Poland trip, Part 2

Tuesday, July 28

We traveled to Cracow by train from Warsaw, a new experience for me. I enjoyed the travel, seeing the countryside and the smooth motion of the train on the tracks. In our compartment sat Gab, myself, her parents, and her sister, Ewa, as well as a Polish girl in her early 20s. The girl worked on a laptop - the compartment had electric outlets and I think it had wifi. But I am not sure. I had imagined before coming to Poland that it might be 40 years behind the states, or it might be roughly the equal of the states. What I had not expected was the true state of Polish living: it is both 40 years behind and roughly the equal of the states. It was entirely contextual, and I could never seem to anticipate which services would seem totally normal and which would be unusual. For instance, on the train, the toilet was free. This was remarked on more than once. This is because many restrooms in Poland require payment of 1-2 zlotys (~$.50 USD) to an attendant. How this pays for anything beyond the salary of the attendant is unclear to me.

Our train stopped approximately 10 minutes outside of Cracow. It became very warm and people exited the train cars to stand beside the tracks. Many people smoked and Gab said she wanted a cigarette. "You don't smoke," I said. "So what?" was her reply. When someone used the free restroom inside the car, they flushed and human waste poured onto the railroad ties beneath the train. We returned to our car.

After roughly half and hour a small train car arrived to push us the rest of the way to our destination. Gab's parents transferred trains and continued on to Zakopane, her hometown. Ewa, Gabriela, and I headed for the square of St. Mary's Cathedral. It is probably the single most beautiful man-made place I have ever been. Still, beauty isn't everything. Food is everything. And we were starving. We argued a bit looking for food and then argued a little more while digesting it. Maybe we felt inferior to the place. Maybe we were just tired travelers who needed pizza like spiders need a fly.

Wednesday, July 29

Ewa departed for a friend's place the previous evening and rejoined us in time for a bus out of the city, heading for Auschwitz. The name of the Nazi death camp comes from the Polish town of Oswiecim, which was torn apart brick by brick by the Nazis in order to build the camp in its place. Of the three camps, Auschwitz I, originally a POW camp, has been converted to a museum presenting pictures, documents, and other horrors. Auschwitz II (Birkenau), designed as a high-efficiency death-factory, is maintained as near as possible to its condition when the Nazis abandoned it in flight from the Russian army in 1945. Auschwtiz III (Monowitz) was a work camp where prisoners were fed better rations in order to maintain productivity at a factory built there to exploit slave labor. It is not available for tours and is privately owned.

Auschwitz was a place I had imagined many times. It held an almost mythical position in my mind, the world's locus of evil and suffering. I've read regularly about the Holocaust since I was 12 or 13, but there is something that cannot be captured in words, film, documents, talks, in anything other than the experience of the place. For one thing, to know you are seeing the hallways, buildings, and guard posts many walked past on their way to death is chilling. Then there are the displays: thousands of pounds of human hair heaped and matted, collected by the Nazis for use in industrial fabrics, coat liners, etc.; eyeglasses crumpled for scrap metal, shoes for leather, suitcases marked with the date and place of origin for those who were told they were being resettled. When everyone lies a little, is the net sum a lie of epic proportions? Is this impossible without one great Liar, one like Hitler and the upper echelon who knew the full scope of their evil? To what extent did the Allies participate in the untruth by refusing to believe the years of reporting from those who voluntarily entered the camp in hopes of revealing the monstrosity of it all?

These were my questions, and a nice thing about the museum and our tour guide was that the place invites these personalized questions. The tour and the museum are quite balanced on the numerous contentious issues among Holocaust scholars. It was a very reflective experience, but I will note a few items in brief that may be appreciable out of context.

The camp commondant kept a pretty home just outside the barbed wire. His wife and two small children lived there... within 50 yards of the crematorium for Auschwitz I, where the smell of burned flesh must have been unbearable. And yet somehow, as it turns out, bearable.

