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Brian and I arrived in Amsterdam Monday afternoon. We really lucked out with our hotel—it was just a few minutes’ walk from the train station and actually very nice. We bid on Priceline for all our hotels, so we’ll see how the next three turn out.
Even though it’s just a three hour train ride from Paris, there are immediate and definite differences between the two cities. Of course the architecture of the buildings is totally different, and Amsterdam is built on water so there are canals running throughout the city. The general vibe of Amsterdam is more laid back and less pretentious. The dress is way more laid back too; a lot of flat billed hats and kind of a west coast skater look going on. Also, there are a lot more people with piercings and the whole grunge and/or goth look. I wouldn’t have fit in wearing a t-shirt in Paris, but I did here.
Also, everyone in Amsterdam speaks English. The first day in Amsterdam, I reflexively said “bonjour” and “merci.” I did get spoken to in Danish a few times. Perhaps I look more Dutch than I do French?
There are bicycles everywhere in Amsterdam. I knew that bikes were big, but I guess I didn’t realize how much so. The streets and sidewalks are built for bicyclists, not pedestrians. There are bike lanes next to every sidewalk, but a lot of times there are cars parked on the sidewalks or the sidewalks end so you’re forced to walk in the bike path, where there is imminent danger of getting run over by a bicyclist. In Amsterdam (and also in Paris), no one wears helmets. Also, a lot of people have little child seats on the back of their bike. I remember riding in one of those when I was a kid, but I doubt now with all the safety laws that they’re still allowed in the States.
We spent a lot of our time just walking around the old centre. The city center is a lot smaller than I expected, and we had no problem navigating through it (although I had a harder time pronouncing the names of streets than I did in Paris; they all looked something like “Kartensravetstraat” to me).
Two days in Amsterdam was plenty of time for us to see the sites. The first evening we went to the Ann Frank house and on Tuesday we went to the Van Gogh museum and the Heineken brewery. We bought tickets for everything online, which if you ever make this trip is definitely the way to go—we walked right in to all three rather than standing in hour-long lines.
Of the three, the Ann Frank house was my favorite. It was very interesting to see where they lived in hiding and the actual pictures Ann had pasted to her walls. The “Secret Annex” where the Franks hid was a lot larger than I thought it would be; I guess in my head I pictured them stooped over in tiny rooms. Also, the outside of the building and the rooms other than the Secret Annex are a modern design of brushed steel and white. I don’t know if they did this because they thought it would attract more visitors, but I think it would be more fitting to have the rest of the building in the style that it originally was. I haven’t read Ann Frank’s diary since middle school, but the visit has inspired me to read it again when I get home.
My mom recently told me that my great-Uncle Geno helped liberate concentration camps when he fought in WWII. It came up because she was showing me a pair of amethyst earrings in her jewelry box, and she explained that they were a present from one of the concentration camp survivors. One of the men that my Uncle Geno had helped liberate had asked my Uncle Geno for his information because he said he wanted to send him a thank you. Sometime later, he wrote to my Uncle Geno and sent the earrings as a present for his wife. I wish I had known about this when he was alive so I could have asked him about it, but my mom said that, understandably, he didn’t like to talk about it.
Monday night Brian and I went to a restaurant where we had cheese fondue (I have definitely eaten a lot worse in Amsterdam than I did in Paris). There was an American woman a few tables away that was SO LOUD. We heard her tell the people at her table all about how she has a farm and they can come visit, and her horse is white but they ground is clay so it looks like she has a pink horse, blah blah blah. Brian and I were tempted to tell her “please quiet down, you’re perpetuating the stereotype about Americans.” [Note: Brian, the Virginia Tech alum, wants me to add that “worst of all, she was from Charlottesville, VA.”] There were two young Dutch couples at the table next to us (which I didn’t think were too quiet themselves), and sure enough one of them started talking about how all Americans are so loud. I gave her a sideways glance and she qualified her statement with “well, not all Americans.”
It’s now Wednesday afternoon and Brian and I are waiting at the airport for our flight to Milan. The Amsterdam airport is amazing. We were the only people going through security. Everything is so clean and we have comfy couches with outlets nearby. O’Hare needs to take note.
Update: While I recommend the Amsterdam airport, Easy Jet—not so much. It’s one of those discount airlines that doesn’t assign you a seat. Brian and I made sure that we were there plenty early so we could sit together, but they just heard you into a holding area like cattle. When they open the door to let you outside, everyone makes a mad dash to one of the two staircases up to the plane. Brian and I opted for the staircase at the back of the plane, and people literally sprinted by to get in front of us.
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