Auschwitz

Original posted on London to New York blog, March 26, 2010

Oswiecim, Poland

THE first question that met me after wandering out of Auschwitz was simple. “How was that?”

At least it was a simple question compared with those which had been raging in my mind for the previous couple of hours, wandering around the site of the former concentration camp.

Answering was not simple. It involved opening and closing my mouth a few times, shaking my head and uttering a non-committal, “Dunno, really.” Not insightful, but it has taken a while to form coherent thoughts on what we had just senn.

Having had a few hours to digest it all, three things stick in my mind.

The first was the chill which ran through my body in the short trip through the rebuilt crematorium, almost at the end of the museum.

Auschwitz Gates
Work Sets Us Free – The infamous entry gates to Auschwitz

A simple sign as you walk out of the somehow inappropriate sunshine into the cold, semi-darkness reminds you this was a place where many thousands of people walked to their deaths and asks for silence as you walk through.

That adds to the sense of the ghosts filling the air and the feeling of almost crushing confusion and desperation at what went on there.

There’s little to see – a simple memorial on one side, the fires used to carry out the final acts of such a cruel story on the other – and it takes just a few seconds to walk through.

You want to run out as quickly as you can, but that is fighting against the power seeping out of your legs as the sheer weight of what you have witnessed presses down on you.

It was certainly a relief to come out blinking into the sunlight and leave the darkness behind. Shedding what lies within the darkness from my mind will take a fair while longer.

The second point which hammered home came in the third of the camp huts which house a variety of exhibitions about what the camp was used for, how it was run and the people subjected to such horrors.

The first two catalogued why such a camp was set up, how the people were shipped in to work as slave labour until starvation, beatings or the sheer surfeit of cruelty ended their days.

Horrible as they are, they didn’t really get to me. This was little not seen before in films, documentaries or books. And the sheer numbers of people who were fodder for the Nazi machine in these camps is hard to take in.

But then you enter the third hut and the central hallway is lined down its entire length, several rows deep, by pictures of those who died here.

Birkenau
Endless horrors – the chimneys at Birkenau stretch into the distance

Face after face after face, many with a date of birth, each with their camp number and each with the day they entered the camp.

And the day they died.

Many lasted just a few weeks, a few reached four or five months. It takes a lot of searching to find anyone who lasted any longer.

The faces all show utter bewilderment. They did not know what went on in these places. None could have guessed the horrors that really lay ahead when herded onto trains.

After the incomprehensible scale of the numbers involved and the pile after pile of discarded suitcases, shoes and even hair from the previous rooms, these faces brought the whole thing back to a human level.

Each face, scared and confused as you try to wonder just what they went through, hits home. Hard.

Those endless pictures – broken every so often by a flower or ribbon left by later generations – make for uncomfortable viewing, but this was never going to be easy, was it?

In comparison, the third lasting emotion was anger – not at the people who carried out these atrocities. You do not need to visit Auschwitz to have that feeling.

No, this was anger at myself.

Every German and Polish school pupil has to visit a concentration camp every year, so the place is crawling with teenage tour parties.

Large numbers of them look extremely bored, block the way for anyone else and a few even laugh and joke at the most inappropriate time.

And, as happens walking around anywhere with lots of people, their attitude began to make me fume.

But how can you get angry at such behaviour here of all places? How did their behaviour really matter compared with what happened in the prison block, the gas chambers or at the execution wall?

How can you be intolerant of other people surrounded by this? Wasn’t that what caused all this – intolerance and a refusal to understand other people?

It was certainly a sobering morning. Not pleasant, not comfortable and not something to repeat in the near future.

But I’m certainly glad I went. From the moment the itinerary first arrived with Auschwitz on the list, it was down as a must-do trip.

Among all the beautiful sights which have come our way in the previous five days – and those to come as we plough on to New York – the images of Auschwitz, and sister camp Birkenau (with the endless rows of chimneys which are all that remain from the huts which housed the prisoners), will stay with me.

Not through photos – it just didn’t seem right to take more than the couple which appear with this entry – but by them being burned onto my mind.

And of that, I’m glad.

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All I Want For Christmas Is A Dukla Prague Away Kit

Prague - View from castle
View over Prague from St Vitus Cathedral

Original posted on London to New York blog, March 25, 2010

Prague, Czech Republic

A VARIETY of things are already becoming second nature as we settle into life on the road.

The constant packing – or, to be more accurate, shoving stuff in – my bag to get it down to the bus on time, making sure you are not last through the door of your hostel room in the race for the best beds, the post breakfast snooze as we bed down for a day on the bus and the frequent changes of currency.

