roscoe2009's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member roscoe2009 on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/roscoe2009 en-us Copyright ©2017 TravelPod.com Thu, 02 Jun 2011 17:27:00 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com " xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"/> %] The Belle of the European Ball — Prague, Czech Republic http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178626/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178626/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178626/tpod.html Thu, 02 Jun 2011 21:27:00 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Prague, Czech Republic

My visit to the city of Prague marked a couple of firsts in my journey across Europe. With the exception of the UK I had only used one currency, the Euro and despite the fact that the Czech Republic is part of the EU they still use their own currency, the Czech crown (or koruna). "Great!", I thought, "finally a country where my money is worth something!" (at the time one Canadian dollar was equal to roughly 17 Czech koruna). These thoughts were quickly dashed when I purchased a can of Coke for the price of 35 Czech crown, thus beginning my first lesson in Currency Exchange 101; just because an exchange rate appears to be good, you must first find out the currency denominations, along with the price of goods and services.

Prague was also the place where I saw my first familiar face in almost two months. Laura Bailey, my brother-in-law's mother (or my sister's mother-in-law, whichever you prefer) happened to be in Prague for the annual meeting of the Swedish-based company she works for. She offered to take me out for dinner knowing that I probably hadn't had a truly decent meal in sometime and I was more than happy to oblige. Laura arrived in front of my hostel along with her friend and Canadian counterpart (Laura is the Director of Marketing for the entire US), who's name also happened to be Laura and together we strolled across the Charles Bridge to the restaurant of their choice, Kampa Park. Kampa Park was a very classy, modern and up-scale place situated on the banks of the Vltava River with an equally classy, modern and up-scale staff and menu. Now if you have seen any of my photos you will notice that I often appear wearing one of two or three different outfits (all I can afford to carry in my backpack weight-wise) and over the course of two months of daily wear they were starting to get a little ratty. No doubt the staff were probably wondering who these two well-to-do women were with this vagabond they had graciously invited to dinner. Laura informed, to my delight, that I could have my choice of anything on the menu regardless of price and I naturally chose a meal I had been desiring since my departure from home, Filet Mignon with asparagus and a twice baked potato and finishing it all off with a chocolate sorbet complete with raspberry mousse and maple walnut ice cream. We chatted about life back home, most of which centred around my little nephew Thomas and his foray into the world of swimming lessons, music class and all those wonderful little firsts that I will unfortunately be missing out on for the time being. All in all it was an excellent evening.

When I returned to my hostel after dinner I discovered that I had a new roommate. Sergei was a twenty-something engineer from Minsk, Belarus who had traveled 24 hours by train just to see Prague for one day before heading to Wroclaw, Poland for a heavy metal concert. Belarus, for those of you who are unaware (including myself until doing some research on the country) is a country in Eastern Europe formerly part of the Soviet Union. It is now ruled by in Sergei's words a "nut case" by the name of Alexander Lukaschenko who has been in power unopposed since 1994 under Soviet-era policies and what some describe as a legal dictatorship. He told me about life in his country and how despite the fact that he had a master's degree he made the equivalent of $200 US a month, barely enough for food and shelter. In Belarus student's who perform well in university are recruited against their will by the government to work for them for a minimum of 3 years while making the paltry sum mentioned above. He also told me of the hoops he had to jump through just to make the journey to Poland and the Czech Republic, paying outrageous visa fees, requiring a sponsor, and more or less being monitored for the entire length of his short journey out of Belarus. He asked me what I had to do to get a visa for the places I had visited and when I said, "I just showed up and they stamped my passport," he told me over and over again how lucky I was to live in a country like Canada. When I asked him how he could afford to travel at all on such a low salary his answer was both simple and surprising, "I play on-line poker...and I am very good at." In the middle of our conversation Sergei's cell phone started ringing and when he answered it he began speaking in Russian to the as yet unidentified caller. When he hung up I said to him with a grin, "was that your mother?", he started laughing, "yes it was. How did you know that? Do you speak Russian?". "No", I said, "but you can always tell by the tone of their voice when a man is speaking to his mother."

Up to this point I have made very little mention of the actual city of Prague. Despite having visited such renowned stunners as Paris, Barcelona and Venice, Prague is simply unmatched (with the possible exception of Florence) in sheer, draw-dropping beauty. The town square is among the most impressive I have seen anywhere and the view from the Charles Bridge down the Vltava River with the imposing Prague Castle overlooking the city is stunning. Even a trip on the rails to the small town of Kutna Hora was something to behold in itself, with it's beautiful cathedrals, creepy yet undeniably unique Sedlec Ossuary (or bone church as it is more commonly known) and peaceful, lush-green, valley setting. As the title of this entry suggests, through my first two months of travel she is simply the "Belle of the European Ball."
]]> A Stroll Through History — Florence, Italy http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1273248149/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1273248149/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1273248149/tpod.html Tue, 31 May 2011 20:40:55 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Florence, Italy

Plus Florence

Of all the many cities I have already visited, I have to say that Florence is the one city where I not only witnessed many historic buildings, cathedrals, bridges, statues, and pieces of art, but also felt as though I was a part of that history as I walked its streets.

Florence is a relatively small city by European standards with a population of just over 350,000 but is the birthplace or chosen home of some of the most influential people the world has ever seen; Dante, Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Niccolo Machiavelli, Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, Donatello, Galileo Galilei, Florence Nightingale, and more recently fashion icons Guccio Gucci and Salvatore Ferragamo to name a few. Combine this with such architectural masterpieces as the Duomo and the Ponte Vecchio along with the artistic feats represented in the Ufizzi Gallery and the statue of David and you have a place that is unparalleled.

As you walk along the narrow, winding streets you can almost imagine what it must have been like during the days of the renaissance and I soon found after arriving that my hostel (Archi Rossi, great pick by the way Aynsley) was only two blocks from the home of Leonardo da Vinci...surreal.

My first night was spent in my big, empty, six bed dorm room and for the first time on my trip I actually appreciated the silence. I had met many people in the previous weeks and it was strangely comforting to not have to go through the routine of meeting a whole new set of friends. This feeling lasted all of one night and by the following evening the room was getting to feel a little too big, a little too empty. Just then the door burst open and through it came five young women who quickly introduced themselves as college students from the States on spring break (a lot of those around Europe aren´t there?). "Where are you from in Canada?", one of the girls asked. "A place called Winnipeg," I replied expecting that she would have only a rough idea, if any idea at all of where that was located in our vast country. "A place called Winnipeg," she scoffed, "I´m originally from just outside of Regina." Needless to say this was a good icebreaker with the group and they proceeded to ask me a number of questions in regards to Canada, wanting to confirm some of the stories their friend from Saskatchewan had been telling them.

The next day we all took the free walking tour of the city offered by the hostel, and I felt quite special having a group of women surrounding me everywhere we went, asking my opinion on some of the cities I had visited over the past month and a half. We enjoyed the rest of the day together, eating gelato, marveling at Michelangelo´s David, and finally sitting down for a nice pasta dinner in a small cafe. Unfortunately I had only been able to book the two nights at Archi Rossi, and wanting to stay longer in the city had booked three more nights at a place nearby by the name of Plus Hostel. It was here that I met four interesting and unique characters who I joined together with to form a very unexpected social grouping.

After I had checked in I headed up to the seventh floor of the hostel and could see that just outside of my dorm room was a rooftop terrace. I walked out towards a couple sitting at a table drinking beer and they seemed very friendly, inviting me to sit with them. It turned out that they were from Melbourne, Australia and their story was one of the most fascinating I had heard to that point in my travels.

Ned and Becca, had left Melbourne four and a half years earlier with only their plane ticket to London and 200 British Pounds between them. They had made their way to the Scottish Highlands where they settled for 18 months, Ned tending bar and Becca taking a job in a small family owned book store. From there they bought a cheap little car and driving across Western Europe had made it to the Eastern Mediterranean where they moved from town to town, picking up odd jobs wherever they could find them. Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Albania, and Northern Greece were the countries they called home for the better part of the next year and a half before finally making their way to Turkey. When I mentioned that I would be going to Turkey they regaled me with their adventures while traveling from town to town, sometimes arriving in a village of only 100 people to stay the night or offering to help fix this or that for the opportunity to stay in one of their homes. They were extremely passionate about the people of Turkey saying that they were the nicest, most giving people they had met anywhere in the world and Ned and Becca´s stories reinforced my excitement about my upcoming trip through the Middle East (hard to believe I´ll be in Cairo in 18 days).

