My first solo trip, right at the tail end of the pandemic, was an accident. I was a homes writer back then, enthusiastically cornering patient travel editors with my out-of-the-blue pitches as soon as humanly possible after restrictions began to ease. Finally, it happened: my first commission – and to stay at The Dylan, Amsterdam’s most glamorous canalside boutique, no less.
I grabbed a friend, booked the flights, and started dreaming of days piling pastries onto plates in cafés and…

