Blogging last semester was really easy because every weekend I went on a trip of some sort and had new adventures and sights seen to write about. This semester is very, very different. For a variety of reasons (money saving, academic, because London is actually awesome to hang out in) I am not traveling every weekend and it feels like I have less to write about even if, in fact, I do still have lots to say.
Over the past 10 days or so I have visited the Camden markets, frequented Brick Lane, gone to the East End markets, gone to the British Library with a literature class, saw the clocks exhibit and the British Museum with another class, went around to see where the Bloomsbury group used to meet, the library that inspired George Orwell's Ministry of Truth in 1984 (the Senate House library I use regularly), where T.S. Eliot use to live, the church where Ted Hughes (gag) and Sylvia Plath got married, and other sites of literary significance. I've eaten Indian food, finally saw Black Swan, saw "The Rivals" (1775, Sheridan) at the Haymarket Theater for a class instead of going to a spoken word event, wrote my first paper with a thesis in probably 8 months, and have worked on memorizing my poems in preparation for performance. I visited a potential service site for my social welfare class that would involve volunteering in an after school program in Hackney that specializes in taking kids out on the canal in kayaks and canoes (in this weather??? kids are so crazy sometimes). I'm still trying to research other service sites. I bought a plane ticket to Vienna for my birthday to meet up with some of my favorite UPS-ers. I've been researching nightlife with no cover charge (re: London on a budget) and experimenting with cooking (I share a kitchen with three other girls who all have celiac's).
My classes are picking up. I love my reading lists for my two literature classes. We've read "A Spell of Winter" by Helen Dunmore, "The Wasp Factory" by Iain Banks, "Regeneration" by Pat Barker, and now I'm about to start reading "Notes on a Scandal" by Zoe Heller and "Time's Arrow" by Martin Amis. All contemporary fiction!!!!! Love it. Love this professor, definitely one of the best literature instructors I've ever had. She's by far my favorite instructor here and she's so inspiring I really do think I'll read all the novels she assigns (a rarity for an English major like me). The other four classes I'm taking are less interesting and less exciting. But hopefully once I start service for my social welfare class that one will pick up. My women's studies class is pretty intuitive. Everything else I have to say about the rest of them I'd just rather not post on the internet.
Most of my program is in Scotland for the weekend but since I'm doing that with Priya after this semester is over, I'm here in London soaking up the London-vibes. Saving money? Perhaps.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Classes, Dancing, and Sightseeing in London
This past week classes started which would be more exciting if they weren't as time-consuming and reading intensive. I have two novels and a play minimum to read a week. That is not including articles for my two non-English major classes. But since last week was introductions, etc I had time for some extra activities. Tuesday evening I went to a blues dance lesson in Shoreditch. It was fun and helped me get back into the "swing" (haha) of things. Wednesday after class I went with another girl on my floor to a bunch of Beatles sights. We started at abbey road, which I crossed three or four times in case you are wondering, and then saw Apple Records. Then we went to Paul McCartney's house and to the Beatles store and to where Apple Records used to be. We went to where John Lennon used to live and where he and Yoko Ono got busted for drugs. We also went to where Paul McCartney used to live with some other girlfriend. It was pretty cool and it didn't rain that much (surprising for London). I was pretty excited about going to all these awesome historical Beatles sights. Most of them were in Westminster and near Regents Park. Later that night two other girls from my floor and I went to an spoken word open mic in Shoreditch called "Kid, I wrote back" and I met some British poets. AWESOME. One of them invited me to his performance poetry workshop group the next week. Thursday evening began the series of weekly trips to the theater. We saw "Amphibians," which is a new play and it is site-specific about ex-Olympian swimmers trying to move on from past romance and past swimming careers. It was a lot about movement and dance as much as it was about plot. I am doing a presentation on it this Thursday for class. Friday during the day we had the last of our tedious orientation sessions (free at last, free at last) and we went out later that night. Saturday two other girls who live on my floor and I went to the Tower of London. We saw the crown jewels, the bloody tower, graffiti and engravings of prisoners, some military and armor history (in the white tower), the ravens, the chapel, the sites of private beheadings (like Anne Boleyn), and the changing of the guards. That night I walked around Covent Garden with some other girls from my program and we split some Thai food. Saturday night was an early night due to ridiculous amounts of homework. Sunday morning, bright and early, IES took us on a tour of the East End markets in Shoreditch and Spitalfield and through Brick Lane. This is a much funkier part of London, feels more like Capitol Hill in Seattle, and has food from EVERYWHERE. I got Ethiopian (one of my favorites) for lunch. After this I came back, tried to a bit of homework, and then went blues dancing!!!! So exciting. Made me miss all my favorite Seattle dancers, however. Monday night I went to the poetry performance workshop and it was really small, just three other poets, and I was definately the youngest and most experienced but I like the group. They are open-minded and constructive and might help me get spots at some open mics. Exciting, no?