They also spoke of a young man who was staying in their dorm room right there in Florence who had a very interesting story of his own. Frankie came out to join us as we chatted on the rooftop and upon meeting him I thought he looked like he was about 15 years old. He was tall and skinny with a drawl which he informed was due to the fact that he was from Richmond, Virginia. It turned out that he was in actuality 19 years old and had only been in Europe for 5 days, having picked up and left everything familiar to him after the death of his grandparents just 2 weeks prior. His grandfather being the first to pass, followed by his grandfather 2 days later. "I´m sorry to hear that," I said to him, "No, no, it´s nothing bad, they were both really old and lived long, wonderful lives. It´s nothing to be sad about," he said reassuringly. "They put $500 in the bank when I was a little kid so that I could travel when I got older. When they died I found out that had grown to about $4000 and so I decided I would take this trip in their honour." "Unfortunately," Frankie continued, "I´ve had some trouble with the law growing up and I have to contact my parole officer every second day to let him know where I am. I started going to school, working towards a college degree in psychology so I can help kids like I used to be. My parole officer is actually a really cool guy, I never would have been able to take this trip without his help."

Ned, Becca, Frankie and I now stood in the common room, having escaped the chilly night air after the sun went down. We decided to start a game of foosball and after playing a game or two were approached by a girl, asking if she could join us. Her name was Sandra and she spoke with a heavy Italian accent. She blushed when she tried to converse with us in English, apologizing for what she deemed a poor grasp of the language. Despite a little trouble with the odd word, she conversed with us as if English was her first language, and we told her just as much, easing her fears and helping her relax. Sandra was born and raised in Rome which fascinated me having not yet visited there and I asked her what it was like to grow up in a city with so much history. "When you live there it is different," she said, "to us it is all just old rocks," she said with a laugh. She had moved to Paris five years ago to complete her masters degree in psychology. She was staying at the hostel in Florence while she looked for an apartment that would serve both as her residence as well as a place where she could start her own practice.

As the night went on Ned and Becca grew tired and around midnight they said goodnight and retired to their room. Sandra wanted to go for a walk to find some cigarettes and asked if Frankie and I wanted to join her. "Yáll go ahead," Frankie said, "I need to go on the internet to see when my train leaves tomorrow." So Sandra and I made our way out to the street, telling me that she had talked to the girl at reception who pointed her towards a piazza not far from the hostel. "She says we should look for a statue of a big horse," she said. "I actually know where that is," I exclaimed, having eaten my lunch on the steps of that very same piazza for the last 3 days. "Come on, I´ll show you how to get there." We made our way to the silent streets of Florence, chatting about our lives and careers in our respective countries. Sandra found the cigarettes she was looking for and we sat on the steps of the piazza, discussing the architecture which surrounded us. Directly across from me was a building which as I said, I had stared at for the last 3 days, not really giving it a second thought. It was a large white building with a number of arches stretching across it´s facade but there was certainly nothing spectacular about it. "This building used to be a children´s hospital," Sandra said, "it was designed by Michelangelo," she said in passing.

]]> The End of an Era — Berlin, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178760/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178760/tpod.html Tue, 07 Dec 2010 11:13:10 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Berlin, Germany

Where I stayed
Wombat's Berlin


After a quick stop in Dresden I boarded the train to Berlin, the most northernly stop on my journey around the European continent. My time in the east, while a tad gloomy due to the weather, left me with a desire to return someday for a more in depth explorations.

Berlin itself turned out to be the most historically fascinating city I had visited so far with it's mix of WWII and Cold War significance. It would also be the last place involving World War II and Nazi history. A more suitable conclusion I would soon discover, there could not be.

I joined a walking tour offered by my hostel which was led by a five foot tall Australian spark plug named Jenny. Despite her small stature she more than made up for it with her powerful voice and limitless enthusiasm. We started the tour next to the Brandenburg Gate and as we made our way through its towering archways she pointed to a zig-zagging line of bricks cutting across the sidewalk and down the street in both directions. This marked the path where the Berlin Wall once stood. It was interesting to see how and random and haphazard its construction seemed to be. The spot we stood in was also as it turned out, where Ronald Reagan made his famous speech commemorating the 750th Anniversary of Berlin, June 12th, 1987, in which he demanded "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"

We continued along the path of the wall and shortly thereafter came upon an area where for an entire city block all that stood was a grid of cement blocks of varying heights, some of which had flowers laid upon their surface. This was the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. Designed by architect Peter Eisenman, it consists of a 19,000 square meter (4.7 acre) site covered with 2,711 concrete slabs, one for each page of the Talmud arranged in a grid pattern on a sloping field. The blocks are 2.38m (7.8') long, 0.95m (3' 1.5") wide and vary in height from 0.2 m to 4.8m (8" to 15'9"). According to Eisenman's project text, the stelae are designed to produce an uneasy, confusing atmosphere, and the whole sculpture aims to represent a supposedly ordered system that has lost touch with human reason.

After walking through the memorial our group rejoined our tour leader in a parking lot next to an apartment block just across the street. "Welcome to the next stop on our tour," Jenny said, a wry smile crossing her face. "You're probably thinking to yourself, what is this crazy Aussie chick talking about? We're standing in a parking lot. You would be right but what you should also know is that this parking lot was once the site of Adolf Hitler's underground bunker." She walked a few feet to a spot in the centre of the lot. "And right about here," she said, stomping her foot on the gravel which was now wet with rain, "is where he and his mistress Eva Braun committed suicide." It was yet another surreal moment in a long series over the past two months in which I could do nothing but shake my head in disbelief, trying to wrap my head around the significance of the events which had taken place where I was now standing.

The next hour and a half were spent visiting the former Luftwaffe (German Air Force) headquarters (at the time of the war the largest office building in the world), one of the two remaining sections of the Berlin Wall (I never would have imagined I'd be so excited to see a crumbling, one block long, concrete wall...but I was), Checkpoint Charlie (one of the main crossing points from West to East Germany during the Cold War), and finally the Bebelplatz, where on the evening of May 10, 1933 a massive book burning, conducted by up to 40,000 students led by Nazi propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, took place. All books considered to be representative of the "un-German spirit were to be tossed in massive bonfires across the country and Goebbels in his address to the crowd spoke of the end of the era of "Jewish intellectualism". As it turned out, that day marked the 77th Anniversary of that event and current students of the nearby Humboldt University had placed a number of chairs around the square at random. Atop each chair sat a book written by an author who had been banned.

Berlin also marked just the second in two and a half months that I had seen anyone I knew from home. Owen Hanson, whom I had worked with at Sysco Winnipeg was on a European adventure of his own, accompanied by his new wife Colleen (this being their honeymoon) and a couple they were friend with back home. I met the four of them in the evening and we walked down the street to a small Vietnamese restaurant in the neighborhood. We chatted about our respective trips and I, having never actually tried Vietnamese food before, was pleased to find that I wouldn't have to hunt for Western food alternatives or starve once I reached that portion of my trip.

Following dinner Owen and I decided to head off to the pub for a beer when the rest of the group decided to retire to their hostel, tired after another whirlwind day of sightseeing. As odd as it may sound, we were having a tough time finding a pub that was open despite the fact that it was still relatively early (9:00) and we were in a city world renowned for its nightlife.

When we did finally find a place we settled in, each ordering a pint of fine German beer. I asked him about work in general, as well as about some of my closer friends in the office specifically. Owen was always one of the people who always seemed to be around when I would storm into the back to rant to Kevin (one of my closest friends since high school) about something work related and he commented on how much happier and relaxed I looked as compared to my final few months in Winnipeg. I asked him what he thought about his travel experience as it was winding down and he said that while he had enjoyed it he had to admit that he was ready to go home. He missed the simple comforts that are often taken for granted and wondered aloud, "I don't know how you can do this for so long." I explained that I had gone through the same feelings as he was now going through roughly two weeks into my trip but that the feeling had eventually passed. I was now completely settled into the lifestyle.

