My last full day in Europe was spent on a day trip from Lyon to Chalon sur Saone, the city where Opa was imprisoned and escaped in 1942, leaving his mother behind.
I went with little knowledge of what happened in that city beyond Opa's recollection, admittedly doubtful in this area (he had thought he was either in Pithiviers or Drancy). The Internet offered little information beyond that there was some sort of prison center here in 1942. I went to see if anyone in the city knew any more.
First I went to the local office of tourism. I have learned that these places throughout France are often good places to find English speakers. The women there did not know anything about any prison camps, but suggested that I should speak to someone at a war memorial museum not far away. No one there had heard of any prison site either. Theirs was a memorial to the fallen French soldiers of the war, not victims of the Holocaust, an event that barely touched their rural city.
So I did not find much success here. I even spent time wandering near the train station (thinking that likely the prison would have been near the area most of the arrests were being made, on the trains) looking for a building that matched the description given by Opa. But he admitted in his journal that his impression of the place was influenced by his small size (he thought it was an enormous building with an 8 - 10 foot wall), and it is doubtful that the building still stands today in any event, so I found nothing.
But, like with all of my travels, my time in Chalon sur Saone will help me better write the parts of the story that take place here with better accuracy, so the day was not a wash.
It is both strange and exciting to think that it is nearly time to go home. I am very happy and proud of my accomplishments on this trip.
Tomorrow will be spent mostly on trains to Paris and then Amsterdam where I will stay overnight in the airport and I fly home around 1 PM local time on the 2nd to New York City. It is an eight hour flight, but because of the time difference I will land around 3 PM Eastern, and then I have one more flight to Detroit and I fly from there to Burlington. I am not looking forward to that jet lag!
Until tomorrow!
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Toulouse to Lyon 30th May 2013
Today's time traveling was well spent in discussion - albeit in a convoluted mixture of my own broken French and her broken English - with a very sweet woman regarding Opa, his mother, my family, and her family. It made the time pass quickly and I was moved, once more, by how supportive of my project everyone I meet has been.
And, geographically speaking, I was not prepared at all for what I saw on this train ride. I am ashamed to admit, "geographer" that I am, that I had little sense of where exactly Toulouse was relative to Lyon, and additionally I had no preexisting notion of what southeastern France is like; I can tell you now, it is beautiful.
Toulouse is farther south, and the Mediterranean farther north, than I thought. Imagine my surprise to look out the window at a sandy beach lapped by the brightest-blue water I had ever seen. Noting my fascination, my riding companion said, simply, "C'est la mer. La mer Méditeranée." I never expected it. The Mediterranean snuck up on me. Some geographer! Looking at the map now, of course we would skirt the coast. What an exciting surprise! If only I could have got out!
And then it was gone. And at Nîmes, so too was my intrepid amateur tour guide. But the land was no less impressive.
From Nîmes we sped almost directly north through some of the most rugged terrain I have ever seen. Mountains seemingly composed of nothing but fist-sized rubble shot up into the sky, clad in hardy evergreens, the occasional vineyard (which look eerily like the war graveyards, neat rows as far as the eye can see) and a scrubby little undergrowth resplendent with yellow and pink flowers that made their lives in such a seemingly sparse area. It was beautiful in its alienness and I really wish I could spend time there: there were miles of shoulder-width walking paths through the underbrush begging to be explored. Perhaps someday!
It's funny what time does to language. Trying to talk to the woman, I found myself very near to answering her French in German (I took German this semester for the first time) despite the fact I took two semesters of French in high school. I am much more comfortable in German than in French. I ended up showing her the pictures I have of Opa, his family, etc., and she understood everything I was saying much better than when I had been trying in elementary French! She told me I have Opa's eyes. I wanted to hug her for that.
There are hourly trains from here to Chalons sur Saone, so I will spend tomorrow there. I am not sure what I will find, if anything, but the best way to see is to go! Then my real last day in Europe will be over, already! I travel the next day to Paris where I take a connecting train to Amsterdam and will stay in the airport there for roughly 13 hours or so before heading home. If I smell when I land, Mom and Dad, I'm sorry! Just sit me next to Trey on the ride back!
Until tomorrow, readers!
P.S. Everyone who has been enjoying my blog over the course of this month, and who is disappointed now that it is coming to an end, should take a moment and check out my good friend Ethan's nascent blog, Summer Adventures of a Northwoods Wildlife Intern, where he details the incredibly interesting day to day life of a wildlife refuge in Wisconsin. His posts are funny, exciting, and I am jealous of the fact that he gets to have such a cool job for the summer! Give it a read and follow him as loyally as you have been following this blog (I'm thankful for that, by the way!)
Au revoir!
And, geographically speaking, I was not prepared at all for what I saw on this train ride. I am ashamed to admit, "geographer" that I am, that I had little sense of where exactly Toulouse was relative to Lyon, and additionally I had no preexisting notion of what southeastern France is like; I can tell you now, it is beautiful.
Toulouse is farther south, and the Mediterranean farther north, than I thought. Imagine my surprise to look out the window at a sandy beach lapped by the brightest-blue water I had ever seen. Noting my fascination, my riding companion said, simply, "C'est la mer. La mer Méditeranée." I never expected it. The Mediterranean snuck up on me. Some geographer! Looking at the map now, of course we would skirt the coast. What an exciting surprise! If only I could have got out!
And then it was gone. And at Nîmes, so too was my intrepid amateur tour guide. But the land was no less impressive.
From Nîmes we sped almost directly north through some of the most rugged terrain I have ever seen. Mountains seemingly composed of nothing but fist-sized rubble shot up into the sky, clad in hardy evergreens, the occasional vineyard (which look eerily like the war graveyards, neat rows as far as the eye can see) and a scrubby little undergrowth resplendent with yellow and pink flowers that made their lives in such a seemingly sparse area. It was beautiful in its alienness and I really wish I could spend time there: there were miles of shoulder-width walking paths through the underbrush begging to be explored. Perhaps someday!
