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I propose a tale of three cities. Better still: a comparison of four, based on fleeting impressions and meager evidence. My rude assertions shall prove indefensible and are certainly not peer-reviewed. So cut slack and read on. 

Amsterdam is casually energetic, broadly connected to the rest of the world. Leipzig is more insular, its culture shaped by Martin Luther and a communist era of low expectations. Praha also suffered under soviet dominion but Czech people are more openly emotional. The architecture of Leipzig is essentially sturdy and functional while Prague is ornate, overwrought, fantastical. Slavic folklore combined with gothic imagination and a ready embrace of surrealism draw tourists from around the world onto the narrow cobble stone streets. It helps that Prague survived the second world war largely intact. Vienna is another altogether different experience. I must have underestimated the power of the Austro-Hungarian Empire: Habsburg might is visible at every turn in the city center. Heroic monuments abound. Yet at some point, Kaisers on rearing steeds cease to amaze. Streets are broad, buildings elegant and grand. In Prague we visitors were constantly dealing with annoying tourists on the constricted walkways. There may be even more pedestrians in Vienna but the spacious sidewalks leave plenty of elbow room.

Can it be that in Vienna, the good life of the ultra-rich has "trickled down"? Streets are clean, people dress well and good food is readily available. Traditions are maintained but a cheery good humor might also be a continuing custom. There is even a name for it: "gemutlichkeit". Austrians seem more expressive and more overtly sensual than northern Germans and are certainly more playful. One benefit of communism's lingering oppression is the value of the dollar in both Leipzig and Prague where a room in a former 4-star hotel or palace is available at the rate of an American Holiday Inn. I did like the dark beer in Leipzig and wondered at the MaryJane-infused brownies and drinks available in Prague (some heralded as "Amsterdam style"). But as our journey takes us south, I look forward to a more vegetable-laden platter. Martin Luther can keep his meat and potatoes.

Our little apartment is a half block from the Vienna Operhaus, a sophisticated section of a very art-and-style-aware city. As in the States, a city vs. country dynamic can take hold. When I mentioned to the Austrian lady in reception that we were going to Graz, she went on a hilarious, very theatrical bender on the (country/hill) people of Styria. Flexing both arms in an exaggerated show of muscularity she said "their women are three times stronger than we are. And they need to be!" She herself was a deep-voiced athletic woman at least 5'10". With expansive gestures and comedic expressions she elaborated in a singsong Anglo-Deutsche bridge language of her own making. I did manage to catch: "and the way they talk, they don't want us to understand them". 

We are currently on another railjet rolling through the mountains toward Graz and my friend Anton Waibl who lived with us for a week 13 years ago. 

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Eurail pass train travel has been superb ... for the most part. The cheerful ticket agent in Amsterdam seemed almost excited to be helping us, an attitude we were later to look back on fondly. We were headed to Leipzig, in the former communist east, with a change of trains in Frankfurt. For our first lap we had a very nice 6-seat compartment to ourselves. It was modern, clean and fitted with smudge-free windows - terrific! Trains are indeed sleek and fast. But one downside is the difficulty of photographing a view that suddenly appears and is abruptly replaced. 
In Frankfurt's huge station we determined the connection's track number and grabbed a bite to eat. Suddenly Helen realized the track number had been changed, so we hastened to the new track and climbed aboard the first available car, soon to depart. I hoisted our luggage onto the overheard rack above empty seats. We were promptly informed by seated passengers that we had taken reserved seats. I pulled down our luggage and we searched for unreserved seats. Up go the heavy bags, and again - in German, of course - came perturbed voices. Down came the suitcases and backpacks. Helen and I had to sit separately, each by a resolutely grumpy person. After ten minutes or so the man next to me got up (kindness?) and moved to one of the verboten seats we had left under duress. Helen and I were reunited and I quickly made my way through several cars looking for 1st class quarters. We had paid a bit more for 1st class, but I found only occupied 2nd class cars. 
Several days later we were again traveling, having nestled into a pleasant unoccupied compartment. Now a bit wary, we took seats near the door, moving to window seats only after the train was well underway. After several minutes a young couple entered gently claiming we were in their reserved seats ... but no problem, we could stay put. Helen offered them chocolate which was declined. Then he offered us really good chocolate, which we readily accepted. We were heading to Prague with a change in Dresden, which I imagined must still be terribly depressing. The young couple were happily returning home to Dresden. He is an architect, she an art historian. Much of their home town has been rebuilt from complete rubble to look like Dresden pre-WW2. He regretted that the remaining architecture was obliged to be boxy and boring. He said that as we crossed the river we must peer out the other side of the train to catch the reconstructed vision of a Canaletto painting. Nice couple ...  and I'm always pleased to discover positive aspects of any place I've too easily dismissed.

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The Rijks Museum is big. It is especially rich in Dutch paintings including Vermeers and Rembrants. His Night Watch is a large painting that draws large crowds. Men in black lug heavy spears and go this way or that, all in service to their civic duty. This and a few similar paintings have long served as an inspiration when tasked with photographing a large group: individuals interacting in subgroups form a dynamic large composition which somehow manages to appear balanced and spontaneous. Van Leiden was one of many artists who relished the chance to show the devil's workshop at its worst. Here grotesque fiends mete out bizarre forms of corporal punishment.The sinners in Judgement Day could be you or me, but stripped of all clothing and facing the most monstrous torments. Under a bit less duress are the survivors of a Low Country flood depicted in a 15th Century painting. A dyke broke and thousands died. I was particularly taken by cows barely able to keep their nostrils above water. I was pleased to find a room largely devoted to the Dutch naval hero Michiel de Ruyter, as I had recently seen a fine Dutch movie, The Admiral, about his exploits and politically motivated death.

Our last day in Amsterdam saw us walking the town. Helen had decided to see the exterior of the Anne Frank house, knowing that tour tickets had sold out. She set out purposefully and I set out a bit later heading in a different direction. We both got lost. I meandered into an enclosed community - not quite a convent - of seriously chaste single women, while Helen strayed into the red-light district and took in quite a display of wanton comehitherness. Somehow we met up near the Anne Frank house which, protected by an outer shell could from the street not be seen at all. 

A week before leaving the US, I approached a man I overheard talking about Amsterdam. He encouraged a visit to the Rijks Museum (already top of the list) but bemoaned the influx of Muslims causing civic and financial stresses. I recognized his mindset yet expected to see something that might have bothered him. I did not. I saw a range of skin colors but people were gainfully employed and there was a palpable tone of contentment. We spent our time entirely in the center city of Amsterdam but I am now writing from Prague, having spent  couple days in Germany. During our brief layover at the Hamburg train station we were besieged for money several times and in Leipzig were also confronted with begging. Even so, there was no reason to think these people were Muslims or immigrants.  In Leipzig we did encounter small groups of singers with piercing outdoor voices whom Helen and I both thought were probably gypsies, or as they're called in Ireland: "traveling people".

Our last evening in Amsterdam was graced by the appearance of Bart Visser, who while studying at Rutgers became a fiend of the family and practically a brother to Will. Bart and Will, both young scientists, shared a love of  biking and hiking the great outdoors. Bart is now also well employed about 90 minutes south of Amsterdam and continues to travel widely. Indeed Bart strikes me as both a probing scientist and gracious diplomat.