Dubrovnik is absolutely enthralling. It is made of ancient stone and marble and stands on limestone cliffs above the sea. It promises beauty, extraordinary beauty and disturbing history. Here, I think of little else but disturbing history that lives.
I'm writing this from my bedroom on Budvanska 4, a house at the top of Dubrovnik in a quiet residential area that belongs to an adorable, three-generation Croatian family that hardly speaks any English. The streets were not made for cars, but they're good for motorbikes, sometimes. More often, a "street" (ulica in Slavic languages) refers to a large set of stairs built into the stone hill. To get to the old city, we walk down the stairs. To get home, we walk up the stairs. To eat, we walk down the stairs to get groceries, and then back up the stairs to cook them. To have any sort of interesting day, we must walk down to groceries, up to eat, down to the old city, up to shower, down to the bars, up to sleep. Et cetera. It's really hot in Dubrovnik.
Last night, a Croatian policeman bought us drinks. He did so far far away, by telling the bartender to simply bring them to us. When he arrived, the bartender pointed to a pale, lanky guy with a black rock-n-roll t-shirt sitting at the bar and said, "These are from him." Well, that was a first.
The Croatian policeman was interesting to me because he was obviously bored. He came over to us about 20 minutes later just to talk, to tell us that he would love to go to America and not go to New York but rather go to Alaska, or rent a car and drive Route 66, or both, but New York was definitely not for him. He said that he had not been drunk for an entire year, but tonight he was drunk. "I am so drunk, you probably think me crazy," he said. We did, of course, but his sweet nature made up for it. Also, he clued us into the fact that the Croats hate Montenegrins. "Because of the war." Naturally. If I understood the Yugoslav wars, maybe the hate would make more sense. It's beginning to make sense mostly due to characters like this Croatian policeman, who is an ethnic Croat. Here is what I know:
Bosniaks -- Muslim -- screwed (less so now)
Croats -- Catholic -- independent
Serbs -- Orthodox (majority) -- greedy
Albanians -- Muslim-ish -- screwed (especially in Kosovo)
Slovenes -- Catholic-ish -- independent
All of my knowledge is subject to change, seeing as I know nothing about Macedonia, except is strange tendency to operate under the acronym F.Y.R.O.M. Nevertheless, everybody here appears to hate each other still. It is fascinating to me that this scale of violence happened during my childhood. Fascinating, but also shocking that these wars, which should be a part of my living memory, seem to have almost never happened according to my high school education. If I could re-design my college career, I might create a major in the Nineties. And I would refocus all the attention given to Arab states and center it on the Balkans. Guys, it's THIS kind of hate we need to MOVE out of the world. This religious/ethnic strife is still so heated, it feels medieval. It boggles my mind how nations that have such advanced infrastructure in place (or more advanced than one might expect) can continue to feel deathly hateful of their neighbors. What kind of politics is this? I'm going to need help with this curiosity.
So this is Dubrovnik: the birthplace of wild curiosity. Wild curiosity about the wild Balkans and the wild failed notion of Yugoslavia. (I mean, the forced unification of all of those ethnicities under one--communist--federation would've never worked.) More and more questions arising about everything. Why being a traveller, living in a million temporary spaces, seems to offer the most clarity. And of all temporary spaces, these temporary political experiments in the Balkans have somehow drawn out my curiosity about the kind of relationships that society dictates ought to be the most permanent.
It's funny watching the people I meet react when I tell them I am moving to Jerusalem next month. Nobody really knows Jerusalem. It's an exotic spot with lots of political and religious strife. And it's really cool and weird that I will live there, of all the places to live in the world. But no one has asked, "Why Jerusalem?" It's like a fact they can't change, or I can't change, or just something they wouldn't expect me to change, like the color of my eyes. I am the girl who is moving to Jerusalem to teach youth at risk. I don't know if it's too cool, too different or too dangerous for the travellers to question. This is also a power I have, and to some extent, I am afraid of this power, too.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012 | Split, Croatia
There were many reasons to leave Zagreb. Probably the top-ranking one was Kansas. Kansas was an Asian-American student from the University of Kansas who majored in Croatian and Serbian languages and dialects. He was the most irritating person I met so far. He hovered in an every conversation everyone had, out of concern that we might need his exemplary Croatian skills to translate something, I'm not really sure. We spent too many days enduring him. That's all I know. He was well-intentioned, though.
By the end of our time in Zagreb, we had seen most people multiple times. We saw people we didn't even talk to ever over and over again on the main street with all the pubs and cafes. We saw them so often we could remember what they were wearing the day before. We couldn't stop bumping into a quintet of Spanish singers--in their 20s, usually drunk and wearing a variety of Spaniard costumes over the course of our days. We saw them on the main street, in the square with the government buildings, by the park, etc. Zagreb was too small. I started to feel like a resident instead of a traveller. Finally, we left.
Now we're in paradise. Split is what Jerusalem might be if it were flat, had a port and was surrounded by the Mediterranean. Everything is old. Across the Adriatic Sea you can see islands covered with more mountainous terrain. Beyond Split you can also see mountains, not quite the Alps but looking equally as imposing and snow-capped.
This place is outstanding and has more sun than anywhere I've been in my entire life. The water is as blue and clear as Lake Bled, maybe even more so because of all the sun and sky reflecting in it. Finally, I'm in a lpace with palm trees. This really is so different from the European cities I've been to. It's really a vacation. A vacation with ancient Roman ruins. All of the ruins are useful to Croatia. Today, I'm writing from an out of the way beach spot that has old stone structures leftover from God knows how long ago. They're useful for creating little pools and rock outposts for sunbathing and watching the harbor and the islands in the distance. Everything here is a beautiful photo. So beautiful that sometimes I worry about convincing everyone else that these places are real.
By the end of our time in Zagreb, we had seen most people multiple times. We saw people we didn't even talk to ever over and over again on the main street with all the pubs and cafes. We saw them so often we could remember what they were wearing the day before. We couldn't stop bumping into a quintet of Spanish singers--in their 20s, usually drunk and wearing a variety of Spaniard costumes over the course of our days. We saw them on the main street, in the square with the government buildings, by the park, etc. Zagreb was too small. I started to feel like a resident instead of a traveller. Finally, we left.
Now we're in paradise. Split is what Jerusalem might be if it were flat, had a port and was surrounded by the Mediterranean. Everything is old. Across the Adriatic Sea you can see islands covered with more mountainous terrain. Beyond Split you can also see mountains, not quite the Alps but looking equally as imposing and snow-capped.
This place is outstanding and has more sun than anywhere I've been in my entire life. The water is as blue and clear as Lake Bled, maybe even more so because of all the sun and sky reflecting in it. Finally, I'm in a lpace with palm trees. This really is so different from the European cities I've been to. It's really a vacation. A vacation with ancient Roman ruins. All of the ruins are useful to Croatia. Today, I'm writing from an out of the way beach spot that has old stone structures leftover from God knows how long ago. They're useful for creating little pools and rock outposts for sunbathing and watching the harbor and the islands in the distance. Everything here is a beautiful photo. So beautiful that sometimes I worry about convincing everyone else that these places are real.
