Visit to Auschwitz

For quite a while now, I have been oddly intrigued by the Holocaust.  I can’t really explain why.  It probably all began when I read The Diary of Anne Frank during a vacation and spent an hour crying on the balcony of my hotel when I got to the end.  Since then, I’ve studied that period of history quite a bit during my time as a student of International Relations & European Studies at college, and I’ve read lots more on the subject, but I still just can’t wrap my brain around how something so terrible could have been allowed to happen.  Anyway, after studying the subject so much, I felt that it would be important to see the place that is attached to this tragic period of history.

So, despite the fact that it is something I’ve wanted to do for a while, I was really nervous about going to Auschwitz during my time in Krakow.  Like butterflies-in-my-stomach, slightly nauseous nervous.  Fortunately, I ended up having some moral support, as a couple of guys from my hostel decided they wanted to catch the same bus as me.  Conversation with them offered a nice distraction during the hour-long journey to Oswiecim, the town where Auschwitz is located.  I was on my own for the tour, though, since they went with a Spanish guide.  But maybe this was for the best, as it made the tour a more personal and reflective experience.  

Walking through Auschwitz, I think my brain wanted to avoid fully processing what had happened there.  It was just too terrible to comprehend.  There were moments, however, when I was overcome by the reality of the atrocities that occurred.  One thing that really got to me was a display case of clothing of children who had been at the camp.  It was heartbreaking to see those tiny hand-knit sweaters, probably made by some loving mother or grandmother, as a representation of a child that was torn away from his family, never to have a chance at a full, happy life.  I was also disturbed by a gigantic pile of shoes, each pair having once belonged to a person taken to the camp.  Strangely, it wasn’t the magnitude of the pile that got to me as much as the individual pairs of shoes and the personalities they represented.  A pair of colorful espadrille sandals that poked out of the heap, for example, brought to mind a lively young woman with a love for summertime and vacations.  A pair of well-worn oxfords conjured up the image of an ambitious, hard-working man doing his best to support his family in difficult times.  Still, one of the most difficult parts of being at Auschwitz was walking through a former barrack lined with hundreds of photos of the camp’s prisoners.  As I studied these haunting pictures, I was struck with the fleeting image of the faces of my own loved ones as the faces in the photos.  This thought forced a direct and profound connection between the people who are so dear to me, so real and important in my life, and those who were imprisoned at Auschwitz. 

I think it can be fairly easy to not fully grasp the realness of something so terrible as the Holocaust because the people involved don’t seem fully real.  We are separated from them by time, geographical distance, and perhaps religious beliefs.  But seeing a child’s lovingly-made sweater, seeing a pair of sandals that could easily belong to your sister or your best friend, seeing sorrowful eyes stare back at you from a photo …these are the things that make these people real.  You are forced to recognize that these people had once been living and breathing, laughing and worrying, celebrating and working, loving and dreaming, just like us.

So that brings me to the lesson that I took away from the difficult visit to Auschwitz—that we must not forget our fundamental connection to every other human being in this world.  This can be difficult…we live in our own little bubbles, passing each day consumed by our own troubles & triumphs.  We often forget to be mindful of what is happening to the people we have never met in a country we have never been to.  But after visiting Auschwitz, I’m reminded of how important it is to avoid this lack of consciousness.  We live in a time in which, sadly, genocides still occur, and people are still persecuted for simply being who they are.  I have hope that this won’t always be a reality.  But if that is to be the case, it is vital for us to remember that the person we’ve never met, in the country we’ve never been to, is just as human as our mother, father, sibling, or best friend.  He may be different in terms of nationality, language, or religion.  He may be unknown to us, but what is important is that he feels and thinks things are known to this, and for this reason, we should care.

Krakow

When I arrived in Krakow after a somewhat complicated bus ride, I was dead-set on having a quiet night of reading at the hostel.  Leave it to a bit of Krakow spirit and a lively group of Australians, one of whom was celebrating a birthday, to change those kinds of plans.  I had only been in Krakow a few hours when I found myself in the midst of a circle of my fellow hostellers, with the girl who had checked me in bringing everyone a round of drinks.  A couple of hours later, I was in a Krakow nightclub called Prozac (not even kidding), being instructed on how to salsa dance by an Argentinian.

Needless to say, it was a late night, and I must admit that I struggled to wake up for my eleven o’clock tour of the city.  But I soldiered on and spent the day visiting the Town Square, the Wawel Royal Castle, & the Jewish Quarter.  I also managed to squeeze in a lunch of pierogi, or Polish dumplings, which are ridiculously delicious and became the only thing I wanted to eat for the rest of my stay in Poland.  After such a full day, I stuck to my guns and stayed in that night, trying to prepare myself for the next day’s visit to the Auschwitz concentration camp.

The visit was a really difficult experience, but a really valuable one (more about that to come later…an experience like that definitely deserves an entire post).  It was a very strange, even guilt-inducing experience to spend a part of my time in Krakow at a bar, dancing with my fellow hostellers, and another part of my time making that haunting visit to Auschwitz.  But after thinking about it for a while, I decided that one of the many things we can learn from such a visit is that we would be insane to not appreciate and really live each day of freedom that we have.  If that involves having a good time with a group of people who come from all over the world, peacefully enjoying their company despite differences in nationality, age, and culture, then that’s all the better.

