While in Poland we made a trip to a salt mine. It was underground. Very underground. And by this I mean the stairs kept going and we had to keep going down and down. Inside was pretty amazing. They have statues left by the miners, made of the salty stone. The place is no longer used for mining salt in large quantities, it's now mostly for touring. It was rather huge. I remembered to duck most of the time, so I never hit my head. The walls and floors tasted like salt, and I will let you make the obvious conclusion about how I discovered this. It was a highlight for sure. I want to go back.
Also. I like tea.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Passing Trains (Part 5): Auschwitz, a reflection
For the most part, walking through the museum, I found it difficult to initially connect with it much. It seemed so far removed, something I couldn't fully understand, and found myself feeling a sense of disbelief. I would stand looking at the exhibitions and find myself thinking, well, there it is, and not really comprehending what I was looking at. It seemed more natuaral than I thought it would be. Before hand, I kept thinking it was going to be some dramatic turning point in my life, or something out this world that would move me, but it felt more like, well, here it is. Yup, that is a pile of hair. Yup, those are suit cases. Yup, those are shoes. But it seemed hard to connect what I was looking at to the material I had been reading before hand. I what these things were, but seeing them didn't seem like one would expect. Looking back on it has more of an impact than the actual time spent in the museum. There is a general consensus that one sort of walks through the place quietly and take it in, but how does one take something like this in. The mind doesn't know how. I liked the way our tour guide, very simply, told us what to do. When we came to the shoes and the suit cases, all she said was, "Please walk around this room." There was no need for further explanation. She just kept repeating that until we all walked through. The place was full of others on tours, including children on a high school trip. I found it odd that as I walked out of one prison block I noticed some of them smiling and laughing at me over my height (a common occurrence in most of my life). It was like I could have been anywhere. The two more disturbing parts was the gas chamber, and the perhaps the photos of the prisoners put up on one of the walls, which the Nazis took of every prisoner for their records. At the end of the trip, we all stopped at the memorial. And wasn't really sure what to do. Everyone in the group separated into different places around the destroyed gas chambers. Again, I wasn't really able to get my mind to connect with any of it really. There were Jews near the side of it, waving an Israeli flag, and singing. Apparently we had happened to be there on a special day of remembrance, and so there were a lot of little groups there singing songs. I sat and listened, and thought about where I was and what had happened. It seemed like a place. I don't really know how else to describe it. It was just a "place".
Passing Trains (Part 4): Auschwitz in a description
Auschwitz, the retired concentration/death camp, has now been transformed into a museum. To think of such a site as a museum seems strange. One usually thinks of a museum as a place of art, or artifacts of history, something you wake up one morning and think, "Hm, it would be fun to plan a trip next week or tomorrow, to go to such and such a museum for an afternoon." However, one doesn't usually wake up and think, "Today I will visit the site of the holocaust." However, being a part of history and a rather dramatic one at that, not wanting it to fade the place has been preserved for its memory.
The way the museum was laid out was effective, and I was pleased (such as one can be pleased) in the manner in which it is presented. The museum, in a description of the trips events:
The day was cold, and grey. A rather cliché atmosphere. We got our guide, put on a headphone set with a little radio so we could hear her through a mike she had on, and set out into the camp. We began at Auschwitz I, the first camp built. We walked along the side of a double electric fence, topped with barbed wire, and old guard tours spaced along the side. On my first impression, the place seems rather small. For all the statistics we read, all the stories we hear, one would expect something larger. Though once inside, the vastness of prison blocks they fit in the area is still rather notable. We come to the metal gate. The famous sign bends over the entrance: "Arbeit macht frei" - "Work makes you free." -- a phrase well known by the prisoners, and very much there to mock them, as in they were typically told upon arrival that work was until their death. The buildings are all made of red brick. We pass the place where an orchestra once played, from which all the prisoners were meant to march. The prison blocks have been transformed into houses for exhibitions of historical evidence. The roads were mostly made of stone, and uneven to walk on. Inside they have displays of papers and forms. They have maps showing the layout of the camp, along with Auschwitz II, located a few kilometers away. The more shocking exhibitions include a room with a long glass case along the entire side, displaying hair. Before gassing the prisoners, they would have their head shaven, and these would be collected and sold to be used for manufacturing in rugs or cloths. After the war, much of the hair was found. Similar cases hold shoes (mostly black or grey, but an occasional red one could be found in the pile), luggage, personal belongings, glasses. We then walked over to the edge of the camp, where we entered Block 11, which served as a prison within the prison. Here prisoners were trialed, prisoned in standing cells, but more often shot at the shooting wall right outside. The actual wall had been destroyed, and there is now a reconstruction made of stones. All along the bottom are flowers and burning candles, where people have placed there small memorials. We walked back along the camp to the center street, where prisoners stood for role call every morning. Here there was also a gallows used for public executions. Our final stop at this camp was a walk through one of the gas chambers and crematories. We walked into a door over a small hill (an old Polish bunker the Germans transformed for their use), turn to the right into a room, then turn into the left into the chamber. There were only a few large square holes at the top where gas would be let in, once covered with shower heads. The walls were scratched by nails. Then we walked out of the room into the crematory, much like furnaces, with a contraption than can be wheeled into it.
