Sunday is a quieter day, even in Berlin. The German History Museum was open so we spent 4 hours there to start things off, then strolled the laneways and parks along with Berliners. The photos show some of what we saw.
The final photo reflects the special people who increasingly fill my thoughts these days.
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In every city we’ve visited, on nearly every street corner ticket sellers for the Hop On, Hop Off buses call out their product and force pamphlets in our faces. We’ve learned to say “no, thank you” in Dutch, Flemish, German, Czech, Hungarian and Polish. Today we followed Rick Steves advice and bought Hop On, Hop Off tickets but not without some trouble.
We took the tram to Alexanderplatz, one of the busiest squares in the city. There were no ticket sellers to be found. Finally, we located a Mexican fellow with the usual red coat and bundle of brochures tucked under his arm. From the corner of my eye, I saw another seller approach us from the left. The second seller jumped in with his cockney sales spiel, adding that the LGBT parade will close down buses this afternoon, just so we know. Then he remarked to his colleague, “For some reason these people (referring to us) don’t want to talk to me. I don’t know why.” He threw his hands in the air and walked away.
We bought tickets for the B line through the first fellow and waited almost 30 minutes for the bus to arrive. The driver seemed to be in training and failed the first attempt at parking the double-decker bus. Reverse, forward, reverse, forward and finally the bus was close enough to the curb for the horde of tourists to board. Apparently, the lurching is included free of charge.
We had been on the bus for 20 minutes when the driver pulled up to the East Side Hotel, famous for catering to the gay community, and the guide ordered everyone off so the staff could have a half hour break. He indicated that the hotel had toilette facilities, which I was a little hesitant about using due to the seedy neighbourhood, but Gord reassured me that the women’s bathroom would be fine. And it was.
Break was over and we were back on the bus.
This particular company promises live commentary rather than canned and that’s why we chose it. They didn’t mention that 90% of the commentary is in German. When one English speaking tourist asked for more English, the guide simple remarked, “I’m not a robot” and carried on in German. Throughout his commentary, he rolled his wrist in front of him and I soon saw why. He kept a large beetle sprinting like an Olympian over the back of his hand, then the front, then up his arm and back down again as he repeatedly narrated, in English, the story of the meat-eating Berliner who lived on the eastside capturing, raping, killing and eating young women — 9 to be exact. Needless to say, we hopped off asap! An annoying waste of 20 euros.
Whenever I need comfort on the Continent I head for Starbucks. We hopped off at Berlin’s Hauptbahnhof — its most impressive train station with 5 floors of trains at nearly every level and a Starbucks. I stepped up to order my Soy Chai Latte and met the eyes of a man, 6′ tall, who looked as if he had just made bail. I know it sounds girlish and I don’t know why it happened but I started to laugh — that giddy kind of laugh teenage girls are famous for. I couldn’t stop and this guy never broke a smile.
I took my drink and we headed for MacDonald’s so Gord could find something familiar to eat. As I waited for him to order, I sat down and looked at my cup, aware that I was committing a restaurant faux pas by bringing a foreign cup into another eating establishment. I looked down to find a rainbow sticker in celebration of the LGBT parade in Berlin today. I thought about peeling it off but left it because it perfectly covered the Starbucks logo and disguised my disloyalty.
As I reflected on my agitation with the people we encountered today, I remembered Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Workers Union, and her wisdom, “I only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” We left the train station and I turned to Gord, “I guess I don’t love God very much today.” He laughed.
The photos are sites around Berlin, an edgy, young, energetic city. You’ll recognize the Freedom Wall, postmodern art and get a sense of the sexually expressive culture here — a challenge for my modest sensibilities.
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I may have mentioned this in an earlier post, but in case I haven’t — a necessary aspect to travel and key to experiencing foreign culture is eating in it. Robert Farrar Capon in his book, The Supper of the Lamb, inspires readers to participate in the extended table whenever the opportunity arises. The reasons are compelling, he says. Yes, we fill our bellies and that’s important but eating in community also feeds us socially, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. When we neglect to sit down to eat together, we suffer. Perhaps that’s why North Americans complain about being emaciated in spirit and soul.
Did you know that most European children have a 2.5 hour lunch break from school? School officials and parents agree it takes that long for a child to properly eat and digest a meal.
Maybe you have heard of the slow food movement, started in Italy to inspire people all over the world to participate in growing, harvesting, preparing, serving, sharing life together over food. Embracing the slow food concept means: buying from local producers whenever possible, growing what one can from non-GMO seed sources, preserving the harvest, cooking from scratch, learning and sharing knowledge on how and what we eat.
