A few random thoughts.
1. I LOVE traveling by night train. I’m not really sure why – perhaps it’s the fact that I’m lulled to sleep so easily by the gentle rocking of the carriage as it speeds across the tracks; maybe it’s the idea that I feel like I have SO much room (at least compared to airline travel!); maybe it’s the fact that I’m a dork who loves to watch the scenery (for the few minutes I’m awake, at least) and imagine epic movies being made there. Whatever the case, I love it. There are downsides of course: the ticket-checker likes to come by at the most inopportune moments (when I’m itching my hiney, for example), unexpectedly flipping open the door and yelling what I presume to mean “tickets, please” in another language. Then there’s the whole “sharing a compartment with complete and utter strangers” thing, and the fact that I’m just a couple inches too long to lay out on the couchettes. But in spite of all this, I LOVE traveling by train. I love falling asleep in the middle of nowhere and waking up in a new country. I love opening my eyes and having no idea which part of Europe I’m in now. It’s a constant surprise – what will I see when I draw the curtains? (As I write this, I was just dive-bombed by a pillow thrown by a person sleeping on the upper bunk. That jolted me awake more than any can of Mountain Dew ever could.) Long story short: I love overnight trains. Now if only I can figure out how to barricade myself from the raining debris…
2. For a long while, I’ve believed that Eastern European men have the BEST moustaches. I’m a particularly astute moustache observer as I find hairy faces beyond captivating. I wouldn’t say I’m a fan, persay, but I DO enjoy peering closely and seeing what I can find hiding in the dense facial forest (is that Nutella?!). American moustaches are disappointingly well-groomed; true Colonel Sanders and Clark Gables are few and far between. Not so in Eastern Europe. Here, men have an astounding and seemingly limitless imagination when it comes to shaping facial hair. Just going to class each morning, I encounter two or three masterpieces – the dude in the butcher shop, did he model for a townsperson in “Beauty and the Beast”? The man on the metro, does his moustache do that curly French-chef-shape naturally? And my god, that man is a dead-ringer for Colonel Mustard! Life in Eastern Europe is always an adventure.
3. Bikes are dangerous. No, more than dangerous – DEADLY. You step in front of one and you’re a goner. Sometimes I wonder if bikers are secretly sadists, delighting in every second of the predator-prey game they play with the pedestrians. Honestly, do they stay hidden until the last second on PURPOSE?! Are they aiming for me?! I’m telling you, bikers (in the bicycle sense of the word) are menacing people. BEWARE.
4. My new favorite food is Belgian waffles. No, not the American, breakfast-y kind. I’m talking BELGIAN waffles, the kind they make in Belgium, the kind that induce foodgasm from the first bite. Imagine a donut – the best donut you’ve ever tasted, with just the right amount of sweetness, firm on the outside but warm and soft within. Now imagine taking the first bite of said donut – glorious, yes? Now multiply that happy feeling times 10million, and you will begin to experience the miracle known as the Belgian waffle.
5. I love my family more than anything in the entire world. (You were expecting something else, something more Stef-level flippant and silly, now weren’t you?) But seriously. I am so blessed to be a part of the “happy family” pentagon. Mom, Dad, Sam, and Kristi – I love you more than words can say.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
DAY TRIP TO LIDICE
On May 27, 1942, Reinhard Heydrich, Deputy Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia and one of Hitler’s closest friends, was assassinated in Prague. In retribution, Hitler ordered the small Czech mining village of Lidice to be liquidated on the false charge that it had aided the assassins. On June 10, 1942, the Nazis entered Lidice and rounded up the population. All 172 men and boys over age 16 in the village were immediately executed, while the women were deported to Ravensbrück concentration camp where most died before the end of the war. 8 children were selected for re-education in German families, and the rest (over 100) were gassed to death at Chelmno Concentration Camp.
Having rid the village of its inhabitants, the Nazis then destroyed the village itself, first setting all buildings on fire and then razing them to the ground with explosives. Finally, they exhumed the town cemetery and liquidated even THOSE inhabitants of Lidice. By the time they left, what had been a full-fledged village only days before was now no more than an empty field.
