It has a kind of magic that is particular to an early morning, that hour when the world is not quite sure about whether to wake up or not. That moment is even more sacrosanct in Amsterdam.

This was my third day in the city and I had settled on going out earlier than the sun. The roads were still shimmering with the rain of the night before and there was that old Dutch frostiness that makes you more awake than a cup of coffee.

Maybe it was the calm start of the day that reminded me of how the trip itself began smoothly and unhurriedly. I chose Heathrow airport cheap parking before my flight, and that simple convenience had taken all the rush out of travel.

The canals were reflections, completely calm, of the smoldering orange light of the street-lamps and of the high lines of the houses, inclined at an angle of near-perfect frontality, like so many faces gazing into the mirror at themselves.

It was different in the city in the morning. The typical bicycle sound and the chattering of people were substituted with the cooing of pigeons in the distance and clicking heels of a person who had to hurry to the working place. Somewhere in the distance a tram clanked on, and was audible in the narrow lanes.

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Following the Light

I had to walk blindly, led by the light. Passing bridge after bridge I was at the fringe of the Prinsengracht canal. One baker was preparing to open down, and the aroma of freshly baked bread was oozing into the street.

A Cup of Coffee and Stillness

I passed through a little cafe that was set up on the canal, the window of which was steamy with heat. I had a cappuccino and sat next to the window, where the light was creeping in, brown, slow, and lazy.

A few joggers passed by. One of the women rode by with her scarf waving behind her. A boat with victims of the flowers was floating down the canal in crates, and the colors were pouring out in slabs of paint through the gray morning. It was so normal, but with that silence, it was so extraordinary.

Viewing The City Before It Wakes.

It is very personal to walk in a city before it is open. You get to observe the in-between moments, the transitions that tourists do not notice. The seats that were vacant, the ringing of the church bells on the other side of the water and the smell of coffee and rain. These are the facts that will remain with you even after you go.

Then afterwards when the sun started to come out, I went towards the Jordaan quarter. The paving walkways with houses overrun with ivy and small boutiques seemed to be a piece of art. At a bridge I paused where the sun was first coming through, and his rays dazzled over the water.

It was one of those times when you simply do not take a photo, because you are aware that the photo will never match the experience and that pain of beauty which cannot be properly described.

The City Awakens

Long before the city had fully awakened the trams were clanging, the cyclists were increasing, the cafe at which I had been sitting was now noisy with laughter and talk. Amsterdam had changed the dream into reality, yet I was inwardly satisfied because I had seen its softer side.

It is easy to lose yourself in more recognizable moments, the museums, the canal cruises, the nightlife in Amsterdam when you visit it. But do whatever you can, wake an alarm before sunrise. Go out before the city has its show of the day.

Look-Back Before the Day Dawns.

It has a harmonious quality to it, a feeling of closeness to the city. That type that makes you remember that traveling is not merely a matter of where one goes, but how he or she wants to see it. And occasionally the loveliest things of all are found when you are standing there waiting to have the day start, and before it does.