So from the little town of Fussen at the foot of the Bavarian Alps, we took a bus to Neuschwanstein - which I am probably spelling incorrectly. Out in the countryside, overlooking a village on the plain and the mountains and a river with a waterfall is a castle, a fairy tale castle. I am told that the Disney´s sleeping beauty castle was modeled after this castle, Neuschwanstein.
Once upon a time, well in the 1800s, there was a Bavarian prince named Ludwig. Even as a child, he loved to build things. As he grew, his love of building did as well. He also grew in his appreciation of the arts, particularly the operas of Richard Wagner. If you are unfamiliar with Wagner, there is one thing to know. With his operas, the bigger and the grandioser the better. Ludwig was Wagner´s principal patron. Plans had been made for a larger than life opera house. Ludwig built a lot of castles, hardly living in any of them. One of the most visited is Neuschwanstein, which was designed by a set designer, not an architect. It has white towers that rise into the blue sky. The castle was only a third finished at the time of Ludwig´s death.
Ludwig has a couple of adjectives commonly affixed to his name - usually Mad or Crazy, which indeed he was. He had no sense of finance and kept dreaming up ridiculous ideas. A Ludwig quotation often quoted at the castle is, "I want to eternally remain a mystery to myself and others." I think his wish has been granted. He was declared insane and a few days later was found dead under mysterious circumstances. Along with his pyschiatrist, he drowned in a lake.
On the bus up the hill, we found ourselves in the midst of a throng of real Southern rednecks. I think it was their first time ever out of Tennessee. They were quite excited to find out I am from Saskatchewan because apparently someone from Saskatchewan has caught a record size buck. They were surprised at the notion of people backpacking Europe for months at a time and were disdainful at the amount of walking they had to do in Germany.
The bus dropped us off near a bridge offering a good view of the castle. A kind man in a Bavarian outfit - complete with Lederhosern - was taking pictures and posing for them. We befriended an American named Travis and a Canadian named Quang, whose English accent is affected by his Vietnamese heritage. We hiked further up the ridge for a few more pictures. I went further than Mer, but she did well considering her ankle. We all had our picture taken with the Bavarian before heading to the castle.
The inside of the castle was, well, crazy. The throne room had tons of exquisite murals, marble stairs, an intricate mosaic floor . . . all in the style of a Byzantine church. His bedroom was full of Gothic wood carvings. The top of his bed looked like a bizarre cathedral roof. It took 14 artisans 4 and a half years to complete the carvings in his bedroom. Ludwig also had a room designed to be an artificial cave. One moment you are in his sitting room with his plethora of swan motifs (he really loved that bird) and murals of Wagner operas. Then open the door and you are walking through a cave. It was so surreal. The castle had some modern conveniences including running water, a sewage system, and central heating. Once he was dead, the family stopped the building of all his castles because it was just too expensive . . . and ridiculous.
The four of us had lunch, bussed back to town and then hopped on the next train. We semi-befriended a kid travelling alone with a lot of hockey equipment. For some reason, he had his helmet and pants separate and then the rest of his stuff in a few different bags. It looked awkward. Mer helped him when we had to change trains. He looked almost exactly like Cam Carruthers, my cousin´s good friend. Everyone on the train was very helpful.
Our next train was late and we sat for a while, trying to ignore the advice of the tipsy yet elegant lady with the beer bottle in her purse. Soon we were on our train for Lindau and the Bodensee. But it is now lunchtime and I will have to write another day.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The song in my head . . .
"Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles seems to be the soundtrack of my travels. I rarely hear it played, but it keeps popping into my head. It makes me miss the Taiwan crew and fun times at KTV. If any of you go to KTV, sing it once for me.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Back in Germany
| I just remembered a funny thing from Poland. We had climbed down some stairs into a cavernous jazz club where a trio was making music on piano, double bass, and drums. The place was totally full, but a group of people (age 60+) made room for us at their table. We chatted a little with one gentleman and found out they were from Holland. When they found out we were Canadian, a white haired man who had had a drink or two too many rose up a little and declared, "I was liberated by the Canadians in 1945!" We had been told the older Dutch love our country and it was neat to experience a little of that love. Yesterday was our final day in Karlovy Vary and actually our final day in the Czech Republic. Even after spending so much time there, we kept comparing the country to Poland. Czech is only 40% Roman Catholic, and 40% atheist. Most of the Catholics are nominal at best. The spiritual climate of the nation is totally different. Many times we found ourselves missing the flowing robes of the monks and nuns. The Czech Republic is famous for its glass and crystal. One of the big names is Moser, and we had the privilege of touring their factory in Karlovy Vary. It was a short tour and didn't include the engraving and etching aspects. But we did spend a half an hour in the workshop where the glass is blown. I had seen glass blowing before in Quebec at a touristy and somewhat dramatic shop. This was different. Here, trios of men labored for 7 or 8 hours a day in the heat with molten glass, which has the consistency of honey, I am told. Their uniforms varied from pants to capris to shorts and they often wore sandals or other shoes that really wouldn't protect the feet. The shop was small and fancy and we did not buy anything. Even though I don't often like the busy patterns on crystal, I now have a greater appreciation for their craftsmanship. We had gone swimming in the morning and I amazed Meridith at my total lack of proper form. Yes, I definitely need to take adult swimming lessons! Oh well, I have fun and am getting more exercise than if I was making the right strokes. Mer had a massage while I went to "Bath 5", one of the old fancy spas. I had lost a contact during the morning swim session so had donned my spectacles for the rest of the day. I am cheap so opted to just make use of the pool and steam room and sauna. I miss the South East Asian warmth and just wanted to be hot. I have to shiver all night because Mer likes to keep the window open. I was scared off by the no swimsuit sign on the sauna door so made myself at home in the steam room with a couple of naked women. Then I tried out the pool, but I really couldn't see anything. I am kind of glad I couldn't because there were a lot of unattractive hairy men in speedos. When a bunch of them came into the whirlpool - which was definitely not a hot tub- I just had to go elsewhere. After another steaming, I decided to peek into the sauna and found it inhabited by girls my age, who thankfully were not naked. So I kept my swimsuit on and relaxed. We hopped on and off of five trains today to make it from Karlovy Vary to the town of Fussen. We are going to see a crazy castle made by Crazy Ludwig tomorrow. In Mer's guidebook, it said our hostel was sometimes noisy with groups. We found out that meant school groups. A bunch of elementary school children were running around. Thankfully, they have a bed time. But unfortunately, the showers close at 10. I guess it won't be a late night tonight. Oh, the internet cafe just played the song, "Ghostbusters". |
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Adventures in MIddle-Aged Tourism
If you are a regular reader of this blog, I just want to point out that this is actually my second blog of the day. I had problems posting before and couldn´t publish the previous post until now. So Mom, you can be sure to print the one before this, please.
We arrived into our hostel room on Sunday night to a new roommate, replacing Carlos, the Brazilian. We opened the door and there was an old man, meaning elderly, sleeping in his tighty whities, with his balding head face first in his pillow. It was a bit of shock for us. It´s still weird to sleep in a room that may include guys at all so having grandpa in their was awkward. He didn´t realize it was a mixed dorm until he woke up the next morning, rather sheepish. He wore sweatpants the next night.
Kutna Hora is a town about an hour away from Prague. I picked Mer up at Municipal House where she was having her necessary breakfast and we hopped on a bus at Florenc station, which we knew well from the day we tried to get a bus to Cesky Krumlov. The route was a little windy and at times, made me reminisce about the awkward long and precarious bus rides Gregg and I enjoyed in Laos. We had to switch buses midway and this time had a bus driver who liked to chat as he drove, complete with expressive hand gestures and even turning around to make eye contact with other people. But still I felt safe, even when we met oncoming traffic and I could still see the whites of his eyes.
Kutna Hora was built up because of its treasure of silver. But alas, Monday is the one day the mine is closed and we could not get a tour. So we sat in a park and ate sandwiches made with cheese buns and drank in the vivid autumn view. We wandered up to a cathedral on hill overlooking the forest, but alas, it being Monday, St. Barbara´s was closed too. So we took a bus to another part of town and the real, yet strange, reason why we ventured to this town at all.
The first Cistercian monastery in Bohemia was located in Kutna Hora. This fact may only seem interesting to me because I have been reading the autobiography of a Cistercian monk, a Trappist. The monastery closed a long time ago, but a cemetary remains with a little chapel in the middle. Outside, the cobblestone sidewalk has a skull and crossbones motif. It´s all too fitting because this chapel is completely decorated with bones, the human remains of about 40 000 people, the majority victims of the plague. It is supposed to make one think about mortality and the need to be right before God. But it is just chilling and strange and the cold dank feel doesn´t help. There was a chandelier which contains every single bone of the human body. Pyramids of unbound bones rest in the corners as a surreal form of art. There is a coat of arms of an ancient family, pillars, garlands, and even a couple of crucifixes. Despite the gruesome nature of the display, the English write-up gives hope and tries to point people to God in a right way to respond to the spectacle.
We returned to Prague again for one more wander through Wenceslas Square, which is really a boulevard. We were delighted to see that the scaffolding had been taken off a statue. We were beginning to feel that everything in Prague had a scaffold or two on it, in higher proportion to the rest of Europe. We went our separate ways for the evening. Mer went to the puppet opera, Don Giovanni, but I didn´t feel the urge. I saw one puppet show this year. I didn´t want to get puppeted out. So I wandered the rainy streets by myself, and watched the shops close one by one. I found a quiet place by the river to sit and think and pray and even sing when I knew that no one was walking by. I didn´t want to be mistaken for a busker. And I felt refreshed. Nothing refreshes me like quiet time by the water´s edge.
Today, we said farewell to the city of middle aged tourists and travelled to another town where all the tourists are middle aged. And I mean all. I think we are the only people under 40. We are in Karlovy Vary, also known as Carlsbad, the old spa town where Marx and Freud and some composers and other rich or famous people used to come for vacation. Baroque hotels and mansions rest on the hills around the river where sulfurous hot springs gush from the earth. The leaves have changed to their brightest shades and produce a stunning panorama from the tops of the hills.
Our books had both recommended a hostel named Buena Vista, good view. In fact, it is the only hostel in this place. However, at the information counter at the bus depot, we found out that they had changed their perfectly good name to the horrid Titty Twister. In spite of the atrocious name, it is a great place. Instead of just being in a six bed dorm, we are in a six bed apartment complete with a sitting room and kitchen. The facilities are gorgeous. They seem to have embraced the new name and I would like to talk to someone about their choice. Do they know what it means?
The thing to do here is wander along the river with your spa cup and sample the healthy waters of the different springs. Mer and I each purchased a cup with a spout that you drink out of. Most of the cups look like something that the woman from Keeping Up Appearances would desire as something nice. There were a lot of floral patterns with gold edging. Everyone walks around with these ridiculous mugs in hand. The hottest and highest spring shoots into the air and crackles and pops like fireworks. We sat there for a while before we noticed the fountain to taste the water. Mmm mmm - sulfur and minerals! We ventured further to a classical colonnade with more springs and made ourselves comfortable in the midst of the elderly throngs. We kept getting smiles because we clearly don´t belong here. I feel like I have doubled in age overnight! Another fountain was shaped like a snake with water issuing from its mouth. The imagery was effective. The water was truly venomous. Mer could drink it, but I spewed it out as fast as I could.
A nice girl stayed after hours to put our pictures on CD. We had supper and arrived at a swimming pool in time to find out it was closed. So that gives us something else to do tomorrow.
We arrived into our hostel room on Sunday night to a new roommate, replacing Carlos, the Brazilian. We opened the door and there was an old man, meaning elderly, sleeping in his tighty whities, with his balding head face first in his pillow. It was a bit of shock for us. It´s still weird to sleep in a room that may include guys at all so having grandpa in their was awkward. He didn´t realize it was a mixed dorm until he woke up the next morning, rather sheepish. He wore sweatpants the next night.
Kutna Hora is a town about an hour away from Prague. I picked Mer up at Municipal House where she was having her necessary breakfast and we hopped on a bus at Florenc station, which we knew well from the day we tried to get a bus to Cesky Krumlov. The route was a little windy and at times, made me reminisce about the awkward long and precarious bus rides Gregg and I enjoyed in Laos. We had to switch buses midway and this time had a bus driver who liked to chat as he drove, complete with expressive hand gestures and even turning around to make eye contact with other people. But still I felt safe, even when we met oncoming traffic and I could still see the whites of his eyes.
Kutna Hora was built up because of its treasure of silver. But alas, Monday is the one day the mine is closed and we could not get a tour. So we sat in a park and ate sandwiches made with cheese buns and drank in the vivid autumn view. We wandered up to a cathedral on hill overlooking the forest, but alas, it being Monday, St. Barbara´s was closed too. So we took a bus to another part of town and the real, yet strange, reason why we ventured to this town at all.
The first Cistercian monastery in Bohemia was located in Kutna Hora. This fact may only seem interesting to me because I have been reading the autobiography of a Cistercian monk, a Trappist. The monastery closed a long time ago, but a cemetary remains with a little chapel in the middle. Outside, the cobblestone sidewalk has a skull and crossbones motif. It´s all too fitting because this chapel is completely decorated with bones, the human remains of about 40 000 people, the majority victims of the plague. It is supposed to make one think about mortality and the need to be right before God. But it is just chilling and strange and the cold dank feel doesn´t help. There was a chandelier which contains every single bone of the human body. Pyramids of unbound bones rest in the corners as a surreal form of art. There is a coat of arms of an ancient family, pillars, garlands, and even a couple of crucifixes. Despite the gruesome nature of the display, the English write-up gives hope and tries to point people to God in a right way to respond to the spectacle.
We returned to Prague again for one more wander through Wenceslas Square, which is really a boulevard. We were delighted to see that the scaffolding had been taken off a statue. We were beginning to feel that everything in Prague had a scaffold or two on it, in higher proportion to the rest of Europe. We went our separate ways for the evening. Mer went to the puppet opera, Don Giovanni, but I didn´t feel the urge. I saw one puppet show this year. I didn´t want to get puppeted out. So I wandered the rainy streets by myself, and watched the shops close one by one. I found a quiet place by the river to sit and think and pray and even sing when I knew that no one was walking by. I didn´t want to be mistaken for a busker. And I felt refreshed. Nothing refreshes me like quiet time by the water´s edge.
Today, we said farewell to the city of middle aged tourists and travelled to another town where all the tourists are middle aged. And I mean all. I think we are the only people under 40. We are in Karlovy Vary, also known as Carlsbad, the old spa town where Marx and Freud and some composers and other rich or famous people used to come for vacation. Baroque hotels and mansions rest on the hills around the river where sulfurous hot springs gush from the earth. The leaves have changed to their brightest shades and produce a stunning panorama from the tops of the hills.
Our books had both recommended a hostel named Buena Vista, good view. In fact, it is the only hostel in this place. However, at the information counter at the bus depot, we found out that they had changed their perfectly good name to the horrid Titty Twister. In spite of the atrocious name, it is a great place. Instead of just being in a six bed dorm, we are in a six bed apartment complete with a sitting room and kitchen. The facilities are gorgeous. They seem to have embraced the new name and I would like to talk to someone about their choice. Do they know what it means?
The thing to do here is wander along the river with your spa cup and sample the healthy waters of the different springs. Mer and I each purchased a cup with a spout that you drink out of. Most of the cups look like something that the woman from Keeping Up Appearances would desire as something nice. There were a lot of floral patterns with gold edging. Everyone walks around with these ridiculous mugs in hand. The hottest and highest spring shoots into the air and crackles and pops like fireworks. We sat there for a while before we noticed the fountain to taste the water. Mmm mmm - sulfur and minerals! We ventured further to a classical colonnade with more springs and made ourselves comfortable in the midst of the elderly throngs. We kept getting smiles because we clearly don´t belong here. I feel like I have doubled in age overnight! Another fountain was shaped like a snake with water issuing from its mouth. The imagery was effective. The water was truly venomous. Mer could drink it, but I spewed it out as fast as I could.
A nice girl stayed after hours to put our pictures on CD. We had supper and arrived at a swimming pool in time to find out it was closed. So that gives us something else to do tomorrow.
Beer, Castles, and the Good Old Hockey Game
I'm actually writing this as an email to myselfbecause for the first time in my blogging history, Iabsolutely cannot get my blog to work. So I'll be publishing this at a later date.