Today, the site houses a memorial, museum, monuments, the common grave of the Lidice men, and a "Park of Peace and Friendship" where thousands of rose-bushes from various parts of the world are planted. I visited the site alone, catching the public bus towards Kladno from the Dejvicka stop. Half an hour later, I was stepping out of the bus in the middle of nowhere. The bus stop sign read “Lidice” but it could just as easily have read “Uninhabited Czech Countryside.” I chose a direction to walk, and thank goodness the gods were on my side that day, because within minutes I could see what looked like a memorial off on the horizon. It was the Lidice memorial – much smaller than I had anticipated, but the memorial all the same.
The air was deathly still – as far as the eye could see, nothing moved. I saw no car, no other human, no signs of life besides an inappropriately bright and cheery “Coca-Cola” sign in front of the memorial, pointing toward some vending machines. I veered left and entered the museum, finding a long woman behind the counter reading a book. (I wonder how long it had been since she’d seen another human – perhaps she is like the Knight Templar in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” doomed to a life of eternal solitude broken on the rare occasion that a random person enters her lair. But I digress.) She shook off her dust and welcomed me, ushering me into a room for a private screening of a documentary on Lidice that told the story of the town and showed footage of the town’s demolition (filmed in disgustingly precise detail by the Nazis).
From there, I went into the museum and saw a slew of artifacts – the door from the church (all that survived after it was burned to the ground), letters from the children written during the first days of their imprisonment begging distant families members for food and warm clothing, and perhaps most disturbingly, a picture of all the schoolchildren, taken just days before the Nazis entered the town to exact revenge. The museum had video after video of interviews – with the few Ravensbrück survivors, with the children chosen to be “re-educated” in Germany, and with the historians who brought the tragic history of Lidice to light. It was a chilling yet terrifically well-done museum.
I exited the building and entered the grounds of the memorial, following a winding footpath that led from the town’s lone remains (the foundation of the church and a wall of the school building) to the mass grave for the men murdered that fateful day in 1942, and then from a statue honoring the innocent Lidice children who fell victim to this terror to a memorial rose garden. All in all, it was a touching, heartbreaking, yet enthralling taste of history. I can’t do justice to the experience in words, but perhaps these pictures can help:
Memorial to the Lidice children.
The empty field where Lidice used to stand (the structure at the top of the hill is the memorial).
On May 27, 1942, Reinhard Heydrich, Deputy Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia and one of Hitler’s closest friends, was assassinated in Prague. In retribution, Hitler ordered the small Czech mining village of Lidice to be liquidated on the false charge that it had aided the assassins. On June 10, 1942, the Nazis entered Lidice and rounded up the population. All 172 men and boys over age 16 in the village were immediately executed, while the women were deported to Ravensbrück concentration camp where most died before the end of the war. 8 children were selected for re-education in German families, and the rest (over 100) were gassed to death at Chelmno Concentration Camp.
Having rid the village of its inhabitants, the Nazis then destroyed the village itself, first setting all buildings on fire and then razing them to the ground with explosives. Finally, they exhumed the town cemetery and liquidated even THOSE inhabitants of Lidice. By the time they left, what had been a full-fledged village only days before was now no more than an empty field.
Today, the site houses a memorial, museum, monuments, the common grave of the Lidice men, and a "Park of Peace and Friendship" where thousands of rose-bushes from various parts of the world are planted. I visited the site alone, catching the public bus towards Kladno from the Dejvicka stop. Half an hour later, I was stepping out of the bus in the middle of nowhere. The bus stop sign read “Lidice” but it could just as easily have read “Uninhabited Czech Countryside.” I chose a direction to walk, and thank goodness the gods were on my side that day, because within minutes I could see what looked like a memorial off on the horizon. It was the Lidice memorial – much smaller than I had anticipated, but the memorial all the same.
The air was deathly still – as far as the eye could see, nothing moved. I saw no car, no other human, no signs of life besides an inappropriately bright and cheery “Coca-Cola” sign in front of the memorial, pointing toward some vending machines. I veered left and entered the museum, finding a long woman behind the counter reading a book. (I wonder how long it had been since she’d seen another human – perhaps she is like the Knight Templar in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” doomed to a life of eternal solitude broken on the rare occasion that a random person enters her lair. But I digress.) She shook off her dust and welcomed me, ushering me into a room for a private screening of a documentary on Lidice that told the story of the town and showed footage of the town’s demolition (filmed in disgustingly precise detail by the Nazis).
