We got off our train at six a.m. in Frankfurt, Germany. We had an hour to figure out how we were going to make it to Amsterdam (since we did not have real tickets). We went to the ticket booth but they could not helped us unless we wanted to buy 240€ tickets. Next we tried the bus station that had a bus leaving at 1 in the afternoon for 100€. Before booking bus tickets we tried our last option. We went back to the train station and waited for the train to Amsterdam to arrive. When it did we ran over to one of the attendants and told him our sob story. He took pity on us and told us to board the train and he could get us to Amsterdam for 70€. Again we were placed in first class so we laid out and slept.
It wasn’t until we made it to the book with the names of those who had died in concentration camps, and then again when we saw pages from Anne’s diaries that the realism of it all caught up with me.
We arrived in Amsterdam at noon, dropped off our bags, then wandered around the city. We found the Anne Frank house and waited in line for an hour and a half. Well worth it. I have grown up hearing stories, reading books, and watching movies about the holocaust (Anne Frank was always my favorite), but they always seemed like stories. We do not like to dwell on the horrible times in life. Whether it happened to us or someone long ago. We learn to distract ourselves from the pain. Even after walking through the hiding place it was hard for me to imagine. I could not picture eight people sharing four little rooms, never getting to open the curtains and see the sunlight, not being able to speak when they so please, waking up every morning wondering if they would be safe another day. It wasn’t until we made it to the book with the names of those who had died in concentration camps, and then again when we saw pages from Anne’s diaries that the realism of it all caught up with me.
After the Anne Frank House we roamed the streets some more and found a cheese museum. By cheese museum I mean a cheese shop where you can walk around and try all the cheese (so basically the best place on earth).
It started pouring rain so we hurried back to our hostel. We grabbed dinner at a restaurant next door and waited out the storm. There we met Winston, a young man from the Dominican Republic. When the rain stopped, the three of us went out to enjoy a night in Amsterdam.
Our night in Amsterdam did not go anything like we would have chosen, but that was best part of it.
Winston gave us a tour of the Red Light District (yikes…), introduced us to dutch liquor (do not worry, we only had one shot), and then took us to a salsa bar. Here is where I learned the salsa (Winston was my instructor of course) and Becca got asked to dance by several men all over the age of 40. We got our revenge on Winston by forcing him into asking the most attractive and talented girl in the bar to dance (you are welcome Winston). It was beautiful!
Our night in Amsterdam did not go anything like we would have chosen, but that was best part of it. We finally climbed into bed early that morning.