It's funny what time does to language. Trying to talk to the woman, I found myself very near to answering her French in German (I took German this semester for the first time) despite the fact I took two semesters of French in high school. I am much more comfortable in German than in French. I ended up showing her the pictures I have of Opa, his family, etc., and she understood everything I was saying much better than when I had been trying in elementary French! She told me I have Opa's eyes. I wanted to hug her for that.
There are hourly trains from here to Chalons sur Saone, so I will spend tomorrow there. I am not sure what I will find, if anything, but the best way to see is to go! Then my real last day in Europe will be over, already! I travel the next day to Paris where I take a connecting train to Amsterdam and will stay in the airport there for roughly 13 hours or so before heading home. If I smell when I land, Mom and Dad, I'm sorry! Just sit me next to Trey on the ride back!
Until tomorrow, readers!
P.S. Everyone who has been enjoying my blog over the course of this month, and who is disappointed now that it is coming to an end, should take a moment and check out my good friend Ethan's nascent blog, Summer Adventures of a Northwoods Wildlife Intern, where he details the incredibly interesting day to day life of a wildlife refuge in Wisconsin. His posts are funny, exciting, and I am jealous of the fact that he gets to have such a cool job for the summer! Give it a read and follow him as loyally as you have been following this blog (I'm thankful for that, by the way!)
Au revoir!
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Toulouse 29th May 2013
Finally my allergies have subsided! Apart from the occasional debilitating sneeze it seems yesterday's rain and today's cloudiness have defeated southern France's considerable pollen level, meaning today was a great day to explore Toulouse.
I really like this city, though I have trouble comparing it to anywhere else I have been. It is no Paris, where thousands are on the street at any time. Neither is it Vienna, with its Imperial legacy. And it is unlike Amsterdam, too, that city is far too maritime in character. And Toulouse is sprawling and doesn't climb upward like any American city.
But the houses are colorful, the streets are narrow and lively, and I did not find a visibly impoverished area here like I did in the other cities I have visited on this trip (though I am sure it must exist somewhere).
It just seems like a city comfortable with its mixed French, North African, and even Spanish influences. None of the other cities seemed this cosmopolitan, which seems strange considering Toulouse is smaller than the others. This seems also to run counter to the American trend where smaller communities seem more insular.
That said, though, I did not wander upon any Jewish heritage in Toulouse like I did everywhere else. It is a big place and I cannot say that a Jewish quarter does not exist, but the other cities were bigger and I found theirs. Perhaps Toulouse is not so cosmopolitan, or has not been historically, at least, as it seems.
Tonight I pack again and tomorrow is spent on a train to Lyon. I am excited to go to Chalons sur Saone on the day after but I am having a very hard time finding any information on the camp there. I will have to "wing it" (like I have on most of this trip, honestly).
I also am very excited now to go home. This trip has been immensely rewarding but I am exhausted and long to be in Vermont. But, not much longer!
Until tomorrow!
I really like this city, though I have trouble comparing it to anywhere else I have been. It is no Paris, where thousands are on the street at any time. Neither is it Vienna, with its Imperial legacy. And it is unlike Amsterdam, too, that city is far too maritime in character. And Toulouse is sprawling and doesn't climb upward like any American city.
But the houses are colorful, the streets are narrow and lively, and I did not find a visibly impoverished area here like I did in the other cities I have visited on this trip (though I am sure it must exist somewhere).
It just seems like a city comfortable with its mixed French, North African, and even Spanish influences. None of the other cities seemed this cosmopolitan, which seems strange considering Toulouse is smaller than the others. This seems also to run counter to the American trend where smaller communities seem more insular.
That said, though, I did not wander upon any Jewish heritage in Toulouse like I did everywhere else. It is a big place and I cannot say that a Jewish quarter does not exist, but the other cities were bigger and I found theirs. Perhaps Toulouse is not so cosmopolitan, or has not been historically, at least, as it seems.
Tonight I pack again and tomorrow is spent on a train to Lyon. I am excited to go to Chalons sur Saone on the day after but I am having a very hard time finding any information on the camp there. I will have to "wing it" (like I have on most of this trip, honestly).
I also am very excited now to go home. This trip has been immensely rewarding but I am exhausted and long to be in Vermont. But, not much longer!
Until tomorrow!
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Toulouse 28th May 2013
It appears that I may be a rain maker, as the skies above Toulouse clouded overnight and it has been pouring all day, making for poor sightseeing. On the bright side, though my allergies are still an issue, the rain has helped immensely. I am less congested and can form coherent thoughts today.
Today was, due to the weather, committed to doing laundry at, I must say, the sketchiest laundromat I have ever seen. The walls and tables were covered with graffiti and the weird, synthetic-rubbery couch was not one I would I ever consider sitting on... But I am currently sockless, so it had to happen. In any case it was cheaper than its Parisian counterpart.
Sidenote: a man just walked in with no laundry, looked me in the eyes, and walked out...
I have undergone an exciting string of experiences lately, experiences that cause me to believe I am very close to ready to start actually writing Heinz. I have caught myself several times writing scenes in my head. Whether lying down to sleep, in the shower, or cooking, my mind wanders to the story I have to tell and the manner in which I want to tell it. If that is not a sign that I am almost ready I do not know what is.
The majority of the writing of Heinz will be undertaken this fall at school when I have allotted three credit hours per week to the project. But I suspect that I will be drawn to begin my work this summer in Vermont while I have free time and this trip is fresh on my mind.
I am considering spending my last night in Europe, 1st June, in the Amsterdam airport rather than at the hostel I have booked. I arrive at almost 11 PM anyway and I don't much care to try and find my hostel that late at night. I will consider it a bit more and then decide.
Tomorrow I will explore here no matter the weather!
