In an attempt to forget about finals, packing and Iberia airline strikes which are looming in the coming week, my three friends and I set off for a winter-wonderland adventure in Amsterdam. Without much of an agenda, we wandered along the canals, admired the beautiful waterfront houses and ate famous Dutch pancakes. We also visited the Van Gogh museum, which was interesting because I had just learned about the artist and post-impressionism in my art class (who ever thought I would take an art class?)
My favorite part of the trip was visiting the Anne Frank House. To preface this, my mother loves to tell stories. She has a bank of about 30 stories that are classic pieces of her life that she recycles and tells time and time again. These stories are adventures and eye opening experiences for her, but mostly she just loves to talk to people and these are good conversation pieces. if you know my mother, she’ll talk about her time at Detroit Receiving Hospital, her three months spent in Malawi, her whale watching/ dog sledding adventure, her book of the month, and that one time she left the airport with a stranger during a layover in Amsterdam to visit the Anne Frank house. That being said, I knew that I had to see it, if only to give my mother a new piece to an old story. The Anne Frank house experience was difficult. I had read the book when I was younger, but I very much would like to re-read it after seeing the hiding place. It’s a tragedy, and I feel as though I have a much better grasp on what happened a mere 60 years ago after seeing the house, and experiencing Dachau.
Two days later an we were off on the night train to Copenhagen to finish up our semester of travels.