Dear Reader, I’ve come to the realization that I am too old (gasp!) for hostels. Though I meet some great people (like 20% of the time) and save a ton of money, I’m just annoyed at everything there is about a hostel. Points for being an adult and realizing sometimes you need to splurge on the things you find comfort in: like sleeping in without obnoxious American girls talking about their night out, or having a bathroom where you can place all your toiletries and not lose them. Or even the concept of HAVING YOUR OWN SPACE!!! I booked a lot of hostels on my World Tour Part 2… I may be spending my 3 weeks at home undoing all those bookings for more solitary accommodations.
In case you didn’t notice, World Tour Part 1 has brought me back to cold, rainy and most definitely Western Europe. Or maybe it’s just Northern Europe? Either way, I’m back where the Euro is king, people ride bikes everywhere and there’s a lot of options for CHEEEEESE! Yep, I am now in Amsterdam. I arrived yesterday and spent time in the hostel bar researching what to do in this fair city. And yes, if the hostel has a bar, I’m too old for it. Also, this hostel has a smoking room where “you can bring anything you want in…edibles, hash, joint, etc.” This is literally what the guy told me at check in. I should have turned around and found a hotel. High immature travelers + all the weed they can smoke = increase in Amy’s annoyance levels.
Today, on my first full day in Amsterdam, I woke up before 9a so I could check to see if tickets were available to the Anne Frank House Museum (they weren’t). Important tip about admission to the House: 80% of the tickets are released exactly 2 months in advance. The remaining 20% are released on the actual day. But not all at once because everyone has time to spare to continually check the website for availability. And yes, that was definitely sarcasm. Come on Amsterdam, be better. Wait, is that Melania Trump’s slogan? Let’s just assume I made it up. I don’t want any association to that family. Moving right along to, Plan B: a free walking tour for a few hours to kill some time.
Halfway through the tour, we got a break and I checked for tickets (still not available). I put a little request out to the Universe that I really wanted to see this museum – multiple people have told me how interesting it is to see where they hid. Fine, fine. I’ll keep trying. By the way, this red house in the picture below is one of the smallest houses in Amsterdam. Imagine being that guy who is taller than the width of his house. Dutch people are tall. And brutally honest. And a little hard to read. Hope I don’t offend any Dutch readers I may have.
After the tour, I start to walk back to my party hostel because I know I’ll have readily available WIFI. Only, I smell pancakes and I’m lead to a pancake shop. But, they have WIFI so I’m planting myself there and hoping third time is the charm (it wasn’t). I came so close but there was a bug in the system and someone snagged what I thought was the last 2 tickets available. At this point, I’m a bit dejected but I have about 3 days left to get a ticket to this museum. I will prevail. I arrive back at the hostel and something tells me I should do a check (even though my bladder is screaming at me that there are more important tasks to handle). And guess what??! At 2 pm, I score tickets to 4:15pm entrance to the Anne Frank House Museum. I would have come back to see this museum but it might have taken me a bit longer than I would like.
The Anne Frank House Museum is really well put together. It’s orderly and doesn’t feel overly crowded once you’re inside the confines of this rather tiny building. It used to be a store front and the self-guided tour takes you through the front part of the building while a young girl’s voice is reading excerpts from the diary. There is just enough history and fact to not be overwhelming and pictures of the people both inside the annex and those that were helping them. For me, the most surreal part was climbing the narrow, steep stairs from the first level of the annex to the 2nd level. I can’t imagine how the Franks and Van Pels managed to do so quietly and swiftly. There were handwritten notes and grocery lists from people who believed they would be safe after hiding or once saved by the Allies. And on one of the the walls, you can see markings on the wall where Anne and her sister were measured for how tall they were growing. I can only imagine they had immense hope that they would live on to see themselves grow up. It was a really beautiful tribute to them and I’m glad I got to experience it after all. I need to re-read the diary because I read it when I was in my teens and I don’t think I quite grasped all that was going on. I still don’t think I would as an adult but I’m willing to try.
There She Goes... 