Wien

It seems that with each post I write and with each place I visit, the sites and buildings are increasingly 'majestic' and 'amazing' (I keep running out of synonyms for those two particular adjectives because everything I've been able to experience has been so). Even Dresden found it's place on this chronological scale of ascending grandness. I think the perpetual increase in awe that comes with each weekend destination reflects the impressive nature of most European cities (barring Bratislava) and has little to do with the order in which I visited them. Vienna, on the other hand, defies this. Of all the cities I've seen, the royal complexes in Vienna are the most opulent. The lavishness of the half dozen or so palaces in the capitol of Austria speaks to the wealth and power of the Hapsburg family, who ruled considerable portions of Europe from the 13th Century until World War I. Their 'summer palace' in Prague is one of the largest buildings in the city, so imagine the scale and luxury of their imperial headquarters (it puts the Rockefeller and Carnegie summer homes in Newport to absolute shame).

Molly's third trip to Prague of the semester fell on the same long weekend that our apartment turned into a hostel; eight friends of our roommates' descended on us from all over the continent in one big Tulane reunion. The first few days were great fun, but the two of us opted out of more of the Eastern European club scene for a more relaxing weekend in Vienna, which is only a four hour train ride from Prague. The city, which had just received its first significant snowfall of the year, was alive with Holiday life. The Ringstrasse, a famous five kilometer boulevard that circumnavigates the center of the city was alight with decorations and Christmas spirit. Because the sheer volume of the city's royal, musical, and academic sites is so overwhelming, Molly and I decided that a bus tour was the most efficient way to experience all that Vienna had to offer in our short visit. The hop-on, hop-off style of the tour gave us not only the freedom to explore different locations at our discretion, but a chance to thaw out in between jaunts. The numerous gardens, palaces, opera houses, university buildings, and seasonal markets jam-packed our two-day agenda and reinforced Vienna's reputation as one of the top five most visited cities in the World. The Schonbrunn Palace and St. Steven's Cathedral are among the most famous sites in a city unrivaled in its grandeur, but my favorite place in Vienna was the Hofburg Palace and its surrounding gardens. We walked around the massive building for what seemed like miles, amazed at the elaborate carvings and construction of each of its numerous entrances. The demographics of the tourist population that visits a particular city offer telling insight into that destination's character. The groups of hammered English guys that frequent Prague and the hordes of American teenagers that flock to Amsterdam speak to their respective reputations. Similarly, the older English and American couples that we encountered on the streets of Vienna reflect its quieter disposition. The cost of living might have also had something to do with the absence of college students...

Molly and I in front of the Hofburg Palace. Although we were only in Vienna for two nights, Molly brought 46 kilograms of clothes, boots, and other bags-and guess who carried it? However, pretending I was a fully loaded paratrooper about to jump made sightseeing much more entertaining...

A lack of sunlight in my own picture of the Schonbrunn Palace (below) didn't do the structure the visual justice it deserves. The first picture at the top of this post is an image from the internet and better represents its size and stately ora. The Hapsburgs had this obnoxious rule that once someone of Hapsburg blood stayed in a room for a night, no one from the family could reoccupy it, so the structure was under constant construction and expansion. My family has this obnoxious rule that once someone uses a plate or utensils, they must be washed before touching another Carpenter meal or mouth. I guess that wasn't haughty enough for Molly as she explicitly told me that it wouldn't be a difficult choice were she to find an Austrian prince. 

The birth and climax of classical music, personified by history's most renowned composers-Mozart, Beethoven, Strauss, among others, all of whom spent most of their lives in the nurturing care of the Hapsburgs-occurred in Vienna. Molly and I had the opportunity to see a classical concert, and despite the fact that we were the youngest couple in the audience by at least fifteen years, it was a once in a lifetime experience. Although Molly had her heart set on Beethoven's Third Symphony in E Flat, the concert we had sufficed. Above to the left is the pedestrian sidewalk of the Ringstrasse, the circular boulevard that circumscribes Vienna's most important blocks, and to the right is a shot of one of the city's many Christmas markets.

Once again, apologies for such a belated post; final papers, exams, and a lack of internet in Italy have hindered my efforts to keep this blog updated. Even Molly's urging me to complete the Vienna post, which was "just about her," wasn't enough, but more is soon to come. Posts about our trip to a Czech ski town, my trip with Molly to Italy, and a reflection are forthcoming. In the meantime, Merry Christmas and safe travels throughout the Holiday season!