From the postcard worthy town of Cesky Krumlov, wetook at bus to Ceske Budejovice, which I can pretend to pronounce if I say it quickly. I imagine most of you have never heard of it, but you may know the German name, Budweis, and its namesake beer, Budweiser. But before you start thinking about American Anheuser-Busch, I must tell you that this is the real Budweiser, the one that the Americans stole the name from. This brewery has been functioning since 1895. The American company took the name in 1911. Because of wars and beginnings of nationhood, Czech Budweiser couldn't fight for their rightful name until recently and I have little hope of the lawsuit being too useful for them. Right now they have to market their product as Czechvar in the States and Canada. So if you have a Czechvar, you're having a true Budweiser.
So Meridith and I, one good little Mennonite and one good little Lutheran girl, went for a tour of a brewery and quite enjoyed it. We were joined by two men with two little kids and a group of Hungarian men whose interpreter did not have the greatest grasp of the English language. We wandered past the artesianwells that pump up iron free water from an undergroundlake. We smelled the pungent aroma of hops and barley at high temperature. We learned about lengths of fermentation and maturing. The beer bound forRussian has to sit for about 250 fifty days! Then we got to have a fresh unpasteurized beer which Meridith was unable to finish. The bottling part was fascinating, but because it was Friday and mandatory clean up day because of the EU, not much was in operation. I still liked watching the bottles get put in cartons and carried on the conveyor belt.
Once back in Prague, we had the blessing of finding out that our hostel had not registered our reservation and did not seem to concerned to help us since they were now fully booked. Because of Mer's bum ankle, we did get them to call another hostel and thank the Lord, the Tyn hostel did have room for us, at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. We live with two nice Australian girls and a friendly Brazilian guy. They're nice, but we still miss the Australian Jewish trio from our Berlin hostel.
Our initial feelings about Prague weren't the best. Perhaps they were tainted by Mer's ankle and our lack of hostel. We followed our guidebooks advice for a place to eat and found not one, but two closed down and apparently abandoned restaurants. I felt a little overrun by middle-aged tourists trying to plow me over to keep up with their umbrella-toting tour guides. The problem I had is the girth of western tourists. It's easier to get around Asians. They're smaller.
However, our feelings towards this ancient city have warmed up a lot over the last couple of days. We toured around Prague castle yesterday. It looms on a hill overlooking the river. We had cheesy pictures taken with the guards, who didn't move or show expression, but the eyes in their young faces danced as they observed the crowds of dumb people rushing at them with cameras. We got to watch the changing of the guard a couple of times and even followed the marching soldiers in their entourage. The castle is huge. My favorite was St. Vitus church, and in particular, its art noveau stain glass window byMucha. I think it's absolutely breathtaking. We climbed up a tower with 287 steps with about a million people coming up or going down in a space not intended for that many. We saw the old royal palace where tournaments were once held. We wandered down a lane of tiny houses converted into tiny tourist shops where tourists shove each other to look at trinkets. Kafka used to live in one of the tiny houses. I loved St.George church with its gentle strength. I missed out on the Barbie exhibition at the toy museum, but I think I'll survive. It was an interesting castle.
Asthe sun set, we switchbacked on a steep path in a garden until the guards came with dogs to rush us out. We watched the city become bright with its nightlights as we sat on a bench on a hill. At the top of the hill is a ridiculous looking mini-Eiffel tower. I didn't go up to it. I'll wait and see the real one.
After a breakfast at Municipal House, where Mer's dad Gary recommended we go to eat, we explored Jewish Prague. It was strange spending Sunday morning in old synagogues instead of a church. One synagogue had the names of holocaust victims written on its walls. The tiny writing everywhere was overwhelming. Another room held art made by children in the Jewish ghetto during world war II. It's really telling what children draw about. It made me so sad to see the pictures of long dead children depicting things they had seen with their eyes, things that seem like a vague nightmare to me, certainly not a reality. We also went through a cemetary that is over 700 years old where the people may be buried 12 deep. The high walls keep the huge mound up. It was interesting and I tried not to get too annoyed at the little boy who seemed to always hit me as he played and his parents ignored him. We saw a few other synagogues, including a Moorish Spanish one. The Jews couldn't be like the Christians, so their synagogue looks like a mosque.
We picnicked in another castle garden and then explored the landmark St. Nicholas church. Marble columns and art noveau designs. We didn't stay long, but hurried back over the Charles Bridge (KarlovyMost) to make it to a tram stop so we could go to a hockey game! As a child in small town Saskatchewan, you have to spend a lot of your life at the hockey rink. My brothers and cousins played. The NHL doesn't seem like an inaccessible dream to the kids because of the local heros who have made it. I used to ref hockey in high school. But for the last two years of my life, I have lived in Asia where no one knows how to skate and therefore this was my first hockey game since the last time I saw Gregg play with the Assiniboia SouthernRebels with their coach who looks suspiciously like their logo. Prague has two teams and we saw HC Sparta play in theT-Mobile Arena. It was interesting watching European hockey with its hooking and grabbing and lack of body contact. A guy would be open for a big hit and then barely get bumped, if at all. It was disappointing. But overall, it was great to see a game. Sparta won 2-1 over some team that started with a V. I have no idea what their name really was. One of the highlights of the game was when they played some good old Stompin Tom.
Hopefully this will publish the next time I'm online.
From the postcard worthy town of Cesky Krumlov, wetook at bus to Ceske Budejovice, which I can pretend to pronounce if I say it quickly. I imagine most of you have never heard of it, but you may know the German name, Budweis, and its namesake beer, Budweiser. But before you start thinking about American Anheuser-Busch, I must tell you that this is the real Budweiser, the one that the Americans stole the name from. This brewery has been functioning since 1895. The American company took the name in 1911. Because of wars and beginnings of nationhood, Czech Budweiser couldn't fight for their rightful name until recently and I have little hope of the lawsuit being too useful for them. Right now they have to market their product as Czechvar in the States and Canada. So if you have a Czechvar, you're having a true Budweiser.
So Meridith and I, one good little Mennonite and one good little Lutheran girl, went for a tour of a brewery and quite enjoyed it. We were joined by two men with two little kids and a group of Hungarian men whose interpreter did not have the greatest grasp of the English language. We wandered past the artesianwells that pump up iron free water from an undergroundlake. We smelled the pungent aroma of hops and barley at high temperature. We learned about lengths of fermentation and maturing. The beer bound forRussian has to sit for about 250 fifty days! Then we got to have a fresh unpasteurized beer which Meridith was unable to finish. The bottling part was fascinating, but because it was Friday and mandatory clean up day because of the EU, not much was in operation. I still liked watching the bottles get put in cartons and carried on the conveyor belt.
Once back in Prague, we had the blessing of finding out that our hostel had not registered our reservation and did not seem to concerned to help us since they were now fully booked. Because of Mer's bum ankle, we did get them to call another hostel and thank the Lord, the Tyn hostel did have room for us, at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. We live with two nice Australian girls and a friendly Brazilian guy. They're nice, but we still miss the Australian Jewish trio from our Berlin hostel.
Our initial feelings about Prague weren't the best. Perhaps they were tainted by Mer's ankle and our lack of hostel. We followed our guidebooks advice for a place to eat and found not one, but two closed down and apparently abandoned restaurants. I felt a little overrun by middle-aged tourists trying to plow me over to keep up with their umbrella-toting tour guides. The problem I had is the girth of western tourists. It's easier to get around Asians. They're smaller.
However, our feelings towards this ancient city have warmed up a lot over the last couple of days. We toured around Prague castle yesterday. It looms on a hill overlooking the river. We had cheesy pictures taken with the guards, who didn't move or show expression, but the eyes in their young faces danced as they observed the crowds of dumb people rushing at them with cameras. We got to watch the changing of the guard a couple of times and even followed the marching soldiers in their entourage. The castle is huge. My favorite was St. Vitus church, and in particular, its art noveau stain glass window byMucha. I think it's absolutely breathtaking. We climbed up a tower with 287 steps with about a million people coming up or going down in a space not intended for that many. We saw the old royal palace where tournaments were once held. We wandered down a lane of tiny houses converted into tiny tourist shops where tourists shove each other to look at trinkets. Kafka used to live in one of the tiny houses. I loved St.George church with its gentle strength. I missed out on the Barbie exhibition at the toy museum, but I think I'll survive. It was an interesting castle.
Asthe sun set, we switchbacked on a steep path in a garden until the guards came with dogs to rush us out. We watched the city become bright with its nightlights as we sat on a bench on a hill. At the top of the hill is a ridiculous looking mini-Eiffel tower. I didn't go up to it. I'll wait and see the real one.
After a breakfast at Municipal House, where Mer's dad Gary recommended we go to eat, we explored Jewish Prague. It was strange spending Sunday morning in old synagogues instead of a church. One synagogue had the names of holocaust victims written on its walls. The tiny writing everywhere was overwhelming. Another room held art made by children in the Jewish ghetto during world war II. It's really telling what children draw about. It made me so sad to see the pictures of long dead children depicting things they had seen with their eyes, things that seem like a vague nightmare to me, certainly not a reality. We also went through a cemetary that is over 700 years old where the people may be buried 12 deep. The high walls keep the huge mound up. It was interesting and I tried not to get too annoyed at the little boy who seemed to always hit me as he played and his parents ignored him. We saw a few other synagogues, including a Moorish Spanish one. The Jews couldn't be like the Christians, so their synagogue looks like a mosque.
We picnicked in another castle garden and then explored the landmark St. Nicholas church. Marble columns and art noveau designs. We didn't stay long, but hurried back over the Charles Bridge (KarlovyMost) to make it to a tram stop so we could go to a hockey game! As a child in small town Saskatchewan, you have to spend a lot of your life at the hockey rink. My brothers and cousins played. The NHL doesn't seem like an inaccessible dream to the kids because of the local heros who have made it. I used to ref hockey in high school. But for the last two years of my life, I have lived in Asia where no one knows how to skate and therefore this was my first hockey game since the last time I saw Gregg play with the Assiniboia SouthernRebels with their coach who looks suspiciously like their logo. Prague has two teams and we saw HC Sparta play in theT-Mobile Arena. It was interesting watching European hockey with its hooking and grabbing and lack of body contact. A guy would be open for a big hit and then barely get bumped, if at all. It was disappointing. But overall, it was great to see a game. Sparta won 2-1 over some team that started with a V. I have no idea what their name really was. One of the highlights of the game was when they played some good old Stompin Tom.
Hopefully this will publish the next time I'm online.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Passage into the Czech Republic
It feels strange to have left Poland behind with its multitude of spires and steeples reminding me that God is near. I miss the gentle young priests in their flowing black robes and giggling young nuns wearing their prim and proper habits. It was strange and exciting to see the youth of their clergy. I had grown so accustomed to all priests and nuns being aged. The strength of the church in Poland impacts the feeling of the country. It is so reassuring to walk down the street and when seeing a group of dark colored characters, not being nervous because it is just a group of monks.
Our final night in Krakow happened to be on October 16, the first John Paul II day. Every church we passed had white and yellow flags flapping in the breeze in honor of the great Polish Pope. The Archdiocese even had a gigantic picture of the Pontiff on the wall. Beside the archdiocese, the people held a kind of vigil or celebration service. A choir on stage sang various songs, some traditional, some contemporary. Recorded messages in Polish were broadcast to the throng standing in the courtyard, spilling out into the park. TV cameras recorded every moment. A young priest led the people in some Hail Marys. Children and youth and adults held candles. A sweet peaceful spirit settled over the entire place. Meridith and I smiled to see the young priests with their trendy jackets and their toques. Our favorite was the skater monk, who wore skater shoes and walked with a strut. It was a come and go event. It was special for us to be there and remember the man who not only changed history, but was used to change hearts.
Apparently, the new pope, Benedict, is schedule to visit Poland in the near future. As part of his preparation, he is learning some Polish. The newspapers often report his progress in his studies.
Monday morning, we collected our not yet dry laundry from the top floor of Nathans Villa and hopped a bus for Czescin - not sure of spelling - the Polish border town paired with the Czech town of Cesky Tesin. We joined some Australian guys who were also seeking to cross the border and meandered through town, guided by a good Samaritan. Unfortunately as the Aussies raced ahead of us, Mer tripped and rolled her ankle. Definitely not good timing considering the volume of stuff we seem to have acquired. She limped her way to the border crossing. Chivalry must be dead with these Aussies because they kind of shrugged and did not offer to help. I thought of my brother Gregg and his constant readiness to help people when we were travelling southeast Asia. Gregg, you are a good guy. I am not even sure if you are reading this though.
At the border crossing, they penned us in like cattle as they frowned and flipped through our passports, mine in particular. Perhaps they were troubled by my random stamps and visas. We finally were allowed to go, walked past the border supermarket and into the Czech Republic. I am clearly now winning the race between Gregg and I over who has been to the most countries. We boarded a train to get to the station where we could catch the train to Prague. God provided an extra seat in our compartment so Mer could elevate her quite swollen ankle. I happily read and ate my snacks. Surprisingly, I did not even fall asleep on the long train ride. Usually when I am in a moving vehicle, I am fast asleep.
Our home in Prague for our first two nights was Unitas, which we found after some nice girls prevented us from walking further in the wrong direction. This hotel has perhaps the most interesting history of any place I have ever stayed. It used to be a convent a long time ago, but then when the communists came, they turned it into the office of the Czech secret police and in the basement established a prison. During the Cold War, a man was held there who went on to become President in recent years. We stayed in the basement, and they really have not renovated it much since its prison days. They have painted it with bright colors and murals of flowers and stars, but it is still very prisonish. The cell doors remain. Ours was painted bright blue. The beds were prisonish too - creaky metal bunkbeds which shook with every little movement. Mer is a rather light sleeper and I am a rather active sleeper so together, it is a bad combination for her. I sleep through everything, even her insomnia because of my excessive rolling over. One time she rolled over and I woke up, convinced that I was experiencing a European earthquake.
The first morning in Prague was not too fun. Everything seemed to be covered in scaffolding, including the famous astronomical clock. There was definitely an overabundance of tourists. The streets must be horrific during high season. We were at odds with what to do. After a day of travelling, I was itching to move around. Because of a bum ankle, Mer could not. Eventually we resolved it. She took in a bus tour while I went to, not surprisingly, an art museum. I think every time we split up, I go to an art museum.
This time I learned about Alphonse Mucha, the great Czech painter who some say is the father of Art Noveau. His posters for the actress Sarah Berhardt created a stir overnight in Paris and catapulted him into the spotlight. Besides poster work, he was an accomplished painter, devoting a lot of time to a series of large paintings called the Slav Epic, which were not in this museum. I had a lovely time there.
Meanwhile, Mer was having a different adventure. After being forced to join the tour at a different location, she got lost. When she did get on the bus, the tour was so confusing she did not know what she was looking at. She already knew everything from reading Lonely Planet. She did however learn that Arsenol, the football team from the UK, was in town to play Sparta and wanted to go.
But she could not because we had already bought opera tickets for Rigoletto by Verdi. It is the tragic tale of a court jester whose beautiful daughter dies in the end. The production was far superior to the Krakow one, but then again, they were two different kinds of operas, one French, this one Italian. The woman who played the daughter had an angelic voice. She definitely got the most applause at the end.
The internet cafes were all closed, so we relied on the bus schedule at the hostel. So the next morning, we headed to a bus station to catch the 10 30 bus to Ceske Budejovice, home of a brewery whose significance I will describe later. Well, 10 30 came and went and we learned that our bus only runs on Saturdays. So we loaded up our stuff and hopped on the metro to the main bus station in hopes of catching a bus there. The next bus wasnt until 1 45, and it was at yet another bus station. We figured we would get lunch at the other station and once again hopped on the metro where a cute guy stared at me - I think because of my abundance of luggage plus Mers pizźa box - I dont know how to get an apostrophe on this keyboard. Sorry.
So at bus station number three, there was no place to eat. In fact, there was pretty much nothing, other than a T-Mobile building and Obi, which I found out is like Home Depot when I went there in search of a calling card. So we sat for two hours on a bench, staring at the T-Mobile building in all its glory while a man ate the remains of Mers pizza which he fished out of the garbage while smoking and talking to himself. I sang along with a singing delivery boy who crossed the street and jabbered to us in Czech.
By this time, we knew that we would not make a tour at the brewery and decided to continue on to our final destination of Cesky Krumlov. The bus driver took us to the main station with him where an angry bus driver nearly took out poor crippled Meridith and stalled us enough that we missed the next bus. So we sat at the nice bus station for half an hour. By this time, we were well practiced at the waiting at a bus station thing.