It was interesting to see someone who had so often seen me at my worst the last few months, seeing me know as I am at my best; relaxed, happy, and free of the bitterness, negativity and resentment that had become such an ever present companion.

Things were finally starting to change for the better.
]]> My Biiiiiiiiiiig Polish Adventure — Dresden, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178734/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178734/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178734/tpod.html Wed, 01 Dec 2010 11:42:23 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Dresden, Germany



"The journey not the arrival matters" - T.S Eliot

Nowhere along my journey had this quote rung more true than on the trip from Krakow to Dresden, Germany. If you ever want to understand what possesses a seemingly intelligent person to sell their house, sell their car, and quit their job to go traveling around the world, this post is for you.

But before we get to the journey let me first tell you of the destination. Dresden lies in the German state of Saxony, nestled in a corner between Berlin and the borders of Poland and the Czech Republic. During and after the Second World War the city was the subject of great debate following the Allied aerial bombings of February 13, 1945. Over the course of the war, Dresden had become a safe haven for some 600,000 refugees and was also home to a large military complex called the Albertstadt. Over the course of one day, 3 waves of American and British bombers dropped an estimated 650,000 incendiaries, 8,000 pounds (3,600 kg) of high explosives and hundreds of 4,000 pound (1,800 kg) bombs killing between 150,000 and 250,000, most of which were women and children. The city, as is to be expected, was flattened although strangely the Albertstadt remained unscathed having never been targeted.

Prior to the war the Nazi's had drawn up detailed architectural blueprints of many buildings in Germany in anticipation of rebuilding efforts following the conclusion of the war. One of these buildings in Dresden, the Frauenkirche lay in a heap of rubble during the occupation of Soviet forces, with the city now part of East Germany. In 1993 following the fall of the Berlin Wall, plans were made to re-construct the Frauenkirche using those bricks from the original that could be salvaged. The result is truly stunning, with parts of the buildings facade shiny and new in contrast with the blackened, charred remains of the original structure.

The Frauenkirche, along with Dresden's location roughly halfway between Krakow and Berlin were my main reasons for visiting and I found that despite it's rather interesting historical centre, there wasn't a whole lot else to do there. I might have been disappointed in my decision to travel there if it hadn't been for the actual journey from Krakow to Dresden which can only be described as the very essence of independent travel.

It began early in the morning, just after sun up, the rain still drizzling down as I made my way to the train station. Having spoken to the receptionist at the hostel the night before, I was informed that in order to get to Dresden I would first have to take the train to Wroclaw (roughly pronounced Vroslov). The lady at the ticket counter in Krakow spoke little to no English and winced at my butchered pronunciation of my desired destination but nonetheless handed me a ticket and off I went.

The trip from Krakow was a long one and I arrived in Wroclaw in the early afternoon, searching the departure/arrival boards for the next train to Dresden. To my dismay there was no scheduled train to Dresden and I made my way from the platform down into the bowels of the station in hopes that I would luck out and find someone who could speak English. It was immediately clear that this was not a place frequented by international travelers, the cold concrete structure was littered with graffiti and the people stared at me as if I had just arrived from a different planet. As I approached the ticket counter I motioned towards the departures screen and said "Dresden?", shrugging my shoulders. The woman nodded in acknowledgment to my relief and proceeded to print out the ticket. When she reached through the window to hand it to me I noticed that she had given me two tickets, the first from Wroclaw to Zgorzelec and the second from Zgorzelec to Dresden. I asked if this meant that I would have to change trains in Zgorzelec and the woman greeted me with a blank stare. I held up the two tickets, pointing from one to the next, "change?", I asked. Again the blank stare. I decided that this was the only logical explanation for the two tickets and headed back to the platform to catch the train to Zgorzelec, which I might add I had never heard of nor did I have any clue where in Poland it was located.

The train that arrived stood in stark contrast to the one I had arrived on. This one had all the modern style, spotless cleanliness and comfortable seating characteristic of those found in Germany. A couple of hours later it pulled in to the station at Zgorozelec which consisted of two tracks, two platforms, and a station house that appeared to be closed for the day despite the fact that it was only 3:00 in the afternoon. The doors opened and despite the packed conditions on the train, only myself and a rather large gentleman with a shaved head stepped out. We looked at each other as if to say, "are we in the right place?". The conductor, who had walked out on to the platform approached us and I held my tickets out for him to see as I asked him if this is where I should be getting off. "Yes, Zgorozelec," he said. I showed him the second ticket pointing toward my destination, "Yes, Dresden," he said. He walked back to the front of the train and seconds later it roared to life and slowly departed.

The big bald guy introduced himself as Marcello, a chef from Brazil working in Wroclaw. He explained that he was trying to make it to Prague where he had tickets to the symphony that evening. I looked at him confused, "Prague is in the other direction man," I said motioning for him to hand me his ticket. When he did I found that his ticket situation was even more shady than my own, having been hand written on one ticket as Wroclaw/Zgorozelec/Dresden/Prague. "******* Poland man," he said, "they warned me at the restaurant not to take the train." We decided to cross the tracks and head towards the deserted station, hoping that we might see a schedule or stumble across someone who could help us. Just as we crossed a train approached in the opposite direction and when it came to a stop the conductor walked out on to the platform. We approached him, showing him our tickets and found that he spoke English fairly well. "There should be a train in the next 15 minutes," he said. We thanked him and once again crossed the tracks. By this time the rain had started again and Marcello and I huddled in the shelter, shivering and praying that the train would arrive earlier than scheduled.

After half an hour we were already reaching a point of desperation when suddenly I had an epiphany of sorts. "You know Marcello, I bet you the train that conductor was referring to was the one we got off of," I said. "You think so man?", he responded. "And I bet you the reason I have two tickets is because one is for the ticket takers in Poland and the other is for the guys who get on once we cross the German border." Marcello sat there in stunned disbelief, "so when do you think the next train will come along?", he asked. "For all we know that could be the only one of the day," I responded, looking around at the remote Polish outpost that was the Zgorozelec train station. "I'm going to call the restaurant and see if anyone knows where the hell we are," he responded. "Ok, I'll go across to the station and see if I can find a schedule," I said as I once again walked towards the rail crossing.

The station, although it looked as though it had been in operation at some point in the last 5 years was sealed up tightly with no sign of a schedule to be found anywhere. I decided to walk down the road a bit to see if I could see any signs of life in the surrounding countryside but after a couple of minutes decided to turn back as it appeared that Zgorozelec wasn't even a town, just a lonely train station in the middle of no where. I could see Marcello across the tracks, pacing back and forth while, arms flailing wildly as he spoke on his cell phone. When I made it back to where he was standing he had hung up the phone, "nobody at the restaurant has ever heard of this place," he said, a hint of worry starting to creep into his voice. Just then his cell phone rang and within a few seconds a look of relief swept across his face, he chatted for a couple of minutes more and when he hang up informed me that it had been one of the waitresses at the restaurant who had called. "She said her mother lives in Zgorozelec, she will be here to pick us up in a few minutes." I looked at Marcello flabbergasted, "to take us where exactly?", I said, unable to believe the lucky break we had just received. "To Dresden, I think," he responded. "Are we that close?", I said. "I have no idea man, but we're about to find out," he said pointing up towards the station where a small car had just arrived.

The car, which was a Citroen, Peugeot, or something similar was barely big enough for myself and Marcello to squeeze into the back seat. The Polish woman driving, the mother of Marcello's co-worker, spoke no English but had thankfully brought along a colleague of hers who spoke English quite fluently. We learned that they were both teachers and had left their classes in the middle of the afternoon to help out two stranded backpackers previously unknown to them. The woman had brought the man along to help translate. In the back of the car Marcello explained to the man our situation and we both handed our tickets to him to see if he could make sense of where we had gone wrong. "You see the problem is...you took the train in Poland," he said laughing hysterically. The woman, chatting away in Polish also couldn't contain her laughter as she glanced periodically at us crammed into the back seat.