The hallway in one building of the museum is lined with inmate's faces, Polish faces. (2.5 million non-Jewish Polish citizens died during World War II) Their names and hometowns are listed beneath. This was originally the method of recording the camp population. When the S.S. realized that a few months of starvation rations utterly transfigured the appearance of a face, they adapted their methods and began tatooing numbers on forearms. This adaptivity was evident in many aspects of the camps. It wasn't just that the Nazis were murderers; they were extraordinarily efficient murderers.

Auschwitz II is enormous. It is 300 square acres surrounded by double barbed-wire fencing. The idea of escape under heavily armed guard, in starvation conditions, becomes ludicrous when faced with the physical space. Incredible that anyone tried, let alone suceeded.

Thursday, July 30

This was as uplifting a day as the previous day had been painful. For our major activity, Gab and I toured Wawel Castle in Cracow, one of the country's leading tourist destinations. The place was stupendously impressive architecturally. Inside we took tours of Royal Private Chambers, the Royal Treasury & Armory, and The "Lost" Wawel. There is nothing in the United States remotely approaching the grandiosity and historical significance of the collections at Wawel. We saw original swords, muskets, cannons, pikes, halberdiers, foils, maces, suits of armor, chain mail, and banners with centuries-old coats of arms. We saw the sword of Sigismund the Old (King of Poland, Grand Duke of Lithuania 1506-1548). It had many nicks in the blade. We saw the sword used for the coronation of Polish kings. We saw innumerable goblets, clocks, models, and statues made from gold, porcelain, and precious jewels. It was astonishing. The ceilings, when they weren't panels of gold or marbel, featured gorgeous paintings. The walls featured 500 year-old tapestries. The beauty of the thing.

An interesting cultural difference: Poles don't detest waiting in line with the same passion as Americans. To enter Wawel required tickets sold by one cashier. The line was about an hour's wait all day every day. And when that one cashier took a 40 minute lunch break, no one can buy a ticket. That would never fly in the states.

Friday, July 31

Another long ride, this one much smoother as the bus didn't break down as our train had earlier. The weather was gorgeous and just starting to surpass 30 Celsius (upper 80's, F). It was sunny each day of my trip. We entered the hills and later saw the peaks of distant mountains growing closer. We brought food and water on the bus. Poles normally carry liter bottles of water with them everywhere. I was glad I had adopted this habit. At the side of the road children held up jars of preserves or berries for sale. In the fields were haystacks, sheep, and laborers with scythes and other tools. Polish roads are not well maintained for the most part and there are not really exit ramps the way we think of them on major routes. So you might have to come to a dead stop in the left lane because someone is turning left off the highway. However, roads are less crucial when there are good train lines to get most places. We stopped once to allow a herd of cattle to clear the road.

We arrived in Zakopane, the idyllic mountain town where my sweetheart grew up. It is the "winter capital" of Poland, known for excellent skiing and picturesque views for hikers. A nearby peak, Giewont, is widely known for its resemblance of a knight sleeping on his back. Visible are his brow, nose, mouth. and his hands on the hilt of a sword laying atop his chest. We hiked upon our arrival for around two hours and I was as happy as I had been at any point in the trip. We ate a large meal at a Highlander restaurant where they played raucous fiddle (in the "gypsy" style popularized by the band Gogol Bordello) in a group of about 12 family members and friends. I looked out the bedroom window from which, as a child, Gabriela looked out into the world. The view is of a grazing field traversed by sheep, a narrow rocky footpath, and towering over it all, the Tatra Mountains and mist-enshrouded Giewont.

Poland trip, Part 1

Ok, I was in Poland from July 25 to August 4 and I am only now getting around to writing about it. Sorry. But here's the thing: this trip was so phenomenal and had such an impact on me that I needed some time to make sense of it. I'm going to write about it in three parts to make things easier on us both.

