Backpacker Diaries:Amsterdam
Amsterdam
On the train just approaching Rotterdam I notice there is constant walls of graffiti, I see one saying ‘go home’, it made me giggle. From the train in Rotterdam there looked to be an abundance of counsel flats, didn’t look very nice at all.
Having spent 6 hours on a train, suffering from a cold and having to wake up to pack at 6am, being stuck next to some crazy black man and his wigga/south american friend, I stepped out of Amsterdam station into the pissing down rain and thought ‘ugh, why did I bother’.
I had noticed an information desk within the station so went back in to check distances, I stood in the queue and noticed he was the quickest information geezer ever, people had 10 seconds and then it was next, oh dear, it came to be the pressure was on, I asked 2 questions, his response 16 and 17. I didn’t dare ask him 16 and 17 what so I went in search for the other tourist office that was marked on my map.
Approcahing the tourist office I see A LOT of people stood outside, not a good sign I think. On enterring and finding the information part from the café, restaurant and shop I see a ticket machine and take my ticket T681, I was fine with that until I realised that it was on to number T630. UGH, again I think ‘why did I bother‘. You see, I’ve never been particularly inspired to go to Amsterdam. There was only one thing in particular I wanted to see-Anne Frank House, I start to wonder ig it was woth over 100 euros for accom and travel. I perhaps only stayed in line as I encountered 2 very gorgeous Austrailian businessmen. Luckily : ) A woman, number TS61, gave me her ticket. Thank you lol.
The information woman was more helpful that the guy at the train station and told me to head west, which is the best thing I could do considering I later find that my map is pretty wank.
So Amsterdam then, firstly, I am not kidding at all when I say that everywhere smells of weed-it does! I quite like the bizarre Jamaican stoner atmosphere, but it isn’t that welcoming. ‘coffee shops’ primarily full of groups of men, you open the door and after getting stared at you get wolf whistles. Why did I wear a dress!! I didn’t venture inside. It would be great if you were in a group I think.
I made me way to Anne Frank house, West… It was quite a long walk. When eventually arrived there I saw a queue of litterally hundreds, it was still pouring down, I find the end of the queue, which ran blocks away from the actual house and join it. Some random girl came upto me and asked if I spoke English, on saying yes, she asked if I minded her filming me and asking me questions as it was for her art history course. I agreed. I was glad as I agreed as it just seemed like a random chat with a video camera being in my face and helped passed the time to near the front of the queue. I seen a sign stating that if your bag was big you couldn’t take it inside and would have to take it to your hotel or buy a locker at central station. FFS. If they didn’t let me in they would have had an argument on their hands.
I’m not sure I felt anything inside the museum, that was until I seen the secret doorway behind the bookcase and enterred. It was more of a ’home’ than I imagined. I think I expected more of a squat, smaller, less equipped, however I’m sure living there for 2 years, tiptoeing around, living off rations, fearing for your life, not being able to go outside, must be suffocating and frustrating, I can’t imagine.
I’m surprised the Germans weren’t wise to the whike cunk of house that had been cut off.
It showed photographs from Bergen-Belson and Auschwitz of the family members there, Margot (?) was beautiful.
It showed video footage filmed by the army who liberated the camps and it sickened me to the point where I could barely watch, but I had to watch it twice.
It showed a video of the dad, ‘Otto’ (?) who’d survived, whom, considering he’d lost his entire family, seemed quite okay. He said he was surprised that his daughter had ‘deep, intelligent’ thoughts. He said the diary portrayed a different Anne to the girl he knew as his daughter, but then she would not necessarily communicate her feelings to him, only thoughts.
There was a lot of moving video footage.
The woman who’d worked with Otto and helped with the secret house, read a letter to Otto from a nurse who worked at Bergen-Belson, delivering the news of the loss of his family. She says she then stood up, reached into her drawer and handed him Annes Diaries and said ‘This is your daughter Anne’s legacy.