A Cesky Thanksgiving

I was a little discouraged about spending the Holiday season outside the comfort and traditions of the American Christmas experience, but after an unbelievable home cooked meal in the apartment on Thanksgiving and spending time in Old Town Square's world-renowned Christmas market, I think the Czechs might just have a clue. For a country where religion plays a very minor role in everyday life, (30% of the population declared in a 2005 Eurobarometer poll that they "did not believe in any sort of spirit, god, or life spirit") the Holidays usher in an energetic atmosphere of lights, decorations, and music. Old Town and Wenceslas Square have been transformed into Christmas markets, a Rockefeller Center worthy tree has been erected and decorated, and the Czechs seem a little less suspicious of everything. Christmas spirit is in the air.

For me, Thanksgiving in the States always marks the beginning of the joyous Christmas season, just as New Years summons its somber conclusion. I was worried that, in the absence of the meal, the beginning of the season would be blurred and I would miss everything. Luckily, I live with some amazing cooks who salvaged Thanksgiving from the throes of Central European culture. Unfortunately, I cannot take any credit for the tremendous meal they prepared, but am proud simply by association. I did, however, purchase some candles with a little Autumn flair to bring full circle the apartment's Holiday atmosphere. Paul pre-ordered and prepared a 16-pound turkey, made stuffing inside and outside of the bird, and championed cranberry sauce, gravy, and mashed potatoes. Lana and Emma made homemade pumpkin soup (starting with the pumpkins), mashed sweet potatoes, brussels sprouts, a Lebanese rice dish, and green beans. The one thing that was not prepared in our little kitchen was a pumpkin buy the girls purchased at a local bakery to accompany the homemade apple strudel and whipped cream Lana made for dessert. It felt just like being at home, especially when I was kicked out of the kitchen at crunch time...

The table in all of its Holiday glory. Note the candles and the symmetry they reinforce. To celebrate, we indulged and bought $4.00 bottles of wine.

Lana on the left laboring over the pumpkin soup. Several of our roommates were out of town or out to eat with their families who were visitng, but they still had to cook for eight with the limitations of a humble kitchen and small oven. Paul's beautiful bird on the right. It was his first turkey and was prepared with no guidance but that from and online recipe. Thanks to Paul's culinary brilliance, it was delicious.

The Daugherty clan, in full force, arrived Wednesday morning to visit Tucker for a few days. Tucker's older sister, Nina, studied in Prague through the same program four years ago, so she was excited to visit her ol' stompin' grounds. My mom and Deb's time in Prague overlapped just one day so we made the most of our time together in a pub. Mr. and Mrs. Daugherty, both SLU class of 1975 rounded out the Larry presence in Prague at six, deeming Tucker's younger brother, Tate, the outcast. On Saturday, the Daughertys invited me to join them on their trip to Ceske Krumlov, a small Czech down two hours south of Prague. We had been told that Ceske Krumlov, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is one of the prettiest towns in this part of Europe. Needless to say, our expectations were thoroughly met. The town, nestled in the Czech hills remained untouched by the hand of communist architects, and is one a few places in Central Europe that reflects Bohemian life before the Communist ascent to power in the late 1940's. The town and surrounding setting were truly stunning and the thin layer of clean snow that had just fallen on the region increased the feeling of nostalgia in the air.

2010 Christmas Card: The Daugherty family above Ceske Krumlov. From left to right: Tucker, older sister Nina, younger brother Tate, followed by Mrs. and Mr. (SLU class of 1975).

In the period between the First and Second World Wars, Czechoslovakia boasted the 7th highest GDP in the world. To give you a sense of the country's economic potential before WWII and a half Century under communist rule, the seventh largest economy in the world today is the United Kingdom. Today, the Czech Republic and Slovakia are by no means rich nations; Prague's splendor reveals an urban-rural cleavage that has become an important political, social, and economic issue in a region where per capita income is less than half of that enjoyed in the States. The skeletal remains of an abandoned industrial infrastructure, the physical indicators of lingering economic problems, dot the countryside and taint the landscape's inherent beauty. Small towns, although pretty and quaint in part, always reflect a level of poverty and stagnation in the dilapidated, crumbling buildings that line certain streets. Ceske Krumlov, on the other hand, preserved by its value as a tourist destination offers a look at what many of Czechoslovakia's towns and cities may have looked like before WWII.

