I'll be posting updates via Twitter for my Scotland trip. I'm leaving tomorrow (Sunday the 27th and coming home on Friday (1/1/10).
http://twitter.com/@rwgeek
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
New Photos from Kyiv
I know these are massively overdue. It's been a very busy fall.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rwgirl/sets/72157622007433335/show/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rwgirl/sets/72157622007433335/show/
Monday, August 24, 2009
Photos from Berlin
Finally organized and captioned:
http://picasaweb.google.com/shea.wills/Berlin2009#
Those are from my April trip.
http://picasaweb.google.com/shea.wills/Berlin2009#
Those are from my April trip.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Blog Update: New Photo Sharing Website
I have nearly ran out of room with Picassa so I switched to Flickr. I have it set up slide show style. If you click "Show Info" you can see the captions of the pictures. I can change the format if anyone doesn't like it. You can also change the speed of the slides.
So, Odessa is up. I hope to have Kyiv up in the next few days.
So, Odessa is up. I hope to have Kyiv up in the next few days.
4/18/09- Yaremche
A marshrutka piloted by an insane or suicidal driver took us up into the Carpathian foothills. We passed villages that were either picturesque or something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Like everything in Ukraine, they were one of two extremes.
We roasted the entire way since the old women in the marshrutka would shiver if we even cracked a window. Alexander told me they always do this, even in the heat of summer. He also told me his name for these old women: hamsters. In an odd way, they do resemble a hamster. They are all bundled up (despite the temperature) and they have bags in both hands which adds to their round, hamster-like profile. Try as I might, I can't get the comparison out of my head.
We survived our trip to Yaremche, and went about exploring the town. Soviet monuments were everywhere. The Ukrainians are very ambivalent about their past. In some places they've done their best to eradicate their Soviet past, in others it's still on display; either as a point of pride or due to apathy and practicality.
Behind this Soviet solider is a cross. Surely an unintended irony.
A block down the road was a memorial to the victims of the Soviets and the Nazis.
We walked up to the emerald-green Prut River.
This waterfall was once bigger, but the Soviets tried to destroy it with dynamite.
We roasted the entire way since the old women in the marshrutka would shiver if we even cracked a window. Alexander told me they always do this, even in the heat of summer. He also told me his name for these old women: hamsters. In an odd way, they do resemble a hamster. They are all bundled up (despite the temperature) and they have bags in both hands which adds to their round, hamster-like profile. Try as I might, I can't get the comparison out of my head.
We survived our trip to Yaremche, and went about exploring the town. Soviet monuments were everywhere. The Ukrainians are very ambivalent about their past. In some places they've done their best to eradicate their Soviet past, in others it's still on display; either as a point of pride or due to apathy and practicality.
Behind this Soviet solider is a cross. Surely an unintended irony.
A block down the road was a memorial to the victims of the Soviets and the Nazis.
We walked up to the emerald-green Prut River.
This waterfall was once bigger, but the Soviets tried to destroy it with dynamite.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
4/18/09- Ivano-Frankivsk and the Carpathians
The train ride alone has made this trip totally worth while. I can't even begin to describe the beauty of the countryside. There's farmland, there's marshes, there's valleys all with silver and gold- topped Orthodox churches dotting the landscape. I tried to take pictures out of the train window, but most didn't turn out. I also caught my first glimpse of the Carpathian mountains. Mountains I've wanted to see since reading Dracula for the first time.
I met Klaudia at the train station, and after dropping my things at her flat we went to the Ukrainian market.
Rabbits with fur only on one foot (to prove they were rabbits? to show they were healthy?), chickens that were beginning to mummify, and quartered pig heads were all on display.
After the market we wandered around the downtown area before boarding the bus to Yaremche.
Home and Well
I'm back from Ukraine and catching up with posts from my last trip before starting posts of my new trip. I have so many pictures, it'll be awhile before they are all organized and up for viewing.
I've been manually adding comments when you reply to my posts via email. Please let me know if you'd prefer me not to add yours.
I'll update as I'm able. Hopefully I'll get these stories out before my next trip! I know I'm so slow updating.
I've been manually adding comments when you reply to my posts via email. Please let me know if you'd prefer me not to add yours.
I'll update as I'm able. Hopefully I'll get these stories out before my next trip! I know I'm so slow updating.
4/17/08- The People of Lviv
A giggling girl took a photo of me while I was taking a photo of the cathedral. I've gotten many odd stares or people pointing at me since coming to Ukraine. There's nothing malicious or condescending in their stares or laughs, I apparently just amuse them. The people here really are fantastic, I do like it here.
I met two Americans, a Canadian and a Ukrainian for dinner. We ended up dining in the same place I had my lunch. Tyler, one of the Americans, had come from Krakow where he'd been teaching English. He was on holiday before packing up and moving somewhere new. Tracy, the Canadian, was a real sweetie. She'll be staying with my host in Kyiv the day after I leave. Nataliya, the Ukrainian, was incredible and super-intelligent.
Then there was Max, the other American. Max.... I don't know quite what to say about him. He was a total embarrassment to me as a fellow countryman. He claims to like Ukraine, but has nothing good to say about the country. He has nothing good to say about any of the Slavic countries, just that they recently "stopped eating rocks", and Ukraine would never go anywhere as long as "chess was a spectator sport." He insulted Nataliya's choice of degrees, saying that one of the problems with Ukraine is people are over-educated in worthless subjects. The night was a whole bunch of me burying my face in my hands and trying to steer the conversation into an area that Max couldn't insult.
I did pull a "John" a couple of times and snuck in a few questions I knew would betray his ignorance without him realizing it. I knew it would be pointless to argue with him, he'd only end up saying more things that would make me want to crawl under the table and start talking in an affected accent ("I'm really not American, I swear"). The next day I wrote an email to Nataliya apologizing for Max's appalling behaviour, assuring her that her degree was a good one, not all Americans are like that, and Max is an idiot.
My wish to disappear was partially granted when the power went out for about 30 mintues. Everyoe in the restaurant cheered when this happened. No one came to explain or apologize, the waitresses just brought candles to light the staircase and business went on as ususal. Welcome to Ukraine. As Klaudia says, "don't worry."
I met two Americans, a Canadian and a Ukrainian for dinner. We ended up dining in the same place I had my lunch. Tyler, one of the Americans, had come from Krakow where he'd been teaching English. He was on holiday before packing up and moving somewhere new. Tracy, the Canadian, was a real sweetie. She'll be staying with my host in Kyiv the day after I leave. Nataliya, the Ukrainian, was incredible and super-intelligent.
Then there was Max, the other American. Max.... I don't know quite what to say about him. He was a total embarrassment to me as a fellow countryman. He claims to like Ukraine, but has nothing good to say about the country. He has nothing good to say about any of the Slavic countries, just that they recently "stopped eating rocks", and Ukraine would never go anywhere as long as "chess was a spectator sport." He insulted Nataliya's choice of degrees, saying that one of the problems with Ukraine is people are over-educated in worthless subjects. The night was a whole bunch of me burying my face in my hands and trying to steer the conversation into an area that Max couldn't insult.
I did pull a "John" a couple of times and snuck in a few questions I knew would betray his ignorance without him realizing it. I knew it would be pointless to argue with him, he'd only end up saying more things that would make me want to crawl under the table and start talking in an affected accent ("I'm really not American, I swear"). The next day I wrote an email to Nataliya apologizing for Max's appalling behaviour, assuring her that her degree was a good one, not all Americans are like that, and Max is an idiot.
My wish to disappear was partially granted when the power went out for about 30 mintues. Everyoe in the restaurant cheered when this happened. No one came to explain or apologize, the waitresses just brought candles to light the staircase and business went on as ususal. Welcome to Ukraine. As Klaudia says, "don't worry."
Monday, August 3, 2009
Salo
Salo is raw pork fat. Lonely Planet alleges that salo is a Ukrainian favorite. According to the Ukrainians I met, it's not, it's only sold to gullible tourists. Unfortunately, I didn't find this out until after I'd eaten it. This salo was frozen and covered in chocolate. It tasted like chocolate- covered bacon and was the consistency of stringy, frozen butter.
Three bites into it my stomach protested and threatened a full systems reverse if I continued eating.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
4/17/08: Exploring Lviv
Lviv surprises me at every turn. These streets just aren't what you expect in a struggling, Eastern European country. The streets are clean, chess is being played in the park, kids laugh, the buildings are in good repair. I was hassled mercilessly by gypsies in Berlin, but there wasn't a beggar in sight here in the city center. With the constant reminders people gave me about the country, I wasn't expecting this.
Then I turn a corner.
