Spreek je Engels?

Behind the bookcase is a secret door. It leads to the “annex.” The bookcase is like a time warp. I have to duck and almost crawl through the entrance. I am transported back to a time that is not pleasant to remember. Even now, I can feel the weight in the air, almost as if the spirits of the people hiding are still here. If I tread too heavily or speak too loudly, they will be discovered.

The place has been cleaned up; it’s a museum now. The furniture is gone, carried out by the Nazis and sold. The floors are bare, dark wooden planks that creak on every step. Small cutouts from movie magazines cover one wall of Anne’s room, trying desperately to lighten the living. A miniature map hangs high on the living room wall with pushpins marking the progress of the Allied soldiers. In a doorway, small pencil marks reveal how much the young inhabitants of the hideout grew during their time here.

The line moves slowly, quietly, weaving its way through. It’s a line that I joined almost two hours ago, blocks away from the museum.

By the time we get to the end, with Anne’s lonely diary sitting in a shiny glass case, there’s a lump in my throat. A woman next to me has tears in her eyes.

I learn that young Anne Frank wanted to be a writer. She rewrote her diary, editing her entries into a manuscript, adding and deleting. She says in one passage that the first thing she wants to do when her family comes out of hiding is to publish a novel called “The Secret Annex.”

I learn that if it hadn’t been for one of her neighbors, who rescued her diary after her family’s arrest, Anne Frank’s account of her time here would have been lost, thrown out with the furniture. The life of that diary seems so fragile and extremely removed from the glossy, hardcover, deluxe editions sold in the gift shop downstairs.

Katie and I say little to each other in the museum. It wasn’t until we found our way to the exit that we finally spoke.

“Heavy, huh?” she said as she lit a cigarette, dragged it and exhaled quickly.

“Yeah. Very.”

At first, there wasn’t much else to say. We walked along the canals in silence. It wasn’t quite noon and the sun was reflecting off the water. I slid my sunglasses onto my face.

“There was something very personal about the whole thing,” I said finally.

She agreed.

“That small doorway, behind the bookcase, insane,” Katie added, and shook her head.

Before arriving in Amsterdam, I spoke with my father about my upcoming trip. He recalled the very same doorway, behind the very same bookcase, in perfect detail, years after he had been there. Walking past this canal I realize that these images will never leave me. I now share a personal connection with the secret annex.

This all seems to be part of the irony of the city of Amsterdam. On one hand, it’s extremely beautiful, full of crisscrossing canals, amazing architecture and interesting museums. On the other hand, there is the nightlife full of marijuana smoke seeping from coffee shops and prostitutes standing in small outfits under red lights, all of it perfectly legal. It’s the party destination for many, from college backpackers to British businessmen.

We visit the Van Gogh Museum after having a late breakfast along the canal. The museum houses over 200 of Van Gogh’s paintings. They are exhibited in chronological order around the room. I learn of his technical discipline and drive. Though he was not a successful painter, he kept painting and challenging himself. He worked very hard on the paintings that we consider his masterpieces, doing a series of five portraits before even attempting “The Potato Eaters.”

Katie and I spend hours in the museum before heading back to our hotel to get ready to go out for our last night in Amsterdam. It’s been an interesting day. I like what I’ve learned, and I like the city.

On our way out that night, we walk past the Anne Frank house; the line is even longer, stretching almost another full block. I wonder how many people go through daily.

In Paris, Katie joked about staying, just not going back to New York. And though I dismissed it easily at the time, late that night I thought about how exciting doing something like that would be.

“What would we do?” I asked her.

“We’d live,” she said, almost immediately.

And it almost seemed possible.