Sunday, July 15, 2012 | Zagreb, Croatia
Today's lesson in Eastern European transportation protocol: Never buy a roundtrip ticket. To anywhere. Those things are practically unheard of. Ask for one and you will be laughed at. Buy one and you will save money--but your bus will never show up and you'll just have to get on the first bus you see headed for your destination of origin, pay full price to get on it anyway, and understand why things just don't work in roundtrips.
And so concluded our day visiting the Plitvice Lakes National Park. Not to worry, though, the experience certainly didn't undo today's gorgeous hikes and waterfalls. Going through Plitvice might have been one of the most rewarding travel days yet. The park was so different from Vintgar in Slovenia because of all the space the lakes take up. They are huge and pure blue, reflecting only the sky and the natural habitats beneath the surface. Aurite and I took a partially-uncharted path around the biggest lake. This ended up being a challenging trek through old fallen leaves and beaten paths that took us literally through the middle of the tree trunks that had snapped during storms. The weather was cool and windy--only in the mid-60s and I couldn't help feeling a natural bit of paranoia and wonder what a storm in these parts would do to us innocent hikers. Of course, there was no storm, and we made it up and out of the valley unscathed, our only almost-serious mistake being nearly walking into a waterfall and thinking the path might have ended. Really, we just had to walk up a steep hill instead, which we did successfully.
Zagreb has otherwise provided us with few experiences of note. As a result, we are now well-rested, detoxed, and ready to move tomorrow to Split and Hvar to go to the beach. The pressure of our flight from Montenegro to Istanbul next Friday is really starting to kick in, and I wish we had at least another week to explore the coast. As soon as we hit Budapest, we started to hear all different accounts about Croatian islands and how much fun they were. But we don't have enough time to do even half of what we've heard about.
The one thing I can credit Zagreb with is our first formal Shabbat dinner in four weeks. Of all places, the community has been most hospitable here. We found the synagogue on the second floor of an apartment building in a lovely, random square in the Lower Town, as usual, protected by guards. We met a total of four Jewish Croatians. I learned three of their names : Leah, Sacha, and Breyza. After praying, they invited us and two other travellers present--a 50-something Australian and his Israeli nephew, who will be entering the Israeli air force this fall--to join them, to sit down for kiddush and hamotzi and a light meal of berries, pickles, tuna and olives. We talked around the table for over an hour about what had brought us to the synagogue and how improvised our past 3 Shabbats have been, buying only the necessities beforehand and just having a private meal. It was nice to know that a welcoming, earnest and curious community exists in Zagreb. I'm very thankful to them for inviting us. Being Jewish and seeking out Shabbat experiences has been an excellent way to meet local residents of cities, but I must say the people we met in Zagreb were the nicest and funniest so far.
And so concluded our day visiting the Plitvice Lakes National Park. Not to worry, though, the experience certainly didn't undo today's gorgeous hikes and waterfalls. Going through Plitvice might have been one of the most rewarding travel days yet. The park was so different from Vintgar in Slovenia because of all the space the lakes take up. They are huge and pure blue, reflecting only the sky and the natural habitats beneath the surface. Aurite and I took a partially-uncharted path around the biggest lake. This ended up being a challenging trek through old fallen leaves and beaten paths that took us literally through the middle of the tree trunks that had snapped during storms. The weather was cool and windy--only in the mid-60s and I couldn't help feeling a natural bit of paranoia and wonder what a storm in these parts would do to us innocent hikers. Of course, there was no storm, and we made it up and out of the valley unscathed, our only almost-serious mistake being nearly walking into a waterfall and thinking the path might have ended. Really, we just had to walk up a steep hill instead, which we did successfully.
Zagreb has otherwise provided us with few experiences of note. As a result, we are now well-rested, detoxed, and ready to move tomorrow to Split and Hvar to go to the beach. The pressure of our flight from Montenegro to Istanbul next Friday is really starting to kick in, and I wish we had at least another week to explore the coast. As soon as we hit Budapest, we started to hear all different accounts about Croatian islands and how much fun they were. But we don't have enough time to do even half of what we've heard about.
The one thing I can credit Zagreb with is our first formal Shabbat dinner in four weeks. Of all places, the community has been most hospitable here. We found the synagogue on the second floor of an apartment building in a lovely, random square in the Lower Town, as usual, protected by guards. We met a total of four Jewish Croatians. I learned three of their names : Leah, Sacha, and Breyza. After praying, they invited us and two other travellers present--a 50-something Australian and his Israeli nephew, who will be entering the Israeli air force this fall--to join them, to sit down for kiddush and hamotzi and a light meal of berries, pickles, tuna and olives. We talked around the table for over an hour about what had brought us to the synagogue and how improvised our past 3 Shabbats have been, buying only the necessities beforehand and just having a private meal. It was nice to know that a welcoming, earnest and curious community exists in Zagreb. I'm very thankful to them for inviting us. Being Jewish and seeking out Shabbat experiences has been an excellent way to meet local residents of cities, but I must say the people we met in Zagreb were the nicest and funniest so far.
Thursday, July 12 | Zagreb, Croatia
I feel like I'm on another planet today. Home is like a distant, reassuring memory of people who know me and can confidently recount my strengths. It's not that I feel weak today; I just feel the distance between where I am now and my real intellectual and spiritual comfort zone. I've gone pretty far off the map by now. I truly am happy while travelling, but travelling doesn't affect my humanness. Which is something I'm glad about. I'd rather be nobody but myself, anyway, and it's relieving to be able to understand myself at new angles. Especially now that we've made it to Croatia. To Zagreb.
So far, I do like Zagreb. I love its authenticity. I love its architecture. In Aurite's words, it's Ljubljana with a pulse--a city with little pressure to do anything but hang out, but still, people are out in bars and cafes--there are so many in the main streets--at all hours, including breakfast time. Because of the buzz, I've already gotten somewhat of a sense of the Croatians.
This is the first time I've felt overwhelmed by a new place. Zagreb is not at all overwhelmed by tourism. It's the capital of Croatia. And with that, it's a real Eastern European city. It's very manageable in terms of size and geography, but for the first time, I foresee culture as a possible challenge here. Maybe it's because of the remarkable way people dress. It's different. Women have short haircuts more often than not. Fashion is fantastic. It's skirts, dresses, accessories in a whole different way. And it's great. It's making me and Aurite want to go shopping as immediately as possible. The language is so different it pervades my comfort level here. It sounds sharper and more articulate. Croatian, not English, dominates as it should, and I am getting earfuls of it everywhere I go. It's at once refreshing but also reminds me of my status as a visitor. It's nice to feel humbled by a new place. It reminds me of how much I don't know.
So far, I do like Zagreb. I love its authenticity. I love its architecture. In Aurite's words, it's Ljubljana with a pulse--a city with little pressure to do anything but hang out, but still, people are out in bars and cafes--there are so many in the main streets--at all hours, including breakfast time. Because of the buzz, I've already gotten somewhat of a sense of the Croatians.
