End

I'm going to start by telling you about our final evening.

We went back to that pierogi place and I indeed had the venison pierogis.  It was fallow deer, which for those of you picturing the prey of some guy dressed in orange, is domestic.  Naomi had apple pierogis and I also had a cup of warm, clear beet borscht.  The meal was fabulous.  We then sat in the square at a place that specializes in chocolate for a piece of layer cake (Na) and a cup of drinking chocolate with rum.  At that moments became convinced that I would have loved cafe society. Of course, I'd have to grow some kind of beard and there are those who might object to that.

We then walked back along the river.  There was a crescent moon, and lots of couples sitting and enjoying the night.  It was rather perfect.

Krakow is a place of excitement, hustle and secret sorrow.  The market square -- all the market squares -- is busy with people enjoying themselves.  There are bars everywhere.  But you can't step two meters (that's 1.75 Smoots, for you MIT folks) without someone hustling you.  "Try our restaurant."  "Do you want a tour?" "Carriage ride? The horses are guaranteed Polish."  In Prague there were beggars, everywhere actually.  But here it's hustle.

In a moment of extreme weakness I asked one of the booze hounds in the park for directions, which he kindly gave me, hit me up for money, then tried to bargain up, then tried the old I'll-loan-you-money-if-you're-so-hard-up guilt ploy.  I got away, but counted my fingers to see that they were all there.

 Oh, but the sorrow is there.  In people my age who remember what it was like before 1989. In older people who also remember the war.  The Jewish Quarter and the old ghetto have places where candles are lit and stones are placed.  Too many died.  The horrors were too real.  Auschwitz too close.

On the other hand, a lot of men cultivate a studies disheveled quality that, beyond a 20 year old hipster just wouldn't fly in the states.  We're Polish and we've got our own style - no jokes please.

In fact, if you're looking for the joke, it's only We Try Harder.  (Didn't that cause a minor diplomatic incident with Israel, once upon a time?)  In Paris, you can get a crepe on the street.  In Krakow you can eat some of the most glorious cuisine in the world.  In Krakow, you can eat pierogi. In Munich, Gwyneth Paltrow was on ads and billboards for makeup or perfume. In Krakow it's Mike Tyson for sports drinks.  In Prague, you can get a ticket that will let you into six or seven major sites in the Jewish Quarter where artifacts that have survived are respectfully preserved.  In Krakow, you can get a free tour of the Jewish quarter by a young Pole who can point out some buildings and tell you about the filming of Schindler' List.  If you've got less to start with, you've got to hustle.

The Poles do the Hustle very well.

We're now at the Krakow Airport.  We have entered airport space/time.  Our travels aren't over, but our adventures just about are.

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And now, the answer you've all been waiting for: a van, two airport shuttles, two airplanes, a bus and a taxi.  NONE OF THEM BROKE DOWN!

Auschwitz

There are the, "I'd never go there" people and the "Why would you ever go there" people.  I fall into the "I have to see; I have to know" group.  This morning, a Kiwi who is going to Auschwitz this afternoon asked me if it is emotionally difficult.  There it is, isn't it?  That's why people don't want to go, I suppose.  

For me, knowing that its emotionally difficult is the obstacle and its not a big enough one to overcome the need to stand in that place and know that others, untold numbers of others, stood there before me.

Impressions:

The stairs in the Auschwitz I barracks (those buildings are brick) are too worn for the 100+/- that the buildings have been standing.  Either the stone is softer than it looks, or many too many feet have tread them.

The shoes, eyeglasses, brushes, and luggage made me sad. The hair pierced my heart.  It wasn't just the quantity, it was the reality.  No pictures allowed out of respect for the dead.

There are trees that have been planted in Auschwitz I.  Somehow that seems wrong,

In Auschwitz II-Birkenau, all that's left of the 300 wooden barracks are chimneys.  All around is green grass.

I have seen many pictures of the gate to Auschwitz II-Birkenau, but being inside it gave me a physical sensation akin to dread--deep dread.  Not the dread of having to do your taxes.  A dread so deep it makes you ill.  It passed, though the memory of it lingers even now, 16 hours later.

There are places in Auschwitz II-Birkenau where the stench of the marsh water is strong and sickening.

Near the remains of the Auschwitz II-Birkenau ovens, I though I could smell the remains of a fire.  Probably a suggested olfactory state.

Our guide, a local woman in her 30s was excellent.  Her tone was serious and respectful.  More so than I needed, but I could see how it worked on other members of our group.  She settled them down so that they were no longer on an exciting holiday outing, but bearing witness to...

Whenever I've heard about cattle cars, the picture in my head has been wrong.  The reality is smaller.