This is the Lviv I was expecting to see, but it now came as a shock. These buildings should be abandoned, but families still live in them. The streets have been torn up, and no one has bothered to replace it. Despite the disrepair, it was still relatively neat and tidy. There wasn't any trash on the streets and people tried their best to keep the decaying buildings looking as nice as possible. It was another one of those times when looking at another culture brought mine into sharp focus.
I walk up to High Castle Hill, where there was no castle but it was a wonderful vantage point to look down upon the city.
To the south I could see the tops of churches and buildings both old and new.
To the north were the scars of Communism. Block housing rips haphazardly through the landscape and in typical Communist fashion there was little regard to aesthetics.
Unlike in Poland where the block housing is decorated with bright colors and shapes, it stands unapologetically as a testimonial to the country's history.
Monday, July 6, 2009
4/16/08: "Don't Worry"
We are given a form to fill out detailing where we are going, who we are, ect. I leave the where I'm staying part blank. I'm not sure what I should put or how strict they'll be. I'll be in a hostel this evening and the next, but then I'll be with couch surfers. I'm a little nervous since I'll be leaving a different way than I came in, so I'm not sure what to write.
The woman comes back and in broken English tells me to write in where I'll be staying. I try to explain that I'm not sure what to write, that I'll be traveling around the country, staying with couch surfers. At this point I'm so flustered I can't even think to mention that I'll be staying at a hostel this evening.
"Lviv! Lviv! Hotel Lviv!" she starts yelling at me over and over. I quickly scribble this in while a smattering of snickers comes from the back of the bus.
After the border guard leaves, I leave the bus and meet two CSers. They ask me if I still want to find a bathroom and I get my first taste of Ukrainian life. They are students from Poland and two of the most fantastic people I've ever met in my life.
We still have a long wait and a long ride ahead of us, so she offers to help me find a bathroom. I get another taste of what life is like in Ukraine when we run into a very drunk customs guard who points us in the direction of toilets we are allowed to use. At this point I really don't know if I should laugh or be terrified.
"Don't worry," Klaudia tells me. This would be a phrase I'd hear a lot of this day.
Before we enter the bathroom she warns me about it. It's a squat toilet and not the cleanest one either. She tells me most of the toilets in Ukraine are the squat kind. She gives me a few pointers for successful peeing then waits for me outside.
I walk in and am immediately hit by a wall of stench. I don't want to mouth breathe because I don't want anything from the bathroom in my mouth. Not even microscopic things. I breathe shallowly and do my best to hurry. Everything in the bathroom is wet, so I'm also trying to maneuver around without making contact with any surfaces. Suddenly my mom didn't seem so paranoid when she uses a tissue to touch anything in a public toilet. I'd have done the same, but my backpack was on the bus which contained my emergency supply of kleenex. I decided instead just not to touch anything. I kicked open the stall doors with my foot until I found a suitable place to squat and didn't bother to close it. I was actually glad these were squat toilets and not the regular kind. It was easier to keep my body and my belongings safely away from the wet grossness.
I gave it the good old college try, but was unable to to make my trip to the dark, wet, stinking bathroom worth it.
On the way back to the bus, the CSers tell me about the bribery system here on the boarder. Drivers from "rich" countries, like Poland, are shook down. If the driver doesn't have any money, the border guard will take sausage, beer or anything else that strikes his fancy.
"Don't worry," says Klaudia.
After an incredibly long wait, we're on our way. The roads are scary. We barrel down this tiny, potholed road that is shared with pedestrians and tractors. In my experience, people in Central and Eastern Europe have an odd logic when it comes to driving. The smaller and more decrepit the road, the faster they drive on it. I remind myself that busses drive this road every day and I haven't seen one that's overturned and burned out on the side of the road. I'll be fine, and even if I'm not, there's not much I can do about it.
I distrace myself with the scenery and the conversation, which is easy to do. I laugh as my new friends tell me stories about life in Ukraine and I'm struck by the diversity of the scenery. We pass glistening, silver- topped Orthodox churches, midievel looking ruins, villages which are picturesque and others that are in shambles. Most of the signs are in Cyrillic, but a few kiosks sport signs with badly translated English.
As we are traveling, Kaudia points out the holes and hiding places people use to smuggle cigarettes. Cigarettes are dirt cheap in Ukraine and a popular way to make a living is to take these cigarettes to other countries and sell them.
We finally arrive in Lviv just after nightfall. The bus lets us out in front of the central train station which is a beautiful work of Polish archetecture and is surrounded by food kiosks. I help the CSers with their luggage and they help me buy a ticket to Ivano-Frankivsk, where I'll meet them in a day.
A man in his late 20's with a cut that runs from his mouth up his cheek joker-style stands behind me in line. I try my best to inconspicuously distance myself from him, but he just keeps moving forward (like people do when they are waiting in line). The guy is almost too surreal to be scary. He's wearing a paper-boy hat and clothes that make him look like he came right out of a 1920's gangster movie. The scar, however, keeps me from staring at him too closely. That's the kind of scar you can only get in a few ways.
The surfers helped me secure a ticket to Ivano-Frankivsk and now we were off to find my hostel. We hop on a tram that came from Eastern Germany circa WWII (don't worry), and off we go. We travel down cobblestone streets, past restaurants and night clubs. I have no idea what it will look like in the daylight, but at night Lviv was beautiful.
We get off the tram at the town square. Lviv's nightlife was completely unexpected. It was more like something you'd see in Eugene, Oregon, than something you'd expect to see in Eastern Europe. Young and old were hanging out, playing drums, there were fire dancers and everything was completely mellow. No hard partying, no craziness; just people enjoying life on a beautiful spring night in the plaza. I would have liked to have spend longer in the plaza, but the hour was late and I still needed to check in to the hostel.
We circle around a few blocks before Alexander asks for directions. The hostel is quite well hidden, but we find it. I get my keys and find out I have a room all to myself. The lady at the desk apoligizes for this several times asking if I'm sure I don't want to be in a more populated room. No, no I'm fine really. I only have one day Lviv and way too much to see. I need a good night's sleep.
The woman comes back and in broken English tells me to write in where I'll be staying. I try to explain that I'm not sure what to write, that I'll be traveling around the country, staying with couch surfers. At this point I'm so flustered I can't even think to mention that I'll be staying at a hostel this evening.
"Lviv! Lviv! Hotel Lviv!" she starts yelling at me over and over. I quickly scribble this in while a smattering of snickers comes from the back of the bus.
After the border guard leaves, I leave the bus and meet two CSers. They ask me if I still want to find a bathroom and I get my first taste of Ukrainian life. They are students from Poland and two of the most fantastic people I've ever met in my life.
We still have a long wait and a long ride ahead of us, so she offers to help me find a bathroom. I get another taste of what life is like in Ukraine when we run into a very drunk customs guard who points us in the direction of toilets we are allowed to use. At this point I really don't know if I should laugh or be terrified.
"Don't worry," Klaudia tells me. This would be a phrase I'd hear a lot of this day.
Before we enter the bathroom she warns me about it. It's a squat toilet and not the cleanest one either. She tells me most of the toilets in Ukraine are the squat kind. She gives me a few pointers for successful peeing then waits for me outside.
I walk in and am immediately hit by a wall of stench. I don't want to mouth breathe because I don't want anything from the bathroom in my mouth. Not even microscopic things. I breathe shallowly and do my best to hurry. Everything in the bathroom is wet, so I'm also trying to maneuver around without making contact with any surfaces. Suddenly my mom didn't seem so paranoid when she uses a tissue to touch anything in a public toilet. I'd have done the same, but my backpack was on the bus which contained my emergency supply of kleenex. I decided instead just not to touch anything. I kicked open the stall doors with my foot until I found a suitable place to squat and didn't bother to close it. I was actually glad these were squat toilets and not the regular kind. It was easier to keep my body and my belongings safely away from the wet grossness.
I gave it the good old college try, but was unable to to make my trip to the dark, wet, stinking bathroom worth it.
On the way back to the bus, the CSers tell me about the bribery system here on the boarder. Drivers from "rich" countries, like Poland, are shook down. If the driver doesn't have any money, the border guard will take sausage, beer or anything else that strikes his fancy.
"Don't worry," says Klaudia.
After an incredibly long wait, we're on our way. The roads are scary. We barrel down this tiny, potholed road that is shared with pedestrians and tractors. In my experience, people in Central and Eastern Europe have an odd logic when it comes to driving. The smaller and more decrepit the road, the faster they drive on it. I remind myself that busses drive this road every day and I haven't seen one that's overturned and burned out on the side of the road. I'll be fine, and even if I'm not, there's not much I can do about it.