All in all I would say this was quite an excellent first week in London. Now just to see if I can stay on top of my school work and figure out my trips for the semester...
All in all I would say this was quite an excellent first week in London. Now just to see if I can stay on top of my school work and figure out my trips for the semester...
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The Beginning of London
Well here I am, in Grandma's homeland, in a dormitory, in the most posh neighborhood, in London. I arrived Wednesday morning, early and jet lagged, of course. Since then I have had two days of orientation, one IES-sponsored bus tour, stressful friend searching, some beer, and a night of swing dancing. Wednesday I got my unlimited week transportation card (an Oyster card) for way too much money, 33 pounds. I got a new SIM card for my phone. I got an adapter for my electronics. Bought some groceries. My roommate was delayed in Dublin so I didn't meet her until Thursday evening, after too many orientation sessions at the IES center in London. She is an actress who studied abroad last semester in Dublin. Friday we had another orientation session in the morning and then the afternoon to run more errands. I blew out my computer charger so I was without one for a while. Friday evening the program took us ice skating at the Natural History Museum not to far from our dorm. That was kinda cool but it had been raining all of that day so there were way too many puddles for an ICE skating rink. I called upon my skills from elementary days past to make it around the rink. Saturday we went on a bus tour around the city and saw the main sights like Parliament/Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, London Bridge, Buckingham Palace, some other great church of somthing someone's marriage, and the Roman traditional entrance to London including some random old bricks/ruins, and the Tower of London. Of course we didn't actually go in anywhere, we just saw it from the outside. Slightly anti-climactic.
I've set up my class schedule and I'm taking six classes and one as Pass/Fail to ensure early graduation. I am taking a community learning approach class on the British social welfare policy, a class on the past 300 years of women's history (this will be my p/f class), an introductory class on theater in london that requires us to go see plays every week, a class on the modern British novel, a class on women writers worldwide, and the creative writing workshop. It might be a lot of work but who knows. They are IES classes after all. If nothing else, it is a lot of time in class since each one meets once a week for 2.5 hours each. Thats fifteen hours in class every week and equals 4.5 UPS units (one semester at UPS is usually about 4 units).
Friday night I went out with my roommate, one of her friends from home who is studying at a different program in London, and three other girls from my program to Leicester Square and got some tapas and sangria. Leicester Square is definitely a happening place, full of casinos and clubs. After all the discounted international nights at clubs in Milan, I refuse to pay a cover fee. So after the Spanish tapas bar, one other girl and I went to a pub for a bit, then walked around Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square, and almost back up to Picadilly Circus until we found the night bus that took us back to the dorm. Saturday night I was determined to go to this swing dancing event I found online. I found one person to go with me and we went. It was at a pub called "The William Blake" and it was mostly a beginners' night so it was a bit small and I'm not much of a swing dancer but I still had fun. They played a few bluesier songs that I found some beginner blues leads to blues to with. We met some people though to give us recommendations of different music venues, British bands to check out, and favorite pubs. One of them was married to a teacher so I did a little "I'm a tutor of everything!" self-promoting. I think I'm going to go to a blues lesson and small social dance on Tuesday so I'm excited to tap into the swing and blues community here.
Today I didn't do much. I slept later than I meant to and ventured out on an epic and long journey on the tube to find the street everyone told me had all the computer stores so I could buy a new computer charger. So I did and its about 9:35 pm here and I think its time to make some dinner. Classes start tomorrow and its my brothers birthday and this is the first time...ever??? that I haven't been in town for it. Happy 17th little bro.
