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 ...

A farewell to wonderful Haarlem on Saturday, September 23.

Previously: Haarlem on a Friday night in September: One church with beer, another without, and a relaxing dinner with friends at The Warehouse.

The last full day in Europe always seems bittersweet, even after three dozen goodbyes. My body returns to the daily grind, but something of my spirit remains behind, to be reclaimed next time.

In 2017, a complicating factor for me was what seemed like a head cold, steadily worsening as the week progressed. I felt fine in Mechelen and Poperinge, but by Wednesday night in Haarlem the crud was creeping into my head, throat and chest.

Upon returning stateside, this malaise was diagnosed as an upper respiratory infection, which dovetailed into the purely awful, lingering allergy conditions in the Ohio Valley, and finally compelled me to consult with GP and allergist to see what might be done about my deteriorating sinuses.

The good news is after two months of annoyance, the diagnosis is comprehensible and the path forward clear.

The bad news: none of it did me any good those last two days in Haarlem, to the extent that during our final afternoon in town, I was drinking mint tea instead of beer. It's sad to have wonderful arrays of beer spread out before you, and be unable to taste them.

The highlight of Saturday was to have been an appearance by "Big" Kim Andersen, who earlier in the year took up residence in Arnhem, Netherlands, just a couple hours from Haarlem by train.

As it happened, Kim was sick, too; he was forced to cancel, and coupled with my own infirmity, this journey of renewal with friends concluded with a decided whimper.

However, it was a gorgeous late summer's day, and we managed a late morning walk to the De Adriaan windmill, a symbol of Haarlem since the last 1700s. One of Jopen's beers is named for the imposing structure.

Next stop was the Amsterdamse Poort, which was built in 1355 and is the last remnant of Haarlem's twelve city defense gates. In front of the gate is a sculpture depicting Kenau Simonsdochter Hasselaer, wood merchant and daughter of a brewer, who became a folk legend for rallying Haarlem's women to fight the invading Spaniards in 1573.

Eventually we circled back to the Grote Markt for the Saturday market day spread. I couldn't last long without a tasty nieuwe haring.

Waffles are a thing, especially when freshly rendered. They're not just for tourists, either -- although we were.

Just off the Grote Markt, a statue of two knights jousting.

Inge and Marilyn came by Spaarne 66 for goodbyes. The weather was beautiful, and most of Haarlem was out in the street making merry.

Boris and Dewi were waiting at Cafe Briljant for a final round during the establishment's last days of operation, but first we stopped for some carryout döner kebab and brought it to the cafe.

On Sunday morning, the fast and efficient bus to Schiphol, and the return flights.

The narrative ends here. All things considered, I was exhausted. There were many times in the past when the pace of partying dictated physical infirmity, though not this time. Age, maybe.

Mentally, it had been an exceedingly challenging year before the trip commenced; there'd been too many deaths and too many elegies, hence a need to reconnect with folks we hadn't seen for such a long time.

Of course, this also meant bidding adieu to Bill England, which was slightly easier to do upon meeting his and Inge's daughter. Marilyn simply rocks. Boris and Dewi were non-judgmental about the long absence, and I'm thankful. It was like no years had passed at all.

Be well. It won't be as long until next time. We'll see you all soon. 

Haarlem on a Friday night in September: One church with beer, another without, and a relaxing dinner with friends at The Warehouse.

Previously: Shopping, strolling, beaches, herring, bock and madras. Just a second day's reintroduction to Haarlem.

I've lagged badly in concluding the September travel narrative. Bear in mind that while millions of readers aren't hanging on every word, the story is important to me, if for no other reason than the excellent odds of my forgetting much of it. A drinking life may or may not be responsible for these memory lapses, and so we carry on regardless.

By the time Friday 22 September rolled around, the weather had cooled and rain arrived. I was in the throes of what I thought was a cold (later to become an upper respiratory infection, accompanied by allergies and affiliated muck).

Since returning home, this most recent breakdown of my sinuses has occasioned a long-delayed appointment with an allergist, who tells me that while I'm not allergic to beer or food, just about everything else is a problem.

The Hotel Amadeus offers an ample breakfast, and so the day began with a short waddle of a stroll, followed by a look inside De Grote of St.-Bavokerk. However, first there were monkeys to light the way.

Following are photos of the church taken by both of us, in no particular order. It's an imposing but not overly ornate edifice, and a good place to avoid the drizzle outside.

By lunchtime the rain was abating, and street life proceeded as usual, with herring accenting the market stalls.

We navigated toward Jopenkerk for snacks, local ales and a scheduled midday chat with Erwin Klijn, the brewery's sales manager. It was quite informative. The former church building's transformation is stunning, and as noted previously during this travelogue, crowds seemed to be on hand at all hours of the business day. I like everything about Jopen, and look forward to our next visit.