As it turned out the town of Zgorozelec did in fact exist, and we soon found that it sat on one side of the Polish/German border opposite the German city of Gorlitz. Within minutes we were in Germany and the man explained to us that they would take us to the train station there, where we could catch the next train to Dresden. The lady at the DeutscheBahn counter also found our situation amusing, but having apparently seen it time and time again did not seem the least bit surprised. She issued us new tickets, free of charge, and told us if we ran we could make the next train to Dresden departing in 5 minutes. Marcello and I picked up our bags, running as fast as we could to the platform, our Polish companions in tow and were relieved to see that the train had not yet left. We turned to our saviours, thanking them for their generosity and slipped through the doors. As the doors closed the man looked at us through the glass yelling loud enough that we could hear and gesturing with his arms the way a ringmaster in a circus would, "come to Poland, have biiiiiiiiiig adventure, hahahahahaha." We turned to each other, breaking out in laughter as the two complete strangers shrank into the distance, never to be seen again.
]]> Never Again — Oswiecim, Poland http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178694/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178694/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178694/tpod.html Wed, 01 Dec 2010 03:47:35 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Oswiecim, Poland

As I mentioned in my previous entry, the main reason I traveled to Krakow was to have a base from which to visit a small city to the west. The name Oswiecim is most likely unfamiliar to the readers of this blog, and if you asked me to pronounce it I would, as is the case with most Polish words I found, have great difficulty. However the name given to this city of 40,000 people during the Second World War would be both instantly recognizable and pronounceable. Auschwitz.

I left Krakow early in the morning on my first full day, expecting the 50km journey to take a little over an hour, and hoping that the rain would subside long enough to spend a few hours walking around the grounds of the camp. The train, which appeared to have been built during, or possibly even prior to the war, rocked back and forth, rain pouring in through the non-existent doors while I sat on the bare wooden benches wondering why the train stopped not only at the numerous small towns that lined the route but often in the middle of know where, for no apparent reason. I finally arrived at the Oswiecim station at 10:30 am, having left Krakow an excruciating 2 and half hours earlier.

I quickly found a map of the city and traced the route to the first Auschwitz camp, and with the rain having mercifully stopped, set off on foot in its general direction. I had a fairly clear picture of what I thought I could expect when I arrived, over the years seeing many documentaries and reading about the camp and the atrocities committed there. What I wasn't told is that the first thing that greets you is a huge parking lot, filled with what appears to be anywhere from 35-50 tour buses, surrounded by concession stands selling anything from Polish sausages to ice cream. I looked around wondering if I had in fact got off the train in the right place, or if I had overshot my intended destination and ended up at Eastern EuroDisney.

Nevertheless I made my way into the visitors centre at the far end of the lot and stood in line with what seemed like a thousand other people waiting to collect our tickets and audio-guides. Auschwitz I can only be visited with a local guide so I waited outside, a few feet from the once electrified barb-wire fence surrounding the camp. A few minutes later our guide, a tiny Polish woman of roughly 65 years of age was assigned to our group of 30 and we made our way toward the front gate. She explained that the camp should be considered in the same way as a cemetery would be and asked that people be respectful of this at all times. Before she had even finished a Japanese man walked past her, snapping pictures and yelling over her head at his friends who had joined our group, while laughing hysterically. Inappropriate moment #1.

We entered Auschwitz I through the main gate, passing under the wrought iron "Arbeit Macht Frei", sign and walking amongst the large, red brick buildings that once served as both administrative offices and prison cells for "special" prisoners who were to be interrogated, tortured, and eventually killed. One building, Block 10, was used for a very unique purpose. It was the workshop of the notorious Doctor Josef Mengele who was often the first to greet incoming prisoners at the Auschwitz II-Birkenau camp, selecting who would live and who would be sent directly to the gas chambers for execution. At the Auschwitz I camp however, is where Mengele conducted grisly medical experiments on inmates, these often involved gruesome surgical procedures without the use of anesthetics, attempts to change subjects eye-colour by injecting chemicals into their eyeballs, and many other experiments on twins, for which he had a particular interest.

Other buildings in the Auschwitz I complex included such displays as a room, roughly 15' wide by 40' long with one side completely sealed off by glass. Inside was a tangled, matted mountain of human hair, equivalent to the weight of 2 tonnes, which had been shaved from the heads of arriving prisoners. Another room contained a massive pile of suitcases, each marked with the name and hometown of the owner. Piles of toothbrushes, hairbrushes, eyeglasses, pots and pans, dentures, the list went on and on. It was here that the true magnitude of the crimes committed at Auschwitz could be quantified. Yet another building's hallways were lined with photos of prisoners once held at the camp, each listed the inmates name, birth date, nationality, and finally cause of death. As you walked from photo to photo the names and faces began to blur together, leaving only the cause of death; murdered, murdered, murdered, murdered, starvation, murdered, exhaustion, murdered.

Finishing the tour at the hastily constructed gallows where camp commandant Rudolf Hoss, was tried and executed April 17, 1947 we were directed by our guide out of the camp's main gates to the parking lot where we were told a shuttle bus would take us to Auschwitz II - Birkenau. The short trip into the Polish countryside took no longer than 10 minutes in which time we were treated to a lovely make out session between a young Spanish couple...and why not? After all, nothing says romance like a visit to a concentration camp. Inappropriate moment #2.

While Auschwitz I, as mentioned before, was used for administration and incarceration of special inmates, Auschwitz II - Birkenau was built for one purpose only. The extermination of human life. I was immediately struck by the overwhelming scale of the second camp which covered a large percentage of the entire Auschwitz complex's 40 square kilometres. All that remained of the vast majority of the prisoner barracks were the brick chimney's, with a handful being rebuilt for the purpose of showing visitors the conditions under which residents of Auschwitz were subjected.

I entered through the front gate and walked straight along the same tracks on which trains would arrive with cars packed with new arrivals. As the train came to a halt, the prisoners (who had survived the journey packed like sardines into small wooden cattle cars) were unloaded and separated into 3 groups; men, women, and children. The children were immediately sent to the gas chambers as they could not be used in the slave labour camps which were also part of the Auschwitz complex. The groups of men and women were then inspected by Nazi doctors and separated further into groups of healthy (relatively), useful workers, and those who would be put to death. Those deemed healthy enough for work were used as slave labourers in the fields surrounding the camp, tending to experimental crops studied by Nazi agriculturalists for the benefit of the motherland in the future. Others were sent to the Auschwitz III - Monowitz camp where they worked in large chemical factories such as IG Farben, manufacturing Zyklon B, the very chemical later used to kill them.

The reconditioned barracks were similar to those at Dachau, wooden plank bunks crammed side by side to the ceiling, often overcrowded to the point that prisoners were forced to sleep on their sides in order for everyone to fit in. Due to the close quarters disease was rampant and further cultivated by regular outbreaks of lice. The latrines consisted of roughly 30 holes, used by both men and women, set in a central bench running the length of the building with no dividers. Because of the unsanitary conditions here, dysentery and cholera ran rampant.

As we left the barracks and made our way to the far end of the complex, our guide pointed toward a large wooden cart. "That", she explained, "was used for two purposes. Some days it was used to deliver bread to the prisoners. Other days it was used to collect corpses for transport to the crematorium."

The remainder of the tour was spent visiting the demolished crematoriums, the fields and ponds surrounding them into which the ashes of victims were dumped, and finally the camp memorial. Here the guide thanked us and informed us that we were free to roam around the remainder of the grounds. It was also here that inappropriate moment #3 took place. Throughout the tour of Auschwitz II, an older American man had been noticeably hitting on our guide and I overheard him, while standing next to one of the ponds containing ashes ask her if she would like to go out with him sometime. She responded that it was neither an appropriate time or place for such a question and he skulked off toward the exit.