After a short break, to buy some coffee from a machine and some people visit the restrooms, we drove over to Auschwitz II-Birkenau. The entrance had two rail way tracks leading into a center area of gravel, where prisoners would be separated into different sections of the camp. As to what I said above about size, this camp seemed to justify the statistics to a much more dramatic level. On the rail way is an original box car that would have brought the prisoners from all over Europe. The camp is split into sections. The prison blocks here had been built out of wood, with brick heating stretching along the inside. Not really built to last, but on the contrary, built to be hidden, all the buildings for the most part have been destroyed over time, and what is available is more of a reconstruction from what was left. First we stopped in the toilet/shower room, where prisoners would have a matter of minutes to do their needs with no privacy. Then a short look in one of the sleeping areas, stretched with three level bunk beds. We walked to the end of the camp to two more gas chambers, which are now a pile of rubble. After the camp was liberated the chambers were bombed, and have been left as they were. In between the two chambers is a memorial, with plaques along it saying the same message in several languages. The English plaque reading: "Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women and children, mainly Jews, from various countries of Europe." Then we left, feeling hungry, and ready for lunch.
The way the museum was laid out was effective, and I was pleased (such as one can be pleased) in the manner in which it is presented. The museum, in a description of the trips events:
The day was cold, and grey. A rather cliché atmosphere. We got our guide, put on a headphone set with a little radio so we could hear her through a mike she had on, and set out into the camp. We began at Auschwitz I, the first camp built. We walked along the side of a double electric fence, topped with barbed wire, and old guard tours spaced along the side. On my first impression, the place seems rather small. For all the statistics we read, all the stories we hear, one would expect something larger. Though once inside, the vastness of prison blocks they fit in the area is still rather notable. We come to the metal gate. The famous sign bends over the entrance: "Arbeit macht frei" - "Work makes you free." -- a phrase well known by the prisoners, and very much there to mock them, as in they were typically told upon arrival that work was until their death. The buildings are all made of red brick. We pass the place where an orchestra once played, from which all the prisoners were meant to march. The prison blocks have been transformed into houses for exhibitions of historical evidence. The roads were mostly made of stone, and uneven to walk on. Inside they have displays of papers and forms. They have maps showing the layout of the camp, along with Auschwitz II, located a few kilometers away. The more shocking exhibitions include a room with a long glass case along the entire side, displaying hair. Before gassing the prisoners, they would have their head shaven, and these would be collected and sold to be used for manufacturing in rugs or cloths. After the war, much of the hair was found. Similar cases hold shoes (mostly black or grey, but an occasional red one could be found in the pile), luggage, personal belongings, glasses. We then walked over to the edge of the camp, where we entered Block 11, which served as a prison within the prison. Here prisoners were trialed, prisoned in standing cells, but more often shot at the shooting wall right outside. The actual wall had been destroyed, and there is now a reconstruction made of stones. All along the bottom are flowers and burning candles, where people have placed there small memorials. We walked back along the camp to the center street, where prisoners stood for role call every morning. Here there was also a gallows used for public executions. Our final stop at this camp was a walk through one of the gas chambers and crematories. We walked into a door over a small hill (an old Polish bunker the Germans transformed for their use), turn to the right into a room, then turn into the left into the chamber. There were only a few large square holes at the top where gas would be let in, once covered with shower heads. The walls were scratched by nails. Then we walked out of the room into the crematory, much like furnaces, with a contraption than can be wheeled into it.
