The Hague (“Den Haag”) is only a 30-minute train ride from Amsterdam. But tourists don’t often go there. It is grey, metallic, and very much a no-nonsense, all-business city, where modern buildings pierce the sky and roads stretch so far and wide that one almost feels afraid to laugh too loudly, or even suggest a moment of play. At least, that was how I felt when I stepped off the train.
Street signs bore names I could scarcely pronounce. Men and women were tall, composed strangers. In the business district of Beatrixkwartier, a futuristic tubular structure ran across several blocks, forming a striking piece of urban art. “It’s a flyover for the tram — the Fishnet Stocking. We call it the Netkous,” the hotel receptionist explained. His English was fluent and clear, like most people in the Netherlands. The Dutch speak particularly good English compared with many of their European counterparts. Children begin learning the language in primary school, and many English-language television channels are available. As a result, they maintain strong international connections, and tourists can wander through the Netherlands with great ease.
It was almost instinctive for me to search for “where to shop” in Den Haag. Many websites pointed me towards The Passage, a covered shopping arcade built in the 19th century. Beautiful descriptions raised my expectations, but the reality didn’t quite deliver. The choices were limited, and some shops felt overly touristy — and consequently overpriced. That said, I did enjoy the architecture. And the free Wi-Fi.
My spirits lifted when I reached Prinsestraat and its surrounding streets. The steely façade of Den Haag seemed to fall away, replaced by colour — speciality shops, galleries, and characters full of life. This was where I finally saw the tourists. No more businessmen and women in suits. Things took a turn, and I began to enjoy the city. I came across both charming and quirky vintage shops, a century-old butchery, rows of Vespas, designer boutiques, and even a mysterious-looking pharmacy with the head of a jester mounted above its door.
For the entire week, I was a regular at Luciano, a local ice cream shop. I also found myself drifting into nearly every gelateria I passed, as though temperature were merely a suggestion. And somehow, the number on the scales remained unchanged — as if I hadn’t spent hours in the gym at all. But it was all worth it, and entirely acceptable, because I was on holiday. And a holiday is always that small token of happiness we insert into the machinery of life.
I also indulged in copious amounts of Indonesian food — the rich peanut sauces, the crackle of keropok — as though they were the most wonderful things in the world. Oh, and the beer. [You can read about my dinner at the Michelin-starred Han Ting, and what I really eat throughout the week here.]
But perhaps the most joyful part of all was simply wandering through the neighbourhoods — pausing to smell the flowers, peering through half-drawn curtains whenever I could. The arrangement of furniture, the quiet lives within — they felt like Dutch storybooks brought to life.
I don’t think I would return to Den Haag. The palaces in the city are not open to visitors, as they are still in use. The city lacks romance and is, at most, modestly beautiful. But there you have it — perhaps this abundance of photographs below will show you yet another side of the world.
With love x