I've set up my class schedule and I'm taking six classes and one as Pass/Fail to ensure early graduation. I am taking a community learning approach class on the British social welfare policy, a class on the past 300 years of women's history (this will be my p/f class), an introductory class on theater in london that requires us to go see plays every week, a class on the modern British novel, a class on women writers worldwide, and the creative writing workshop. It might be a lot of work but who knows. They are IES classes after all. If nothing else, it is a lot of time in class since each one meets once a week for 2.5 hours each. Thats fifteen hours in class every week and equals 4.5 UPS units (one semester at UPS is usually about 4 units).
Friday night I went out with my roommate, one of her friends from home who is studying at a different program in London, and three other girls from my program to Leicester Square and got some tapas and sangria. Leicester Square is definitely a happening place, full of casinos and clubs. After all the discounted international nights at clubs in Milan, I refuse to pay a cover fee. So after the Spanish tapas bar, one other girl and I went to a pub for a bit, then walked around Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square, and almost back up to Picadilly Circus until we found the night bus that took us back to the dorm. Saturday night I was determined to go to this swing dancing event I found online. I found one person to go with me and we went. It was at a pub called "The William Blake" and it was mostly a beginners' night so it was a bit small and I'm not much of a swing dancer but I still had fun. They played a few bluesier songs that I found some beginner blues leads to blues to with. We met some people though to give us recommendations of different music venues, British bands to check out, and favorite pubs. One of them was married to a teacher so I did a little "I'm a tutor of everything!" self-promoting. I think I'm going to go to a blues lesson and small social dance on Tuesday so I'm excited to tap into the swing and blues community here.
Today I didn't do much. I slept later than I meant to and ventured out on an epic and long journey on the tube to find the street everyone told me had all the computer stores so I could buy a new computer charger. So I did and its about 9:35 pm here and I think its time to make some dinner. Classes start tomorrow and its my brothers birthday and this is the first time...ever??? that I haven't been in town for it. Happy 17th little bro.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Halfway Point
I guess you could say I've reached the halfway point. One semester down, about to begin the second one. Lived in one foreign country for three months, about to move into a second. And in between I got to hang out (very shortly) at home in the land of huge streets, oversized food portions, and American accent English. Oh I was spoiled by home. There was definitely some reverse culture shock upon returning to Chicago, but nothing as extreme as I've heard it described before. Yes the streets were SO WIDE and there were no vespas and everyone spoke English like it was not big thing and the food portions were GIGANTIC and so many advertisements on the street were all about food, often pictured alongside obese people. All of this was very strange. The lack of hoity-toity fashion capital style was way less oppressive and I didn't have to convert the price of everything into dollars since it was already, you know, in dollars. What a luxury!
But now I am sitting in Montreal during my layover between Chicago and London, using the free Wifi, and wondering a little bit about how I am going to get from the airport to the dorm, how expensive the pound is going to be, what the other people on my program will be like, and how much easier it really will be to meet locals now that the language barrier is eliminated. I'm wondering what classes will be like, how much writing I will really get done, if I will be able to find a job, how many of the cities I really want to go to I will actually pop into. Lots of questions but I'm not have as worried or stressed as I was this time in August, boarding my plane overseas.
I'm really, really glad I'm not going back to UPS but I really do wish I had had...three or so more days left at home in Chicago. Oh well, London here I come!
But now I am sitting in Montreal during my layover between Chicago and London, using the free Wifi, and wondering a little bit about how I am going to get from the airport to the dorm, how expensive the pound is going to be, what the other people on my program will be like, and how much easier it really will be to meet locals now that the language barrier is eliminated. I'm wondering what classes will be like, how much writing I will really get done, if I will be able to find a job, how many of the cities I really want to go to I will actually pop into. Lots of questions but I'm not have as worried or stressed as I was this time in August, boarding my plane overseas.
I'm really, really glad I'm not going back to UPS but I really do wish I had had...three or so more days left at home in Chicago. Oh well, London here I come!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
To the Soccer Ball!, or a couple days in Palermo, Sicilia
I meant to write about my wonderful trip to Palermo and Mondello with my lovely companion, Lauren, weeks ago but, alas, I got all wrapped in saying good-bye to Italia, etc and am two trips behind. So here we go.