On our next bus, Mer and I got separated. After talking to another backpacker, Mer felt the erroneous urge to follow her off the bus at her stop, taking me by surprise. I wrenched my baggage out of the space between the seats and tried to follow her. The bus pulled away as I realized that Mer had forgot our art collection on the bus. I tore after it, as fast as my pudgy legs can carry me. I actually caught it, but jerky bus driver man ignored my flailing arms and suicidal dive onto a busy roadway. In futility, I followed him and watched him disappear around a bend, over a bridge. We assembled our stuff and started to walk the direction the bus went, in hopes of catching it at the station. Then the bus met us and once again, I chased after it, catching it at another stop. He gruffly told me to go to the bus station and I saw the empty place where our pictures once lay.
At the bus station, the other bus drivers ignored my English questions and none of the counters were open. I looked all around, even in the dumpsters. The long and problem filled day seemed to reach its climax. We sadly gave up the search, and I recalled my Vietnamese hat which was my faithful companion all over Asia until I left it in the car at the airport when I left for home. I wanted Mer to not feel bad - especially since I had done it before. Then to make matters worse, the hostel we wanted was full and we had to retrace our steps to go to another hostel. Thankfully the hostel was a nice place and we got a room to ourselves.
This was the 19th. The 19th of October is my moms birthday. Due to the periodic problems we have been having in making international calls, I wanted to be sure to email her. The cafe was only open for a few minutes so I emailed Mom before we finally found something to eat. At supper, Mer prayed that we would get our pictures back. We had bought some special ones in Krakow that we knew we could never replace.
Then I tried to call Mom. I tried my calling card. I tried calling direct and using all my coins. Finally, I gave up and returned to the hostel. I barely sat down in the room when I heard a knock on the door. Since Meridith wouldnt knock to come in, I was curious who it could be. Lo and behold, it was the American couple from our last bus, smiling at me with beaming faces, declaring, "We have your pictures. They are at our hostel." I walked with them as they told me about how they had been to the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam and how good it is that we are backpacking. I think I said God Bless You a hundred times. I was so thankful and surprised. I guess I shouldnt be too surprised. God likes to remind me of his presence often.
Today was a wonderful day. We meandered around the castle on the hill and sat in a park and had some sturdy Czech lunch. Cesky Krumlow is beautiful. It is touristy, but not in a smothering way. Little cobblestone windy streets are filled with cute shops. Look up and the castle overlooks the city. Behind that are mountains covered with trees in their autumn dress. It is picturesque. Definitely postcard worthy and worthy of a visit if you are ever in the Czech Republic.
We split up again so Mer could indulge in a much-needed massage and so I, surprise surprise, could go to an art museum. This one was devoted to the Austrian Egon Schiele, who spent some of his brief tragic life here in his mothers hometown. He was actually ran out of town for painting pictures of nude pubescent girls. I wasnt too impressed with his work, but they did have an exhibition on Estonian Expressionism that I quite enjoyed. It was several times larger than the Schiele exhibit and took me through various levels of the building with stone walls and wooden ceelings.
So now we are both quite content and relaxed. I think that Cesky Krumlov has worked its charms on us.
Our final night in Krakow happened to be on October 16, the first John Paul II day. Every church we passed had white and yellow flags flapping in the breeze in honor of the great Polish Pope. The Archdiocese even had a gigantic picture of the Pontiff on the wall. Beside the archdiocese, the people held a kind of vigil or celebration service. A choir on stage sang various songs, some traditional, some contemporary. Recorded messages in Polish were broadcast to the throng standing in the courtyard, spilling out into the park. TV cameras recorded every moment. A young priest led the people in some Hail Marys. Children and youth and adults held candles. A sweet peaceful spirit settled over the entire place. Meridith and I smiled to see the young priests with their trendy jackets and their toques. Our favorite was the skater monk, who wore skater shoes and walked with a strut. It was a come and go event. It was special for us to be there and remember the man who not only changed history, but was used to change hearts.
Apparently, the new pope, Benedict, is schedule to visit Poland in the near future. As part of his preparation, he is learning some Polish. The newspapers often report his progress in his studies.
Monday morning, we collected our not yet dry laundry from the top floor of Nathans Villa and hopped a bus for Czescin - not sure of spelling - the Polish border town paired with the Czech town of Cesky Tesin. We joined some Australian guys who were also seeking to cross the border and meandered through town, guided by a good Samaritan. Unfortunately as the Aussies raced ahead of us, Mer tripped and rolled her ankle. Definitely not good timing considering the volume of stuff we seem to have acquired. She limped her way to the border crossing. Chivalry must be dead with these Aussies because they kind of shrugged and did not offer to help. I thought of my brother Gregg and his constant readiness to help people when we were travelling southeast Asia. Gregg, you are a good guy. I am not even sure if you are reading this though.
At the border crossing, they penned us in like cattle as they frowned and flipped through our passports, mine in particular. Perhaps they were troubled by my random stamps and visas. We finally were allowed to go, walked past the border supermarket and into the Czech Republic. I am clearly now winning the race between Gregg and I over who has been to the most countries. We boarded a train to get to the station where we could catch the train to Prague. God provided an extra seat in our compartment so Mer could elevate her quite swollen ankle. I happily read and ate my snacks. Surprisingly, I did not even fall asleep on the long train ride. Usually when I am in a moving vehicle, I am fast asleep.
Our home in Prague for our first two nights was Unitas, which we found after some nice girls prevented us from walking further in the wrong direction. This hotel has perhaps the most interesting history of any place I have ever stayed. It used to be a convent a long time ago, but then when the communists came, they turned it into the office of the Czech secret police and in the basement established a prison. During the Cold War, a man was held there who went on to become President in recent years. We stayed in the basement, and they really have not renovated it much since its prison days. They have painted it with bright colors and murals of flowers and stars, but it is still very prisonish. The cell doors remain. Ours was painted bright blue. The beds were prisonish too - creaky metal bunkbeds which shook with every little movement. Mer is a rather light sleeper and I am a rather active sleeper so together, it is a bad combination for her. I sleep through everything, even her insomnia because of my excessive rolling over. One time she rolled over and I woke up, convinced that I was experiencing a European earthquake.
The first morning in Prague was not too fun. Everything seemed to be covered in scaffolding, including the famous astronomical clock. There was definitely an overabundance of tourists. The streets must be horrific during high season. We were at odds with what to do. After a day of travelling, I was itching to move around. Because of a bum ankle, Mer could not. Eventually we resolved it. She took in a bus tour while I went to, not surprisingly, an art museum. I think every time we split up, I go to an art museum.
This time I learned about Alphonse Mucha, the great Czech painter who some say is the father of Art Noveau. His posters for the actress Sarah Berhardt created a stir overnight in Paris and catapulted him into the spotlight. Besides poster work, he was an accomplished painter, devoting a lot of time to a series of large paintings called the Slav Epic, which were not in this museum. I had a lovely time there.
Meanwhile, Mer was having a different adventure. After being forced to join the tour at a different location, she got lost. When she did get on the bus, the tour was so confusing she did not know what she was looking at. She already knew everything from reading Lonely Planet. She did however learn that Arsenol, the football team from the UK, was in town to play Sparta and wanted to go.
But she could not because we had already bought opera tickets for Rigoletto by Verdi. It is the tragic tale of a court jester whose beautiful daughter dies in the end. The production was far superior to the Krakow one, but then again, they were two different kinds of operas, one French, this one Italian. The woman who played the daughter had an angelic voice. She definitely got the most applause at the end.
The internet cafes were all closed, so we relied on the bus schedule at the hostel. So the next morning, we headed to a bus station to catch the 10 30 bus to Ceske Budejovice, home of a brewery whose significance I will describe later. Well, 10 30 came and went and we learned that our bus only runs on Saturdays. So we loaded up our stuff and hopped on the metro to the main bus station in hopes of catching a bus there. The next bus wasnt until 1 45, and it was at yet another bus station. We figured we would get lunch at the other station and once again hopped on the metro where a cute guy stared at me - I think because of my abundance of luggage plus Mers pizźa box - I dont know how to get an apostrophe on this keyboard. Sorry.
So at bus station number three, there was no place to eat. In fact, there was pretty much nothing, other than a T-Mobile building and Obi, which I found out is like Home Depot when I went there in search of a calling card. So we sat for two hours on a bench, staring at the T-Mobile building in all its glory while a man ate the remains of Mers pizza which he fished out of the garbage while smoking and talking to himself. I sang along with a singing delivery boy who crossed the street and jabbered to us in Czech.
By this time, we knew that we would not make a tour at the brewery and decided to continue on to our final destination of Cesky Krumlov. The bus driver took us to the main station with him where an angry bus driver nearly took out poor crippled Meridith and stalled us enough that we missed the next bus. So we sat at the nice bus station for half an hour. By this time, we were well practiced at the waiting at a bus station thing.
On our next bus, Mer and I got separated. After talking to another backpacker, Mer felt the erroneous urge to follow her off the bus at her stop, taking me by surprise. I wrenched my baggage out of the space between the seats and tried to follow her. The bus pulled away as I realized that Mer had forgot our art collection on the bus. I tore after it, as fast as my pudgy legs can carry me. I actually caught it, but jerky bus driver man ignored my flailing arms and suicidal dive onto a busy roadway. In futility, I followed him and watched him disappear around a bend, over a bridge. We assembled our stuff and started to walk the direction the bus went, in hopes of catching it at the station. Then the bus met us and once again, I chased after it, catching it at another stop. He gruffly told me to go to the bus station and I saw the empty place where our pictures once lay.
At the bus station, the other bus drivers ignored my English questions and none of the counters were open. I looked all around, even in the dumpsters. The long and problem filled day seemed to reach its climax. We sadly gave up the search, and I recalled my Vietnamese hat which was my faithful companion all over Asia until I left it in the car at the airport when I left for home. I wanted Mer to not feel bad - especially since I had done it before. Then to make matters worse, the hostel we wanted was full and we had to retrace our steps to go to another hostel. Thankfully the hostel was a nice place and we got a room to ourselves.
This was the 19th. The 19th of October is my moms birthday. Due to the periodic problems we have been having in making international calls, I wanted to be sure to email her. The cafe was only open for a few minutes so I emailed Mom before we finally found something to eat. At supper, Mer prayed that we would get our pictures back. We had bought some special ones in Krakow that we knew we could never replace.
Then I tried to call Mom. I tried my calling card. I tried calling direct and using all my coins. Finally, I gave up and returned to the hostel. I barely sat down in the room when I heard a knock on the door. Since Meridith wouldnt knock to come in, I was curious who it could be. Lo and behold, it was the American couple from our last bus, smiling at me with beaming faces, declaring, "We have your pictures. They are at our hostel." I walked with them as they told me about how they had been to the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam and how good it is that we are backpacking. I think I said God Bless You a hundred times. I was so thankful and surprised. I guess I shouldnt be too surprised. God likes to remind me of his presence often.
Today was a wonderful day. We meandered around the castle on the hill and sat in a park and had some sturdy Czech lunch. Cesky Krumlow is beautiful. It is touristy, but not in a smothering way. Little cobblestone windy streets are filled with cute shops. Look up and the castle overlooks the city. Behind that are mountains covered with trees in their autumn dress. It is picturesque. Definitely postcard worthy and worthy of a visit if you are ever in the Czech Republic.
We split up again so Mer could indulge in a much-needed massage and so I, surprise surprise, could go to an art museum. This one was devoted to the Austrian Egon Schiele, who spent some of his brief tragic life here in his mothers hometown. He was actually ran out of town for painting pictures of nude pubescent girls. I wasnt too impressed with his work, but they did have an exhibition on Estonian Expressionism that I quite enjoyed. It was several times larger than the Schiele exhibit and took me through various levels of the building with stone walls and wooden ceelings.
So now we are both quite content and relaxed. I think that Cesky Krumlov has worked its charms on us.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Beauty and Horror
It's one of those rainy gray days here in Krakow. My pants are soaked from walking through the puddles. It goes nicely with the sore throat and cough I have acquired.
Zakopane is nestled in the mountains in the southern part of Poland. Really, the best way to describe it is "Polish Banff." It's definitely not as suffocating as Banff town and the Tatra mountains are smaller, but Zakopane is the mecca for Polish skiing. Pretty much everyone in town rents out the extra rooms in their house. People stand on the street corners with signs advertising rooms. As soon as we stepped off the bus, a grandmotherly lady in a green jacket made our acquaintance and after telling us the cost per night by writing in my hand with her finger, we followed her to our home for the next couple of days. We had our own little room complete with a bathroom and a television set. Oh, the wonders of Polish television. We saw Third Watch dubbed into Polish with a male monotone voice doing all the dialogue. We also had the privilege of watching a Spanish soap opera that centered around a cowboy bar. One night, Mer stayed up to watch football (soccer to you North Americans) while I slept.
I already felt the sore throat invading my neck, but still we hiked up a little mountain on the edge of town. Most people take the little tram to the top, but we hiked instead. It was Mer's first mountain, and even though it was really only a foothill, it was pretty cool. The leaves are turning so in the midst of the conifers, you can see red and yellow. The houses and cabins are scattered throughout the valley with their colorful roofs. Then you look up and see beautiful mountains. It was a very nice view. On the way back down as we braced ourselves from the cold, we wandered past little cottages with children riding bicycles and grandmas walking. It felt so good to be out of the city.
On Thursday the 13th, we rode a cable car to the top of Kasprowy Wierch, the mountain from which several hikes are possible. The ride had two legs so midway we changed cars. Once at the top, we started hiking the red trail. We noticed a regular series of markers with a red top and the letter P on the north side. An "S" was on the south. They were the border markers between Poland and Slovakia. The border guards don't patrol the mountain path which zigzags between the two nations. We paused for quick pictures on the border, and then continued east, sometimes gazing at the Slovakian mountains and other times at the Polish ones. The trail was a little steep at times, but all the fellow hikers were friendly. Too bad we don't speak Polish.
When we were about a third done the loop of our intended hike, we arrived at Mt. Swinica. Ominous clouds were rolling in from the north and soon snowflakes were falling on our faces. Some kind good Samaritans shared the weather report with us and encouraged us to return back to the tram station. I was pretty disappointed to be unable to complete the hike, but considering our lack of gear and general health, it was a good thing to turn back. We had overpriced tea in the chalet and headed down the mountain in a water-spotted cable car.
Snow. I hadn't been snowed on in a couple of years. In Taiwan, snow is rare, almost a fairy tale. Sometimes it snows in the highest mountains so families race in their cars to see and touch snow for a fleeting moment before it melts. Having seen snow is a source of pride for children. As a few meagre flakes collected on my fleece, I felt the rapture of a Taiwanese child at his first snow. Each individual flake is a little different. It's white and beautiful. I love snow.
But I hate cold now. Unfortunately, the two go together.
Friday, we shopped in the local market and headed back to Krakow. There is a section of town here called Nowa Huta, literally New Steelworks. It is one of two existing socialist designed neighborhoods. Focussed new a once gigantic steel factory, wide tree lined avenues line carefully planned buildings and areas. Things were designed to be safe for children and convenient. It's a good idea, except it is so depressing with its concrete block buildings that vary a little, but mainly all look the same. Years of pollution have taken their toll, making everything look dark and gross. We visited this area for about three quarters of an hour, and then we had enough. Interestingly, this socialist-planned area was a stronghold of the solidarity movement. One of Pope John Paul II's contributions to the community was his lobbying for a church to be erected in their neighborhood. Eventually the communists allowed it.
Before I forget, some things I forgot:
1. In Berlin beside the Brandenburg Gate, we saw an interesting musical ensemble - American Indians playing Abba on panflutes.
2. In Krakow, the street cleaners seem to want to kill us. A tractor pulling a high pressure washer will speed down pedestrian walkways with no warnings. And there is really no place to hide. We had to run away twice in one night. Now whenever I walk, I keep looking behind me to make sure the street cleaner isn't stalking me again.
3. Polish people really love weiner dogs.
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This is what the LORD says:
"A voice is heard in Ramah,
mourning and great weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because her children are no more." Jeremiah 31:15
This verse kept echoing through my ears yesterday because yesterday we went to the town of Oswiecim. You know it better by its German name - Auschwitz.