A woman who had survived the camp and had previously known Anne had heard her shout her name, between barbed wire fences they communicated, Anne had said to her ‘I’ve got noone’. She says she wishes that she could have told her that her father was alive to give her hope and something to live for, as she died only a month before the liberation.
There was a huge book listsing only some of the names of jews who had died in the camps, It was turned onto the page where you could identify the ‘Frank’ family.
I felt that maybe, although they were mentioned, the other people who lived in the secret house and the people who has helped them while they were in there weren’t mentioned enough.
There was a quote that moved me and I hate to misquote it, but it was from another surviver of a death camp, it said something along the lines “I don’t know why people concentrate so much on one little girls experience while thousand of other people who sufferer’s faces lie only in the shadows. I think it might be a good thing because if emphasis was placed on to all that had suffered, I’m not sure people could live with knowing that degree of suffering”
I got asked within the Museum to speak on video a ‘diary’ type entry about my feelings on the matter, I didn’t want to.
I wandered the streets with a girl I’d met who was from Brazil, she designed surf clothing for a living for a magazine. She asked me what I thought of Amsterdam, I said that I was disappointed, she agreed and wished she’d skipped it and stayed in London for longer. I think that unless your in a group, and wanna sit round getting stoned and pissed all day, which appeals to me, I may return with friends ha, OR, if there are specific museums you would like to see, OR if you are quite happy to walk about looking at nothing in particular Amsterdam is fine. But after seeing cannel after cannel after cannel, the novelty wears off and everything starts to look the same and I stopped taking photographs.
I got a taxi to my hostel at the point where it was getting dark and the streets were empty of women and there were only men as it was still raining and even thought I knew what road my hotel was on, it ran for miles and I didn’t know at which point it was on.
When I first entered my hotel I thought ‘oh dear’ as it looked like a right shit hole, but the further you got inside, it wasn’t too bad at all. My room was a mixed sex room with 16 beds. I feel that then the 50 euro I paid to stay here was extortionate but everywhere else was fully booked. This was less secure than the Brussels hostel as anybody could walk in from the outside; I put a lot of faith in the receptionist!
I had to suffer Bjork from an Austrian woman, which made me sure she was a serial killer (sorry Bjork fans). She actually turned out to be pretty nice, she worked for horses rights, lol, and I chose to sleep in the bed next to hers, she even charged my ipod up for me on her laptop and gave me an Amsterdam magazine.
I noticed something that I found funny, the language that everybody uses to communictae to the masses in hostels is English. The Austrian women informed a random man that was staying in out room that the tv remote didn’t work and that e’s have to use the buttons on the tv. He said ‘Sorry, I only speak german’ and they start chatting away in German, I find it odd that they have no idea from their own accent.
I left Amsterdam several hours before I was due to, full of flue and stuck where to go and what to see, I was debating whether to venture to Rotterdam, I decided not to when they placed a warning on the train over the tannoy that to be alert and careful as there are pick pockets in the station. I decide to pass on Rotterdam and too Atomium in Brussels and instead just head home, nurse my cold and catch up on prison break. I think I made the right choice.
The train stopped for ages in Antwerp after informing us there were pickpockets on the train and to be alert and careful. If you feel unsafe in England, come to Europe then return to England haha.
Danger in Amsterdam is played upon I think. I can see why It could be dangerous, thousands of alley like streets , and tbh at times I was a bit conscious, but I think too conscious and it’s probably just a matter of getting used to the people there, I was stalked in Bastogne, flashed in Brussels, nothing happened to me in Amsterdam.
If I can get hold of Tiesto tickets for the 4th of November, I may return to Amsterdam, and this time do a ‘pizza cruise’ (don’t you love it), a visit to an ‘ice bar’, the Heineken museum and also a tour of red light district. It’s just all so expensive.
I’ll leave on a note of humour.
2 things that made me laugh.
In Holland it is ‘midget golf’ not ‘minature’, so children can’t play, only midgets? Haha wtf.
And also I found humorous how blunt everything is 50 euro, oral sex and intercourse!.
