I haven't written in a while about my non-dental adventures, so for those of you who aren't partial to the ins and outs of teeth, here's a post for you. This weekend I went to Amsterdam and Bruges, and it was a wonderful excursion. We left London at 6 AM, after having gotten no sleep the night before. Why did I get no sleep? Because we went to the Harry Potter midnight premier of course! Though I'm not an avid HP fan, I have been to nearly every midnight premier and midnight book party (thanks to my brothers-both big HP fans since the beginning), so I couldn't miss the last and final premier, especially when I was in the motherland itself-England. We began queuing around 10:30 for the midnight opening, and as time went on, the crowd got stranger and stranger. To my surprise there was not a single Brit in the crowd. Rather, the entire queue was full of Americans. Not just ordinary Americans, but raging Harry Potter fanatics. This was one moment that I was not proud to be an American. I have nothing against Harry Potter fans, some of my best friends are huge HP fans (cough cough Lauren and Andi). But these people were from another elk. Many of them wore costumes- witches hats, wands, glasses, brooms, and other HP apparel- again, nothing against that whatsoever. But it was the way these people conducted themselves, the way they were speaking- it was as if they had not only no education, but no care for how they presented themselves in society. They gave a new meaning to the 'Ugly American'. For example, one, rather portly woman, with badly died hair, slicked back in a frizzy ponytail, with makeup that looked like it had been done in the dark, was waiting for her friends. She was slovenly chewing on a big mac and reaching her hands into a greasy brown bag with her stubby fingers, grabbing a fist full of fries and alternating shoving them into her mouth with her right hand, and munching on her oozing burger with her left. When her friends arrived they asked if she was feeling any better, insinuating that she had been ill. Alley and I exchanged glances as if to say 'You were sick? Yet you're eating a big mac? curious...'. The woman explained that after a nap and some food (aka a pile of fat and grease) she felt better. She went on to explain that she had been so nauseous and felt like she was going to throw up. Now, why someone would think they could cure nausea with a big mac is beyond me. But alas, for an American, anything is possible. I don't mean to sound pretentious, and I have nothing against people who are overweight; I don't come from the slimmest of families- my grandmother was a size 26- but she was always a lady, and carried herself with class and grace. The Americans at this HP premier, were the antitheses of class. Perhaps going to the U of R I have been sheltered in an intellectual society where people take themselves seriously. But is that really so terrible? To carry yourself in a respectable manner that lets people know you not only take yourself seriously, but you respect the society in which you are in enough to present yourself in an appropriate manner? Though the new film was fantastic (although I may or may not have dozed off a bit at points), what really resonated with me that evening was a new meaning for the ugly American.
I digress... On to Amsterdam. We boarded the coach at 6 AM, delirious and exhausted. Fortunately we wouldn't arrive in Amsterdam until 6 PM, so we had plenty of time to snooze. After a 3 hour coach ride, an hour and a half ferry ride, and a final stretch of a coach ride, we finally made it to Amsterdam. We first went on a lovely boat ride through on of Amsterdam's many, many canals. Then we had a tour through the infamous Red Light District- given by our very own tour guide Andrew, or as Alley and I called him, Roger (the name just suited him much better). I actually feel bad for these women (prostitutes that is), because more likely than not, they were probably forced into this profession, be it by family trade, or lack of funds, but I can't imagine any self-respecting woman actually wanting to stand behind a glass window, nearly naked, selling themselves for sex. It makes me realize that I really am lucky to live in an environment where I can pretty much do whatever I want. If I wanted to be a prostitute, I certainly could, but I in no way need to in order to survive (not that I would ever want to be a prostitute, don't worry Mom).
The next day we went to the country side of the Netherlands, just outside of Amsterdam. We learned how Dutch cheese was made, and got some delicious samplings of a variety of cheeses. We then went on to see how authentic Dutch wooden shoes were made. I can't see them being comfortable, and they aren't particularly fashionable either, but I suppose they are iconic- so it was pretty cool nonetheless. After a relaxing morning in the countryside we were back to the big city. We decided to escape the insanity of the red light district (where our hotel was conveniently located), and we explored other parts of Amsterdam. We walked from the red light district, alongside the canals, to Rembrandt Pleine, a square with a large statue of famous artist Rembrandt. The square had been converted to a Harry Potter shrine (temporarily I'm sure), tracing the history of the series of films and paying tribute to the new film. It's remarkable how much of a world phenomenon HP truly is. We then went to the famous I Amsterdam sign, where we to took plenty of photos inside various letters in the sculpture. After that we continued on exploring the city, making our way to the Anne Frank House.
I've been to nearly a dozen Holocaust museums and memorials around the world, from ones in the heart of the concentration camps in Poland, to Yad Vashem in Jerusalem; but the Anne Frank House was different. Though I've seen countless stories and tributes, each more upsetting and striking than the next, actually being in the house where a young girl hid from such wretched villains was quite heart wrenching. I had expected to just walk through the house, and see the rooms where the Franks and van Pels family hid, but they actually created a much more in depth exhibit than I had expected- chronicling Anne's life as she painted it through her diary, and giving a glimpse into Nazi Germany through her eyes, from the time strict laws were set upon Jews, to the time of her death and after. There were quotes from her diary on the walls throughout the exhibit, adding emotion to the already evocative display. At the end of the display, there were several explanations as to how Otto Frank ultimately had Anne's diary published. There was one video clip that really resonated with me, where he gave a message that is not only relevant, but timeless. He explained that when he read Anne's diary, he saw a truly different side of his daughter. He had a very good relationship with her, and they had spoken of various criticisms, and been very open about things in her life- but he had never seen that she had such deep thoughts, and so much self-criticism. At that moment he realized, that no parent truly knows their children. What Otto realized is that his daughter's thoughts and dreams and self doubt were things that she never exposed to her parents, and though he and Edith may have thought they knew their daughter, perhaps better than she knew herself, no one really knows the inner thoughts of another human being. Throughout much of my childhood I often got the impression that my parents thought they knew me better than I did. Even then I knew that that couldn't be so. For one, as a child I was relatively introverted with my parents, and rarely did I share anything personal with them until I was much older. I have a strong memory of speaking with one of my various therapists about how I could point out every bit of myself that I got from each of my parents- my intellect, my social capabilities, my intuition, my patience, my temper, my perseverance, my work ethic, every component of what made me, me, was a derivation of one of my parents - in my eyes. My therapist almost laughed at me (something a therapist probably should never do), and said that it was a rather remarkable capability to be able to point out those distinctions. At the time I didn't think anything of it- I thought it was normal to be able to pick yourself apart, as if you are peeling off layer upon layer, none of which are inherent to just you, but all of which are passed down from those before you. I now realize that perhaps she was so struck by this ability to trace every aspect to myself back to my parents, because I was not embracing any aspect of myself that was wholeheartedly me. Each of us is unique- regardless of our genetic make up-the individual code that makes one person distinct from the next is just that- distinct. What Otto saw in Anne's diary is that in spite of her relationship which her parents- albeit a positive one- she had so much more depth to her as a unique individual, that her parents were not even privy to. Perhaps Anne would have shared these deep thoughts that she had, had she had more of an opportunity- but unfortunately that chance was robbed from her. After visiting that exhibit I learned that we who are still here owe it to Anne, ourselves, and all the others who didn't get the opportunity to share themselves with others, to take the risk to be vulnerable, and expose ourselves to those who are worthy of knowing us. For if we keep our deepest and richest thoughts to ourselves, instead of sharing them with the world, we are only doing ourselves a greater disservice.
Cheers.
No comments:
Post a Comment