This is the first time I've felt overwhelmed by a new place. Zagreb is not at all overwhelmed by tourism. It's the capital of Croatia. And with that, it's a real Eastern European city. It's very manageable in terms of size and geography, but for the first time, I foresee culture as a possible challenge here. Maybe it's because of the remarkable way people dress. It's different. Women have short haircuts more often than not. Fashion is fantastic. It's skirts, dresses, accessories in a whole different way. And it's great. It's making me and Aurite want to go shopping as immediately as possible. The language is so different it pervades my comfort level here. It sounds sharper and more articulate. Croatian, not English, dominates as it should, and I am getting earfuls of it everywhere I go. It's at once refreshing but also reminds me of my status as a visitor. It's nice to feel humbled by a new place. It reminds me of how much I don't know.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012 | Bled, Slovenia
My mind and body have slowed down since we arrived here. I could literally feel the process take care of itself. My heartbeat slowed down, my thoughts simplified, my brow stopped sweating, my feet stopped hurting. The air is clear. The water is even clearer. We are surrounded by mountains, and each one is a climate in and of itself. I've never experienced anything like this place.
Yesterday, Aurite, Harriet and I hiked through Vintgar Gorge, which has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. We walked through several villages to get there. Walking through the gorge was also unlike any sort of beauty I've seen before. We walked through tall rock cliffs, trees, over bridges and around waterfalls, taking plenty of photos. At the end of the walk, we made it to a cabin. And then it started to rain. And then it started to hail.
After standing under the awning of the cabin, freezing for about 20 minutes, its owner finally let us inside. We sat next to an Israeli family, who I surprised by entertaining a conversation in Hebrew with their daughter, who looked to be about 2 or 3 years old.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Rebecca," I said. "What's your name?"
She laughed. "Tamar." After smiling a few moments more, she asked, "Why Rebecca?"
Why my name is Rebecca...what an excellent question coming from this little girl. "Because my grandpa's mother was also Rebecca," I said in Hebrew.
She asked, "What's your grandpa's name?"
I smiled to think of him at that moment, considering where I got my name. "Mike," I told her.
At last, the hail subsided. We ran back through the gorge and back into town to try to find the way back home, back to Bled. We walked and walked through pouring rain, desperate for a bus or a cab or a ride or something to end the misery and maybe save us from getting sick. But it seemed hopeless--until a minivan suddenly stopped on the side of the road, and its driver, an older Slovenian woman, started to literally beg us to come inside.
I'm pretty unfamiliar with the practice of hitchhiking, and reason was not a part of any of my thought process at the moment. But she insisted, "For me, it's no problem! I take travellers all the time!" So we got in her car and she drove us the rest of the way home, about 1.5 km. She was so nice, I almost couldn't believe it.
We have been doing nothing but relaxing ever since. I took a bike ride this morning while Aurite, Harriet and Harriet's friend from Lyon went to the lake. Slow life ends soon, but it's been a wonderful refresher, and very fitting for Aurite and my 3-week travel anniversary! And now we have only 3 more adventure-filled weeks to go.
Yesterday, Aurite, Harriet and I hiked through Vintgar Gorge, which has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. We walked through several villages to get there. Walking through the gorge was also unlike any sort of beauty I've seen before. We walked through tall rock cliffs, trees, over bridges and around waterfalls, taking plenty of photos. At the end of the walk, we made it to a cabin. And then it started to rain. And then it started to hail.
After standing under the awning of the cabin, freezing for about 20 minutes, its owner finally let us inside. We sat next to an Israeli family, who I surprised by entertaining a conversation in Hebrew with their daughter, who looked to be about 2 or 3 years old.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Rebecca," I said. "What's your name?"
She laughed. "Tamar." After smiling a few moments more, she asked, "Why Rebecca?"
Why my name is Rebecca...what an excellent question coming from this little girl. "Because my grandpa's mother was also Rebecca," I said in Hebrew.
She asked, "What's your grandpa's name?"
I smiled to think of him at that moment, considering where I got my name. "Mike," I told her.
At last, the hail subsided. We ran back through the gorge and back into town to try to find the way back home, back to Bled. We walked and walked through pouring rain, desperate for a bus or a cab or a ride or something to end the misery and maybe save us from getting sick. But it seemed hopeless--until a minivan suddenly stopped on the side of the road, and its driver, an older Slovenian woman, started to literally beg us to come inside.
I'm pretty unfamiliar with the practice of hitchhiking, and reason was not a part of any of my thought process at the moment. But she insisted, "For me, it's no problem! I take travellers all the time!" So we got in her car and she drove us the rest of the way home, about 1.5 km. She was so nice, I almost couldn't believe it.
We have been doing nothing but relaxing ever since. I took a bike ride this morning while Aurite, Harriet and Harriet's friend from Lyon went to the lake. Slow life ends soon, but it's been a wonderful refresher, and very fitting for Aurite and my 3-week travel anniversary! And now we have only 3 more adventure-filled weeks to go.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012 | Ljubljana, Slovenia
Our day in Ljubljana was perfect, as perfect as a travelling day can get, anyway. We stumbled upon a beautiful, inexpensive cafe with fancy yogurt for breakfast (mine had bananas, walnuts and honey in it). It was alongside a quiet part of the river in a suburban-esque part of the city we stayed in, called Trnovo. We then wandered up toward the castle, which was among the oldest we've seen yet and definitely the most beautiful. We also learned a fair bit of Slovenian history and came away even more confused about the exact definition of what is Yugoslovia and are we in it or not. But it didn't bother us for too long, since once we wandered away from the castle we found a cafe in Trg Kongresni (the square with the parliament building, I think), spent an hour eating zucchini and aubergine sandwiches and relaxing. Then we wandered into Tabor, a real artists' colony, which sold stunning original homemade jewelry, buttons, clothing, handbags, and more. In Tabor there is a prison-turned-hostel called Celica. This hostel has a Point of Peace, complete with hammocks, where I spent some time meditating before we returned to the main square and spent 3 and a half hours drinking on a bar that was actually on a dock in the most beautiful part of the river in the middle of the city. All this while, there's a loud 3-on-3 basketball tournament (which, of course, is accompanied by a DJ blasting American pop songs) going on in the middle of the city. Amazing dark chocolate ice cream at every corner. Pumping American pop music everywhere. And so much refreshing greenery and forestry surrounding this tiny but active city. Ljubljana is like some new pinnacle of civilization. If all of life wowed me like Slovenia, things would be pretty good.
Shocking things about Ljubljana: First, nearly everyone speaks English here. I was definitely not expecting that anywhere we've been, but especially not here. Second, the city is the most technologically advanced one we've seen yet. The buses have electronic cards, screens, and exact timers to let you know when the next one is coming. It puts New York transport to shame. Maybe it's because this city is a bit newer and has the chance to think these things through from the start.
We are currently on a very bumpy bus ride to the Julian Alps, where we anticipate having nothing to do except sit near a lake, hike through gorges, and cook. I have never seen any sort of Alps before, and right now they are standing massively on my right hand side. They seem to be partially covered in snow, but mostly covered in forest. They tower into the clouds in a very official way, real permanent fixtures of the world that will never succumb to any pressure to change. They will just be here forever waiting to be hiked, skiied and photographed. This journey is truly remarkable.
