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.
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!
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