Today was, due to the weather, committed to doing laundry at, I must say, the sketchiest laundromat I have ever seen. The walls and tables were covered with graffiti and the weird, synthetic-rubbery couch was not one I would I ever consider sitting on... But I am currently sockless, so it had to happen. In any case it was cheaper than its Parisian counterpart.
Sidenote: a man just walked in with no laundry, looked me in the eyes, and walked out...
I have undergone an exciting string of experiences lately, experiences that cause me to believe I am very close to ready to start actually writing Heinz. I have caught myself several times writing scenes in my head. Whether lying down to sleep, in the shower, or cooking, my mind wanders to the story I have to tell and the manner in which I want to tell it. If that is not a sign that I am almost ready I do not know what is.
The majority of the writing of Heinz will be undertaken this fall at school when I have allotted three credit hours per week to the project. But I suspect that I will be drawn to begin my work this summer in Vermont while I have free time and this trip is fresh on my mind.
I am considering spending my last night in Europe, 1st June, in the Amsterdam airport rather than at the hostel I have booked. I arrive at almost 11 PM anyway and I don't much care to try and find my hostel that late at night. I will consider it a bit more and then decide.
Tomorrow I will explore here no matter the weather!
Monday, May 27, 2013
Toulouse 27th May 2013
I fell asleep very early last night and woke up at 07:00 this morning. I have suffered from particularly bad allergies today: so bad, in fact, that my Chinese roommate (who speaks almost no English) was so concerned he asked me if I was OK as I cooked dinner, apparently looking like I was crying over the poor sausages I was cutting.
Despite my allergies I took a two hour train ride to Pau, a city in the Pyrenees Opa visited for some time in 1942 before making his way to Switzerland. I had heard the Pyrenees are beautiful, so I took a south-facing window seat.
"Beautiful" is an understatement. The Pyrenees drive up into the sky seemingly out of nowhere. On the northern side of the train there are rolling plains for miles; on the southern, the snow-capped white peaks of the range intermingle with the clouds.
Pau itself is located in the foothills of these mountains. It sits atop a north-facing ridge that makes for a steep climb (there is a ski-lift-like tram offered to those who cannot make it up walking) and an amazing view. I would say it is the most beautiful place I have ever seen if my trained had not passed through Loundes just before...
Loundes is nestled between three tall green spires in a valley carved by a swiftly-flowing blue-green river. I did not stop, but even from the train it left an impression. The ruins of a castle sat atop a hill on the bank of the river flying the tri-colored flag of France. Not far down river the spire of a cathedral climbed upward triumphantly. The place is gorgeous.
My frustration at my allergies keeps this entry short. Tomorrow, depending on my allergies, I plan to explore Toulouse some. I also need to do laundry, I am down to one clean sock (not sure how that happened).
Until tomorrow!
Despite my allergies I took a two hour train ride to Pau, a city in the Pyrenees Opa visited for some time in 1942 before making his way to Switzerland. I had heard the Pyrenees are beautiful, so I took a south-facing window seat.
"Beautiful" is an understatement. The Pyrenees drive up into the sky seemingly out of nowhere. On the northern side of the train there are rolling plains for miles; on the southern, the snow-capped white peaks of the range intermingle with the clouds.
Pau itself is located in the foothills of these mountains. It sits atop a north-facing ridge that makes for a steep climb (there is a ski-lift-like tram offered to those who cannot make it up walking) and an amazing view. I would say it is the most beautiful place I have ever seen if my trained had not passed through Loundes just before...
Loundes is nestled between three tall green spires in a valley carved by a swiftly-flowing blue-green river. I did not stop, but even from the train it left an impression. The ruins of a castle sat atop a hill on the bank of the river flying the tri-colored flag of France. Not far down river the spire of a cathedral climbed upward triumphantly. The place is gorgeous.
My frustration at my allergies keeps this entry short. Tomorrow, depending on my allergies, I plan to explore Toulouse some. I also need to do laundry, I am down to one clean sock (not sure how that happened).
Until tomorrow!
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Paris to Toulouse 26th May 2013
As I course over the French countryside on a high speed InterCity train it has occurred to me that the most beautiful days seem to be travel days when I cannot enjoy the sun and its warmth because I am stuck in a metal tube hurtling along at 165 km/h. C'est la vie, I suppose. It is still snowing in Vermont, though. Rebecca posted a picture this morning that I feel warrants attention here:
So I will take a sunny day on the train in France.
Leaving Paris was a strange experience. My time there was certainly the most rewarding yet. In numerous places I have seen the Hebrew supplication Zachor, "remember." This concept, as I have immersed myself in my research, has taken on a new and personal meaning.
I think that one of the most intriguing and worrisome truths regarding Holocaust studies is that while the Holocaust as an event is one of the most researched topics in human history it seems that remembrance, true zachor, is more and more difficult to ensure. This is a nascent idea for me and I welcome comment and apologize in advance if it is controversial.
In my own American education I was taught a good but overwhelmingly broad history of the Holocaust. I worry that this teaching style might be damaging. "Six million Jews were killed," we are told, "simply because they were Jewish." But when we view the issue through such a wide lens we lose sight of the fact that each of those six million was a person, a human being with a life story. Perhaps they were Heinz Najman, a 13 year old boy, never devoutly Jewish but hunted for it anyway. Perhaps they were Bernard Najman, only 2 years old, never given the chance to decide what Judaism meant to him before he was sentenced to the gas chamber for it. I am reluctant to view the Holocaust as anything that happened "simply because," because that logic seems almost to lend itself to the logic of Nazism itself.
I rather think that the Holocaust should be told personally. This is what I will try to do with Heinz. Opa and his family were far more than simple Jewish victims of Nazi hatred; they were human beings with wants and needs and they ought to be treated as such in any telling of their tale. To reduce them to the identity Hitler sought to impose on them would be a dramatic and hurtful disservice.