It seems we've just traveled into Kranj, a city close to Ljubljana. Street art here is just as weird as it is in Ljubljana. The statues are bizarre, enormous, monstrous images of men and women. Real iron fighters. It's not like they're defending anything as much as they seem to be scaring people off.
Harriet, our beautiful new Australian travel-friend who recently finished her semester abroad in Lyon, has been travelling with us since we left Budapest until now. She is young but independent, like many of the Australians we've met, ready to encounter anything and make the best of it while taking their time. She will probably be joining us tomorrow in Bled. It's fun to continue reminiscing about how ridiculous life in Budapest was with her, since it really was quite ridiculous and girls do enjoy debriefing.
Shocking things about Ljubljana: First, nearly everyone speaks English here. I was definitely not expecting that anywhere we've been, but especially not here. Second, the city is the most technologically advanced one we've seen yet. The buses have electronic cards, screens, and exact timers to let you know when the next one is coming. It puts New York transport to shame. Maybe it's because this city is a bit newer and has the chance to think these things through from the start.
We are currently on a very bumpy bus ride to the Julian Alps, where we anticipate having nothing to do except sit near a lake, hike through gorges, and cook. I have never seen any sort of Alps before, and right now they are standing massively on my right hand side. They seem to be partially covered in snow, but mostly covered in forest. They tower into the clouds in a very official way, real permanent fixtures of the world that will never succumb to any pressure to change. They will just be here forever waiting to be hiked, skiied and photographed. This journey is truly remarkable.
It seems we've just traveled into Kranj, a city close to Ljubljana. Street art here is just as weird as it is in Ljubljana. The statues are bizarre, enormous, monstrous images of men and women. Real iron fighters. It's not like they're defending anything as much as they seem to be scaring people off.
Harriet, our beautiful new Australian travel-friend who recently finished her semester abroad in Lyon, has been travelling with us since we left Budapest until now. She is young but independent, like many of the Australians we've met, ready to encounter anything and make the best of it while taking their time. She will probably be joining us tomorrow in Bled. It's fun to continue reminiscing about how ridiculous life in Budapest was with her, since it really was quite ridiculous and girls do enjoy debriefing.
Thursday, July 5, 2012 | Somewhere else in Slovakia
On another note, "Slovakia" in Slovakian is written "Slovenska." Or at least it seems like it.
Slovakia is apparently harvesting sunflowers for a living.
Slovakia is apparently harvesting sunflowers for a living.
Thursday, July 5, 2012 | Krakow, Poland
Religion doesn't have to be about practice, but practice has to be about religion.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012 | Krakow, Poland
I did not have the chance to write from Oswieciem this time around. This visit to Auschwitz and Birkenau was quite different. It was much, much harder than last time. I think it's partly because I went alone. I walked through the Birkenau death camp alone because I knew I had to. But the vastness of the camp affected me differently than last time. It ate me. It brought me to my barest senses, nearly knocking out my consciousness, leaving behind only my instinct to cry and my instinct to pray, to recite Yizkor for the souls that need it there. The place is filled with unfufilled souls. And I do believe they need it there, much more of it, with certainty. As usual, a lightning storm began and it rained huge raindrops as I sat on the ground alone and prayed. But I got up--the rain felt good; it was the one predictable thing about my second visit to Birkenau.
I have been asking everyone I can here about why they visit Auschwitz. Here, it's an ordinary tourist destination, but the sort that comes with a moral obligation, so to speak. "Well, it's an important part of history," they say. Or, "I'm here, don't I have to?" Having grown up in the community I did, I've never heard these answers before. Usually people say to me, "Why are you going there?"
And after this trip, I'm not really sure.
Aurite and I each essentially experienced Auschwiz individually so that we could take from it what we needed independently. This was at once necessary yet immensely tough. But along my solo journey through the museum exhibition that the Auschwitz labor camp has become, a strange thing happened, and I thought to myself how strange things always happen in this place.
A man and a woman, clearly married, both around the age of 60, were hurrying past my tour group, looking frantic and concerned. The man called to me guide twice, "Where's the exit?" Because she was using a microphone that broadcast her voice into about 40 people's headsets, my tour guide clearly could not offer a comprehensive explanation about where the exit was, so although she gestured, the couple had to tag along with us for a little bit.
I approached them because they were holding roses. Last time I visit my grandma's barrack in Birkenau, I found a rose there in her bunk. I didn't realize this was customary, but I found comfort in knowing I was not alone in honoring the 16 women who slept in the middle tier of the last wooden bunk on the right side of women's Barrack number 9. This time, I wanted to be the one to bring the rose, so I could maybe offer someone else that feeling. But I hadn't come across a place to buy the flowrs in either Krakow or Oswieciem. So I went over to the couple and said, "Excuse me, but where did you get the roses? Did you buy them here?" I tried to explain that I wanted to place one in Birkenau in honor of my grandma and her sisters, but my voice was slowly breaking, and anyway, the man interrupted me.
"Take mine," he insisted. "We're leaving."
"Take mine too," said the woman. "We can't go. It's too emotional."
With both roses suddenly thrust into my hands, I hardly knew what to do, feeling guilty about taking away something precious from these people I didn't even know. "Are you sure,?" I said. "Because I only need one--"
The woman stopped me. "Take them." All right. And then, "Are you Jewish?"
What a question. "Yes," I said. I realized that over the entire course of my travels through Eastern Europe, no one yet had thouht to ask me that upon first encounter. She was the first.
She said, "I knew it. You're Jewish. I could tell. So your grandma was here?"
"Yes, both my grandmothers."
"They were Polish?"
"No, Czech," I managed.
"Ah, my mother was Polish."
We had reached the exist.
"Have a good day," I ventured, not knowing what else to wish them.
Already halfway out the exit gate, she said, "I'll try."
And then, "I'm here."
And finally, "Am Yisrael Chai." And then they were gone.
I had two roses. I did not expect to have any roses, but now I had two. Returning to my group, I now realized that I was the only person carrying roses. And that this was precisely why I had returned to Auschwitz. Because most people cannot.
But somehow, with some unknown strength or energy, I don't know why--and sometimes I wish, honestly, that I couldn't--but I made it back. I went, and the barrack was locked due to preservation issues, so I couldn't go inside. And so I had no privacy. Trudging through the rain, I cut under the ropes that closed off the women's camp and placed the roses by the door, not knowing what else to do. And then I collapsed on a concrete block, grasped my umbrella which was boldly labeled "Krakow Day Tours" and which I'd been given exclusively for my solitary journey to Barrack #9, and hoping it didn't blow away, as it seemed to be hailing by that point in Birkenau.
Every article of clothing I am currently wearing is inside out. We booked the wrong bus ticket out of Poland and had to buy another. I lost the Krakow JCC director's business card. We aren't sure if the lockers in this hostel work, since aurite found a Peruvian passport and a camera inside hers. I don't know what these hints mean. I don't know if anybody means to hint at anything to begin with. But we are going back to Budapest tomorrow, and to Ljubljana the day after that, so I'll think more once we're back on our oh-so-reliable Orange Ways coach.