At least one and a half million people - mostly Jews - died in this Nazi death factory. People were gassed. People were shot. People were treated as less than animals. Children and men and women were used as guinea pigs in sadistic science experiments. I start to feel sick every time I think about it. All day yesterday I walked around with a pit in my stomach. It was the same pit I had when I learned of the magnitude of last years tsunami in the Indian Ocean.
Auschwitz I was put near the town of Oswiecim because of its location on transport routes and because of the old Polish military barracks that were vacant. It is haunting because when looking at the buildings, it doesn't seem like a very bad place. A collection of red brick buildings stand in rows, in almost a collegiate feel. But then, you go inside the buildings and you see the displays chronicling the horrors and then Auschwitz seems real. We saw two tonnes of human hair that were intended to be used in the textile industry. We saw the labelled suitcases of people who believed the Nazis were giving them a new place to live. We saw the empty cans that once held Xylcon B, the ammunition of the atrocious gas chambers. We saw pictures of emaciated bodies. Along the walls in the hallways, pictures of the victims hang on the wall. It makes one's blood run cold to realize that all of them are dead. We saw the rooms where they were crammed in like animals, lying on a mixture of straw and excrement. A thousand people were stuffed into a single barrack.
We stood at the wall once used by the firing squad. We walked through the basement of Block 11 where the Nazis first tried out the gas chamber idea, but had the formula too weak and the people died slow agonizing deaths worse than those who died in the normal gas chambers. There was cell 18 where Father Kolbe voluntarily starved to save the life of a family man. In one of the cells, a prisoner had carved pictures on the wall with his fingernails. The crucifix and the Madonna are still there and lend hope to the bleak history of the place.
Electrified barbed-wire fences line the perimeter. One of the Nazis had said the only way to leave was through the chimney. Our guide actually took us into the first gas chamber. A cold concrete room which the people were led to believe was a communal shower. I saw the claw marks on the walls of dying men, women, and children. Thousands of people died in that room. Thousands left through the chimney. Why am I so luck to just walk away and get on a bus?
We also went to Auschwitz II - Birkenau. It is about three kilometers away, much larger and much more imposing. At its highest capacity, it held one hundred thousand people. A lot of it was destroyed by Nazis who knew they had lost the war and tried to save their skins by hiding their sins. The brick chimneys which were never used because the prisoners didn't get heat in winter are all that remain of most of the wooden barracks. We stood on the train tracks at the unloading dock where the doctor would arbitrarily look at people and send them to death in the gas chamber or to death in the work camp. Once people took their final steps there. Now tourists stroll and take pictures. We saw the ruins of the larger gas chambers.
Most of the day, I felt numb. Sometimes I would cry as the realization of so much death and destruction hit me.It doesn't seem conceivable that such atrocities are possible. Who could be so inhumane? So bloodthirsty and savage? I could write so much more about the awful things I saw and the awful things I heard about. But for my own sanity, I will end with this. I can't keep writing about it.
Oscar Luigi Scalfaro, an Italian president, made this comment in 1996 about Auschwitz: "When man forgets God so much." If he is right, I never want to forget God.
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Today is our last full day in Krakow. We split up for the morning and I headed for a market before hitting a museum. Art museums are a kind of oasis for me. Sometimes I feel as worshipful in an art museum as I do in a church or in the mountains. Today I went to the Jan Matejko house. One of Krakow's native sons, Matejko is a well known Polish painter from the 19th century. He did portraits of a lot of well-to-do Poles, but his passion seemed to be more historical paintings. It had a lot of displays about his every day life, and not a ton of paintings, but I enjoyed it and I enjoyed it all the more because it was free.
Somewhere I read that Poland is the real birthplace of the bagel. On a lot of corners in Krakow, you'll see little carts full of big 40 cent bagels. We had lunch at a bagel sandwich place before seeing the remaining sites in Wawel castle. We toured through the Cathedral. Tour groups stood around looking bored and not listening to their shouting guides. For a place of worship, it just felt like a tourist attraction, which I guess it really is now. We saw the really large Sigimund's Bell and wandered through the Royal tombs. I enjoyed reading about St. Jadwiga, a fourteenth century woman who was King of Poland. (Yes, the sign said King, not Queen.) She is credited with making a big contribution to the conversion of Poland to Christianity. Her relics are in the cathedral.
We also wandered through the rain to see the dragon's den. It's a cave on Wawel hill. The legend goes that once a dragon lived there and no one could slay him. A king offered his daughter's hand in marriage to whoever could kill the dragon. A clever man knew he couldn't slay the dragon in a conventional way. Too many people had died trying. So he killed a sheep, stuffed its body with sulfur and left it at the dragon's doorstep. The dragon took the bait, and when he felt the fire in his stomach, starting drinking water. He drank so much water that he blew up. So the man won the princess's hand.
We also went into St. Mary's Basilica with its brightly colored walls. It has a very large altar at the front, billed as the biggest altar of its kind in Europe. It is hard to describe the color scheme as anything but technicolor. I doubt that any of our churches at home would copy the design, but in this cathedral, it's quite beautiful.
This has been a very big year in my life. I have accomplished many of my childhood goals. I have seen a real Panda bear. I own a pair of Dutch wooden shoes which I can wear. And today as a belated birthday gift, Mer bought me my very first Matrushka. I am not sure on spelling, but they are those dolls where you open one and another one is inside. There are ten altogether in my set. It's really quite exciting and I'm sure I'm drive Meridith crazy with my constant playing with it.
We had pierogies for supper at our favorite place. Tomorrow, we will leave Krakow and all of Poland behind. And I'm sad to say goodbye.
Zakopane is nestled in the mountains in the southern part of Poland. Really, the best way to describe it is "Polish Banff." It's definitely not as suffocating as Banff town and the Tatra mountains are smaller, but Zakopane is the mecca for Polish skiing. Pretty much everyone in town rents out the extra rooms in their house. People stand on the street corners with signs advertising rooms. As soon as we stepped off the bus, a grandmotherly lady in a green jacket made our acquaintance and after telling us the cost per night by writing in my hand with her finger, we followed her to our home for the next couple of days. We had our own little room complete with a bathroom and a television set. Oh, the wonders of Polish television. We saw Third Watch dubbed into Polish with a male monotone voice doing all the dialogue. We also had the privilege of watching a Spanish soap opera that centered around a cowboy bar. One night, Mer stayed up to watch football (soccer to you North Americans) while I slept.
I already felt the sore throat invading my neck, but still we hiked up a little mountain on the edge of town. Most people take the little tram to the top, but we hiked instead. It was Mer's first mountain, and even though it was really only a foothill, it was pretty cool. The leaves are turning so in the midst of the conifers, you can see red and yellow. The houses and cabins are scattered throughout the valley with their colorful roofs. Then you look up and see beautiful mountains. It was a very nice view. On the way back down as we braced ourselves from the cold, we wandered past little cottages with children riding bicycles and grandmas walking. It felt so good to be out of the city.
On Thursday the 13th, we rode a cable car to the top of Kasprowy Wierch, the mountain from which several hikes are possible. The ride had two legs so midway we changed cars. Once at the top, we started hiking the red trail. We noticed a regular series of markers with a red top and the letter P on the north side. An "S" was on the south. They were the border markers between Poland and Slovakia. The border guards don't patrol the mountain path which zigzags between the two nations. We paused for quick pictures on the border, and then continued east, sometimes gazing at the Slovakian mountains and other times at the Polish ones. The trail was a little steep at times, but all the fellow hikers were friendly. Too bad we don't speak Polish.
When we were about a third done the loop of our intended hike, we arrived at Mt. Swinica. Ominous clouds were rolling in from the north and soon snowflakes were falling on our faces. Some kind good Samaritans shared the weather report with us and encouraged us to return back to the tram station. I was pretty disappointed to be unable to complete the hike, but considering our lack of gear and general health, it was a good thing to turn back. We had overpriced tea in the chalet and headed down the mountain in a water-spotted cable car.
Snow. I hadn't been snowed on in a couple of years. In Taiwan, snow is rare, almost a fairy tale. Sometimes it snows in the highest mountains so families race in their cars to see and touch snow for a fleeting moment before it melts. Having seen snow is a source of pride for children. As a few meagre flakes collected on my fleece, I felt the rapture of a Taiwanese child at his first snow. Each individual flake is a little different. It's white and beautiful. I love snow.
But I hate cold now. Unfortunately, the two go together.
Friday, we shopped in the local market and headed back to Krakow. There is a section of town here called Nowa Huta, literally New Steelworks. It is one of two existing socialist designed neighborhoods. Focussed new a once gigantic steel factory, wide tree lined avenues line carefully planned buildings and areas. Things were designed to be safe for children and convenient. It's a good idea, except it is so depressing with its concrete block buildings that vary a little, but mainly all look the same. Years of pollution have taken their toll, making everything look dark and gross. We visited this area for about three quarters of an hour, and then we had enough. Interestingly, this socialist-planned area was a stronghold of the solidarity movement. One of Pope John Paul II's contributions to the community was his lobbying for a church to be erected in their neighborhood. Eventually the communists allowed it.
Before I forget, some things I forgot:
1. In Berlin beside the Brandenburg Gate, we saw an interesting musical ensemble - American Indians playing Abba on panflutes.
2. In Krakow, the street cleaners seem to want to kill us. A tractor pulling a high pressure washer will speed down pedestrian walkways with no warnings. And there is really no place to hide. We had to run away twice in one night. Now whenever I walk, I keep looking behind me to make sure the street cleaner isn't stalking me again.
3. Polish people really love weiner dogs.
***************************************
This is what the LORD says:
"A voice is heard in Ramah,
mourning and great weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because her children are no more." Jeremiah 31:15
This verse kept echoing through my ears yesterday because yesterday we went to the town of Oswiecim. You know it better by its German name - Auschwitz.
At least one and a half million people - mostly Jews - died in this Nazi death factory. People were gassed. People were shot. People were treated as less than animals. Children and men and women were used as guinea pigs in sadistic science experiments. I start to feel sick every time I think about it. All day yesterday I walked around with a pit in my stomach. It was the same pit I had when I learned of the magnitude of last years tsunami in the Indian Ocean.
Auschwitz I was put near the town of Oswiecim because of its location on transport routes and because of the old Polish military barracks that were vacant. It is haunting because when looking at the buildings, it doesn't seem like a very bad place. A collection of red brick buildings stand in rows, in almost a collegiate feel. But then, you go inside the buildings and you see the displays chronicling the horrors and then Auschwitz seems real. We saw two tonnes of human hair that were intended to be used in the textile industry. We saw the labelled suitcases of people who believed the Nazis were giving them a new place to live. We saw the empty cans that once held Xylcon B, the ammunition of the atrocious gas chambers. We saw pictures of emaciated bodies. Along the walls in the hallways, pictures of the victims hang on the wall. It makes one's blood run cold to realize that all of them are dead. We saw the rooms where they were crammed in like animals, lying on a mixture of straw and excrement. A thousand people were stuffed into a single barrack.
We stood at the wall once used by the firing squad. We walked through the basement of Block 11 where the Nazis first tried out the gas chamber idea, but had the formula too weak and the people died slow agonizing deaths worse than those who died in the normal gas chambers. There was cell 18 where Father Kolbe voluntarily starved to save the life of a family man. In one of the cells, a prisoner had carved pictures on the wall with his fingernails. The crucifix and the Madonna are still there and lend hope to the bleak history of the place.
Electrified barbed-wire fences line the perimeter. One of the Nazis had said the only way to leave was through the chimney. Our guide actually took us into the first gas chamber. A cold concrete room which the people were led to believe was a communal shower. I saw the claw marks on the walls of dying men, women, and children. Thousands of people died in that room. Thousands left through the chimney. Why am I so luck to just walk away and get on a bus?
We also went to Auschwitz II - Birkenau. It is about three kilometers away, much larger and much more imposing. At its highest capacity, it held one hundred thousand people. A lot of it was destroyed by Nazis who knew they had lost the war and tried to save their skins by hiding their sins. The brick chimneys which were never used because the prisoners didn't get heat in winter are all that remain of most of the wooden barracks. We stood on the train tracks at the unloading dock where the doctor would arbitrarily look at people and send them to death in the gas chamber or to death in the work camp. Once people took their final steps there. Now tourists stroll and take pictures. We saw the ruins of the larger gas chambers.
Most of the day, I felt numb. Sometimes I would cry as the realization of so much death and destruction hit me.It doesn't seem conceivable that such atrocities are possible. Who could be so inhumane? So bloodthirsty and savage? I could write so much more about the awful things I saw and the awful things I heard about. But for my own sanity, I will end with this. I can't keep writing about it.
Oscar Luigi Scalfaro, an Italian president, made this comment in 1996 about Auschwitz: "When man forgets God so much." If he is right, I never want to forget God.
*************************************************
Today is our last full day in Krakow. We split up for the morning and I headed for a market before hitting a museum. Art museums are a kind of oasis for me. Sometimes I feel as worshipful in an art museum as I do in a church or in the mountains. Today I went to the Jan Matejko house. One of Krakow's native sons, Matejko is a well known Polish painter from the 19th century. He did portraits of a lot of well-to-do Poles, but his passion seemed to be more historical paintings. It had a lot of displays about his every day life, and not a ton of paintings, but I enjoyed it and I enjoyed it all the more because it was free.
Somewhere I read that Poland is the real birthplace of the bagel. On a lot of corners in Krakow, you'll see little carts full of big 40 cent bagels. We had lunch at a bagel sandwich place before seeing the remaining sites in Wawel castle. We toured through the Cathedral. Tour groups stood around looking bored and not listening to their shouting guides. For a place of worship, it just felt like a tourist attraction, which I guess it really is now. We saw the really large Sigimund's Bell and wandered through the Royal tombs. I enjoyed reading about St. Jadwiga, a fourteenth century woman who was King of Poland. (Yes, the sign said King, not Queen.) She is credited with making a big contribution to the conversion of Poland to Christianity. Her relics are in the cathedral.
We also wandered through the rain to see the dragon's den. It's a cave on Wawel hill. The legend goes that once a dragon lived there and no one could slay him. A king offered his daughter's hand in marriage to whoever could kill the dragon. A clever man knew he couldn't slay the dragon in a conventional way. Too many people had died trying. So he killed a sheep, stuffed its body with sulfur and left it at the dragon's doorstep. The dragon took the bait, and when he felt the fire in his stomach, starting drinking water. He drank so much water that he blew up. So the man won the princess's hand.
We also went into St. Mary's Basilica with its brightly colored walls. It has a very large altar at the front, billed as the biggest altar of its kind in Europe. It is hard to describe the color scheme as anything but technicolor. I doubt that any of our churches at home would copy the design, but in this cathedral, it's quite beautiful.
This has been a very big year in my life. I have accomplished many of my childhood goals. I have seen a real Panda bear. I own a pair of Dutch wooden shoes which I can wear. And today as a belated birthday gift, Mer bought me my very first Matrushka. I am not sure on spelling, but they are those dolls where you open one and another one is inside. There are ten altogether in my set. It's really quite exciting and I'm sure I'm drive Meridith crazy with my constant playing with it.
We had pierogies for supper at our favorite place. Tomorrow, we will leave Krakow and all of Poland behind. And I'm sad to say goodbye.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Two Ninja Turtles in one day . . . and other stories
Yes, I saw Leonardo and Michangelo . . . but I'll tell you about that in a minute.
At this very moment, we are typing frantically in an internet cafe in the Rynek Glowny, the town square of old Krakow and the largest Medieval square in Europe, measuring in at 200 m x 200 m. The Cloth Hall, a precursor to today's shopping malls, stands in the middle. An old clock tower keeps the time in the southwest corner. To the southeast, tiny St. Aldabert's holds down a spot once held by a pagan temple. At the northeast, you'll find the mismatched towers of St. Mary's. When this basilica was built, the town made a condition that one tower would be town property to be a watchtower. This tower is therefore taller. The legend goes that a watchman saw the mongol's advancing and started his bugle call to alert the town. He never finished the tune for an arrow shot him in the throat. Now, every hour, twenty four hours a day, the bugle call goes out with an abrupt ending from the tower. Three men take shifts to blow the horn and do so each hour, once in each direction every hour.
If you follow the street north from St. Mary's, you are on the royal walk which leads you to the gate by which all travelling royalty would enter and exit the city. It's the only remaining gate and readers of T. Davis Bunn books should know the name: Florian's Gate. When the wall stood proud around the city, different guilds each had a tower or a gate to take care of. The fireman cared for this gate and named it after their patron saint, Florian. I think the gate itself is beautiful and not tainted by the McDonalds that stands close by.
