(Read part 1 of How to Build a Community As an Expat here.)

Two years in, and Amsterdam finally feels like home. 

Not in the "I know exactly which bike bell is mine" kind of way but in the deeper, slower, more meaningful way. The kind of home that isn't just a place you live - but a place you belong.

That shift became real for me last weekend.

I went to a Sunday daytime festival with two of my first friends here in the city - both locals I actually knew before I moved to this magical city.  

For a long time, they were the ones showing me around, helping me get a feel for the rhythms and quirks of Amsterdam life, supporting me, and cheering me on.

But this time, something was different. As we arrived at the party, I realised I actually knew a few people there - friends I'd made on my own over the past two years.

For a moment, I was the one making the introductions. 

It caught them off guard. I could feel it - the subtle surprise, maybe even a flicker of irritation. Was I stepping into their turf? Taking up space they still saw as theirs?  

Belonging is strange like that.

‍

It's not just about being accepted - it's about how your presence starts to shift the room. And this is very natural. I'll never fully be a local (I mean, let's not even talk about my pronunciation of "Scheveningen"), but for a moment, I wasn't just in the room as that foreign alien - I was part of it.

And that comes with its own kind of tension. 

Because connection changes things.

Not just for you - but sometimes for the people around you, too.

It doesn't happen overnight.

When we first arrived, everything was new and slightly offbeat.

The rhythm of the city, the social codes, the "bring your own everything" birthday parties - it all took some adjusting.

And despite living in the middle of a lively, beautiful, canal-lined city, I still had moments where I thought, how do you actually meet people here?

The truth is, connection doesn't knock on your door just because you've unpacked your moving boxes.

‍So, I started knocking first.

You Don't Find Community - You Create It

Some expats I meet describe Amsterdam as a bit… harsh.

Not in a cold or aggressive way, but more like a subtle social chill.

The kind where your barista barely looks up when handing over your oat cappuccino, and you wonder if friendliness got lost somewhere between the caffeine and the Calvinism.

People hold doors with their pinky fingers while cycling and nod politely, but deeper friendship circles can feel tightly sealed. You might be introduced to a group once or twice, but unless you follow up, the social door quietly drifts shut again.

So, I started opening my own doors. 

And I decided to throw a party.

Nothing curated - just an open invitation in our big, lived-in apartment.

The rules were simple:  

Bring your music and your dance moves. Bring something for yourself - but also something for the person standing next to you. And bring that warm, connecting energy that makes a group of people feel like a community. 

That night, something clicked. Music was played, someone stirred cocktails in a repurposed flower vase, and conversations bounced between languages and life stories.

People didn't just come - they stayed. And more than that, they connected.

Your Home as a Connector

My home isn't perfect.

It's loud, there are usually toys under the table, someone's forgotten to water the plants, and the kitchen is definitely mid-cooking something slightly chaotic.

But it's open, and people feel welcome.

There's always a cup of tea, a glass of wine, or a late-night playlist to test out on the speakers.

And here's the twist: I'm an architect.

I work with environments designed for people to use - interior projects for offices and private homes, all created with purpose and intention.

But my own home?

It looks more like an evolving experiment than a neatly curated portfolio piece.

More built from instinct than from a composed palette of well-thought-out elements and colours.

But maybe that's what makes it so inviting.

It's not trying to be perfect.

It's trying to be real.

And maybe that's what makes people want to stay.

Different Cities, Different Rhythms

Being an expat in a new city, has made me think a lot about how culture plays into connection. In places like Lisbon or Barcelona, socialising is more spontaneous. You're halfway through your first sangria, and you're already in three new WhatsApp groups.

People linger, invite, include.

There's a built-in ease to the community.

In Amsterdam - and in Stockholm, where I'm from - friendship is more reserved.

People are kind, but calendars are booked weeks in advance.

You don't just bump into a new circle.

You kind of have to prove you're in it for the long haul first.

Neither is better.

They're just different rhythms.

And understanding that helps take the pressure off.

It reminds you that struggling to connect isn't necessarily about you.

Sometimes, it's just about learning the choreography.

Let's Wrap This Up

Building a community as an expat isn't a straight line.

It's more like a dance - two steps in, one back, a little improv, a lot of vulnerability.

I've made a fool of myself more times than i can remeber, ask my friends.

And sometimes, the music doesn't start until you hit play yourself.

So, if you're out there in a new place, wondering how to belong - maybe it's time to host the damn dinner.

Open your door.

Invite the chaos.

Let people in, even if the dishwasher's full and the playlist is stuck on repeat.

Because, in the end, community isn't something you find.

It's something you create - one laugh, one shared meal, one "Oh hey, I know someone here!" at a time.

And if you're ever near a certain canal in central Amsterdam, and you hear music spilling out of a window while someone's stirring a questionable pasta sauce with a paintbrush - just come in.

The door's open. 

Lots of love,  

Stina

‍