Roxanne (Amsterdam day 4)

Good morning, dear reader. We are still here in Amsterdam and we have a few more days before we leave for home. It is an easy city to like and enjoy, except for the cyclists, they are demons. Maybe not all of them, but the majority.

The weather turned last night, so today was grey and significantly colder than yesterday. When you're walking the city, however, 22° is a much better option than 31°, even if you sacrifice a little colour in the photos. Despite the proliferation of puffy jackets this morning, we were attired as usual. 

We braved the crossings, watching out for kamikaze cyclists and made our way to the croissanterie where we had breakfast yesterday. And in an absolute show of imagination, ordered exactly the same food and coffee. When you're on a good thing ...

The walk to Anne Frank House was unremarkable. It was punctuated by ringwraiths on bicycles, road works, scaffolding, cars/trucks parked on the footpath, more people than than the footpath could handle - nothing unusual. We arrived early, also not unusual, and parked ourselves on a nearby bench until the appointed time came to join the queue for our English speaking tour. We were the only Australians amongst the 36 or so in the group.

A statue of Anne Frank not far from the famed annexe.

We were ushered inside where we paid the price for not lining up early and couldn't sit together. The Americans to my left who'd left one seat vacant were thrilled to have me sit next to them and immediately shifted their seats to right. Tempted as I was to cough and splutter in their direction, I refrained.

The guy giving the introductory talk was Dutch and found his way into this career because he attended the same school as Anne Frank, albeit many years apart. His 30 minute talk provided a potted history of the museum as well as the Anne Frank story and a very broad brush cover of the rise of Hitler and the Second World War. Unsurprisingly, it was delivered for a specific purpose which became evident when he asserted Hitler's sweep across Europe was solely to rid the world of Jews. My studies at university would suggest there were other plausible interpretations.

The view of the annexe form the briefing room.

After the talk, we joined the slow moving throng of people climbing up through the 'secret annexe' itself. Any possibility of social distancing evaporated as the heat rose and the crush of bodies became more intense. If ever I was going to get 'the corona', as it is called over here, it would be today. Masks were superfluous. As the heat intensified and the oxygen thinned, my mind wandered back to the Sistine Chapel and the unsatisfactory experience we endured there one summer. Jayne was on a similar wavelength and, as we stalled, just beyond a set of ladder-like steps she whispered, "What happens if you're claustrophobic?"

That question was answered a few minutes later as a woman was escorted into a vacant space by one of the guides. Once she had re-oxygenated her body and calmed a little, she was escorted past the patiently waiting crowd. It wouldn't have been a good place for a panic attack.

It is difficult to describe the annexe, not because it was unfurnished, just as as Otto Frank found it on returning from Auschwitz - the only surviving member of his immediate family. Moreso because of the emotion sewn into the experience. It is still hard to understand how people could stand by and watch their friends and neighbours persecuted. It is even more problematic to comprehend when you know the parliament of the nation enacted laws to enshrine such barbaric treatment. I know, dear reader, that this moment in time can't be looked at, out of its historic context (only religion must not be considered in context, otherwise...) but, but ... to paraphrase John Stuart Mill, bad things happen when good people do nothing. Or as Australian, David Morrison said, "The standard you walk past is the standard you accept".

Out of respect for the space and also, no doubt, as a logistical decision, no photos were allowed. (Although given the lack of appreciation for the solemnity of other memorials, one can only imagine what would have occurred here if cameras were permitted). Suffice to say it is difficult to imagine having to co-exist with 7 other people, in such dark and cramped conditions for years, with no opportunity to go outside or make any noise throughout the daylight hours. 

The annexe is generally in its original condition, from the bookcase that hid its entrance, to the kitchen and bathroom fittings, down to the pencil marks on the wall paper that the Frank parents made each year to record the growth of their two daughters.

The sobering thought was ever present, throughout the tour, that this unthinkable hardship was preferable to the fate that befell the Frank family and the others in hiding, once they were betrayed and arrested in August 1944.

It was a relief to be able to go outside into the daylight and fresh air after being in the grim, dark tightness of the house - and we were only in there for two hours!

From the austerity of the annexe we walked to the understated opulence of the Royal Palace. I say understated because of the excess we saw in the places of worship, and parliament, in Hungary. We had booked online and yet still had to join the queue of people purchasing tickets to have our QR coded passes scanned. Not terribly efficient. Mind you, as part of the booking, we had been required to select an entry time slot of 1pm, however, when we inquired about our early arrival, we were waved through to the line which was not long and we were soon hooked up with our audio guide and moving upstairs.

The back of the Palace

The front of the Palace - it needs a good scrub.

The Palace is closed when it is being used for official purposes, but the King and Queen are elsewhere at present. Like most Europeans, the summer turns them nomadic. Anyway, the palace is, well, palatial, as one might expect. Rooms and furnishings date back to the days of Louis Bonaparte and the first king, Willem in the early 1800s.

Who doesn't love a good chandelier?

Atlas in the citizen's hall. Too much?

This is till used on formal occasions.

Biblical paintings of biblical proportions.

There are many stories to be told around the palace and the people that lived there, but it was the downstairs space, the Chamber of Justice, that mesmerised us. This was for two reasons. One: it was an echo chamber. All stone and statues with impossibly high ceilings. When we entered there were twins in a pram enjoying the echo effect, trying to capture the attention of their disinterested parents. It was ear splitting. Two: it was the chamber where 'justice' was dispensed. The audio guide described the fate of one woman who was tried for the murder of her landlady. She was found guilty by the 'wise' tribunal and sentenced to death by strangulation. This occurred on the verandah outside of the chamber in full view of the public. Her body and the murder weapon, an axe, were then displayed as a lesson to all who passed the area.

The relief on the wall depicted scenes of the wise dispensing justice to those brought before them.

Look closely. Killing babies is always a 'wise' thing.

From the Palace, we walked to the red light district. And obviously today's title, Roxanne, by The Police. Classic stuff from 1979.

We were certainly hitting all the heights today. Aside from the sex shops and their amusing window displays of 'marital aids' as they were once called, the area was underwhelming. There were more windows for rent than those that were occupied. I know it was the afternoon but you are allowed to have sex in the afternoon, I did once, so I thought there may have been more action.

Mind you, I saw more than Jayne, who kept saying she could not see any ladies on display at all - the windows through which the ladies advertise themselves are tinted and Jayne was wearing polarised sunglasses... like her, you will have to use your imagination about this - it is illegal to take any photos in the red light district.

The day was wearing on so it was time to have a beer and look back on where we had been and what we had seen and done. In other words, it was beer o'clock. Café Luxembourg, in the Spui district, looked the ticket. They had an annexe (no, not that sort) on an island pavement across the road from the main establishment so we took up residence there and enjoyed a couple of local Pilsners and watched cyclists trying to kill pedestrians.

A quick trip to the hotel to drop our gear and refresh before dinner found us wandering the restaurant lined streets on the other side of the canal. We've attempted to eat local cuisine a couple of times but the restaurants are uncrowded, not a good sign, and I feel you need to be with someone who knows the food. 

So after wandering the eat streets for a while, we settled on true Dutch cuisine and went Italian. Seriously, there are more Italian restaurants here than in Rome. Ristorante Peppino was where we settled and what an excellent choice. Light fluffy arancini, tasty bruschetta, superb risotto with generous helpings of seafood and pizza, mmmmm, pizza. And a bottle of Italian Sangiovese. It was the best. I'm not sure we have time to get back there on this trip, but if we do ...

Then of course it was home to blog.

Until tomorrow.