Sunday, we found an English mass to attend. The regular priest was away and left the service in the charge of a young priest, Patrick, who was not quite confident in his English. The organist may have been a rookie as well. I could hardly sing along with the rendition of "Seek Ye First." The most touching part of the service was when he led us in prayer. That day the Poles were voting in a stage of the presidential election. Even after praying about it, he closed the service with an entreaty for us to remember the Poles throughout the day. The final vote comes later. So please remember the Poles.
Mer and I took Sunday afternoon as time to ourselves and wandered our separate ways. I went to the Czartoryski Museum. The Czartoryski family must have been rich because they left a legacy of art and exquisite antiques. Most of the things on display were nice, but not too exciting - especially since I could not read the Polish descriptions. But then I got to see the real reason for my visit: Leonardo Da Vinci's Lady with an Ermine. Krakow is one of five cities in the world to possess a Da Vinci painting. For those art lovers out there, it is incredible to see Da Vinci's work. I can't express how it affected me. (So that's one Ninja Turtle. I would have seen Raphael as well in the museum, but the work was lost during WW II.)
In the other section of the Czartoryski home, on the other side of the walkway which they built across the street to join their houses, I took in a special exhibit on Michelangelo (Ninja Turtle #2). It briefly showed how some artists incorporated his ideas and images into their own work. Again, I couldn't read the Polish, but that didn't matter for the heart of the exhibit: six of Michelangelo's sketches. There were two of his architectural sketches, a few sketches of humans, and a study of an arm for the Sistine chapel. Again, it was so cool to see the work of a genius.
Mer and I met up again by Florian's gate and bought some opera tickets. That night was the first opera for both of us. We sat in red blush seats in a balcony and took in Bizet's Carmen, the tragic story of a gypsy woman. It really made me realize how much classical music I have learned from cartoons. From the opening notes, I was having Bugs Bunny flashbacks. It really was quite nice. We ended the evening with desserts at a chocolate shop before going back to the hostel where we got to stay in a brand new room at Nathan's Villa hostel. The toilet paper dispensers hadn't even been installed yet.
North of our hostel and south of the town square, Wawel Castle sits proudly on a hill. People have reportedly lived on this hill for thousands and thousands of years. About a thousand years ago, it was developed as the seat of royals. It is quite an imposing structure looming over the city with its wall and towers and spires. Monday morning, several of the exhibitions were free so we went. I always go for free stuff. We wandered through some re-created royal apartments, went across a footbridge through some old foundations, and gawked at the collection of armor and cannons. There was a more to see there, including the cathedral and a "dragon's den" and just beautiful grounds. We hope to find time to go back there.
In the afternoon, we joined a motley group for a bike tour. Our guide, a former English teacher from Florida, would over-enunciate his words when he would go into a well-rehearsed schpiel. Our fellow tourists consisted of two recent university graduates from Ontario with an over-fondness for Trailer Park Boys, an Australian girl whose cycling ability was in definite question, and a hippie masseuse from Colorado who I think was out seeing the world for the first time. It made us nostalgic for our Berlin tour group, but we still had a good time. Our path took us by the Wisla river, the park the Austrians built to eliminate the old moat that once circled the city, Oskar Schindler's house near the same park, the archdiocese where Pope John Paul II served before his election as pope, and the other sites of the old city that I previously mentioned. We stopped near Jagiellonian University, alma mater of Copernicus and the Pope. It is the second oldest university in Eastern Europe and is very large today. The Nazis shut it down during the war in an effort to keep Poles uneducated, the slave bank of the Third Riech. Pretty much all the professors were killed.
Then we went further south to Kazimierz, the former Jewish neighborhood. The Polish King Kazimierz saw the need for a Jewish population in order to further the ecomonic development of Krakow and made home for them here. The Wisla (Vistula in English) river used to fork and form an island. The Jewish neighborhood took up one end of the island while a Catholic community was on the other end. The Catholic square had a large clock which chimed on the hour. The Jews could not see the clock, but because they could hear it, the Catholics would charge them for using it! We saw the Jewish cemetary full of the headstones of Orthodox Jews and the old synagogue. But sadly, none of these are being used by a Jewish community anymore. Before the Nazi occupation, over 60 000 Jews lived in Krakow. Less than 2 % of that number lived to see the end of the war. And then none of them wanted to stay in Krakow. Today, the Jewish population here is virtually nil.
When the Nazis took over and their commander lived in Wawel castle, they made a Jewish ghetto and forced all the Jews to leave their homes in Kazimierz. They were stuck in a run down neighborhood south of the river where there was not enough housing. A wall resembling Orthodox gravestones separated them from the world. They were sorted and kept in the ghetto based on their usefulness to the Nazis. Therefore, at one time the ghetto was 80% male. At its peak, there were 25 people for every room available in the housing. It is very bleak there still, with the ghosts of the past seeming to linger as the poor and unmotivated sit idly and smoke. It's the bad part of town.
Roman Polanski (remember The Pianist? the new version of Oliver Twist?) lived in this ghetto as a child. He donated money to a little museum there commemorating a non-Jewish Pharmacy owner who was the only non-Jew in the ghetto. The pharmacy was a place of resistance and one of the few places in the ghetto that acknowledges the morbid history. Meridith said it best. She said that its like Krakow hasn't dealt with its history like Berlin and Warsaw have.
We stopped for a while in Oskar Schindler's factory. For those of you who haven't seen Spielberg's film, Schindler was a greedy German man who saw the war as his pathway to riches. He lived in a house that rightfully belonged to Jews, owned a factory that rightfully belonged to Jews, paid the SS to use Jews as his slaves, and made his fortune selling mess kits to the German army. For some reason when he realized that the Jews were condemned to die, he incredibly found a way to save 1098 of them and take them with him to Czechoslovakia. It is an amazing story. We sat in his factory, saw his office and remembered scenes of the movie that were filmed there. Sadly, after the war, his life sucked. He remained a gambling womanizing drunk. At one point, he was in Argentina working as a farmer on his great idea of making fur coats out of some kind of very large rat. He died on the operating table in Germany. Perhaps not so coincidentally, the surgeon was Schindler's girlfriend's husband.
Tuesday morning came cold and foggy. Some people we'd talked to were headed to Auschwitz, the horrific Nazi death camp. After yesterday's heavy thoughts, we opted to see something cheerier and hopped on a mini-bus for Wieliczka, about 20 minutes from Krakow. The site to see there is a 700 year old salt mine, one of the bazillion things UNESCO has on their list. (www.kopalnia.pl) The legend is that a Hungarian princess was marrying a Polish prince. She didn't want to give the Polish people jewels as gift. She wanted to give them something they didn't have. And mystically, there was the salt. We arrived just in time to take a tour from an endearing old man whose name I believe was Emile. I didn't quite understand everything he said so I may have the legend a little wrong. We descended on a wooden stair case with seen steps per flight. I am not sure how many flights it was - over 60 anyways. The interesting things is that every square inch of the staircase - and it turned out every available piece of wood in the mine - was covered in graffiti. It was usually "so-and-so was here on this date" or "so-and-so loves so-and-so." For a moment, I was tempted to add my own John Hancock, but then thought better of it.
Salt rock is not the usual white crystal we sprinkle on our food. It is dark and hard and sometimes has streaking like marble. I licked a wall that looked like marble, but yeah, it was salt. There are hundreds of kilometers of shafts in the mine, but we were taken along the one reserved for tourists while several layers below us, 300 men still labor to retrieve the salt. The caverns we were paraded through had a many statues carved out of salt. There were rooms with re-creations of what mining had been like in previous centuries. Because the miners had basically lived below the ground, there were numerous chapels complete with salt crystal chandeliers. Some of the figures had been dissolved a little by water and now look like modern art pieces. It is surprising how a salt room with salt art can be so very beautiful. One chapel had elaborate wall carvings of New Testament stories. We descended a few more times before ending at a level of about 135 meters below the ground. We had lunch at a cafeteria - which we later regretted as the potato-ish thing we ate weighed heavy in our stomachs. We joined another tour guide for a look at the museum. He seemed robotic, only speaking at certain times, herding us in the proper direction. His moments of humanity came when I would ask a question. He would always laugh before answering. He showed us crystal encrusted ladders, gigantic mining wheels, and a cute miniature of the town from a map of the 1700s. Then we piled into a tiny mining lift for the rapid ride up.
After checking out the plethora of souvenir shops where you could get any kind of figurine mounted on a salt rock, we wandered past the castle, a sad looking church and the old square before returning to Krakow. We spent the rest of the afternoon poking through a bookstore. I only bought one book, which is a hardship for a booklover like me when so many intriguing titles at good prices are available. Now you are caught up on our European tour. Tomorrow, we depart for the mountains near the border of Slovakia.
At this very moment, we are typing frantically in an internet cafe in the Rynek Glowny, the town square of old Krakow and the largest Medieval square in Europe, measuring in at 200 m x 200 m. The Cloth Hall, a precursor to today's shopping malls, stands in the middle. An old clock tower keeps the time in the southwest corner. To the southeast, tiny St. Aldabert's holds down a spot once held by a pagan temple. At the northeast, you'll find the mismatched towers of St. Mary's. When this basilica was built, the town made a condition that one tower would be town property to be a watchtower. This tower is therefore taller. The legend goes that a watchman saw the mongol's advancing and started his bugle call to alert the town. He never finished the tune for an arrow shot him in the throat. Now, every hour, twenty four hours a day, the bugle call goes out with an abrupt ending from the tower. Three men take shifts to blow the horn and do so each hour, once in each direction every hour.
If you follow the street north from St. Mary's, you are on the royal walk which leads you to the gate by which all travelling royalty would enter and exit the city. It's the only remaining gate and readers of T. Davis Bunn books should know the name: Florian's Gate. When the wall stood proud around the city, different guilds each had a tower or a gate to take care of. The fireman cared for this gate and named it after their patron saint, Florian. I think the gate itself is beautiful and not tainted by the McDonalds that stands close by.
Sunday, we found an English mass to attend. The regular priest was away and left the service in the charge of a young priest, Patrick, who was not quite confident in his English. The organist may have been a rookie as well. I could hardly sing along with the rendition of "Seek Ye First." The most touching part of the service was when he led us in prayer. That day the Poles were voting in a stage of the presidential election. Even after praying about it, he closed the service with an entreaty for us to remember the Poles throughout the day. The final vote comes later. So please remember the Poles.
Mer and I took Sunday afternoon as time to ourselves and wandered our separate ways. I went to the Czartoryski Museum. The Czartoryski family must have been rich because they left a legacy of art and exquisite antiques. Most of the things on display were nice, but not too exciting - especially since I could not read the Polish descriptions. But then I got to see the real reason for my visit: Leonardo Da Vinci's Lady with an Ermine. Krakow is one of five cities in the world to possess a Da Vinci painting. For those art lovers out there, it is incredible to see Da Vinci's work. I can't express how it affected me. (So that's one Ninja Turtle. I would have seen Raphael as well in the museum, but the work was lost during WW II.)
In the other section of the Czartoryski home, on the other side of the walkway which they built across the street to join their houses, I took in a special exhibit on Michelangelo (Ninja Turtle #2). It briefly showed how some artists incorporated his ideas and images into their own work. Again, I couldn't read the Polish, but that didn't matter for the heart of the exhibit: six of Michelangelo's sketches. There were two of his architectural sketches, a few sketches of humans, and a study of an arm for the Sistine chapel. Again, it was so cool to see the work of a genius.
Mer and I met up again by Florian's gate and bought some opera tickets. That night was the first opera for both of us. We sat in red blush seats in a balcony and took in Bizet's Carmen, the tragic story of a gypsy woman. It really made me realize how much classical music I have learned from cartoons. From the opening notes, I was having Bugs Bunny flashbacks. It really was quite nice. We ended the evening with desserts at a chocolate shop before going back to the hostel where we got to stay in a brand new room at Nathan's Villa hostel. The toilet paper dispensers hadn't even been installed yet.
North of our hostel and south of the town square, Wawel Castle sits proudly on a hill. People have reportedly lived on this hill for thousands and thousands of years. About a thousand years ago, it was developed as the seat of royals. It is quite an imposing structure looming over the city with its wall and towers and spires. Monday morning, several of the exhibitions were free so we went. I always go for free stuff. We wandered through some re-created royal apartments, went across a footbridge through some old foundations, and gawked at the collection of armor and cannons. There was a more to see there, including the cathedral and a "dragon's den" and just beautiful grounds. We hope to find time to go back there.
In the afternoon, we joined a motley group for a bike tour. Our guide, a former English teacher from Florida, would over-enunciate his words when he would go into a well-rehearsed schpiel. Our fellow tourists consisted of two recent university graduates from Ontario with an over-fondness for Trailer Park Boys, an Australian girl whose cycling ability was in definite question, and a hippie masseuse from Colorado who I think was out seeing the world for the first time. It made us nostalgic for our Berlin tour group, but we still had a good time. Our path took us by the Wisla river, the park the Austrians built to eliminate the old moat that once circled the city, Oskar Schindler's house near the same park, the archdiocese where Pope John Paul II served before his election as pope, and the other sites of the old city that I previously mentioned. We stopped near Jagiellonian University, alma mater of Copernicus and the Pope. It is the second oldest university in Eastern Europe and is very large today. The Nazis shut it down during the war in an effort to keep Poles uneducated, the slave bank of the Third Riech. Pretty much all the professors were killed.
Then we went further south to Kazimierz, the former Jewish neighborhood. The Polish King Kazimierz saw the need for a Jewish population in order to further the ecomonic development of Krakow and made home for them here. The Wisla (Vistula in English) river used to fork and form an island. The Jewish neighborhood took up one end of the island while a Catholic community was on the other end. The Catholic square had a large clock which chimed on the hour. The Jews could not see the clock, but because they could hear it, the Catholics would charge them for using it! We saw the Jewish cemetary full of the headstones of Orthodox Jews and the old synagogue. But sadly, none of these are being used by a Jewish community anymore. Before the Nazi occupation, over 60 000 Jews lived in Krakow. Less than 2 % of that number lived to see the end of the war. And then none of them wanted to stay in Krakow. Today, the Jewish population here is virtually nil.
When the Nazis took over and their commander lived in Wawel castle, they made a Jewish ghetto and forced all the Jews to leave their homes in Kazimierz. They were stuck in a run down neighborhood south of the river where there was not enough housing. A wall resembling Orthodox gravestones separated them from the world. They were sorted and kept in the ghetto based on their usefulness to the Nazis. Therefore, at one time the ghetto was 80% male. At its peak, there were 25 people for every room available in the housing. It is very bleak there still, with the ghosts of the past seeming to linger as the poor and unmotivated sit idly and smoke. It's the bad part of town.
Roman Polanski (remember The Pianist? the new version of Oliver Twist?) lived in this ghetto as a child. He donated money to a little museum there commemorating a non-Jewish Pharmacy owner who was the only non-Jew in the ghetto. The pharmacy was a place of resistance and one of the few places in the ghetto that acknowledges the morbid history. Meridith said it best. She said that its like Krakow hasn't dealt with its history like Berlin and Warsaw have.
We stopped for a while in Oskar Schindler's factory. For those of you who haven't seen Spielberg's film, Schindler was a greedy German man who saw the war as his pathway to riches. He lived in a house that rightfully belonged to Jews, owned a factory that rightfully belonged to Jews, paid the SS to use Jews as his slaves, and made his fortune selling mess kits to the German army. For some reason when he realized that the Jews were condemned to die, he incredibly found a way to save 1098 of them and take them with him to Czechoslovakia. It is an amazing story. We sat in his factory, saw his office and remembered scenes of the movie that were filmed there. Sadly, after the war, his life sucked. He remained a gambling womanizing drunk. At one point, he was in Argentina working as a farmer on his great idea of making fur coats out of some kind of very large rat. He died on the operating table in Germany. Perhaps not so coincidentally, the surgeon was Schindler's girlfriend's husband.
