For any such place one might miss, there are dozens awaiting discovery.

Haarlem.

The cities profiled below, each of which has had issues with over-tourism, are Amsterdam, Barcelona, Florence and Prague. I've never been to Barcelona. It's been 14 years since my last visit to Prague, and 33 for Florence.

Amsterdam is an interesting case for me. We've been through Schiphol airport so many times I've lost count, but it's been at least 15 years since I've set foot in the city itself. The primary reason for this is the sheer serendipity of having friends in Haarlem, which is a lovely city of 232,000 people just 15 miles from Amsterdam.

Apart from the contents of certain famous museums, there's really nothing to be missed in Amsterdam by someone choosing to spend time instead in Haarlem. A day trip to Amsterdam to visit those museums can be facilitated by frequent and inexpensive public transportation. In addition, these trains and buses run the opposite direction to the North Sea beaches at Zandvoort.

I'll always adore Prague, but if an opportunity comes to return to Czech Republic, there are smaller cities I'd rather explore, like Brno or Olomouc. In recent years, we've enjoyed wonderful stays in Trieste and Catania (Sicily), Italian cities having nowhere the tourist traffic of Florence. Someday, Spain once more; however, having learned from our fine time in Porto (neighboring Portugal) rather than Lisbon, I doubt Barcelona would be on the itinerary.

For any such place one might miss, there are dozens awaiting discovery.

Overtourism in Europe's historic cities sparks backlash, by Jon Henley and Guardian correspondents

Angry protests from residents in popular areas force city hall officials to take action

Across Europe, historic cities are buckling. Mass tourism, encouraged by cash-hungry councils after the 2008 crash and fuelled by the explosion of cheap flights and online room rentals, has become a monster. The backlash, however, has begun ...

Pedestrians and bicyclists in Amsterdam -- and Deaf Gahan's Nawbany.

On Monday I was walking down the sidewalk on the south side of Market when I saw a bicyclist riding down the sidewalk toward me. At this time of the morning there were no cars whatever on Market, and yet there she was, so I politely asked if she would stop for just a moment and entertain a question or three in the interest of science, and she was amenable.

From a former to a current bicycle rider, do you always ride on the sidewalk?

"Yes, almost always," she said.

But shouldn't bikes be on the street?

"It isn't safe out there -- there's no bike lane."

There's a bike lane on Spring Street.

"Sort of. The traffic still moves too fast, and anyway the bike lane ends and I'm back on the sidewalk again."

What do you think of sharrows?

"You used to ride a bike? Then you know sharrows aren't safe."

---

I thanked her and kept walking, confident that this brief conversation of two or three minutes was two or three minutes linger than any chat ever held between Jeff Gahan's inept minions, his corrupt contractors and a real human being on an actual bicycle.

By the way, there are problems in Amsterdam, too.

Can Amsterdam’s Cyclists and Pedestrians Learn to Get Along? by Sophie Knight (CityLab)

As Amsterdammers jostle for space, the city government is trying to ease conflicts between those on bikes and on foot.

Urbanists around the world swoon over Amsterdam’s cycling culture: residents trundling around cobbled streets with a child balanced on their handlebars or a friend on the back, everyone blissfully free from the road rage that infects car-heavy cities such as London and New York. What’s not to like?

Well, a few things, if you’re a pedestrian. An oncoming cyclist may barrel through a red light or crosswalk or suddenly swerve onto the sidewalk. Cyclists in Amsterdam often park their bikes haphazardly, cluttering street corners and blocking the passage of strollers, wheelchairs, and suitcase-bearing tourists.

And woe betide those who accidentally step onto a bike path. “This is Amsterdam!” is one of the kinder reactions.

“Cyclists are even more antisocial than drivers,” complains Jennifer Brouwer, 37, who is registered blind and who moved to the city’s quieter outskirts from its busy West district because she was tired of conflicts with cyclists. “They’re more likely to think, ‘Oh, I can get away with that,’ like cutting people up, cycling a hair’s breadth away from you… There is just no enforcement.”

Efforts to educate cyclists or tame two-wheelers are met with opprobrium in anti-authoritarian Amsterdam, according to “street coaches” hired by the city to do so. Nevertheless, the local government is trying to balance the needs of cyclists and pedestrians. Aware of pressure on public space as the city’s population swells, the municipality said in 2017 it would prioritize both groups, not just cyclists, in its five-year Bicycle Plan starting that year ...

Many cities have night mayors. We'd settle for one in broad daylight.

To the contrary, being a "night mayor" is about more than keeping your sycophantic staff awake with bellicose phone calls.

Mirik Milan's thoughts on sustainable nightlife include bringing together stakeholders and ensuring dialogue. Needless to say, Jeff Gahan hasn't managed this much during bankers' hours.