I think that an education in this vein can also stir interest that other pedagogic styles cannot. Anne Frank's story was remarkably touching and relatable because of its intimately personal nature. Anne was a living person with emotion and depth, no matter how adamantly Nazi propaganda claimed otherwise. Heinz Najman, too, was a human being, resisting his oppressors from the first day that they threatened him and his family, never passive as the word "victim" implies. And I am remarkably and unstatably proud to descend from such a person.
This is not to say that such personal narratives do not exist. Indeed great work has been done and continues to be undertaken to document and share the lives of those people killed during the Shoah. But I worry that many general Holocaust education methods gloss over the humanity of those killed by lumping them together in the decidedly inhuman abstraction "Jewish victims."
What does this mean? I think that educators should take caution in all cases of genocide because it is incredibly easy in teaching such subjects to slip into faceless and yeastless statistics and generalities. I ask that, instead, educators should highlight the humanity of those killed, as this humanity is the very thing those perpetrating genocide try to deny. We have not yet learned, despite all the time and money dedicated to studying the Holocaust, how to prevent genocide. Several are ongoing today.
Perhaps it is time for a new way to teach this subject.
So I will take a sunny day on the train in France.
Leaving Paris was a strange experience. My time there was certainly the most rewarding yet. In numerous places I have seen the Hebrew supplication Zachor, "remember." This concept, as I have immersed myself in my research, has taken on a new and personal meaning.
I think that one of the most intriguing and worrisome truths regarding Holocaust studies is that while the Holocaust as an event is one of the most researched topics in human history it seems that remembrance, true zachor, is more and more difficult to ensure. This is a nascent idea for me and I welcome comment and apologize in advance if it is controversial.
In my own American education I was taught a good but overwhelmingly broad history of the Holocaust. I worry that this teaching style might be damaging. "Six million Jews were killed," we are told, "simply because they were Jewish." But when we view the issue through such a wide lens we lose sight of the fact that each of those six million was a person, a human being with a life story. Perhaps they were Heinz Najman, a 13 year old boy, never devoutly Jewish but hunted for it anyway. Perhaps they were Bernard Najman, only 2 years old, never given the chance to decide what Judaism meant to him before he was sentenced to the gas chamber for it. I am reluctant to view the Holocaust as anything that happened "simply because," because that logic seems almost to lend itself to the logic of Nazism itself.
I rather think that the Holocaust should be told personally. This is what I will try to do with Heinz. Opa and his family were far more than simple Jewish victims of Nazi hatred; they were human beings with wants and needs and they ought to be treated as such in any telling of their tale. To reduce them to the identity Hitler sought to impose on them would be a dramatic and hurtful disservice.
I think that an education in this vein can also stir interest that other pedagogic styles cannot. Anne Frank's story was remarkably touching and relatable because of its intimately personal nature. Anne was a living person with emotion and depth, no matter how adamantly Nazi propaganda claimed otherwise. Heinz Najman, too, was a human being, resisting his oppressors from the first day that they threatened him and his family, never passive as the word "victim" implies. And I am remarkably and unstatably proud to descend from such a person.
This is not to say that such personal narratives do not exist. Indeed great work has been done and continues to be undertaken to document and share the lives of those people killed during the Shoah. But I worry that many general Holocaust education methods gloss over the humanity of those killed by lumping them together in the decidedly inhuman abstraction "Jewish victims."
What does this mean? I think that educators should take caution in all cases of genocide because it is incredibly easy in teaching such subjects to slip into faceless and yeastless statistics and generalities. I ask that, instead, educators should highlight the humanity of those killed, as this humanity is the very thing those perpetrating genocide try to deny. We have not yet learned, despite all the time and money dedicated to studying the Holocaust, how to prevent genocide. Several are ongoing today.
Perhaps it is time for a new way to teach this subject.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Paris 25th May 2013
My last day in Paris was one of rather high ambitions: today I would get to the tourist sites I had been neglecting in favor of research.
The plan was only mildly successful, mostly because I made a rookie's travel mistake: never leave everything of one type for one day. If your one day gets rained out, you will miss seeing the Eiffel Tower.
Honestly, I was in Paris and never saw the Eiffel Tower except from afar. Worst tourist ever.
But I console myself in knowing I was here first as a researcher and my efforts on that front have been broadly successful.
I made my way late this morning (a beautiful morning, mind you) to the fountain of St. Michael near Notre Dame where a free three-hour walking tour began at 1:00. Generally I, being the seasoned veteran of nearly a month in Europe now, scoff at such blatantly tourist-y attractions as this tour, but I don't regret starting this walk: the guide was young, funny, knowledgeable and friendly. I learned some very neat curiosities of Parisian and French history.
Unfortunately the weather did not hold. By the time we reached the Louvre a torrential downpour soaked me. I was cold. I told Europe that it had won this day, left the tour, and headed back to my hostel. I have spent today trying to be as productive as I can be here.
Tomorrow my train for Toulouse leaves at 09:42, so I will have to get up fairly early to take the subway to the Gare d'Austerlitz. Tonight I will pack and sleep early!
Another travel day tomorrow! I will update you all from Toulouse where I hope it is a bit more dry (though at least it isn't snowing like it is today in Vermont).
Au revoir, Paris!
The plan was only mildly successful, mostly because I made a rookie's travel mistake: never leave everything of one type for one day. If your one day gets rained out, you will miss seeing the Eiffel Tower.
Honestly, I was in Paris and never saw the Eiffel Tower except from afar. Worst tourist ever.
But I console myself in knowing I was here first as a researcher and my efforts on that front have been broadly successful.
I made my way late this morning (a beautiful morning, mind you) to the fountain of St. Michael near Notre Dame where a free three-hour walking tour began at 1:00. Generally I, being the seasoned veteran of nearly a month in Europe now, scoff at such blatantly tourist-y attractions as this tour, but I don't regret starting this walk: the guide was young, funny, knowledgeable and friendly. I learned some very neat curiosities of Parisian and French history.
