
With kids, skip Anne Frank House.
Quietly devastating — standing in the actual annexe behind the bookcase, on the worn original stairs, reframes the diary entirely, and most visitors leave in silence. Brace for it: this is not a sights-checklist stop but an emotional one, and the evening slots, with thinner crowds and lower light, let the weight of the empty rooms settle in a way the bright midday shuffle never does. What stays with people afterward is rarely an object — it's the smallness of the space they survived in. The catch: tickets release six weeks ahead and vanish in minutes.