Tuesday morning came cold and foggy. Some people we'd talked to were headed to Auschwitz, the horrific Nazi death camp. After yesterday's heavy thoughts, we opted to see something cheerier and hopped on a mini-bus for Wieliczka, about 20 minutes from Krakow. The site to see there is a 700 year old salt mine, one of the bazillion things UNESCO has on their list. (www.kopalnia.pl) The legend is that a Hungarian princess was marrying a Polish prince. She didn't want to give the Polish people jewels as gift. She wanted to give them something they didn't have. And mystically, there was the salt. We arrived just in time to take a tour from an endearing old man whose name I believe was Emile. I didn't quite understand everything he said so I may have the legend a little wrong. We descended on a wooden stair case with seen steps per flight. I am not sure how many flights it was - over 60 anyways. The interesting things is that every square inch of the staircase - and it turned out every available piece of wood in the mine - was covered in graffiti. It was usually "so-and-so was here on this date" or "so-and-so loves so-and-so." For a moment, I was tempted to add my own John Hancock, but then thought better of it.
Salt rock is not the usual white crystal we sprinkle on our food. It is dark and hard and sometimes has streaking like marble. I licked a wall that looked like marble, but yeah, it was salt. There are hundreds of kilometers of shafts in the mine, but we were taken along the one reserved for tourists while several layers below us, 300 men still labor to retrieve the salt. The caverns we were paraded through had a many statues carved out of salt. There were rooms with re-creations of what mining had been like in previous centuries. Because the miners had basically lived below the ground, there were numerous chapels complete with salt crystal chandeliers. Some of the figures had been dissolved a little by water and now look like modern art pieces. It is surprising how a salt room with salt art can be so very beautiful. One chapel had elaborate wall carvings of New Testament stories. We descended a few more times before ending at a level of about 135 meters below the ground. We had lunch at a cafeteria - which we later regretted as the potato-ish thing we ate weighed heavy in our stomachs. We joined another tour guide for a look at the museum. He seemed robotic, only speaking at certain times, herding us in the proper direction. His moments of humanity came when I would ask a question. He would always laugh before answering. He showed us crystal encrusted ladders, gigantic mining wheels, and a cute miniature of the town from a map of the 1700s. Then we piled into a tiny mining lift for the rapid ride up.
After checking out the plethora of souvenir shops where you could get any kind of figurine mounted on a salt rock, we wandered past the castle, a sad looking church and the old square before returning to Krakow. We spent the rest of the afternoon poking through a bookstore. I only bought one book, which is a hardship for a booklover like me when so many intriguing titles at good prices are available. Now you are caught up on our European tour. Tomorrow, we depart for the mountains near the border of Slovakia.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Czestochowa
In the middle of the city of Czestochowa (pop 260 000), there is a hill. And towering on the top of the hill is the Jasna Gora monastery began in the late fourteenth century by Hungarian Pauline monks. Through the ages, it served as a fortress and endured seiges. But more important than the military history is the spiritual history. In the shadow of the 17th c. Baroque church is the smaller 15th c. Gothic chapel of our Lady of Czestochowa. In this chapel is the mystical Black Madonna, and the reason for the influx of pilgrims into this tiny town.
Legends abound about the origins of this painting of mother and child. The story goes that St. Luke created it on a tabletop from the home of the holy family. After being in Constantine's possession for a time, it was brought to Poland and entrusted to the Pauline monks. In one attack, it was slashed by some robbers. The face of Mary began to bleed and scared off the robbers. The monks wanted to clean her, but had no water. Miraculously a spring rushed out and provided the needed water. Despite being restored, her face still bears the scars. Various other legends exist. Art critics say it is a Byzantine icon dating from the 6th to 9th century. For more information, please check out http://www.jasnagora.pl/english/
From our safe abode in the House of Pilgrims where thousands of Poles have stayed when making their pilgrimages, we wandered into the monastery complex and found the information center in hopes of finding something in English so we could navigate our way around the complex. When we asked if anyone spoke English, a woman wandered into the back to find someone to help us. We were expecting the younger lady who we had spotted previously. Instead, out came Sr. Salvatora, a gentle older nun. She sweetly found some English stuff for us and then told us all about the bus schedule to Krakow for the next day. She told us to take the bus because it was safer and that if we needed a cab to get to the bus depot to try get number 345. She gave us a map from Catholic World Youth Day in 1991 and corrected a couple of thigns on it. We thanked her for her help. I said, "God bless you." She returned my greeting and then added as we were walking out, "And thank you for your presence here." I was overwhelmed by her beautiful spirit. Mer and I have decided that when we get to heaven, we're going to have coffee with her. Well, maybe tea. I like that better.
We were fortunate enough to not be there for a Marian feast or another religious holiday, but even still a lot of people were there. Tour buses were lined up in the parking lots. Groups of older people wandered around clutching purses and canes. Young people with backpacks meandered in packs. No one seemed unhappy to be there. They all were content. Young nuns, monks and priests joked with those around them. A girl accidentally stepped on a priest's robe and instead of a reprimand, she received a hardy laugh as the priest dusted off his robe. The atmosphere was joyous and yet reverent as if everyone heeded the signs which said, "This is a holy place. Come here as a pilgrim." A huge grass field in the front lined with statues depicting the lives of Mary and Jesus faced a podium where John Paul II, the Polish pope, had addressed gigantic crowds. People would sometimes stop us to ask us a question, and then would smile and still be friendly when they realized we had no idea what we were staying. During our whole time there, I was conscious that we were somewhere special and it was the people who made it so special.
We followed a group of pilgrims into the baroque chapel and then into a side area, and found ourselves in the chapel of the Mother of God. Behind a set of bars was the altar and hanging above the altar was the Black Madonna. The picture itself is indeed quite dark. The mother and child look out with soulful faces, the mother's face marred by those telling scars. They were decorated by gilded outfits which seem to changed periodically. The room was hushed as some pilgrims kneeled to pray and others stood in amazement. I wondered how many of them were there for the first time. I wondered if any of my ancestors had made this pilgrimage and I felt some strange kinship to great great great grandparents whose names have been lost in the ravages of time. Earnest expressions were on every face.
We filed through in a line to walk along the edges of the altar for a closer glimpse of the miraculous picture which has survived so many conflicts and assaults. I saw an older gentleman tear up. Many stopped to kneel and pray. The picture itself may not appeal to my artistic tastes, but there is something unique about it. I could not stand there and look at it and not be moved.
After gazing at the picture, we assembled back in the chapel for mass. We were a little too close for comfort with some people, but in such a friendly atmosphere, even that close contact seemed comfortable. Elderly women with canes would lower themselves to the floor to pray. Old men sang their hearts out and other people sang out of tune, but they made a joyful noise. All together, the sound was beautiful. I understood very little of what was said other than Kyrie Eleison, amen, alleluia, and the Polish word for thank you. But it was all very special. It was one of the longest masses I'd ever been to and I tried to follow the order as best as I could remember it. Near the end, the organ broke out in trumpetry for the lowering of the curtain over the Madonna. We shuffled out in the midst of the dedicated Poles and found fresh air in the courtyard.
We wandered into the park in front of the monastery near a fountain. There for the sum of three dollars, we feasted on a Polish sausage with a bun and a Coca-Cola. There are tons of little weiner dogs here. I said that I would adopt a weiner dog but Mer is not interested. She would rather get a tortoise.
The afternoon passed quickly as we explored the rest of the monastery. The bell tower in the center gave us an opportunity to look out over the city. We climbed up the stairs, and I thought how cool it would have been to be friends with Quasimodo just to help him ring the bells.
The monastery has three little museums. We first headed for the Treasury where the priceless treasures and gifts received by the monastery are housed. Instead we found ourselves in a gift shop with a gentle old priest who told us in English what would be good to buy. Back up the stairs, we were overwhelmed by the riches the monastery has been given. Military medals, jewels, reliquaries, pocket watches . . . Another museum had ancient charters and robes belonging to Poland's own Jana Pawel II aka Karol Wojota. The armory detailed the military history of the monastery with a lot of Turkish bootie from a triumphant battle in Vienna.
We wandered around the wall to see the beautiful stations of the cross and reflect on the significance of Good Friday. We had supper at the cafeteria of the House of Pilgrims and finished the day by a final walk around the grounds.
Yesterday was such a blessed day. God gave Mer and I good times of conversation. We were blessed with sweet fellowship with other Christians with whom we cannot communicate. It was so refreshing and so different from any place we've been so far.
This morning, taxi 345 - the one recommended by Sr. Salvatora - took us to the bus station and we left Czestochowa on the Polskie Express. Now we are in the beautiful city of Krakow where many more adventures await us.
Legends abound about the origins of this painting of mother and child. The story goes that St. Luke created it on a tabletop from the home of the holy family. After being in Constantine's possession for a time, it was brought to Poland and entrusted to the Pauline monks. In one attack, it was slashed by some robbers. The face of Mary began to bleed and scared off the robbers. The monks wanted to clean her, but had no water. Miraculously a spring rushed out and provided the needed water. Despite being restored, her face still bears the scars. Various other legends exist. Art critics say it is a Byzantine icon dating from the 6th to 9th century. For more information, please check out http://www.jasnagora.pl/english/
From our safe abode in the House of Pilgrims where thousands of Poles have stayed when making their pilgrimages, we wandered into the monastery complex and found the information center in hopes of finding something in English so we could navigate our way around the complex. When we asked if anyone spoke English, a woman wandered into the back to find someone to help us. We were expecting the younger lady who we had spotted previously. Instead, out came Sr. Salvatora, a gentle older nun. She sweetly found some English stuff for us and then told us all about the bus schedule to Krakow for the next day. She told us to take the bus because it was safer and that if we needed a cab to get to the bus depot to try get number 345. She gave us a map from Catholic World Youth Day in 1991 and corrected a couple of thigns on it. We thanked her for her help. I said, "God bless you." She returned my greeting and then added as we were walking out, "And thank you for your presence here." I was overwhelmed by her beautiful spirit. Mer and I have decided that when we get to heaven, we're going to have coffee with her. Well, maybe tea. I like that better.
We were fortunate enough to not be there for a Marian feast or another religious holiday, but even still a lot of people were there. Tour buses were lined up in the parking lots. Groups of older people wandered around clutching purses and canes. Young people with backpacks meandered in packs. No one seemed unhappy to be there. They all were content. Young nuns, monks and priests joked with those around them. A girl accidentally stepped on a priest's robe and instead of a reprimand, she received a hardy laugh as the priest dusted off his robe. The atmosphere was joyous and yet reverent as if everyone heeded the signs which said, "This is a holy place. Come here as a pilgrim." A huge grass field in the front lined with statues depicting the lives of Mary and Jesus faced a podium where John Paul II, the Polish pope, had addressed gigantic crowds. People would sometimes stop us to ask us a question, and then would smile and still be friendly when they realized we had no idea what we were staying. During our whole time there, I was conscious that we were somewhere special and it was the people who made it so special.
We followed a group of pilgrims into the baroque chapel and then into a side area, and found ourselves in the chapel of the Mother of God. Behind a set of bars was the altar and hanging above the altar was the Black Madonna. The picture itself is indeed quite dark. The mother and child look out with soulful faces, the mother's face marred by those telling scars. They were decorated by gilded outfits which seem to changed periodically. The room was hushed as some pilgrims kneeled to pray and others stood in amazement. I wondered how many of them were there for the first time. I wondered if any of my ancestors had made this pilgrimage and I felt some strange kinship to great great great grandparents whose names have been lost in the ravages of time. Earnest expressions were on every face.
We filed through in a line to walk along the edges of the altar for a closer glimpse of the miraculous picture which has survived so many conflicts and assaults. I saw an older gentleman tear up. Many stopped to kneel and pray. The picture itself may not appeal to my artistic tastes, but there is something unique about it. I could not stand there and look at it and not be moved.
After gazing at the picture, we assembled back in the chapel for mass. We were a little too close for comfort with some people, but in such a friendly atmosphere, even that close contact seemed comfortable. Elderly women with canes would lower themselves to the floor to pray. Old men sang their hearts out and other people sang out of tune, but they made a joyful noise. All together, the sound was beautiful. I understood very little of what was said other than Kyrie Eleison, amen, alleluia, and the Polish word for thank you. But it was all very special. It was one of the longest masses I'd ever been to and I tried to follow the order as best as I could remember it. Near the end, the organ broke out in trumpetry for the lowering of the curtain over the Madonna. We shuffled out in the midst of the dedicated Poles and found fresh air in the courtyard.
We wandered into the park in front of the monastery near a fountain. There for the sum of three dollars, we feasted on a Polish sausage with a bun and a Coca-Cola. There are tons of little weiner dogs here. I said that I would adopt a weiner dog but Mer is not interested. She would rather get a tortoise.
The afternoon passed quickly as we explored the rest of the monastery. The bell tower in the center gave us an opportunity to look out over the city. We climbed up the stairs, and I thought how cool it would have been to be friends with Quasimodo just to help him ring the bells.
The monastery has three little museums. We first headed for the Treasury where the priceless treasures and gifts received by the monastery are housed. Instead we found ourselves in a gift shop with a gentle old priest who told us in English what would be good to buy. Back up the stairs, we were overwhelmed by the riches the monastery has been given. Military medals, jewels, reliquaries, pocket watches . . . Another museum had ancient charters and robes belonging to Poland's own Jana Pawel II aka Karol Wojota. The armory detailed the military history of the monastery with a lot of Turkish bootie from a triumphant battle in Vienna.
We wandered around the wall to see the beautiful stations of the cross and reflect on the significance of Good Friday. We had supper at the cafeteria of the House of Pilgrims and finished the day by a final walk around the grounds.
Yesterday was such a blessed day. God gave Mer and I good times of conversation. We were blessed with sweet fellowship with other Christians with whom we cannot communicate. It was so refreshing and so different from any place we've been so far.
This morning, taxi 345 - the one recommended by Sr. Salvatora - took us to the bus station and we left Czestochowa on the Polskie Express. Now we are in the beautiful city of Krakow where many more adventures await us.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
The Quarter Century Mark
Well folks, it's official. I'm 25 years old. Wait a minute . . . it's not yet my birthday in Canada and I don't think I was born until noon so I guess I've got at least 12 hours left of being 24. Not that it really matters. They say the older you get, the less important birthdays are and you never feel magically older like you did when you were five turning six. But for me, 25 feels like some kind of milestone. I am now well established in the mid-twenties and the big three - o is hanging over my head. I know that people older than me think that 30 is unbelievably young, but I think you can all remember at one time thinking that 30 was old. Five more years for me . . .
I'm in Poland right now, Warsaw to be specific. We arrived to a hustling bustling pace full of buses and trams making public transport so convenient. The one problem was that we didn't quite know how the system worked so we guessed and after a few errors, eventually made it to Nathan's Villa Hostel where there is no checkout time and there is free laundry - if you can find your stuff in the gigantic pile after the airdrying is finished. It's not quite the Circus, but it's not bad. Last night's situation was better because the drunken idiots didn't stay in our room. It wouldn't have bothered me, but one of my ear plugs fell out and I couldn't find it. And those of you who know me well know how grumpy I am when I wake up . . .
Our first morning wasn't too eventfull. Meridith had some flight problems to deal with - namely her flight home being cancelled. She found a way home, but needless to say, neither of us is too impressed with the airline. Finally, we headed up to the Stare Miasto, the old city. If you look at pictures of Warsaw just after the war, it's just a huge pile of rubble. But the incredible thing is that they rebuilt pretty much everything. The old city looks pretty much the same as it used to. The old wall - the Barbican - with its turrets and gates stands guard around the old buildings. Buskers and tasteful vendors try to make some money off the tourist trade. A statue of an armed mermaid stands guard over the square where cafes seat their customers in the sun and artists sketch and display pictures for sale. The Warsaw cathedral, an archdiocese cathedral, stands in this part as well. At the south end is the completely rebuilt Royal Castle which once housed the royal line. Almost completely demolished by the war, it was rebuilt in astonishing grandeur. It's weird seeing a new building in that style.
. . . Okay, now it's actually the day after my birthday. I had to put my entry on ice because of the flock of internet vultures swarming around my head. I mean, at a youth hostel, who gets up early to email except people like me? It kind of annoyed me that my birthday started off that way.
All right, back to the first full day in Warsaw. We hopped some trams and tried to go see the gigantic Jewish Cemetary. However, in our ignorance, we did not realize that it was Rosh Hashanah and therefore all Jewish things were closed. So we went back to the old city. We went up the viewing tower of St. Anne's church and took in a panorama of the city. Since we always seem to visit the centers of cities, it's cool to see the broader landscape. After I ate some pierogis and Mer had a salmon pancake, we went to the Palace of Culture, billed as a 40 storey montrosity (not sure how many storeys, I may be making that number up). It was Stalin's gift to Warsaw. They joke that the view from the top is the best in the city because it's the only place where you can't see it. Yeah, it's pretty ugly. We wandered around the base to the KinoTeka, the movie theater. We wanted to go to Roman Polanski's Oliver Twist. What could be more Polish than seeing a Polanski movie? Unfortunately, it was dubbed in Polish and we had to go see Bill Murray in Broken Flowers instead.