Unfortunately the weather did not hold. By the time we reached the Louvre a torrential downpour soaked me. I was cold. I told Europe that it had won this day, left the tour, and headed back to my hostel. I have spent today trying to be as productive as I can be here.
Tomorrow my train for Toulouse leaves at 09:42, so I will have to get up fairly early to take the subway to the Gare d'Austerlitz. Tonight I will pack and sleep early!
Another travel day tomorrow! I will update you all from Toulouse where I hope it is a bit more dry (though at least it isn't snowing like it is today in Vermont).
Au revoir, Paris!
Friday, May 24, 2013
Paris 24th May 2013
I am, once again, astounded and excited by the fragments of information I find everywhere I go. Nine days ago in Brussels I learned the names of all four of Opa's grandparents. Two days ago I used those names to learn the names and addresses of an aunt, uncle, and four cousins of Opa's that none in my family knew lived. Today in Orleans I used those names and addresses to find pictures of that aunt and those cousins. I am, once again, blown away.
By the nature of my project I go to most places with little idea of what to expect. I knew that Orleans was home to CERCIL,essentially a center for Holocaust studies focused on the Loiret region of France and its three large camps (among them Pithiviers), but I expected it to be little more than a museum of sorts (there are many, an example is the Jewish History Museum in Amsterdam I wrote about previously), which are nice but do not generally do much to forward my own project. There were, after all, many people involved in the Shoah and it is impossible in most broad interest museums to dwell or focus on the countless individual stories inherent in the Holocaust. In fact, I almost did not go to Orleans today: another day in Paris was tempting and I was not feeling well this morning anyway, but I decided to go and see what I could find.
Orleans is a pretty city, bigger than Ypres but much smaller than Paris, which was nice after a few days in the city. I do not think I will ever be a "city person." I feel overwhelmed by the massive tide of humanity in Paris.
The receptionist at CERCIL was a very sweet woman, embarrassed by her lack of command of English (she was better than she gave herself credit for), but helpful nonetheless. She let me into the museum for free because, she said, everything was written in French and she apparently doubted that I would get my money's worth from the exhibits. She was wrong.
For the most part it was a museum. It featured a barrack like those found at Pithiviers and then summarized, much like other museums, the lead up to the war and the genocide.
But CERCIL had a room with three sectioned and illuminated walls. In each small section sat the name of a child arrested in France, most during the Vel d'Hiv, and most eventually killed. In roughly 1/5th of these a picture accompanied the name. The many names with blank spaces were ominous, evidence of the mountains of work still due to these children whose stories are not fully understood, and discouraged me from hoping, but I worked my way slowly around, looking at the faces of innocents whose lives were torn apart by a hatred they could not possibly have deserved.
I reached Rosa Brykman's place first. No picture of the 16 year old girl with whom my great-grandmother was killed was available. This made me sad. Opa said she was pretty, and I had hoped to see her.
But the "N"s were different. My breath caught as my eyes settled first on Lucien Najman, Opa's younger cousin, who looked incredibly similar to Opa and to my father. Above and below Lucien were pictures of his brothers and sisters. They were a beautiful family. The oldest, Helene, was only 16.
Additionally there was an interactive database that let me search for each of them, game some details of their lives, and cycled between an enlarged picture of them and a family photo of the children with their mother, Marjem. I could not help but be moved by this photo. Their happy smiles in the face of such horror are incredible. They were together.
I thanked the receptionist profusely and assured her I had found more than I could have hoped for.
On the train ride back I met an interesting and trilingual mechanical engineer from near Orleans who fell for a Brazilian girl at university and moved to Brazil to be with her. We discussed life, my project, and politics (both American and French) all the way. It was very nice to meet a local for once (most of my friends have been fellow hostelers). He even told me a bit about Chalons sur Saone!
Unfortunately I came back too late to try to attend services at the synagogue tonight. I was disappointed, but I am still so happy with today. I cannot get over Lucien. It is remarkable.
Until tomorrow!
By the nature of my project I go to most places with little idea of what to expect. I knew that Orleans was home to CERCIL,essentially a center for Holocaust studies focused on the Loiret region of France and its three large camps (among them Pithiviers), but I expected it to be little more than a museum of sorts (there are many, an example is the Jewish History Museum in Amsterdam I wrote about previously), which are nice but do not generally do much to forward my own project. There were, after all, many people involved in the Shoah and it is impossible in most broad interest museums to dwell or focus on the countless individual stories inherent in the Holocaust. In fact, I almost did not go to Orleans today: another day in Paris was tempting and I was not feeling well this morning anyway, but I decided to go and see what I could find.
Orleans is a pretty city, bigger than Ypres but much smaller than Paris, which was nice after a few days in the city. I do not think I will ever be a "city person." I feel overwhelmed by the massive tide of humanity in Paris.
The receptionist at CERCIL was a very sweet woman, embarrassed by her lack of command of English (she was better than she gave herself credit for), but helpful nonetheless. She let me into the museum for free because, she said, everything was written in French and she apparently doubted that I would get my money's worth from the exhibits. She was wrong.
For the most part it was a museum. It featured a barrack like those found at Pithiviers and then summarized, much like other museums, the lead up to the war and the genocide.
But CERCIL had a room with three sectioned and illuminated walls. In each small section sat the name of a child arrested in France, most during the Vel d'Hiv, and most eventually killed. In roughly 1/5th of these a picture accompanied the name. The many names with blank spaces were ominous, evidence of the mountains of work still due to these children whose stories are not fully understood, and discouraged me from hoping, but I worked my way slowly around, looking at the faces of innocents whose lives were torn apart by a hatred they could not possibly have deserved.