The Daughertys rented a big van for the trek to Ceske Krumlov and the drive down reminded me of the "Sweet Child O Mine" scene from Step Brothers. If you haven't seen the movie, watch the clip below if you want to get a sense of our car ride...

Step Brothers Family Car Ride

Christmas wasn't the only holiday being celebrated at 25 Ve Smechach. Below, Eddie and the two Andrews lighting the Menorah on the first night of Chanukah. The evening was complete with potato pancakes (pictured below) and song.

The first significant snow storm in Prague this Winter dropped about eight inches and drew out the children in all of us. The winter weather was rather magical for a few days until we found out that the local governments don't have room in their budgets for snow removal. If you look closely on the left, you can see all of Lana that wasn't covered with snow. The picture on the right is mid-take down in a street brawl outside our apartment. Because both girls were wearing cotton sweatpants, there wasn't a winner.

To get to know my roommates, whose names often appear in the different posts, here's a shot of (almost) everyone in our apartment. To clarify, everyone in the photo is from Tulane except for Paul and I. From left to right: Emma, Paul (the Thanksgiving cook), me, Mike (Danielle's boyfriend, who was visiting from the States), Andrew Gilboard, Lana, Eddie, and Danielle. Only Tucker and Andrew Mandlebaum (pictured above in the Menorah photo wearing a red hat and shit) are missing. Tucker and I were incredibly lucky to have met this group during orientation and are going to miss them all when the semester is over. The dynamic in the apartment is a perfect blend of work and play, calm and crazy, quiet and loud, and I can't imagine living with a different group..

Mom and Deb, meet Eastern Europe

Five years ago, the men of the Carpenter-Miller-Colegrove-Misenhimer Clan were left to their own devices for Thanksgiving, abandoned by the matriarchs that have always provided structure and discipline to Holiday meals. Forced to cope and adapt without my mom, aunt, and grandmother who were galavanting around Spain with Andrea, the fathers put together an unbelievable meal in a triumphant showcase of independence. Everyone one survived to brag about the meal, which was complete with fine China, a deep-fried turkey, and all the traditional workings. This Thanksgiving, with my mom and Deb across the pond conquering Eastern Europe, the men rose to the occasion for the second time. Riding on the confidence of 2005 and supervised by both grandmothers, the chefs (including Matt this time around, who was in appropriated the strenuous task of smoking two turkeys) prevailed once more.

Relieved to avoid the chaos and stress of Thanksgiving, my mom and Deb arrived in Prague early Saturday morning. After a taxing red-eye flight from New York, the two were less than enthused to hit the city, but, running on fumes, we did so anyways. The weary travelers were undoubtedly impressed with the city's architecture and beauty. Despite my warnings about the nature of the Czech people, Deb and my mom, self-proclaimed cultural warriors, took no time breaking down the social walls between Czechs and Americans. It only took them twelve hours of intensive language lessons to learn the Czech word for "thank you," which is "Dekuyu." In their mission to purchase half of the city's amber, a valuable stone uniquely native to this part of Europe, I overheard "Jekaryu," "Namuk-u-yuyu," and "Derka-Derka," before they finally gained command of the important phrase. I imagine Debbie's misperception of the Czechs as warm, amiable people was, in reality, a misinterpretation of their jeering at her attempts to use the language.

Keeping our foot on the proverbial pedal, we left Prague at 7:00 a.m. the following morning for Krakow, Poland. I instantly knew we were in for an adventure when I saw the Nissan Micra that we had rented. The size of a Mini Cooper, but much less attractive and powered by about a third of the horsepower, it was essentially a tuna can with wheels. Any trace of moisture, let alone precipitation or strong winds could have turned the windy Czech countryside into a roller coaster of death.

And so, the three left for Poland. They were never heard from or seen again. All that was found was their vehicle, parked in a bus lane, and four pounds of amber...