After the group dispersed, I made may way along a path which led into the forest surrounding the camp and coming upon a clearing saw another building far in the distance that seemed to have not been noticed by other tourists due to its secluded location. When I reached the building and walked inside a sign indicated that it was the building that those chosen for work were first sent to upon arrival for showers, de-lousing, and shaving of body hair. I soon discovered that this building, despite it's grisly past, contained something very different than anything I had seen in either Auschwitz I or Auschwitz II to this point. Something that all people visiting the camps should have seen. A gallery of pictures, collected from the belongings of victims, stretched from one end of the building to the other. Pictures showing the people prior to the war, smiling, playing sports, gathering for family dinners, working at a deli, on their wedding day...living. It is one thing to see portraits of people taken by their Nazi captives, unemotional, frightened, confused. It is another to see people living their lives as you or I do on a day to day basis and imagine how it would feel to have it all ripped apart in an instant. Think of your life and your family now. Your grandmother and grandfather deemed too old for work and executed. Maybe your parents were lucky enough to escape prior the occupation and now live under the floor boards of a compassionate friend hoping that their existence will not be discovered. Your best friend shot dead while trying to prevent the separation of his wife and child. Your own arrival at a slave labour camp where your wife is forced into a group, your child ripped from her arms never to be seen again. You, forced to work 15 hours a day while a sadistic soldier beats you every time you move too slow, subsisting on a moldy piece of bread and a cup of water, all the while wondering and worrying about everyone who ever meant anything to you.

The final death toll at Auschwitz is estimated at 1.1 million. 1.1 million lives lost and millions more torn apart and changed forever. Never again.
]]> The Land That Sun Forgot — Krakow, Poland http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178650/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178650/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178650/tpod.html Wed, 01 Dec 2010 03:46:54 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Krakow, Poland



Krakow, which marked my farthest point east in my European adventure, could best be described in a single word. "Gloomy" would unfortunately be the first that comes to mind, not only because of the constant rain that fell from the moment I exited the train station until my departure 5 days later, but because of the general mood of the city and it's people. In fairness, the main reason I made the long journey from Prague to Krakow was for a gloomy reason in itself (which I will tell you all about in my next entry) and the above stated rain made it near impossible to do much in the way of exploring the city. Of the 5 days I spent there, 2 were spent outside of the city, 1 was spent curled up in the fetal position on my dorm room bed, 1 was spent avoiding the constant downpour, and the final day saw a short break in the rain allowing a small window to walk around what turned out to be quite an interesting, if not completely confusing and slightly intimidating city.

From Germany to the Czech Republic and through to Poland, despite the fact that the landscape maintained much of the same characteristics (green fields, gently rolling hills, large wooded areas) the economic and social conditions changed noticeably from country to country. Germany being the global powerhouse that it is was a fascinating combination of old world traditions, stylish architecture, and leading edge technology the likes of which can only be found in a handful of countries across the globe. The Czech Republic, while noticeably poorer than it's neighbor to the west still had a certain beauty and charm to it, and it's people lived what appeared to be a comfortable life. In stark contrast the border crossing into Poland felt like a definitive line between the haves and have not's of the European community. While my time in Munich, Nuremberg, and Prague had been marked by sunny skies and warm temperatures, as the train clambered toward Krakow the temperature took a sudden nosedive as dark foreboding clouds blocked out the sun.

Having met Roddick in Nice earlier, his preview of what to expect when visiting Poland was not exactly what one would describe as "glowing". He spoke of the severe lack of opportunities available to many of the countries youth, the desire of many to seek a better life elsewhere, and most of all the fear of having to return home to face the shame of his failed attempt at success abroad. All of this was immediately apparent upon arrival in Poland, from the ramshackle, crumbling stone houses dotting the countryside, to the homeless beggars occupying the benches in Krakow's parks, to the many pale, worn faces inhabiting it's streets. The cathedrals, which are decidedly Gothic in nature, along with the rickety trolleys and grimy, old world feel of the neighborhoods combined to create, quite frankly, and maybe disappointingly, the exact image one would expect when considering a trip to Poland.

As I said earlier, my 5 days in Krakow were characterized by 4 distinct experiences (not including the day spent inside the hostel due to the rain) and despite the unflattering description provided above I have to say that I enjoyed my entire time there...well...almost;

DAY 1

Spent entirely at the one and only place that I came all the way to Poland to visit...and which you'll have to wait until the next installment to hear all about, which with the way this blog is going may or may not be before the end of 2010...or 2011 for that matter.

DAY 2

Also spent outside of Krakow (though it is still considered to be within it's metropolitan area), I took the train to the town of Wielizcka to visit it's world famous salt mine. The mine, which had been in operation mining table salt from the 13th century until 2007 is one of the oldest salt mines in the world and the 14th oldest company still in operation. Although the total length of the mines many branches reach a staggering 300 km and plunge to a depth of 327 metres, the actual tour for visitors covers a mere 3.5 km's at a maximum depth of 135 metres. At this point you're probably wondering, "why the hell would anyone want to visit a salt mine?". The answer; because over the 700 or so years it has been in operation the miners have managed to carve some of the most beautiful sculptures you will find anywhere above, or below ground, completely out of rock salt, which I also discovered is black prior to being refined. Not only were there life size statues of Pope John Paul II (who was born in Krakow incidentally), spot on recreations of famous paintings including Da Vinci's "The Last Supper", and a massive underground lake complete with a coordinated music and light show, there was a huge cathedral built entirely out of salt, complete with chandeliers which had been polished to look like crystal, and black tile floor, you guessed it, made entirely of salt.

DAY 3

Due to the rain (did I mention that it rained a lot?), I spent the majority of the day holed up in the hostel where I met Andrew, a mid-twenty something accountant from London. Andrew by all accounts fit the stereotypes of both the stuffy, straight laced Englishman as well as the stereotypes of the the stuffy, straight laced accountant. That is until I mentioned to him that it was my birthday. "We have to take you out for a beer then," he said in his posh London accent. "I saw a sign at reception advertising the club downstairs. They have a deal where you get a free shot of vodka with your first cocktail." Now I should note that I had long ago given up drinking vodka, my drink of choice being vodka and orange juice (or Danger Bay's as they came to be known) during the 18-21 clubbing, pubbing, time of my life. Despite this I thought, "what the hell, I'm in Poland, it's my birthday, lets give it a go". I remember looking at the clock when I stumbled to my bed through the darkness of the dorm room and reading 5:00am while I chuckled drunkenly to myself. I only wish I could tell you where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing that whole time. Smart? No. Fun? Definitely. A memorable birthday? Well, sort of.

DAY 4

Spent in the aforementioned fetal position. Who knew drinking fermented potato juice could make you feel bad? Andrew also informed that we may or may not have drank champagne at some point during the evening.

DAY 5

Finally a break in the rain! I took advantage of the opportunity to wander the streets of Krakow, visiting the impressive Wawel Castle and trying, unsuccessfully, to locate the Oscar Schindler Enamelware Factory (yes, the factory from Schindler's List). After walking for 2 hours and feeling like I was on the verge of being completely lost, and considering the fact that it seemed as though know one spoke English, I gave up my search and headed back to the hostel just as the rain started...again.

Although I used the word "gloomy" as a description of my time in Krakow, I have this nagging feeling that were I to return when the weather is more favorable, my opinion may be completely different. I'd also suggest that a rudimentary knowledge of a few words and phrases in Polish would be both beneficial for getting from place to place and for showing the true nature and hospitality of the countries people but for the life of me I could not wrap my head, or my tongue around by far the most difficult language I had encountered on my journey so far.

I only wish that the word "wodka" had been more difficult to pronounce.

]]> Expectations Vs. Reality — Nuremberg, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178598/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178598/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178598/tpod.html Mon, 20 Sep 2010 07:40:41 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Nuremberg, Germany



When I arrived at the train station in Munich I was overwhelmed by the number of red and white clad football fans lining the platform to take the short trip to Nuremberg. The majority of them appeared to be half cut already despite the fact that it was only noon and the six pack of beer in each of their hands suggested the party had only just begun. We all crowded on to the train when it arrived and by the time it rolled out of the station it was standing room only, with fans of all ages happily singing the teams fight song.

