Auschwitz

Yesterday was illuminating and difficult at the same time, all around.  I decided that I was going to go to Auschwitz in Krakow, which I thought would be an easy journey.  It proved to be anything but.  

I left my hostel at 7:00 for the train station.  I've been having serious problems navigating things in the city because of the way the streets are laid out and my natural ability to get lost on one street is really astounding.  (They're thinking of studying me.)  So, I get lost on the way to the train station and I'm at a newspaper stand asking the man if he speaks English and if he knows where the train station is when a woman behind me pipes in and says in perfect mid-western English, "Yes, he does.  He knows where the train station is too."  I turn around and this little woman is smiling at me and tells me that she's going just past the train station and she'll take me there.  Sure enough, she's from Colorado, but has been living in Poland for the last twenty years teaching English.  She not only took me to the train station, but gave me her phone number in case I need anything while I'm staying here.  :) 

Then there was the train station battle.  (believe me each leg of this trip is epic, so be prepared.)  None of the train station ticket sellers speak English so it takes me a while but I find the "Billet" window and find the right line and get a woman to sell me a ticket.  I then somewhat decipher the thing with the help of another old Polish bookseller and find the right train.  Now, here comes one of the worst parts of the day.  I'm sitting in the train car and there's an old couple across from me, a middle age couple on the far side of me an old man on one side of me and a smelly man on the other side of me.  (Europeans and their body odors...)  The "konductor" comes in and asks for tickets.  I pull mine out and he starts saying something to me in Polish and I obviously have no idea...  I look around in confusion, but no one else in the car speaks English.  Finally, the little grandma across from me pulls out her ID to show me to get mine and I comprehend that I have a student ticket and he wants to see my ID.  I pull my SU ID out and then he starts shaking his head and saying "problema".  I knew this wasn't good.  He continued to say things to me in Polish and I'm shaking my head cause I've got no idea what his "problema" is and then he starts yelling. 

Now, the thing I've noticed about most Europeans, and the Polish in particular, if you encounter a stranger they almost always treat you very formally, a cultural difference from Americans who I notice to be more warm and open in their encounters with strangers.  But, once you break past this initial barrier of contact with the Polish, they're ready to do your bidding and by God I thought this little Polish grandmother was going to rip the konductor a new one.  She was sputtering in Polish so fast I can't imagine those being real words and then the whole car got into it with the konductor!  Everyone had been completely silent up to this point, but I knew they were talking about me because they kept pointing to me and then getting angry at the konductor.  It was kind of wonderful except that I was crying.  There's nothing like people screaming at you and around you in a language you can't decipher to freak you out.  Eventually, the konductor got a young guy from the next car who spoke a little English who told me that the ticket I have is a student ticket, but its only for Polish students.  I had to buy a new full price ticket on the train and get refunded for the other one at the next stop.  (luckily one of the women in the car was also kind enough to walk with me to the ticket window and explain the situation in her fluent Polish so that I actually did get my money back.)  

Right before my stop, a young woman my age, who spoke English fairly well, got into the car.  I found out that she's going to school in Poland for acting and actually knew about the Grotowski festival and its events and will be attending some next week.  She asked for my email so she can send me some info about other things happening around Wroclaw.  (Also, I finally learned how to say Wroclaw correctly.  Its pronounced Vrocswah.)  

So, after the five hour train ride, its about 2:30.  The bus station is adjacent to the train station, so I get a ticket to Oswiecim where Auschwitz is.  The little tiny bus that was going there, however, was full so I had to stand in the aisle for about half of the 75 minute trip.  Windy roads and a fast driver.  Not a good combination.  There were stops along the way though, so eventually I got a seat.  A good thing, too, because I was about to be sick. 

Eventually, around 4:15, I arrive.  The entrance to the museum is set a 15 minute walk back from the bus stop.  And it really wasn't what I was expecting.  In my mind I'd always imagined the gate of Auschwitz to be this huge ominous thing and the buildings inside to be dwarfed by its size.  In fact its quite the opposite.  The gate seems little, almost insignificant, but the barracks and even the trees are massive and dwarfing. Yesterday was cold and rainy so the streets in the camp were muddy and I was freezing the entire time.   I can only imagine what the place would have been like under a layer of snow.  Because I arrived so late, there weren't any guided tours, but I bought a little guide book and there are signs everywhere describing events in English, German and Polish.  

As you walk into the camp, the barracks are each set up to be different museums.  The first one or two have a lot of historical documents and prove the atrocities of the camp.  Others have the infamous rooms of shoes, hair, glasses, suitcases and other personal affects of the prisoners that were found at the time of the camp's liberation.  The last barracks are set up more like art museums with artistic displays and monuments commemorating the events.  I found these to be particularly moving and interesting.  

Most of the information I received at the camp were things that I already knew.  I have a particular interest in the Holocaust and have taken several classes that focus on the Jewish question and Germany leading up to WWII, so I've done a good deal of study.  I didn't visit Auschwitz-Birkenau because of the time constraints, but also because I'm not sure I could have handled much more even after the three hours I was there.  It wasn't the displays inside the barracks or the information offered, there's only so much connection you can feel to things that are so obviously on display for you, but it was the atmosphere.  Cold and rainy even in June, the place was almost deserted by the time I left which gave me the eeriest feeling. I was glad to leave, but glad that I was able to visit and see the place that holds so much history.  

The trip back was easier for me, but of course just as long.  I sat in a car full of 20 something guys on the way back, all of which were Polish backpackers.  Interesting conversations, when they decided to speak in English of course.  I finally got back to my hostel at 3:00 am.  It was a long, long day, but for my curiosity it was worth it.  

The view close to the front of the gate.  The building on the left is used as the main part of the museum now. 

A stain glass of camp prisoners.

A room with pictures of French prisoners.

The display of shoes that literally took up half the second floor of the barrack.  

The barrack devoted to those of French nationality was my favorite.  The hallways had only small night lights close to your feet and projected on the walls were shadows of children, prisoners, workers, husbands and wives, and the small lights at your feet projected your shadow with theirs.  When I walked into the first room, I actually thought there was another person in the room with me and it really freaked me out.  I really felt as though the people who were in the camp were around me, but at the same time seeing my own shadow intermix with theirs made me feel as if I were one of them.  This part of the museum really added a level of humanity and attention to the fact that those affected were individuals, not just a number.