I distrace myself with the scenery and the conversation, which is easy to do. I laugh as my new friends tell me stories about life in Ukraine and I'm struck by the diversity of the scenery. We pass glistening, silver- topped Orthodox churches, midievel looking ruins, villages which are picturesque and others that are in shambles. Most of the signs are in Cyrillic, but a few kiosks sport signs with badly translated English.
As we are traveling, Kaudia points out the holes and hiding places people use to smuggle cigarettes. Cigarettes are dirt cheap in Ukraine and a popular way to make a living is to take these cigarettes to other countries and sell them.
We finally arrive in Lviv just after nightfall. The bus lets us out in front of the central train station which is a beautiful work of Polish archetecture and is surrounded by food kiosks. I help the CSers with their luggage and they help me buy a ticket to Ivano-Frankivsk, where I'll meet them in a day.
A man in his late 20's with a cut that runs from his mouth up his cheek joker-style stands behind me in line. I try my best to inconspicuously distance myself from him, but he just keeps moving forward (like people do when they are waiting in line). The guy is almost too surreal to be scary. He's wearing a paper-boy hat and clothes that make him look like he came right out of a 1920's gangster movie. The scar, however, keeps me from staring at him too closely. That's the kind of scar you can only get in a few ways.
The surfers helped me secure a ticket to Ivano-Frankivsk and now we were off to find my hostel. We hop on a tram that came from Eastern Germany circa WWII (don't worry), and off we go. We travel down cobblestone streets, past restaurants and night clubs. I have no idea what it will look like in the daylight, but at night Lviv was beautiful.
We get off the tram at the town square. Lviv's nightlife was completely unexpected. It was more like something you'd see in Eugene, Oregon, than something you'd expect to see in Eastern Europe. Young and old were hanging out, playing drums, there were fire dancers and everything was completely mellow. No hard partying, no craziness; just people enjoying life on a beautiful spring night in the plaza. I would have liked to have spend longer in the plaza, but the hour was late and I still needed to check in to the hostel.
We circle around a few blocks before Alexander asks for directions. The hostel is quite well hidden, but we find it. I get my keys and find out I have a room all to myself. The lady at the desk apoligizes for this several times asking if I'm sure I don't want to be in a more populated room. No, no I'm fine really. I only have one day Lviv and way too much to see. I need a good night's sleep.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
4/16/09: The Wild, Wild East
The passports have been returned and we're now waiting just inside the border. The customs officials need to go over every inch of the bus to make sure no one is smuggling anything into the country. The bus is packed with bug sprayers, laundry detergent and vegetables. There's an interesting mix of people on the bus. A few Polish students, several Ukrainian woman with big hair and black and gold shirts, and lots of alcohol.
One of the women re-sprays her big hair and does some primping in the driver's rear-view mirror. She then digs into her bag, pulls out a scrap of ham, then starts insisting someone try it. The two women in front of me keep trying to politely decline it. Finally, one of them takes the proffered chunk. She holds the pork like it's a used Kleenex and quickly searches for something to wrap it in.
Another woman starts complaining that she lost something. She looks in the air vents on the floor and the holes in the ceiling where the air conditioining and reading lights once were. She never did find what she was looking for.
Some of the passengers go off in search of a toilet. I join them, since I don't know when I'll find a toilet again. We get yelled at for going to an unauthorized area. All of us turn and leave except the pork woman. She argues with the border guard and keeps trying to explain that she just needs to use the bathroom, that she must use the bathroom. It's a funny sight, but I keep walking back to the bus. I do not want to get caught up in the ruckus.
Shortly after, the bus starts up again and I think we are on our way. Unfortunately we only drove about 20 meters before stopping again.
4/16/09: To Ukraine
Warsaw:
It's almost 7:00 a.m. and I'm at Warsaw Central station. I am bloody tired. The woman who runs the Polish school kept me up until well after midnight. My repeated attempts to excuse myself for my long day ahead were useless. I hope I can snag some sleep on the train to Przemysl, I have no idea when I'm going to get to the hostel.
On the train to Przemysl:
My train will arrive at 14:20. This should mean I'll be in Lviv before nightfall. I'm really looking forward to crossing the border. It will be interesting to get out of the EU and Schengen.
I haven't seen much of the Polish countryside, I've mostly been traveling through the woods. The few glimpses I've gotten are anything from picturesque to decrepit.
***
The granny in the compartment with me is looking at me with curious amusement. Kind of like I come from another planet. I definately stick out here.
Przemysl:
Border crossing time soon. I didn't find one of those yellow busses, but that's okay. The bus I'll be taking says "Lviv", so it should get me to my final destination. This is a bit scary, however. No English anywhere. I've gotten used to at least young people speaking English, that doesn't seem to be the case in this part of Poland. It certainly won't be the case in Ukraine. I'm definately not in Kansas anymore!
Poland/Ukraine Border:
The customs official looks like he stepped right out of the Soviet Union, exchanged his red star and red hat band for green. I so want to take a picture of him, but I don't dare. He's already been eyeballing me. He doesn't seem to like my passport very much. I don't know if it's because it's an American passport or because I have blond hair in my passport photo. With everyone else, he gave their passports only brief glance befor collecting them. He took a long, hard look at me and my passport then asked me my birthday. I think my disticntly American English convinced him more than my answer.
He dissappeared with all the passports. It's pretty unnerving to be without my passport so far from home.
It's almost 7:00 a.m. and I'm at Warsaw Central station. I am bloody tired. The woman who runs the Polish school kept me up until well after midnight. My repeated attempts to excuse myself for my long day ahead were useless. I hope I can snag some sleep on the train to Przemysl, I have no idea when I'm going to get to the hostel.
On the train to Przemysl:
My train will arrive at 14:20. This should mean I'll be in Lviv before nightfall. I'm really looking forward to crossing the border. It will be interesting to get out of the EU and Schengen.
I haven't seen much of the Polish countryside, I've mostly been traveling through the woods. The few glimpses I've gotten are anything from picturesque to decrepit.
***
The granny in the compartment with me is looking at me with curious amusement. Kind of like I come from another planet. I definately stick out here.
Przemysl:
Border crossing time soon. I didn't find one of those yellow busses, but that's okay. The bus I'll be taking says "Lviv", so it should get me to my final destination. This is a bit scary, however. No English anywhere. I've gotten used to at least young people speaking English, that doesn't seem to be the case in this part of Poland. It certainly won't be the case in Ukraine. I'm definately not in Kansas anymore!
Poland/Ukraine Border:
The customs official looks like he stepped right out of the Soviet Union, exchanged his red star and red hat band for green. I so want to take a picture of him, but I don't dare. He's already been eyeballing me. He doesn't seem to like my passport very much. I don't know if it's because it's an American passport or because I have blond hair in my passport photo. With everyone else, he gave their passports only brief glance befor collecting them. He took a long, hard look at me and my passport then asked me my birthday. I think my disticntly American English convinced him more than my answer.
He dissappeared with all the passports. It's pretty unnerving to be without my passport so far from home.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Illness Strikes
I've just gotten over a nasty bout of food poisoning. I think it was salmonella. I have never been so sick. Ironically I think I contracted the bug upon my return to Norway. The only other thing it could have been was the water in Poland. It's unlikely, and I was specifically told that water was safe.
I've been uploading and organizing photos like crazy. Check the sidebars for new links. Stories are soon to follow.
I've been uploading and organizing photos like crazy. Check the sidebars for new links. Stories are soon to follow.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Off on a New Adventure
Berlin, Warsaw, and Ukraine. A trip I've been wanting to take for a really long time. I'm packed, ready, and just about to start my journey.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Aushwitz: Part 2
Behind the gas chamber is the gallows where Rudolf Höss was hanged. He was the only person hanged in this gallows.
Höss was given the order by Himmler to devise a method of mass extermination of the European Jews. Höss turned Auschwitz into the most efficient extermination camp in the Reich.
Höss's house is directly behind me. I was unable to take a picture of it. They had fences up and were renovating it. He lived less than 100 feet away from the gas chambers with his wife and children. His wife described Auschwitz as the most beautiful place on earth and said she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
We weren't allowed to take pictures inside any of the buildings. The buildings all had information and exhibits on Auschwitz. It was inside these buildings that I finally started to understand how many people died there. Piles of shoes, personal effects, and hair was a testament to the number of lives lost. What was even more incredible was the personal effects were only from people executed in the final days of Auschwitz's operation that weren't destroyed by the Nazi's when they left.
At one point during the visits to the exhibits my brain just shut off my emotions. At some points I felt physically ill. I don't have the words to describe the crime that happened and how it felt to be in the place that crime occurred.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Auschwitz and Birkenau
The entrance to Auschwitz. Prisoners were made to march through these gates uner the words "Arbeit macht frei": "Work makes you free." As they marched in and out of the camp an orchestra played music to further humiliate the prisoners.
