Anne Frank and the Secret Annex

 Goededag!

Many thanks for the expressions of concern.  I've not noticed anything different in the Netherlands because of the atrocity in Norway, but I expect the whole European Union is on heightened alert.  Please don't let these incidents prevent you from traveling!

You will know when you get to the Anne Frank House, because of the line.  Get in it.  Waiting is worth it.

I did not think it would honor Anne if I showed up cranky and jet lagged so I waited.  Today seemed like a good day, since I was moving back to the old neighborhood and the house was on the way.  I got there shortly after the museum opened at nine o’clock and the line was already impressive.  I checked to see if there was a fast lane for those of us with the Museum Karte, but no.  So I got in line while the line grew ever longer behind me.

People need to be psychologically prepared for the line. There’s always going to be one, and it’s always going to be long.  Some tourists show up and frown and complain. One couple went and stood near the entrance and pouted—like that’s going to help.

The restorers did an excellent job.  The place doesn’t look like much from the outside, but after one leaves the introductory film and moves into the downstairs store rooms and offices, the historical environment begins to make sense.  The atmosphere is almost one of reverence, which I found appropriate.  People take the tour in silence for the most part, making only hushed comments to their companions.

One starts up a long steep flight of stairs.  Quotations from the diary and other relevant quotations are on the walls.  There are some videos as well, and an actress reading excerpts from the diary.  There are also filmed interviews with Otto Frank, one of the woman who helped protect the family, and some friends of the girls.  Some of the office furniture and belongings of the Frank family are on exhibit. Another steep flight of stairs and a hallway takes the visitor to the bookcase which concealed the small door is the Secret Annex where the Frank family and their companions hid out in mingled hope and desperation for more than two years.  Their story is one small part of the experience of the Dutch during the occupation—heroic resistance to Nazi bigotry and—alas—fear and betrayal.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in that dark, cramped space day after day, week after week hearing the sounds of real life outside while not being able to share it.  Anne longed for privacy and sunlight, for freedom and the fulfillment of her dream to be a writer.  That last part came true.  I like to think that somehow she knows it.

Two things I found especially moving.  A friend of Anne’s encountered her in the camp.  Anne’s mother and sister had died, and Anne said, “I have no one now.”  The friend finally succeeded in smuggling a bit of food to Anne, but did not see her again.  The friend believed that if Anne had known her father was still alive, she would have found the strength to survive another month to the liberation of the camp.

The other thing I found touching was the account of the other “forgotten” Frank girl, Margot.  When the family moved from Germany she quickly learned Dutch and helped her mother, tried to keep her sister stable, and was a brilliant student who had her Latin lessons smuggled in and out of the Annex.  She also kept a diary, but it did not survive.

Her friends regret the fact that Anne gets all the attention while Margot is forgotten.

When I emerged feeling solemn and thoughtful, I made my way down Princesgracht back to the Jordaan.  It had turned cold and blustery with gray, threatening clouds.  Hmm. I thought. I haven’t taken the ferry across the IJsselmeer yet. I’ll do that! 

So I did.  You can catch the ferry behind the Centraal Station.  Four wheeled traffic takes the tunnel, two wheeled or two legged goes by the free ferry.  It’s a great way to get views of the harbor and to explore a little-visited part of Amsterdam.  There are no “sights” just real people Dutch neighborhoods and some good walking.

Back at my old home in the Jordaan I decided to have a good Dutch meal of beer, gin, haring brodje and frites with mayo.  But the beer I choose was Belgian. Westmalle Tripel is ambrosial.

I’ve also tried jenever or gin.  I tried the young version.  It’s like water flavored alcohol.  I can understand why this would appeal to some folks.  It doesn’t to me.  I’ll probably end up pouring the bottle out.  Sorry, gin lovers.

Dag