They had a prison within Auschwitz I.  Imagine, people could do things that more punishment than just being there.  I left a stone at the wall where they shot prisoners.

I left another stone at one of the ash ponds.  Ashes were dumped in the river and spread on fields as fertilizer.  "All this area is a memorial, a cemetery," our guide said.

A woman was there with her son and daughter who looked to be between 11 and 14.  They were not part of our group.  I first saw them in Auschwitz I posing for a photo next to a sign in the roll call yard.  She then posed her children in front of the Auschwitz I ovens.  It made me very sad to see such extreme tactlessness.  Remember my little rants about this habit in Paris?  There it was puzzling.  Here? What is this mother going to do with the picture?  Show it to her friends?  Put it in a book of holiday photos?  And what is she teaching her children about what happened in this horrible place?

I want to know how being a guide here has changed this woman.  I gave her my card and asked. Was I rude!  There was no time to lead up to it.  So, I asked and invited her to email if she wishes.

It'll take me a long while to sort out everything I saw and felt.

Na and I had a late dinner afterwards, followed by ice cream.  We needed a goodie.  

On Krakow Time

There's not much this tourist can say about the first day in Krakow.  We walked around.  Wow.  I'm thrilled.  Are you thrilled?

Nope, that's not the story I want to write, so you don't have to decide whether or not to read it.  Here's the story.

As you remember from our last episode, Adam and Naomi took naps almost immediately upon arrival.  The big question then became, could we find Naomi a cup of coffee soon enough for her to enjoy the first day.  As we walked into the old town square, looked we heard a thud behind us and turned to see that an older guy, in his sixties, had fallen in the street.  An Asian woman, also a tourist, said he had walked past her, then suddenly veered into the street.  I tried to revive him with a cop trick I once saw of tapping the bottom of the foot.  I was a lot softer than the cops had been that time.  No doing.  A couple of women stopped to help by calling emergency, I think.  Though we didn't understand a word they said, the lack of cooperation and help was evident.  Naomi and I moved the guy further out of the road.  Then a larger group arrived, and two of the men and I got him on the sidewalk.  It turned out that he has paperwork saying he has epilepsy.  It was a fit, one that left him pretty damn close to the trolley tracks.  Once the Polish people, all in their 30s it seemed, had things under control, we continued on our way with many thank you's from the Poles.

Dinner was at a tiny pierogi joint.  Order at the counter for the best pierogis I've ever had..by far.  A dish each, plus their fruit kompote drink came to 30 zloty -- $11-$12.  Gotta go back there and try their venison pierogis before we leave.

Second day was oh so very different, dominated by one thing -- the trip to Auschwitz.  That, though deserves its own post.

 We walked around part of the Jewish quarter a bit, then back to the main square where we had an unremarkable lunch in another recommended traditional place.  The whole square is very festive with restaurants, gift shops, living statues, music, and horse drawn carriages.  I have a limited tolerance for that kind of thing, but the lure of one of the chocolate cafes will draw me back on our last night.

I must say that the layout of the area is confusing.  Even with a map, I've had trouble figuring out where I was and where I was going...and if any of you makes a crack about my age...

And the beat goes on

WARNING - THIS POST CONTAINS SOME RANDOM PICTURES JUST TO REMIND YOU (and maybe me) THAT LIFE ISN'T ONLY TRANSPORTATION MISHAPS.

I would like to report that our struggles with conveyances has reached an end.  I would like to, but, in all truth, I can't. I write this in the compartment of the night train from Prague to Krakow.  It is no longer night; it is morning.  For the past four hours or so we have been sitting in the station of a place called Bohumin - where that is, I do not know.  Why we are here, I do not know.  When we are leaving...one of the women in our compartment is trying to find something out.

Our companions are an interesting lot: three children, the oldest, a girl going into seventh grade, is the only one who speaks English; their mother, who just got the info we needed about what the heck is happening; their Grandmother, who is (gulp) about my age; and an unidentified woman of the same age who may be a great aunt or that determinate "auntie" and who functions as the court jester.

They brought a lot of food and beverages.  We each brought a small water and I have a candy given to me after a meal sometime in the last week and a half.

I don't want to resort to hyperbole; accuracy is my goal.  That said, the seats in this car look like they are built for humans to sit on, I have no reason to think they were designed for goats, iguanas or dolphins.  But they are the most uncomfortable things to sit on that I have ever experienced.  Sleeping is damned near impossible.  Honestly, my ass has been hurting for hours.

