Freelancing in Amsterdam on the DAFT Visa

I moved to Amsterdam with a suitcase, my sketchbooks, and a stubborn belief that I could make freelancing work in a city where bicycles outnumber people. Spring has just woken up—daffodils nodding along the canals and café terraces filling with bundled-up optimists—and I finally feel like I’m finding my rhythm as a graphic designer on the Dutch-American Friendship Treaty (DAFT) visa.

How a Canadian Ended Up on a “Dutch-American” Visa

I grew up in Toronto, but I also have U.S. citizenship through my mom, which is what makes DAFT possible. I get this question constantly: “Wait, how are you on DAFT if you’re Canadian?” The treaty is specifically for Americans launching self-employed businesses in the Netherlands. It doesn’t fit everyone’s situation, but if you qualify, it’s one of the more straightforward ways to start freelancing here.

Here’s what it looked like for me, step by step:

• I entered the Netherlands visa-free on my U.S. passport, set up an appointment with the immigration office (IND), and began the application as a self-employed person under DAFT.
• I registered my business as a ZZP (sole proprietor) with the Chamber of Commerce (Kamer van Koophandel—KvK). The appointment felt almost ceremonial: they checked my ID, asked a few questions about my services, and gave me a KvK number.
• I opened a Dutch business bank account (bunq worked fast for me) and deposited the required capital—around €4,500 to show I was serious about investing in my business. The IND wanted bank statements proving this.
• I paid the application fee (expect a few hundred euros; fees change annually), uploaded my documents, and got a “residence endorsement” sticker that allowed me to work while my permit was processed.
• I took out Dutch health insurance within the required timeframe after registering at the municipality. The basic package is thorough compared to what I was used to in North America, and I pay about €140/month.

Everything took longer than I expected. There’s a chicken-and-egg loop with housing, bank accounts, and the BSN (citizen service number), but asking every official “what can I do next with what I have today?” moved things forward.

Finding a Home That Would Let Me Register

In Amsterdam, “Do you allow registration?” is as important as “Is there a washing machine?” You need a formal address to register with the municipality, which you need to get your BSN, which you need for almost everything else.

Housing was the hardest part. I walked through drizzle to see tiny studios that smelled faintly of canal, and I lost count of how many polite rejections I got. Agents often asked for income that was three times the rent, which is hilarious when you’ve just moved and are building a client base. In the end, I found a small one-bedroom in Oost through Pararius. It’s expensive—around €1,450/month before utilities—but it allows registration and has enough light to film client updates without looking like I live in a cave. If you’re on a tighter budget, rooms in shared places can still run €700–€1,100, and you’ll likely attend “hospiteer” evenings where you meet roommates and they choose you.

Pro tip: never transfer deposits through weird links, and make sure the contract clearly states you can register. Also factor in municipal taxes and utilities; they add up.

Building a Freelance Base, Client by Client

I came with a few Canadian clients and an optimistic Trello board. Amsterdam gave me momentum: co-working spaces, meetups, and a culture that respects boundaries but moves fast once you’re in the circle. I bounce between a community desk at Impact Hub in Oost and quiet days at home with a moka pot and noise-canceling headphones.

Business nuts and bolts that surprised me:

• Invoicing: Dutch clients expect your KvK number, your VAT ID (btw-id), a unique invoice number, date, clear description, and VAT percentage. Standard VAT is 21%, but it depends on where your client is. For EU businesses with a VAT number, you can use reverse charge; outside the EU, VAT usually doesn’t apply. I invested in bookkeeping software (Moneybird) and hired a bookkeeper for quarterly VAT filings.
• The small business scheme (KOR) is an option if your annual revenue is low; you can opt out of charging VAT. I didn’t choose it because I invoice EU clients, but it’s worth exploring.
• Payment terms of 14 days are standard, and people really use Tikkie and iDEAL. Once you have a Dutch bank account, life becomes dramatically easier.

My first Dutch gig came from a woman I met at a “Creative Mornings” talk in De Pijp. I redesigned her sustainable skincare brand and, from there, it was word-of-mouth: a coffee roastery in Noord, an NGO campaign around cycling safety, a pop-up gallery poster series. I’ve learned to quote in euros, add a line item for revisions, and say no to projects that need everything “yesterday” and “cheap.”

On Learning to Bike Like a Local

I arrived with a sensible helmet and a North American fear of tram tracks. Amsterdam eased me in. I bought a second-hand omafiets for €220 and two heavy locks (always two). Spring mornings now mean gliding along the Amstel with magnolia petals on the path, dings of bike bells, and the occasional swirl of a confused tourist. I learned the rules quickly: stay to the right, signal with your hand, lights on at night, yield to everyone who looks more confident than you. Tram tracks still make me nervous, so I cross them at a sharper angle, and I never text while riding (seriously, don’t).