Wednesday morning, we headed to the Eastern side of the river to the Russian Market, advertised as Europe's largest outdoor market. It takes place every day at an old stadium on the ground leading to the stadium and on the upper ring of it as well. The lower level was all clothes - plenty of sequins. Up, we found everything from shoes to crystal to lighters to jewelry to garage sale booths. It was busy and active.
Mer's Lonely Planet recommended an eatery just north of the old city. We went there because it looked traditional and cheap - which it was. A bunch of middle aged woman serve up homemade Polish food in a hot little kitchen. We ordered soup and stuffed pancakes, which turned out to be twice as much food as we needed.
Next stop, the reconstructed Royal castle. It was simply amazing to see the ornateness of the re-creations. A lot of paintings and treasures had been hidden during the Nazi occupation. Wealthy Poles at home and abroad had contributed a lot of money and treasures. It was so much to take in. In the basement, we got to see some old artifacts from everyday life. There was also a special exhibit of mortars and pestels that a Polish man had spent his life collecting.
Since it was free on Wednesdays, we went to the Ethno Museum. It was cute, somewhat old museum. It featured a room full of the different ethnic outfits. Nana, I took a lot of pictures for you. Another room went through some of the seasonal festivals. There was a harvest display with wheat weaving and huge wheat wreaths. They also displayed Halloween type costumes which were very ornate. Then there was a collection of small Christmas houses that the people would carry with them when they went carolling. It was all very interesting and I wished I could read Polish so it would make more sense. One of my great grandfathers was of Polish descent and I kept wishing I knew more of my heritage on that side of the family so I could make sense of the things I was seeing. Many times as I traipsed around Warsaw, I thought of Grandpa Wilson and how he'd get a kick out of the fact that I'm in Poland.
We stopped in Holy Cross Church. A statue outside depicts Jesus carrying his cross. It's one of the symbols of Warsaw. It was time for evening prayers so we sat down in the back. It was special to see the church so full for a midweek thing. Old and young were on their knees, responding with memorized prayers to the prayers of the kneeling priest before the altar. We prayed that the prayers might not be empty words for them, but full of life. I looked over and saw the pillar where Chopin's heart is interned. He was buried in France, but his will left his heart to Poland.
That night, we couldn't get into the park to see the Palace on the Water because the gate was looked. But it didn't dampen our excitement at the loss of our drunken roommates. We were quite happy to see them leave.
And on my birthday, we dashed to the Jewish cemetary where 250 000 lay. Gravestones are clustered and leaning on each other because there is just no room to contain them all. Some of them were Holocaust victims and others were famous and wealthy citizens. I wished that I could read some of the ancient Hebrew headstones. It was peaceful in there. We also stopped into the adjacent Catholic cemetary where we could hear mass being sung in the nearby church. The contrast between the cemetaries was interesting right away as I saw the crosses protruding from every stone.
We went back to the little Grandma-ish eatery with its plants and lace curtains. We ordered the pierogies, not being sure what kind of pierogies we were getting. When she passed them to me, I saw a reddish color emanating from the inside and feared that my birthday lunch would be filled with beets. Thankfully not! It turned out to be STRAWBERRY, one of my favorite fruits, smothered in cream and topped off with white sugar. So good. That was a special little birthday gift to me.
We squeezed in a quick visit to the Warsaw Uprising Museum. This is a very well down museum with interesting information and a good mix of multimedia aspects. It chronicles the uprising against the Nazi occupation through the efforts of the Home Army. I loved how it told the stories of very ordinary people who stood up and did extraordinary things. Then the ones who lived returned to normal lives. There were tales of the courage of boy scouts and girl scouts risking their lives for the cause. It truly is a remarkable story which reveals the amazing character and determination of the Polish people. I need to do more reading on it. If ever you are in Warsaw, check out this museum.
We found our platform and boarded a train for Czestochowa, the spiritual heart of Poland, where the Black Madonna is housed in a hilltop monastery. A very nice large man in our train compartment hoisted our large backpacks up to the luggage racks. Four seats on each side facing each other in our compartment. We stared at each other and out the window at the landscape as it became more hilly and the bluffs of trees thicker. Eventually, we were the only ones left in our compartment and had to get our bags down ourselves. When I travel, I am always so amazed and so blessed at the acts of kindness people bestow on me. Very rarely are people mean. It's made me want to be more giving, especially to foreigners unsure of what to do.
Our home here is the House of the Pilgrims, situated behind the monastery. We have a cute little room where fold-down couches serve as beds. We have our own shower and they provide fresh towels so it's quite a treat for us. It's such a safe feeling place, with a nun at the front desk. The doors are locked at 10 PM so we weren't out late celebrating my birthday. We took our chances and ordered off a Polish menu. It was a nice way to end the busy day of travelling and running around to see last minute things. It was nice to relax and eat pizza and have a large jolly man with a moustache take my plate away. It didn't really feel like my birthday most of the day and in a fit of female emotion, I cried on a bench as Mer tried to comfort me and strangers tried not to stare too much. But those last moments of my birthday were precious as Mer and I laughed and had a good time. Thanks so much to all of you who sent me birthday greetings. Each of you are precious to me and I thank God so much for you.
I'm really enjoying Poland. The people are intriguing and friendly - even though we don't speak any Polish. I have only one phrase in my arsenal - Thank you - which I believe is one of the most important words in any language. All throughout Warsaw we saw a mixture of eldery and young, healthy and infirm. There are a lot of disabled people here. Cripples, amputees, the blind, deformed . . . it's very sobering to see. I think I've finally run out of words for this post. My next post will tell you all about the pilgrimage of a Mennonite and a Lutheran to go see a Catholic Madonna.
I'm in Poland right now, Warsaw to be specific. We arrived to a hustling bustling pace full of buses and trams making public transport so convenient. The one problem was that we didn't quite know how the system worked so we guessed and after a few errors, eventually made it to Nathan's Villa Hostel where there is no checkout time and there is free laundry - if you can find your stuff in the gigantic pile after the airdrying is finished. It's not quite the Circus, but it's not bad. Last night's situation was better because the drunken idiots didn't stay in our room. It wouldn't have bothered me, but one of my ear plugs fell out and I couldn't find it. And those of you who know me well know how grumpy I am when I wake up . . .
Our first morning wasn't too eventfull. Meridith had some flight problems to deal with - namely her flight home being cancelled. She found a way home, but needless to say, neither of us is too impressed with the airline. Finally, we headed up to the Stare Miasto, the old city. If you look at pictures of Warsaw just after the war, it's just a huge pile of rubble. But the incredible thing is that they rebuilt pretty much everything. The old city looks pretty much the same as it used to. The old wall - the Barbican - with its turrets and gates stands guard around the old buildings. Buskers and tasteful vendors try to make some money off the tourist trade. A statue of an armed mermaid stands guard over the square where cafes seat their customers in the sun and artists sketch and display pictures for sale. The Warsaw cathedral, an archdiocese cathedral, stands in this part as well. At the south end is the completely rebuilt Royal Castle which once housed the royal line. Almost completely demolished by the war, it was rebuilt in astonishing grandeur. It's weird seeing a new building in that style.
. . . Okay, now it's actually the day after my birthday. I had to put my entry on ice because of the flock of internet vultures swarming around my head. I mean, at a youth hostel, who gets up early to email except people like me? It kind of annoyed me that my birthday started off that way.
All right, back to the first full day in Warsaw. We hopped some trams and tried to go see the gigantic Jewish Cemetary. However, in our ignorance, we did not realize that it was Rosh Hashanah and therefore all Jewish things were closed. So we went back to the old city. We went up the viewing tower of St. Anne's church and took in a panorama of the city. Since we always seem to visit the centers of cities, it's cool to see the broader landscape. After I ate some pierogis and Mer had a salmon pancake, we went to the Palace of Culture, billed as a 40 storey montrosity (not sure how many storeys, I may be making that number up). It was Stalin's gift to Warsaw. They joke that the view from the top is the best in the city because it's the only place where you can't see it. Yeah, it's pretty ugly. We wandered around the base to the KinoTeka, the movie theater. We wanted to go to Roman Polanski's Oliver Twist. What could be more Polish than seeing a Polanski movie? Unfortunately, it was dubbed in Polish and we had to go see Bill Murray in Broken Flowers instead.
Wednesday morning, we headed to the Eastern side of the river to the Russian Market, advertised as Europe's largest outdoor market. It takes place every day at an old stadium on the ground leading to the stadium and on the upper ring of it as well. The lower level was all clothes - plenty of sequins. Up, we found everything from shoes to crystal to lighters to jewelry to garage sale booths. It was busy and active.
Mer's Lonely Planet recommended an eatery just north of the old city. We went there because it looked traditional and cheap - which it was. A bunch of middle aged woman serve up homemade Polish food in a hot little kitchen. We ordered soup and stuffed pancakes, which turned out to be twice as much food as we needed.
Next stop, the reconstructed Royal castle. It was simply amazing to see the ornateness of the re-creations. A lot of paintings and treasures had been hidden during the Nazi occupation. Wealthy Poles at home and abroad had contributed a lot of money and treasures. It was so much to take in. In the basement, we got to see some old artifacts from everyday life. There was also a special exhibit of mortars and pestels that a Polish man had spent his life collecting.
Since it was free on Wednesdays, we went to the Ethno Museum. It was cute, somewhat old museum. It featured a room full of the different ethnic outfits. Nana, I took a lot of pictures for you. Another room went through some of the seasonal festivals. There was a harvest display with wheat weaving and huge wheat wreaths. They also displayed Halloween type costumes which were very ornate. Then there was a collection of small Christmas houses that the people would carry with them when they went carolling. It was all very interesting and I wished I could read Polish so it would make more sense. One of my great grandfathers was of Polish descent and I kept wishing I knew more of my heritage on that side of the family so I could make sense of the things I was seeing. Many times as I traipsed around Warsaw, I thought of Grandpa Wilson and how he'd get a kick out of the fact that I'm in Poland.
We stopped in Holy Cross Church. A statue outside depicts Jesus carrying his cross. It's one of the symbols of Warsaw. It was time for evening prayers so we sat down in the back. It was special to see the church so full for a midweek thing. Old and young were on their knees, responding with memorized prayers to the prayers of the kneeling priest before the altar. We prayed that the prayers might not be empty words for them, but full of life. I looked over and saw the pillar where Chopin's heart is interned. He was buried in France, but his will left his heart to Poland.
That night, we couldn't get into the park to see the Palace on the Water because the gate was looked. But it didn't dampen our excitement at the loss of our drunken roommates. We were quite happy to see them leave.
And on my birthday, we dashed to the Jewish cemetary where 250 000 lay. Gravestones are clustered and leaning on each other because there is just no room to contain them all. Some of them were Holocaust victims and others were famous and wealthy citizens. I wished that I could read some of the ancient Hebrew headstones. It was peaceful in there. We also stopped into the adjacent Catholic cemetary where we could hear mass being sung in the nearby church. The contrast between the cemetaries was interesting right away as I saw the crosses protruding from every stone.
We went back to the little Grandma-ish eatery with its plants and lace curtains. We ordered the pierogies, not being sure what kind of pierogies we were getting. When she passed them to me, I saw a reddish color emanating from the inside and feared that my birthday lunch would be filled with beets. Thankfully not! It turned out to be STRAWBERRY, one of my favorite fruits, smothered in cream and topped off with white sugar. So good. That was a special little birthday gift to me.
We squeezed in a quick visit to the Warsaw Uprising Museum. This is a very well down museum with interesting information and a good mix of multimedia aspects. It chronicles the uprising against the Nazi occupation through the efforts of the Home Army. I loved how it told the stories of very ordinary people who stood up and did extraordinary things. Then the ones who lived returned to normal lives. There were tales of the courage of boy scouts and girl scouts risking their lives for the cause. It truly is a remarkable story which reveals the amazing character and determination of the Polish people. I need to do more reading on it. If ever you are in Warsaw, check out this museum.
We found our platform and boarded a train for Czestochowa, the spiritual heart of Poland, where the Black Madonna is housed in a hilltop monastery. A very nice large man in our train compartment hoisted our large backpacks up to the luggage racks. Four seats on each side facing each other in our compartment. We stared at each other and out the window at the landscape as it became more hilly and the bluffs of trees thicker. Eventually, we were the only ones left in our compartment and had to get our bags down ourselves. When I travel, I am always so amazed and so blessed at the acts of kindness people bestow on me. Very rarely are people mean. It's made me want to be more giving, especially to foreigners unsure of what to do.
Our home here is the House of the Pilgrims, situated behind the monastery. We have a cute little room where fold-down couches serve as beds. We have our own shower and they provide fresh towels so it's quite a treat for us. It's such a safe feeling place, with a nun at the front desk. The doors are locked at 10 PM so we weren't out late celebrating my birthday. We took our chances and ordered off a Polish menu. It was a nice way to end the busy day of travelling and running around to see last minute things. It was nice to relax and eat pizza and have a large jolly man with a moustache take my plate away. It didn't really feel like my birthday most of the day and in a fit of female emotion, I cried on a bench as Mer tried to comfort me and strangers tried not to stare too much. But those last moments of my birthday were precious as Mer and I laughed and had a good time. Thanks so much to all of you who sent me birthday greetings. Each of you are precious to me and I thank God so much for you.
I'm really enjoying Poland. The people are intriguing and friendly - even though we don't speak any Polish. I have only one phrase in my arsenal - Thank you - which I believe is one of the most important words in any language. All throughout Warsaw we saw a mixture of eldery and young, healthy and infirm. There are a lot of disabled people here. Cripples, amputees, the blind, deformed . . . it's very sobering to see. I think I've finally run out of words for this post. My next post will tell you all about the pilgrimage of a Mennonite and a Lutheran to go see a Catholic Madonna.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Do you like neo-Classical style?
Everyone said we'd like Berlin and I guess everyone was right. Sitting back and thinking on my time there now, it is a city I could actually live in. I liked the vibe there, I guess.
Originally we had booked to stay at a hostel advertising really cheap rates, but they messed up our reservation and therefore we had no place to stay. This was indeed unfortunate because it was the long weekend in Germany with October 3 being the fifteenth anniversary of unification. So we called the Circus Hostel, which my friends had lauded as the best hostel they had ever stayed in. I don't know why I didn't take their advice in the first place. It was hands down the best hostel I've ever seen. Our room was an Ikea showcase and everyone had their own nightstand and bed lamp and instead of a thin blanket, a nice duvet. So if you're ever in Berlin, check out the Circus Hostel.
On Friday night after checking in, we took off walking and after a couple wrong turns, found ourselves on the famous Unter Den Linden. Not being too up on German info, I didn't know the significance of the street while Meridith was wowed at being there. She didn't appreciate my babbling about random things while she wanted to soak in the experience. Basically, it's a Linden lined boulevard built by Friedrich to connect his palace with his hunting grounds. It's gone through wars and Nazis and communists so all the trees now there are pretty young. (Interesting note: all the trees in Berlin are numbered. Well, nearly all.) It's the one nice street that was in East Berlin that they would show visitors to try to impress them. Restored buildings line the streets in an overpowering manner. Opera houses, palaces, museums, and more museums on Museum Island . . . many built in Neo-classical style. One tour guide joked that Neo-classical is the flavor of the month every month in Berlin. We saw many of the buildings of the Humboldt university - alma-mater to Einstein, Bohr, Engels, Lenin, and a total of 33 Nobel Laureates. Outside one building is the square where the infamous book burning occured. A glass window on the ground looks down into a white room of empty bookcases. A chilling quotation by Heine is nearby, the gist being, "Where men burn books, soon they will burn men." His works were burned and soon men died in that square, Bebelplatz as well.
We also saw the Hotel Adlon where Michael Jackson infamously performed his baby dangling.
We continued down the beautiful street, slightly marred by construction, but sometimes they'd put up a big sheet with a picture of what the view should be like. Eventually we reached the Brandenburg Tor, a city gate with an intriguing history. It's named after the destination the road would take you to. Huge columns with Nike on a chariot with four horses. Napoleon stole the statue but eventually the Germans brought it back. Hitler left it out during the war, but thankfully had the foresight to make a mold of it. Only a horse's head survived. The Gate, a symbol of transportation, stood in the middle of the death zone separating East and West. Both could see it. The West discovered the mold and recast the statue. Since the gate was technically on the Eastern side, they left it Trojan horse style outside the gate.