#FireGahan2019

The Night Mayor Goes Global, by Feargus O'Sullivan (CityLab)

When reports of Amsterdam’s Night Mayor started filtering into the international media, few could have imagined the concept would take off around the world with such speed. While the Dutch capital was not the first city to have an independent body or NGO working with the actual mayor to make sure its night hours run smoothly, Amsterdam has nonetheless been at the forefront of spreading the concept. Now a host of other cities, including London and New York, have adopted something similar and Amsterdam’s example is being widely celebrated as a healthy template for cultivating a harmonious nighttime atmosphere for citizens—whether asleep or awake ...

TRAVEL PRELUDES: An eagle's nest, a tasting room; a study in brown.

At the precise moment of this post's pre-set publication, we're likely eating breakfast in Haarlem, a city that is much to my liking by virtue of having friends there, as well as its proximity to Amsterdam to the east, and the sea to the west.

To tell the truth, there have been occasions when I've stayed in Haarlem and not even bothered to go to the bigger city 20 minutes away except to fly home.

Granted, there are distinctive museums, cultural attractions, food, drink and frivolity in Amsterdam, and yet Haarlem always has struck me as just fine in its own right, smaller and no less interesting.

Whether Amsterdam or Haarlem, one classification of pub- or tavern-being that has always impressed me in Holland is the institution of the brown cafe. Here's a good description from a non-beer-centric source.

Brown Cafes

You haven't really tasted Dutch beer until you've tasted it in Holland, served Dutch-style in a real bruine kroeg (brown cafe). These traditional Dutch bars are unpretentious, unpolished institutions filled with camaraderie, like a British pub or an American neighborhood bar. In a brown cafe, pouring another beer is much more important than dusting off the back bottles on the bar; the ritual is to draw a beer to get as much foam as possible, then to use a wet knife to shave off the head between a series of final fill-ups.

Even if you're not a beer lover, venturing into a brown cafe in Amsterdam will give you a peek into the city's everyday life. In old neighborhoods, brown cafes are on almost every corner -- you can't miss them. Most have lacy curtains on the bottom half of the window, and perhaps a cat sleeping on the ledge. In winter (and sometimes into spring), their front doors are hung with a thick drape to keep out drafts. Once inside, you'll find the smoky, mustard brownness that's unique to an Amsterdam brown cafe, the result of years -- no, centuries -- of thick smoke and warm conversation.

There may be booths or little tables sprinkled around, but the only spots of color and light will be the shining metal of the beer tap and, perhaps, a touch of red still showing in the Persian rugs thrown across the tables (a practice that's typically Dutch, if you recall the old paintings). You'll feel the eons of conviviality the minute you walk into a really old, really brown brown cafe. Some have been on their corners since Rembrandt's time, haunted by the ghosts of drinkers past.

Naturally, the choice of beer in a typical brown cafe during the time of my first visit to Amsterdam in 1987 would have been Dutch golden lager, whether Heineken, Amstel, Brand, Grolsch or numerous others.

The whole of the Netherlands has long since exploded into pervasive beer craftiness, and I'm guessing this phenomenon has altered the selection in brown cafes just like it has everywhere else.

There are many great beer bars in Amsterdam these days, though my personal favorite is 't Arendsnest, which means Eagle's Nest. It's also the name of the man who founded it.

Morebeer is the company owned by Peter van der Arend, passionate beer lover and beerologist. He started his venture in the year 2000 when he opened the Dutch beer bar Proeflokaal Arendsnest, located at the Herengracht 90 in Amsterdam. Proeflokaal Arendsnest was the first bar to serve exclusively Dutch craft beers.

The Dutch word "proeflokaal" (test classroom) appears to be one of those only vaguely translatable concepts, although at root it implies something on the order of testing/tasting room, and may have originated from the habit of jenever (Dutch gin) distilleries operating sampling venues nearby.

When Peter van der Arend opened his specialty Dutch beer bar, there were only a few dozen breweries in the Netherlands. The number now is in the hundreds. He definitely was on the front end of a savory trend.

At the moment, breakfast. However, beer thirty will arrive, and if we've had the chance to explore Amsterdam this time around, hopefully a rest stop at 't Arendsnest has been included in the itinerary.

When humans outrank anchors 'n' autos: "It’s not about making all cities like Amsterdam. It’s about making them better versions of themselves.”

Well, at least the hue and cry over Spring Street bike lanes recently repainted  (they've actually been there since 2009) has lessened the customary terminal anguish over roundabouts.

Previously, we learned about ...

Leotards, brimstone and "How Amsterdam became the bicycle capital of the world."