After a short break, to buy some coffee from a machine and some people visit the restrooms, we drove over to Auschwitz II-Birkenau. The entrance had two rail way tracks leading into a center area of gravel, where prisoners would be separated into different sections of the camp. As to what I said above about size, this camp seemed to justify the statistics to a much more dramatic level. On the rail way is an original box car that would have brought the prisoners from all over Europe. The camp is split into sections. The prison blocks here had been built out of wood, with brick heating stretching along the inside. Not really built to last, but on the contrary, built to be hidden, all the buildings for the most part have been destroyed over time, and what is available is more of a reconstruction from what was left. First we stopped in the toilet/shower room, where prisoners would have a matter of minutes to do their needs with no privacy. Then a short look in one of the sleeping areas, stretched with three level bunk beds. We walked to the end of the camp to two more gas chambers, which are now a pile of rubble. After the camp was liberated the chambers were bombed, and have been left as they were. In between the two chambers is a memorial, with plaques along it saying the same message in several languages. The English plaque reading: "Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women and children, mainly Jews, from various countries of Europe." Then we left, feeling hungry, and ready for lunch.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Passing Trains (Part 3): Transylvania
Landscape...stunning...some of the most amazing country sides I have ever seen. I'm not quite sure how to describe it, it's as if the land was grasping between a state of bursting life and acceptance of complete death. The grass was growing, very tall in most places, and some parts the grass was a pale green, but much of it was brown, and occasionally even grey. Amongst this white and yellow flowers, or possibly weeds of some sort, grew, adding to the array of colour. The trees seemed to follow suit. Something about the scene felt like a memory, something I had forgotten and very familiar but couldn't grasp. I found myself staring out the window for most of the drive completely stunned by the fields of grass alone. The colours of the sunset only added to seducing me into its trance.
The buildings and architecture also grabbed my attention. The walls of the houses were painted, but with odd colours. Each small village we passed through bursted with yellow, blue, green, and orange, or just about any colour the person chose. Our first night we stayed with locals in a small town. Arriving very late, we all separated to different families. I ended up in a group with three other guys in the group and our driver. Sitting down our driver noted the transparent yellowish liquid on the table, and poured it for us before our meal, which was of course Palinka (we had been warned, or rather informed with great excitement, that this would be available), and all took a shot. It was warm. Having never taken a straight shot of a spirit before, it was very noticeable, and quite the experience. I might have coughed some. We were served soup (having been informed ahead of time to expect a vegetarian they had set some soup aside without meat for me).The driver explained that the Palinka we had was weaker, obviously because of its colour, and probably had some sugar or something else in it. Having discovered none of us had had straight Palinka before, he talked to our hosts and they brought out a clear liquid. He smelled it, and smiled excitedly, and told us it was probably about 60% alcohol. We then took a shot of this before the real meal. This was warmer. I definitely coughed. And was bitter. I could feel it go all the way down. We then ate the meal (fried cheese with potatoes for me), and then people wanted another shot, but I decided to only have half this time. Then desert came, and again, I partook in half a shot. And so the evening proceeded until bed.
Most of what I remember involved looking at churches. Which was nice, but soon they blended together in my mind, and a lot of the churches seemed the same. Pews, then special carved pews on the side for, a pulpit, usually in the center of the church, raised, and carved from stone. An alter at the end. Some churches have smaller little alters around the side. They were all very old.