I think that introducing children to a wide variety of food is key to developing an adventurous adult palate. I’m lucky that way. My parents valued good food. Cod roe, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink omelets, and medium rare BBQ T-bone steak were favourites in our home. My Grandma’s culinary talent was well known and appreciated especially her roasted leg of lamb, secret-recipe Easter eggs and tortierre. The fragrance of Oma’s fresh Mennonite sweet buns just out of the oven still make my mouth water. My mom’s kidney and turnip stew is the best thing on a cold day. Escargot, foie grois, baked octopus, garlic prawns, pickled herring and kohlrabi are among my earliest foods. Lucky me!
I am going somewhere with all this talk about food. Here on the Continent we relish the experience of eating in the culture. This week in Berlin, local chefs are gathering out-of-doors for a Street Food Festival. Mouth-watering goodness for all! Photos of that to come, but for now, some of what we have consumed — with joy and gratitude!
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After breakfast we met Monica, a 20-something graduate student who offers custom walking tours of Warsaw. We have learned through trial and error that it’s important to state our expectations (politely, of course) from the beginning of a custom tour as it increases the odds of a better experience all around. And it did.
Through her eyes we saw Warsaw pre-WWII and post. The photos show both the Jewish ghetto or what remains of it, one more monument (Poles love monuments) of Janusz Korczak (pen name to Henryk Goldszmit) who worked at the orphanage in the ghetto, protecting the children from harmful knowledge of Nazi occupation and inviting their full participation in the running of the orphanage. When the news came that the children were to be transported east, Jan went with them, suffering their fate in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. Warsaw was once the home of 3.5 million Jews, now only a few thousand remain.
Warsaw is a city under construction. Communist era buildings stand alongside sleek skyscrapers as urban planners “de-Stalinize” what remains of very far left socialism. Much is finished but much is still in process.
It was my idea to venture this far north to Warsaw because I wanted to feel for myself what kind of people the Poles are. The 2 uprisings — first the Jews on April 19, 1943, then the Poles on August 1, 1944 — reflect the human will to resist oppression at the highest cost. I have learned that the Poles do not go quietly about their business while superpowers rampage over their beloved country. They fight back.
In Monica’s opinion, her Polish countrymen and women are not a gentle people although it may appear so at first glance. They are conservative, Catholic, a little insecure, quick to laugh at themselves and not the happiest people on the planet. But they know what they want and their determination is admirable.
I’m glad we ventured this far north. And I am happy to find that there really are heroes in this land.
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It’s just a 2 hour train ride from Krakow to Warsaw and the journey is a relaxing one. The lush plains of central Poland are a patchwork of fields and ceramic tiled hamlets. What a lovely way to see the land.
As we disembarked from the train, our neighbours across the aisle said “merci beaucoup” and I responded “de rien” as one does. They asked where we were from and next thing we knew we were deep in conversation, then shaking hands, receiving kisses and “a revoir’s.” This kind of spontaneous connection is something we have come to love about traveling. Delightful people who make life meaningful by personally touching our lives. What a gift!
Our friends had stayed at the same hotel we booked in Warsaw and encouraged us to walk there from the train station — very good advice since road construction would have made the tram ride extra long. They also directed us to some good, back door sites which we will check out tomorrow afternoon.
As for the rest of the day, we wandered along the “Champs Elysee” of Warsaw called The Royal Way, and poked around the old town where we had a sumptuous home-style Polish meal of roasted duck, chunky wedge potatoes and pickled beets. On our way back to the hotel we stopped at Starbucks for something familiar and lounged in deep, cushy chairs — chatting about trip highlights.
I’ve said this before so you won’t be surprised when I say that traveling is hard work. It is a gift and a privilege and we are thankful for our time here. Truly. But let’s be realistic and remember that we aren’t spring chickens! A week tomorrow we fly home and I think we’ll be ready. And that’s a very good feeling.
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It was a quiet day of exploring in Krakow, interrupted only by the delicious indulgence of naptime midday.
First, the massive Galeria Krakowska with its 5 floors and 270 shops towers over the train station and includes familiar names like Levi, Calvin Klein and Tommy Hilfiger along with its European clothiers Pull & Bear, Zara, and Humanica. Neither of us are mall folk so the visit was brief.
The rest of the day we wandered and people-watched.
The Polonians (earliest settlers to this lovely country) were plains people — agrarian, gentle, hard-working, tenacious and an easy target for takeover due to their land’s topography. Superpowers, like Germany and Russia, played tug-of-war while the Poles went quietly about their business, surviving whichever power is in place at the time.
Nowadays their young people make an exodus to other parts of Europe for work, while the older set stays behind, sustaining Polish tradition, maintaining strong Catholic ties (Krakow was home to Pope John Paul II) and keeping a watchful eye on the EU, suspicious yet hopeful.
Today’s photos capture the people.
