In the Amsterdam museum I was feeling bad, and looking for a way not to feel so sad

August 5, 2010

With only one full day left in Amsterdam I decided to be productive. At least so far as touristy activities go.

Again, I woke to rain.

Again, I had a mediocre breakfast, surrounded by mediocre people. There was a girl at the next table reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral, which I remember really liking, so maybe she wasn't totally mediocre, but maybe she was. I wouldn't know because I didn't really talk to her at all.

One of the best things about the Hotel Nadia is that it is located extremely close, even walkable by Los Angeles standards, to the Anne Frank House. When I visited Amsterdam in 2002, I decided not to visit the AFH, as I had the believe that 1) my time was limited, 2) I did not need to be reminded of the horrors of the Holocaust, 3) it seemed unseemly to be peering in at this little girl's life, and enjoying it in a vacationy context when she met such a bad end in the way she did. But in the following 8 years, I couldn't mention my visit to Amsterdam without being asked "did you go to the Anne Frank House?" And I'd have to give my explanation, which I always thought made me sound sort of callous and jerky. So I went this time. Waited in line for at least an hour (booked a place to stay in the Frisian Islands over the weekend), paid the 8.50 euros to get in, and walked through virtually empty room after virtually empty room, Anne Frank relics tacked up on the walls or in glass containers -- prayer books, newspaper cutouts, maps, photographs -- and large quotes from her diary on the walls. Most of the rooms also featured a 1-3 minute video interview with someone close to the Frank family.

I suppose I am more easily affected by these types of things than I let on to myself, as at several points I had to use some effort to avoid getting teary eyed in front of the other tourists. I don't need to explain why it is such a sad story.

Hotel Nadia didn't have a room for me Thursday night, so I had made reservations to stay that night at the Stayokay Hostel in central Amsterdam -- it was at this time that I transported my bags to the new hostel and checked in. In a word, it was a boring hostel. No bar (typically makes it easier to meet people). Most everybody super young (except for the group of super drunk Northern English guys and one of thems's father down fora bachelor party). Not a lot of energy, nor traffic. I left quickly.

And took a tram to the Museumplein. Grabbed a mediocre and overpriced omelette at a nearby cafe, and walked to the Stedelijk museum, which I had remembered being my favorite when I visited Amsterdam in 2002. It was closed for renovation until September or so. I walked next door to the Van Gogh Museum, as I had remembered really liking that too. Line way too long.

Walked to the Rijksmuseum, which I had also remembered liking. Big portion of it closed, and long line, but I decided this was good enough. I waited for about another hour, read some of Infinite Jest (this book is not easy for me to get through, although at times it actually is pretty funny). The portion of the colleciton that remained concerned the Dutch Golden Age, and I was happy with this -- The Night Watch, still lifes with bug covered fruit, pastoral landscapes, Rembrandt with a turban, Jan Steen households, Vermeer's Milkmaid, old guns and sabers, and a bunch of old fancy Deltware. Nice!

Wandered to Vondelpark, bought a bottle of sparkling water (don't want to get dehydrated again like last time in Amsterdam!) and sat in the park for about half an hour.

Walked to Sampurna for Indonesian food (which made me sick last time I was in Amsterdam). But this time I loved Indonesian food! It was spicy, it was sweet, it was delicious, and I was full!

After this, I walked back to the hostel to charge my phone (I use a lot of charge these days, texting, facebook, looking up directions, wikipedia, when I'm walking around). I sat for a while, reading, then spoke for a while to this girl from Germany/Alabama/Utah, she was shocked that I hadn't seen the red light district on this trip, we walked down there, I saw a prostitute run out of her window to scream profanities at some guy who had also just left. Chit chatted for an hour or so more, commented on the fact that our hostel was kind of boring, said goodbye and returned to my room of 15 people to sleep on the top bunk, with no sheets on the bed because the room was dark, and I was tired, and I didn't feel like putting them on.

Jonathan Richman -- Vincent Van Gogh