We also spent a short time at a gypsy/Roma community. We were only able to stay for about five minutes, which was a little disconcerting, because we arrived on a bus, got out, walked around in this somewhat poverty stricken place, and left. The way it was organized was not very well done. Their situation as an ethnic group is filled with history and rather sad, which spins in a circle of very confusing circumstances, which ends up with them being underclass more or less for the mere fact of their ethnicity and are seen more and more by governments as a problem. As such they are also often outcastes in society, pushing them further into poverty. My research to such things is still quite limited, but hopefully will expand as my girlfriend, Abby, will be doing more extensive research on the subject as helping them has been for quite some time a passions of hers, and from this I will probably become more acquainted with parts of the story I’m still missing.
Our last day in Transylvania a group of us hiked up a mountain near where we stayed. The rocks become gradually looser, as we moved up over the piles of large stones. We reached as high as we could without risking the potential sliding and tumbling rocks which could be disastrous. It was a good source of exercise, and the view of the small Saxon town could be seen below us.
The buildings and architecture also grabbed my attention. The walls of the houses were painted, but with odd colours. Each small village we passed through bursted with yellow, blue, green, and orange, or just about any colour the person chose. Our first night we stayed with locals in a small town. Arriving very late, we all separated to different families. I ended up in a group with three other guys in the group and our driver. Sitting down our driver noted the transparent yellowish liquid on the table, and poured it for us before our meal, which was of course Palinka (we had been warned, or rather informed with great excitement, that this would be available), and all took a shot. It was warm. Having never taken a straight shot of a spirit before, it was very noticeable, and quite the experience. I might have coughed some. We were served soup (having been informed ahead of time to expect a vegetarian they had set some soup aside without meat for me).The driver explained that the Palinka we had was weaker, obviously because of its colour, and probably had some sugar or something else in it. Having discovered none of us had had straight Palinka before, he talked to our hosts and they brought out a clear liquid. He smelled it, and smiled excitedly, and told us it was probably about 60% alcohol. We then took a shot of this before the real meal. This was warmer. I definitely coughed. And was bitter. I could feel it go all the way down. We then ate the meal (fried cheese with potatoes for me), and then people wanted another shot, but I decided to only have half this time. Then desert came, and again, I partook in half a shot. And so the evening proceeded until bed.
Most of what I remember involved looking at churches. Which was nice, but soon they blended together in my mind, and a lot of the churches seemed the same. Pews, then special carved pews on the side for, a pulpit, usually in the center of the church, raised, and carved from stone. An alter at the end. Some churches have smaller little alters around the side. They were all very old.
We also spent a short time at a gypsy/Roma community. We were only able to stay for about five minutes, which was a little disconcerting, because we arrived on a bus, got out, walked around in this somewhat poverty stricken place, and left. The way it was organized was not very well done. Their situation as an ethnic group is filled with history and rather sad, which spins in a circle of very confusing circumstances, which ends up with them being underclass more or less for the mere fact of their ethnicity and are seen more and more by governments as a problem. As such they are also often outcastes in society, pushing them further into poverty. My research to such things is still quite limited, but hopefully will expand as my girlfriend, Abby, will be doing more extensive research on the subject as helping them has been for quite some time a passions of hers, and from this I will probably become more acquainted with parts of the story I’m still missing.
Our last day in Transylvania a group of us hiked up a mountain near where we stayed. The rocks become gradually looser, as we moved up over the piles of large stones. We reached as high as we could without risking the potential sliding and tumbling rocks which could be disastrous. It was a good source of exercise, and the view of the small Saxon town could be seen below us.
Passing Trains (Part 2): Academia
In order to help give an idea of what my “general” life is like, in terms of classes and work, I shall expand on the classes I have. No week really feels the same, so to say there is a set schedule is difficult, but none the less, on each week there are given places and classes I’m meant to attend (and have been) and so I will let you in on what is happening. This post isn’t really on things I’ve been doing in my spare time, or on anything newly exciting or cultural, but none the less I hope it won’t bore you too much.
There are a total of five classes to explain. All, but for one (the last one, which I will explain), meet for class once a week, and for the most part are a discussion on readings, in which the homework is to read the readings. These are as follows.