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My train buff was set on taking a night train and consequently, we had a day of waiting to board our 8pm ride. Since we had seen all the Budapest sites we had in mind we did something we never do. We hung out at the hot springs for the day and indulged in a Swedish (read Hungarian) massage.
Pest means “oven” in Hungarian and is so named because the city sits on hot springs. The Romans built baths here pre-5th century and people have been rejuvenating in their liquid healing powers ever since. The massage was advertised as “relaxing” which means when it stops (and you wish it would) you feel perfectly pummeled and completely worn out. Definitions in other languages are always interesting.
The night train really is a treat and our cozy little cabin included a tiered set of 3 bunks (we used 2) and a tuck-away sink. The ride was rough and we didn’t sleep well but the experience was a highlight.
We arrived early in Krakow so dropped off our luggage at our hotel and they graciously offered us breakfast. After breakfast we took a stroll through the old town — highly strollable — and noticed a lot of green space, delightful red brick buildings and a thriving cafe culture. The Poles strike us as open and friendly, most speak English in the city and are interested in striking up a conversation. The food has been excellent — a little heavier than we’re accustomed to but delicious.
We awoke early, ate at the hotel, which by the way played Handel’s Messiah over breakfast — just the thing for today. We were met at 9am by Czelow, who drove us through the lush countryside to Auschwitz-Birkenau. We had a group tour booked from 10:30-2pm that covered both sites.
You may ask why I keep going to these war sites. That’s a good question. I guess there is something in me that, as I mentioned before, is trying to understand what happened, how to avoid something similar from happening again and to offer some sense of solidarity in the personal and collective pain we feel. I’ve heard compassion defined as an act that draws one toward suffering. Yes, I like that — an act of compassion.
Auschwitz is the most diabolical extermination camp in the history of humanity. Over 4,500,000 Jews were killed here. Over 200,00 of them were children. Roma, homosexuals, those with limited abilities, the elderly, infants and children were exterminated by gas, starvation, firing squad, hanging, poor sanitation, epidemics, and cruel neglect. When the camp was liberated by the Soviets in 1945, the remaining Jews — about 10% of those originally living in Poland — were given a one way passport to Palestine.
Stanley (the gentleman we met at Terezin) told us a moving story. He happened to be out in the yard near the guard tower and he saw a paper bag drop from above. He knew if he took the package he could be shot and if he didn’t he could be shot so he took it, hid near a wall and opened it. He opened the bag to find 2 pieces of bread and a slice of ham. Over the next 4 days the incident repeated itself. That small act of kindness, he says, impacted his thinking profoundly. He thought, “Not all men are monsters” and he it gave him hope.
The rest in photos.
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I wasn’t sure what to expect from Hungary or Magyarorszag, as the people call their homeland. With its Communist history and my travels through former Yugoslavia during its Communist rule, I thought it might feel dark and oppressive like Yugoslavia did in the late 70’s. I’m pleased to report otherwise.
Budapest is a dynamic city — with nearly 40,000 university students there is a youthful energy here. The older set are more formal but polite and warm. The middle aged demographic is hard-working, professional, and tentative but hopeful regarding Hungary’s place in the European Union. We haven’t seen a lot of families, not like Vienna or Amsterdam, not many playgrounds or school groups out and about. We don’t see homelessness or people begging on the streets like we did in Prague. The city is clean for a city and it smells good, unlike Vienna. Prices are reasonable and the food is very good. Our hotel serves the best cappuccino!
We head to Krakow tomorrow — expectations are a little higher for its architectural history and overall beauty — but we say good-bye to Budapest with hopes of returning.
Yesterday we celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary and are feeling very grateful for the grace given us, that we should be so blessed!
Photos include the Great Synagogue — 2nd largest in Europe, the Holocaust Memorial — stories oh, so heartbreaking, and sites around beautiful Budapest.
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I intended to show rather than tell you about Budapest but that’s proven more complicated than I thought. Internet is slow, allowing me to download only 2 photos at a time and well, with a classical string concert on the agenda at Matthias Church and not much time, I thought a little explanation might be helpful.
From our tour this morning I was struck by the mosaic feel of the city. Over 2 million people live in both Buda and Pest, twin cities separated by the Danube but held together by several reconstructed bridges. In fact, most of Budapest has been rebuilt as one war after another destroyed the infrastructure.
The city feels eclectic to me, settled by the Magyars a thousand years ago, retaining the language and look — Central Asian to be specific. And yet, the Romans, Moravians, the Ottomans, the Christians, the Hapsburgs, the Nazis, and the Communists have ruled from here, leaving a taste of their own culture behind. Today the Hungarians are enjoying 25 years of democracy. It seems as if every rounding of a street corner brings to light evidence of the city’s diverse history.
The photos include Matthias Church, Heroes Square, city panorama — the rest reflect day-to-day life for the people.
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