Hungarian Horrors

Turns out Alex was unable to get a half day of work, but there was still a glass of fresh orange juice waiting in the kitchen for me.

Next was Budapest, Hungary.  There I had accepted my first American host.  I was very excited to stay with a fellow American that had been living abroad for some years.  All these questions were developing in my head on the train ride over.  He mentioned he had gone to Kent State (graduated?), so I was hoping for some intellectual conversions.

And was I ever disappointed.

Leslie answered the door wearing an oversized long sleeve polo, beach bum sandals, and a skull and cross-bones ski hat.  He had insisted that I find guys apartment instead of meeting me at the train station.

That's fine.  I've never been to Hungary, but I'm a big girl.

It took me a while to sort out the trolleys, but I eventually made it.

He took my backpack, led me into the sitting room, and told me we had to leave.  Another couch surfer, 60 year old Dave from California was on his lap top there.  Leslie said it was a long story, and we had to leave.  Dave agreed it was a long story but made no move to indicate he was leaving too. 

Leslie ushered me out the door saying he was going to take me to this great little tea shop.

In my mind, I'm going over all the valuables in my backpack still at his flat.

I had all my money, credit cards, my Eurail pass, and my passport on my person.  I could make it okay if I had to bolt for some reason.

He went on and on about the reason we had to leave. 

Mostly what I gathered was that Leslie was a spineless wannabe college student and liked to be popular with the drinking crowd my age.

Apparently two guys were coming over to his flat that he just wanted to avoid.  One American guy had stayed with him for two months (this fact was bragged about on his couch surfing profile), and had become a constant moocher.  Somehow a Turkish guy got thrown in there and acted the same way.  The Turkish guy was also a host on couch surfing.

He liked to choose his surfers based on aesthetics, if you know what I mean.  Leslie maintained that made no difference to him.

We ended up walking for quite awhile.

I tried to calm my worries.  He had many great reviews on couch surfing, including reviews from single traveling females.  Why would he pick a fellow countrywoman to screw over?

We eventually made it to the tea shop.  I'll admit it was pretty cool.  Aztec themed with a basement and an upper deck for hookah.  Leslie mentioned if I was hungry we could get a private tea room for free.

Any appetite I had had previously, left long ago.

No.  No, I definitely was not hungry.

Over tea, he asked me a total of about two questions, one if which was did I like honey in my tea.

No.  No, I don't.

The rest of the time, he spilled his sad life story to me.  His parents were dead. His family was dead. He was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease.

Now, I am not completely unfeeling or insensitive.  A previous host, who will remain anonymous, confided in me his battle with stage 3 melanoma.  But he actually had something to say about the experience.  Leslie said it more to prove how sad his background really was, but that he pulled through just fine.

His parents' Hungarian origins were what led him to Budapest.  He had become a citizen, and spoke a little Hungarian (something he liked to prove whenever he had the chance).  As a Hungarian citizen, he was also receiving money from the government.

Oh yeah, Leslie was unemployed.

Surprise.

As it was only 3 in the afternoon, he offered to show me some of the sights on my list.

We only ended up seeing two of them (one of which was a square we happened to walk through).  I got the feeling he considered all the sites I wanted to see to be mindless tourist things that were beneath him.

He told me about his big plans for a bar crawl website were he would lead visitors through all his favorite bars on Budapest.  He had to show me the pub he planned on starting it at.  It was a cool little hole in the wall. Nothing more.

He bought me a beer while I was in the bathroom.  I didn't take more than three sips.  I didn't trust it.

We eventually ended up in another chill little pub to wait for night fall.

I just HAD to see the city by night.

I'll admit it was beautiful.  I think I would have enjoyed it more had he not insisted I take pictures of what he seemed to think was beautiful.  Even if I didn't want a picture of whatever it was.

By this time it was 9pm.  He had been promising to take me back for almost an hour and a half.

I was exhausted.

Then he decided we wouldn't cook dinner, do we should go get dumplings.

The whole day he had been talking about "when we go out tonight", "when I show you the real Budapest", "when you meet the moochers".

By the time we actually, physically, walked back into his apartment, it was after 10.  It was a three hour train to Budapest, and I'd just been walking for 8 hours.

The last thing I wanted to do now was go out.

I told him this.

Oh no no, its okay. We'll just go out for a bit.

All the while back to his place, he's been on the phone with the moochers saying "I can't make her go out", "She's tired, what do you want me to do", etc.  If there had been a sliver of a chance I wanted to go out before hearing that conversation, it was gone.

I don't like it when someone has a plan for me. A plan for what I'm going to do.  I especially don't appreciate someone talking about it right in front of me.

I make my own plans.

I had said earlier I would need to shower before going out.  It was 10pm, but I was getting my damn shower regardless. 

I said I didn't want to go out at all.

He said a shower would wake me up.

After I showered, I said I still didn't want to go out.

Oh no no, its okay, we'll just go to the pub down the street so you can meet my friends (moochers).

It took everything I had not to tell him where he could shove it.

The small part of my brain that was still rational and not completely pissed off kicked in.  If things got angry and heated, I could lose.

Fine.  I'd go to the pub down the street.

