Anne Frank; Her Hideout, Her Diary

Ever since I read Anne Frank's Diary, which wasn't until very long ago, I've been besotted by her and her overwhelming life experience. Even as a kid, I'd heard a tremendous lot about her diary and I'd always wanted to read it. Quite strangely, it wasn't until just a few years back that I managed to lay my hands on a copy. Once I'd read it cover to cover, all I wanted to do was visit the house in which she and her family had remained hidden for such a long period of time. My trip to Amsterdam was quite a long awaited one, for this very purpose.

When we reached the site, we could see a long, serpentine queue of people waiting to get into the house. The weather was lovely and playing charades and answering a survey conducted by one of the locals, made the waiting time seem pretty short. To the serpent's credit, although it winded its way right from the entrance door all the way to the next perpendicular street and beyond, it did move pretty swiftly.

The house itself was quite an experience. People familiar with the story will find themselves moved beyond words upon entering the various rooms that the inhabitants had occupied, not so very long ago! Anne's room, in particular, so reflects the girl we've come to know through the diary; so reminiscent of the lively little girl that she was. The walls of her room still have bits and pieces of the posters and drawings that she'd adorned them with, so as to alleviate, at least by a slight measure, the boredom and barrenness of the place.

Although a large portion of the house was destroyed, most of it has been recreated with the help of the recollections of Frank, Anne's father. The movable bookshelf, the secret annexe, all the things that the readers of this dairy will be very familiar with, are there to be revered and marvelled upon. There are also numerous videos, pictures and plaques that tell the story of Anne and her family and friends.

The original diary is also on display. Seeing Anne's own handwriting made me only rueful that I couldn't read her thoughts and feelings in their original language; the language in which she thought and felt them.