Saturday, July 25

My brother was cool and took me to the airport at nine in the morning on a weekend. Steve must really love me, because he was even showered when I showed up at his place. My flight from Columbus to Newark, NJ was quick, on-time, and pain-free. I had a connection there, as well as one in Frankfurt. Frankfurt was the one that worried me. It is one of the world's busiest airports and I had only 45 minutes to catch my flight out of there to Warsaw. I would need to change terminals, pass through customs, endure the security screening, collect my boarding pass, find my departure gate and get on that plane. And that's if my arrival was on time.

I had my boarding pass for Newark already, but the Continental ticket counter in the US could not print a boarding pass for Lot Polish in Frankfurt, so they advised I speak with the Lot Polish counter. The Lot Polish counter was closed, and due to open at 3:30. I grabbed a sub and a Coke and made a phone call and played Sudoku. At 3:30 I tried again and no one was at the Lot Polish counter. I was really starting to hate New Jersey. I'd found a relaxing place to sit (a cold air vent by a window) and do more Sudoku when the loudest, bitchiest teenage girl I have ever encountered took up residence alongside me. She shouted about her problems to her friends (or maybe they were convicts forced to listen to her to atone for their crimes?) for the next hour. Finally staff showed up at Lot Polish. They kindly told me to collect my boarding pass in Germany.

The transatlantic flight was quite pleasant. I had a lot of legroom and a very cheerful English-speaking German student named Anna as a seatmate. She had been taking English lessons in the Bahamas and the only part of the US she had seen was the Newark airport. At first this seemed a travesty of America. As I thought about it though, it was perhaps in many ways representative. She was of the opinion that while there might be a few enlightened Americans, most of us were cowboy-hat wearing, semi-literate, gluttonous slobs with no idea what was happening in our own country or anyone else's. Familiar with that American stereotype, I didn't tell her what the stereotype of Germans (beer, S&M, Hasselhoff, electronica, Nazis?) was in the states. I wish I had. It would have made for a good moment of reflection.

Sunday, July 26

I slept a short time on the flight and arrived in Frankfurt around 10 AM local time. All the women were tall and blond there and spoke perfect English. It is the most beautiful airport I have ever been in. The airtrain passes from terminal to terminal every two minutes. The terminals were clean and I caught a momentary whiff of organza blooms as I speed-walked towards my terminal. For the tremendous number of people there, it was never crowded. My engineer father would love it there. Maybe it is where he'll retire.

I made my flight, a small jet, boarding without the boarding pass that had been my singular obsession for the previous twelve hours or so. Frankfurt is a good sized city and yet forests grow right to its outer rim and there is heavy tree cover within the city as well. Anna had told me Germans must plant two trees for every tree that is cut down. From Frankfurt to Warsaw I sat in the aisle seat next to the prototype for the Russian mafia. My new friend wore black shades a la Risky Business with a black suit, starched white shirt, and red tie. He had a crewcut that was downright Putinesque. I whispered "Gangsta..." to myself in the manner of McLovin, only to discover that my neighbor, a plausible thumb-breaker, spoke good English. He hadn't seen Superbad.

In Warsaw I arrived tired but in high spirits. Gabriela was waiting there for me with a red rose. I hadn't seen her in three weeks and I ran to her joyously. Her family was with her and I hugged them all as well. We stayed at her aunt and uncle's home in a nice neighborhood in the city. Her dad's parents live only a few blocks away and they came over for dinner as did some other friends and relatives. We ate a delicious six-course meal and drank beer and wine. Tyskie is my favorite Polish beer. It can be found in the states, and it's a crisp light beer.

Monday, July 27

I was so sick the next morning that the sound of people's voices made me want to throw up. Jet-lagged, I went to bed all morning while Gab and her sister Eva went for a walk in the city.

That afternoon I went into the historic district with the girls and toured the Royal Castle. There we saw enough gold to make one wonder if it is indeed rare. There was a magnificent throne flanked by some twenty Polish eagles, all done in gold and precious gems. I am working on making my cubicle at the credit union look like this.