But I'll be damned if I'm putting on makeup or even combing my wet hair.

The Turkish guy would also be bringing his American surfer.

I got the feeling Leslie and the Turkish guy liked to compare their surfers.

I put on the biggest, smelliest shirt I had at the bottom of my back pack.

The American moocher, the Turkish moocher, and the American surfer all meet us at Leslie's place.

Then we walked to the pub.

Leslie asked what I wanted.

I said Fanta.

He bought everyone, including me, a beer and a shot.

And he said everyone mooches off of him.  Really he just liked to buy friends.

I was unimpressed and refused to drink either.

The American girl was nice.  Kind of an idiot, but a sweet heart.  Based on her manner I would have guessed her to be 18 or 19. Ah nope. 23.  Technically older than me.

She was from California, but had been in Amsterdam the past two weeks.  Why? Because she's going to move there.  Oh, job? School? No, she just liked it there.  She'd find a job.  I asked if she knew what it took to get a visa there.  A working visa nonetheless.  Ah, no, she hadn't looked that up yet.  I held my tongue, and just wished her good luck.

As soon as the American and Turkish guy realized that I wasn't going to play along and be charming or adorable, they pretty much ignored me.

I was falling asleep in my chair.

It was after midnight.  Leslie had promised we could go back after midnight.  I brought this to his attention.

Okay okay, after he finished the beer I refused to drink, then we could go.

As we walked out, I realized he was substantially drinker than I had thought.  Stumbling and swaying a bit.  I may have had a pen gripped in my fist in my purse.

Its not that I felt particularly threatened.  He just was unpredictable and didn't take anything I said seriously.

On the way back, he went on and on about how drinking tomato juice before bed will cure your hangover.  I assured him it would be impossible for me to have a hangover, as they typically require previous inebriation.

As we are walking into the apartment, I notice he's holding his mouth weird, and he's uncharacteristically silent.  I change in to my pajamas.  When I come out if the bathroom there's a glass of tomato juice waiting for me.

I am 99% sure there was spit in it.

I know what tomato juice looks like.

This had a floater in it.

I said I didn't like tomato juice (lie).

He said it would cure my hangover.

I said I'd take my chances.

I asked where I was going to sleep.  Dave was already passed out on the couch.

Leslie asked if it would be okay if we shared the bed if he put up a "force field".

Fuck no.

So I said, a bit more eloquently.

He pulled of the top part of the mattress onto the floor in the living room.  I got the bottom half in his room.  There was no doors between the two rooms.

I waited till I heard him snoring.

Hungarian Horrors 2: Budapest's Redemption

(continued from above)

Once I was sure Leslie was sleeping, I put leggings and a long sleeve shirt on under my pajamas.  I put everything back into my backpack, and laid my purse and coat together within arms reach of where I was sleeping.

I didn't sleep very well obviously.

Leslie and Dave got up at seven, I had been awake laying there got a half hour already.

Leslie had promised to make me pancakes, so he and Dave were going to run to the market.  I told him not to worry about the pancakes.

They left, and I got moving.  I changed etc. and repacked my bag.  I booked a hostel on my computer, and text the address and name of my host to a friend and my mom, just in case things went badly.

I couldn't just leave, there was no way to lock the door.

So I waited, fully strapped into my bag.

In they walked, finally.

I thanked Leslie for his hospitality but it just wasn't working out.  Leslie had a dumbfounded look on his face.

I ignored it. Shook both their hands, and left.

As I walked 2.3 miles with 20 lbs on my back, I felt so relieved.

I checked into the hostel, and went to see the real Budapest.

And I loved it.

Despite the rocky beginning, I'd put Budapest in my favorites category.

I first climbed the 300 steps to the top of St. Stephen's Basilica and got a beautiful view of all of Budapest.

Budapest is actually two cities.  Buda on the west side if the river, Pest on the east side.

I was in Pest, but could see all of Buda that wasn't behind the giant hill on which Buda Castle sat.

That's the direction I set off towards.

It took almost an hour to get there and climb the hill, but it was worth it.  There I had a great view of Pest and the Parliament building on its bank of the river.

Their parliament building reminded me a lot of the one in London, only fancier.  More elaborate architecture.

The castle wasn't anything particularly breathtaking.  Just a standard fortification.

I Bambi-legged my way down the hill and back across to Pest to find a cafe to rest.  There I looked up a cinema that played subtitled movies instead of dubbed movies in Hungarian.

How perfect would it be to watch the Hunger Games in Hungary?

I found a cinema I knew how to get to.  With still another two hours before showtime, I took a long scenic walk to Hósök Tere.

Hósök Tere is a large open square surrounded by several museums and other picturesque buildings.

One of which was a large castle like building with a very shallow pool surrounding it.  I'm sure people came in the summer to lay out and splash around.  Just opposite the shallow pool was some sort of music conservatory that I imagined played on the terrace in the summer.

It was nice out that day, sunshine and all, but not quite warm.

After admiring the scenery, I hoped on the metro towards the cinema.

The ticket had an assigned seat number on it, but I ignored it.  There was hardly anyone there.  The two guys that bought tickets in front of me were American no less.