After rising Monday morning with a very successful day behind us, our spirits were challenged when we discovered our matchbox rental car had a parking boot on it. But after a few minutes of conversation, it turns out that a church friend of Debbie's, a Pole and St. Lawrence alum, lived in the same town as the police officer's sister's hairdresser, who knew Ned's college roommate's father-and he let us off the hook for not having an international driver's license. Small world...

The Czech countryside hides innumerable villages and majestic castles whose silent, moss-covered walls are now tacit reminders of distant conquest and war. The region's history, smothered by the sheer scope of centuries of conflict and battle is still alive in such places, but it took some exploring to discover. We used the freedom of our rented car blaze our own trail and, uninhibited by it's two-wheeled drive or golf cart-sized wheels, we stopped at several towns and mountaintop fortresses to experience a Czech culture very different from that of Prague's constant urban bustle.

A small town in the Polish mountains that, with a few hockey rinks and cheesy motels, could have been Lake Placid.

Krakow was an astonishing city, whose lack of popularity as a tourist destination for Americans concealed a grandiosity that truly rivaled Prague's. Unlike the Czech Republic, whose experience with communism largely stripped the population of its religious identity (only 25% actively practice any faith), the Poles vigorously protected their commitment to Catholicism throughout the latter half of the 20th Century. The inability for the Communist ideology to strip the Polish people of their faith and instill conformity through blind allegiance to the state and larger community is reflected in the city's 120 Roman Catholic Churches, most of which are still active today. The architectural contributions of such a phenomenon make Krakow, the previous capitol of Poland, one of the prettiest cities in Central and Eastern Europe. Because our travel expeditions put us behind schedule, we only had a few hours to see the city, not nearly enough time to absorb its 1,400 years of history and development. The following morning we drove an hour to Oswiecim, a Polish town emotionally encumbered by its German name, Auschwitz.

Despite the gloomy weather, Krakow's Old Town Square was still very impressive. 

The ladies haggling with a typical Polish Babicka for a few dollars off the price of the hand made socks they were interested in. The poor old woman was no match for two cut throat American business women.

Comprehending the Holocaust with its unparalleled level of state, bureaucratic, and technological involvement is a daunting philosophical endeavor. Attempting to rationalize, or even just salvage some humanity from the depths of our species’ darkest chapters seems to defy humanity itself, but walking amidst the physical remanence of such unfathomable suffering and death added a new dimension to such a task. To describe our experience at Aushwitz-Birkenau as eerie or emotionally exhausting doesn't come close to conveying the incomprehensibility of the Holocaust. Having studied genocide in high school, at St. Lawrence, and now in Prague through a course specifically about the Nazi Holocaust, I've had the opportunity to analyze such crimes against humanity in the context of different academic fields, among them psychology, sociology, history, political science, and theology. Approaching such a topic from an academic standpoint can diminish the emotional weight of genocide, a weight only truly asserted with such a visit. The philosophical, existential questions evoked by the Holocaust and our visit to the camp could make for a lengthy, depressing post, but I don't want to shroud my mom and Deb's visit with the sentiments of such a heavy experience.

On the left: the famous gates to Auschwitz I, which read "Arbiet Macht Fret," or "Work shall set you free." What the world knows as Auschwizt was actually a series of camps, the most infamous and symbolic of which is Birkenau. Although concrete numbers remain lost in the darkness of World War II, it is estimated that 1.2 Million people were systematically murdered at Birkenau, which is more than twenty times the size of Auschwitz. The picture on the right is of the main gates at Birkenau, now a universal symbol of the human capacity to hate.

A shot from outside the barbed wire perimeter at Birkenau which circumscribes hundreds of acres. The remains of the four gas chambers, destroyed in 1945 when Nazi defeat on the Eastern front by the advancing Russian army was imminent, were on these grounds. The brick foundations and chimneys that extend like gravestones to the horizon are all that is left of the hundreds of crude barracks used to house the small percentage of victims that were selected for manual labor.

On a lighter note, more sightseeing and shopping was in store upon our arrival back in Prague on Monday night. Debbie,  abiding by her rigorous personal standards for safety and a few important Frommer's Travel Tips, kept her important belongings and money in a secret pouch strapped to her ankle. She replaced the .40 caliber revolver and handcuffs she usually carries around Altamont with her passport and list of important contacts. And I thought a fanny pack would be embarrassing...