From there, I went into the museum and saw a slew of artifacts – the door from the church (all that survived after it was burned to the ground), letters from the children written during the first days of their imprisonment begging distant families members for food and warm clothing, and perhaps most disturbingly, a picture of all the schoolchildren, taken just days before the Nazis entered the town to exact revenge. The museum had video after video of interviews – with the few Ravensbrück survivors, with the children chosen to be “re-educated” in Germany, and with the historians who brought the tragic history of Lidice to light. It was a chilling yet terrifically well-done museum.
I exited the building and entered the grounds of the memorial, following a winding footpath that led from the town’s lone remains (the foundation of the church and a wall of the school building) to the mass grave for the men murdered that fateful day in 1942, and then from a statue honoring the innocent Lidice children who fell victim to this terror to a memorial rose garden. All in all, it was a touching, heartbreaking, yet enthralling taste of history. I can’t do justice to the experience in words, but perhaps these pictures can help:
Memorial to the Lidice children.
The empty field where Lidice used to stand (the structure at the top of the hill is the memorial).
DAY TRIP TO BRATISLAVA
Before Czechoslovakia split into two separate countries (the Czech Republic and the Slovak Republic) in 1993, Bratislava was just another big city. Today, it’s the capital of Slovakia, a bustling metropolis that serves as the center of the country’s political affairs. Bordered by Hungary to the south and Austria to the west, it is Slovakia’s largest city and one of the country’s main tourist destinations. I arrived with little to no clue as to what to expect, and I was pleasantly surprised. The city is small and easily walk-able, but still refreshingly modern and clean. There’s not much to see, but I spent the day wandering aimlessly and enjoyed every minute of it.
The most adorable statue in Eastern Europe.
I followed a crowd into this church hoping to look around, never expecting that they would shut the doors behind me and start mass in Slovak! Amazingly, I knew what was going on 99% of the time even though I didn't speak a word of the language. Thanks for preparing me for this day, Holy Cross!
Before Czechoslovakia split into two separate countries (the Czech Republic and the Slovak Republic) in 1993, Bratislava was just another big city. Today, it’s the capital of Slovakia, a bustling metropolis that serves as the center of the country’s political affairs. Bordered by Hungary to the south and Austria to the west, it is Slovakia’s largest city and one of the country’s main tourist destinations. I arrived with little to no clue as to what to expect, and I was pleasantly surprised. The city is small and easily walk-able, but still refreshingly modern and clean. There’s not much to see, but I spent the day wandering aimlessly and enjoyed every minute of it.
My favorite street.
The most adorable statue in Eastern Europe.
I followed a crowd into this church hoping to look around, never expecting that they would shut the doors behind me and start mass in Slovak! Amazingly, I knew what was going on 99% of the time even though I didn't speak a word of the language. Thanks for preparing me for this day, Holy Cross!
DAY TRIP TO ČESKÝ KRUMLOV
Considered one of the most beautiful medieval cities in all of Central Europe, Český Krumlov is a poet’s dream. Nestled in the middle of the Czech countryside, built into a bend of the Vltava River, and cradled under the shadow of a towering castle, the town seems to be straight out of a fairy tale; I half expected to see Belle and the townspeople pour out the front doors and start singing. The town is renowned for its beauty, and that’s a well-deserved accolade, especially in spring when the flowers are blooming and the land is green as far as the eye can see. I ventured there in winter, however – a less “picturesque” time to visit, perhaps, but I wanted to avoid the hordes of tourists and experience the beauty of the town on my own. Here are some of my favorite snapshots from that day:
Considered one of the most beautiful medieval cities in all of Central Europe, Český Krumlov is a poet’s dream. Nestled in the middle of the Czech countryside, built into a bend of the Vltava River, and cradled under the shadow of a towering castle, the town seems to be straight out of a fairy tale; I half expected to see Belle and the townspeople pour out the front doors and start singing. The town is renowned for its beauty, and that’s a well-deserved accolade, especially in spring when the flowers are blooming and the land is green as far as the eye can see. I ventured there in winter, however – a less “picturesque” time to visit, perhaps, but I wanted to avoid the hordes of tourists and experience the beauty of the town on my own. Here are some of my favorite snapshots from that day:
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