The last weekend in November, Lauren and I flew so far south we ended up in a land form reminiscent of a soccer ball, namely Sicily. We arrived in the capital, Palermo, in the evening and it was quite an adventure finding our hostel. There were two streets with the same name and the one that the hostel was on was not the first street we found with this name. And lets just say that Palermo is not the least sketchy place you could find yourself on a dark Friday evening. FINALLY we found it, after many strange looks from locals and a few markets later. We arrived and climbed the stairs to our room which was seemingly unoccupied. We then left and scouted out dinner at a seemingly traditional Sicilian restaurant where Lauren made sure to order a Sicilian pasta specialty, something with eggplant. This restaurant was a typical experience of not knowing whether or not you had to go up to the cashier to pay or whether they would take your check at your table, after spending an acceptable Italian amount of time lounging at your dinner table. Afterwards we scouted out some typical Sicilian cannolis, which have a ricotta based filling and our scrumptious and native to this island at a fancy schmancy dessert/aperitivo place. When we arrived back to our room at our hostel we met our roommate.
"BUONANOTTE" she said in the scariest, raspiest, worst smoker voice combined with darth vader breathing ever. She continued to mumble stuff at us as Lauren and I tried not to burst out laughing until we figured out she wanted us to close the door because she was trying to sleep at 9 pm. We left very quickly because we were both terrified and trying not to laugh hysterically. Horrible. We then went out for a bit but around 3 am, when we were back and trying to sleep, this crazy woman got up, turned on the lights (there was another person in there in addition to Lauren and I, therefore turning the lights on for 3 other people) and started packing up her stuff to go. She took off her pants and did this all in white underwear, and often right in front of Lauren's bed...aka her face. This took a while. She dragged all her stuff to right outside the room, rummaged around, came back in, talked to herself in her scary voice, breathed like Darth Vader, went back into the hallway, would be gone for like 15 minutes, come back in, and do the whole thing over. Everytime someone turned off the lights when she was gone or closed the window shutter she would come in, turn the light on, and open up the window shutter. It was horrible. I thought she would never leave.
Finally she did and it was morning and around noon Lauren and I emerged from our beds and headed out and into Palermo. It was wonderfully pleasant outside, a welcome change from the Milanese chills, and we got nutella crepes for breakfast/lunch. What could be better? Then we headed to the markets. Wow, the markets. I think I could do a study on the varying degrees of merchandise and ethnic influences in the different regions of Italy and how this effects the markets. In Sicily there is a strong Indian influence that I hadn't seen before except maybe a smidgen in Bologna. It was really great and probably the best for present shopping for all you lovely girls back home. We spent a good portion of the day doing that. We also walked to the coast and stared longingly and thoughtfully at the water for a while, ate some mini Sicilian pizza (which is different from pizza in Naples, Milan, and everywhere else), had some more cannolis, walked by the super "shameful" aka nude and sexy Fontana della Vergogna, and popped into and walked the duomo (which is a medley of styles since Sicily is a land conquered by two many dictators/rulers/historical names to count).
On Sunday Lauren and I decided to take a day trip to Mondello which is a town a little bit outside Palermo on the coast. We checked out of our hostel and hopped on a bus to the town. It was very small, made up of mostly seafood restraunts, and at first quite windy and a bit chilly. We checked out the bright blue rowboats and walked past a weird mini child amusement park until the sun came out. Then we did the natural thing and plopped ourselves down on the sand, stretched out, and sometimes touched the cold, cold water. This was so great. Last weekend in November, gearing up for finals, and where were we? Lying on a beach in Sicily. After a while we figured it would be good not too miss our plane back to northern Italy and grabbed some late lunch, mid afternoon meal before getting on the bus back to Palermo so we could get to the airport. Now this is the story of how we almost got arrested. Usually, in Milan and other places in Italy, validating your bus ticket or tram ticket is an honor system kind of deal. You don't enter it into a machine in order to board like you do in Chicago. So basically its really easy to board without paying. Since Lauren and I didn't know where to buy tickets or anything, and we just needed two bus rides, we didn't buy tickets. Silly, cheap, American college students we are. Of course on our ride back from Mondello, conductors come on to check tickets. We tried to play stupid American. They just wanted to write down our passport numbers. We told them we didn't speak Italian. They insisted on a 53 euro fine for each of us. One of the street vendors who spoke English acted as a translator for us. He was actually very nice and tried to see if the conductors would let us free if we just bought the extra tickets he had from him. But the conductors insisted that this was not an okay option either, we needed to buy them before boarding. These conductors were so mean. They talked so quickly that neither Lauren nor I could make out the seperate words from the stream of Italian jumble exiting their lips. I would say "Por favore-" meaning to end with "parla lentemente" (speak slowly) but they would interrupt me with "no no blah blah no no blah blah" and hand gestures as soon as I opened my mouth. Horrible. They finally ended up escorting us off the bus, kept mentioning the "Polizia" and argued with us for a bit longer. Lauren and I were petrified. We were not going to pay 53 euro each, we were not letting them get our passport information. Luckily we were close enough to downtown Palermo that when we got off the bus, we knew where we were and how to get to the airport shuttle. We walked to the shuttle still nervous and were very happy to get on that plane out and over to Milano.
