Anne Frank Haus- Amsterdam

Tuesday, June 13^th, 2023- Amsterdam, Netherlands

       We were up early at 5 A.M. Breakfast in the hotel was wonderful. (15 euros each) We decided that if we ate like this on the coming river cruise, we would be too heavy for the airlines to fly us home. We had called our new cabbie pal, Brahm for a pick up at 10:30 A.M. We had 11:00 A.M tickets (20 euros each) for the Ann Frank Haus on the Princengraght Canal. If you don’t order your tickets well in advance, you have no chance of getting in.

        We had sparkle water in a café next door to the museum, as we watched the veritable throngs of students and visitors, who milled about the small courtyard adjacent of the museum. I wondered how on earth were they ever going to get that many people through the small quarters of the hidden apt. that is now world famous. Anne, her sister Margaret, parents Otto and Edith and two friends had survived here for two years. An informer tipped off the Gestapo, who swept them up and sent them on to Auschwitz. Anne and her sister were later transferred to Theresienstadt. Otto was the only family member to survive the camps. The Russians had reached Auschwitz in January of 1945 and freed the inmates.

       Anne had been an aspiring journalist in her teens. She had in fact composed a small novel about their experience in hiding. Her elegant script bespoke of a meticulous and intelligent nature. After the family had been arrested by the gestapo, a neighbor had collected most of their personal belongings. They now stand in a place of honor in the museum.

      We had our tickets scanned as we advanced into the museum. We were provided head-sets. When you entered a specific room, a voice narrated what you were seeing. We climbed several flights of narrow stairs, patiently awaiting our place in line. The entrance to the hidden apartment, on the fourth floor, was accessible through a small book case that swung on a hinge. The informer who ratted them out was a former employee of the warehouse.

       We were silent, all of the many people in line, as we viewed the modest quarters, two bed rooms, bathroom, a small kitchen and living area, wondering at the level of anxiety that the family felt each day. They had to be quiet as mice all day and make no noises, until well after work hours ended. Then, they entertained each other with reading and telling stories. Anne wrote her novel in a neat script, detailing how they lived. Most of us have read the book at some point, so the story was familiar to us. Several of the young girls in line were Jewish. For them, it was a religious experience. You could see the odd tear roll down the cheek of some of the youngsters, as they thought of what Anne had gone through.

      The quarters had been kept as they were during WW II, so there is a sense of verisimilitude as you advance through the rooms. Three floors below, we walked past and admired copies of Anne’s writings and her small novel. The poignancy of observing what she could have become, with hopes and aspiration, brings home and puts a human face on the horror of what happened to all of those people who were swept up and murdered by the Nazis. Walking out into the bright sun was like awakening from a bad dream. We had much to think about for the remainder of the day.

       We walked along the narrow confines of the Princengraght in the “Jordan District.” It is a Bohemian section of the city. The streets are not well swept. The canal was lined with small houseboats. Apparently, during the 1960’s, when housing was in extreme demand, the city had allowed house boats to tie up to sections of the canal walls. They remained here still, but now paid taxes and were hooked up to utilities. We continued along busy Harlemstraat. Small cafes, gift and junk shops and fast food places abounded. The city is alive and thriving here. I sat whenever my legs gave out and managed to get by pretty well.

        The street empties into the huge Central Square Plat. The enormous Central station is a nexus for bus and rail traffic from all across Europe. Literally thousands of bicycles were chained up all around us. Massive government buildings and a church of some note completed the vast square. It is here that we picked up the “hop on hop off” bus. For 39 euros each, you get a 90-minute ride around the exterior of the city. No buses were allowed in the city center. It gave us some appreciation for both the size and wealth of the City. There are stops for access to the “Red Light” district, the Joodmuseum, The Heineken Brewery Experience and other historical sites, that reflect  Holland’s development since the 1602 formation of both the East India and West Indies trading companies. One of the staff at our hotel had told us not to bother riding this bus, because it only rides around the periphery of the city. He was right.

       We exited the bus at the Rijksmuseum stop and hiked back through the park towards the Van Gogh Museum. We stopped at the “Small Talk Café” for Greek salads and sparkle water. It was sunny, in the mid-eighties and humid out. The Aalder welcomed us into Air-conditioned comfort. I constructed a vodka rocks and chilled out, as I wrote up my notes. It had been another long and interesting day on the tourist trail.

                                             -30-

                                      (946 words)

                                Joseph Xavier Martin