I reached Rosa Brykman's place first. No picture of the 16 year old girl with whom my great-grandmother was killed was available. This made me sad. Opa said she was pretty, and I had hoped to see her.
But the "N"s were different. My breath caught as my eyes settled first on Lucien Najman, Opa's younger cousin, who looked incredibly similar to Opa and to my father. Above and below Lucien were pictures of his brothers and sisters. They were a beautiful family. The oldest, Helene, was only 16.
Additionally there was an interactive database that let me search for each of them, game some details of their lives, and cycled between an enlarged picture of them and a family photo of the children with their mother, Marjem. I could not help but be moved by this photo. Their happy smiles in the face of such horror are incredible. They were together.
I thanked the receptionist profusely and assured her I had found more than I could have hoped for.
On the train ride back I met an interesting and trilingual mechanical engineer from near Orleans who fell for a Brazilian girl at university and moved to Brazil to be with her. We discussed life, my project, and politics (both American and French) all the way. It was very nice to meet a local for once (most of my friends have been fellow hostelers). He even told me a bit about Chalons sur Saone!
Unfortunately I came back too late to try to attend services at the synagogue tonight. I was disappointed, but I am still so happy with today. I cannot get over Lucien. It is remarkable.
Until tomorrow!
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Paris 23rd May 2013
I am still on a genealogy high from yesterday. I was inspired by my success in the archives to spend last night updating and expanding my ever-growing family tree. In so doing I found several family members I hadn't been notifying of these posts and should have been. So, if you are new here, I hope you enjoy reading about the project, and welcome to the club!
I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep last night, mostly as a result of my excitement of the day's success, but I suspect in part also because I had more coffee than I should have with Ashley and Jordan. So I have spent most of today tired and will likely turn in early tonight, but I did use the time thinking of potential ways to present Heinz when I get back to Aberdeen, so I was at least somewhat productive.
Today was spent traveling to Drancy, the transit camp north of Paris where numerous members of my family - indeed, tens of thousands of Jews from France - were held before being deported to their deaths at concentration camps across Europe. The building that housed the internees itself was demolished years ago. In its place stands a twisted and haunting statue in memory of the Hell on Earth that was built here, and train tracks leading ominously to a freight car like those used in the deportations. It was an odd experience being there. The plaques say n'oubliez pas - "do not forget," but life goes on at Drancy and I am the only one at the memorial. It is situated in (yet another) poor residential neighborhood. Few even notice the memorial they walk past every day. I suppose noticing and remembering are the jobs of my project.
Tomorrow I will take a train to Orleans to visit the memorial for child victims of the Vel d'hiv, the mass roundup of Jews in France in which many in my family were arrested. If my French is up to snuff this is also the Pithiviers memorial. I will try to be back in time to attend services at the synagogue near Rue des Francs Bourgeois.
Until tomorrow!
I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep last night, mostly as a result of my excitement of the day's success, but I suspect in part also because I had more coffee than I should have with Ashley and Jordan. So I have spent most of today tired and will likely turn in early tonight, but I did use the time thinking of potential ways to present Heinz when I get back to Aberdeen, so I was at least somewhat productive.
Today was spent traveling to Drancy, the transit camp north of Paris where numerous members of my family - indeed, tens of thousands of Jews from France - were held before being deported to their deaths at concentration camps across Europe. The building that housed the internees itself was demolished years ago. In its place stands a twisted and haunting statue in memory of the Hell on Earth that was built here, and train tracks leading ominously to a freight car like those used in the deportations. It was an odd experience being there. The plaques say n'oubliez pas - "do not forget," but life goes on at Drancy and I am the only one at the memorial. It is situated in (yet another) poor residential neighborhood. Few even notice the memorial they walk past every day. I suppose noticing and remembering are the jobs of my project.
Tomorrow I will take a train to Orleans to visit the memorial for child victims of the Vel d'hiv, the mass roundup of Jews in France in which many in my family were arrested. If my French is up to snuff this is also the Pithiviers memorial. I will try to be back in time to attend services at the synagogue near Rue des Francs Bourgeois.
Until tomorrow!
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Paris 22nd May 2013
Honestly, the immensity of today can not be overstated. If I were to add all of the information I have found prior to today (roughly two to two and a half years of work online) it would still pale in comparison to 22nd May, 2013 in Paris. I have found the missing piece. I understand now. My God. Honestly. I have never felt like I do right now.
Opa's memoirs in English were written far after the fact and, despite some few "holes" of informations, are remarkably detailed. I am more and more impressed with his ability to remember specific addresses in each city as well as the names of neighbors, etc. My main work has been derived from these English memoirs, but there is also a fragment of what appears to be a contemporary account of the incident written by Opa shortly after he arrived in Switzerland. This short piece is written in German.
For the most part these stories corroborate, but on one key issue they diverged: his English report led me to assume he had been interned at Drancy, a camp just north of Paris, based on the fact that his mother was eventually deported from there to Auschwitz. But the German account states that he was actually Pithiviers, another camps, and implies that he was separated from his mother there. To further confuse matters, records for him do not exist at either Pithiviers or Drancy, though they do at both for his mother (she was sent from Pithiviers to Drancy and then to Auschwitz). This led me to question my preexisting notion: perhaps Opa was never at either camp, and they were separated somewhere else.
His mother's information cards were regrettably vague. No hints as to her location prior to Pithiviers were offered. But Opa's memoirs, once again incredibly detailed, mentioned the names of various extended family members with whom he and his mother were traveling when they were arrested. Among this number was one Rosa Brykman, his cousin, the 16 year old daughter of his mother's older sister. In his English memoir Opa noted that when he left his mother he also left Rosa. It occurred to me that Rosa very likely followed the same trail as Opa's mother and may shed light on the mystery location where they were all imprisoned together.