The last weekend in November, Lauren and I flew so far south we ended up in a land form reminiscent of a soccer ball, namely Sicily. We arrived in the capital, Palermo, in the evening and it was quite an adventure finding our hostel. There were two streets with the same name and the one that the hostel was on was not the first street we found with this name. And lets just say that Palermo is not the least sketchy place you could find yourself on a dark Friday evening. FINALLY we found it, after many strange looks from locals and a few markets later. We arrived and climbed the stairs to our room which was seemingly unoccupied. We then left and scouted out dinner at a seemingly traditional Sicilian restaurant where Lauren made sure to order a Sicilian pasta specialty, something with eggplant. This restaurant was a typical experience of not knowing whether or not you had to go up to the cashier to pay or whether they would take your check at your table, after spending an acceptable Italian amount of time lounging at your dinner table. Afterwards we scouted out some typical Sicilian cannolis, which have a ricotta based filling and our scrumptious and native to this island at a fancy schmancy dessert/aperitivo place. When we arrived back to our room at our hostel we met our roommate.
"BUONANOTTE" she said in the scariest, raspiest, worst smoker voice combined with darth vader breathing ever. She continued to mumble stuff at us as Lauren and I tried not to burst out laughing until we figured out she wanted us to close the door because she was trying to sleep at 9 pm. We left very quickly because we were both terrified and trying not to laugh hysterically. Horrible. We then went out for a bit but around 3 am, when we were back and trying to sleep, this crazy woman got up, turned on the lights (there was another person in there in addition to Lauren and I, therefore turning the lights on for 3 other people) and started packing up her stuff to go. She took off her pants and did this all in white underwear, and often right in front of Lauren's bed...aka her face. This took a while. She dragged all her stuff to right outside the room, rummaged around, came back in, talked to herself in her scary voice, breathed like Darth Vader, went back into the hallway, would be gone for like 15 minutes, come back in, and do the whole thing over. Everytime someone turned off the lights when she was gone or closed the window shutter she would come in, turn the light on, and open up the window shutter. It was horrible. I thought she would never leave.
Finally she did and it was morning and around noon Lauren and I emerged from our beds and headed out and into Palermo. It was wonderfully pleasant outside, a welcome change from the Milanese chills, and we got nutella crepes for breakfast/lunch. What could be better? Then we headed to the markets. Wow, the markets. I think I could do a study on the varying degrees of merchandise and ethnic influences in the different regions of Italy and how this effects the markets. In Sicily there is a strong Indian influence that I hadn't seen before except maybe a smidgen in Bologna. It was really great and probably the best for present shopping for all you lovely girls back home. We spent a good portion of the day doing that. We also walked to the coast and stared longingly and thoughtfully at the water for a while, ate some mini Sicilian pizza (which is different from pizza in Naples, Milan, and everywhere else), had some more cannolis, walked by the super "shameful" aka nude and sexy Fontana della Vergogna, and popped into and walked the duomo (which is a medley of styles since Sicily is a land conquered by two many dictators/rulers/historical names to count).