Auschwitz I was a concentration camp and was created before Auschwitz II-Birkenau, the death camp. The buildings in Aushwitz I are made of brick instead of wood. This is because Aushwitz I was orignally and old Polish Army barraks.
This was the first gas chamber and crematoria, which operated from 1941- 1942, was constructed by converting a bunker. The prisoners were made to strip naked out in front of the gas chamber before they entered. This gas chamber could gas approximately 700 people at one time and was quite small compared to the gas chambers the Nazis later constructed. After the contruction of extermination camps with much larger, more efficent gas chambers, this gas chamber was deconstructed and turned into an air raid shelter for the SS.
Friday, March 6, 2009
They Really Will Kill You
The icicles hanging off Oslo's buildings are massive.
Strangely enough, building owners generally don't knock them down. They simply lean sticks against the buildings to discourage people from walking under them.
Norwegian Countryside
I didn't manage to take a single picture in Stavanger, but I did take a few photos of the landscape while I was on the train to Stavanger. It was a stunning train ride, the second half of the journey through giagantic mountains with tiny villages nestled in their valleys was even more amazing. Unfortunately it was night time during that leg.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Price of Food
196 Kroner is about $33 at the current exchange rate. A medium pizza is a single serving pizza. This is a mid-range pizza place and on the lower end of restaurant prices.
Comments
I tweaked the comment settings again. Let me know if you are still having problems posting.
The Price of Alcohol
98 Kroner is about $16. These are regular sized drinks, they don't come in extra large glasses or with extra strong alcohol.
Norway has a huge problem with binge drinking. Actually, most people don't see it as a problem, "it's just the way it is." Daily drinking is considered a problem, but binge drinking is mostly thought of as a part of Norwegian culture. I don't think anyone thinks it's a good part of Norwegian culture, they just don't see it as inherently bad. It's quite bizarre to me that it's even acceptable to get black-out drunk at some corporate functions.
The main way the Norwegian government has tried to curb this behaviour is to raise the price of alcohol to exorbitant levels. The problem is that doesn't really work. Russia showed the world that doesn't work when they tried it for a time under Communism. It really only discourages people who aren't alcoholics from drinking. This is a country where literally everyone pays for the poor health choices of others since it has universal healthcare. One would think it would be in everyone's best interest to try something that works when it comes to the alcohol problem.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Lost In Translation
It's apparently a rather exclusive brand available in several European countries.
Stavanger: Epilogue
I spent nearly the entirety of that last Monday in my room. I was so tense and just ready to get out of the house. I decided to stay until they took me to the train station since the wife would be at work most of the day.
I spent the day writing a letter, I really needed some resolution in this situation. I didn't want it to sound angry, but I did have a few things to say. I recounted the previous 48 hours from my perspective, and said that while I couldn't apologise for what exactly I did I could apologise for the hurt and anger I caused. I never meant to cause any bad feelings. I also mentioned the good times I'd had working for their family.
My train left at 10 o'clock, but I told them it would be fine if they dropped me off sooner. They said they'd drop me off at 8:30, which turned into 8:00 which finally turned into 7:45. Fine, whatever. I really didn't want to be there any longer than I had to be anyway, and all I was doing was sitting in my room with a knot in my stomach.
The car ride was mostly silent, the wife made some small talk with me but that was it. After some awkward goodbyes, they left me at the train station. As the train pulled out of the station, the knot in my stomach finally started to subside. It was over.
On Tuesday, I received an email from the wife. She'd found my letter and decided I deserved an explanation after all. The email was long and rambling; I was accused of things like using up all the toilet paper "on purpose," still not doing enough work, not making enough of an effort to be part of the family, and secretly hating them. She felt I was pretending every time I was around them, and she "could see in my eyes" that I didn't want to be around them.
She didn't see that in my eyes, she saw that in my emails. She also mentioned that she overheard a conversation I'd had on Sunday about how they didn't like me because of my religion and wanted to assure me that wasn't true at all. The thing was, I never once said that because I don't feel that way. What she was referring to was a series of sarcastic instant messages my brother and I had exchanged.
Faking emotions is one thing I can't do. What I can do is separate people's actions from the people themselves. There were many good things about this family, and many things I enjoyed. I didn't just want to stay an extra week for a paycheck; I wanted to hear more of their stories, have more conversations, learn more about them and their culture. I chalked most of that Sunday up to irreconcilable cultural differences. The only thing I really judged them for was the racist comment, and that I considered to be a statement of ignorance and not a statement of hate.
Ultimately, the wife didn't want an au pair at all. She didn't want anyone living in the house and was looking for any excuse she could to justify getting rid of me. I think they also might have been looking for a surrogate daughter, and not just an English teacher. After my third day there they made numerous mentions of how I'm like a daughter and how we are a family. In my opinion, three days is a little to early for that unless that's what they were looking for from the beginning.
I spent the day writing a letter, I really needed some resolution in this situation. I didn't want it to sound angry, but I did have a few things to say. I recounted the previous 48 hours from my perspective, and said that while I couldn't apologise for what exactly I did I could apologise for the hurt and anger I caused. I never meant to cause any bad feelings. I also mentioned the good times I'd had working for their family.
My train left at 10 o'clock, but I told them it would be fine if they dropped me off sooner. They said they'd drop me off at 8:30, which turned into 8:00 which finally turned into 7:45. Fine, whatever. I really didn't want to be there any longer than I had to be anyway, and all I was doing was sitting in my room with a knot in my stomach.
The car ride was mostly silent, the wife made some small talk with me but that was it. After some awkward goodbyes, they left me at the train station. As the train pulled out of the station, the knot in my stomach finally started to subside. It was over.
On Tuesday, I received an email from the wife. She'd found my letter and decided I deserved an explanation after all. The email was long and rambling; I was accused of things like using up all the toilet paper "on purpose," still not doing enough work, not making enough of an effort to be part of the family, and secretly hating them. She felt I was pretending every time I was around them, and she "could see in my eyes" that I didn't want to be around them.
She didn't see that in my eyes, she saw that in my emails. She also mentioned that she overheard a conversation I'd had on Sunday about how they didn't like me because of my religion and wanted to assure me that wasn't true at all. The thing was, I never once said that because I don't feel that way. What she was referring to was a series of sarcastic instant messages my brother and I had exchanged.
Faking emotions is one thing I can't do. What I can do is separate people's actions from the people themselves. There were many good things about this family, and many things I enjoyed. I didn't just want to stay an extra week for a paycheck; I wanted to hear more of their stories, have more conversations, learn more about them and their culture. I chalked most of that Sunday up to irreconcilable cultural differences. The only thing I really judged them for was the racist comment, and that I considered to be a statement of ignorance and not a statement of hate.
Ultimately, the wife didn't want an au pair at all. She didn't want anyone living in the house and was looking for any excuse she could to justify getting rid of me. I think they also might have been looking for a surrogate daughter, and not just an English teacher. After my third day there they made numerous mentions of how I'm like a daughter and how we are a family. In my opinion, three days is a little to early for that unless that's what they were looking for from the beginning.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Stavanger: The Final Weekend
The week was uneventful. I did my best to be as accommodating as possible and enjoyed what little time I knew I had left. Either way, this wasn't going to last more than two weeks. I enjoyed hearing their life stories, I enjoyed the cooking and I enjoyed teaching English. The rest was just too much to overcome, I knew I'd be getting resentful all too quickly over the amount of work I was doing versus my pay and having my freedom greatly restricted.
Friday I was relieved when the wife said we needed to talk and told me that things just weren't working out. There were too many cultural differences. I was told I could stay an extra week and she would pay me and that there were no hard feelings. I told her how happy I was that she brought this up, that I was feeling the exact same way. I was very happy that things were going to end so well.
The next morning we all had breakfast, and afterwards they went to town for grocery shopping while I went to the library. We agreed I'd be home around two o'clock so we could make dinner. Everything seemed fine, I felt like I had a huge weight off my chest because now I didn't have to worry about ending this business relationship.
Then I came home.
It's like an arctic blast had come through the house. I went to work putting away the groceries and did my best to ignore the change in mood in the house. When I was putting away the groceries I notice that they only bought be one half-liter of milk and one bag of oatmeal. I asked for two because I eat two a week.
Hoping it was a mistake I ask the wife about this, to which she first replies "I thought you only asked for one." I'm now a little irritated, and remind her that we had to go by the store mid-week to get me more milk and oatmeal and that I had written "two" on the list.
Then she tells me, "Oh, well you're leaving soon anyway."
I knew that's what it was about. I don't know what happened in the hours I was gone, but I knew something had changed before I had even taken my shoes off. I still had to ask, "I thought you said you'd pay me to stay an extra week."
