilted, canal traffic stopped, and engineers later admitted: every extra hour would have made it wayyy worse.

And then… the city simply went back to normal. The water was pumped out, the barriers opened, boats started moving again. Most Amsterdammers woke up the next morning with no idea their city had been locked shut overnight.

It is a good reminder of how essential water management is in our country and not to ever take it for granted. Nevertheless, the city stayed dry, and the incident barely made the news. Which, when you think about it, is the biggest compliment a water manager can get.

It makes sense to say that the Netherlands is a “wet country”. At the same time it is boring, outdated and in many ways inaccurate. The rainfall has been less than half of what it should be, and groundwater levels remain low (KNMI, 2026). One wet week is like one glass of water after running a marathon: nice, but your body is still dehydrated.

Therefore, I propose, that next time we get that irresistible urge to say something about the rainy weather, we retire the old line:

“The Netherlands is so wet.”

And upgrade to:

“For a country this dry, the rain is really showing up today.”

“The drought appreciates the gesture.”

“Rainfall: 4/10 for distribution, but 10/10 for effort!”

Last Thursday D66 proposed a bold solution: creating new land between IJburg and Almere to build an entirely new neighborhood: IJstad.

Omroep Flevoland

I have to say, I got very excited.

To me, building land from scratch sounds so innovative and ambitious. And the Netherlands has done this before, think of the Afsluitdijk and Flevoland. We’re no stranger to turning water into livable places.

The advantages are clear: you can build tens of thousands of homes without using more land around Amsterdam, and the location would connect well to public transport.

But it raises the question: at what cost?

The Markermeer and IJmeer (the waters in which the plan would be executed) aren’t empty spaces, they’re important ecosystems for birds and fish, building there would cause permanent damage.

And it’s not just about nature, these waters are part of the Netherlands’ freshwater buffer.
They store water for drinking, agriculture, and dry periods, building on them would mean reducing this storage capacity.

A prime example of a Dutch dilemma:

Do we protect nature and freshwater?
Or build as many homes as possible?

Maybe some places should remain off-limits, even in a housing crisis.
Maybe we should focus on building houses closer to each other within existing cities, taxing empty homes, making better use of the space we already have.

I think only after we've genuinely committed to those options, do we have enough room (pun intended) to consider moving the coastline.

If push came to shove, what would you prioritize?

Their piece follows experiments around SurfPill, a floating platform with a standing wave that combines surfing with water purification in Amsterdam’s open water. UvA researchers are now looking at what this kind of “surfing-as-infrastructure” could do for water quality in busy waterways.

What - the heck - would that look like? SurfPill founder Frederik van Os describes it as a Louvre-like glass dome. Inside, a standing wave holds surfers in place while pumps constantly pull canal water through filters under their boards and push cleaner water back out. The glass walls keep noise down, hold in heat so you can surf more months of the year, and make the whole system visible.

We’re not at the full glass surf greenhouse on the IJ yet. Right now there’s a compact prototype: a floating platform with a standing wave and built‑in system that researchers are testing in real Amsterdam water. As people surf, the team measures changes in things like bacteria, oxygen and clarity.

Credits to UvA’s Folia for putting this experiment on the radar and asking the very Amsterdam question: if we’re going to clean the water, why not have a little fun on a wave while we’re at it?

Prototype at Science Park, photo by Folia

Last week, the city staged a much more organized version of that scenario. Waternet, the organization responsible for Amsterdam’s drinking water system, set up temporary water points - one in Amsterdam, one in Amstelveen - to show what life would look like without safe tap water. Tanks, hoses, simple taps. People were invited to stop by with empty bottles and experience how quickly something ordinary can become logistical.

And that’s maybe the strange thing about tap water: you only really notice the system when it stops working. Most of the time it stays invisible: pipes under streets, pumping stations behind fences, people monitoring things you never think about while filling a glass in the kitchen.

Luckily, this wasn’t a sign that Amsterdam was running out of water tomorrow. It was mostly a reminder that clean drinking water depends on a lot of preparation, maintenance and expertise working in the background.

For now, the water is still flowing, and although the exercise was a good reminder not to take that for granted, it was mainly the city quite literally testing the waters.

1. Het Plantsoen

   For everyone stepping out of the Marnixbad still dripping: Het Plantsoen is literally inside the swimming pool’s building on Marnixplein. You don’t end up here if you don’t know it, and, therefore, it is often a bit quieter (very relaxing). It is great for coffee, lunch, beers and fries after a swim, with views over the Frederik Hendrik’s square.

2. Soundgarden
   Café Soundgarden on the Marnixstraat is located right by the water behind the parking garage. It is a slightly rough-around-the-edges terrace directly on the quay, where you can hang your feet above the water while live music or heavy playlists play in the background.

3. Waterkant

   Waterkant is also on the Marnixstraat and literally hangs above the water, also an amazing spot to watch boats. The Surinamese food is very good, but the menu goes beyond that too. The vibes are great, there’s lots of sun, and a big terrace that changes from afternoon drinks into an evening party.

4. Hesp

   Café-restaurant Hesp is housed in a 19th-century building directly on the Amstel, between the Skinny Bridge and the Berlagebrug. From the waterside terrace you watch boats pass by all day long, with sixteen beers on tap and simple, affordable food.

5. De Jaren

   Café de Jaren is a bit more touristy, but it does have an amazing terrace, right in the middle of the city, just five minutes from Dam Square. You sit on a long terrace along the quay overlooking the canals and passing boats, ideal for a break during a city walk.

   Cooling down already?!

   

   Café Sound Garden

By midday there’ll be towels on the docks, snacks on the grass, people climbing in and out of the water. And although it is now a great place to recharge from city life, some serious activities have taken place on this ground.

