I love Europe in the winter. I’ve seen Paris and Florence in the snow. I’ve seen the gentle rolling English countryside freshly dusted white in the early morning light. True Europe is mostly grey at the this time of year, and there is often a sharp bite to the air, but to see Amsterdam in the soft light that the Early Masters painted by is to see Amsterdam in a knowing way. To be in Paris or Florence in the winter is to be among the Parisians and the Florentines in their world; devoid of the hordes of tourist, moving to a life pace that is their own. As one sits in a small café on Rue de Canettes watching the snow flakes alight…