With a look that could kill and in a tone that said "no chance in hell" she said, "We'll talk about it."
I spent the rest of the day trying to be both invisible and available to help out. By evening time the mood in the house had thawed considerably, we had a good meal together and then a language lesson after. By the end of the language lesson we were all laughing so hard we had tears rolling down our faces. I went to bed that night thinking I must have completely misjudged the situation that day. The cold front that had moved through must not have been my fault.
Sunday I decided not to get up early for church service for two reasons. I wasn't 100% certain I'd satisfied my requirements for notification and I was also going to meet a couchsurfer after. Also, I'd have a long time between church and the meeting time. One church service in Norwegian wasn't going to kill me, and I thought it would be best to toe the line for however much time I had left.
I talked to the wife before I left, she was surprised I hadn't gone to church. I said that I'd overslept, but I'd be going to a later Norwegian service. We also talked about when I'd be home, I said I wasn't sure but I could call her when I knew. She said that wasn't necessary, she just needed to know if I'd be home for dinner. I said I wouldn't and offered again to text or call her. She said no, that was fine.
I came home around eight o'clock that night. As I was heating up the leftovers the wife had left out for me, the husband came in to the kitchen. He asked how my day was and we chatted for a bit. He then asked me if I had another job yet. Not wanting it to appear like I'd been job hunting since the exchange the previous Sunday, I told him I had some good prospective families instead of telling him that I'd already been hired by one.
I mentioned that I really did need that extra week of work we had talked about, but that the wife didn't seem to keen on the idea anymore. He said that I could stay another week only if it was absolutely necessary but they really needed me gone as soon as possible. I asked him what had changed since Friday, but he refused to tell me. He told me that I was destabilizing the family, and that the wife had collapsed on the floor in a fit of rage earlier that evening. I asked a second time, saying I really wanted to know and that it was important to me that I received an answer. He said it was something his wife would have to explain to me, but he didn't think it would be healthy for her to talk about it.
This is about the time the warning bells started going off in my head and I really started to feel unsafe. Friday we'd all been in agreement this wasn't working out and I'd be out of there soon, yet things were still escalating at an alarming pace. I had maybe exchanged two dozen words with the wife before I left and I was gone the entire day, appropriately prearranged. How I could have caused her to become apoplectic during my absence was beyond me.
I started suspecting on Saturday that they had been monitoring my email and instant messaging, and now I was nearly certain. It was just too strange that twice I'd been gone and during my absence something had enraged the wife so greatly. I had been venting via email to my friends and family about my living situation, of course I was. I was angry about the racism, being treated like a young teenager, working well over my 30 hours when I'd been promised I'd be working less.
I booked myself the earliest cheap train I could, which left Monday night. I knew I couldn't find a couchsurfer on such short notice to stay with, and I couldn't afford a hotel room which would have started at $200. I also knew that leaving in the middle of the night could possibly be the thing that tipped everything over the edge, and I risked losing all of my luggage if that happened. I reasoned that I probably wasn't in mortal danger, that the most I had to worry about was her coming into my room in the middle of the night and screaming at me. At any rate, I kept my cell phone with the police department's number near by and I stacked my suitcases against my bedroom door. I didn't go to sleep until after they went to sleep and I made sure I woke up before they did.
Friday I was relieved when the wife said we needed to talk and told me that things just weren't working out. There were too many cultural differences. I was told I could stay an extra week and she would pay me and that there were no hard feelings. I told her how happy I was that she brought this up, that I was feeling the exact same way. I was very happy that things were going to end so well.
The next morning we all had breakfast, and afterwards they went to town for grocery shopping while I went to the library. We agreed I'd be home around two o'clock so we could make dinner. Everything seemed fine, I felt like I had a huge weight off my chest because now I didn't have to worry about ending this business relationship.
Then I came home.
It's like an arctic blast had come through the house. I went to work putting away the groceries and did my best to ignore the change in mood in the house. When I was putting away the groceries I notice that they only bought be one half-liter of milk and one bag of oatmeal. I asked for two because I eat two a week.
Hoping it was a mistake I ask the wife about this, to which she first replies "I thought you only asked for one." I'm now a little irritated, and remind her that we had to go by the store mid-week to get me more milk and oatmeal and that I had written "two" on the list.
Then she tells me, "Oh, well you're leaving soon anyway."
I knew that's what it was about. I don't know what happened in the hours I was gone, but I knew something had changed before I had even taken my shoes off. I still had to ask, "I thought you said you'd pay me to stay an extra week."
With a look that could kill and in a tone that said "no chance in hell" she said, "We'll talk about it."
I spent the rest of the day trying to be both invisible and available to help out. By evening time the mood in the house had thawed considerably, we had a good meal together and then a language lesson after. By the end of the language lesson we were all laughing so hard we had tears rolling down our faces. I went to bed that night thinking I must have completely misjudged the situation that day. The cold front that had moved through must not have been my fault.
Sunday I decided not to get up early for church service for two reasons. I wasn't 100% certain I'd satisfied my requirements for notification and I was also going to meet a couchsurfer after. Also, I'd have a long time between church and the meeting time. One church service in Norwegian wasn't going to kill me, and I thought it would be best to toe the line for however much time I had left.
I talked to the wife before I left, she was surprised I hadn't gone to church. I said that I'd overslept, but I'd be going to a later Norwegian service. We also talked about when I'd be home, I said I wasn't sure but I could call her when I knew. She said that wasn't necessary, she just needed to know if I'd be home for dinner. I said I wouldn't and offered again to text or call her. She said no, that was fine.
I came home around eight o'clock that night. As I was heating up the leftovers the wife had left out for me, the husband came in to the kitchen. He asked how my day was and we chatted for a bit. He then asked me if I had another job yet. Not wanting it to appear like I'd been job hunting since the exchange the previous Sunday, I told him I had some good prospective families instead of telling him that I'd already been hired by one.
I mentioned that I really did need that extra week of work we had talked about, but that the wife didn't seem to keen on the idea anymore. He said that I could stay another week only if it was absolutely necessary but they really needed me gone as soon as possible. I asked him what had changed since Friday, but he refused to tell me. He told me that I was destabilizing the family, and that the wife had collapsed on the floor in a fit of rage earlier that evening. I asked a second time, saying I really wanted to know and that it was important to me that I received an answer. He said it was something his wife would have to explain to me, but he didn't think it would be healthy for her to talk about it.
This is about the time the warning bells started going off in my head and I really started to feel unsafe. Friday we'd all been in agreement this wasn't working out and I'd be out of there soon, yet things were still escalating at an alarming pace. I had maybe exchanged two dozen words with the wife before I left and I was gone the entire day, appropriately prearranged. How I could have caused her to become apoplectic during my absence was beyond me.
I started suspecting on Saturday that they had been monitoring my email and instant messaging, and now I was nearly certain. It was just too strange that twice I'd been gone and during my absence something had enraged the wife so greatly. I had been venting via email to my friends and family about my living situation, of course I was. I was angry about the racism, being treated like a young teenager, working well over my 30 hours when I'd been promised I'd be working less.
I booked myself the earliest cheap train I could, which left Monday night. I knew I couldn't find a couchsurfer on such short notice to stay with, and I couldn't afford a hotel room which would have started at $200. I also knew that leaving in the middle of the night could possibly be the thing that tipped everything over the edge, and I risked losing all of my luggage if that happened. I reasoned that I probably wasn't in mortal danger, that the most I had to worry about was her coming into my room in the middle of the night and screaming at me. At any rate, I kept my cell phone with the police department's number near by and I stacked my suitcases against my bedroom door. I didn't go to sleep until after they went to sleep and I made sure I woke up before they did.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The First Sunday: Things Start to Go Wrong
I was happy to learn that there was an English- language service at a Catholic Church in Stavanger. I told the wife the night before that I'd be going to church and I left a note reminding them because I was leaving so early. Unfortunately, the bus never came so I never got a chance to attend church. From the moment the family woke up I noticed something was off. Things just weren't okay in the house. I did my best to stay out of everyone's way while at the same time not completely holing up in my room.
Finally, around 3:00pm, I took my bank details down to the husband so I could be paid. He utters those magic words one never wants to hear, especially after such a tense day: "We need to talk."
He doesn't want me to turn in my visa paperwork to the police just yet. He starts off by telling me that I'm not doing enough around the house. I took this news rather hard. I take my job quite seriously, there's nothing worse for me than being told I've been screwing up for a long period of time. I'd been asking for a chore list, and in no way had house keeping been part of the arrangement. I had voluntarily taken a 500 kr (about $100) illegal pay cut because all I was supposed to be doing was teaching the parents English. I picked up after myself, I didn't leave a mess, and I was still adjusting to this new family life.