Her history with the NSA really rubbing off in civilian life.

Blending in on Old Town Square.

My time in Europe has been such a busy, rewarding experience, but I still miss my family and friends from home and St. Lawrence. It was great to see my mom and Deb and whether we were exploring Prague, having a beer in a pub, stopping in the ninth consecutive jewelry store, or lost in the Polish highlands, I really enjoyed their company. After five fun days together, they flew on to Stockholm where they spent several days with our good friends, the Mickos. More shopping inevitably ensued and the last I knew, they were being tried in a Swedish court for smuggling  three suitcases of Czech and Swedish trinkets, among other "cute" things, into the States...


Sorry it has taken me so long to catch up on posts; finals and term papers have all been compounding lately. More to come!

Verwelkom aar Amsterdam

The simplest description I can give of Amsterdam to visually illustrate its physical appearance is a comparison to Prague one of my friends made: Prague is to Cinderella what Amsterdam is to Hansel and Gretel. I wish I could claim responsibility for such an inventive simile, but I have neither the creativity nor the knowledge of Disney animated films. Nevertheless, it really does capture the physical differences between two stunning cities. Amsterdam has the beauty and architecture of Prague, but on a less grandiose scale; what Amsterdam's buildings lack in vertical height and size, they make up for in charm. The city is organized around a number of canals that extend away from the main train station in a series of concentric semi circles, dissecting the streets with their gentle currents. Although we were right in the heart of city, the average street had a quiet, relaxed, almost serene feel about it. For lack of a better, more masculine word, the city was cute. Take the center of Nantucket, the most popular streets of Burlington, or the most attractive area of Northampton, MA, multiply it by fifty and you have a loose representation of Amsterdam. The quaint atmosphere of the city was a clear reflection of its inhabitants who were the warmest, most personable people, collectively, that I have encountered so far in my travels. Random people would go far out of their way to help us with directions or orientation, often summoning friends, phone books, or maps in our inquiries. At the very least, they'd offer a few words of good luck and a smile, which was such a pleasant contrast to the grumbling, shy people you might encounter on the streets of Prague.

The Andrews excited to hit the pavement on their new cruisers. Surprisingly, there was only one casualty: Eddie took a dive one of the nights. We tried to take his key but he was persistent. 

The map on the right does a good job illustrating the canal system on which the city is built. Every street corner and city block looks like the image on the left. Cobble stone streets, colorful buildings, and stone bridges are the city's true trademark.

Everyone together on Saturday night and although it was Big TD's 21st birthday, everyone survived. Turning 21 in a country that has legalized most drugs and has a drinking age loosely set at 16 didn't quite hold the prestige of such an event observed in the States, but we had a great night.

The pace of life in the Netherlands (and the Scandinavian countries as well) is considerably slower than the rest of the world. The competition and work ethic that propel the perpetually turning machinery that is American capitalism and our way of life really distinguish our culture from most others. Motivation, drive, and the relentless pursuit of the next step, whatever that may be, defines us as a country. The Dutch, on the other hand, seem far more carefree and tranquil. Briefly caught in the fairy tale of that lifestyle, I thought about finding a Dutch wife (sorry Molly!) and spending the rest of my life hand painting wooden clogs in a small workshop. No one seemed rushed, irritable, or worried about anything. 

For part of our cultural immersion, we rented bicycles for the weekend, which proved to be a wise investment. The bikes of course were the basket wielding, single gear, backwards-pedal brake cruisers that would have gotten even the coolest kids picked on in middle school. Mountain or racing bikes were probably way too complicated and would have been blatant challenges to the Dutch pace of life. So, we floated around the city on our leisure mobiles feeling like middle-aged Swedish women on their way to pick flowers or something. Because a huge proportion of the city's population uses bikes as their primary mode of transportation, the streets have almost as many lanes devoted to cyclists as cars and trams. The Dutch cyclists had no time for meandering tourists, and although amiable in person, they became dangerous behind the handles. It only took us a few hours to realize the grave implications of breaching the bike lanes on foot and after a few near brushes with death, we found a new appreciation for Dutch biker road rage. Once in the saddle ourselves, our biker gang adopted the same life or death attitude towards naive pedestrians who made the fatal error of crossing the line into the bike lane. The pleasant, little bells each bike was equipped with to warn walkers became the harbinger of death and destruction. 