I'm not going to go into the movie.  It was awesome, you should see it, I'm going to read the books when I get back.

I returned to the hostel, coordinated a few more hosts for the cities to come, and went to bed.

The next day was an eleven hour train trip to Venice where I'd meet Alberto.

Easter in Bratislava

Easter morning consisted of a train to Bratislava, Slovakia. But before I left I mailed my parents an Easter post card (I couldn't believe the post office was open!).

Once I got to Bratislava, my host Alex "picked me up"from the train station, and we went back to his flat.  He still had two surfers there that were leaving to go back to Hungary that day.

Never had I ever felt as uncomfortable in Europe as I did those few hours.

The other two couch surfers were a guy from Portugal and a girl from France that worked together for the UN in Hungary.

They most obviously did more than work together...

I mean they were ALL OVER each other.  Constantly.  Stroking, rubbing, kissing, etc.  Dude literally reached across me at one point just to stroke her hand.  I threw up in my mouth a little.

At first, I thought she'd tell him to cut it out.  Nooope. Totally wrong.

After they left for their train to Budapest, I asked Alex if he had felt as uncomfortable as I had.  He laughed, said they must be in the very early stages of the relationship, but said it didn't really bother him.
I will give the couple credit though, while they were around, my mind was too occupied to think about the fact it was a holiday.

When they left, home sickness started to set in.

I've never been home sick.  Not even during four months abroad for school.  Not even during that Thanksgiving I spent abroad. I guess then I was at least with friends I could celebrate it with.  I had just met Alex.  He didn't celebrate Easter, nor did he seem like the type of guy up for an egg hunt.  At that point it was early afternoon, and therefore still very early morning back in Ohio.  I expected I would hear from my family later that day, at least an email.
I didn't.

At least not until I Skype chatted my mom.

Anyways.  Alex and I had a hard time finding things to do that day.  Bratislava isn't that big, and most shops were closed that day.  Most of them would be closed the day after as well.

We climbed the big hill over looking Bratislava, which sported a great view in the brief bit of sunshine we saw that day. 

We ended up calling it quits kind of early because it was quite cold.  Snowing some at times.

That night, we (including his golden retriever, Bubbles, whom he frequently spoke to in Slovakian) watched "The Game" with Michael Douglas.  Alex graciously gave up his bed and he took the couch (third host in a row to do so...).

The next day was a little better weather wise.  I woke up to a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, so I knew it was bound to be a better day.
We walked around more of the old town, and eventually took a long bus to a castle I had on my list.

Once we got there, it was a bit of a disappointment.  The castle was as splendid as I expected, out at least it would have been.  Apparently the government had taken it over several years ago, and they were doing renovations on it.

It didn't look like they had gotten much farther than putting up the safety fence around the entire estate.  It was in an obvious state of disrepair from the outside, so I could only imagine how it was on the inside.

Such a shame.

That night we watched "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" with Jim Carey, which I loved (and I typically hate his movies).  Alex had to work the next day, but he said he'd try to take a half day in order to me of to the train station.

Dobru Noc Slovakia
Tegs

Auschwitz-Birkenau (continued)

This is the second half of the Auschwitz-Birkenau entry. For the first part, see the entry just below.

Höss was the master mind behind larger gas chambers and more efficient killing.  He had been involved in the workings of other concentration camps, but his mission was to make Auschwitz the most instrumental camp in the Final Solution.

He went into hiding as a German farmer under a false name after the war ended.  He was discovered by British troops, only after his wife gave away his location to save their son from being possibly shipped to Russia.

Psychologists interviewed Höss throughout his trial.  He seemed apathetic to what had occured under his supervision.  One psychologist even suggested a schizoid type personality disorder.  When asked about the estimated 3 million people he killed, he said (and I paraphrase) not 3.5 million, 2.5 million, the rest were taken by disease.  The estimated numer killed was revised later to around 1.5 million.

Höss was hung in Auschwitz for his crimes against humanity.

He released a statement for days before his execution.

"My conscience compels me to make the following declaration. In the solitude of my prison cell I have come to the bitter recognition that I have sinned gravely against humanity. As Commandant of Auschwitz I was responsible for carrying out part of the cruel plans of the 'Third Reich' for human destruction. In so doing I have inflicted terrible wounds on humanity. I caused unspeakable suffering for the Polish people in particular. I am to pay for this with my life. May the Lord God forgive one day what I have done."

The last thing we did in Auschwitz was enter an original gas chamber.

Pictures were allowed (though I decided not to). Silence was required.
It was just a concrete room with a square hole in the roof.  One large door covered the only entry and exit way.  I thought I could make out scratch marks on the wall, but looking back, I was probably just seeing what I thought I should see.  Zyklon's method of asphyxiation was very quick.

There was no closure when we left Auschwitz. We were simpy told to hand in in our earphones, board the same bus to Birkenau, and we would meet our same tour guide there.

Birkenau had a much more profound effect on me than Auschwitz did.

Birkenau was less touched, less tampered with. There were no ticket counters or cafes nearby.  There was a parking lot, and that was it.
You entered Birkenau through the exact same archway that all the prisoners had passed through.  Most of which only crossed the threshold once. 