Then comes the real shocker, they were upset that I had gone to church that morning. Telling them the night before that I was going to church and leaving a note telling them where I was going and when to expect me home wasn't enough. I received a long lecture about how dangerous that was, specifically, that I could "be raped by a Polish man." They also wanted 2-3 days notice before I left the house. I did my best to smile and nod. I know my temper all too well, and once the missiles leave the silos they cannot be recalled.
Finally, around 3:00pm, I took my bank details down to the husband so I could be paid. He utters those magic words one never wants to hear, especially after such a tense day: "We need to talk."
He doesn't want me to turn in my visa paperwork to the police just yet. He starts off by telling me that I'm not doing enough around the house. I took this news rather hard. I take my job quite seriously, there's nothing worse for me than being told I've been screwing up for a long period of time. I'd been asking for a chore list, and in no way had house keeping been part of the arrangement. I had voluntarily taken a 500 kr (about $100) illegal pay cut because all I was supposed to be doing was teaching the parents English. I picked up after myself, I didn't leave a mess, and I was still adjusting to this new family life.
Then comes the real shocker, they were upset that I had gone to church that morning. Telling them the night before that I was going to church and leaving a note telling them where I was going and when to expect me home wasn't enough. I received a long lecture about how dangerous that was, specifically, that I could "be raped by a Polish man." They also wanted 2-3 days notice before I left the house. I did my best to smile and nod. I know my temper all too well, and once the missiles leave the silos they cannot be recalled.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Stavanger: In the Beginning
The train ride to Stavanger was beautiful, the beauty of this country really is amazing. Huge mountains, valleys with little villages nestled inside and the fjords. After over eight hours of travel I stepped off the train into weather several degrees warmer than I was used to. The family met me at the train station, and after a quick night- time tour of the city we were on our way to my new home.
The family was very friendly, and we talked the entire way to their house. My room was really small, but I figured I could make do. I was tired from my journey, but I stayed awake and talked to them for several hours. They really had lived an amazing life and I was eager to hear all about it.
They came to Norway with $20 in their pockets and worked their way up from the bottom. They both had university degrees, but found themselves with no other option but to take jobs washing dishes. While they were away at university, their home town was invaded by Armenians. There had been trouble for years, the wife had been home on vacation when the house she was staying at was bombed. Once the occupation happened, they had become refugees in their own country. They could no longer return home. They showed me their former homes on Google earth, there was nothing left but the foundations.
Their lives and struggles were things I couldn't even imagine. It was an absolute pleasure to speak to them every evening.
The family was very friendly, and we talked the entire way to their house. My room was really small, but I figured I could make do. I was tired from my journey, but I stayed awake and talked to them for several hours. They really had lived an amazing life and I was eager to hear all about it.
They came to Norway with $20 in their pockets and worked their way up from the bottom. They both had university degrees, but found themselves with no other option but to take jobs washing dishes. While they were away at university, their home town was invaded by Armenians. There had been trouble for years, the wife had been home on vacation when the house she was staying at was bombed. Once the occupation happened, they had become refugees in their own country. They could no longer return home. They showed me their former homes on Google earth, there was nothing left but the foundations.
Their lives and struggles were things I couldn't even imagine. It was an absolute pleasure to speak to them every evening.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
My Crazy Adventure
I took a job two weeks ago with an Azari family in Stavanger. Stavanger is a beautiful city on the West side of Norway. Azarbajin is a former Soviet country on the Caspian Sea to the east of Turkey and the north of Iran. My job was to help these folks improve their English. Nice and simple, right? I even agreed to a salary that was less than the Norwegian minimum wage by 500 Kroner (approx. $100) because "I wouldn't be working all that much." We even had a month- long trial period to see if this arrangement would work. It sounded fantastic. I was going to be paid to talk to these people in English. Former Soviet nations really fascinate me, so basically I was going to be paid to talk to someone about my favorite subject.
This should have been a match made in heaven. Instead, everything imploded. It imploded so completely that I spent my final night in the house with my bedroom door barricaded by my suitcases. Granted, that might have been a bit of overkill, but things had spiraled so far out of control that I wasn't taking any chances.
This should have been a match made in heaven. Instead, everything imploded. It imploded so completely that I spent my final night in the house with my bedroom door barricaded by my suitcases. Granted, that might have been a bit of overkill, but things had spiraled so far out of control that I wasn't taking any chances.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Perogie
Despite my best efforts, I was unable to find duck's blood soup in Poland. So my new food in Poland was fairly tame.
Perogie are similar to Ravioli, but stuffed a bit more full and pan fried. They have a variety of fillings, my personal favorite was the Russian style with cottage cheese and potatoes inside. I also had perogi filled with bacon and potato, and mushroom and cabbage. There's also a sweet variety of perogi in Poland that have fruit fillings, but I never located any to try.
The other interesting thing I tried in Poland was warm, spiced wine. It was a wonderful treat on those bitterly cold days. It's sweeter than coffee but not as sweet as hot chocolate. The wine has been boiled, so there's nearly no alcohol in it. The tastes that are left are just the tartness of the grapes, the other fruits and the spices.
Perogie are similar to Ravioli, but stuffed a bit more full and pan fried. They have a variety of fillings, my personal favorite was the Russian style with cottage cheese and potatoes inside. I also had perogi filled with bacon and potato, and mushroom and cabbage. There's also a sweet variety of perogi in Poland that have fruit fillings, but I never located any to try.
The other interesting thing I tried in Poland was warm, spiced wine. It was a wonderful treat on those bitterly cold days. It's sweeter than coffee but not as sweet as hot chocolate. The wine has been boiled, so there's nearly no alcohol in it. The tastes that are left are just the tartness of the grapes, the other fruits and the spices.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Krakow in Photos
I've thought about it, and I really don't have a narrative for Krakow. I have random stories and adventures, but nothing I can set into a sequential series of events. That's kind of how Krakow felt to me, however, so maybe that's the best way to write about it. Krakow is a very mellow and livable city. In some ways it's not unlike Western Europe, but it also has that unique flavor that's only found in Central and Eastern Europe.
Things are just a little off-center, just a little different. That's where Krakow's charm really lies. You walk through the streets and at first it feels like Anycity, Europe. There's good shopping, well- dressed people from every corner of the globe, and a mix of new and ancient buildings. And just as I get settled into the notion that this is a city like any other, I see something that makes me pause and smile.
*There's more pics from my first two days on the sidebar. There's also info in the captions of the photos in my album.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Processing Auschwitz
I've been struggling with how to describe my journey to Auschwitz. It's a hard one to tackle, there is of course the simple narrative, but there's also so many feelings I had before, during and after. It's a struggle for me to comprehend all I've seen and come to terms with what I did comprehend. I've also become fascinated with other people's experiences with Auschwitz. It seems like everyone takes something different away with them from the site, but there's also the universal "Oh my God" when the Holocaust stops being just something we read about.
The thing I most connected with were the stories of the people who did good and heroic things in spite of all the horror, for example, Oscar Schindler. This was a man who should have never cared; he was a Nazi, a war profiteer, a run-of-the-mill greedy bastard who only cared about himself. He should have been the last person on earth to look around and go "Hey, this isn't right. I need to help these people." That he went broke saving the lives of Jews astonishes me. A mind boggling number of people turned a blind eye to what was happening, yet the most unlikely of folks risked their lives, safety, family and friends to save fellow humans.
I think in some ways I know I can never comprehend the why's of the evil that happened. That this mass extermination of human beings happened at all is something I will never fully wrap my head around. No matter how many ways it's explained to me I always come back to the same question, "Yes, but why?" This wasn't just a few crazy people doing a few crazy things, this was insanity on an unimaginable scale. Well- organized insanity at that.
I'll be slowly working through my Auschwitz experience over the next few weeks. I hope I ultimately find a coherent way to tell the story.
A Happy Birthday
Today we officially celebrated my birthday. Yesterday I was home alone with the kids, and it was a very busy day. I only had time to sneak away with Magnus for a slice of cake and some play time at an indoor park. It was a fun interlude in an otherwise busy and stressful day.
Today Linda was home, so I actually had a proper birthday. She baked me a cake, and I realized it's the first time anyone has ever baked a cake for me. They sang happy birthday to me and gave me presents. All the kids helped with something, even Mathias who's been sick. This was really a fun birthday, I couldn't have asked for a nicer one.
Today Linda was home, so I actually had a proper birthday. She baked me a cake, and I realized it's the first time anyone has ever baked a cake for me. They sang happy birthday to me and gave me presents. All the kids helped with something, even Mathias who's been sick. This was really a fun birthday, I couldn't have asked for a nicer one.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
"You Call Me Sweetie Peetie Right Now!"