On Sunday Lauren and I decided to take a day trip to Mondello which is a town a little bit outside Palermo on the coast. We checked out of our hostel and hopped on a bus to the town. It was very small, made up of mostly seafood restraunts, and at first quite windy and a bit chilly. We checked out the bright blue rowboats and walked past a weird mini child amusement park until the sun came out. Then we did the natural thing and plopped ourselves down on the sand, stretched out, and sometimes touched the cold, cold water. This was so great. Last weekend in November, gearing up for finals, and where were we? Lying on a beach in Sicily. After a while we figured it would be good not too miss our plane back to northern Italy and grabbed some late lunch, mid afternoon meal before getting on the bus back to Palermo so we could get to the airport. Now this is the story of how we almost got arrested. Usually, in Milan and other places in Italy, validating your bus ticket or tram ticket is an honor system kind of deal. You don't enter it into a machine in order to board like you do in Chicago. So basically its really easy to board without paying. Since Lauren and I didn't know where to buy tickets or anything, and we just needed two bus rides, we didn't buy tickets. Silly, cheap, American college students we are. Of course on our ride back from Mondello, conductors come on to check tickets. We tried to play stupid American. They just wanted to write down our passport numbers. We told them we didn't speak Italian. They insisted on a 53 euro fine for each of us. One of the street vendors who spoke English acted as a translator for us. He was actually very nice and tried to see if the conductors would let us free if we just bought the extra tickets he had from him. But the conductors insisted that this was not an okay option either, we needed to buy them before boarding. These conductors were so mean. They talked so quickly that neither Lauren nor I could make out the seperate words from the stream of Italian jumble exiting their lips. I would say "Por favore-" meaning to end with "parla lentemente" (speak slowly) but they would interrupt me with "no no blah blah no no blah blah" and hand gestures as soon as I opened my mouth. Horrible. They finally ended up escorting us off the bus, kept mentioning the "Polizia" and argued with us for a bit longer. Lauren and I were petrified. We were not going to pay 53 euro each, we were not letting them get our passport information. Luckily we were close enough to downtown Palermo that when we got off the bus, we knew where we were and how to get to the airport shuttle. We walked to the shuttle still nervous and were very happy to get on that plane out and over to Milano.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Auschwitz.
I feel weird writing about this. But I feel weird not writing about it, either. An experience I had not anticipated gaining.
We took the train to Oswiecim, a town about an hour and a half from Krakow. Its a town, a real town. With bakeries and street signs and homes, people walking the street with their dogs, their children, their laundry. It is silent. It is cold and it is silent and it feels heavy so just walking of the train you know something grave and something horrific and something indescribable happened there. It feels like history left it behind, like a place struggling to breathe, grasping for a sign that life really does exist here, that it is not just a "tourist" destination. It was a tense and frigid walk to the camp. I didn't know what to expect or what to think so I didn't think. I just moved my feet as fast as I could to stay warm. Dressed in boots and jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, a heavy and thick sweater, and a coat. A scarf, a hat. Dressed for winter. (Victims didn't have half the clothing I had.) Freezing cold. When we arrived, there were tour groups everywhere. Long buses blocked the view. I grabbed a coffee from the more than ironic placement of the cafeteria and we, without payment, walked through the turnstiles.
We walked onto the loose white stones, moving under our feet, and with that first footstep out and in front of the camp, it was like a foot had kicked me in the stomach. As hard as you could imagine. I stared at the tracks, at "Arbeit Macht Frei," at the brick buildings, back at the sign. Robyn took my hand and we, both teary-eyed, proceeded.
So many tour groups. So many headphones. So many people just walking through like sheep. I didn't understand that. Robyn and I could barely hold it together. How did these people just walk from brick barrack to brick barrack, from exhibit to exhibit so easily? The first exhibit that really affected me was the infamous one that is a collection of victims' belongings. The barrack that now has graying hair, pots and pans, eyeglasses, prosthetic legs and more behind glass for us to look at, to see, to remember the livelihood of the Jewish people of Europe before they were forced into this death camp. Some of the hair was still braided (I had braided my own hair the night before). Pots and pans were piled, messy and chaotic (I have only just recently learned how to cook). The room of shoes, with a narrow walkway because most of it is taken up on the left, the right, and in front of you, with piles and piles and piles and piles of shoes. Red shoes, brown shoes, sandals, boots missing soles, multi-colored shoes, childrens' shoes (I had just seen hundreds of shoes lined up next to each other the previous day in stores, the contrast nearly made me puke). Suitcases piled on suitcases piled on suitcases. Labeled with family names as if these people would maintain possession of not only the suitcase, but its contents. I saw my own name, spelled a few different ways, four or five times. I cannot even begin to describe what that feels like. It makes you cough on the phlegm in the back of your throat, it makes you point and shrug as if its no big deal, its makes you want to scream for help. It makes you remember how close this genocide really is to my own life. My own name. Chana. Hanna. Hana. Chanah. My name is Hannah.
