Hull, England–In England, or at least at Hull University, some departments have “reading weeks,” which means there are no classes, but you’re supposed to start working on essays and other various assignments. Last week was reading week for the philosophy department, meaning that I had no classes on Friday. So, instead of sticking around Hull for a long weekend, I went on holiday to Amsterdam.
I left Thursday morning around 11:30 a.m. to catch a train to Manchester Airport, which is about a two and a half hour ride, landing at around 7 p.m. The orange glows of the city lights were amazing, and that was only the beginning of the beauty of this awesome city.
From Schipol (Shh-kip-ol) Airport, I took a train to Centraal Station, from which I walked to my hostel, called Bob’s Youth Hostel. A friend of mine from WC recommended it. I walked in and was totally blown away. I imagined it being more hotel-like, but it was more like the I-House. That “never met a girl like you before” song was playing when I walked in, which I admit was fulfilling, and I was immediately punched in the face with the odor of marijuana, which didn’t exactly bother me.
I booked my room for the weekend, unpacked my stuff, and oriented myself with the city. I walk up to the local supermarket, Albert Heijns, and grabbed some grub. My intention was to take a self-guided tour of the Red Light District that night, but I didn’t have time to print the brochure. So, I just got a map from the hostel, and walked around looking at the sights.
The next day, I first headed to the Torture Museum. It’s in an old, creaky, dark, stone-walled building and features red and blue “mood” lighting. It features actual torture objects used in medieval times; and by the Spanish Inquisition to convert Jews and non-Christians.
My personal favorites included the grill, in which some unfortunate person is strapped to a searing hot metal “bed,” or basically a grill, and then has cold water poured on him, purifying the spirit, and the heretic fork, which is a metal rod attached to a metal “necklace,” with two sharp prongs on each end. One is tucked under the chin, while other rests on the soft spot of neck, where your windpipe is. The creepy atmosphere is quite exhilarating actually. I made my way through the museum, doing the tourist thing and taking a ton of pictures, and then found something to eat.
Next came the Anne Frank house, which is just about the saddest place I’ve ever been. The house is now a museum; the tour starts on the bottom floor, and takes one throughout every room, and explains what the function was and important events that happened, etc. The front of the house served as her father, Otto’s, office. The family had two businesses: one which sold Opektaa jam, and another, Pectacon, later called Gies and Co., which made seasonings for meat. Her father didn’t own or operate the company publically, because Jews were not allowed to own businesses, but used the names of friends or office workers, who also supported them by bringing them food and supplies.
In the back was the secret annex. Eight people, the Franks as well as four others, lived in hiding there for two years. It was accessible only by a moveable bookshelf. The museum featured a 3-D model of the house, with furnishings from the time when the Franks and their friends lived there. The eight lived in isolation, a frequent theme in Anne’s diary, until they were betrayed and sent to concentration camps. All their furniture was removed by the Nazis which is why the museum is empty today. All that is left is toilets, sinks, and clips hung on the wall by Anne from a film magazine a friend brought to her regularly. Anne kept a diary the entire time, and it was her father’s wish that it be published, and the museum to remain unfurnished.
Next, to continue on the theme of incredibly unique and sad lives, I went to the Van Gogh museum, which is probably my new favorite place. I love Vincent Van Gogh, and it was an almost indescribable thrill to see his art in its original form, to see just how thick the paint is, how bright the sunflowers are, and how this man lived. As luck would have it, there was also an exhibition of the letters he wrote to his family and artist friends, including his brother Theo, who supported his career as an artist.
Van Gogh actually started out painting incredibly dark and grey scenes of peasant life, but later, after living in Paris and finding no success as an artist, he converted to painting more like the impressionists in vibrant colors. He moved to the French countryside alone, as he had often lived, and continued to paint. He plunged in and out of deep depression his entire life, suffering from fits of rage and hallucinations. After the incident in which he cut off a part of his own ear, he committed himself to a hospital.
He resumed painting during his stay, and his paintings clearly convey confusion, uncertainty, sadness, and loneliness. In none of the portraits, self or other, do the figures look happy, content, or bright. They always show some uneasy disturbance. After about a year, Van Gogh returned to the countryside. Two months later, he shot himself in the chest, and died two days later.
My plan for the evening was to go to the Red Light District, but I was informed by an incredibly attractive guest at the hostel that it was dangerous, so I stayed in, and figured I could go in the morning before I left. I stayed in a flirted the majority of the night. Sunday I went and got some pancakes, walked around the city one last time, though I didn’t make it to Red Light, and then headed back to England, feeling refreshed, ready to work on my many assignments, and confident. What a great holiday.
Overall, I say if any of your culture vultures is looking for a good vacation spot. Amsterdam is an incredibly enriching place to be. And the pot isn’t bad either.
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