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Don't Worry, Be Happy 

And so began our trip in Amsterdam; Bobby McFerrin blaring over the loud speakers as the crew announced that it was time to get up.

overnight ferry

Drew, me, and Eric on the ferry

In the end, the ferry was the absolute best way to travel with a group of fourteen.  After the panic of how to get to the docks subsided it was nice to just sit back and enjoy the ride. We went to bed Thursday night in England and woke up early Friday morning in Amsterdam. Once off the ship however, chaos erupted with the realization that no one knew how to get to Amsterdam. All the signs for the train were in Dutch and as we scrambled to figure it out, the locals around us watched in amusement. We got on the train, then off the train, then back on again when we discovered that there is only one train that goes as far out as we were and that we'd have to transfer at some point in order to get to Amsterdam.

Things we should have figured out before we left London:
--What train to take from the ferry to the city
--Where to transfer trains
--The address of the hostel
--How to get to the hostel once at Amsterdam Centraal Station

Panic, relax, chaos, calm. Is there a pattern developing or is it just me?

We ended up at our hostel, Shelter City, just in time for lunch. The hostel was located in between Nieuwmarkt and the Red Light District...we decided to stick with Nieuwmarkt for food. Because our tickets for the Anne Frank House weren't until 5:30, we decided to go to the Heineken Factory after lunch for the 'Heineken Experience'. The tour takes you through the history of the family and company, the ingredients for their beer, and even lets you be apart of the fermentation process. 



Emily helping stir the wheat



A little tipsy from the 'free' beers that are included when you pay 14 pounds for the tour, we wandered from the Heineken Factory to the Anne Frank House where I quickly sobered up.

I knew the story, had seen the movie, had even read excerpts from her diary, but to be in that house, in their hidden apartment was an extremely emotional experience for me. For the first half I could pretend that it was like any other museum, but when I saw that bookcase that led to the secret annex, I couldn't pretend anymore. I had to literally force myself passed the door and up the steps. On the one hand I felt connected to everyone around me as we shared this experience together and collectlivly mourned the past. But at the same, I could feeling myself pulling away from the crowd, not wanting to feel rushed or touristy, all I really wanted to do was sit in the middle of the floor and cry. This was it, this is where they lived, this is where they were taken, this was real.