Back in 1655, this was a shipyard run by the Admiralty of Amsterdam, the organization responsible for the city’s navy. Large ships were built here for trade and defense. The big ship in front of the Scheepvaartmuseum is a replica of the VOC ship “Amsterdam” and gives an idea of the scale and atmosphere of the ships that would have been at this waterfront centuries ago.

And it is fairly recently that the military vibe was still very much alive: helicopters landing here, big security exercises. Not exactly the scene you picture when you’re dipping your toes in the water with a natural wine in hand.

There is even a Cold War bunker hidden underneath one of the buildings: if the country ever got into a nuclear conflict, military operations could continue from protected underground spaces like this one.

But the really heavy training? That happened elsewhere. The Marineterrein was always too central, too surrounded by actual city life to go fully into combat mode.

So if you happen to find yourself near the Marineterrein:

• the maritime museum = former navy storage

• the terrain itself = former naval shipyard

• the ship in the water = a reminder of the ships that once left this exact spot

A lot has changed here. Warships made way for small motorboats, military drills for picnic blankets, but one thing stayed the same: Amsterdam still docks here.

And that’s the thing: when something is rare, it’s experienced differently.
These warm weekends don’t just feel “nice,” they feel weirdly collective.
Suddenly everyone is outside, doing almost exactly the same thing at the same time: finding sun, finding water, and finding any flat surface to sit on.

You see it in the small gestures:
strangers lend each other bottle openers, sunscreen, and lighters.
People squeeze onto the same steps, share quays, edge over on the bridge so one more person can lean against it.

We run to the water because it simply makes the most sense: the wind on open water makes it cooler than the street, it is often closer than a forest, and feels like instant “outside” without leaving the city.
It starts as a practical choice, go where it’s cooler, and ends as a cultural habit: when it’s warm, we belong by the water.

The Netherlands isn’t built for long summers; it’s built for short emotional ones.
We never know when the next rays of sun will show up, so when they do, we treat them like our only shot at summer: swims, beers, boat rides, and a few short-term friendships.

Whether you’re on a boat, a balcony or a canal edge, for these three days, we’re all riding the same wave.

De neef van Fred

What fascinated me most was not even the swimming itself, it was who actually went into the water. There were lots of Dutch people, quite a few Germans too, but barely any Parisians.

Later, one of my French friends looked at me in complete horror when I mentioned swimming in the Seine. “Mais nonnn… you don’t know what is in ze water! You’re going to get sick!”

I learned that swimming in city water is actually quite a Dutch thing, or at least: being relatively relaxed about it is.

And as Amsterdam’s swimming season opens again, this felt like the perfect moment to separate fact from fiction.
Because when you first look at the canals, “clean enough to swim in” is probably not your immediate thought.

So:
How dirty are the canals really?

Let’s dive in.

Myth 1: “The canals are basically open sewers”

To be fair: this used to be completely true.

For centuries, Amsterdam’s canals functioned as the city’s garbage system. Waste, sewage, dead animals, it all ended up in the water. In summer, the smell was apparently unbearable.

But today, the situation is very different.

The canals are connected to a modern sewage system, and water quality has improved enormously over the past decades. According to Waternet, the city has spent years transforming the canals from “open sewer” into swimmable urban water.

That does not mean the water is crystal clear or safe to drink or that you can just swim anywhere.
But it’s also far from the medieval soup many tourists imagine.

However - and this part matters - heavy rain can still temporarily cause problems.

When it rains a lot, Amsterdam’s sewage system can overflow, which means untreated wastewater can end up in the canals. That’s why Waternet advises waiting at least three days before swimming again after major rainfall, to give the system time to recover.

So yes:
swimming in Amsterdam center can genuinely be fine, in the designated area’s.

Just maybe not immediately after the sky has dumped half the North Sea onto the city.
Because then the situation can become a little (excuse my French)… shitty.

Take the Amsterdamse Bos.
It’s easy to think of it as “just a forest,” but it started with land that was too wet, too low, and difficult to build on. Instead of fighting the water completely, people started designing with it.

Lakes were dug out, waterways shaped. Certain areas were raised, others left open to absorb water naturally. Millions of trees were planted, but the water system underneath it all was just as important as the forest itself.

And that’s kind of nice to realize while walking there.
Our relaxing little forest moment exists because generations of planners, workers, gardeners and forest staff spent time thinking about how water moves through a landscape, and how people move through it too.

So next time we’re walking through the Bos, let’s remember, there’s a whole group of people indirectly rooting for us to have a lovely afternoon.

His tone: concerned. His face: genuinely stressed.

I laughed.
“Yeah. Are you a good swimmer?”

While working on the canals as a tour guide, I’ve had many people ask me the same question, looking at me as if it was our final day. I always took it lightly, laughed it off, felt proud of our strange little country.

And honestly, there’s plenty to be proud of.
Dutch engineers built drinking water systems in Abu Dhabi.
They helped redesign New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.
They’ve advised on flood protection from Jakarta to Copenhagen.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized water doesn’t just shape Dutch engineering.
It shapes Dutch culture.

The Dutch plan everything because water has no mercy for bad organization.
We communicate directly because vague signals around dikes can be catastrophic.
We don’t like hierarchical structures because water doesn’t care about it.

And so the Dutch didn’t just build around water physically; we built around water culturally.

I’m Isabelle.
Born in Amsterdam, former canal guide, and proud owner of a tiny steel boat in the Jordaan.

I spent years explaining this city from water level, but lately I’ve become more interested in a different question:
what if water explains Amsterdam better than history books do?

If you’re curious about habits, observations and people on and along the water, join me on this (boat) ride!