It’s one of my favorite buildings in Amsterdam and it happens to be called a palace. But the building was not designed to be a palace. Magnificent, Amsterdam’s City Hall was the first Republic building of its sort in Europe. Napoleon, after invading the country, transformed the city hall into a palace and, to this day, the building is retained as a royal residence. 

On the occasion of the fiftieth birthday of the King of the Netherlands, the palace – once the celebrated invitees to the state dinner in honor of King Willem-Alexander had departed – was opened to the public. To gain entry all I had to do was sign up online for a timed spot, free of charge. That particular April night I walked into Het Paleis just before the clock struck the midnight hour. I lived one street over at the time so it was an easy stroll to the neighbour’s reception hall, post-soiree and pre-clean up, to gaze at the crumbs sitting on the royal table. 

As it turns out His Majesty’s musicians were also still hanging around a podium, jacked up on adrenaline and crooning a set of limpet golden oldies into microphones. No trace of the hides or hounds of the  guests. Still, it was a very unusual opportunity to be in the building in the dead of night. The walls radiated a very different atmosphere from the day time visiting hours. 

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Not long ago a friend of mine gave me a certificate to cultural activities, such as a guided tour. I decided to try out the tour at the palace. I slipped out of my office during the day and biked over to the Dam.  Unfortunately, I didn’t learn much new and I was fairly bored by the guide’s regurgitation of Greek myths, as depicted in the masonry which is, admittedly, quite spectacular.

What I realized, as I walked around, is that I didn’t want to see freshly upholstered Empire furniture and beds laden with satin bedspreads. It has to be said that, for the most part, the paintings are mediocre. What I wanted to see in the rooms were piles of papers and registers on tables and clerks and dogs peeing in the corners. In short, I kept looking for the original uses of the rooms back when they were offices. Where had 17th century bureaucracy gone?

I left the tour before the end of the visit and marched outside. In the back of my head I knew I should have said goodbye to the guide and taken my leave but I just walked out, not wanting to deal with the interaction.  I wanted to get back to my office, filled with piles of papers and books. I wanted to organize tasks and get on with my day

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As I walked across the street to where I had parked my bike, I had a flashback of the psychologist at the Hersencentrum who had listened to me describe my diligence and habit of reading through books because I continually believed that I would “finally” get the message and understand what other people found valuable as experiences. Or, rephrased, crack my “executive function” issues. My therapist held up the book I brought in, a tale of various types of social experimentation, and tossed it on the floor. “You don’t have to read it if you don’t relate to it,” was the message. Stop trying to catalogue what everyone else finds interesting.