Rolling out of the Czech Republic and into Poland, we headed out of the land of the Krone and into the world of the Zloty.

Border crossings have been signalled not by passport control – yet to be asked for by anyone official as we cruise across the EU – but by the service station stop and a new problem.

As we rush to use the facilities, we discover they want a cash contribution which catches out those feeling smug at changing our Krone into Zloty late last night.

Prague - St Vitus Cathedral
Prague – St Vitus Cathedral

They want coins, we only have notes which sparks a frantic – thankfully, given our needs, not that frantic as they let us pay on the way out in Poland – hunt for coins of various currencies for something they will accept.

After his diplomatic victory over the Germans last time, Mike appears to be saving his finest moments for border crossings.

His plan after this latest one is the instigation of a Piss Pot on the bus to collect a variety of coins to ease the weary traveller’s path in their hour of need.

It is a small point, but one which should make it into guide books.

Those of you paying attention will remember crossing into Poland follows two nights in Prague, which certainly did not disappoint after being given a big build-up by various people before departure.

It helps the Plus Prague hostel is clean, well-equipped (although the much-anticipated swimming pool was sadly closed) and comfortable. Each dorm room of four comes with its own loo and shower, which makes life a lot more comfortable.

Prague - St Vitus Cathedral from Charles Bridge
Prague – The view back to St Vitus Cathedral from the Charles Bridge

We headed out for a tour of the city’s castle and St Vitus Cathedral which, as well as being beautiful in their own right, provide staggering views from their hilltop setting over Prague and the Vltava River. It is almost a town in its own right perched on the hill as the city sprawls out below in all directions.

With a bit of sightseeing/orientation and cheap beer and pizza back at the hostel under our belts, a group of headed out to The Cross Club.

A rabbit warren of tunnels and dingy corners running over several floors, much of it decorated with moving car parts, it certainly caught our imagination. What was supposed to be a couple of quick drinks ended in the early hours with the first sighting of a lubricated Marius – the alter ego of driver Martins when unencumbered by the constraints of driving the next day.

Prague - The Astronomical Clock
Prague – The crowds gather for the Astronomical Clock’s hourly show

Thankfully, the following morning provided a semblance of a lie-in (since when is being up just after 8am a lie-in?) and a lovely spring day sightseeing in Prague’s delightful old town, taking in the Charles Bridge – sadly partly scarred by building work at the moment – the town square with its crowd-pleasing, if slightly underwhelming, astronomical clock and Wenceslas Square, scene of much looking out and all major rallies which have dotted the recent history of this city.

It is a gorgeous place crying out to be explore, which saw the entire group dispersing across the city and clocking up the miles on foot.

Not sure which made a couple of the groups’ eyes go wider (names must be left out to protect the innocent), the sights at the Sex Museum or The Medieval Torture Museum. Not sure they were able to tell some of the exhibits apart.

Last night was pretty quiet, a couple of beers in town and a meal as thoughts began to leave Prague and turn to our next scheduled destination.

Prague - Wenceslaus Square
Prague – Wenceslaus Square, scene of much protesting and looking out

Sadly, the trip to Krakow took a bit longer than planned so the planned outing to Auschwitz, which has been at the back of my mind all week, had to be postponed by a day.

The prospect of visiting such a place produced a sudden change in mood and tempo – at least until the temptations of free welcome shots and a few beers in the hostel bar last night – and a mixture of anticipation and unease…

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There Are Times When I Think That Jack Kerouac Was Right

Original posted on London to New York blog, March 23, 2010

Bruges, Belgium/Heidelberg, Germany

The London Team Shot
The Opening Shot – The first team picture on Westminster Bridge

DAY Three on the road and about 100 miles from Prague, the normality we left behind seems an awfully long way away.

The Czech Republic is our sixth country since rolling out of Cardiff and my passport has yet to be pulled out of my pocket in anger. In panic, yes, on the regular moments of worry that my camera, wallet, passport or the dorm room keys have gone walkabout, but we have yet to be stopped at any border.

Eating up the opening miles, life on the bus has already settled into a regular pattern of catching up on the sleep forsaken in exchange for another couple of drinks the night before, getting to know our travelling companions and catching up on the latest news and gossip.

At the moment, that’s trying to figure out the exchange rate we got on the border for our Czech Krone and the details of the first international incident of the trip – a rare Welsh victory over Germany.

Mike, from West Wales via Cardiff and Caerphilly, decided a bunch of German kids should not get away with throwing their McDonalds wrappers over the service station car park. An impressive mastery of the international language of waving your arms around and pointing got the message across.