Most people probably know Nuremberg as the site of the post World War II military tribunals that bear the city's name but most probably don't know the reason why this relatively small city in Bavaria was chosen to host them. If you have ever seen video of the massive pre-war Nazi rallies, with row upon row of helmet clad soldiers standing at attention while Hitler spewed his socialist propaganda you may or may not know that these rallies also took place in Nuremberg. The city was chosen for symbolic reasons, the very place where the Nazi's reached their greatest heights would also be the place where their crimes against humanity would be exposed for all the world to see.

Walking out of the station I was immediately struck by the view of the old walled city of Nuremberg, with its conical roof turrets and arched gates it was an impressive and imposing structure. I made my way along the old moat, which had since been converted into a park-like walking path, and across the bridge to my hostel which was tucked just inside the medieval city walls.

The following day I caught the tram from the train station to the Documentation Centre at the entrance to the Nazi Party Rally Grounds and located in one wing of the massive Congress Hall, a building designed to contain 50,000 seats but unfinished (as were most of the buildings on the grounds) prior to the start of the war in 1939. The Documentation contained a permanent exhibit entitled Faszination und Gewalt (Fascination and Terror) and traced the history of the Nazi Party and the rallies held there from 1927 until the outbreak of World War II. The exhibition lived up to it's name providing an equal dose of fascinating and terrifying facts.

Exiting the Documentation Centre I made my way to the interior of the horseshoe shaped Congress Hall, now overrun with vegetation and strangely enough home to a number of industrial type companies and a local film company, their business names indicated above the overhead doors surrounding the deteriorating courtyard. I had a vision of what the rally grounds would be like prior to heading to Nuremberg, I expected large desolate buildings populated only by a handful of tourists with the same interest in World War II history as myself. What I witnessed instead was both puzzling and surprising.

In front of the Congress Hall is a large, beautiful, man-made lake surrounded by green, lush parks, picnic areas and pathways on which the residents of Nuremberg participated in activities such as roller blading, canoing and family barbecues. I circled the lake along the pathway to the Zeppelin Field where the American Forces famously blew up the large swastika symbol adorning its grand stand and signaling an end to the war. The roadway in front of the grandstand was cordoned off and people of all ages raced side to side playing roller hockey while the field adjacent to it which prior to the war would have been filled with massive zeppelins, now was the scene of football (North American football) practice. The soccer stadium, originally built to accommodate 40,000 spectators had been expanded and renovated to host the very soccer matches that the fans on the train the previous day were planning to attend.

I strolled around the Nazi Party Rally Grounds for the next couple of hours, finally arriving at what used to be Luitpoldarena. The grandstands surrounding the massive area had been demolished, replaced with gently rolling hills covered in flowers and the marshaling area where 150,000 helmet clad Nazi soldiers once stood was now a beautiful park with couples lying on blankets for a mid-afternoon picnic, children running around playing, and teenagers engaged in pick-up football matches. Ehrenhalle, at the opposite end of the park from the former grandstand was now a memorial to fallen German soldiers from both the First and Second World Wars. To the left of the cobble stone pathway leading up to the memorial was a photograph taken during a famous rally held in 1934 in which Hitler, along with SS leader Heinrich Himmler, and SA leader Viktor Lutze strode 240 meters from the grandstand to Ehrenhalle completing a cult of the dead ceremony honoring fallen soldiers from World War I as well as 16 NSDAP soldiers killed during the failed Beer Hall Putsch in Munich. It was an extremely eerie feeling to make my way up the path to the memorial, my footsteps tracing the exact same path as 3 of the most evil human beings in human history.

After visiting the Nazi Party Rally Grounds in Nuremberg I must admit that I had mixed feelings. While the Documentation Centre recognized the original purpose of the surrounding buildings and educated visitors on the horrors of the Nazi regime, the people of Nuremberg were utilizing the remaining buildings as best they could in a way that was both encouraging and refreshing. Although my expectations certainly didn't mirror the reality of what I saw, it is nice to see that the people of the city are moving on, turning something that was once so negative into something so clearly positive.
]]> The One That Almost Got Away — Munich, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178545/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178545/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178545/tpod.html Mon, 20 Sep 2010 07:39:40 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Munich, Germany

Where I stayed
Wombat's Munich


My first foray into Germany could not have been in a more appropriate state (of which there are 16) than Bavaria, and more specifically the city of Munich. When most people think of Germany they picture men wearing leiderhosen, eating Bratwurst, and swilling beer out of giant steins. One of the first things I learned upon arrival is that these common stereotypes do not apply to the whole of Germany, they do however strongly apply to the people of Bavaria.

When I arrived at the Hauptbahnhof (the name applied to all Central Train Stations in German speaking countries) I was immediately struck by how modern the city was compared to the major cities I had visited in England, France, Spain, and Italy. I must admit that I knew very little about Munich before arriving, planning to use it, along with Innsbruck, more as an intermediary between the north of Italy and my planned destinations in Eastern Europe. In hindsight it would have been an absolute oversight had I skipped it.

My first morning in Munich I decided to take the free walking tour offered by the hostel having found that this is the best way to learn about the history and lay of the land when arriving in a new city. The tour was led by a very personable young man named Ozzy who was originally born in the Bahamas before moving to Toronto for most of his school years, and finally to Munich after studying history at the University of Toronto.

Ozzy, he was quick to point out, was "the only black man in Munich," and as such had developed a very prosperous business guiding walking tours in Munich. "As a tour guide you want to do anything that will help set you apart from your competition," he explained. "And nothing stands out more than a black man in Bavaria," he said with a smile.

As I said, I didn't know a whole lot about the history of Munich prior to my walking tour, which is actually quite embarrassing considering my interest in World War II history, but I'll get to that later. The tour started with a walk to the world famous Rauthaus-Glockenspiel, an ornate clock tower in Marienplatz (Munich's town square) that draws a massive crowd at 11am everyday for the mechanized re-enactment of the marriage of Duke Wilhelm V to Renata of Lorraine. This is followed by a joust between two knights, one from Bavaria, one from Lothringen, with the Bavarian knight the victor each time.

Following this display I learned for the first time why Munich was so modern, the Glockenspiel was one of only 7 structures in the entire city to survive massive bombing campaigns by the Allied forces in WWII. The pilots would use these tall structures as reference points when targeting other areas of the city, which explains why in London buildings such as St. Paul's Cathedral and Big Ben remained largely intact while everything else was razed to the ground.

The second interesting fact learned on my tour was that YOU CAN DRINK BEER ANYWHERE IN GERMANY. Not just in pubs, not just in restaurants, not just in beer halls...ANYWHERE. You can walk down the street with a beer in your hand, you can get on the train with a beer in your hand, but thankfully the one and only place you can not drink beer is in your car. We stopped and each picked up a traditional bratwurst on a roll and a large (1 litre) beer and continued on our way.

It is hard to overstate the German's love of beer but our next stop was probably the most telling of all. We walked in to a massive beer hall (the name of which escapes me) buzzing with people of all ages sitting shoulder to shoulder, 1 litre beer mugs and schnitzel of varying degrees of consumption resting in front of them as the clock inched towards mid-day. Ozzy directed our attention to the left where one whole wall was covered with metal cage-like compartments measuring roughly 6 inches by 6 inches with a small pad lock on each. He explained that this was a stein safe, used by the beer hall regulars to store their beer steins for use whenever they chose to visit. In German beer halls if you are a regular you can expect to be treated like royalty, with your favourite seat reserved for you, with a non-regular being moved to a different spot upon your arrival anytime of day.

With my beer education complete we moved on to another beer hall, the visiting of which I would learn shortly had little to do with beer. The name of the hall (which we were not told upon entering) is probably the most famous in the world for both beer and WWII aficionados, the Hofbrauhaus. We stood outside the doors as Ozzy recapped the tour to that point, explaining the social and economic conditions in Germany following the First World War as a result of the Treaty of Versailles. "We are standing in one of the most historically significant buildings in Germany history, in world history for that matter," Ozzy explained. "This ladies and gentlemen is the Hofbrauhaus." We all looked at each other in silent acknowledgment, suddenly more attentive. "But you're probably asking yourself how a beer hall could be so historically significant." We nodded our heads in agreement. "The Hofbrauhaus, and more specifically that stage," he said pointing towards the front of the hall, "is where Adolf Hitler stood to give his first speech as leader of the newly formed National Socialist (Nazi) Party." Ozzy went silent, giving us all a moment to digest what he had just proclaimed as we stared, mouths agape.

