Amsterdam, Day Two

After the excitement of our Saturday night we slept in on Sunday morning, then checked out of the hotel and went breakfast hunting. We went to the bakery from the day before, but it was shut. Everything was shut, even the Aldi. Things were getting hungry, and cranky, and we finally found a corner bar/café a bit like Tilley’s which had a single breakfast dish on the menu (cruesli with fruit and yoghurt). And Twinings tea. So we sat in the sun and ate cruesli and tea, and apple cake with whipped cream which for some reason Toby felt the need to order. Sitting in the sun was an important part of this, because the day before it had rained non-stop for 12 hours. It was nice to be dry and not avoiding umbrellas all the time.

After breakfast we hopped on another tram until we started getting paranoid about ticket inspectors, because we hadn’t figured out how to buy tickets. The plan was to drop our luggage off at central station so we didn’t have to lug it around all day. We found the station ok, and we found the lockers ok. They were all full. Hundreds of them. Full. We wandered around for a little while until we realized we looked as stupid as all the other tourists with their luggage, wandering all around. What were we waiting for? The five Contiki tours to come back and empty their lockers? Luckily we’d taken small backpacks so it wasn’t difficult to carry them around.

The next stop after the station was Anne Frank’s house, our 2nd museum choice and my number one priority for Amsterdam (Toby’s number one priority had obviously been fulfilled the night before). The walk from the station was through more lovely streets, across more lovely canals, to a fairly swish residential area in the west of the city. There was a long line to get in, as expected, and a few moments of frustration when we noticed a sign saying that there was no cloak room in the museum and large backpacks were not allowed. The sign very helpfully suggested leaving your luggage at central station. Not being particularly keen on seeing the museum (and not really even knowing who Anne Frank was), Toby thoughtfully offered to wait outside with our backpacks while I did the tour without him. Luckily that wasn’t necessary – we put our massive backpacks on our fronts and were let in with no troubles. After negotiating the tiny stairways and rooms of the museum I could see another reason to leave a backpack behind. Considering the museum had room for a large gift shop and restaurant I think they could spare some space for a cloak room. Anyway.

We got some brochures and read through them first; Toby figured out who Anne Frank was and got a bit of the story before we went in. The museum had been really well put together and it was an incredibly moving experience to be in that space with such an extraordinary story. Well, it seems an extraordinary story; in reality it’s just one story out of millions. Amsterdam’s Jewish community did not do well in the war; something like only 1 in 16 actually survived. I read a quote in the museum from someone asking if it was a shame that people felt so connected to Anne Frank’s story when so many other stories were unknown or forgotten; their answer was no, because so many stories would be too overwhelming.

The museum started at the doorway that had been covered up by a bookshelf to keep them all hidden, up the tiny staircase to the tiny rooms. It was incredible to think of those families sharing such a small space, not making any noise or breathing fresh air. They had some videos, including of interviews with people involved with the Frank family. One was one of the women who worked with Mr Frank. When she told the story of how he had called her into his office early in the war and told her his family was thinking of going into hiding in the office building, and would she help him, I was so struck by what a huge ask that was of your employees, and by her complete, unquestioning generosity when she said ‘yes, of course.’ She can’t have been older than I am now.

On the walls and the glass cases showcasing items connected to the story there were quotes from Anne’s diary, which wasn’t on display although they had a facsimile of it. The room Anne had shared with one of the others was still decorated how she had it; covered with movie posters and pictures of the royal family. It was a stark reminder that you were in a teenager’s room. In Peter’s room, which was also a corridor, they had the board game he’d been given for his 16th birthday while they were in hiding. There was one of the yellow stars that Jewish people had been forced to wear. It was big. They hadn’t been allowed to ride their bicycles either; anywhere else that might not have seemed such a big deal but Amsterdam is bikes. There was no real furniture apart from the items on display – it had all been removed when the family left, and anyway the space was so small you wouldn’t want there to be furniture anyway.

Moving out of their hiding space the museum showed the photos of all the people who had been there – only Anne’s father survived. They had other photos of ‘round-ups’ of Jews in the streets of Amsterdam, and a book of over 100 000 names of people who died, opened to the page where Anne was listed.

Coming out into the lovely sunshine, the street was as normal as ever. I was so glad we’d bothered to find the house and line up, and I think Toby ended up glad we were allowed in with our backpacks as well. It was a whole other side to Amsterdam.

Then it was time for lunch, which we had in a pub nearby. It was all well and good until the entire family who worked in the pub took a smoko at the same time, sitting at a big table in the middle of the room. Grrrr. Toby had another pancake and I had a burger, and a half pint of Amster beer which I assumed to be a local brew. After lunch we decided to look into getting a canal tour; we’re not normally ones for organized tours but it seemed a good way to see the city from a different view point and rest our feet at the same time. Unfortunately the ticket options for the canal bus didn’t suit us. The options were a day pass for 18 euros each – a bit much considering we only wanted a couple of hours – or an hour pass for 11 euros each which seemed cruel when all the trips lasted at least 90 minutes. In the end we decided to do some shopping since I wanted a pair of clog-slippers I’d seen around the place. A terribly tacky thing to buy, I know, so unashamedly touristy, but I needed a pair of slippers anyway, because I’m a nana, and these seemed a good option. I found it extraordinary how many tourists were milling around the shops; all those lovely canal streets had been practically empty, except for the locals walking their dogs and kids and having Sunday lunch, and yet here were all these British and Americans buying exactly the same stuff they buy at home. And we were right there with them. We also went to visit De Waag, which we had seen in the dark the night before without realizing what it was. We had an early, very ordinary dinner at a Chinese restaurant (that didn’t even serve spring rolls) in the red light district (yes, Toby had to have just one more look) before getting on the train back to the airport.

We were on a bigger plane this time and managed to walk almost straight from the arrivals hall onto the bus, which dropped us a few minutes’ walk from our house. We were home 45 minutes after landing. The whole trip felt very easy and manageable; I barely struggled at all to get out of bed the next morning and head to work. It was an excellent reminder as to why we uprooted our Canberra lives and took up residence in this chilly, dreary place where you can’t even buy Milo or a decent can-opener.