Sixty One Degrees
An occassional journal of an Asia-overland adventure
|
|
Warsaw, Poland
Warsaw's baroque Royal Castle, with it's sumptious interiors and furnishings, is the equal of almost any in Europe, yet just 35 years ago it didn't exist.
The original palace, along with almost all of the old town, was reduced to rubble by the Nazis in 1944 in reprisal for the ill-fated Warsaw Uprising. The Soviet Red Army idly watched from the opposite bank of the river as the Germans systematically destroyed the city over the course of three months.
The old city and, much later, the palace have since been painstakingly rebuilt and the results are remarkable. The only hints that the palace is not original are in the ceiling frescos, not quite the quality of the 18th century masters, and the clocks, which all work.
Auschwitz, Poland
In 1939 there were 65000 Jews living in Krakow, a quarter of the population. Only 6000 survived the war. Most of them met their fate in Auschwitz, the Nazi's largest death camp, designed with the single purpose of eliminating an entire people.
Uniquely much of this camp survived the end of the war. The size of the camp; the barracks, gas chambers, railway lines; gives a small impression of the magnitude of what occured. It's impossible to fully comprehend.
Many images remain: the piles of suitcases, the owners having written their names and addresses on the outside, packed with their most valuable possessions in the belief that they were merely being relocated; almost two tonnes of hair, some of it still braided, that was kept in storage, waiting to be sent to Germany to be turned in to suit lining; the railway tracks that run right to the edge of the gas chambers.
Seventy percent of those sent to the camp went directly to the gas chambers, including all children and pregnant women. Right to the end the deception of relocation was maintained, with false shower heads installed in the chambers.
One set of haunting photos shows new arrivals, all women and children, waiting patiently amongst the trees. They are destined for execution but the gas chambers are currently full. They will wait a few hours or a day in the cold, then take their turn, never suspected the horrific truth.
It's impossible to convey the emotion provoked by this now silent place. Walking through the barracks, seeing the photos and descriptions of what occured, many people were visibly moved, myself included.
A staggering 1.5 million people were killed at this camp. The images and feelings I will never forget.
Prievidza, Slovakia
I went to a sandwich shop at lunchtime today and was confronted by an unintelligible list of Slovakian names. I had no idea what to choose until I saw item number 6: Hemendex.
Budapest, Hungary
Who would have thought ballet could be funny? Certainly not me. But the guy that played the Toy Maker in Coppelia was hilarious. And I was only there because I was too cheap to take the Opera House tour.
The day started with a trip to the Széchenyí baths, the biggest of Budapest dozen or so thermal spas. Upon entering you're greeted by the unusual sight of underwater chess. Well, half underwater, as a collection of guys stand chest deep in the large warm pool and play on boards set at water level, oblivious to the occasional wave splashing over the pieces.
The choice of watery delights is abundant: three outdoor pools at different levels of warm, seeming all the warmer with piles of snow on the pavements; and indoors, a vast array of hot pools, cold pools and saunas. One pool has jets along the edge creating a giant whirlpool effect that would zoom you around. I have no idea what the point was but it was great fun.
That night I found myself at the ballet in the city's magnificent opera house. I wanted to see the interior and was about to join the tour bus crowd on the expensive afternoon tour when I noticed that I could get a ticket to a performance for half the price of the tour - interior views included for free! I didn't much care what I saw but the ballet turned out to be excellent. I surprised myself. At intermission I mingled with Budapest's finest, carefully blending in with my patched boots and faded clothes, sipping Tokaj and discussing the finer points of the ballet with a nice German lady.
The cultural onslaught continued the next night as I went to see Turandot at the new opera house, a concrete structure that's not a patch on the old opera house. I thought the lead soprano was a bit of a squawker and was pleased to have a local opera fan, and member of the Wagner Society, confirm the view. "I didn't like her Brunhilda either", she confided.
On my last night in Budapest the couple I was staying with took me to the perfect antidote to all this high culture - a small cafe showing a Buster Keaton film with a live jazz accompaniment. Just the thing.