The Vondelpark is a long ribbon of green just past the museums, laid out from 1865 in the English landscape manner — curving paths, planted clumps of trees, water shaped to look accidental. It was a private initiative: a company of wealthy residents bought the land and built a park for the new villas going up around it, then found the public treating it as theirs and eventually handed it to the city. The name comes from Joost van den Vondel, the seventeenth-century poet whose statue stands near the eastern end, and it is the busiest park in the country.
There is no single thing to see here, which is the reason to come. On the first warm day of the year the whole city arrives at once and the lawns disappear under people, wine and speakers. The rest of the time it runs as infrastructure: commuters cycling through, joggers on the loop, prams, herons standing in the ponds with complete indifference, parakeets in the trees. The open-air theatre plays free through the summer, and the terraces fill on any evening the weather allows.