"The prevalence of bicycle use in Amsterdam and the Netherlands more generally is a reason why I will never move back to the UK. It is only when you've experienced living in a city that is not dominated by the motorcar do you realise the immense impact it has on your quality of life. The UK now looks like a hellish, backwards, aggressive place full of people who have failed to realise that they've partly created the hell they're living in."

After all, since escaping a culture of car-centric dominance offers further benefits extending in all directions, not merely a bicycle lane or two alone, there's this.

Sharing Amsterdam’s story of transformation into a city for people (Daily Hive)

 ... The experience of living and working in Amsterdam was transformational, shifting her focus from one of environmental sustainability to urban livability. Securing a job as a tour guide to supplement her income, she would show historical photographs of the city’s car-choked streets to tourists, and their reactions were almost entirely uniform: “They would almost always say the exact same thing: ‘That looks an awful lot like my city,’” remembers Dinca.

Dinca and her Californian partner briefly moved back to North America for nine months in 2013, drawn by Vancouver’s reputation for world-class quality of life and progressive politics. But a frustrated stint into the bicycle advocacy scene – including the fledgling Streets for Everyone – would often end in the same reaction from local leaders: “This isn’t Amsterdam”. But, drawing on those archival photos she had collected over the years, Dinca reminded them that, as recently as the 1980s, neither was Amsterdam.

And so, rather than continue down that rather unproductive and unsatisfying path, Dinca decided it was time to return to her adopted home, and complete her Master’s in Urban Planning at the University of Amsterdam, with an emphasis on exploring the (often undervalued) connection between transportation and land use planning.

When it came time to select her thesis project, Dinca recalled the old black-and-white photos that she would show to tourists, and asked herself a compelling question: “Why don’t cities learn from their peers’ historical mistakes and successes?”

She knew, for example, there was intense opposition and outrage at the removal of car parking at the time, while, decades later, almost all Amsterdammers would enthusiastically agree it was a positive step. So she set about better defining and quantifying these dramatic steps towards a city for people, and the average person’s reaction to them.

Leotards, brimstone and "How Amsterdam became the bicycle capital of the world."

Dan Coffey in Hell.

I'm reminded of former council person Larry Kochert's enduring obsession with biking shorts.

Leotards

Skin-tight leg wraps that threaten the fragile masculinity of a former Gang of Four council stalwart; also called “tights,” as in, “Let’s all get tights, and vote in my garage for a change.”

Well, back then I had the legs for it.

Turns out it's instructive even for the Dutch to be reminded that once upon a time, autocentrism almost won. The article is a must, and this comment highly instructive.

The prevalence of bicycle use in Amsterdam and the Netherlands more generally is a reason why I will never move back to the UK. It is only when you've experienced living in a city that is not dominated by the motorcar do you realise the immense impact it has on your quality of life. The UK now looks like a hellish, backwards, aggressive place full of people who have failed to realise that they've partly created the hell they're living in.

Couldn't have said it any better.

How Amsterdam became the bicycle capital of the world, by Renate van der Zee (The Guardian)

In the 1960s, Dutch cities were increasingly in thrall to motorists, with the car seen as the transport of the future. It took the intolerable toll of child traffic deaths – and fierce activism – to turn Amsterdam into the cycling nirvana of today

Anyone who has ever tried to make their way through the centre of Amsterdam in a car knows it: the city is owned by cyclists. They hurry in swarms through the streets, unbothered by traffic rules, taking precedence whenever they want, rendering motorists powerless by their sheer numbers.

Cyclists rule in Amsterdam and great pains have been taken to accommodate them: the city is equipped with an elaborate network of cycle-paths and lanes, so safe and comfortable that even toddlers and elderly people use bikes as the easiest mode of transport. It’s not only Amsterdam which boasts a network of cycle-paths, of course; you’ll find them in all Dutch cities.

The Dutch take this for granted; they even tend to believe these cycle-paths have existed since the beginning of time. But that is certainly not the case. There was a time, in the 1950s and 60s, when cyclists were under severe threat of being expelled from Dutch cities by the growing number of cars. Only thanks to fierce activism and a number of decisive events would Amsterdam succeed in becoming what it is, unquestionably, now: the bicycle capital of the world ...

30 years ago, April 20: Amsterdam amid the Heineken.

30 years ago, April 16: The 1987 European crusade begins in Brussels and Brugge.

In a previous epic narrative about my inaugural 1985 European expedition, I tried on occasion to recapture a sense of youthful consciousness.

It should be clear at this juncture that a fascination with history brought me to Europe in 1985. It might have been about bicycling, but I wasn’t quite there yet. It certainly wasn’t about hooking up (too shy) or drunken mayhem (too cautious).

