Swiss Family Grass

Arriving in Dresden, the landscape hadn’t changed much. The countryside that we had been weaving through to reach our destination dropped off to reveal the bland, less than dynamic suburbs of Dresden.

At the campground we again realized how small the globe truly is when our neighbors turned out to be from Elk Grove. Our shock at their geographic closeness to where we live was only surpassed by the disbelief felt when we found out that the father of our neighbor ran the union Andy belongs to in San Francisco. “Small world” comments were exchanged all around, and we spent the better part of an hour talking with the fellow Californian’s about their travels.

In the morning we drove into central Dresden to visit the Zwinger Museum. Originally built as a royal palace, the Zwinger now houses fine art and scientific treasures. A sight to see, the buildings were actually rebuilt to their former glory after being carpet bombed at the end of the Second World War. We decided to focus our visit on the Mathematics and Physics Salon, where numerous globes, telescopes, and clocks are housed.

Andy and I were so entranced by the items on exhibit that we decided to spend the small amount needed to secure an audio guide. After donning our headphones we parted, each choosing our own path through the museum.

Dresden was meant to be a quick stop on out way to Poland, and within a few hours of visiting the museum we had crossed the Polish border. We drove for many hours that day, ending our journey in the town of Oswiecim, more commonly known as Auschwitz.

It has long been a goal of mine to visit the concentration camps of Eastern Europe. I don’t know if ‘goal’ is the right word, but I have always felt strongly that I should visit the site of the Auschwitz concentration camp and pay my respects. Our visit to Terezin only intensified this feeling.

Pulling off the main highway and onto the national country road that leads to Auschwitz is a strange experience. While the countryside doesn’t change much, the flavor of the towns do. Poland in general appears to have a deeply depressed economy, and the cities and towns reflect that. But, driving to Auschwitz felt different. My judgment may have been clouded by the impending visit, but I can say without hesitation that the feeling was post war gloominess. City outlines were grey and the people walking through the streets seemed somber at best. A tremendous hazy sky was splintered by bright pink and orange sun rays, the only sign that civilization is not so bleak.

We were astounded as we pulled in to the town of Oswiecim. Camping in town is relegated to one of two parking lots. Both charge a flat fee for a 24 hour stay, and we pulled into the lot exhausted from a long day of driving. We walked across the street from the lot to the museum and read all of the outdoor displays. After checking for the museum opening time we went back to the van to get a good nights’ sleep before what we predicted would be an emotionally and physically exhausting day. I had a restless sleep that night, the sounds of trains passing on nearby tracks an eerie reminder of where we were.

At 8:00 a.m. the next morning we walked to the State Museum in Oswiecim, the actual site of Auschwitz. The entire camp grounds have been turned into the museum and one can stroll the grounds freely. For the most part intact, Auschwitz looks like an old military base that has been preserved in time. Originally established as barracks for the Polish military, the Nazi’s took over the grounds in 1940 to house Polish prisoners. Numerous barracks remain, and when one enters the property it’s hard to imagine the horrific crimes that were perpetrated within its’ gates. However, one need only look at a grounds map or enter one of the buildings to be reminded of what took place here between 1940 and 1945.

Many of the buildings display items taken from victims as they arrived, shoes, suitcases, dishes. Mounds and mounds of possessions rest in perpetuity behind glass walls. Too many shoes to count, too many hairbrushes and combs to take in, too many suitcases to comprehend. And, a wall of hair shaved from the heads of the victims brings visions of lambs being led to sheering before slaughter. It’s all too real, and at the same time incomprehensible.

We later found out that the hair taken from prisoners (which included all body hair) was sold by the Nazi’s to factories in the Reich to be used for haircloth used by tailors to line clothing. Hair was removed not only from live victims, but also from the carcasses of those gassed in the gas chambers. Forensic studies conducted on samples retrieved from bales of haircloth found in the Reich showed trace levels of a type of cyanide consistent with a compound being used at the camp.

Walking toward the site where executions took place it was hard not to notice the boarded up windows of the block where medical and sterilization experimentation occurred on women. Looking up at a second floor window frame I quickly averted my gaze, only to be drawn to the window again, with a weighted sole feeling numb from the pain and horror I imagined took place in that building.

From the so called ‘Death Block’ we walked through several of the barracks containing National exhibits put together by nations eager to keep alive the memory of those of their citizenry persecuted in the camp. Then, we made our final stop at the provisional gas chamber and crematoria, where the Nazi’s first tested the use of gas on 600 Soviet prisoners of war and 250 infirmed prisoners in 1941.

After touring Auschwitz we walked back to the parking lot, packed the van and drove to Birkenau. Situated not five minutes from Auschwitz, Birkenau is less visited than Auschwitz, but where most of the mass killings took place. The moment our van crested the small overpass that leads from one site to the other our collective gasps assured us that we were staring down at a concentration camp. Unlike Auschwitz, Birkenau was a massive undertaking, a city of death. Set on over 400 acres, with more than seven miles of fence, Birkenau was the last stop for over 1.1 million Jews.