On wet days, I wear a bright raincoat and stash a dry pair of socks in my bag. No one is impressed by your bravery; they are impressed by your working bicycle lights.

Culture: Directness, “Gezellig,” and the Art of the Rainy Borrel

The stereotype about Dutch directness is true, and it’s a gift once you recalibrate. I’ve had clients tell me “This is not strong enough. Can you try again?” with zero malice, just clarity. There’s also an everyday warmth tucked under that bluntness—co-workers who walk you to the best bakery, neighbors who’ll watch your bike while you grab a coffee, baristas who remember your order.

I still trip over the language. Everyone speaks excellent English, which can make learning Dutch feel optional, but even a little effort opens doors. I take a Tuesday night class and practice ordering “een cappuccino en een appeltaart, alstublieft.” Words like “gezellig” are real and useful. There’s no perfect translation, but you know it when you’re sharing bitterballen with friends at a brown café while rain taps the windows.

And the seasons matter here. Spring feels like permission to live again—terraces reopening, market stalls overflowing with tulips, and the slow build-up to King’s Day on April 27. People are already planning their vrijmarkt routes and debating whether to wear full orange or “chic orange.” I am absolutely wearing the silly crown.

Healthcare, Admin, and the Quiet Relief of Systems That Work

Registering for a GP (huisarts) took a few calls; practices fill up by neighborhood. Once in, it’s smooth: you email for routine questions, you get referred when you need to, and you don’t think twice about whether a check-up will bankrupt you. The basic insurance covers more than I expected, and I pay out of pocket for things like dental cleanings.

For freelancers, I also looked into disability insurance (AOV) and joined a Broodfonds—a community-based safety net where members support each other if someone can’t work for a while. It calms the 3 a.m. “what if” worries.

Making Friends in a City That’s Already Full

The first month felt lonely. I was surrounded by people and yet slightly invisible. What helped:

• Joining a co-working space and committing to going twice a week.
• Showing up regularly to a Wednesday-night figure drawing group in Westerpark.
• Volunteering at a weekend event through Serve the City.
• Saying yes to “borrel?” after client meetings.
• Playing ultimate frisbee with a rec league in Noord even though I am aggressively mediocre.

Friendship here is less about one grand gesture and more about many small, consistent appearances. Dutch circles can be tight, but once you’re in, you’re in.

Costs, Transport, and Tiny Luxuries

I thought I’d ride everywhere, and I do, but I also love that I can tap in to trams and trains with my bank card now. The free ferries across the IJ feel like a citywide cheat code. Groceries cost less than Toronto for basics, but cafés and eating out add up. I keep little rituals that feel like rewards without blowing the budget: a Saturday stroopwafel at the Noordermarkt, a bunch of tulips for the kitchen table, a late-afternoon coffee at my favorite corner in De Pijp when the light hits the canal just right.

The Hard Parts I Didn’t Post on Instagram

• The week my bank account application stalled because one form had my middle initial and another had my full name.
• The three proposals that got ghosted, followed by a client who paid late and taught me to enforce my terms.
• The gray stretch in February when the rain felt personal, my handlebars were permanently damp, and I wondered if I’d made a silly mistake.

But then spring arrived, the cherry blossoms popped in the Westerpark, and a client mailed me a handwritten thank-you card. I’m not chasing a perfect life here—just a real one.

Advice If You’re Considering This Path

• Check your eligibility early. If you qualify for DAFT, it’s a clearer route; if not, research the standard self-employed permit, which has stricter requirements.
• Expect admin loops. Ask what you can do now, collect documents meticulously, and take screenshots of confirmations in case emails go missing.
• Make registration-friendly housing your priority. Everything flows from your BSN.
• Get a Dutch bank and health insurance as soon as you can. It changes the texture of everyday life.
• Invest in two good bike locks and a rain jacket you don’t hate.
• Build community on purpose. Co-working, classes, volunteer gigs, pickup sports—show up more than once.
• Learn enough Dutch to be polite and to understand signs. It’s a small effort with outsized returns.
• For freelancing, set your rates in euros, enforce clear payment terms, save for taxes, and find a bookkeeper who understands international invoicing.

This morning I cycled along the Amstel, wind at my back, watching a rower cut a perfect line across the water. The magnolias outnumbered the clouds for once. I’m still figuring things out here, but that’s the point. Amsterdam rewards the steady, the curious, and the ones who keep pedaling even when the rain starts again.

Best wishes from Amsterdam,