So, on that note, I spent my last night in Krakow dining and dancing with my hostel friends.  I was sad to leave the next day, not only ending my wonderful experiences in Krakow, but also my trip as a whole.  Fortunately, I was able to return to France with the happy knowledge that it had been a completely incredible trip.  On one hand, my thirteen days of travel flew by quickly.  On the other hand, I felt like I had been gone for weeks, judging by the amount of places I saw, the number of amazing people I got to know, and the bit of wisdom I think I gained.  If that doesn’t make for a perfect trip, I don’t know what does.

Bussing it through Poland

Just when I was beginning to think that I was getting pretty good at the whole travel-through-Europe thing, the Polish bus system brought me back down to size.  In a perfect world, I would have boarded a bus in Prague this morning and then would have arrived in Krakow, Poland, 9 hours later, well-rested and with luggage in hand.

Alas, that’s not exactly how things went down.  The journey started out well…I woke up on time, I had my passport in hand (after a brief and frantic search at 4:45 in the morning), and I didn’t get lost on the way to the bus station.  I boarded the bus, which was only a harmless 15 minutes late, and settled into a seat in the back between two plump women in big puffy coats.  It was like being wrapped up in a big, cozy quilt, so with the comforting sound of the wheels rolling below me, I fell asleep (it was 5:30 in the morning, after all).

Fast forward 3 hours, and I’m being tapped awake by the ticket-checker.  The conversation that followed went something like this:

Ticket-checker asks me something in Polish, none of which I understand.

Woman on my right says something that I heard as, “Werasdnnfe aosdoiwer Eeen-glaaay-zeee,” which I assume was her telling Ticket-checker that I speak English, not Polish.

Ticket-checker pulls out the ticket I had given him upon boarding, pointing at my name with a questioning look on his face.

I nod, say yes, and repeat my name…just to be sure he knows that yes, that is indeed my ticket.

Ticket-checker shakes his head with a slight air of pity, says another incomprehensible phrase in Polish, and walks back to the front of the bus.

So at this point I was quite confused, especially because I had just woken up from a very deep sleep.  Why had I been singled out in this bus of 30+ people? Had we passed Krakow? Did he want to see my passport?  I would have asked for some more details on what the encounter was all about, but the woman on my right couldn’t offer much assistance, as she didn’t speak any English.  The woman on my left did speak some English, but was sleeping so hard she was beginning to snore, so I didn’t want to disturb her.  In any case, the bus was rolling on, so I figured I would reassess the situation at the next stop.

The next stop turned out to be Wroclaw.  As the bus pulled into the station, the driver said a few things over the loudspeaker, but the words were once again incomprehensible to my ears.  But then, in the mix of unfamiliar phrases, I thought I heard my name.  “That’s me!” I said, as if I had won a prize.  Fortunately, the English-speaking woman to my left had woken up to disembark, so she explained that I needed to change buses here.  Okay…that wasn’t listed on my ticket anywhere, but I could go with it.  I disembarked and went to fetch my luggage from the lower compartment, only to be greeted with another pitying shake of the head and the somewhat horrifying words, “No bag.”  Ummm...what? Fortunately, yet another English-speaking woman was around to clarify things, and she explained that I was apparently supposed to switch buses a while back (guess I slept through that…).  While I hadn’t successfully made the transfer, my luggage had, so it was somewhere en route to Krakow, leaving me in the dust.  At this point I could have chosen to panic a little bit, but I stopped myself.  I reminded myself that it was only a bag full of clothes.  I had the things that really matter…passport, money, and camera.  And who has time to panic when the bus driver is shoving you onto the next bus, comforting you with a big smile and the words, “No worry! Krakow!”

A few hours later, we rolled into some unknown town to pick up a few more passengers.  I jumped off the bus for a bathroom break, and by the time I had returned from the restroom, the bus driver was saying “Madame, bag! Bag!” He pointed into the compartment of a nearby bus, and lo and behold, there was my suitcase!  Somehow we had caught up with the bus I was supposed to have been on all along.  So I hopped on, feeling peaceful in the knowledge that I had all my possessions with me, and I was on my way to Krakow.  I just had to marvel at how the world can throw some kinks in your plans, but if you take it all in stride, you will probably still get you to your destination.

Frites with Sauce

This evening, I’ll be departing for a 13-day adventure across 4 countries.  The destinations include:

Brussels, Belgium (sadly, only for 1 night)

Berlin, Germany (4 nights)

Prague, Czech Republic (4 nights)

Krakow, Poland (3 nights)

My goals are to see as much as possible and have a good time, of course, but also to spend more than 650€, including all travel, lodging, food, etc.  That equals exactly 50€ a day.  I don't think it will be all that difficult, considering that Eastern Europe is ridiculously cheap.  For instance, I’ll be staying in a hostel in Poland that offers free breakfast, dinner, and beer tastings for….are you ready for this?…15€ a night. Reee-diculous.  Secondly, I have sought out the cheapest means of transport.  The journey from Prague to Krakow, for example, will be a 9.5-hour bus ride, departing at 5:30 am. I’m strangely excited about it.  Lastly, I’ll economiser by passing up the finer cuisine of the places I’m visiting.  I definitely want to taste some of the local flavor, but said flavor will most likely be more of the street vendor variety than that of nice restaurants.  Fortunately, my friend and fellow assistant Colbern, who is travelling to Brussels and Berlin with me, is on the same page.  In planning for our upcoming adventure last night, I had the following Skype conversation with her…

C:  So are you cool with having frites (french fries) for dinner tomorrow night?

Me:  Yeah! Just curious…why frites?

C:  Brussels is famous for them!

Me:  So literally just french fries?

C:  You can choose what sauce you want.

So, for the next 13 days, my version of fancy eating will include choosing between the mysterious pink sauce and the mysterious white sauce.  Bring on the frites!