I woke up nice and early (to beat the lines), partook of our hotel continental breakfast, and headed out the door with two maps, my camera, and two practiced expressions: the first an ogling, spaced out tourist-in-wonder look that often gets one run over or pickpocketed, and the other a suspicious glare to be directed at anyone and everyone who gets too close to my purse, clutched in a death grip close to my chest.
The first touristy thing I did was to refuse to give a homeless man money (New York has trained me too well, perhaps) but I was impressed at his approach - very pleasant, very apologetic, very it-seems-like-I'm-going-to-ask-for-directions-but-really-I'm-asking-for-money. I then almost missed my first destination as I pondered what it means to be homeless in a country like the Netherlands that is often described as a Welfare State - in fact, I just did a quick googling of the topic, and Google has informed me that most of the homeless found here in Amsterdam are either mentally ill or have substance abuse problems (shock), and that generally speaking it's easier in the Netherlands than in other countries to NOT be homeless. (As you can see, I am going to some lengths to assuage my "I could've given him that 50 cents" guilt.)
As I pondered one's obligations to society and its residents and how next time I should just give him the damn change if only so I won't obsess about it afterwards I almost completely bypassed the Anne Frank Museum, Tourist Stop #1 (quite the appropriate museum for such things as where one's social and moral obligations lie, I would think). I paid my entrance fee and stepped inside, winding my way through the former warehouse, the former offices, and then up through the concealed back staircase to the secret annex. True to Otto Frank's wishes, the rooms in the annex remained bare, left as they were after the Nazis discovered the hiding place and stripped it of its people and furniture. Some movie posters and newspaper pictures in Anne's room remained glued to the wall, and it was hard to really fathom their history - why they had been glued there in the first place and what had happened in that room since.
And then in a jump from history to present, I left the last of the annex through a glassed-in bridge from the Frank house to the modernized, more museum-like display in the building next door. It jumped to displays of artifacts, movie clips, and the story of the diary being published after the war. Out of the entire exhibition, it wasn't the annex itself or any of the preserved artifacts that got me the most - it was hearing about Otto surviving the war and finding out his entire family was gone, his discovery of the diary, and the looping video of a 1960s Otto talking about the daughter he had lived with and the daughter he had discovered through the pages she had written. Dang.
And as was to inevitably occur, I then thrust myself out into the light of day and made my way to the Canal Bus, a boat transport I was fully planning on taking down to the Van Gogh museum. I inquired about tickets and route at their kiosk stop and the young guy behind the counter couldn't stop laughing and I couldn't tell if he was stoned or just pleasantly odd - our conversation went something like "Is this the right place to get the canal Bus down to the Van Gogh museum?"
"Yes ha ha ha! Follow this green route you can see on this map ha ha ha! And then when you are done you can get right back on with the same ticket ha ha ha! No need to buy a new ticket ha ha ha! My brother works down at that kiosk ha ha ha! And my OTHER brother works at a different station ha ha ha!"
"Wow! Do ALL your siblings work for the canal bus?"
"No ha ha ha! My sister works in a hospital ha ha ha! She is a doctor ha ha ha!"
"How fantastic! And, with that information, I'd like to purchase a ticket."
"Oh just one thing ha ha ha! You should know that the next bus isn't coming for 45 MINUTES ha ha ha! It would be faster to walk ha ha ha!"
And so I took my two legs and powered myself to Van Gogh on foot.
My ticket also got me entry to their special exhibition - Van Gogh and the Colours of the Night - starring (ha ha ha), as you might be suspecting, that ever-popular dorm wall poster Starry Night. I felt pretty cultured as I had already SEEN Starry Night in person once before thanks to a certain Chicago friend and a certain Chicago exhibition. I'd say more about it but really, it was a bunch of paintings. I mean, really GOOD paintings, but I'm not entirely sure what I could say that would actually be interesting.
Moving on!
I was meeting up with my little touring group for lunch at 1:30, so off I gallivanted to the area around the Waag to find the small cafe we had agreed upon. I nabbed a free ride on a trolley (I didn't expect it to be free but I couldn't figure out how to pay for it) and then meandered through the red light district and Amsterdam's China Town before happening upon it. Here's a picture!! That's Lesley on the far left, our Amsterdam friend Robin sitting to the right and IN MOTION, and obviously there's John (feeling a bit sickly) sitting in the back.
The food was great, the service was great, and then off we went as a group to do some SHOPPING. The most entertaining part of THAT expedition was our hunt for appropriate Venice Carnevale attire - my most favorite part of our eventual costumery are the puffy shirts we all bought in a rainbow of colors. In fact, I like mine so much I've been wearing it for the entirety of the composition of this blog post and feeling like a matador. Ba da BING!
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