------------------

So, we're finally moving.  They added another car for us and I believe to outward appearances we look like a train.  My explorations reveal that we only have access to two cars.  No cafe car, doggone it.  That bit of candy is looking mighty tasty right about now.  I kinda dragged Na down to the other car, which is modern.  We got a compartment to ourselves and I slept for a couple of welcome hours.  Na is still asleep.  (That's "now" in writing time, not reading time.  I really must write that metaphysical treatise on travel and the space-time continuum.)

O! The seats in the new compartment are exquisite.  I sing the praises of whomever designed them.  He or she should be declared a knight or be given the Medal of Freedom or be declared a National Treasure or something.  There's power in here, too, so I'm writing and charging...and my ass doesn't hurt.  Life is looking up.

---------

One more needle from the fickle finger of fate.  When we finally got to the tram station in Krakow...the ticket machine was broken.  We got on anyway.

(Sigh)

We were ensconced in the Elephant on the Moon Hostel and asleep by noon thirty.  Now, off to see something of this town.

City of Magic

Prague is not at fault.  Prague is still Prague, filled with beauty and tourists and art and souvenirs.  No, the fault lies not in the city, Horatio, but in our stars.  

Naomi and I are plagued by the perversity of transportation conveyances.

After dinner last night, faced with a walk of at least 50 minutes, we asked our waitress for instructions to get to our hotel by tram.  So far, so good.  We went to the square where the tram stop is, found a cafe and bought Naomi a slice of chocolate cherry cake.  Things were great, but no real transportation had taken place.  At the tram stop, we went to the machine to buy a ticket, followed the first instruction.  Nothing happened.  The machine was broken.  No ticket, no getting on the tram.

50 minutes later, arriving hot and sweaty at the hotel, we got into the ancient elevator (maximum capacity: three people each with a small backpack) and that didn't work, either.  As we stood there scratching our heads, the super put up an out-of-order sign.

Did I do something wrong in a previous life? Perhaps I offended Shirley MacLaine or Egyptian Pharaoh Shepseskare Isi...unless they are the same person.  Actually, don't be fooled by all that. Shepseskare Isi was really Edward Devere.

Oddly enough the damned elevator was working fine at 7 am when I went out foraging.  I think if a conveyance wants to inconvenience you, 7 am would be a perfect time.  But then, I am not, strictly speaking a conveyance.

A very loud thunderstorm hit Prague as we were walking through the old Jewish cemetery.  Crack, roll, thunder and peal.  The words "Wrath of God" came readily to mind, though what I could have done to incite divine wrath is beyond me.  I did cover my  5 krona kippah with my Red Sox cap, but it was a paper kippah and the wind kept floating it off my dome.  The thunder added drama to a place that hardly needs it.

I made a crack way back in the beginning of this blog about the Catholics understanding awe better than the Jews.  Some people, who ought to remain nameless (Josh Conescu), but won't, took umbrage at the distinction.  Here's another delineation.  Take a walk through the Pinkus Synagogue in Prague and then try to tell me that as Jews we don't know how to evoke deep, profound sorrow.  The inside walls of the Synagogue are painted with the names of 80,000 Moravian and Bohemian Jews who died in the Holocaust.  There is no other adornment.  Just name after name after name.  Whole towns gone. No awe for me, but great sadness...

Which a trip to the Old Town Square filled with tourists, a bubble making guy, a jazz band, and, I kid you not, Hipsters on Segues, helped to allay.

Now, rain and we wrap up our stay in Prague.  

The trip is winding down, but one more city to go. Krakow.  

So, we started out in a place where both of us could speak a little of the language and plenty of people spoke English.  Then we went to a place where neither of us spoke the language, but we could read a tiny bit of it and plenty of people spoke English.  Then to a place where we can't even read the language, though enough people speak English.  What's next? No common ground of language at all?  It's all an adventure.   C'est une aventure.  Es ist ein wirkliches Abenteuer.  Všechno je to dobrodružství.  To wszystko przeżyć przygodę.  

Which in Polish also means, "Have some sauerkraut with your pirogi."

Munchen on pretzels

Munich is behind us.

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS NO PICTURES.

Complaints may be sent to Life magazine and The Saturday Evening Post.

One of the things that I remember from each of my travels is that someplace becomes the rest stop.  Munich was ours.  There were not major events, no catastrophes, no wild experiences.  We saw the center of the city, split up for an afternoon, ate and drank in a beer hall, saw a museum and went to the park.  We did walk through the big beer hall, the one that Hitler hung out in.  It was loud, crowded and hot.  I can imagine it being the breeding ground for dangerous ideas.  The one we ate at was less hot less crowded and less, now a tourist trap.  We shared a plate of some kind of pork patty with chanterelles in a cream sauce.  Unfortunately, the mushrooms were over cooked.  It is chanterelle season in Nova Scotia and I know from experience that the simpler the preparation, the better.  We also share dessert: apple fritters with vanilla ice cream, a bit of chocolate sauce and whipped cream.  That was fabulous.