When you enter the gates of Birkenau, your eye is instantly drawn to the railway track that carves its’ way through the center of camp. Only after absorbing this does one look to the standing structures and the crumbled remains of 300 buildings. The grid like pattern of the camp appears calculated and demonstrates the Nazi’s need and ability to keep prisoners from communicating with each other; communicating the fate of those pulling into the camp by train who were not ‘lucky’ enough to be unloaded from the train at the ‘selection platform’. For those individuals were railed straight to the gas chambers at the back of the camp, told they were the ‘lucky’ ones and would be allowed to bathe before entering the camp. They were systematically exterminated. Literally railed to their deaths.

Under the burning sun we walked the entire camp. We saw barracks with three tiered bunks crowded from wall to wall in the women’s camp, viewed a small covered piled of silverware that remained where warehouses once stood housing possessions collected from victims (the Nazi’s later burned these buildings in an attempt to cover their crimes), and stared mouth agape at the collapsed ruins of the gas chambers and crematorium.

I told Andy that I needed to see one more place. A small pond where the ashes of those exterminated at Birkenau lies in an area of greenery, an anomaly amongst the cold ruins of the camp. I wanted to see the pond, to see first hand the gruesomeness of the crime, and to place a stone at the foot of the pond, showing my respect for the dead. On the map I spotted where the pond was and began trudging the overgrown weeds to get to it. As I approached the pond, still some fifty feet away, I noticed small spots of green moving all around my feet. Upon closer inspection I saw that the green items were actually little green frogs, hundreds of them. The frogs danced all round my feet, leaping in the direction of the pond. When I reached the waters edge frogs jumped into the pond, while others continued to hop along the perimeter of the pond. I know it sounds strange, but it seemed as if the frogs were there to welcome me, to thank me for visiting and remembering, and most of all for paying my respects. Instead of being a truly sorrowful experience, it was a fulfilling moment. I placed a small stone on a branch protruding from the pond and backed away as quickly as I had approached, a parade of frogs guiding me.

We left Birkenau changed people. We left disillusioned with humanity and discussing world peace. We left talking of the magnitude of the maniacal behavior exhibited by the captors and the totally disregard for life displayed. Most of all we left with diminished spirit.

Before leaving the town of Oswiecim we stopped in the actual town center at The Auschwitz Jewish Center. A center dedicated to the history of the town’s Jews and the Synagogue, it is interestingly enough funded in part by our own State Department and staffed by several young Americans. I looked at the photography exhibit displaying Jews during the early 1900’s, alive with love for the arts and community. To bear witness through photography to the pre-Holocaust town forever shaped how I will remember my visit to Auschwitz. The bustling streets, New Year’s parties and town markets featured in the photos so starkly contrasted with the death camps I had walked that day, that disbelief once again entered my mind. There was no way this could have happened, right? Maybe that’s what people who don’t think the Holocaust happened believe, even when faced with evidence to the contrary. That is why we must forever preserve the memory of those murdered; we must continue to face history.

From Auschwitz we drove to Krakow and were uninspired by the city. Even the popular town square, with a chain link fence snaking around Cloth Hall was unimpressive.

Krakow to Warsaw was a lengthy drive, where the landscape still continued to lack any stimulating design. Warsaw was worse. The city is riddled with thick black exhaust and grey concrete structures are boxlike and unorganized. The few striking buildings, and I do mean few, can be observed while driving through the city. We decided not to stop and continued on to the so called ‘Lake District of Poland.

Pulling into the lake area (Poland touts being the land of lakes, with over 9000 in all), it was too late to find a campground. We slept in a parking lot. The next morning we took in another grey sky and decided it was time to move on to Lithuania. We had just one more stop to make. We drove to the ‘Wolf’s Lair’, one of Hitler’s hideaways. A densely forested area of bunkers, the hidden military headquarters was built for an offensive against the Soviet Union in 1941. Site of an assassination attempt on Hitler, the Wolf’s Lair was visited many times by Hitler and his many guests, including Mussolini. An airstrip, hotel, and fortified bunkers litter the forest, and what remains today is crumbling concrete. Yet, the setting is strangely scenic. The forest drips with lush green foliage. Tall trees provide a natural shelter from the elements and you weave through damp forest on a picturesque path.

Oddly enough another frog reference comes in here. As you walk through the forest along the trail that leads to all of the bunker ruins, tiny brown frogs frantically criss-cross the path. Frogs scramble around, appearing to seek shelter from being squashed. Their movements are erratic and they leap in all directions. Some hop into the forest, others jump into small well camouflaged crevices on the trail. I couldn’t help but think that these brown frogs, with their hasty movements were a sign. Maybe they were the reincarnation of Nazi SS Officers, forever punished to roam the forest, a kind of purgatory to pay for their sins. It was so striking to me. First the frogs at Auschwitz, now the frogs at Hitler’s lair. I’m not usually one for signs, but the coincidence was too glaring to overlook.

