I think this is what is meant by a 'flying visit'*

*Only, we were sailing!

I’ve been busy, as predicted. In fact till this weekend I feel like I’ve hardly been at home over the last couple of weeks. It’s not all been work though, a week ago, just as the weather seemed to turn from summer to winter in the space of one day, Cat and I sailed from Newcastle to Amsterdam.

A slightly delayed arrival meant that our sightseeing turned into a bit of a route march once we arrived. The plan had been for a leisurely boat ride down to the museum area, to then go round the Van Gogh Museum, and then walk up through the Jordaan area to the Anne Frank Huis, perhaps stopping for a nice lunch and a little shopping.

It might have worked, if we hadn’t discovered that it would be half an hour’s wait for the boat, and then an hour to get to the museum. Ah, I guess we were walking then. It’s a good job I’m fitter than I was a few months ago.

We did stop off as we walked across the city – at the diamond centre (no, we couldn’t afford anything), at the floating flower market, and to take lots of photos of the canals, whilst dodging the killer bicycle, and the trams.

Having arrived at the Van Gogh Museum, we went round it pretty quickly. I’d wondered if seeing more of his paintings might convert me, as I’d been converted to the Impressionists in the Musee D’Orsay, but no, I still don’t care for him. There was a picture of spring blossom that I liked, (that's the one in the banner for the website) as for the rest, including the Sunflowers, not really.

As we headed for the Anne Frank Huis, where we had a timed entry ticket, lunch became a mini box of Pringles each, to keep us going until we could take a break. Pre-booking was great, though, as we could just sail in ahead of the queue. It’s definitely the way to do it, and essential if you have limited time.

This was one place that you couldn’t rush. It’s so beautifully done, and quite difficult to describe. The story is told through small extracts from the diary, through film, and filmed recollections of survivors, including those who helped those in hiding. As you walk through that annex, up the incredibly steep stairs, and see the small rooms in which a group of people lived for two years, it brings into sharp focus the horror of the war, and the almost unbearable knowledge that only one person from the group survived. By the time we reached the last room, I was in tears, and had to find a quite corner to pull myself together before emerging into the shop. For once I didn’t feel like buying anything.

After this, we did find a brown café, and sat down for a drink. All too soon, and after a bit of shopping (a new pashmina, lovely) and brief detour through the red light district it was time to get the coach back to the boat.

At least we left a lot for ‘next time’.