---Two classes at Hungarian universities:---
There is an availability to take classes from two universities in the city of Budapest, however, both classes I have chosen are at the same university, Karoli Gasper. One class is “The Holocaust in American Literature.” This, as the title suggests, examines the Holocaust in literature, through examination of literary technique. We discuss the authenticity of being able to write about the Holocaust through art in literature, such as poetry and novels. So far we’ve read a short story, and article on the subject matter, and “Night” by Elie Wiesel. The discussions and readings have been very worthwhile, and find the subject matter an important one to examine, and an eye opener in learning more about humanity.
The other class is a creative writing class on poetry. Which includes reading poetry and reacting to it, as well as writing a poem every week. We experiment with form and genre in order to help us better understand the methods of poetry writing as an art form.
---Two classes with the Calvin Professor, Professor Page, leading the Hungary program:---
One is a culture class on Central Europe. It involves excursions to the surrounding countries. We do readings about the countries before hand to prepare, go, and then discuss what we have seen. So far we have gone to Transylvania and Poland. Both trips I will expand on in other postings.
The other class is a theatre and politics class. It examines theatre from Europe, mostly as a response to World War II, and a special look at absurdist theatre (being my favorite form of theatre, this brings me great joy and excitement). We have read (or, re-read in my case, probably for a fifth time) Waiting for Godot by Samuel Becket, an amazing play, of which I may have to expand on in a future date. We’ve also been reading some plays by Václav Havel, a playwright, and now former president of Czechoslovak. He has a similar style to Beckett, and I enjoyed reading his plays. The class discussions are interesting, but could use a little more direction to keep them on point. But, then again, staying on point is hard to do when you’re discussing something with an intentionally ambiguous point in some cases. However, some direction would help keep us on topic. Hopefully this will come in future classes.
The remaining class is a crash course in the Hungarian Language. However, this class is now done, so I basically only have the four classes. I now know some phrases, foods and numbers, hopefully enough Hungarian to get me through market places when I need to buy food. The markets will be something to explain in a future posting.
You should also know I like tea. But coffee is also quite acceptable.
There are a total of five classes to explain. All, but for one (the last one, which I will explain), meet for class once a week, and for the most part are a discussion on readings, in which the homework is to read the readings. These are as follows.
---Two classes at Hungarian universities:---
There is an availability to take classes from two universities in the city of Budapest, however, both classes I have chosen are at the same university, Karoli Gasper. One class is “The Holocaust in American Literature.” This, as the title suggests, examines the Holocaust in literature, through examination of literary technique. We discuss the authenticity of being able to write about the Holocaust through art in literature, such as poetry and novels. So far we’ve read a short story, and article on the subject matter, and “Night” by Elie Wiesel. The discussions and readings have been very worthwhile, and find the subject matter an important one to examine, and an eye opener in learning more about humanity.
The other class is a creative writing class on poetry. Which includes reading poetry and reacting to it, as well as writing a poem every week. We experiment with form and genre in order to help us better understand the methods of poetry writing as an art form.
---Two classes with the Calvin Professor, Professor Page, leading the Hungary program:---
One is a culture class on Central Europe. It involves excursions to the surrounding countries. We do readings about the countries before hand to prepare, go, and then discuss what we have seen. So far we have gone to Transylvania and Poland. Both trips I will expand on in other postings.
The other class is a theatre and politics class. It examines theatre from Europe, mostly as a response to World War II, and a special look at absurdist theatre (being my favorite form of theatre, this brings me great joy and excitement). We have read (or, re-read in my case, probably for a fifth time) Waiting for Godot by Samuel Becket, an amazing play, of which I may have to expand on in a future date. We’ve also been reading some plays by Václav Havel, a playwright, and now former president of Czechoslovak. He has a similar style to Beckett, and I enjoyed reading his plays. The class discussions are interesting, but could use a little more direction to keep them on point. But, then again, staying on point is hard to do when you’re discussing something with an intentionally ambiguous point in some cases. However, some direction would help keep us on topic. Hopefully this will come in future classes.
The remaining class is a crash course in the Hungarian Language. However, this class is now done, so I basically only have the four classes. I now know some phrases, foods and numbers, hopefully enough Hungarian to get me through market places when I need to buy food. The markets will be something to explain in a future posting.
You should also know I like tea. But coffee is also quite acceptable.
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