By mid afternoon we passed through the Lithuanian border, making our way to the capital of Vilnius. We camped just outside the capital on Lake Galve, across from the village of Trakai.
Our first day of sightseeing was filled with the many flavors of Lithuania. But before our walking tour began, our eyes caught the site of yet another anti-Bush graffiti effort.

We visited three very distinct areas of the capital. First, we wandered through the Jewish Quarter and Ghettos. The neighborhoods that make up the quarter are lined with apartment topped storefront buildings. We ducked into the lobby of a building being renovated to take shelter from a downpour and were surprised when we saw the remains of an old building exterior preserved inside.

Apparently the redevelopment efforts have sparked some controversy, with one member of Parliament being particularly outspoken about his opposition. While many feel the reconstruction amounts to a tribute and ‘resurrection of lost culture’, MP Vytautas Sustauskas remarked that Lithuania would, “Be turned into slaves of the Jews.” His remarks ignited simmering anti-Semitic feelings and that mindset, coupled with the rising value of the land being developed has made the old ghetto area a hot topic.

We also saw the only remaining synagogue in Vilnius. Once regarded as the ‘Jerusalem of the North, Vilnius was at one time home to some 100 synagogues. The synagogue, built in 1894, survived only because the Nazi’s used it as a medical store.

By midday hunger had begun its’ ugly creep, and we ducked into a famous tea house to reenergize. The Skonis ir Kvapas specializes in teas from around the world, and the scrumptious desserts that accompany the liquid libation are an added treat.

From the ghetto we visited the Parliament area, known as Gedimino Prospektas. The streets that dissects the area is a wide, newly redeveloped promenade, with high end stores and the Small Theatre of Vilnius, where a striking sculpture caps its’ entry.

This area is also home to the KGB (or Genocide Museum), housed in the now Court of Appeals building. The building is an imposing structure, with stones engraved with the names of those tortured inside by the KGB lining the façade.

Lastly, we visited the very touristy area near Cathedral Square. Heavy restoration efforts and a sterile Old Town quarter make the area lack luster and we quickly returned to the van for the ride back to the campground.

That evening we took a paddle boat out on the lake and admired Trakai’s Peninsula Castle. We paddled away as the sun set on the lake, only the lights of a restaurant to guide us back to our campground.

As we left the next morning we stopped at the Paneriai Forest. Nazi’s marched more than 100,000 people (at least 75,00 of whom were Jewish) to their death in this forest. Starting in Vilnius, Jews and others persecuted by the Nazi’s walked with armed guard accompaniment to the forest, only to be shot in the head and dumped into mass graves. According to historical literature, Lithuanian accomplices did as much of the killings as the Einsatzkommando 9, an SS killing unit.

To get to the memorial site you walk along a nearly deserted road, empty except for a handful of ramshackle houses that sit across from busy railroad tracks. A little over a half mile down the road you come to a parking lot where a huge stone structure announces the entrance into the memorial grounds. From there you follow a paved trail as it winds it way through the forest, with intersecting paths leading to grassed over pits. Each pit is marked by a memorial, some describing in Lithuanian what occurred at the site.

After a slow and thought filled walk back to the van we left Vilnius and drove toward the Baltic Sea. Our destination was the Curonian Spit, a thin strip of sandy land that is bordered on one side by the Baltic and the other the Curonian Lagoon. We boarded a ferry for the short five minute crossing and then drove almost twenty-five miles toward the town of Nida, the most famous of the fishing villages on the Spit.

The campground is a short ten minute walk to the famous dunes of the spit. Dubbed the ‘Sahara of Lithuania’, the Parnidis Dune offer a view of nearby Kaliningrad, Russia. Mother nature will eventually have her way with the spit, as the dunes drift into the sea at an alarming three plus feet per year. Fourteen villages have been swallowed in the last three centuries, and tourists romping through the dunes could quickly make that number grow.

From the dunes we walked into town and admired the handsome fishing cottages that border the harbor. Brightly painted and complete with thatched roofs, the homes are a throwback to a bygone era.

Weathervanes dot the tiny village, and are actively sought by tourists as a keepsake and photo opportunity. The weathervanes were used to identify fishing boats and later became the known address for the homes of the town’s inhabitants. They are colorful and intricate, each work a piece of art.

Back at the campground we settled in for a night of reading and writing. We are eagerly reading about our next stops. Tomorrow we will make one last stop in Lithuania at the Hill of Crosses, and then our ‘Capital Connection’ continues when we drive to Riga, Latvia.