Amsterdam, Holland

Flying from Indianapolis to New York, dad I then flew about 7 hours to Amsterdam. Looking out of the window we saw perfectly plowed fields. No doubt used for the many tulip fields in the spring...too bad we missed them!

Getting off the plane it was apparent that we were no longer in America. Though most signs were translated into English, Dutch was the first language of any sign. We walked around and around the airport trying to find currency exchange, bathrooms (water closets) and the train to take us to central station.

As we walked down some stairs we came to the water closet with no doors! I could plainly see right into the men’s bathrooms. As dad was entering the men’s a woman was exiting just having cleaned. The restrooms were very clean and it felt so good to splash a little Dutch water on my face.

In the restroom, women kept commenting on my hair (well....I think that they were. I could not understand them but they were pointing to my long and 12 hour old crazy looking braid) I was then asked if I was German, however the lady was asking me in Dutch. I was so confused and just smiled. She soon figured out I was American.

After walking again around and around the large airport we figured out where we needed to go to get out tickets for the train. It was so interesting to watch the man who was selling the tickets switch from language to language as people from different nationalities approached his desk. After receiving our tickets we only had 2 minutes to catch the train. We ran as fast as we could. Luckily we made the right train.

As soon as we walked out of the airport into the train station it all felt even more real. We were in AMSTERDAM!!! I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. When we sat down in the train however reality started to set in. We had been up for almost 24 hours and we had a full day ahead of ourselves.

When we got to central station we got out our map and headed to the Anne Frank Huis (The home where Anne Frank was in hiding). The walk to the home was awesome. Through it was just barely after 8am there were hundreds of people across the streets walking and biking. I have never seen so many bikes in all of my life! It was hard to even cross the street at a cross walk.

After walking down what seemed to be a neighborhood we came across a small sign that said “Anne Frank Huis”. At the end of the corner was a museum but it was literally hidden amongst the rest of the neighborhood. Walking in the museum, then the business warehouse then finally the home of Anne Frank hidden behind a bookshelf was a surreal experience. I have studied the WWII era since I was about nine years old, yet it never ceases to amaze me at how someone could be so cruel in trying to kill an entire race.

As I read excerpts from Anne’s diary I wondered if I would have the courage to do what she did at such a young age. It was inspiring yet so sad to know that a family, thousands of families just like the Frank’s had to face the exact same thing. Sadly many of them did not live to tell the stories. Luckily though Anne died her story lived to touch millions of lives through her diary.

In the final room of the museum, almost directly below and one room over from the “secret annex” was Anne’s actual diaries. A book translated and read by so many people from all across the world, written by a young teen was right in front of me in its original format. It may sound strange to some but it was a moment that brought the almost fake sounding story to actual life. Never did I doubt Anne’s book but being able to see the book for myself told the tale in a way I have never realized before.

Our next stop was the Vincent van Gogh museum. By this time dad and I were beyond tired. Our carry on bags that we had been lugging across town seemed to get heavier just as out eyes did. We took a break about half way to the museum just to rest our feet and shoulders.

Upon reaching the museum the day had clearly come to its height. There were people everywhere. I thought 8am was crowed...it did not compare to the afternoon. When we purchased our tickets we went into the museum. Luckily no bags were allowed inside so we had to give up our bags to the concierge for the rest of our museum visit. We both smiled and gave up our bags gladly.

Going through the museum was very educational. Being an amateur artist I have studies van Gogh. However the museum brought him to become a much more personable character. It took us through his entire life up unto his death. He did not even draw or paint until he was 30 years old. Before that time of many things he was an evangelist.

Dad and I were going through the museum at record speed. And for those of you who know my dad it was a miracle. We had been up for more than 36 hours and were really starting to become tired. We would sit down then have to stand up immediately before we fell asleep in the middle of the museum. Unfortunately van Gogh’s most famous “Starry Night” was not in the museum but was in New York. (Go figure. I would go to Amsterdam and my favorite painting would go to New York)

After getting our very heavy carry on bags and leaving the museum we decided we should get something to eat. We stopped at a small restaurant in a park and got some food. And it was food, but not quite edible. I got a hotdog. (mistake #1) Dad got a big boy burger. (mistake #2) My hotdog was about an inch longer than the bun and looked like it had been boiled over night then puffed up with hormones. Then we actually ate it (mistake #3). I left feeling a little sick, longing for something good to eat.

We arrived back at the train via bus. We just did not have the energy to walk all the way back to the train. Our bus driver was a trip! He was singing bass and cracking jokes in the microphone in several languages.

After getting to the train station we waited and waited for bus 13b to arrive. When it finally arrived, we got on and sat down. However about 15 seconds after a young American man had got on but thought we all had got on the wrong train for the airport. Dad got off to check. I was a tad worried that the door would close and we would be separated but he quickly got back on after confirming that it was the right bus after all.

Our half hour ride back was very interesting in talking to the guy from Colorado who had been in the Peace Core and was going to study for his masters in Oslo. I tried to fight the jealousy. Norway is a place I have always longed to travel to. We soon parted ways and began our next journey to the country of Turkey. Destination: Istanbul.