The remainder of the tour was spent steeped in Munich's sordid Nazi past. We walked the same route taken by Hitler and his party members in 1923 during his failed Beer Hall Putsch, which incidentally led to his incarceration where he penned "Mein Kampf," and in doing so increased his popularity and allowed him to take the steps which led to his role as Reichsfuhrer of Germany. It was both fascinating and terrifying to walk in the footsteps of pure evil as we made our way to Odeonplatz, the scene of some of the most famous events associated with World War II and the Nazi regime.

The following day was spent visiting Munich's Olympic Park, home of the 1972 Summer Olympics and finally a tour of the BMW factory and museum. Growing up I have always had a "dream car", and over the years my tastes have changed as they do when newer and more sleek cars become available. Most recently it has been a BMW, which may or may not say something about me in my advancing age. I even offered to trade my co-worker Mike straight up for my 1998 Honda Civic. Oddly enough he wasn't interested.

The tour at the BMW factory was an eye opener, despite the fact that the only tour spot still available for the day was with a German speaking guide, I found it fascinating to see the role robotics play in the manufacture of today's vehicles. Many parts of the factory resembled something out of "The Terminator" with robotic arms swinging within a fraction of an inch of each other with point point precision and efficiency which could not possibly be replicated by humans. In fact the only area of the factory which seemed to contain any humans was at the end of the assembly line, where an army of men tested the cars for quality control.

My experience in Munich was extremely fulfilling,. I not only experienced traditional Bavarian culture, tasted what I now consider to be the world's finest beer, and got my fill of the highly sought after bratwurst, I also gained some insight into the factors leading up to the formation of the Nazi party. Above all else I realized that the atrocities of the Second World War are not something dismissed by the people of Germany, they are fully acknowledged in an effort to ensure that the mistakes of the past will not be repeated.

As my time in Munich came to an end there was only one last thing left to do, I caught a train for the 45 minute journey to my next stop, one that would require me to peer into the very depths of human depravity and see with my own eyes the most horrendous acts imaginable...Dachau Concentration Camp.


]]> The Descent Into Madness — Dachau, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178574/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178574/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178574/tpod.html Mon, 20 Sep 2010 07:38:49 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Dachau, Germany

WARNING: The following entry is not for the faint of heart.

As many of you know, when I was originally planning to take this trip I had expressed an interest in visiting Krakow, Poland in order to visit Auschwitz Concentration Camp. The reactions I received to this ranged from mild interest to outright horror as a lot of people did not understand why I would want to visit such a depressing place. I think in order to fully understand what happened during the Second World War it was imperative that I visit at least one concentration camp, the holocaust being the integral part of our world history that it is.

When I arrived in Munich I was actually unaware that Dachau was situated so close to the city, only a 45 minute train ride to the north and I decided that I would visit it to get an idea of what to expect once I made it to Auschwitz. Dachau was also the first concentration camp ever built and was the model for all others to follow.

I arrived at the Dachau train station just before noon on a bright, sunny, April day and upon exiting the station was immediately greeted by a large sign. It explained that the station I had just walked out of was the place which all camp prisoners arrived at and other than some slight restorations was exactly as it was from the time Dachau Concentration Camp opened its gates back in 1933.

I had originally planned on taking a bus to the camp, but instead decided to take the 3km walk along the memorial path from the station to the front gates. The memorial path traced the exact route prisoners walked and there were plaques every 300 metres or so explaining the conditions they faced along the way. I ended up overshooting the road to the entrance and found myself at the gates of a factory. To my left was a roughly 20 metre length of railroad track with no apparent origin or destination and I made my way over to the accompanying plaque. On it was a picture of a rail car, the type you would see carrying cattle many years ago. The doors were splayed open and piled inside were the emaciated bodies of dead prisoners, they were also strewn about on the ground in front of the car. The plaque explained that this length of track is where the last prisoner transport car sat, it was discovered by a group of Red Cross workers two days before the liberation of the camp. As the Allied forces converged on Buchenwald Concentration Camp in central Germany, the Nazi's loaded prisoners on to these cars and sent them towards Dachau in hopes that they would be able to maintain control of them from there. 4800 prisoners were sent towards the camp, with only 800 arriving alive. The Nazi's removed the living prisoners, transported a number of the deceased to the camp for cremation, and left some 2300 other bodies lying in and around the the cars. When the Americans arrived two days later to liberate the camp they forced the residents of Dachau to collect the bodies and bury them after they claimed they had no idea what was going on inside the camp walls despite their houses being only metres away from the tracks.

I made my way back to the road leading to the camp gates and within a few minutes had arrived at the visitors centre where I paid my admission fee and purchased an audio guide. Outside stood a group of 50 or 60 German Naval officers dressed in their uniforms waiting for a guided tour of the site. It was encouraging to see them there, a tangible example of Germany's efforts to educate their soldiers on the horrors of the Nazi regime.

The gates to the compound were a similar style to what I had seen in photos of Auschwitz, with a wrought iron gate under a guard tower. Unlike Auschwitz the famous Nazi Concentration Camp slogan "Arbeicht Macht Frei" ("work will make you free") was woven into the steel bars directly on the doors and I had to place my hand directly on it to enter the gates.

The camp itself was much smaller than I expected, the large roll call yard stretched from where I was standing to the other side of the camp, with the prisoner barracks to the left and the administrative buildings and prisoner cells to the right. Only two reconstructed barracks remained, the rest consisted of only numbered foundations filled with gravel. The barracks as I entered, were constructed entirely of wood with 6 or 7 rooms in each. 1 room was wide open except for the row of latrines in the centre, forcing inmates to sit side by side while they used the toilet. The other rooms contained 3 level bunks on which the prisoners slept, no blankets, no mattresses, just a wooden shelf. The barracks which were only designed to hold 250 people at a time were crammed with up to 1600 people which led to the deaths of large numbers as a result of disease and the close quarters created a perfect breeding ground for lice infestations.

After walking through the barracks I entered the administration buildings on the other side of the roll call yard, which had been converted into a museum and theatre. The theatre showed a short film every hour on life in the camp and I settled in to the back row waiting for it to start. As I sat there a large group of what appeared to be high school students entered and moved into the rows ahead of me, laughing and joking as the lights dimmed. The film was disturbing to say the least and as the lights came on after 15 minutes, the students shuffled out, heads down, not a sound coming from any of them.

To this point I have to admit that while it was all very powerful and moving, I had read about most of it in books and on the internet so nothing had really shocked me or had come as a surprise. My second to last stop on my exploration of Dachau was tucked away in the corner, separated from the rest of the camp by a small bridge and thick forest. The crematorium was a long, narrow, red brick building with a tall smoke stack protruding from it's pointed roof. It looked non-descript from the outside and made my way toward the first door still feeling intrigued, but not yet terrified. The first room was open, roughly 20 feet by 40 feet with an 8 foot high ceiling, with wooden plank floors that echoed with every step. It was then that I literally felt a chill go down spine. As I turned towards the plaque on the wall to my right the words "This is the room where the bodies were piled before cremation", hit me like a ton of bricks. A picture accompanying the words showed the very room I now stood in, bodies stacked to the ceiling as if they were logs next to a fire place.

From there the building got progressively more disturbing, the next room contained three huge furnaces with large gurneys on tracks sitting in front of them for dumping bodies in. However it was the room adjacent to this that was by far the most chilling. Imagine sitting in an electric chair just to feel the grain of the wood under your fingers or placing a noose around your neck just to feel the rope against your skin. As disturbing as each of these would be, it is the only way I can accurately describe what it feels like to walk into a gas chamber. Although it is claimed that the gas chamber at Dachau was never used it is still horrifying to enter a room built solely for the purpose of eradicating human life.

My final stop was behind the administrative buildings on the other side of the camp. This is where problem inmates were kept in standing cells, roughly 3 foot by 3 foot, often for days or weeks at a time. A prison within a prison. By this time I had almost had enough, there is only so much death and destruction one can take before you run the risk of breaking down or becoming completely desensitized to it all together.