I have been asking everyone I can here about why they visit Auschwitz. Here, it's an ordinary tourist destination, but the sort that comes with a moral obligation, so to speak. "Well, it's an important part of history," they say. Or, "I'm here, don't I have to?" Having grown up in the community I did, I've never heard these answers before. Usually people say to me, "Why are you going there?"
And after this trip, I'm not really sure.
Aurite and I each essentially experienced Auschwiz individually so that we could take from it what we needed independently. This was at once necessary yet immensely tough. But along my solo journey through the museum exhibition that the Auschwitz labor camp has become, a strange thing happened, and I thought to myself how strange things always happen in this place.
A man and a woman, clearly married, both around the age of 60, were hurrying past my tour group, looking frantic and concerned. The man called to me guide twice, "Where's the exit?" Because she was using a microphone that broadcast her voice into about 40 people's headsets, my tour guide clearly could not offer a comprehensive explanation about where the exit was, so although she gestured, the couple had to tag along with us for a little bit.
I approached them because they were holding roses. Last time I visit my grandma's barrack in Birkenau, I found a rose there in her bunk. I didn't realize this was customary, but I found comfort in knowing I was not alone in honoring the 16 women who slept in the middle tier of the last wooden bunk on the right side of women's Barrack number 9. This time, I wanted to be the one to bring the rose, so I could maybe offer someone else that feeling. But I hadn't come across a place to buy the flowrs in either Krakow or Oswieciem. So I went over to the couple and said, "Excuse me, but where did you get the roses? Did you buy them here?" I tried to explain that I wanted to place one in Birkenau in honor of my grandma and her sisters, but my voice was slowly breaking, and anyway, the man interrupted me.
"Take mine," he insisted. "We're leaving."
"Take mine too," said the woman. "We can't go. It's too emotional."
With both roses suddenly thrust into my hands, I hardly knew what to do, feeling guilty about taking away something precious from these people I didn't even know. "Are you sure,?" I said. "Because I only need one--"
The woman stopped me. "Take them." All right. And then, "Are you Jewish?"
What a question. "Yes," I said. I realized that over the entire course of my travels through Eastern Europe, no one yet had thouht to ask me that upon first encounter. She was the first.
She said, "I knew it. You're Jewish. I could tell. So your grandma was here?"
"Yes, both my grandmothers."
"They were Polish?"
"No, Czech," I managed.
"Ah, my mother was Polish."
We had reached the exist.
"Have a good day," I ventured, not knowing what else to wish them.
Already halfway out the exit gate, she said, "I'll try."
And then, "I'm here."
And finally, "Am Yisrael Chai." And then they were gone.
I had two roses. I did not expect to have any roses, but now I had two. Returning to my group, I now realized that I was the only person carrying roses. And that this was precisely why I had returned to Auschwitz. Because most people cannot.
But somehow, with some unknown strength or energy, I don't know why--and sometimes I wish, honestly, that I couldn't--but I made it back. I went, and the barrack was locked due to preservation issues, so I couldn't go inside. And so I had no privacy. Trudging through the rain, I cut under the ropes that closed off the women's camp and placed the roses by the door, not knowing what else to do. And then I collapsed on a concrete block, grasped my umbrella which was boldly labeled "Krakow Day Tours" and which I'd been given exclusively for my solitary journey to Barrack #9, and hoping it didn't blow away, as it seemed to be hailing by that point in Birkenau.
Every article of clothing I am currently wearing is inside out. We booked the wrong bus ticket out of Poland and had to buy another. I lost the Krakow JCC director's business card. We aren't sure if the lockers in this hostel work, since aurite found a Peruvian passport and a camera inside hers. I don't know what these hints mean. I don't know if anybody means to hint at anything to begin with. But we are going back to Budapest tomorrow, and to Ljubljana the day after that, so I'll think more once we're back on our oh-so-reliable Orange Ways coach.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012 | Krakow, Poland
We are on a bus to Auschwitz. It was very easy to arrange to get onto this bus. It was not very easy to actually get on it, though.
Krakow is beautiful. I really do think it's the most authentic city we've been in so far. It's even more beautiful than Vienna because of its authenticity. It has a stunning main square and streets, and the city itself is tiny. I actually had a lot of fun hanging out there last night.
I'm on a bus to Auschwitz and it's full of people. I can't imagine why anyone decided to come on this bus.
Krakow is beautiful. I really do think it's the most authentic city we've been in so far. It's even more beautiful than Vienna because of its authenticity. It has a stunning main square and streets, and the city itself is tiny. I actually had a lot of fun hanging out there last night.
I'm on a bus to Auschwitz and it's full of people. I can't imagine why anyone decided to come on this bus.
Monday, July 2, 2012 | Somewhere in rural Slovakia
The bus ride to Poland we are currently taking is a stern reminder not to underestimate Eastern Europe's desire for and ability to integrate modern technology--except for the heating being on instead of the air conditioning. We've got a bus attendant--kind of like a flight attendant but with bleach-blond hair, heels and a sparkly belt--and leather seats. It is mind-boggling that the bus driver just knows the way to Krakow. We've hardly driven on any main roads or highways. We pass through rural towns with beautiful tiny houses with chimneys. There have been a few auto service stations along the way, too. But mostly this journey consists of lush green forests and mountains. The road back to Poland is already just as I remember it from last time I went. Green, winding and full of weeds. The wishflowers are already popping up all over Slovakia. We haven't arrived at the Polish border yet.
OK, just kidding. We are officially in Poland, as denoted by a large sign announcing, "PL." We're 93 km away from Krakow.
I didn't write much in Budapest because I needed something of a hiatus from my own mind. The people we met in Budapest actually helped me notice this through our conversations. They were amazing people, actually. The best thing I realized after just a couple of discussions with the other travelers in Paprika Hostel is that everyone (around here, at least) has a World War II complex. It affects their perception of Europe and its history. It affects their nationalistic sympathies--especially when it comes to deciding who to root for in the Euro Cup. It jumped into nearly every conversation I had. Quite fascinating. In Budapest, I also learned a great deal about Australia and New Zealand and why long periods of world travel matter so much. People have been away from home for months, even years. It's slightly unfathomable to me, but I am lucky to live close to...well, everywhere else.
On Friday I learned a lot. We began the day at the House of Terror, 60 Andrassy Boulevard, Budapest, the headquarters of the Nazis and then the Communists in Hungary. I was transfixed by the amount of Hungarian history I did not know. It's quite similar to Polish history in some respects. The Communists came immediately after the Nazis lost the war, and their reign was cruel and fatal until 1989. The year I was born was the first the Hungarians experienced without living in total fear of authority. The Communist regime continues to be such a frightful memory in the Hungarian mindset that World War II history seems slight in their eyes, or at least it did to an extent at the House of Terror. Fortunately or unfortunately, I left Budapest with very little sense of Hungary's attitude toward its Jewish people, but that brings me to a separate story that happened at the end of the day.