When I saw the tallit hung up behind glass it became clear that this was an attack, not just on people, but on a faith, a history, a heritage. My faith, my history, my heritage. And I started crying again. I sat down on the bench outside this room in the hallway, between lines of people walking at an even pace from room to room, and sobbed.
We saw the jail, the "courtroom," the place victims were forced to sleep. We saw exhibits on liberation and "martyrdom" of the Jews. We went to the death wall. I imagined it pooling and stained with blood. My ears rang with gunshots. Now its a memorial of flowers, candles, even some rosaries. And stones, so many stones. Robyn and I put some in the cracks ourselves.
But I couldn't believe the amount of people laughing there, talking loudly, even in the specific areas that demand silence like the "death wall." How do you find anything to laugh about in a place like this? It made it even harder to connect the events of the camp with the land itself today. Auschwitz was much smaller than I imagined and my brain just couldn't put all the stories I had both heard and read in this place.
We went to the crematorium. The "showers" are blocked off and mostly destroyed. But we saw the ovens. At this point I was so numb, so unable to process this history, that the Nazis could do this to people, this genocide, that my eyes could barely process the information in front of them (let alone my brain capable of understanding it). I saw the smokestack. And I know that I am missing a huge part of Auschwitz by not being able to smell the stench of burning human bodies that is integral to every survivor's story.
(We didn't go to Birkenau, which I now really regret, because we wanted to try and see the Leonardo da Vinci portrait in Krakow before the museum closed. We didn't get to see the portrait. Or Birkenau.)
And when we left Robyn turned to me and said "Look, two Jews freely leaving Auschwitz."
We took the train to Oswiecim, a town about an hour and a half from Krakow. Its a town, a real town. With bakeries and street signs and homes, people walking the street with their dogs, their children, their laundry. It is silent. It is cold and it is silent and it feels heavy so just walking of the train you know something grave and something horrific and something indescribable happened there. It feels like history left it behind, like a place struggling to breathe, grasping for a sign that life really does exist here, that it is not just a "tourist" destination. It was a tense and frigid walk to the camp. I didn't know what to expect or what to think so I didn't think. I just moved my feet as fast as I could to stay warm. Dressed in boots and jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, a heavy and thick sweater, and a coat. A scarf, a hat. Dressed for winter. (Victims didn't have half the clothing I had.) Freezing cold. When we arrived, there were tour groups everywhere. Long buses blocked the view. I grabbed a coffee from the more than ironic placement of the cafeteria and we, without payment, walked through the turnstiles.
We walked onto the loose white stones, moving under our feet, and with that first footstep out and in front of the camp, it was like a foot had kicked me in the stomach. As hard as you could imagine. I stared at the tracks, at "Arbeit Macht Frei," at the brick buildings, back at the sign. Robyn took my hand and we, both teary-eyed, proceeded.
So many tour groups. So many headphones. So many people just walking through like sheep. I didn't understand that. Robyn and I could barely hold it together. How did these people just walk from brick barrack to brick barrack, from exhibit to exhibit so easily? The first exhibit that really affected me was the infamous one that is a collection of victims' belongings. The barrack that now has graying hair, pots and pans, eyeglasses, prosthetic legs and more behind glass for us to look at, to see, to remember the livelihood of the Jewish people of Europe before they were forced into this death camp. Some of the hair was still braided (I had braided my own hair the night before). Pots and pans were piled, messy and chaotic (I have only just recently learned how to cook). The room of shoes, with a narrow walkway because most of it is taken up on the left, the right, and in front of you, with piles and piles and piles and piles of shoes. Red shoes, brown shoes, sandals, boots missing soles, multi-colored shoes, childrens' shoes (I had just seen hundreds of shoes lined up next to each other the previous day in stores, the contrast nearly made me puke). Suitcases piled on suitcases piled on suitcases. Labeled with family names as if these people would maintain possession of not only the suitcase, but its contents. I saw my own name, spelled a few different ways, four or five times. I cannot even begin to describe what that feels like. It makes you cough on the phlegm in the back of your throat, it makes you point and shrug as if its no big deal, its makes you want to scream for help. It makes you remember how close this genocide really is to my own life. My own name. Chana. Hanna. Hana. Chanah. My name is Hannah.
