A little way out of the centre is Amsterdam’s Noord neighbourhood, a sleepy district across the River IJ. You can take a free GVB ferry there in less than five minutes, and you very much should because it’s here you’ll find Barbie’s real-life Dreamhouse.
I hadn’t intended to spend my first day in Amsterdam pursuing a long-legged doll, but a quick Google search on things to do, other than Anne Frank’s House and a canal cruise (both of which I’ve done previously), revealed another unique activity: Barbie The Dream Experience.
A QR-code camera captures a pose with Barbie’s horse. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
“Step into the world of Barbie. Relive iconic moments and enjoy life-sized creations.”
You had me at step, Barbara.
While this choice of to-do might seem unusual (I am, when all said and done, 40 years old), my age also informed my decision; I’m a 90s kid – Barbie had her heyday, and if we’re honest, it pretty much peaked with millennials.
Nostalgia is also a beautiful theme to base your travel plans – who doesn’t want to be transported back to childhood? When life was about imaginary play and sniffing the yellow STABILO.
I paid the $50 admission fee and threw myself into the pink.
Adults and kids alike can enjoy the life-size Barbie house in Amsterdam. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
What followed was a series of interactive rooms celebrating Barbie across six decades, beginning with her foray into space and culminating with a life-size Dreamhouse with a slide you can ride from the top floor to the faux pool.
The concept is loosely based on the evolution of the world’s most iconic doll, but who cares about that when you can climb into an adult-sized pink convertible and print your own boarding pass for Barbie Airlines?
Barbie Airlines’ pink cabin awaits boarding. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
While hopping between rooms, there was one blast from the past that stopped me in my tracks: Ski Barbie, circa 1991. She’s housed behind a glass window, and I haven’t seen her for decades. We used to play together on the god-awful shagpile of my playroom, and for a few precious seconds, I am 6 again.
As a solo traveller, and an adult one at that, I only felt like a pillock fleetingly while traversing Barbie’s Amsterdam home alone, dampened when I stumbled upon a flurry of excited influencers, also fully grown.
The experience is no doubt more fun with friends, but there are QR-activated cameras throughout for the loners – simply scan your digital ticket and strike a pose; there’s a five-second delay to allow for solo photos and/or a selfie reprieve, all included in the ticket price.
Then there’s Charlie: tour guide and Barbie aficionado, dressed head to toe in electric pink and on hand to elevate the visitor experience. I admired his hot pink trainers, which he told me were new, self-procured, and not part of the uniform.
Cheeky Pride posters brighten a canal-side electric box. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Before leaving, I pass the cafe – pink of course. The menu includes a hot pink chai latte, and for a hot minute I consider buying one, but by mid-morning, the museum is swarming with families. It’s time to let the real kids create memories.
The Barbie cafe – pink of course. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Eight days later, Pride has Amsterdam dressed in a shade of pink that’d make Barbie squeal.
While following two young men in sparkly tops, both carrying a carnival-sized bouquet of balloons, it dawns on me that the main hub of Pride, one that’s jostling with colour and diversity, also straddles the same cobbled street as Anne Frank’s house.
As is common in Europe, history is so blatantly etched into the present, you can’t avoid it: honourable, heinous or otherwise. My mind wanders to Anne Frank’s life in 1943; these very cobbles clacking with the threat of Gestapo jackboots.
Balloon bouquets bob through Amsterdam’s Pride streets. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
It’s then, while standing beneath the windows of her former hideout, Pride unfurling directly behind me, that I realise the Amsterdam that was once swathed in swastikas is now awash in glitter and men wearing tutus.
It may have been 86 years in the making, but what a delicious ‘FU’ to fascism it is.
Finding myself dangerously on the edge of making a poignant moment mawkish, I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the first float of the day, commotion and excitement stirring on the waterways.
Blue confetti erupts over Amsterdam’s Pride canal parade. Photo / Anna Sarjeant
Suddenly, performers on flyboards bounce across the canal, and confetti bombs erupt over thousands of elated spectators.
But wait for a hot-pink second, it’s blue!