Friday night was my first time getting turned away from a synagogue. One of the world's largest synagogues (second or fifth? It was never clear) is situated in the center of the city. Ironically (or is it) it's surrounded by some of the best bars and clubs, as we were told and later found out for ourselves. But anyway, after a long/overtime walking tour, Aurite and I ran through the heat, picking up scarves to cover our shoulders along the way, trying our best to arrive in time for the 6:00 evening service. We finally arrived and even made it through security (common for European synagogues) when a guard appeared. He informed us that our dresses were too short for us to enter the synagogue. Even after pleading that we just wanted to pray there, that it means a lot and I do it every week, he refused to let us inside, claiming the rabbi would be too upset. So we couldn't go inside, we couldn't pray, because our skirts were literally one inch above our kneecaps.
It threw me back into what has been eating at me: Judaism and its exclusivity. Judaism and its need to make sudden judgments about its own people and about others. Judaism and its exclusive, irrelevant rules. Judaism and its need to hide its good parts--family values, spirituality, prayer, music, beauty--from anyone that could be judged possibly incapable of understanding Judaism.
I hate this part of Judaism. I always have. But now it's happened to me, and I can't remember the last time it has...
To celebraet Shabbat, Aurite and I did something simple. We walked to the Hummus Bar around the corner from our hostel (our life-saving vegetarian restaurant with arbitrary Hebrew words decorating the menu), ordered a meal that included 2 pita breads. We picked up some beers and returned to the hostel to have a miniature but proper Shabbat dinner, which happened to also include everyone else who sat with us at the table, whether they realized it or not. Whether they even know what a Shabbat dinner is or not. Because it doesn't matter. Everybody can come, because everybody can understand the value of enjoying a good meal and a good conversation, the value of giving others the time of day, even if you don't know them well or if they have no idea what religious duty is or if they're just good people to talk to.
...So if anything, all I can say is that I felt frustrated by Judaism in Budapest. I want to be Jewish and I want to take every opportunity presented to me to celebrate the values of my religion, even and especially if those opportunities are somewhat abstract. I have a sense now, though, that from this point in my life and moving forward, most of my opportunities will be those abstract ones. Well, I'll make the most of them. All I could ever hope to do is show others the joys of Judaism. I want to use it to bring people together, to offer a firmer sense of character and understanding. That's the priority right now. Personally, this is all I really want from the religious side of myself.
And other than that, Budapest was a blast, my favorite city so far. It's a city with very little pressure. We visited one bath house, one museum and did one walking tour. Otherwise, Budapest was about living rather than learning, a crucial thing to understand in the midst of a six-week travel period. Meeting other travellers gave me a lot of validation that this trip is worth the time, the money, the comfort and the job I could have possibly searched for at home. People in transit have a lot to teach each other. It's automatically assumed that no one you meet is certain of anything in life, which is a very humbling assumption, and I venture to say a correct one, if you think about it.
Last night I also came to the realization that I don't really need anything. Maybe just a bit of money. But other than that, I think I'm beginning to understand that I absolutely can take on the world. I can be in foreign places. I can develop new friendships. I can appreciate the temporary things in life. I've already started throwing out some of my clothes (the ones I don't like and I've owned since the sixth grade or something, of course) in an effort to just make my life a little bit easier to navigate. Literally.
We're still in rural Poland, by the way. I guess we wouldn't be anywhere else right now, since we are on a bus to Krakow. It is so beautiful here, really unique from all the other places we've been so far. People should come.
I am sitting next to a nun, an Italian family with two small children, and quite a few English speakers. So I guess people are coming. I guess that's good, though I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth.
OK, just kidding. We are officially in Poland, as denoted by a large sign announcing, "PL." We're 93 km away from Krakow.
I didn't write much in Budapest because I needed something of a hiatus from my own mind. The people we met in Budapest actually helped me notice this through our conversations. They were amazing people, actually. The best thing I realized after just a couple of discussions with the other travelers in Paprika Hostel is that everyone (around here, at least) has a World War II complex. It affects their perception of Europe and its history. It affects their nationalistic sympathies--especially when it comes to deciding who to root for in the Euro Cup. It jumped into nearly every conversation I had. Quite fascinating. In Budapest, I also learned a great deal about Australia and New Zealand and why long periods of world travel matter so much. People have been away from home for months, even years. It's slightly unfathomable to me, but I am lucky to live close to...well, everywhere else.
On Friday I learned a lot. We began the day at the House of Terror, 60 Andrassy Boulevard, Budapest, the headquarters of the Nazis and then the Communists in Hungary. I was transfixed by the amount of Hungarian history I did not know. It's quite similar to Polish history in some respects. The Communists came immediately after the Nazis lost the war, and their reign was cruel and fatal until 1989. The year I was born was the first the Hungarians experienced without living in total fear of authority. The Communist regime continues to be such a frightful memory in the Hungarian mindset that World War II history seems slight in their eyes, or at least it did to an extent at the House of Terror. Fortunately or unfortunately, I left Budapest with very little sense of Hungary's attitude toward its Jewish people, but that brings me to a separate story that happened at the end of the day.
Friday night was my first time getting turned away from a synagogue. One of the world's largest synagogues (second or fifth? It was never clear) is situated in the center of the city. Ironically (or is it) it's surrounded by some of the best bars and clubs, as we were told and later found out for ourselves. But anyway, after a long/overtime walking tour, Aurite and I ran through the heat, picking up scarves to cover our shoulders along the way, trying our best to arrive in time for the 6:00 evening service. We finally arrived and even made it through security (common for European synagogues) when a guard appeared. He informed us that our dresses were too short for us to enter the synagogue. Even after pleading that we just wanted to pray there, that it means a lot and I do it every week, he refused to let us inside, claiming the rabbi would be too upset. So we couldn't go inside, we couldn't pray, because our skirts were literally one inch above our kneecaps.
It threw me back into what has been eating at me: Judaism and its exclusivity. Judaism and its need to make sudden judgments about its own people and about others. Judaism and its exclusive, irrelevant rules. Judaism and its need to hide its good parts--family values, spirituality, prayer, music, beauty--from anyone that could be judged possibly incapable of understanding Judaism.
I hate this part of Judaism. I always have. But now it's happened to me, and I can't remember the last time it has...
To celebraet Shabbat, Aurite and I did something simple. We walked to the Hummus Bar around the corner from our hostel (our life-saving vegetarian restaurant with arbitrary Hebrew words decorating the menu), ordered a meal that included 2 pita breads. We picked up some beers and returned to the hostel to have a miniature but proper Shabbat dinner, which happened to also include everyone else who sat with us at the table, whether they realized it or not. Whether they even know what a Shabbat dinner is or not. Because it doesn't matter. Everybody can come, because everybody can understand the value of enjoying a good meal and a good conversation, the value of giving others the time of day, even if you don't know them well or if they have no idea what religious duty is or if they're just good people to talk to.
...So if anything, all I can say is that I felt frustrated by Judaism in Budapest. I want to be Jewish and I want to take every opportunity presented to me to celebrate the values of my religion, even and especially if those opportunities are somewhat abstract. I have a sense now, though, that from this point in my life and moving forward, most of my opportunities will be those abstract ones. Well, I'll make the most of them. All I could ever hope to do is show others the joys of Judaism. I want to use it to bring people together, to offer a firmer sense of character and understanding. That's the priority right now. Personally, this is all I really want from the religious side of myself.