Prisoners arrived in train cars at the very center of the camp.  The train cars were dark, often with only one bucket full of water, and another empty one for obvious uses.  The cars were packed so tight that only a few could manage to sit down at one time.  Depending on where they were coming from, the prisoners could have been in there for many hours.  The train track was still there.  It even looked possibly functional.

Once off the train, prisoners were sorted into two basic catagories.
Those that would actually see the barracks, and those that never would. Your apparent ability to do labor determined which (literal) road you walked down.

The road to the gas chambers was nick named "The way to heaven" by the Nazi's.

The other road would lead the prisoners to be processed (shaved, deloused, sorted) to be then put into barracks.

Workers were expected to work at least 12 hours a day on only 30% of their normal calorie intake.  Collapsing in a factory or becoming injured was not acceptable.

The prisoners that did live longer than their first hour in Birkenau deveped a code of ethics among themselves.

Stealing food from another prisoner was the highest offense anyone could commit.  A thief would be killed by other prisoners, and not just whmever he stole from. Exposing a fellow prisoner for one's own gain would end the same way. In the barracks, the newest prisoners would get the bottom barracks on the cold concrete floor, instead of the wooden ones in the second and third levels.

We saw actual barracks, actual latrines actual crematoriums. Some had had their roofs replaced, but were otherwise original.

When it came to the latrines (or rather long benches with holes in them) you got in and got out.  If you took to long, you would be shot.  Toilet paper was not provided.  Toilet paper was a black market item in the camps that was valued almost as highly as food.

Most of the crematoriums did not survive.  As the Nazi's started to see what the outcome of the war was going to be, they tried to destroy any evidence that they could.  This included the "Canada" warehouses, many of the crematoriums and gas chambers.

While we spent almost an hour and a half in Birkenau, I probably saw less than one tenth of the buidings.  The camp was so large it was hard to tell where it ended if you weren't close enough to see the barbed wire.

Our tour guide ended with a few remarks on the vaue of human life, and the destruction that hatred can cause.  It was a nice statement, but I'm sure a post card in the gift shp said something simiar.

I have just a few comments of my own.  Things you won't find on any postcard.

Firstly I'd like to point out that one should be careful not to confuse the word German with Nazi. They are not the same thing.  Germany is a lovely country full of many nice people.  Nazi's can be from anywhere.

Secondly, I don't think the people that did end up joining the Nazi cause were neccessariy bad people either.  Its easy for you to say that you would have never, that you couldn't have mustered such hate.
But you can't say that with 100% certainty unless you were actually there at that time.

The situation is very powerful. Something they don't teach you in history class.

Take Zimbardo's Stanford Prison Experiment for example.

Wiki does a pretty good job expaining it, so I will let you see for yourself.  I can only further recommend you to read Zimbardo's book "The Lucifer Effect".

Stanford Prison Experiment

Those students were not bad people before the experiement, and I'm sure that before the experiement, they wouldn't have believed themselves capable of such acts either.The psychological damage that all of the participants suffered is the reason why the experiment was never replicated.

Exhibit two is Milgram's experiment.It was originally designed to test American obedience as compared to German obedience.

The never got to the second part, because the American results were too sickening.

I'll let Wiki do its thing again...

Milgram

If you're interested, also Google "Eye of the Storm" or "A Classroom Divided".

Basically, what I am saying, is the Holocaust wasn't just a hatred issue. If that was all there was to it, the amount of devastation wouldn't have been as enormous as it was.
It became the horrific catastrophe it was because of propaganda. Because of poor economic circumstances. Because of group think. Because of the blind obedience that every miitary enforces. The chain of command removes the blame from the individual, and so they feel less accountable for actions they would normally never think of committing.However, I cannot use this argument to expain the high ranking Nazi officers. That is for someone with more psychology schooling than me to try to explain.

All I am saying, is that if we see this as purely a lesson in hatred, we haven't learned anything, and history will repeat itself.  If you don't think it has already.

More cheerful post about Vienna next...

Tegs

Let's Get Schnit-faced

My original host I had planned for Vienna had canceled on me early in the week, but luckily, Phil had come to my rescue.

Phil was a tall native Austrian that spoke better American English than I did.  He was also the second host to have a car at his disposal.

Everyone I meet at the station says they will "pick me up", but no one means in a car like most Americans would assume.

I had arrived in Vienna quite late, so we didn't go out to see the city that night. We talked for a couple hours, mostly about past and future travel plans.  Mostly we stayed on the topic of his Russian girlfriend (ex? I couldn't keep the timeline straight, as he had also mentioned an American girlfriend) and her standard of living etc.

I admitted how little I knew about Russia.  I generally had just considered it a cold and impoverished country with a knack for breeding scientists.

From what Phil told me, it didn't sound like I had stereotyped all that much.

Young students pick their specialties/careers at very young age.  He said that PhD's were usually reached in their early twenties.  Even though they had such a high level of education, they were still paid poorly.  Living was expensive too. Despite the poor conditions.  Small cramped apartments.  Undrinkable tap water. 
Apparently its even harder to get out of Russia for any period of time, than it is for us to get in to visit.