I should also point out that as much as I like the bald eagle on the back of the quarter, the Polish eagle is an absolute badass. Whereas the American eagle might cause one to think of the wonder and majesty of a great land, the Polish eagle causes one to wonder how much cash one is carrying and where is the nearest police station/emergency room. His taloned claws are extended and his wings are raised in a manner that suggests he might punch you. I have never been punched by a bird, but if any question remains as to his prowess and authority, this eagle has a crown perched on his head. Don't make eye contact.

We didn't see a lot of the same architecture that I would marvel at in Cracow. When the Nazis invaded in 1939 they leveled 80% of the buildings in Warsaw, the capital, to prove a point. Thus, much of the architecture today is Soviet, built by and in the style of those who chased the Nazis out. It is not to my taste, and even the Poles have debated tearing much of it down. Outside the palace in an adjoining galery we saw a collection of Persian rugs that were hundreds of years old and took us tens of minutes to find. We saw teenage dudes with rocker hair skateboarding and heard children playing with noisemakers and were contentedly whisked along amid the throng of tourists and people who make their living off tourists. We had missed each other's company for three weeks. We were together in the grand old city.

The Lifeguard

I made mention of my family to a new friend the other day. I quipped, "It's not always easy to tell in my family who is drowning and who is swimming to the rescue."

This seemed immediately foolish and self-pitying. Later it seemed wise. Now I think it was just a very true moment, whatever judgment passed upon it. Thank you Ralph Waldo Emerson...

"To be a sympathetic person is like being a swimmer amongst drowning men."

Blessings of Omission

My best friend, Debbie and I both lived in Bloomington, Indiana the past few years while attending IU. She moved to Philadelphia. I moved to Columbus. It has been an interesting time in our friendship, as we negotiate the distance and our entrance into the professional world.

Debbie ended a relationship when she left town, and it was a sad time. (This is not gossip, I swear. It's old news, people!) Not just because the relationship was left behind in Indiana. Debbie's wonderful dog-pet, Petey, was left behind as well, in the temporary care of her ex. Or so I thought.

Weeks passed. Debbie grew adjusted to Philly and her life and responsibilities there. She met friends and got involved in good, meaningful pursuits. Every time I would ask about Petey, she would groan and yell at me. She "missed him so much!" All the same, weekends came and went, and soon a month had passed and the dog was still in his daddy's care.

I realized that I wasn't being sensitive by asking anymore. I realized it just hurt her to think of her canine companion she'd left behind with the rest of it. I grew to understand that the dog was never coming to Philadelphia, and would live out his days in Bloomington, perhaps never to see his dear mother again. And so I stopped mentioning him in our conversations.

While Debbie was settling in to her Philadelphia home, I was taking stock of my situation in Columbus. I found work, spent time with old friends and family, enjoyed myself. But I wanted something more emotionally fulfilling. This was meant to be new to me, but everything I was invested in was old as my childhood. I kept telling Debbie that I was thinking about volunteering as a Big Brother with Big Brothers/Big Sisters. She was the one who inspired me to do it in college, by her great experiences with it. So naturally, she asked about it routinely.

One thing I forgot to mention: I told her I had already signed up. A lie, I know. Why did I lie? There I have only guesses and excuses, cheap talk and throat-wind. She would ask about it regularly, and I guess she eventually surmised, from my lack of specifics, that it was bogus. She stopped asking. She recognized a weakness in me and forgave me so gracefully as to never need a word. Another blessing of omission.

Of course, I am finally signed up for BB/BS now. I'm excited to be involved in a boy's life and feel like less of a leech on society. I know I will get a lot out of it and hopefully put a lot in. And Petey? Debbie is picking up her dog-pet this Saturday. Maybe it's no "Gift of the Magi," but these blessings of omission are blessings all the same.