Oral sex and intercourse, surely there is no better note to leave on!
On the train just approaching Rotterdam I notice there is constant walls of graffiti, I see one saying ‘go home’, it made me giggle. From the train in Rotterdam there looked to be an abundance of counsel flats, didn’t look very nice at all.
Having spent 6 hours on a train, suffering from a cold and having to wake up to pack at 6am, being stuck next to some crazy black man and his wigga/south american friend, I stepped out of Amsterdam station into the pissing down rain and thought ‘ugh, why did I bother’.
I had noticed an information desk within the station so went back in to check distances, I stood in the queue and noticed he was the quickest information geezer ever, people had 10 seconds and then it was next, oh dear, it came to be the pressure was on, I asked 2 questions, his response 16 and 17. I didn’t dare ask him 16 and 17 what so I went in search for the other tourist office that was marked on my map.
Approcahing the tourist office I see A LOT of people stood outside, not a good sign I think. On enterring and finding the information part from the café, restaurant and shop I see a ticket machine and take my ticket T681, I was fine with that until I realised that it was on to number T630. UGH, again I think ‘why did I bother‘. You see, I’ve never been particularly inspired to go to Amsterdam. There was only one thing in particular I wanted to see-Anne Frank House, I start to wonder ig it was woth over 100 euros for accom and travel. I perhaps only stayed in line as I encountered 2 very gorgeous Austrailian businessmen. Luckily : ) A woman, number TS61, gave me her ticket. Thank you lol.
The information woman was more helpful that the guy at the train station and told me to head west, which is the best thing I could do considering I later find that my map is pretty wank.
So Amsterdam then, firstly, I am not kidding at all when I say that everywhere smells of weed-it does! I quite like the bizarre Jamaican stoner atmosphere, but it isn’t that welcoming. ‘coffee shops’ primarily full of groups of men, you open the door and after getting stared at you get wolf whistles. Why did I wear a dress!! I didn’t venture inside. It would be great if you were in a group I think.
I made me way to Anne Frank house, West… It was quite a long walk. When eventually arrived there I saw a queue of litterally hundreds, it was still pouring down, I find the end of the queue, which ran blocks away from the actual house and join it. Some random girl came upto me and asked if I spoke English, on saying yes, she asked if I minded her filming me and asking me questions as it was for her art history course. I agreed. I was glad as I agreed as it just seemed like a random chat with a video camera being in my face and helped passed the time to near the front of the queue. I seen a sign stating that if your bag was big you couldn’t take it inside and would have to take it to your hotel or buy a locker at central station. FFS. If they didn’t let me in they would have had an argument on their hands.
I’m not sure I felt anything inside the museum, that was until I seen the secret doorway behind the bookcase and enterred. It was more of a ’home’ than I imagined. I think I expected more of a squat, smaller, less equipped, however I’m sure living there for 2 years, tiptoeing around, living off rations, fearing for your life, not being able to go outside, must be suffocating and frustrating, I can’t imagine.
I’m surprised the Germans weren’t wise to the whike cunk of house that had been cut off.
It showed photographs from Bergen-Belson and Auschwitz of the family members there, Margot (?) was beautiful.
It showed video footage filmed by the army who liberated the camps and it sickened me to the point where I could barely watch, but I had to watch it twice.
It showed a video of the dad, ‘Otto’ (?) who’d survived, whom, considering he’d lost his entire family, seemed quite okay. He said he was surprised that his daughter had ‘deep, intelligent’ thoughts. He said the diary portrayed a different Anne to the girl he knew as his daughter, but then she would not necessarily communicate her feelings to him, only thoughts.
There was a lot of moving video footage.
The woman who’d worked with Otto and helped with the secret house, read a letter to Otto from a nurse who worked at Bergen-Belson, delivering the news of the loss of his family. She says she then stood up, reached into her drawer and handed him Annes Diaries and said ‘This is your daughter Anne’s legacy.