When you visit Russia, you first of all need a visa, no matter how long you're staying.  You also need to know exactly where you're going.  You tell the customs where you will be visiting, and you check in at these places.  They always need to know where you are.  If you go to leave the country, and you went somewhere other than your original itinerary, you're in trouble.

That sounds pretty scary to me.

The next morning we went out for breakfast.  Phil had read on my profile that I eat eggs and oatmeal every morning for breakfast, so he took me to a typical Viennese cafe that served great omelets.

Over breakfast, he told me about his travels in Vietnam.  Definitely not a top destination for Americans, at least not that I've ever heard.  He got scammed several times during his trip.  Hidden "fees". Broken taxi meters.  He said the people there were constantly smiling, but they really hated your guts.

He also said that the majority of their shores all full of trash.  They just don't give a shit and throw everything into the ocean.  The same goes for animals.  They just don't give a shit.  Phil said he some local place of some kind when a lady brought in a dog that had been hit by a car.  She threw it under the table and laughed.  The dog was very much alive and in pain.

There are things in Asia I want to see and experience.  But it's no where near the top of my list.  I would do months of research before I spent even a week in any part of Asia.

Obviously we had a lovely breakfast discussion.

After breakfast, we got to work.

I was leaving the next morning and we were going to see all of Vienna in that time.

We walked over to the enormous park dedicated to Maria Theresa, last empress of Austria.  The Gloriette was a beautiful structure with little function.  Apparently Maria liked to drink her tea with a view.

This was all done via walking since it wasn't quite raining at this point.

Afterwards we jumped in the car and raced off.

And I mean raced off.

When Phil drives, he means business.  And no speed limit is going to get in the way of his business.

Slightly terrifying.

We flew over to the Hundertwasserhaus, an apartment building designed by artist Hundertwasser.  It was a beautiful building.  Very few right angles besides the windows. Curves of color. Mosaics of glass and mirror.  Non functioning pillars.  Aesthetically pleasing in every way.

I cannot understand why design effort like that isn't put into more city buildings.  The list to get to rent one of the apartments is years long.

Even with the tourists constantly oogling through your windows.

We walked over to the Museum of Art Fakes.  A gallery filled with famous fakes (not forgeries, the artists didn't claim to be Matisse, Modigliani, etc).  We didn't actually enter the real museum, as my budget would not accommodate the entrance fee.

Off we sped to the amusement park: Wurstelprater.

The amusement park's beginning goes back to the country's imperial era.  It's most famous ride being the Weiner Riesenrad (ferris wheel).  The entrance is free, but each ride has its own ticket fee, as they are owned by local families.  I told Phil about Cedar Point, and even showed him a video when we got back to his place.

His eyes about popped out of his head.

Cedar Point, I told him, is the only reason one should visit Ohio.

Or unless it is to visit me (so I tell all my hosts).

After the Prater, Phil took me into the downtown district.  Despite the rain, it was very pretty.  Felt classy some how.

Oh, I forgot to mention Phil has an ice cream addiction.

You wouldn't know it by looking at the guy, buy he routinely puts down a liter of ice cream in one sitting.

We stopped at the same gelaterie twice.  Once on the way into town, once on the way back to the car.

While in the downtown, we went to the Imperial Crypt (something he had no idea existed until I told him).  There lied Austrian royalty dating back to the 1700's, including Maria Theresa and her husband.

After that, the only thing left for me to see was the Belvedere.  A beautiful art museum with equally as stunning grounds surrounding it. 

If only the sun had been shining...

We returned to Phil's flat and got ready to go out.

Go out and get schnit-faced.

He took me to a restaurant that served giant pig shaped platters with three types of schnitzel.  Two were pig, one was chicken (I think), and it came with a side of schnitzel liver.

The meat schnitzel was amazing.  The liver schnitzel....I probably wouldn't have minded it if I hadn't know what it was...

We called it an early night, as I had an early Easter train to catch the next morning.

(yes Easter, I'm that far behind...)

From Schnitastic Austria
Tegs

Auschwitz-Birkenau

Some of the reason why I've been behind on my blog posts is that I've been putting this one off as long as possible.

Its not that its emotionally draining or anything like that (studying it every year in elementary school has desensitized me in some ways, I think) No matter what I write, it's not going to satisfy me or anyone else that reads it.

You just have to see it yourself.

In the three hour tour, you roll your own snow ball of thoughts. Only a portion of which can be put into words, or maybe only a portion of which you would ever want to put into words.

Just had to lower your expectations a bit before continuing.

The tour started with an hour and a half drive to the town of Oświęcim (Auschwitz is the German version of the name, now used to denote the concentration camp only, not the inhabited area nearby) It had not occurred to me that people lived, or still lived even, in the vicinity of the camp.

I wish I had the chance to talk to someone living in Oświęcim. It would be interesting to hear their take on everything.

Oświęcim wasn't particularly known for anything pre-WWII. The Nazis picked it purely based on geography. It is almost directly in the center of Europe. It also had good connections to many major cities in several countries via train.

Purely logistics.