With a social evening of drinks and dining still ahead, we retired to the hotel for a nap.

By the time we emerged to meet Inge, the skies had cleared and it was a stunning afternoon for coffee at Spaarne 66, which is known as "the living room of Haarlem." It was here that we sat by the river, perhaps 50 feet away from the cafe's door, with servers crossing a traffic lane, biking lanes and two sidewalks to get to us, without an accident. Try imagining this in downtown New Albany, and you'll realize why I drink -- and travel to places like Haarlem.

The five of us (including Boris and Dewi) had booked a table at Het Pakhuis, or "The Warehouse," located a short walk along the river. It was a fine multi-course meal, indeed, though I still found myself mourning the passing of De Ark, the restaurant we'd visited most often during previous stays in Haarlem.

The Ark closed earlier in 2017 after a long run of more than two decades. I found it noteworthy for the secluded location off any of Haarlem's main routes; very much of the neighborhood, though right around the corner from the popular Frans Hals Museum, with heaping platters of meat and potatoes, plenty of lagers and ales, and multiple wood-paneled rooms displaying traditional "bruin cafe" (brown cafe) ambiance.

No matter; our evening at The Warehouse was sublime, filled with easy laughs and serious conversation. Judging from the expectation that Big Kim would be coming to Haarlem on Saturday for a final session at Cafe Briljant, there was every appearance we'd be limping home on Sunday.

Like oft times before ...

Shopping, strolling, beaches, herring, bock and madras. Just a second day's reintroduction to Haarlem.

Previously: Renewing friendships in Haarlem. Being thankful. Promising to be back soon.

Our second day in Haarlem was Thursday, September 21.

Marilyn was in school, so Inge met us at the Grote Markt and we went off on a proper walk in search of a thrift store, passing from the center of the city through through a slice of Haarlem's neighborhoods north of the train station.

But first, there was "second breakfast" herring to eat, as previously documented here: LIVE TO EAT: In Haarlem, the delicious "Hollandse Nieuwe" herring experience.

Originally the "Hollandse Nieuwe" haring being recounted here was intended for consumption on Wednesday, the day of our arrival. However, by the time we finished an opening round of drinks and got organized, the proprietor was depleted for the day.

Hence, the saddest sight in all of the Netherlands.

Hollandse nieuwe haring is a delicious memory I'll continue reliving in my mind and taste buds -- until whenever we return to Haarlem.

Inge opted to have hers sliced. It tastes just as good, albeit slightly less theatrical.

Haarlem's town hall was the backdrop.

We'd actually strolled a bit before Inge arrived. Alas, the friet (fries) stand wasn't open yet.

With the herring consumed, we set off for the thrift store. Consider the space it takes to park bicycles as opposed to cars.

However, if even more bicycle parking is needed, there's always the underground, bikes-only garage by the train station.

It was a delightful walk.

The thrift store had an eclectic selection of glassware and music.

At the adjacent supermarket was evidence that in the Netherlands, bock/bok beers are an autumn phenomenon, not late winter/spring as in Germany.

There was a huge display given over to local beers.

Later in the afternoon, Diana and I walked back to the station and hopped a train to the beach resort at Zandvoort, only a six-mile ride through the relatively truncated Haarlem suburbs and the barrier terrain of the National Park Zuid-Kennemerland.

The National Park is composed of young calcerous dunes, wide beaches and lush coastel forests as well as remnants of cultural history like farms/estates, seaside villages and bunkers. Differences in soil, elevation, climate and groundwater levels in dunes provide diverse living conditions for both flora and fauna alike. While the elements, sand, rain and wind only serve to reinforce the biological dynamics of the area.

It was a temperate autumn day by the ocean, and we restricted our activities to observing the scene from the safety of a seaside restaurant.

A quick selfie as the train pulled into Zandvoort station.

Back in Haarlem from the beach, Diana took a break and I went to Jopenkerk to meet Dewi and Boris. We subsequently decamped for Lokaal, Rob's signature Dutch beer bar. It is located just a couple minutes by foot from our hotel, and since the closing of Cafe Briljant, it's his sole pub business.

On the topic of food, it was revealed that seeing as Lokaal has no kitchen, we'd be ordering dinner delivery from Taste of India. This afforded a second happy opportunity for madras and curry. Diana joined us for the feast.

That's half a profile of Rob in the rear. Weirdly, it occurred to no one to photograph the reunion, and so having finally made it back to Haarlem after nine years, the faces of Rob, Boris and Dewi were not captured on film.

(exasperation)

Two full days remained.