A woman who had survived the camp and had previously known Anne had heard her shout her name, between barbed wire fences they communicated, Anne had said to her ‘I’ve got noone’. She says she wishes that she could have told her that her father was alive to give her hope and something to live for, as she died only a month before the liberation.
There was a huge book listsing only some of the names of jews who had died in the camps, It was turned onto the page where you could identify the ‘Frank’ family.
I felt that maybe, although they were mentioned, the other people who lived in the secret house and the people who has helped them while they were in there weren’t mentioned enough.
There was a quote that moved me and I hate to misquote it, but it was from another surviver of a death camp, it said something along the lines “I don’t know why people concentrate so much on one little girls experience while thousand of other people who sufferer’s faces lie only in the shadows. I think it might be a good thing because if emphasis was placed on to all that had suffered, I’m not sure people could live with knowing that degree of suffering”
I got asked within the Museum to speak on video a ‘diary’ type entry about my feelings on the matter, I didn’t want to.
I wandered the streets with a girl I’d met who was from Brazil, she designed surf clothing for a living for a magazine. She asked me what I thought of Amsterdam, I said that I was disappointed, she agreed and wished she’d skipped it and stayed in London for longer. I think that unless your in a group, and wanna sit round getting stoned and pissed all day, which appeals to me, I may return with friends ha, OR, if there are specific museums you would like to see, OR if you are quite happy to walk about looking at nothing in particular Amsterdam is fine. But after seeing cannel after cannel after cannel, the novelty wears off and everything starts to look the same and I stopped taking photographs.
I got a taxi to my hostel at the point where it was getting dark and the streets were empty of women and there were only men as it was still raining and even thought I knew what road my hotel was on, it ran for miles and I didn’t know at which point it was on.
When I first entered my hotel I thought ‘oh dear’ as it looked like a right shit hole, but the further you got inside, it wasn’t too bad at all. My room was a mixed sex room with 16 beds. I feel that then the 50 euro I paid to stay here was extortionate but everywhere else was fully booked. This was less secure than the Brussels hostel as anybody could walk in from the outside; I put a lot of faith in the receptionist!
I had to suffer Bjork from an Austrian woman, which made me sure she was a serial killer (sorry Bjork fans). She actually turned out to be pretty nice, she worked for horses rights, lol, and I chose to sleep in the bed next to hers, she even charged my ipod up for me on her laptop and gave me an Amsterdam magazine.
I noticed something that I found funny, the language that everybody uses to communictae to the masses in hostels is English. The Austrian women informed a random man that was staying in out room that the tv remote didn’t work and that e’s have to use the buttons on the tv. He said ‘Sorry, I only speak german’ and they start chatting away in German, I find it odd that they have no idea from their own accent.
I left Amsterdam several hours before I was due to, full of flue and stuck where to go and what to see, I was debating whether to venture to Rotterdam, I decided not to when they placed a warning on the train over the tannoy that to be alert and careful as there are pick pockets in the station. I decide to pass on Rotterdam and too Atomium in Brussels and instead just head home, nurse my cold and catch up on prison break. I think I made the right choice.
The train stopped for ages in Antwerp after informing us there were pickpockets on the train and to be alert and careful. If you feel unsafe in England, come to Europe then return to England haha.
Danger in Amsterdam is played upon I think. I can see why It could be dangerous, thousands of alley like streets , and tbh at times I was a bit conscious, but I think too conscious and it’s probably just a matter of getting used to the people there, I was stalked in Bastogne, flashed in Brussels, nothing happened to me in Amsterdam.
If I can get hold of Tiesto tickets for the 4th of November, I may return to Amsterdam, and this time do a ‘pizza cruise’ (don’t you love it), a visit to an ‘ice bar’, the Heineken museum and also a tour of red light district. It’s just all so expensive.
I’ll leave on a note of humour.
2 things that made me laugh.
In Holland it is ‘midget golf’ not ‘minature’, so children can’t play, only midgets? Haha wtf.
And also I found humorous how blunt everything is 50 euro, oral sex and intercourse!.
Oral sex and intercourse, surely there is no better note to leave on!