And other than that, Budapest was a blast, my favorite city so far. It's a city with very little pressure. We visited one bath house, one museum and did one walking tour. Otherwise, Budapest was about living rather than learning, a crucial thing to understand in the midst of a six-week travel period. Meeting other travellers gave me a lot of validation that this trip is worth the time, the money, the comfort and the job I could have possibly searched for at home. People in transit have a lot to teach each other. It's automatically assumed that no one you meet is certain of anything in life, which is a very humbling assumption, and I venture to say a correct one, if you think about it.
Last night I also came to the realization that I don't really need anything. Maybe just a bit of money. But other than that, I think I'm beginning to understand that I absolutely can take on the world. I can be in foreign places. I can develop new friendships. I can appreciate the temporary things in life. I've already started throwing out some of my clothes (the ones I don't like and I've owned since the sixth grade or something, of course) in an effort to just make my life a little bit easier to navigate. Literally.
We're still in rural Poland, by the way. I guess we wouldn't be anywhere else right now, since we are on a bus to Krakow. It is so beautiful here, really unique from all the other places we've been so far. People should come.
I am sitting next to a nun, an Italian family with two small children, and quite a few English speakers. So I guess people are coming. I guess that's good, though I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012 | Budapest, Hungary
Two days in Vienna make Prague feel like a dream that I just woke up from and can't quite remember the details of. And now that we've made it to Budapest, I better write down everything before I forget it.
We met Alex, an unstable, intransiet yet incredibly sophisticated 24-year-old Australian girl in our room. We also met Catherine, a 25-year-old girl who graduated Harvard, has traveled most continents, works as a strategy developer for Teach for America, and actually planned--in advance--to go to the opera every night she stayed in Vienna. She came with us to the Imperial Treasury today to look at the unbearable amount of wealth the emperor used to wear, physically, on his body, made out of every precious stone and material imaginable. In terms of tourist sites, Aurite and I also made it to the Kunts...er, Museum of Fine Art today and the Belvedere Palace yesterday. The architecture in Vienna is unbelievably gorgeous, well-planned and clearly intended for royalty. Not to mention the art inside those buildings, which is world renowned.
But the highlight was unquestionably the opera. Six hours of standing--two in line, four at our standing-room-only seats at the back of the opera house--were worth it. We saw Don Carlo, an Italian opera written by Giuseppe Verdi. It was brilliant. The storyline partially resembled a Shakespearean tragedy. The music was beautiful, really extraordinary and intensified each charscter's personality so that a soliloquy, for example, was more than just acting or introducing a scene or a conflict. These offered such personality, such emotion--I've never seen theater like this before in my life. I realize I'm so lucky to have been to the opera in Vienna, the city of music! And afterward, we enjoyed a glass of wine and a chocolate torte at Cafe Museum, a famous cafe for artists and intellectuals two blocks away from the Opera House. So there, I got my (seems to be newly acquired) desire for food culture in Vienna.
I would be remiss not to mention Memo, our new friend from the Naschmarkt who made us delicious falafel sandwiches (twice), especially with his curry hummus. The falafel itself could have been better, but he basically saved us A LOT of money in a city we thought would really bite our wallets.
Actually, so far Budapest is doing a pretty great job of biting my wallet. I got pretty ripped off in the train station and dinner was pricey, but at least we got some free beer and relaxation. I can already tell Budapest is my kind of place. Mostly because it was a pretty gloomy arrival to the train station, no hope for directions or English-speaking people. But I figured out how to read the map and find the names of the streets in different districts and change money (rffffffff) and we made it after awhile. I hope to give serious tourism a break here. So does Aurite. I think we deserve it.
Oh, but Budapest being my city. Here is why: It is complicated. It is hospitable. It is full of people dressed in some alternative style. It has a dirty subway. And everyone seems to love Budapest, drink outdoors while watching the Euro Cup. So far, so good.
I find myself starting to appreciate the company of friends more and more. I do wish I could bring certain people on this trip (my mom to Prague, dad to Vienna, Maddie to Budapest, Wajida everywhere) and have them appreciate these parts of the world and watch them experience life transformations like I am. But that's the point of keeping a journal (because I am keeping a handwritten journal, primarily, of course)--to remind myself that I need to let them know I'm thinking of them and that in my heart I really would love to be with them in this part of the world!
Now it seems like everything is going to work out. Time is passing quickly, but in a very different way than I'm used to. Today is June 27. In a week and a half, we will be, G-d willing, in the Julian Alps, in Bled, Slovenia. Before that, we will take a very complicated trip to Krakow on a very dubious bus route called Orange Ways. It is really a unique feeling to be able to Just Go Places. Because anybody can just go places, but to rid yourself of all restraint and realize that, yes, the world is indeed within your reach, especially if you have a computer and a book and YOU KNOW IT'S POSSIBLE. This feels really, really good. This must be what they mean by "tripping."
We met Alex, an unstable, intransiet yet incredibly sophisticated 24-year-old Australian girl in our room. We also met Catherine, a 25-year-old girl who graduated Harvard, has traveled most continents, works as a strategy developer for Teach for America, and actually planned--in advance--to go to the opera every night she stayed in Vienna. She came with us to the Imperial Treasury today to look at the unbearable amount of wealth the emperor used to wear, physically, on his body, made out of every precious stone and material imaginable. In terms of tourist sites, Aurite and I also made it to the Kunts...er, Museum of Fine Art today and the Belvedere Palace yesterday. The architecture in Vienna is unbelievably gorgeous, well-planned and clearly intended for royalty. Not to mention the art inside those buildings, which is world renowned.
But the highlight was unquestionably the opera. Six hours of standing--two in line, four at our standing-room-only seats at the back of the opera house--were worth it. We saw Don Carlo, an Italian opera written by Giuseppe Verdi. It was brilliant. The storyline partially resembled a Shakespearean tragedy. The music was beautiful, really extraordinary and intensified each charscter's personality so that a soliloquy, for example, was more than just acting or introducing a scene or a conflict. These offered such personality, such emotion--I've never seen theater like this before in my life. I realize I'm so lucky to have been to the opera in Vienna, the city of music! And afterward, we enjoyed a glass of wine and a chocolate torte at Cafe Museum, a famous cafe for artists and intellectuals two blocks away from the Opera House. So there, I got my (seems to be newly acquired) desire for food culture in Vienna.
I would be remiss not to mention Memo, our new friend from the Naschmarkt who made us delicious falafel sandwiches (twice), especially with his curry hummus. The falafel itself could have been better, but he basically saved us A LOT of money in a city we thought would really bite our wallets.
Actually, so far Budapest is doing a pretty great job of biting my wallet. I got pretty ripped off in the train station and dinner was pricey, but at least we got some free beer and relaxation. I can already tell Budapest is my kind of place. Mostly because it was a pretty gloomy arrival to the train station, no hope for directions or English-speaking people. But I figured out how to read the map and find the names of the streets in different districts and change money (rffffffff) and we made it after awhile. I hope to give serious tourism a break here. So does Aurite. I think we deserve it.
Oh, but Budapest being my city. Here is why: It is complicated. It is hospitable. It is full of people dressed in some alternative style. It has a dirty subway. And everyone seems to love Budapest, drink outdoors while watching the Euro Cup. So far, so good.