When I saw the tallit hung up behind glass it became clear that this was an attack, not just on people, but on a faith, a history, a heritage. My faith, my history, my heritage. And I started crying again. I sat down on the bench outside this room in the hallway, between lines of people walking at an even pace from room to room, and sobbed.
We saw the jail, the "courtroom," the place victims were forced to sleep. We saw exhibits on liberation and "martyrdom" of the Jews. We went to the death wall. I imagined it pooling and stained with blood. My ears rang with gunshots. Now its a memorial of flowers, candles, even some rosaries. And stones, so many stones. Robyn and I put some in the cracks ourselves.
But I couldn't believe the amount of people laughing there, talking loudly, even in the specific areas that demand silence like the "death wall." How do you find anything to laugh about in a place like this? It made it even harder to connect the events of the camp with the land itself today. Auschwitz was much smaller than I imagined and my brain just couldn't put all the stories I had both heard and read in this place.
We went to the crematorium. The "showers" are blocked off and mostly destroyed. But we saw the ovens. At this point I was so numb, so unable to process this history, that the Nazis could do this to people, this genocide, that my eyes could barely process the information in front of them (let alone my brain capable of understanding it). I saw the smokestack. And I know that I am missing a huge part of Auschwitz by not being able to smell the stench of burning human bodies that is integral to every survivor's story.
(We didn't go to Birkenau, which I now really regret, because we wanted to try and see the Leonardo da Vinci portrait in Krakow before the museum closed. We didn't get to see the portrait. Or Birkenau.)
And when we left Robyn turned to me and said "Look, two Jews freely leaving Auschwitz."
Krakow.
Last Friday, Robyn (from UPS) and I flew my favorite airline ever (Ryanair) from rainy Milan to cold Krakow. Not knowing a word of Polish, let alone the name of the Polish currency, we magically made it from the airport to the hostel (called "Zodiac Hostel" in case you're interested in all the fun names of the places I stay) not too late in the afternoon. We then followed the green route on the map of Krakow that follows the "Jewish Heritage Tour." It started at the "new" Jewish cemetery (I think its called "new" because people are still being buried there today because it definitely had tombstones dating back hundreds of years). We walked around here for a really, really long time, winding along the gravel and stone path, through layers of dusty autumn leaves. The trees were bare, just branches sticking naked up into the sky. Bright, lush moss grew over too many tombstones. Home to snails and slugs (the hard freeze has yet to knock them out). It was probably the perfect beginning to a weekend focused on the loss of the European Jews but that didn't make it any less depressing. Tombstones for children, for families, Holocaust memorials for the 12 people in one family that had died. And, as usual, I saw my own Jewish name in Hebrew on more tombstones than I was comfortable with.
After the cemetary, we followed the green route on the map to many synagogues in the old Jewish neighborhood. But because it was Friday and Krakow gets dark VERY early , many of them were closing their tourist services for Shabbat. We walked to most of them but didn't go in many of them. Most of them were just converted into bookshops anyways. That night we walked through the covered market in the main plaza. We found Mexican food for dinner...random but us Americans are homesick for comforts like Mexican food. We had an early night Friday but randomly ran into another study-abroad UPS student at our hostel! Small world!
(Saturday we went to Auschwitz.)
Saturday, upon returning, we found a bookstore with an English section in this massive mall by the train station and we both purchased Madame Bovary for the class we have together. We went back to the hostel and met some of the other people staying there. Some Canadians, some Slovenians, and an Israeli! Chitchat, travel story exchange, some singing. You know, good ole hostel random encounters and conversation. I cuddled up in my Irish sweater from the previous weekend to combat the Polish cold and stayed toasty in the golden lit common room. Robyn and I got Kebabs and Falafel for the equivalent of 2 euro for dinner and then the hostel treated us to some lemon vodka for free!!! This hostel apparently hosts weekend events for its guests such as "vodka tasting" and then they took us out. Friendliest hostel staff I ever met.
Sunday morning Robyn and I got up early to try and see the Leonardo da Vinci portrait "Lady with Ermine" but the Krakow art museum that this portrait is in is currently closed for renovations and the portrait has been moved to Warsaw. Disappointing to say the least. So instead I got one of those pretzel bagel-esque bread products that are on every street corner (if not on all four corners of every intersection) and some coffee from the Starbucks in the mall. My obligatory I'm-out-of-Italy Starbucks run. Then we headed back to the train station, to the airport, and to rainy, rainy Milano.
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