I may’ve mentioned before, the Dutch never seem excited to meet me in other countries–even if, or maybe especially when, Peter or I try to speak Dutch to them. Also, they tend to barrel right into you in crowds on the tram; the Dutch word for “excuse me” is “sorry,” etymological evidence it’s a foreign concept to be considerate of people around you. And, to further perpetuate stereotypes, a lot of them are quite tall, and it feels sometimes like I can’t even see their eyes.

As a result, I often bike around this city thinking Dutch people are just not happy to see me.

But last night, Peter and I were staring into someone’s apartment admiring the handsome, handsome cats that were perched on the also handsome furniture. I wouldn’t say it’s exactly a friendly gesture to not put curtains in your windows, but it’s at least superficially welcoming, and it certainly makes the city a nice place to walk around at night.

So Peter and I are gawking, and maybe even pointing at the fatter cat, when an older, sharp-dressed woman down the sidewalk says, “That’s my place! Do you like it?” (I guess only tourists actually stop and look in people’s curtainless windows, so she said this in English.) So busted! We told her we’d been admiring her cats, she told us she had four of them, and we–including her friend who’d been down at the cafe with her, probably also enjoying a glass of sweet white wine–all laughed merrily. “If that’s a model for being a crazy cat lady,” I told Peter, “it’s not so bad at all.”

Bundle this episode up with the flat-out cheerful and lovely waitresses at Eetcafe Loetje, who never turned surly despite the presence of two young children, spilled milk and a broken champagne glass, and who even squirted whipped cream directly in one of our mouths. (Awk construct, but just wanted to make it clear it was someone at our table, not some regular at the joint with a long-standing whipped-cream relationship with the ladies.) Throw in all the people who’ve offered assistance to my friends (maybe having two kids helps). Mix with a smidge of incidents I can’t exactly remember now. Sure, the Netherlands is no Syria–but what ever will be, on the kindness scale?–and basically I’m feeling a bit more wanted in this city.

Guidebook research continues apace. Having friends visiting with kids has been illuminating. I realized the previous guide has plenty of recommendations of stuff to do with kids (hell, I even wrote a magazine article on the topic a few years ago), but zero recommendations for restaurants where they’ll be tolerated. Having friends visiting who don’t ride bikes has also been illuminating. I realized I’m a terrible judge of how long it takes to walk anywhere. Normal NYC walking speed does not apply, what with bumpy brick streets, crowds of stoned people to navigate around and through, and of course lots of windows to stop and peer into. And I don’t know shit about taking the tram anywhere but my house.

These are pretty obvious holes in my research that I’ve fortunately been able to correct. Ah, blessings in disguise. I think I might go reward my genius research strategies with a chocolate croissant…