Magnus doesn't quite understand the concept of nicknames. He noticed one day that I call him Sweetie Peetie and tells me, "I'm not Sweetie Peetie, I'm Magnus." I tried to explain what nicknames were, but eventually just convinced him that "sweetie peetie" meant "big boy."
Tonight as I was walking along next to him while he was riding his bike, I made the terrible mistake of calling him "baby." He slammed on his brakes and looked up at me with a scowl on his face.
"I am not a baby, I am a sweetie peetie. You call me sweetie peetie right now!"
"Yes, you are a sweetie peetie," I told him in a very serious voice. "You are not a baby."
With that settled he happily went on his way.
Tonight as I was walking along next to him while he was riding his bike, I made the terrible mistake of calling him "baby." He slammed on his brakes and looked up at me with a scowl on his face.
"I am not a baby, I am a sweetie peetie. You call me sweetie peetie right now!"
"Yes, you are a sweetie peetie," I told him in a very serious voice. "You are not a baby."
With that settled he happily went on his way.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
My Week
So far this week I've been tear-gassed, layed-off and urinated on in anger. It's only Wednesday.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Best Apartment Ever
At the risk of being borderline creepy and stalkery, I snuck around my CS host's apartment and took pictures of it. On my final day, I shamefully confessed my secret photography project to her. This is literally the most beautiful apartment I've ever been in. It looks like it came right off HGTV. My photos unfortunately don't do it justice, small areas are hard to photograph and the subtle coloring of the wood doesn't really come through.
That's the living room where I slept. My bed is just visible in the right-hand corner of the picture.
The bathroom was even beautiful.
I love this kitchen. The refrigerator and freezer are hidden inside those two long cabinets next to the sink. The drying rack is in the cabinet above the sink.
More pics are available in the photo album Best Apartment Ever on the sidebar.
That's the living room where I slept. My bed is just visible in the right-hand corner of the picture.
The bathroom was even beautiful.
I love this kitchen. The refrigerator and freezer are hidden inside those two long cabinets next to the sink. The drying rack is in the cabinet above the sink.
More pics are available in the photo album Best Apartment Ever on the sidebar.
Germans Ingenuity at its Finest
As Vince says, "You know the Germans always make good stuff." With that in mind, let me introduce you to the German Poop- Shelf Toilet.
I first ran across this invention in Budapest. It seems that Germans and some Soviets felt the need to inspect their feces before flushing it. My Internet research not only uncovered the technique you need to successfully flush your poop after you've inspected it, but also numerous people who vehemently defend the invention.
In case you ever find yourself in a situation that requires using the GPST, let me explain the maneuver know as the Magic Carpet. You lay several layers of toilet paper on the shelf, then do your business on the toilet paper. When you flush, the water will flow under the paper and move it off the shelf and into the water below. These toilets are notorious for their low water pressure, so no amount of flushing will remove the poop from the shelf unless you successfully pull a magic carpet.
The toilet paper left in the toilet is a testament to the lack of water-pressure. Before you get all grossed out, let me assure you that it was only paper I blew my nose with. Three flushes later it was still hanging out and silently mocking me.
For more information on this wonderful invention, visit: http://www.banterist.com. The article made me laugh until I had tears running down my face.
I first ran across this invention in Budapest. It seems that Germans and some Soviets felt the need to inspect their feces before flushing it. My Internet research not only uncovered the technique you need to successfully flush your poop after you've inspected it, but also numerous people who vehemently defend the invention.
In case you ever find yourself in a situation that requires using the GPST, let me explain the maneuver know as the Magic Carpet. You lay several layers of toilet paper on the shelf, then do your business on the toilet paper. When you flush, the water will flow under the paper and move it off the shelf and into the water below. These toilets are notorious for their low water pressure, so no amount of flushing will remove the poop from the shelf unless you successfully pull a magic carpet.
The toilet paper left in the toilet is a testament to the lack of water-pressure. Before you get all grossed out, let me assure you that it was only paper I blew my nose with. Three flushes later it was still hanging out and silently mocking me.
For more information on this wonderful invention, visit: http://www.banterist.com. The article made me laugh until I had tears running down my face.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Phew!
Budapest stories are done. Links to the albums Budapest: Day 3, and Budapest Day 4 & 5 are new.
I also fixed the photo problems. All the pictures are now formatted so the whole photo is visible.
Email me if you notice any other problems/issues with the blog.
I tweaked the Comments again. It should be possible for anyone to comment, and I took off the word verification. The comments are still set to be moderated, which means I have to approve comments before they are visible. Let me know if this works or doesn't.
I've also found a cool little tool that will automatically email people when I update my blog. I will make use of this tool when I'm done writing about Krakow.
Now, it's time for me to start on my Krakow adventures.
I also fixed the photo problems. All the pictures are now formatted so the whole photo is visible.
Email me if you notice any other problems/issues with the blog.
I tweaked the Comments again. It should be possible for anyone to comment, and I took off the word verification. The comments are still set to be moderated, which means I have to approve comments before they are visible. Let me know if this works or doesn't.
I've also found a cool little tool that will automatically email people when I update my blog. I will make use of this tool when I'm done writing about Krakow.
Now, it's time for me to start on my Krakow adventures.
Budapest: Farewell
It was time for me to leave the boisterous, mildly disorganized, emotion-filled and colorful world of Budapest and return to the neat and orderly calmness of Norway. I really didn't want to leave, this place had gotten to me. This is a city that has seen the ravages of war, has been terrorized by secret-police, and the people here are so poor. You can walk down certain streets here and still see the bullet-holes from the 1956 Revolution or the gun turrets built on the roof-tops. But despite all this tragedy, the people of this city have a spirit about them. They are warm, extraordinarily generous, and take magnificent care of their amazing city. A city that feels like it shouldn't exist in real life. This is a city that lives in the pages of a novel or on a movie screen.
As an amusing epilogue to my journey, the train that took me back to the airport was the exact opposite of the train I rode into the city. This train was uncrowded and ultra-modern. This train was in better shape than any Amtrack or Norwegian train I've ridden on, and its only riders were well-dressed business men. Go figure.
As an amusing epilogue to my journey, the train that took me back to the airport was the exact opposite of the train I rode into the city. This train was uncrowded and ultra-modern. This train was in better shape than any Amtrack or Norwegian train I've ridden on, and its only riders were well-dressed business men. Go figure.
Budapest Day 4: House of Terror
The House of Terror at 60 Andrassy Utca is a museum that is located in the building that was home to the Hungarian Nazis then to the communist secret police. It was here that I first realized how horrible the crimes of communism were.
Comparatively, the Nazi crimes in that building were minimal compared to the communist's crimes. A prisoner of the Nazi's interred in Andrazzy Utca, for example, didn't have to worry about having his air supply shut off because the guard on duty was bored and in a sadistic mood. The reconstructed Nazi detention cells were lavish compared to the communist's sub-terrainian dungeons. Also, during the Soviet's time in the building, one never knew when he'd go from being an employee to prisoner. Even the highest ranking officials weren't immune to one day being led down to the dark cells they helped construct, tortured by methods they had approved, and finally hanged in the Soviet's own unique way. It was really shocking to see that the crimes of the communists were comparable to the crimes of the Nazis in this country. While the Nazi's were nothing if not pure evil, the communists brought their brand of terror to this country.
After the museum, I noticed my feeling was slowly returning to my mouth so I stopped into McDonald's for a quick meal, then I returned to Kata's.
First she took me to Tesco. I literally wanted to drop to my knees and rejoice at the selection! Tesco is basically the European version of Wal-Mart. One stop shopping! I can buy clothes, toothbrushes, and food all in one store! Toothbrushes for $1! Real anti-perspirent! Socks! Kat watched my revelry with quiet amusement. I laughed at the irony that a post-communist country had more selection than the happy and free land of Norwegians.
After this pilgrimage, we went back to her flat for another night of long conversations and plenty of tea.
Comparatively, the Nazi crimes in that building were minimal compared to the communist's crimes. A prisoner of the Nazi's interred in Andrazzy Utca, for example, didn't have to worry about having his air supply shut off because the guard on duty was bored and in a sadistic mood. The reconstructed Nazi detention cells were lavish compared to the communist's sub-terrainian dungeons. Also, during the Soviet's time in the building, one never knew when he'd go from being an employee to prisoner. Even the highest ranking officials weren't immune to one day being led down to the dark cells they helped construct, tortured by methods they had approved, and finally hanged in the Soviet's own unique way. It was really shocking to see that the crimes of the communists were comparable to the crimes of the Nazis in this country. While the Nazi's were nothing if not pure evil, the communists brought their brand of terror to this country.