Our biker gang on patrol in Vondel Park, an extensive maze of paths, ponds, and scenery. We called ourselves the "Misdadigers," which loosely translates to "Bonethugs" in English.

Matt and I cruising at nighttime. Lights on. No helmets. Badass.

The country is, of course, famous for its policies (or lack thereof) regarding drugs and prostitution and although the majority of Dutch people don't exploit either, the city is constantly invaded by armies of rowdy tourists. I won't elaborate too extensively on this subject, as this is a child-friendly blog. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Right? It's more like, "When in Amsterdam, do as the obnoxious American and English tourists do." The Red Light District and the several blocks dotted with "coffee shops" that are infamous for such absurd behavior don't represent the city or its people, but were an interesting experience nonetheless. Tucker, Matt, Paul, Eddie, the two Andrews, and I all had a fun time experiencing what is essentially a city without rules, but were all content with our short three day visit. The Red Light District was actually pretty sad and clashed with most American values and views towards sex and gender. We redeemed ourselves with subsequent visits to the Van Gogh Museum and Anne Frank House.

Paul's family friends live right in the center of the city and their twin sons, age 21, showed us around the first night. Marius and Jasper are teen stars on a popular TV in Holland. Although there weren't many 9-13 year-old girls (the target demographic of their show) out at that time of night, they were recognized several times as the heart-throb boy toys they play in Spangas, the Dutch equivalent to a Disney Channel hit. The picture on the left is a photograph of a movie poster I took in Amsterdam and the one on the right is a Dutch Red Carpet shot from the internet. It would be like getting a personal tour from the cast of High School Musical; we were instant celebrities by association.

Friday afternoon we took a train forty kilometers to Utrecht, a smaller city of about 300,000, where we met Tucker's friend, Hugo, a Dutch university student he met this summer while studying in London. We had an awesome time with Hugo and his fraternity brothers whose college experience closely mirrored that of any typical American student. Spending a day and a night far from the clutches of the tourist industry with normal Dutch kids and seeing how they lived and operated was really interesting. Abandoning the beaten path to uncover the local flavor and life is always the best way to truly experience a culture and city. Utrecht, which is dominated by a student population of 60,000 (almost the size of ASU), was a beautiful city that closely resembled Amsterdam, but was free of the tourists. Hugo and his friends had heard of Spangas and the twins.

Tucker, Hugo, and Rick at Hugo's apartment. It was a clash of college cultures as we each battled with our respective drinking games. I forget where the large serrated knife in front of Hugo came into play, but it was important. I do, however, know that the blue lighter was used to sterilize it. Those crazy Dutch...

I'm excited for Saturday and the arrival of my Mom and Aunt who will come bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and Kraft Shapes Macaroni and Cheese (the one American food I've been craving). I get the vibe in our extensive email forum that they are enthusiastic, yet nervous for traveling. Little do they know that, with the advent of the internet, cell phone technology, and ATMs, traveling abroad is much simpler. I don't even know what a Traveler's Check is...

Dresden. So it goes.

I always thought that WWII's influence on this part of Europe would be more marked and prevailing, with numerous statues, museums, and other landmarks remembering that pivotal, not-so-distant era of the world's history. However, European cities seem more preoccupied with the history, culture, art, and architecture of their continent before it was devastated by two industrialized World Wars. In Prague especially, which saw little actual combat, the legacy of the Second World War exists on a more subtle plane, below the surface of the city. Many of the area's castles and fortresses served as concentration camps or important conjunctions between greater occupied Europe and larger camps in Poland, but there is little visible presence of WWII or the Holocaust. The history is here, but it takes some investigation to uncover. I had expected such a momentous chapter to bear more physical scars, especially on the region where it all began and ended. In contrast, the city of Dresden itself serves as a living, tangible memorial to World War II and represents the questions of wartime morality, on both sides, that we still grapple with today. Almost completely destroyed in 1945 by 1,300 British and American bombers, the city has been meticulously reconstructed to resemble its appearance before the war. It is one of a handful of places where WWII truly sculpted the contemporary landscape. So it goes.