And that was it. Rosa was the key. She was kept with Opa's mother until their similar murders at Auschwitz. But where Chana Najman's cards were bereft of information regarding their detention prior to Pithiviers, Rosa Brykman's cards had a single line: "Prison de Chalons sur Saone."
And there it was. Chalons sur Saone is a city south east of Paris very near the demarcation line that separated the German-occupied portion of France from Vichy ("Free") France, and it was here that Opa, his mother, Rosa Brykman, and three distant relations (one of whome, Paulette Weinbush, he escaped with) were all imprisoned together. This is my missing piece. It was not a concentration camp, not even a transit camp like Drancy, but more of a haphazard detention center erected as a staging point. It was this piecemeal nature of the prison at Chalons sur Saone that allowed the French Gendarme the opportunity to help Opa and Paulette escape. Chalons sur Saone is the last place Opa saw his mother.
Needless to say, I am going to Chalons sur Saone. It is an hour's ride from Lyon, so I will go on 31st May.
Almost as an after thought (relatively speaking) I found information on twelve (!!!) relatives: Pesacc Najman, my Opa's uncle, his wife and their four children, and Cyrla Brykman nee Szmckier, Opa's mother's older sister, her husband and their four children, including the key Rosa. This trove of information itself is priceless. I owe an inordinate deal to the archives of the Memorial de la Shoah in Paris.
This evening I met Ashley and her boyfriend Jordan for coffee at an excellent cafe near Notre Dame. It was very nice to see her and meet Jordan for the first time. I hope to see her again stateside sometime soon!
Tomorrow I intend to visit Drancy.
Honestly I cannot begin to express the excitement that today has kindled in me. I am absolutely elated. There is nothing else to say.
I have no more words.
Opa's memoirs in English were written far after the fact and, despite some few "holes" of informations, are remarkably detailed. I am more and more impressed with his ability to remember specific addresses in each city as well as the names of neighbors, etc. My main work has been derived from these English memoirs, but there is also a fragment of what appears to be a contemporary account of the incident written by Opa shortly after he arrived in Switzerland. This short piece is written in German.
For the most part these stories corroborate, but on one key issue they diverged: his English report led me to assume he had been interned at Drancy, a camp just north of Paris, based on the fact that his mother was eventually deported from there to Auschwitz. But the German account states that he was actually Pithiviers, another camps, and implies that he was separated from his mother there. To further confuse matters, records for him do not exist at either Pithiviers or Drancy, though they do at both for his mother (she was sent from Pithiviers to Drancy and then to Auschwitz). This led me to question my preexisting notion: perhaps Opa was never at either camp, and they were separated somewhere else.
His mother's information cards were regrettably vague. No hints as to her location prior to Pithiviers were offered. But Opa's memoirs, once again incredibly detailed, mentioned the names of various extended family members with whom he and his mother were traveling when they were arrested. Among this number was one Rosa Brykman, his cousin, the 16 year old daughter of his mother's older sister. In his English memoir Opa noted that when he left his mother he also left Rosa. It occurred to me that Rosa very likely followed the same trail as Opa's mother and may shed light on the mystery location where they were all imprisoned together.
And that was it. Rosa was the key. She was kept with Opa's mother until their similar murders at Auschwitz. But where Chana Najman's cards were bereft of information regarding their detention prior to Pithiviers, Rosa Brykman's cards had a single line: "Prison de Chalons sur Saone."
And there it was. Chalons sur Saone is a city south east of Paris very near the demarcation line that separated the German-occupied portion of France from Vichy ("Free") France, and it was here that Opa, his mother, Rosa Brykman, and three distant relations (one of whome, Paulette Weinbush, he escaped with) were all imprisoned together. This is my missing piece. It was not a concentration camp, not even a transit camp like Drancy, but more of a haphazard detention center erected as a staging point. It was this piecemeal nature of the prison at Chalons sur Saone that allowed the French Gendarme the opportunity to help Opa and Paulette escape. Chalons sur Saone is the last place Opa saw his mother.
Needless to say, I am going to Chalons sur Saone. It is an hour's ride from Lyon, so I will go on 31st May.
Almost as an after thought (relatively speaking) I found information on twelve (!!!) relatives: Pesacc Najman, my Opa's uncle, his wife and their four children, and Cyrla Brykman nee Szmckier, Opa's mother's older sister, her husband and their four children, including the key Rosa. This trove of information itself is priceless. I owe an inordinate deal to the archives of the Memorial de la Shoah in Paris.
This evening I met Ashley and her boyfriend Jordan for coffee at an excellent cafe near Notre Dame. It was very nice to see her and meet Jordan for the first time. I hope to see her again stateside sometime soon!
Tomorrow I intend to visit Drancy.
Honestly I cannot begin to express the excitement that today has kindled in me. I am absolutely elated. There is nothing else to say.
I have no more words.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Paris 21st May 2013
Today was a very productive day! My friend Ashley was right in telling me that walking around Paris like I did in Vienna or Brussels simply isn't practical. The City of Light is huge and my hostel is fairly far from the city center. Fortunately the metro system is relatively cheap and, compared to Brussels', very comprehensive.
My first stop this morning was the Gare du Nord, the train station at which I arrived yesterday, to attempt to make reservations for each of my remaining trains and fix the one I made a mistake on in Belgium. The line to talk to someone about the tickets was long but the worker was friendly, a nice change from the opposite (short line, angry people) in Belgium.
Unfortunately I couldn't simply change my Toulouse reservation to Lyon. Why? Because it was made in Belgium. Gosh. But it was only 9€, so I made a correct reservation from Lyon and my trip on the 1st of June is now assured: I will make it back to the USA!