After the museum, I noticed my feeling was slowly returning to my mouth so I stopped into McDonald's for a quick meal, then I returned to Kata's.
First she took me to Tesco. I literally wanted to drop to my knees and rejoice at the selection! Tesco is basically the European version of Wal-Mart. One stop shopping! I can buy clothes, toothbrushes, and food all in one store! Toothbrushes for $1! Real anti-perspirent! Socks! Kat watched my revelry with quiet amusement. I laughed at the irony that a post-communist country had more selection than the happy and free land of Norwegians.
After this pilgrimage, we went back to her flat for another night of long conversations and plenty of tea.
Budapest Day 4: Extractions
I barely arrived on time for my extractions. I was planning on a hearty breakfast, but realized I didn't have time. I figured I'd have time after my cleaning. I was scheduled to come back that evening for my extractions. After being escorted back to the dental chair I find out that plans have changed; this appointment is going to be both the cleaning and the extractions. I'm not all that distressed by the news, a few hours difference hardly mattered.
I try my best to relax as she injects me with Novocaine. She keeps telling me to relax as she's injecting lava into my jaw. If I hadn't had a large needle in my mouth I would have explained that I wasn't tense so much as I was in pain. After she was finished I tried futilely to explain that I'm not especially nervous, this is just how I look.
The cleaning was quite routine, now it was extraction time. She tried a few times to get me to close my eyes, I explained that I'm less nervous when I can see what's coming. She relented, and came at me with a chisel. She then started working on my lower tooth with a wide range of pliers. Over and over she kept telling me to relax, and I'm wondering what exactly I'm supposed to do. My mouth is open, I'm not squirming or crying. I tried to loosen the death grip on the chair and focus on my breathing leaving only my toes to curl in my boots. My lower tooth really didn't want to come out of my mouth, she had to call in her assistant to hold my head while she wrenched on my stubborn lower tooth using the headrest of my chair for leverage. All the while she keeps telling me to relax, like it's something I'm intentionally not doing.
After what felt like 20 minutes, I finally hear the crack and ripping of my tooth coming out. I commented that my tooth really didn't want to come out.
"It was because you were nervous," the dentist replied. "If you weren't so tense this wouldn't have taken so long."
I stifled a giggle as I imagined my nervous gums holding on extra tightly to the tooth. I wasn't being difficult, I'm certain of that. She only had to stop once to give me more Novocaine when I said I could feel pain. Then again, she had also told me earlier that I was shouting because I was listening to my iPod while I was talking to her. I tried to explain that no, it was off. That I was listening to a talk show and it would literally be impossible for me to form sentences when I had someone else talking in my ears. I never altered the volume of my voice, but from then on I removed my headphones before speaking. She never again complained that I was "shouting." It just goes to show that perception really is reality.
The second tooth came out easier than the first, but it was by far not a quick extraction. This time I knew I was finally relaxed, I was no longer gripping the chair arms or curling my toes. I knew I had enough Novocaine in me that she could break my jaw and I wouldn't feel it. During one of the plier exchanges I asked if there was anything I could do to help or if I needed to relax more.
"No, you're doing fine," she replied. "Sometimes wisdom teeth are just hard to remove."
facepalm.jpg
After more wrenching my upper tooth finally ripped free. As I was biting down on the gauze she was telling me what I could and could not do for the next night. No food or drink until I completely have the feeling back in my mouth. I ask how long that will take and she tells me it will take six hours minimum. I think about my lack of breakfast and what an error that choice turned out to be. I was also told I couldn't have dairy products, so there goes my ice cream.
So what is there to do in Budapest when you can't eat or drink and one side of your face is swollen and paralyzed? Go to the House of Terror of course.
I try my best to relax as she injects me with Novocaine. She keeps telling me to relax as she's injecting lava into my jaw. If I hadn't had a large needle in my mouth I would have explained that I wasn't tense so much as I was in pain. After she was finished I tried futilely to explain that I'm not especially nervous, this is just how I look.
The cleaning was quite routine, now it was extraction time. She tried a few times to get me to close my eyes, I explained that I'm less nervous when I can see what's coming. She relented, and came at me with a chisel. She then started working on my lower tooth with a wide range of pliers. Over and over she kept telling me to relax, and I'm wondering what exactly I'm supposed to do. My mouth is open, I'm not squirming or crying. I tried to loosen the death grip on the chair and focus on my breathing leaving only my toes to curl in my boots. My lower tooth really didn't want to come out of my mouth, she had to call in her assistant to hold my head while she wrenched on my stubborn lower tooth using the headrest of my chair for leverage. All the while she keeps telling me to relax, like it's something I'm intentionally not doing.
After what felt like 20 minutes, I finally hear the crack and ripping of my tooth coming out. I commented that my tooth really didn't want to come out.
"It was because you were nervous," the dentist replied. "If you weren't so tense this wouldn't have taken so long."
I stifled a giggle as I imagined my nervous gums holding on extra tightly to the tooth. I wasn't being difficult, I'm certain of that. She only had to stop once to give me more Novocaine when I said I could feel pain. Then again, she had also told me earlier that I was shouting because I was listening to my iPod while I was talking to her. I tried to explain that no, it was off. That I was listening to a talk show and it would literally be impossible for me to form sentences when I had someone else talking in my ears. I never altered the volume of my voice, but from then on I removed my headphones before speaking. She never again complained that I was "shouting." It just goes to show that perception really is reality.
The second tooth came out easier than the first, but it was by far not a quick extraction. This time I knew I was finally relaxed, I was no longer gripping the chair arms or curling my toes. I knew I had enough Novocaine in me that she could break my jaw and I wouldn't feel it. During one of the plier exchanges I asked if there was anything I could do to help or if I needed to relax more.
"No, you're doing fine," she replied. "Sometimes wisdom teeth are just hard to remove."
facepalm.jpg
After more wrenching my upper tooth finally ripped free. As I was biting down on the gauze she was telling me what I could and could not do for the next night. No food or drink until I completely have the feeling back in my mouth. I ask how long that will take and she tells me it will take six hours minimum. I think about my lack of breakfast and what an error that choice turned out to be. I was also told I couldn't have dairy products, so there goes my ice cream.
So what is there to do in Budapest when you can't eat or drink and one side of your face is swollen and paralyzed? Go to the House of Terror of course.
Budapest Day 3: Kerepesi Cemetary
This cemetery is indescribable. It's virtually a city with grave stones and tombs in all shapes and sizes. I was there for two hours and only saw a fraction of it.
Day three ended back in Kata's apartment where we drank tea late into the night.
*I've now added a link to my Day 3 photos in the sidebar. There's many more pics of the city and the cemetary in the album.
Day three ended back in Kata's apartment where we drank tea late into the night.
*I've now added a link to my Day 3 photos in the sidebar. There's many more pics of the city and the cemetary in the album.
Budapest Day 3: Hungarian Dentistry
Day three was the day of my x-rays and dental consult. I arrived early to the x-ray office, so I found a wonderful little coffee shop to drink my first Turkish coffee in.
My x-rays were an interesting experience. Not one person spoke English. Despite the language barrier, the entire process went incredibly smoothly and I was on my way to the dentist. I was a little nervous about my consult. It's hard not to be nervous about wisdom teeth extraction, and after my interesting encounters with Norwegian health care I was a little skittish about any medical/dental treatments in other countries.
My dentist was a very wonderful woman who put all my fears of inadequate care at ease. I made my appointment for the extractions without hesitation. By the next evening, I'd be a couple of teeth lighter.
Now that my business was concluded, I had the rest of the day to continue my explorations of the city. I decided to head toward the University Church and continue my tour of Hungarian churches.
About halfway up the escalator from the subway, I finally got my bearings in the city. My spidey senses were once again working properly, and I could now feel what was safe and what was dangerous. The essence of Budapest had finally penetrated my skin and I was now in tune with the city.
My x-rays were an interesting experience. Not one person spoke English. Despite the language barrier, the entire process went incredibly smoothly and I was on my way to the dentist. I was a little nervous about my consult. It's hard not to be nervous about wisdom teeth extraction, and after my interesting encounters with Norwegian health care I was a little skittish about any medical/dental treatments in other countries.
My dentist was a very wonderful woman who put all my fears of inadequate care at ease. I made my appointment for the extractions without hesitation. By the next evening, I'd be a couple of teeth lighter.
Now that my business was concluded, I had the rest of the day to continue my explorations of the city. I decided to head toward the University Church and continue my tour of Hungarian churches.
About halfway up the escalator from the subway, I finally got my bearings in the city. My spidey senses were once again working properly, and I could now feel what was safe and what was dangerous. The essence of Budapest had finally penetrated my skin and I was now in tune with the city.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