What sets the destruction of Dresden apart from other German cities that also experienced relentless aerial bombardment was the type of bombing and Dresden's lack of strategic military or industrial importance to the Nazi war machine. Although the Allied commanders that planned and ordered the bombing justified the attack based on what they thought were over 100 industrial factories supplying the German army with armaments and munitions, Dresden, in reality, was a sleepy metropolis, revered as one of Germany's most beautiful cities. Often titled as the "Florence of Germany," the city played a minimal role in the Third Reich's conquests and war crimes and represented the one stronghold of German culture and history not yet touched by the Second World War. When the bombing began in mid-February, 1945, the city had seen almost no fighting and the citizens bore little responsibility for the horrors inflicted on Europe by Hitler. By attacking what was essentially a peaceful city for its association with an aggressive nation, at the end of the war when Germany's defeat was imminent, the Allies drew (and still draw) accusations of war crimes from the international community. The type of bombing also drew heavy criticisms from the public in hindsight, as the Allies employed not only traditional, but incendiary bombs, to destroy Dresden. The incendiary bombs, used in conjunction with specific weather characteristics, created a firestorm that burned for several weeks, incinerating everything sucked into its path. Unlike traditional bombings of the era that destroyed with explosives, a firebombing relied on these indiscriminate tornados of fire to raze buildings. Almost 15 square kilometers of the city were completely leveled to the ground, including all but one the original bridges and most of the Old Town. The inferno created by the fires killed an estimated 40,000 people, which equalled that of the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki. So it goes.

The shot on the left demonstrates the severity of the bombing directly following the aerial assault in February 1945. The picture on the right, obviously from the same vantage point, is a modern view 50 years after rebuilding began.

Thus, visiting Dresden was a powerful experience, because we were confronted by the horrors of WWII at every block. Following its utter annihilation, the city was completely reconstructed, so the majority of buildings had been built within the past 50 years. Much of it is now modern architecture, but several Palaces, the famous Opera House, and a number of iconic Churches were rebuilt as they existed before the War. I can't imagine the city's beauty before the war, as the reconstruction was limited in what it could preserve. The bus tour that we took of the city allowed us to get off at our discretion, explore, and get on any of the other numerous buses running the same route. The hills above the city housed a number of castles and seemingly endless neighborhoods of beautiful homes and mansions. Dresden must have been, and must still be a very wealthy area, because the countryside around Dresden was scattered with villas and mansions built before the War. All but one of our roommates, Paul, went to Barcelona, so Tucker, Paul, another girlfriend of ours, Caitlin, and I got to explore the city together. The weather was pretty grim the whole trip which hindered us from walking around as much as we had wanted to, but despite the weather, it wasn't hard to appreciate Dresden's architectural brilliance. 

A random shot of one of the large houses that dot the hills over the city. We stopped in this little town center during our tour for lunch and one would never know they were only a few kilometers from a major city.

The Fraunkirche Church, which essentially translates to the Church of our Lady in German. Completely razed by the bombings, the people of Dresden put great effort into rebuilding this icon of Baroque architecture with great care. The original stones make up some 15% of the new church.

Caitlin and I in front of one of Dresden's many squares. The Elbe River is a few hundred yards behind us.

The famous Semper Opera House. Destroyed in the late 19th Century by a fire and then again in the 1945 bombings, the Semperoper was reopened in 1985 and functions today as it did before the War.

Because it is rather off the beaten path for American tourists and we are probably beyond tourist season for this part of Europe, we didn't meet any native English speakers. The night life was centered around the New City, which was comprised of 130 bars and restaurants densely packed into a few blocks. We ate doner kebabs for eight of nine meals we enjoyed in Germany because the city was so expensive. Doner Kebabs are essentially pita sandwiches with shavings of meat from a huge, oscillating column of chicken or beef. The vision of someone using an electric saw to shave hunks of meat off of collection of several hundred chicken breasts is rather unappetizing, but they are delicious. We also got our daily allowance of vegetables in the lettuce, cucumbers, and onions that came on them. Eating healthy and cheaply is always a high priority...

Roommate Paul, Tucker, and Caitlin at the rooftop bar of our hostel. In our defense, we didn't chose the girly champaign you can see being held in the picture-it was free with the room.

The four of us at a bar on Friday night. The German beer was all that it was cracked up to be.

Amsterdam for Tucker's 21st Birthday is on the agenda for this coming weekend.