AMSTERDAM — Is Northern Europe a destination in snow? The travel industry doesn’t seem to think so. Ski areas aside, most tours and cruises venture to Scandinavia, Germany, and the Netherlands in summer, when the days are stretched and soft.
I had always wondered what went on up here in the quiet of winter. What did locals do for fun? Were there seasonal bargains to be had? And how could I make the most of the least touristy time of year?
So I bought a 10-day Eurail Pass and sketched out an early February train route between Amsterdam, Copenhagen, and Stockholm. Round-trip flights from Boston to Amsterdam were unusually cheap, and when I checked a seating chart online, I found I had acres of aisle and window seats to choose from. So far so good.
Winter in the Netherlands’ capital and biggest city is supposed to deliver rain and sleet. But the day I checked into my Amsterdam hotel, there was a dusting of snow outside. Still, swans paddled around the fog-shrouded canals — white on white.
A resident I talked with, Nicolette Corputty, urged me to rent a bicycle to get around. Hundreds of cyclists were rocketing past on the sidewalk at the time, angrily ringing and ringing their bells.
“I don’t want one,’’ I said.
“Yes,’’ she insisted. “You just put on leggings, your scarf. You are fine.’’
I didn’t pack any leggings. So I decided to walk instead. I weaved in and out of rows of gabled houses and ended up at the ice skating rink near the Rijksmuseum, where I downed a thick hot chocolate and tried some bits of a puffy pancake called a poffertje to ward off the cold.
The halls of the world-famous museum were all but deserted except for knots of art students sketching. I took my time, imagining that it was my personal gallery and that I had plans to sell off some of the darker Dutch masters’ works and rearrange the paintings on a massive scale. The footsteps of a guard snapped me out of my reverie. By late afternoon, I was back outside.
Everywhere there were pinpoints of brightness that set off the gray of street and snow. A window glinted with its stacks of yellow cheese wheels. Shutters I passed were painted a surprising blue. For a long time, I got lost in side streets. But as flakes of snow floated past I realized I didn’t care. I had a long brick sidewalk and arched iron bridges all to myself — and not even a stray bicycle in view.
On the train to Denmark the next day I was handed a voucher entitling me to free coffee, tea, or water the entire way. My compartment to myself, I spread out, cranked up the heat, and kicked off my shoes.