Bruges - The Grote Markt square
Bruges – The Grote Markt square, ideal spot on the opening day for sightseeing…

Prague hovers on the horizon. It is there the trip shifts into a different gear as we pull further away from the familiar and end our opening sprint across Europe with the first two-night stay in one place.

As well as the first opportunity to properly repack my rucksack and discover the things that should have been fitted in and which ones should have been thrown into storage in my spare bedroom, it gives us a chance to draw breath.

There’s been precious little opportunity to dothat since we staggered onto The Embankment just before 7am on Sunday and began the twin jobs of rolling out to New York and getting to know our fellow passengers.

The first job lasted about 400 yards before we were yanked off the bus on Westminster Bridge for a quick team shot in front of the Houses of Parliament.

The second job will continue to do so for most, if not all, the journey.

Bruges - Settling In
…or getting prepared for what lies ahead

In all, we are 16 strong, plus Phil our Kiwi guide and Latvian driver Martins, who is taking us all the way to Moscow and our rendezvous with the Trans-Siberian Railway.

That leaves plenty of room on the coach, although we are filling it with an expanding sprawl of kit, drying towels and provisions – particularly Marlo’s Pantry at the back of the bus – picked up at a giant supermarket in Liege.

It’s a fairly diverse group – not as young as predicted – which has, so far, got on very well.

Fortunately for the allocation of rooms, the 16 breaks down into eight girls and eight blokes, ranging from 18-year-old Freddie to 81-year-old Mary, with a fairly even spread of ages in between.

Among that we have one Aussie girl (Phoebe), one Irish girl (Leila), two Scots, Duncan and Barry, Marlo the Dutchman still waiting for his passport from his Russian visa application and Enrique the Spaniard.

Bruges - Canal
Not that we didn’t get out and about

Having escaped the clutches of the photographer and dropped him and his bike off somewhere in London, it was off to Dover, Calais – supplemented for the ferry trip by three hitchhikers from Glasgow raising money for Sport Relief – and onwards to our stop for the night in Bruges.

It’s not the biggest town – at least the old town isn’t – and gave us the opportunity to wander around the beautiful historic centre and head out for a guided bike ride or people watch with a beer in one of the impressive town squares (a very pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon).

The evening saw us descend on an Argentinian Steakhouse where much meat was devoured, beers were quaffed and the red wine flowed freely. Maybe too freely in one case.

By the time we took up residence in a darkened corner of a nearby bar, the survivors were on their way to getting to know each other – even those who needed a guiding hand home.

Some of the excesses of the night before – and the discovery of who does and who does not snore (I do, loudly) – were not so welcome come the early start to day two.

Heidelberg Schloss
The view of the commanding Schloss at Heidelberg from one of the town squares

Sure none of us had too many regrets about missing the Belgian scenery as we went about catching up on our sleep.

The long journey was broken up by Phil getting us all up to the front of the coach and giving an introductory spiel about ourselves. Two days in, names and faces are pretty much committed to memory and most of us have had a decent chat with everybody else at some point.

Destination on Day Two was Heidelberg, Germany, the old town’s collection of commanding churches, town squares – Europe does squares much better than we do back home – sitting on the banks of the River Neckar and in the shadow of the commanding Schloss. Very pretty and a very pleasant walk around its streets.

The evening followed a very similar pattern to the one before – a cheap meal in the hostel followed by a few more beers in a bar. It could catch on.

And so to Prague, of which more next time…

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London Calling

Original posted on London to New York blog, March 20, 2010

AFTER months of planning, wading through a to do list that expanded at the same rate as my bank balance diminished, at least seven rounds of farewell drinks and even the appearance of my vacuum cleaner, we are on the road.

Officially, we are not on the road until far too early tomorrow, but we’ve crossed our first border, so that’s good enough for me.

And we did it in a style we are about to get accustomed to – on a bus. The National Express from Cardiff to London and a less than salubrious bed for the night in Earls Court.

Catching the bus from Cardiff
The crowds came out to wave us from Cardiff – or to watch Wales v Italy

Let’s just say the hotel (and that’s a charitable term) was picked for two reasons – it was cheap and it’s just a couple of minutes walk from the tube, which will come in handy in the morning as we have to get on the first District Line tube at 6.39am to make our way to The Embankment and our first meeting with the other inhabitants of the bus.

One of the most common questions we have faced over the last few weeks – who are the other people on the bus?

The simple answer is, we just don’t know. We don’t even know how many others are on the trip.

