30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 7: Rembrandt's 'Night Watch' & Dutch Golden Age

(Previous chapter of my journey: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 6: Visit Miffy's Hometown in Utrecht)

How quickly time slips through one's fingers? My Dutch journey had already reached its final day. Determined to soak in every last drop of art, I devoted my last day to visit museums on my wishlist.

In the gentle morning light, I waited outside the Rijksmuseum among a queue of mostly silver-haired visitors. If you ever visit, I strongly recommend choosing the earliest time slot. Not only are there plenty of empty lockers, but there's something truly special about having the space to yourself in front of artworks before flocks of tour groups come in.

I followed the suggestion of the staff member and started my tour in the Gallery of Honour on the second floor, where Rembrandt's masterpieces hold court. Vermeer's The Milk Maid usually resides here too, but a major retrospective was concurrently taking place where most of his paintings are displayed there. The tickets had sold out quickly after the sale began. Without the ticket to the retrospective exhibition, I sadly missed my chance to see The Milk Maid.

Navigating in large museums always feel like walking into mazes to me so I've learned to always grab a map. What I particularly loved were the detailed descriptions on the card beside each painting. Sometimes they even  have the A3-sized cards for highlighted works that break down every detail on the painting, inviting views to take a glimpse into the seventeenth century.

Before the crowds arrived, I stood before the crown jewel: 'The Night Watch'. Even through its protective glass during restoration, the painting's power was palpable. I learned it had to be trimmed on all sides centuries ago to fit a wall in the City Hall (now the Royal Palace). Imagine the colossal size of the original!

Dutch Golden Age paintings have a charm of making time stand still. Their compositions, seemingly simple, hold such dramatic tension, with light and shadow telling stories that never grow old. Wandering through the museum's library by serendipity felt like stepping into Hogwarts with all dark wood and whispered secrets.

To make most of my museum card, I also visited The Oude Church and Rembrandt House Museum. As Amsterdam's oldest building, the church's massive organ and stained glass windows tell silent stories of centuries past. According to records, Rembrandt often worshipped here, and all his children were baptised within these walls.

Rembrandt's life story weighs heavy on my heart. Famous from his youth, flooded with commissions, he bought the house that's now his museum at the height of his success, dreaming of building a life there with his beloved wife. But fortune proved fickle. His lavish spending led to bankruptcy, forcing him to sell this home once filled with dreams. Of the four children he had with his first wife Saskia, only Titus survived infancy. Saskia herself died a year after his birth. The grief stalled his creativity, and in life's cruelest twist, he outlived his son too.

The museum displays his portrait of Titus, the boy resting his chin in hand, his pensive gaze makes him more mature beyond his years. What was in Rembrandt's heart as he painted his son's face? And when Titus was gone, this very portrait was not there to offer comfort since it had been sold off with his other possessions years before.

After three blissful hours, I had lunch in a restaurant before continuing to the Royal Palace. This building has lived many lives—from Golden Age city hall to Napoleon's palace to its current role with the Dutch Royal House. Every brick seems to hold history. I always have such mixed feelings about palaces; while I admire the grand architecture and lavish interiors, the dim rooms often have the creepy vibes with melancholy, as if the ghosts of past glory and sorrow still linger.

Here is an anecdote from my visit. I thought the audio guide cost extra, so I'd begun exploring without one. An old lady security guard noticed and approached me. She insisted I get one from reception. 'It's free,' she said with such earnest eyes and even offered to fetch it for me. So I gave in and went downstairs to get an audio and started my tour over. When I returned the audio device, she recognised me at the reception and asked, 'Is it better with the audio guide?' I answered with a genuine smile:'Yes!' In that moment, I admired how she took her job seriously with professionalism, showing true pride in her country's heritage and history.

I returned to my hostel in the evening. A new roommate from Chicago had taken the lower bunk, traveling Europe during her summer break. Together with the Vietnamese auntie who spoke little English had moved in the night before, three stranger travellers found themselves sharing one small room. Out of nowhere, the auntie suddenly pulled out a complete nail art kit from her heavy suitcase and, through gestures, offered me a free manicure. The American girl and I exchanged looks of surprise that quickly melted into smiles. We squeezed together on the lower bunk, sharing stories across language barriers, with the auntie trying her best to communicate with us through Google Translate. Through gesture and genuine kindness, we shared laughter and had a wonderful night despite coming from different cultural backgrounds. That unexpected connection became the warmest possible ending to my time in the Netherlands, a final gift from this journey I cherish.

My journey continues: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 8: My First Day in Paris - The Gift of Solitude