We slop through Amsterdam. The rain is coming strong. Rain, rain go away come again another day. It’s not like the city needs more water, it has canals a plenty and nearly every road crosses one at some point.
Even in rain, Amsterdam is still charming. It’s busy with trams and buses and cars but mostly bikes. They are chained to every fence, every post, they lie against any spare wall and they’re silent but deadly on the roads, as we’re learning over and over again today.
We started the afternoon with umbrellas held proud and tall, after arriving on the train into the city. But now our umbrellas are in the bin, their mangled wires sticking in the air from the constant wind and rain. And it looks like many other umbrellas failed their owners, as running through the city (to get to shelter) we see umbrellas tattered on the sidewalks and stuffed in bins.
Just before we went into Anne Frank’s hideout home. I couldn’t have left the city without seeing it and trying to imagine her fear and thoughts and movements and fear. The secret annex was dark and tight, and to live there for over three years would have been terrifying. Reading her words on the walls of the exhibit made me think with what beauty and honesty she wrote. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the fear of living in those dark days.