Rather, it was the familiar syllabus of Western Civilization & Culture 101. Copious quantities of classicism were absorbed through daily doses of architecture, art and museum visits. I saw pottery, paintings and panes of stained glass, and remained the wide-eyed student throughout.

Perhaps it isn't a coincidence that by 1987, I'd become a seasoned drinker. For better or worse, it simply was. However, traveling alone in unfamiliar surroundings always gave me pause. I wasn't really afraid of being rolled or robbed, though in 1989 this actually happened ... and when it did, I'd been drinking.

There's nothing quite like learning lessons up close and personal, hence the overarching point about contextual sobriety. In 1987 on the road, it seemed to me both safer and less expensive than pub hopping to buy a couple of beers or a bottle of wine from a shop.

Park benches were many, and public intoxication laws seemingly few. Privately-run hostels seldom had rules against drinking on their premises. After long days walking, two room temperature beers took the edge right off.

Welcome to the inevitable confessional, for as hard as it might be for me to concede this now, there was a time when I knew very little about beer, only that some beers tasted better to me than others, and if enough of them were consumed -- well, an altered state is what I was seeking in the first place, though only when circumstances allowed.

My conclusion? Traveling itself, and drinking less while doing so, probably combined to become an impetus to learn more about beer, and to expand my range of potables. If you plan on drinking less, why not drink better?

Trust me. I made up for it in later years.

In terms of beer, what I knew about Dutch beer on April 20 in the year 1987 might be summarized in just a few names: Heineken, Amstel, Grolsch and Royal Brand. Heineken offered tours, and I accepted. At the time, it was like attending a church service.

The obligatory bottling line photo isn't very good. The deafening clatter of glass and machinery gripped me the first three or four times I toured a brewery. After that, it was just distracting.

Naturally, the primary purpose of any brewery tour is copping the free beers offered at tour's end -- one for sure, maybe two if seating arrangements broke properly. The delightful twist at Heineken was a rooftop garden in which to enjoy them. From the garden is a view of the Rijksmuseum and an Amsterdam vista.

The Heineken fixation continued while walking along the avenue called the Damrak. Delivery vehicles back home simply didn't look like this.

Then a cafe for indulging artsy fartsy photography; note the reflection of the tram.

As countries go, the Netherlands is small, and public transportation comprehensive. On Wednesday (April 22) I took two day trips, first to Haarlem and then Leiden. In the Cathedral of St. Bavo (Grote Kerk) is an organ supposedly played by Mozart.

The wooden ceiling at St. Bavo.

St. Bavo is in the background in this view of the Spaarne, Haarlem's canalized river and the basis for the city's canals and moats.

I had no way of knowing at the time, but Haarlem would become my most visited Dutch city. Truth be told, I like it better than Amsterdam, perhaps because we have friends there. In fact, we'll be returning in September 2017 for the first time in an embarrassing number of years, and I can only hope they remember me.

A great town, Haarlem.

Leiden is home to the oldest university in the Netherlands, as well as being the birthplace of Rembrandt.

It appears the preceding photo was taken from the vantage point of a Leiden windmill, as located at the Molenmuseum "De Valk," which appropriately is devoted to windmills.

However, I have no recollection of this museum. Surely it was interesting at the time.

Back in Amsterdam, you could always find a crowd outside the main train station.

Even residents of Jupiter (the planet) don't need to be informed about Amsterdam's "liberal" reputation since the 1960s as an epicenter of youth (and counter-) culture. Kindly note that to this day, I haven't set foot in any of the city's marijuana vending establishments, legal or otherwise.

In 1987, smoking pot wasn't my gig, though at other junctures in my life I've dabbled.

My impression of Amsterdam this first time through was one of juxtaposition, between the liberal social bent and a seriously determined business-oriented conservative vibe. A measure of dynamic tension, maybe.

The Netherlands traditionally has been a trading and banking nation; it's also mostly below sea level, and sober people keep it that way. The impaired simply aren't good with water levels.

In closing, it should be recorded that my residence while in Amsterdam was a pleasingly priced Christian youth hostel near the red light district. In practice, I believe this meant it was operated as a non-profit company with proceeds going toward charitable works, and while there were religious services, the vibe was mellow.  

For whatever reason, the hostel had a sizable number of African lodgers. The only reason their continental origin even bears mentioning is the experience of seeing some of them at the wash basins cleaning their teeth with pieces of wood. I'm not sure if these were online.com/health/2010/02/13/benefits_brushing_miswak_or_chewing_stick/">chewing sticks per se, but it wasn't something I'd seen before.

Heineken and tooth brushing. It's funny what you remember.

Next: Lausanne and Switzerland