The park, the English Garden, was nice.  They had diverted a couple of rivers into it.  People gathered at the banks of the rivers to picnic swim float with the current and sun bathe the way urban people will in their parks. Some were naked, but only men and mostly my age, so it was hardly worth noting.

We heard a klezmer trio with a clarinet that was inspired.  The bass and the accordion were less than. There were other street musicians.  Overall, the atmosphere was friendly and festive.

I'll just come out and say it: German culture seems to prize systems.  There's a system for everything and the assumption is that the system is obvious.  For instance, I didn't realize that the sidewalks on many of the major streets were half stone and half asphalt until a bike rider snapped at me to move.  Bike lanes going in the direction of the traffic, but no signs.  And if the system is overloaded, there seems no backup, as we saw during our great train disaster to Fussen.  There are bike racks everywhere and about three times as many bikes as the racks can handle.  The end result is chaos.

I can't muster up a tone of sarcasm about Munich, however.  Nothing I think comes off as anything but mean spirited.  That's another legacy of WWII; after sausage jokes, what can I say that doesn't sound like payback?

The beer was gutt!

Storming the Castles

We are now leaving Fussen on the train to Munich.  This train differs from the one we took to Fussen in two major ways: a) it's older with windows that open and no air conditioning; 2) it's in the morning.  The consequence of these stark differences is that there are visual, audial and olfactory signs that we're in farming country.  The odors may be odious to some, but they are comfortably familiar to me, and I don't think I've heard a cow bell on a cow in over 40 years.

Fussen means charming-old-German-town-near major-tourist-site in German. Take the words cobbled, Bavarian, quaint, Alps, lederhosen, beer and schnitzel, combine them in a way that seems pleasing to you, and you'll have a fairly accurate mental image of the town.  Most people go there to make the trek (5 km) by foot, bus, bike or car to see the two castles: Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau, which are not, no matter what you think, kinds of German sausage.

If you decide to make the trip, you need to know that the first two hours of your adventure will be spent in the ticket line.  This is essential so that you know what it felt like waiting to see the King of Bavaria in his home.  No Kafka like trip here, though.  You will get to the castle - both if you so choose.  I don't know if anyone got to see the king.  The next thing you want to know is that you don't HAVE to walk up to both castles.  There are buses and horse drawn wagons.  Walking, however affords you the chance to stop when you want and it's enervating...so bring about a gallon of water per person.  For those of you who are environmentally conscious, neither the busses nor the horses qualify as zero emission - especially the horses, so watch your step.

I'm not going to describe the castles or Marienbridge.  Go look them up.  Ive stuck a couple of snapshots here to satisfy the imatient among you.  And no photos are allowed to be taken inside, so if you want to see, (and take it from me, you do want to see) look 'em up.  

King Ludwig, The Extravagant, grew up in the lovely and quite acceptable Hohenschwangau, the castle of his father and father's father and all that, but like Yertle the Turtle, wanted to get higher and fancier.  He managed to spend just over 170 nonconsecutive days in his Wagner inspired (and that should tell you something), unfinished fairy-tale castle before he was deposed and disposed of at the age of heirless 40.  One look at his hair at 13 years old in a portrait and you'll know that this king wasn't going to be satisfied with yesterday's fashion in castles.  Nobody knows why he was deposed, though at the time they said he was insane.  You tell me: when was that ever a reason to oust a king? And know one knows who killed him, not even his uncle who became the regent,which means "king Niall but title," nope, he never found out who did it.

Up to this point in our trip, Naomi's birthday wish list has included a puppy and a Mercedes.  Now she has added a Bavarian sword, a canopy bed made to look like a medieval German altar, and an ivory chest with gold-plated silver fixings and enameled decorations.  I plan on repainting the living room and dining room walls back home with murals commemorating the important historic and mythic events in Framingham's history.

When we got back to our hotel room after our double castle day, we realized that we had been on our feet for the better part of 8 hours with only a pretzel and a small ice cream cone to eat.  We showered, changed and stumbled out to find our first Bavarian meal. King Ludwig schnitzel for me (turkey with cheese, potatoes, and a grilled tomato) and Spatzle with cheese and onions for Na.    

Then we returned to our room and practiced being logs.

The only thing I'll add to our leaving is that while waiting for the train I was gripped with anxiety that the train would be over crowded.  If you don't know why, you didn't read my last post.