This was one of those days that seemed overly ambitious, afterwards.

From Abu Dhabi to Amsterdam. Via cab, plane, train and tram.

Ending with a “slow food” dinner in the suburbs of the capital of the Netherlands.

The distances are not great — about 6.5 hours, by air. But when you end up at a bed-and-breakfast in the suburbs, while dragging enough luggage to last more than two weeks …

But enough of that. All travel stories are pretty much the same. The same inconveniences — the lines, the confinement, the crying babies, the interminable taxiing on the tarmac, the dilemma-solving in an alien environment.

But it ended up at an interesting resto on the edge of a large park in the Watergraafsmeer neighborhood, southeast of the city center.

The notion that had been building, from the time we landed at Schipol airport, was that we were most certainly back in northern Europe.

Something about the light, suffused yet dynamic, and the colors — all the varieties of greens and blues in the sky and on the ground. Well, it absolutely is not the desert that is the UAE. It’s not California, either.

The resto had been recommended by the woman who runs the B&B. Local, neighborhoody, not cheap, not expensive, elegant but not intimidating.

The place is the former stables of a sprawling country estate, since turned into the Park Frankendael with ponds and birds and cyclists.

The Merkelbach restaurant has lots of space, lots of windows — and an enormous formal garden (above), the epitome of Euro, with gravel paths, benches oriented towards treasured bits of sun, symmetrical layouts, with groomed hedges every few feet, carefully nurtured flowers …

It is nice to start with an aperitif out there, when it is not too cold or rainy, and for a few minutes, it was not. We chose a sparkling Vouvray (from the Loire Valley), with some locally pickled vegetables and some excellent brown sourdough bread with butter so dense I thought for a time it was cheese.

The spring is not all-powerful, as it is in the UAE, where May is like August in most of the world. So we were soon inside, in a cozy banquette near the bar in the bright and airy main room.

We had three choices for each stage (four), but limited them to match jet lag and a day of nibbling.

We had one entree — a seafood salad, with squid, lagoustines and what appeared to be fried smelt, with fresh peas and beans in a lemon vinaigrette. It was well-received.

The two mains. The more ambitious was veal three ways (seared medallions, a samosa and  croquette — with heavily buttered mashed potatoes and baby parsnips. The more homey/healthy choice was a barley risotto, with fresh spinach, artichokes, asparagus and a parsnip.

It was simple but fun, and the service was helpful and around but not hovering.

The clientele skewed thirtysomething, casual and local, and we never felt particularly obvious as tourists — though we seemed to be the only foreigners in the place on a not-busy night.

The flavors were amazing and well-blended, and the wine pairing (a red Corbieres) for the veal was very nice.

(In the one language breakdown, involving a young staff for whom the mother tongue is Dutch, a request for “recommended pairings” with the entree was at first mistaken for a pear-cider aperitif called “Perry”.)

We would go back, not that we are likely to have opportunity to do so. A happy choice, and a fine way to end the day.