Once we finally arrived at Auschwitz, we were checked in, divided into three separate groups, assigned a tour guide, and then we were told to never loose sight of our tour guide. Over one million people per year visit Auschwitz-Birkenau.  And i'm pretty sure every one of them must be accompanied by a tour guide, because I didn't see anyone walking by themselves.

You first walk through the famous gate at the entrance that reads "Arbeit Macht Frei" or, "Work will set you free."

Prisoners were made to believe that labor could possibly lead to freedom.  As their time there continued, I'm sure they believed it less and less.  The Nazis had controlling prisoners down to a science.

Despite the amount of weapons and force they could employ, the nazis went out of their way to avoid mass panic. I was familiar with the "going to take a shower" scheme, but that's just half of it.

They would have the prisoners hang up their clothes on hooks and trek then to remember their hook number so the prisoners could retrieve their belongings after their shower. Some prisoners were given bars of soap as well as towels, to further the shower illusion.

Afterwards, the belongings were sorted through by criminals sent to the camp. The criminals were given the best jobs, and slightly better conditions than the Jewish prisoners.  Some were employed as guards as well to control the incoming Jewish prisoners.

The warehouse where all the belongings were kept and sorted was nicknamed "Canada", as Canada was considered a land of plenty at that time.  After the "shower", all gold tooth fillings were pulled to be melted down later.  Any other jewelry valuables were removed, and the bodies were taken to one of the crematoriums.  One crematorium with three ovens had the ability to dispose of over one thousands bodies in a twenty four hour period.

That was still not enough to keep up with the rate at which bodies were being produced.

A single gassing could kill up to 800 men, women, and children.

Children and mothers were especially likely to be gassed upon their arrival to Auschwitz, as they had little value as laborers. Able men were kept around for longer usually.

Who was luckier, it is hard to say.

The actual chemical used in the gas chambers was hydrogen cyanide (prussic acid), sold under the trade name Zyklon B (can also be spelled Cyclon or Cyclone).  It was meant to be used as a pesticide, but I suppose from the point of view of a Nazi, it was. The pesticide had a warning odorant added, ethyl bromoacetate. The Zyklon used on humans did not.

You can skip the next paragraph if you have no interest in biology or chemistry.

Mechanism wise, the cyanide (CN) in Zyklon kills by stopping cell respiration. The CN binds to a iron group (heme a3) in a ligand of the protein cytochrome c oxidase that lies in the electron transport chain (ETC) Usually cytochrome c oxidase would pass electrons down the ETC to produce ATP, which is really the cell's prime function. However, the CN metal group forms a more stable pi bond with the ligand iron group The new stability halts the waterfall mechanism of the ECT, and no ATP is produced.

Breathing Zyklon B kills the person at a cellular level. Victims were found foaming at the mouth, bleeding out the ears, and covered in green splotches (prussian blue? Just a guess).
To be fair to the facts, 95% of Zyklon B was used to kill lice in the living quarters and prevent typhus. Only 5% was used on humans.

In Auschwitz, there were mountains of Zyklon cans in display cases.

The thing about Auschwitz today, is that the buildings have for the most part been converted to hold exhibitions.

The first few buildings we went into had display cases, photographs, maps, etc Each piece added another horrific statistic to the puzzle.

Most mind blowing of all, were the collections of prisoner personal effects.

Thousands of eye glasses, thousands of baby shoes, thousands of adult shoes, thousands of pots and pans.  Half a room full of suitcases. Each with the prisoner's surname written on the side, so they could identify their luggage after the "shower".

The most disturbing by far, was the room in which pictures were not allowed.

Half of the room was just a single display case of human hair.

Seven tons of human hair. All in neat individual braids.
The Nazis shaved prisoners partly to prevent lice from spreading, but also to collect the hair for further usage. Hair was shipped off to factories to be made into cloth. They had a small example of the cloth there as well.

Some parts of the camp had not been redone in any way.

Rooms where the criminals slept were on display. Rooms that the Nazis used were preserved basically as they were.  Block 11 (each bulding was named Block #) even had a judiciary court room where lucky political prisoners at least got some sort of trial.  The basement of Block 11 was much much different.

The basement contained punishment cells for prisoners that had committed either the worst offenses, or possibly no offense at all. All depending on the guards and their moods. Offenses could include trying to escape, collaborating to revolt, not working hard enough, etc. One of the more well known punishments were the starvation cells.  Prisoners were locked in and left there until time did its damage. The most famous prisoner to have died in one of these cells, was Father Kolbe.

A certain Jew sympathizer had been picked out during the morning counting to be locked in the starvation cell as his final punishment for helping Jews escape. Father Kolbe, a fellow prisoner, volunteered to take the man's place. Apparently Father Kolbe lasted much longer in the starvation cell than most prisoners had before him.

He was later canonized by the Catholic Church in the 1980's.

I'm unsure at whether the man whose life he saved ended up surviving the war.

Surrounding all the buildings was an extensive network of barbed wire fence, all of which used to be connected to electricity.  The only buildings outside the fence were watch towers, as well as the house where Rudolph Höss (who over saw the camp) and his family lived.

