In one day, I enter the world of a woman in the Czech Republic whose break-up with Goebbels purportedly led to the Holocaust; waiters/entertainers at a theme restaurant in Chongqing whose boss tells them he will make them rich while working them around the clock for no pay; and an American who discovers at 19 that he is an identical triplet.

If your appetite for true-life stories, stranger and more moving than fiction, is whetted in September at our wonderful Camden International Film Festival, or CIFF, the place to be in November is at the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam, or IDFA, where “Doomed Beauty,” “The Land of Peach Blossoms” and “Identical Strangers” were just three of 300 movies shown over 12 days this year.

“Paradise,” said Dana Gelman of Israel about what the biggest documentary film festival in the world is to new filmmakers. When her 16-minute student film project about immigration hopefuls “Backwards” was accepted, “They paid my airfare and hotel room” and welcomed her to a four-day forum with hundreds of industry professionals, where “I talked with Errol Morris!”

An established director with a movie about the drought in South Africa told me IDFA is the only place he premieres his movies — “it’s all about how you play your cards”— and that his spot in the competition lineup will lead to invitations to screen at probably 50 other film festivals. Prize money at these festivals — a win in China came with $50,000 — helps fund the next project.

IDFA equally caters to audiences, with 570 question-and-answer sessions with directors, and sometimes subjects, after the public screenings.

Corina Schwingruber, whose “All Inclusive” takes a witty look at “the sexist, consumerist” activities on high-end cruise ships, told the audience that her next movie is about tourism since “it is getting worse and worse and worse” in her hometown in Switzerland. Payal Kapadia, presenting “And What Is the Summer Saying” about a honey-maker in a rural village in India, broke into a smile when she heard this and told Corina, “I have to apologize because my country is partly to blame for this. Bollywood movies are all made in Switzerland and everyone from India wants to go there to see the locations.”

The young and enthusiastic Chinese director of “The Land of Peach Blossoms” said through a translator that when he applied for a public relations job filming at a restaurant that served flowers as food he was just looking for an income: “I realized something was wrong the first evening when the boss asked us all to criticize ourselves, and he wanted to be worshipped like a God. That’s when I decided to film the meetings.”

“You don’t choose your story, your story chooses you,” said Fabio Caramaschi of “Dark Corner.” A teacher, he filmed Mirco Ricci when he was his 6-year-old student. When Mirco got in touch years later to say he was a boxer, Fabio started filming him again. The movie follows Mirco to the brink of a European boxing title through to a 12-year prison sentence for kidnapping. Fabio said that despite the tragic trajectory of a favorite student that the filming exposed him to, “I would do it again. People of my age and social class are bloody boring.”

Just as the beauty of Camden and hipness of Rockland enhance CIFF, the setting of IDFA makes every minute out of the dark theater a delight. A flock of wild white swans took off with a cataclysmic commotion from a canal — their wings as huge as Pegasus’ — and along a brick road, one of the bicycles whizzing by had a Christmas tree in the basket. There seems to be a vintage clothing store and coffee shop with marijuana menu on every corner, and strolling back to my AirBnB one night I stumbled on a Dutch sing-along at a Trappist bar, the waitress passing around lyric sheets and egg rolls.

And our Strand is their Tuschinski, a 1921 art deco/art nouveau marvel with 800 multicolored lights and cushiony red-velvet seats with cup holders.

The festival runs over Thanksgiving but a fine substitute for turkey dinner was aged Gouda from a cheese shop, fresh herring from the Frens Haringhandel outdoor kiosk sprinkled with onion and pickles and speared with a Holland flag toothpick, and peanut satays, coconut curries and shrimp crackers in an Indonesian restaurant.

The guest of honor at this year’s festival was Helena Trestikova, with a retrospective on the kind of movies I love most — ordinary people, in this case from the Czech Republic, followed for upwards of three decades.

“Dear Helena,” Rene writes to the filmmaker at 18. “I seem to be the sort who can’t last six months on the outside. The problem is I see how easy it is to get hold of money.” By 24 he is back in jail, with “F—-Off People” in big black letters across the front of his neck.

Mallory is a pregnant, teenage heroin addict when, crossing a bridge, she hears a deep voice she recognizes as that of a famous movie actor. Their encounter steels her to go straight. But her tough times — living in a car, good-for-nothing boyfriends, her son stuck in an orphanage — are just beginning: “When you’ve got drugs you feel secure. You’re not cold or hungry. You’re in a bubble. Just you and the drug.”

A former film diva and mistress of Goebbels said that Hitler did not approve of their relationship and Goebbels ordered Kristallnacht as a way to redeem himself in Hitler’s eyes. She looks elegant even as she chain smokes, swigs alcohol, sloppily reapplies her lipstick, and weeps. “When I wake up I tell myself, OK I have woken up again. Another new day. But the days no longer bring anything, you know?”

“Rough Cuts” is a screening of projects nearing completion but still needing funds. Please, Ben, bring this program to CIFF!

“You don’t love me,” a 13-year-old Palestinian boy charged with killing a 15-year-old Israeli boy tells Lea Tsemel, a Jewish Israeli lawyer who has been defending Palestinians for decades.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re a Jew and the Jews don’t love me.”

“Try me.”

“By the Name of Tania” is about girls trafficked in the gold mining regions of Peru by transexuals needing money for their sex-change operations. “How do we do it” said the director, describing the challenge of her all-female team, “without being voyeuristic and showing girls with little shorts?”

Sun Her Engelstoft said she is making “Forget Me Not,” about three unwed mothers in South Korea deciding whether or not to keep their babies, because she herself was adopted and “I am trying to understand how a mother can give away her child. Can it be out of love?”

I laughed out loud in “Unconditional Love” when the young director tells his fierce Polish grandmother who refuses to accept he is gay that the woman on his visits is “my director of photography” and she answers “may God grant she be the director of your heart.” I cried when the 17-year-old who wants to keep her baby, under pressure from her parents, hands him over for an international adoption, and cried again with Mallory when we see her bruised and bloody and her apartment destroyed by the boyfriend who told her he is going to finally give her the love and care she deserves.

Of about 25 movies viewed, I walked out of only one, a third of the way through, because it was boring and made no sense, and it ended up being voted the number-one audience favorite of the entire festival.

IDFA’s awards are announced at a ball on Thursday night, and Friday morning when I swing open the door of the industry-support suite, the helpful staffers behind the desks, the coffee machine where I pushed a button for cappuccino every morning, and the fraternal folks milling about in photo-pass necklaces have all disappeared. There are three more days of screenings for the public, but I still don’t get to the life of a Chilean skatepark as seen through the eyes of two stray dogs.

Sitting on the train from Amsterdam to Berlin, morning coffee accompanied by homemade vanillekipferl proffered in a Christmas tin by shy 17-year-old Melanie from Meppen whose lifelong wish it is to visit Miami, I take out the pamphlets I collected at IDFA for 2019 documentary film festivals in Krakow, Serbia and Tel Aviv, look out the train window at the mist-shrouded meadows and forests going by, and dream.