Finding out is all part of the adventure and large chunks of tomorrow – when we head out of London to a cross channel ferry and an evening in Bruges – will be taken up with finding out about each other.

Apologies in advance for forgetting anyone’s name over the next few days.

We do know a little bit about a few of our travelling companions from the trip’s Facebook page. Nick and myself appear to be somewhere in the middle of the age range between teenagers and pensioners. Not sure which group we will end up with.

The other main question in the last few weeks – apart from “What are you drinking?” and “Is it your round?” – has been “Are you excited?” or its illegitimate brother, “Are you nervous?”.

The answer has changed a bit each time, but has generally been an adaptation of “a bit of both really”.

There has barely been time to be excited or nervous over the last few weeks.

About 10 days ago, that to do list was getting seriously worrying. It just didn’t seem to be shrinking.

Following the example of my organised work self – as opposed to the totally disorganised, “don’t do today what you can put off til tomorrow… or beyond” part of my being which takes over when not working – the list was split up into daily lists which, for the first two weeks, just weren’t getting completed.

As well as sorting things out for the trip, there was also my house – still up for rent at very reasonable rates if anyone wants anywhere to live in Cardiff – to deal with, not to mention squeezing in all those last hoorahs in the pubs of Cardiff.

Then, suddenly, at the start of this week, the list suddenly got a lot shorter, the trees got out of the way – thanks to the nice man who cleared my overgrown garden – and the woods could be seen again. By Friday afternoon, the search was on for things to do.

But, even at the list’s longest, it was never stressful. In fact, I’ve rarely felt so relaxed or, in recent times, slept better – bar one horrible night which combined the aftermath of a throat infection and escalating panic over the non-appearance of my Chinese visa – and the main feeling, certainly this final week, has been wanting to get on the way.

The throat has cleared up, the bags are packed, the Chinese visa turned up after a phone call to confirm I was no longer a working journalist and, finally, we are on the way.

And we’ve already had our first culture shock.

That there London’s a bit different isn’t it? No self-respecting pub in Cardiff or Gloucester would need two oiks to ask for the France-England Six Nations to be put on the television.

And surely nobody in Cardiff or Gloucester would ask how long a half lasts in rugby or argue that England’s try should not have been allowed because the ball first hit the ground short of the line.

That he was not shown the error of his ways is a clear indication of one chilled traveller…

Links:
Google Map – What Lies Ahead

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Why Pamper Life’s Complexity?

Original posted in London to New York blog, February 28, 2010

WHEN I handed my notice in at work three months ago, this whole trip still seemed way out there in the distance, scarcely able to convince myself that this was really my life now.

But all of a sudden, and remarkably clear-headed after a leaving do which somehow involved being in the same pub for more than half of a 30-hour period, it is very real.

All that stands between me and this trip is three weeks, a To-Do list which has taken on remarkable expanding properties and an increasingly frantic search for someone to rent my house.

So how did we get here – a question Steve Cram must have been asking as he commentated on hour after hour of curling?

It’s been a little more than three years in the making, starting with a six-week American road trip with Nick Machin.

It wasn’t so much out on the American highways that an attack of wanderlust took hold, it was more amid the increasing struggles to settle into life back home.

The Blues Cafe, Beale Street, Memphis - and two blokes from Cardiff
Nick, right, Me and Mr Heineken on Beale Street, Memphis – 2006 US Road Trip

One change of job and a fairly traumatic year or so later and it was still there – early attempts by two of us to head off again being squashed by work’s refusal to grant us a sabbatical and the postponement of the early plans for the London to New York trip.

But at some point last year and fresh from a trip to Boston and New York – cementing a growing obsession with the Boston Red Sox – it all became too much.

All that prompted one of those pub conversations which normally go nowhere and are forgotten about the next morning – the two of us pledging to jack in work and head out on the newly re-advertised trip.

Normally, what seemed such a good idea after a few pints is dismissed out of hand when morning and sobriety take hold

But not this time – even the post-beer e-mail sent to the trip organisers the night before had been coherent. It still made perfect sense and, barely before the hangover had faded away, we were booked on the trip.

And that’s how we got to this point – not sure Steve Cram would be able to give you such a clear answer.

The last few weeks have been dominated by visas – from the high security, nothing which would help to pass the time allowed four-hour wait at the US Embassy in London to the same trip to the Mongolian Embassy, which saw us get the visa back in half an hour. Russia and China – still waiting – have involved hour after hour trying to fill in forms.

And now it’s time to start making a dent in that To Do list…

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