A few years ago I saw the movie "Boy in the Striped Pajamas". In the movie (adapted from the book by Irish author John Boyne), the story followed the son of a Nazi officer that moved his family into a house next to a concentration camp. It was his promotion and privilege to run the camp. I recommend seeing the movie at least, if not reading the book as well. My real point is that, in the movie, the mother is uncomfortable with the house being that close to the concentration camp. If I recall correctly, it was mostly because of the smell from the crematoriums. I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to live so near a place like that, no matter how easy it makes the commute to work.

Apparenty Rudolph Höss really liked his location.

Literally, the second floor windows could see pretty much the whole camp.

As I have almost reached the maximum number of characters for a single post, I will continue on the next post.

False Alarm

Wednesday, I got myself together early in the morning, packed my substantially heavy film camera, and headed off to the tour bus meeting point to go to Auschwitz-Birkenau.  I still didn't know for sure if Ambrozy had gotten my ticket switched or not, I was just banking that he had.  After all, I was just one person to add.

Right before I got to the bus stop I needed, Ambrozy called me.  Apparently the ticket I had booked didn't actually exist.  There were no afternoon tours.  It also turned out that the bus left earlier than we thought in the morning, and so I had already missed that day's tour.  They said I could join the next morning's tour.

I just wish that hadn't already posted on Facebook that I was going to Auschwitz.

You can't follow up a status like that with "Just kidding"...

I had originally planned to leave Krakow for Vienna on Thursday.  However, I had just received a message from my host in Vienna saying something came up and he had to cancel.  (I was actually pretty excited about this host, as he was from Egypt and I thought he would be interesting to talk to) So really, the one more night in Krakow worked out kind of perfectly.  It gave me one more day to find host, or only two nights stay in a hostel in Vienna in case I didn't find one.

Since I want going on the trip that morning, that left me allll day in Krakow. Literally though.  I had dropped Ambrozy's keys in his mail box when I left, and he had the keys to his mail box. 

I walked into the old town, bought a coffee, found a bench, and ate my bread and orange that I had packed in my purse.  It wasn't even ten yet and it was already a gorgeous morning.  First bit of sunshine I'd seen since Copenhagen.

I spent my first few hours or so looking at all the little market stalls.  They weren't just set up in the market place building either.  The empty square we'd been standing in last night was transformed into a huge market by day. 

They sold everything.

Foods of course. Meats, cheeses, pastries, candies, perogies and kielbasa. Wooden handmade objects.  Chess sets, children's toys, jewelery, home decorations, etc.  Random assortments of traditionally decorated Polish dishware. Another specialty of Poland I saw everywhere was amber.  Amber is mined in the northern part of Poland, and you could find it everywhere.  Big chunks, little stones, crystal clear or bubbly inside, ever shade of golden amber along with a beautiful green shade.  The craftsmanship was in how the stone was set, cut, and polished, as there was no shortage of the raw materials.

I had taken out an amount of złote in Warsaw to last me my whole time in Poland.  Due to exchange fees, I decided that if I hadn't spent to much by the end if the day, that I would come back and buy something for myself, just to get rid of the złote that I obviously wouldn't be spending in a concentration camp.

I ended up buying a ring at the end of the day.

Apparently, as Krakow was built upon throughout the centuries. It was literally built upon.  Like the fourteenth century city square was located a few meters below the existing one.

And you could visit it too.

There was a museum located underneath the square, with the entrance located in the market place building.  There you could see examples of actual seven hundred year old merchant goods. Jewelry, tools, pottery, toys, coins, etc.  They even had excavated old stone market stalls, exactly where they stood when they were first built. 

Very cool.

I also stumbled across an at museum featuring mostly the works of Polish artist Stanisław Wyspiański .  He was primarily a portrait artist, using chalk and pastels.  I really really liked his work.  He was very good at portraying emotions in his portraits.  I liked his wrinkly old people ones especially.

I highly recommend a Google image search of his name.

The rest of the day I wandered around the old town within the Plante garden, as well as the old Jewish district outside of it.

Apparently some king or another was sick of the Jews being so wealthy, he kicked then out of the city center, and they continued conducting good business and formed their own little district.  Ambrozy had given me a statistic on the number if Jews actually left living there.  I don't remember the exact number he said, but it wasn't very many.  (I think at this point a joke was made about Auschwitz still being fully functional. We're going to hell, I know) 

The old Jewish district was basically just a lot of old pretty buildings. There were a couple synagogues, but I didn't go in because, unlike most churches and cathedrals, synagogues charged an entrance fee (insert joke). 

When Ambrozy finally text me saying he was off work, I was having a coffee back in the old town.  We agreed that I would just meet him back at his place.  I told him I would take the bus and see him in about 15 minutes.

Three hours later I made it to his flat.

I really don't want to talk about it.

It was a combination of misreading the bus schedule, misreading the tram stops, and not knowing which side of the freaking street to stand on.  In my defense, opposing bus stops were not located directly across from each other, so finding the right stop going the right way proved to be nearly impossible.

Whatever. I said I didn't want to talk about it.

Ambrozy didn't ask too many questions when he saw my face either.