Next, we stood in line at the Reichstag, the German parliament with the huge glass dome on top. We stood in line for perhaps an hour and a half. The Reichstag was built with money the Germanic tribes had demanded from France after beating them in war. After a couple of years of occupation and uniting as a nation by signing a constitution in the hall of Mirrors in Versailles, they came home and built a lot of stuff including the Riechstag. It was here that the infamous fire occured which allowed Hitler to suspend parliament and take over the country. It happened on November 9. Pretty much everything in Germany happened on November 9. The building was unused during the Third Reich and the time of split Germany. With unification and Berlin receiving another chance at being the capital, the Reichstag was repaired and put back into service. We were herded into a holding tank and one by one taken through security before taking the elevator up. From the center of the glass dome, you can look down into the chamber where all the debate happens. We looked out at the lights of the city. However, we did not meet Schroeder.
Saturday, we headed down to Checkpoint Charlie, the crossing point between East and West Berlin. Some replica checkpoint stuff has been set up and some people dress up in soldier costumes and you can pay to have your photo with them. It's kind of hokey, but helps to envision what it was like to cross from East to West. West Berliners could get visas to visit family, but they had to exchange their money one to one, even though the rate was really ten to one. Beside the Checkpoint is a cafe that John LaCarriere wrote about in his novels. The real appeal to visit this section is the Checkpoint Charlie Museum. Rainier Hildebrand set up this museum during the Cold War. It told stories of people who had crossed the wall or died in the attempt. It also humanized the East guards so people would know that not all of them were enemies. Many were conscripted to do their tasks. The museum house also served as a link to facilitate more escapes because of its proximity to the checkpoint.
Many escape contraptions are on display. There is a homemade scuba set, homemade airplanes, submarines, hot air ballons, fake gas tanks in cars. A couple of the stories really stuck with me. A man was building a tunnel from East to West, but when approached by his elderly neighbors, he refused to include them, claiming the tunnel wasn't suitable for them to get across. So a handful of old men made their own meter and half tall tunnel. The 81 year old was the lookout, puttering in the garden, using his methods of planting as codes for what he was seeing. The other men, over 60 years of age, worked on the tunnel. Eventually along with the five women in the house, they escaped.
Another favorite story is a West German man who took the passenger seat out of his car in East Berlin, put the seat cover over his East German girlfriend, stuffed her to look like a seat and drove across the Checkpoint no problem. The ingenuity of some of the stories is amazing.
Another section of the museum is devoted to non-violent protest. Some of Gandhi's diaries are on display as well as his shoes. The history of the fall of the Iron Curtain is well-chronicled. This museum is definitely worth a visit.
After a lunch of currywurst smothered in ketchup, we went with a group from the hostel to the Olympic Stadium. This is the same stadium built by the Nazis where Hitler refused to congratulate Jesse Owens. Now there is a Jesse Owens Allee nearby. The city needed an arena, but was hesitant to use the neo-classical coliseum. After years of deliberation, the building was renovated and redeemed. The Circus Hostel owner related some of this history to us. We went to watch German premiere soccer. In the last half, the Berlin Hertha BSC gave up their lead to Bremen and never regained it. The crowd was intense.
I sat next to a guy who had taught English in a few places in Asia. He claims that China is planning to do something about renegade Taiwan in the next couple of years. While teaching at a university in China, he asked the students what their biggest dreams were. He encouraged them to think about anything at all - be an astronaut, a rock star, president. Finally after silence, he got a response out of one guy. "My biggest dream," he said, "is for Taiwan to be reunited with China." Hmm, some minor brainwashing there.
We ate with an Australian girl who had worked in Whistler. The two of us tried to enjoy Berlin's nightlife and went to a nearby club called "Delicious Donuts". We were there around midnight and I felt like I was in high school with the crowd there. A German guy with huge glasses tried to make Meridith's acquaintance. Apparently, the fun starts there at 2 am. We weren't willing to wait and went back to the hostel.
In good old room 310, we had the best hostelmates of the trip. First there was the mysterious Italian who never seemed to change clothes, was reading something by Marx and Engles, and liked to return for the night in the light of the early dawn. But more importantly, there were the three crazy Jewish Aussies. They gave us Aussie nicknames - Mezza and Microwave Jenny. Every night, we'd crack jokes and laugh a lot. In our new hostel in Warsaw, we missed them. I guess I'll have to check out their blog. They were quite entertaining.
Sunday, most things are closed in Berlin. I'm not used to that anymore - except for in Frontier of course. We joined a walking tour hosted by a 22 year old from Pittsburgh with an architecture degree. With some sarcasm and editorializing, he related so much history and architectural insight. We meandered through courtyards, and admired the graffiti that is rampant in the city. We looked at the TV tower, East Germany's attempt at appearing technologically advanced. Our guide says it was actually Swedish made and put together like an Ikea kit. It's pretty ugly. He took us past the "New" Jewish synagogue which miraculously survived the night of broken glass. The Nazis later set it on fire, but it wasn't completely destroyed like the other synagogues. Sadly, it is no longer in use. The current Jewish population is much too small to need such a large building. We saw the balcony belonging to the press secretary of East Germany who made the statement that caused the wall to fall down.
What I loved about the tour was the theme of redemption. So many sights and memorials could be tainted by the memory of Nazi Germany, but they have been restored and revived. We stood directly over Hitler's bunker where his life ended. The only sign of it is a steel trap door. A residential building stands there now and as our guide related the horrid history, a small child played with a pink truck. Where there once was death, there is now life.
The Jewish monument is a grid of large rectangular boxes on a hilly plain. The designer wanted you to experience being alone. It's very haunting. Because it'd be a great canvas for graffiti, they needed a special teflon coating to protect the monument. One company donated a product to be used in addition to giving money to help finance the entire project. This is controversial because this is the company who produced a gas used in the Nazi death chambers. I find it interesting because the company which once profitted from death is now giving of itself in order to protect.
There are so many things I could comment on from the tour . Like the letter George Washington sent to Friedrich King of Prussia wondering if his little brother Henry would be king of the States. The Hugeonot church commissioned by Lutheran Friedrich. The Lutheran cathedral built in - ironically - the counter reformation style of neo-Baroque. Soviet pre-fab buildings made out of blocks. A gigantic marble bowl that Germans once considered the 8th wonder of the world.
Supper that night, we went to a restaurant along the Spree which had a drink stock market with prices fluctuating all night. Boy, the stock market crash was exciting.
Our final morning in Berlin, we stopped by the East Side Gallery, the longest remaining section of the wall. Since 1989, sections of it have been repainted multiple times. Walking along it, I tried to imagine what life was like, being so cut off by the double wall with the death zone inbetween. We also saw the church with the broken spire next to the Zoo station. In the midst of a city so rebuilt, it is good to have a reminder of all that has happened. Berlin may be in colossal debt, but it has bravely tried to deal and live with a heavy history. It has a phenomenal history.
We arrived in Warsaw, Poland on Monday night. More on that in the next installment . . .
Originally we had booked to stay at a hostel advertising really cheap rates, but they messed up our reservation and therefore we had no place to stay. This was indeed unfortunate because it was the long weekend in Germany with October 3 being the fifteenth anniversary of unification. So we called the Circus Hostel, which my friends had lauded as the best hostel they had ever stayed in. I don't know why I didn't take their advice in the first place. It was hands down the best hostel I've ever seen. Our room was an Ikea showcase and everyone had their own nightstand and bed lamp and instead of a thin blanket, a nice duvet. So if you're ever in Berlin, check out the Circus Hostel.
On Friday night after checking in, we took off walking and after a couple wrong turns, found ourselves on the famous Unter Den Linden. Not being too up on German info, I didn't know the significance of the street while Meridith was wowed at being there. She didn't appreciate my babbling about random things while she wanted to soak in the experience. Basically, it's a Linden lined boulevard built by Friedrich to connect his palace with his hunting grounds. It's gone through wars and Nazis and communists so all the trees now there are pretty young. (Interesting note: all the trees in Berlin are numbered. Well, nearly all.) It's the one nice street that was in East Berlin that they would show visitors to try to impress them. Restored buildings line the streets in an overpowering manner. Opera houses, palaces, museums, and more museums on Museum Island . . . many built in Neo-classical style. One tour guide joked that Neo-classical is the flavor of the month every month in Berlin. We saw many of the buildings of the Humboldt university - alma-mater to Einstein, Bohr, Engels, Lenin, and a total of 33 Nobel Laureates. Outside one building is the square where the infamous book burning occured. A glass window on the ground looks down into a white room of empty bookcases. A chilling quotation by Heine is nearby, the gist being, "Where men burn books, soon they will burn men." His works were burned and soon men died in that square, Bebelplatz as well.
We also saw the Hotel Adlon where Michael Jackson infamously performed his baby dangling.
We continued down the beautiful street, slightly marred by construction, but sometimes they'd put up a big sheet with a picture of what the view should be like. Eventually we reached the Brandenburg Tor, a city gate with an intriguing history. It's named after the destination the road would take you to. Huge columns with Nike on a chariot with four horses. Napoleon stole the statue but eventually the Germans brought it back. Hitler left it out during the war, but thankfully had the foresight to make a mold of it. Only a horse's head survived. The Gate, a symbol of transportation, stood in the middle of the death zone separating East and West. Both could see it. The West discovered the mold and recast the statue. Since the gate was technically on the Eastern side, they left it Trojan horse style outside the gate.
Next, we stood in line at the Reichstag, the German parliament with the huge glass dome on top. We stood in line for perhaps an hour and a half. The Reichstag was built with money the Germanic tribes had demanded from France after beating them in war. After a couple of years of occupation and uniting as a nation by signing a constitution in the hall of Mirrors in Versailles, they came home and built a lot of stuff including the Riechstag. It was here that the infamous fire occured which allowed Hitler to suspend parliament and take over the country. It happened on November 9. Pretty much everything in Germany happened on November 9. The building was unused during the Third Reich and the time of split Germany. With unification and Berlin receiving another chance at being the capital, the Reichstag was repaired and put back into service. We were herded into a holding tank and one by one taken through security before taking the elevator up. From the center of the glass dome, you can look down into the chamber where all the debate happens. We looked out at the lights of the city. However, we did not meet Schroeder.
Saturday, we headed down to Checkpoint Charlie, the crossing point between East and West Berlin. Some replica checkpoint stuff has been set up and some people dress up in soldier costumes and you can pay to have your photo with them. It's kind of hokey, but helps to envision what it was like to cross from East to West. West Berliners could get visas to visit family, but they had to exchange their money one to one, even though the rate was really ten to one. Beside the Checkpoint is a cafe that John LaCarriere wrote about in his novels. The real appeal to visit this section is the Checkpoint Charlie Museum. Rainier Hildebrand set up this museum during the Cold War. It told stories of people who had crossed the wall or died in the attempt. It also humanized the East guards so people would know that not all of them were enemies. Many were conscripted to do their tasks. The museum house also served as a link to facilitate more escapes because of its proximity to the checkpoint.
Many escape contraptions are on display. There is a homemade scuba set, homemade airplanes, submarines, hot air ballons, fake gas tanks in cars. A couple of the stories really stuck with me. A man was building a tunnel from East to West, but when approached by his elderly neighbors, he refused to include them, claiming the tunnel wasn't suitable for them to get across. So a handful of old men made their own meter and half tall tunnel. The 81 year old was the lookout, puttering in the garden, using his methods of planting as codes for what he was seeing. The other men, over 60 years of age, worked on the tunnel. Eventually along with the five women in the house, they escaped.
Another favorite story is a West German man who took the passenger seat out of his car in East Berlin, put the seat cover over his East German girlfriend, stuffed her to look like a seat and drove across the Checkpoint no problem. The ingenuity of some of the stories is amazing.
Another section of the museum is devoted to non-violent protest. Some of Gandhi's diaries are on display as well as his shoes. The history of the fall of the Iron Curtain is well-chronicled. This museum is definitely worth a visit.
After a lunch of currywurst smothered in ketchup, we went with a group from the hostel to the Olympic Stadium. This is the same stadium built by the Nazis where Hitler refused to congratulate Jesse Owens. Now there is a Jesse Owens Allee nearby. The city needed an arena, but was hesitant to use the neo-classical coliseum. After years of deliberation, the building was renovated and redeemed. The Circus Hostel owner related some of this history to us. We went to watch German premiere soccer. In the last half, the Berlin Hertha BSC gave up their lead to Bremen and never regained it. The crowd was intense.
I sat next to a guy who had taught English in a few places in Asia. He claims that China is planning to do something about renegade Taiwan in the next couple of years. While teaching at a university in China, he asked the students what their biggest dreams were. He encouraged them to think about anything at all - be an astronaut, a rock star, president. Finally after silence, he got a response out of one guy. "My biggest dream," he said, "is for Taiwan to be reunited with China." Hmm, some minor brainwashing there.
We ate with an Australian girl who had worked in Whistler. The two of us tried to enjoy Berlin's nightlife and went to a nearby club called "Delicious Donuts". We were there around midnight and I felt like I was in high school with the crowd there. A German guy with huge glasses tried to make Meridith's acquaintance. Apparently, the fun starts there at 2 am. We weren't willing to wait and went back to the hostel.
In good old room 310, we had the best hostelmates of the trip. First there was the mysterious Italian who never seemed to change clothes, was reading something by Marx and Engles, and liked to return for the night in the light of the early dawn. But more importantly, there were the three crazy Jewish Aussies. They gave us Aussie nicknames - Mezza and Microwave Jenny. Every night, we'd crack jokes and laugh a lot. In our new hostel in Warsaw, we missed them. I guess I'll have to check out their blog. They were quite entertaining.
Sunday, most things are closed in Berlin. I'm not used to that anymore - except for in Frontier of course. We joined a walking tour hosted by a 22 year old from Pittsburgh with an architecture degree. With some sarcasm and editorializing, he related so much history and architectural insight. We meandered through courtyards, and admired the graffiti that is rampant in the city. We looked at the TV tower, East Germany's attempt at appearing technologically advanced. Our guide says it was actually Swedish made and put together like an Ikea kit. It's pretty ugly. He took us past the "New" Jewish synagogue which miraculously survived the night of broken glass. The Nazis later set it on fire, but it wasn't completely destroyed like the other synagogues. Sadly, it is no longer in use. The current Jewish population is much too small to need such a large building. We saw the balcony belonging to the press secretary of East Germany who made the statement that caused the wall to fall down.
What I loved about the tour was the theme of redemption. So many sights and memorials could be tainted by the memory of Nazi Germany, but they have been restored and revived. We stood directly over Hitler's bunker where his life ended. The only sign of it is a steel trap door. A residential building stands there now and as our guide related the horrid history, a small child played with a pink truck. Where there once was death, there is now life.
The Jewish monument is a grid of large rectangular boxes on a hilly plain. The designer wanted you to experience being alone. It's very haunting. Because it'd be a great canvas for graffiti, they needed a special teflon coating to protect the monument. One company donated a product to be used in addition to giving money to help finance the entire project. This is controversial because this is the company who produced a gas used in the Nazi death chambers. I find it interesting because the company which once profitted from death is now giving of itself in order to protect.
There are so many things I could comment on from the tour . Like the letter George Washington sent to Friedrich King of Prussia wondering if his little brother Henry would be king of the States. The Hugeonot church commissioned by Lutheran Friedrich. The Lutheran cathedral built in - ironically - the counter reformation style of neo-Baroque. Soviet pre-fab buildings made out of blocks. A gigantic marble bowl that Germans once considered the 8th wonder of the world.
Supper that night, we went to a restaurant along the Spree which had a drink stock market with prices fluctuating all night. Boy, the stock market crash was exciting.
Our final morning in Berlin, we stopped by the East Side Gallery, the longest remaining section of the wall. Since 1989, sections of it have been repainted multiple times. Walking along it, I tried to imagine what life was like, being so cut off by the double wall with the death zone inbetween. We also saw the church with the broken spire next to the Zoo station. In the midst of a city so rebuilt, it is good to have a reminder of all that has happened. Berlin may be in colossal debt, but it has bravely tried to deal and live with a heavy history. It has a phenomenal history.
We arrived in Warsaw, Poland on Monday night. More on that in the next installment . . .
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