I find myself starting to appreciate the company of friends more and more. I do wish I could bring certain people on this trip (my mom to Prague, dad to Vienna, Maddie to Budapest, Wajida everywhere) and have them appreciate these parts of the world and watch them experience life transformations like I am. But that's the point of keeping a journal (because I am keeping a handwritten journal, primarily, of course)--to remind myself that I need to let them know I'm thinking of them and that in my heart I really would love to be with them in this part of the world!
Now it seems like everything is going to work out. Time is passing quickly, but in a very different way than I'm used to. Today is June 27. In a week and a half, we will be, G-d willing, in the Julian Alps, in Bled, Slovenia. Before that, we will take a very complicated trip to Krakow on a very dubious bus route called Orange Ways. It is really a unique feeling to be able to Just Go Places. Because anybody can just go places, but to rid yourself of all restraint and realize that, yes, the world is indeed within your reach, especially if you have a computer and a book and YOU KNOW IT'S POSSIBLE. This feels really, really good. This must be what they mean by "tripping."
Monday, June 25, 2012 | Vienna, Austria
I definitely love being a traveler today. Maybe it's because I love cities, or maybe I'm just starved for some international personality. But today I discovered how well I enjoy the "backpacker," who usually seems to
We met two Irish travelers on the train from Prague. They are blond 19-year-olds, a boy and a girl and they are dating. They seem to be spending almost as much time in transit as they are visiting cities. It's actually been wonderful to understand traveling and Europe through their perspective, since they are more excited to be spending time with each other than anything else, and these cities are almost silly/fun/thrilling backdrops for their time together. Their names are Kathy and Graham. They never heard of falafel until today.
- be generous (e.g. the random American in Prague's main train station who gave me all his leftover Czech crows for a baguette)
- be easygoing. Everybody has a plan, but plans aren't stressful. Plans are exciting. Also, places do not define the backpacker--especially the solo travelers. Each has his/her own life and means of self-definition. And everyone is naturally curious about everyone else.
- be excited in the short-term. It's hard not to be!
We met two Irish travelers on the train from Prague. They are blond 19-year-olds, a boy and a girl and they are dating. They seem to be spending almost as much time in transit as they are visiting cities. It's actually been wonderful to understand traveling and Europe through their perspective, since they are more excited to be spending time with each other than anything else, and these cities are almost silly/fun/thrilling backdrops for their time together. Their names are Kathy and Graham. They never heard of falafel until today.
Sunday, June 24, 2012 | Prague, Czech Republic
I have considered the following concepts over the past few days:
Time to pray.
Here is the list of things we did:
Friday:
- I am going to be a religious woman. No more denying this one. It's important and it's who I am.
- Accidentally stumbling upon beauty (the Rose Garden, especially) reminds me of my mom.
- I truly am terrified of going to Poland. (No more denying that one, either.)
- Whether I am making mistakes by denying any of the three aforementioned concepts. It begins to hurt more and more when I do because I know myself so well now. 22 wasn't supposed to feel this old, man. Maybe this is what maturity really represents: not coming to terms with who you are, but allowing yourself to decide, think, and express to others the honest truths of your mind and self.
Time to pray.
Here is the list of things we did:
Friday:
- Old New Synagogue. This is one of the holiest places I've ever been to. The Golem's upstairs, technically. The women have to watch through holes in the wall, but that's not what makes it holy...
- Pinkas Synagogue (a memorial to Czech Jews who died in the Holocaust) and the cemetery. The Mahar'al was buried there. It felt very close to the foundations of spirituality and mysticism.
- Klausen and Meisel Synagogues
- Spanish Synagogue. We went to kabbalat shabbat here. It was exactly what I needed, but it left me wanting so much more. I need to go to more synagogues in Eastern Europe, as many as I can. It is, after all, a half-continent of holiness. (Holiness caused by death, perhaps, but a place exuding the strength of pure souls nonetheless.)
- We also saw the Church of Our Lady Before Tyn and the Bethlehem Church.
- Watched a wedding photo shoot by the Charles Bridge.
- Amazing vegetarian dinner (Maitrea - thank you Ilana Sidorsky)
- Karlovy Lazne. This was Pachanga. At least I can say I went.
- Mala Strana, the lesser town. It's a park, mostly.
- We walked up to Petrin Tower and saw the whole city.
- Then we walked back down the hill and discovered the United Islands international music festival on Kampa Island in the middle of the Vlatva River. We saw O Children (a band from England?) and a dubstep duo that made use of a trombone and one band that did a decent job imitating 80s music. Best part of Prague, hands down.
- At night we went to Chapeau Rouge and met a Czech guy and a Russian guy. They were very nice, and they walked us home. They made good company, but as we see, meeting good company while traveling doesn't necessarily mean friends forever. We never saw them again.
- We had breakfast at Bohemian Bagels.
- We saw St. Vitus' Cathedral, the old royal palace--in which we saw up close and personal the ACTUAL WINDOW of the DEFENSTRATION (i.e., what really made Prague famous)--St. George's Basilica and the Golden Lane. We saw some house Franz Kafka lived in, but it was rather anti-climactic and fixed for tourists.
- We also saw the TGM statue of Prague's first president!
- Rented a boat on the Vlatva. I looked for my grandpa's socks, but could not find them. The water is not the cleanest...
- The John Lennon wall was pretty cool. Anytime everybody feels a right to a single public space, the result seems to be so colorful. I guess that's because everyone is entitled to a favorite color.
Thursday, June 21, 2012 | Prague, Czech Republic
I am finding it tremendously difficult to process this city, mostly because I am gaping in awe most of the time I'm walking around. What would we do if we never came here, if we spent our summer in New York instead? Beauty is a full-body experience. It's not just that you have to see it to believe it; you have to be in it.
Today was also the first time I almost missed a flight. I guess Geneva had a lot of missed experiences: boarding the plane to Prague in the middle of a huge, lush forest, flying through the Alps, turkey and cucumber sandwiches. Oh well, I was sleeping. But after seeing much of this city today, I don't really care too much.
Here is Aurite's list of what we did today:
Today was also the first time I almost missed a flight. I guess Geneva had a lot of missed experiences: boarding the plane to Prague in the middle of a huge, lush forest, flying through the Alps, turkey and cucumber sandwiches. Oh well, I was sleeping. But after seeing much of this city today, I don't really care too much.
Here is Aurite's list of what we did today:
- Fred and Ginger! (the dancing buildings from the Wall Street Journal) Thanks, Grandmother!
- Charles Bridge
- Another Bridge (NOT the Most Legii, the other one before that)
- Ate pasta at a caffe in Nove Mestro (New Town)
- Weceslas Square
- Watched Czech Republic vs. Portugal soccer game - a Eurocup semifinal qualifying match (maybe?) - at an English pub
- Old Town Square. That was crazy though because it was packed with sad, drunk Czechs who just watched their soccer team lose on a huge screen in the middle of the city. Also, we got to see the Astronomical Clock Tower lit up at night, which made a wonderful contrast with the wild under-30 crowd.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)