That night we were going to the weekly Krakow couch surfing meeting.  I had never actually been to one before.  I was imagining ten people in a white walled room talking in Polish one at a time.

Then, Ambrozy told me they reserve an entire bar for the meeting.

Okay. You talked me into it.

We get there, and Ambrozy (who goes every week) introduces me to a few people and gets into his own conversations with friends.  Meanwhile, I'm on a bar stool trapped in a mildly boring conversation with a Krakow local.  Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy and all.  It's just that while his English was pretty good, it looked like it took a great deal of effort to speak the language.  There was a permanent angry look of constipation on his face that made it hard to take him seriously. 

I eventually escaped (thank evolution for small lady bladders) and made my way back to the main room just in time for the night's entertainment.

One of the members was going to levitate four people.

This magic truck turned out to be four chicks laying on each other's laps in a self-sustaining circle.

That's not the interesting part.

The interesting part was the guy doing the "trick" was a Canadian in his mid to late forties.  Wait for it.  He's been living in Krakow for quite a while, and was known to the CS community.

He's also dating a twenty three year old Polish girl.

I'm not even going to touch this one.

I'm just wondering, is Canadian exotic in Poland?

Later, I got involved in a great conversation with a few Polish locals.  I was happy to find out that my humor translated here.

Ambrozy and I headed back around midnight.

I didn't want to be hungover for the very sobering experience I would have the next morning.

I'm running out of Polish salutations to end my blogs with...
Tegs

Krakow & Wodka

I was super excited to meet my host in Krakow, he had actually read my profile before hand and we shared a lot of common interests.

It took us a bit to find each other, mostly because I was searching for a mohawk that had apparently been trimmed off since his profile picture was taken.

He insisted in carrying my back pack (which now had two bottles of beer from Warsaw in it's outside pockets, making it even heavier).  This time I actually bought a bus ticket.  Apparently a previous pair of couch surfers had been caught, and had to bribe the inspector to avoid an even bigger fine.  This sort if bribing is not abnormal, so I understood.

On a side note about bribing.  Polish people have to take their driving license tests in cars owned by the government that are fitted with video cameras inside.  This is to prevent the previously prevalent practice of bribing the evaluator to pass you.  It is not uncommon now for people to have to attempt the test more than once.

Back to Ambrozy.

We stopped at a grocery store on the way back.  I picked our some things for myself, he insisted on making me food.  I always seem to ruin dinner plans when I mention I'm lactose intolerant.  It's not a strict rule I follow, I mean let's face it, certain foods are worth the pain they cause.  However, cream sauces are my kryptonite and I avoid them like the plague.

Ambrozy still managed to whip something together before we went out and saw a bit of the town at night.  Dinner was if course accompanied by several shots of vodka.

Really good vodka.

Vodka so good I probably could have handled it even without the fruit juice chaser.  This particular vodka is often mixed with apple juice as a drink.  I could see how that would be really tasty.  The liquor had like a spice quality to it, not the lighter fluid quality that Popov Vodka has.

Ambrozy told me how two American girls had bought it when they stayed with him.  Claiming they were big vodka drinkers, yada yada yada.  From what I could see, they didn't get very far in the bottle.  Apparently the one girl had two shots, and later Ambrozy had to drag her down from the bar she ended up dancing on at the end of the night...

I got the feeling that they were younger than me, but who knows.

We took the tram down to the old town, and I was in love already.  The old town is completely surrounded by a ring of garden/park, called the Plante, that was beautifully lit at night.  We came into a giant, wide, open cobble stone square.  The town hall tower was matched in height and architecture only by the cathedral at the opposite end if the square.  In the middle, was a long low market stall building where merchants traveling through the city would sell their goods.

We walked around quite a bit, leaving the central old town eventually. 

That's when he told me this is the place he kills his couch surfers.

Ha ha.

Not the first time that has been said to me on this trip, believe it or not.

This led to a discussion on the American term "scrappy".  To be a scrappy fighter etc.

We stopped in two more bars where Ambrozy frequented and had a shot of, what else, vodka.  The one was made from quince.  It was delicious.  I have no idea what quince is, I am assuming it is the british word for a fruit I must be familiar with.  If any one knows what exactly quince is, please comment.  I keep forgetting to look it up.

We returned to his apartment, where he gave me the futon and he slept on the floor.  I felt terrible and insisted that we switch, but that was about as effective as insisting I could carry my own back pack.

There is a Polish code of courtesy for men that I have not seen equaled any where.  Perhaps the closest thing would be American men.  Men always hold the door for ladies, and a man will never extend his hand first for a hand shake either.  He will wait for the woman to do so first.  I had the same experience with Gosia's friend Tomick.  Only he pointed out that I said thank you every time (which he appreciated), and most Polish girls didn't. Gosia said she was so used to it, she would most likely only thank strangers.  I guess even in America I'm always a little surprised by chivalry, and so I always say thank you regardless.

The next day I was supposed to go to Auschwitz-Birkenau.  I had accidentally booked the afternoon tour instead if the morning one I wanted (it takes six hours all together). I was going to get ready early in the morning regardless, and Ambrozy was going to call the tour company from work to try and change it.

Loving Poland more and more as I go
Tegs