I exited the prison, hovering somewhere between the two but convinced that it was time to leave. Little did I know that Dachau Concentration Camp had one more mind warping piece of evidence as to the atrocities committed there in store for me. A ten foot high wall stood at the end of the courtyard between the administrative buildings and the prison cells. Next to it stood a sign explaining that this was the execution wall where prisoners were routinely shot for disobeying camp rules, attempting to communicate with the outside world, or simply to teach the other prisoners a lesson. On the wall, still clearly visible after 65 years, were blood stains.

As often as I have read about the holocaust, concentration camps, and the brutal punishments handed out by the Nazi's during the Second World War it is another experience all together to visit the site where these horrible acts against humanity were committed. Despite the graphic account you have just read I am convinced more than ever that it is vitally important that people continue to visit these places, to see how fragile human life is and ensure that history never has a chance to repeat itself.






]]> Mountains, Muslims, & Misunderstandings — Innsbruck, Austria http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178517/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178517/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/roscoe2009/1/1276178517/tpod.html Mon, 20 Sep 2010 07:36:29 +0000 2010: An Earth Odyssey
Innsbruck, Austria

Where I stayed
Youth Hostel Innsbruck


I hadn't originally planned on going to Austria at all but with the travel disruptions caused by the Icelandic volcano it seemed like a good idea to break up the journey from Venice to Munich. Besides, Amy (my Aussie friend from way back in London) had been fairly adamant that I should visit Austria as she had spent a couple of weeks there at the beginning of her European adventure and raved about it's beauty. It was also a great opportunity to explore the Alps, which to this point I had not seen in my travels.

I caught the train in Venice and made the short journey to Verona, (the transfer point for all trains going to Innsbruck) without much trouble and arriving at the station was expecting a train every two hours or so as stated on the internet. The lady at the ticket counter informed me that there was a train leaving in 5 minutes and that the next one wouldn't be for another 6 hours (fewer trains during a transportation crisis...yeah that makes sense) ,if I ran I could still catch it and pay for the ticket on the train. I sprinted towards the platform and stepped inside the door just as they closed, only to find that the train was full save for a couple of empty seats. I settled in for the 5 hour journey and waited for my opportunity to purchase my ticket. The train made a few more stops on the way to Austrian border and 2 hours into the journey was packed with stranded travelers, desperate to get back to their homes. It was standing room only and the aisles were soon full of suitcases too large to fit in the already bursting overhead compartments. Another 2 hours passed and we made our way into the majestic Austrian Alps, the car was hot from all of the extra bodies and people were restless having to stand in one place for as long as 3 to 4 hours. As we entered Innsbruck, nestled in a valley between two soaring mountain ranges, I had still not seen anyone selling tickets. Surely there would be someone waiting as I exited the train to collect my fare. I exited into the cool mountain air and as I made my way to the terminal realized that I had hit the backpackers jackpot...free train ride (anything free will do actually). A ticket that normally would have cost over one hundred dollars had been reduced to the rock bottom price of zero.

I caught the tram to my hostel on the outskirts of Innsbruck and was disappointed to see that it was a sterile, drab, HI (Hosteling International) building that felt more like a morgue than a travelers paradise. My dorm room was shared with three others, Michael (40 something from Vancouver), Sara (20 something from Australia), and Mohamed (40 something from Iran). They all seemed very friendly and I chatted with them for a while before heading out for a bite to eat.

I made my way back to the downtown area on foot this time, and re-entered the train station looking for a restaurant where I could hopefully score some bratwurst or schnitzel. There were few options being a relatively small station and I decided to head into the heart of downtown but as I walked out of the doors a man in his early twenties approached me. He looked like a classic punk rocker with metal studded leather jacket, tight black jeans, and wild multi-coloured hair. He also appeared to be under the influence of some kind of drug. He stepped in front of me blocking my way across the street and began to yell at me angrily in German. "I'm sorry I said," trying to maintain my composure while secretly wanting to soil myself, "I don't speak German." He looked at me confused and continued to rant, moving closer to my face while pointing and gesturing, wildly flailing his arms about. "Holy ****, this guy wants to kick my ass," I thought, bracing myself for the first impact. He unleashed with another string of incomprehensible language before saying two words that instantaneously put me at ease. "Internet Cafe?" I looked at him bewildered and relieved, "Oh my god, all he wants to know is where the internet cafe is," I chuckled to myself. "It's right over there," I said, pointing to a building just down the street. "Aaaaaah," he exclaimed smiling and waving as he walked towards it.

After eating a whopper at Burger King (I needed some comfort food after that episode...don't judge me) it was starting to get dark and I started the roughly half hour walk back to the hostel. As I have stated before I have for quite some time now had a keen interest in WWII history and one of my foremost questions as I entered into the German speaking area of Western Europe was how the atrocities of the war were handled by the people. Were they talked about? Were they swept under the rug? Were they ashamed? Were they indifferent? I walked along a pathway next to river Inn and saw a number of campaign posters next to the roadway as I passed, men and women smiling for the camera just as our own politicians do when it is time for an election. One in particular stood out for me; it was a women in her fifties, blond, with a dark red blazer, with the same photogenic smile as the others. But there was something different about her campaign poster, something unmistakable which appeared not only on this specific poster, but all of her other posters that I passed on my way. Scrawled across her face and torso, in bright red spray paint were giant swastikas. When I finally returned to the hostel I was more than a little disturbed by what I had seen, a symbol so undeniably linked with one of the most evil, ruthless, and blood-thirsty political movements in modern history, etched over and over again by a citizen in a country where it was strictly forbidden. Luckily Michael had also seen the posters and had asked the girl at the hostel reception if she knew what they were about. She explained that the woman in the picture was the leader of a party who was attempting to revive socialism in Austria, and that the swastikas were not painted by neo-Nazi's but by anti-Nazi protesters angered by the fact that someone would think it prudent to rip open the wounds of their countries dark history. Clearly this was a country that acknowledged the past.

The next day I made my around the core of the Old City, admiring the beautiful 15th century architecture with the towering Alps ever present in the background of every picture taken. I had inquired at the hostel about transportation up to the bobsled track in the mountains as I had read they offered rides down the track to tourists during certain times of the year. She was nice enough to call ahead for me but was told that unfortunately this service was not available in the spring, only during the fall and winter. I instead decided to take the cable car to the top of the Hafelekar station, 2334 metres above sea level. The views were absolutely breathtaking and being that it was off season, I had the observation deck all to myself. I sat there for almost two hours snapping pictures, breathing in the crisp, clean air, and marveling at the para-gliders soaring across the valley.

When I returned to my dorm room that evening, Mohamed was lying on his bunk, listening to Middle Eastern music. As we talked I learned that he was from Tehran and had come to Germany 5 years ago in search of a job. He had gone from one job to another over those years and currently found himself unemployed and unsure of what his future held. He decided to try his hand in Austria, being that his second language was German (he also spoke English very well) and enjoyed the lifestyle. Mohamed was a very opinionated man and had traveled extensively around the world. When I asked him if he ever went back to Iran he said that he had been back a number of times since originally leaving to visit his family and friends but had no desire to return there to live. Part of my reason for wanting to go on my Middle Eastern tour is to see what the people are like in that region and form my own opinions rather than relying on the biased and often skewed depictions we receive from the media at home. I decided to go ahead and ask Mohamed what his opinion was of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the controversial current president of Iran, unsure of how he would respond. He scoffed at the question stating that he was merely a figurehead, no different than any other political leader (citing specifically Barack Obama) and that when it came down to it he was not a man to be feared by his countrymen, or anyone else for that matter. We chatted about Middle Eastern politics and I found that he was very moderate. He was also very eager to set the record straight on the ties between religion and politics in his homeland and point out that the overwhelming majority of people he knew, although devoted to their religion, did not hold any ill will towards people with different religious beliefs. My interest in the region only grew as a result of my having met him.

I left Innsbruck the next day having enjoyed my short time there. I was now more eager than ever to venture further north to the land of the Effler family heritage, Germany.

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