More unfortunately, all the trains to Pau in the time frame I need are fully booked. I will not be able to get there as planned. But I didn't give up: I've learned on this trip that there are usually alternative ways to do anything you'd like to do, even when it looks improbable. I made a reservation to Toulouse two days earlier than I previously planned to arrive there and extended my hostel reservation there. Toulouse is fairly close to Pau anyway, and trains from there to the mountain city do not require reservations. I will visit Pau as a day trip from Toulouse. It all works out. Aside for that my trains are reserved as planned and I am good to go! Exciting. I did not even have to pay a cancellation fee in Pau because I did it early enough, and I actually ended up saving about 30€ because the hostel in Toulouse is cheaper than the hotel in Pau would have been!
Next I headed south nearly to the Seine and visited the Holocaust memorial. I didn't expect much more than a museum there but was pleasantly surprised. On their wall of names I found Chana Najman, my great grandmother, which was very moving. But, in addition, the top floor of the memorial is an easily accessible archive with bilingual archivists!
This place housed microfiche copies of the Paris police records (no info relevant to my project) as well as the records of both the Pithiviers and Drancy camps. The very helpful archivist aided me in searching for Chana (we found some excellent info... She was interned first at Pithiviers from 10-22 August, 1942 and then sent to Drancy where she was held for only four days until 26 August when she was deported to Auschwitz... More evidence for the timeline of events) and for Opa, who interestingly seems to have no existing record at either place. I am puzzled by this because his memoirs place him with her. But there are numerous possibilities. Tomorrow I will go back with information regarding his extended family, cousins with whom he lived in Paris, as their information may give further light to information on him.
After that I ate lunch at a cool little deli and walked to 45 Rue des Francs Bourgeois, where Opa and Chana lived with those cousins in Paris for some time. It was not far from the memorial and on the way I passed a beautiful synagogue. Perhaps Opa prayed there, though I have my doubts. In any case, maybe I will be able to attend services here on Friday.
The apartment building on Rue des Francs Bourgeois made a strong impression on Opa. Judging by his description and the state of the street today I should guess that his cousins were well off. They owned a clothing store on the street level and lived above it. The street still houses a clothing store but the woman inside told me it is only three years old and was previously a library. Either way this is certainly the most luxurious neighborhood Opa lived in: the entire street is lined with elegant and beautiful old hotels, most built before 1600.
I walked west, on Dr. Fouberg's suggestion, to the Tuileries Garden and the Louvre, both beautiful. I sat in the garden and watched people and birds and then headed back on the subway to my hostel. I cooked dinner and did laundry tonight, too.
My tentative schedule is to visit the archive again tomorrow along with more sight seeing and then meet Ashley and her boyfriend tomorrow evening at a cafe. Thursday and Friday I plan to take trips to the Drancy and Pithiviers memorials respectively.
Sidenote: I have officially filled half of my notebook. Forty pages!
Until tomorrow!
My first stop this morning was the Gare du Nord, the train station at which I arrived yesterday, to attempt to make reservations for each of my remaining trains and fix the one I made a mistake on in Belgium. The line to talk to someone about the tickets was long but the worker was friendly, a nice change from the opposite (short line, angry people) in Belgium.
Unfortunately I couldn't simply change my Toulouse reservation to Lyon. Why? Because it was made in Belgium. Gosh. But it was only 9€, so I made a correct reservation from Lyon and my trip on the 1st of June is now assured: I will make it back to the USA!
More unfortunately, all the trains to Pau in the time frame I need are fully booked. I will not be able to get there as planned. But I didn't give up: I've learned on this trip that there are usually alternative ways to do anything you'd like to do, even when it looks improbable. I made a reservation to Toulouse two days earlier than I previously planned to arrive there and extended my hostel reservation there. Toulouse is fairly close to Pau anyway, and trains from there to the mountain city do not require reservations. I will visit Pau as a day trip from Toulouse. It all works out. Aside for that my trains are reserved as planned and I am good to go! Exciting. I did not even have to pay a cancellation fee in Pau because I did it early enough, and I actually ended up saving about 30€ because the hostel in Toulouse is cheaper than the hotel in Pau would have been!
Next I headed south nearly to the Seine and visited the Holocaust memorial. I didn't expect much more than a museum there but was pleasantly surprised. On their wall of names I found Chana Najman, my great grandmother, which was very moving. But, in addition, the top floor of the memorial is an easily accessible archive with bilingual archivists!
This place housed microfiche copies of the Paris police records (no info relevant to my project) as well as the records of both the Pithiviers and Drancy camps. The very helpful archivist aided me in searching for Chana (we found some excellent info... She was interned first at Pithiviers from 10-22 August, 1942 and then sent to Drancy where she was held for only four days until 26 August when she was deported to Auschwitz... More evidence for the timeline of events) and for Opa, who interestingly seems to have no existing record at either place. I am puzzled by this because his memoirs place him with her. But there are numerous possibilities. Tomorrow I will go back with information regarding his extended family, cousins with whom he lived in Paris, as their information may give further light to information on him.
After that I ate lunch at a cool little deli and walked to 45 Rue des Francs Bourgeois, where Opa and Chana lived with those cousins in Paris for some time. It was not far from the memorial and on the way I passed a beautiful synagogue. Perhaps Opa prayed there, though I have my doubts. In any case, maybe I will be able to attend services here on Friday.
The apartment building on Rue des Francs Bourgeois made a strong impression on Opa. Judging by his description and the state of the street today I should guess that his cousins were well off. They owned a clothing store on the street level and lived above it. The street still houses a clothing store but the woman inside told me it is only three years old and was previously a library. Either way this is certainly the most luxurious neighborhood Opa lived in: the entire street is lined with elegant and beautiful old hotels, most built before 1600.
I walked west, on Dr. Fouberg's suggestion, to the Tuileries Garden and the Louvre, both beautiful. I sat in the garden and watched people and birds and then headed back on the subway to my hostel. I cooked dinner and did laundry tonight, too.
My tentative schedule is to visit the archive again tomorrow along with more sight seeing and then meet Ashley and her boyfriend tomorrow evening at a cafe. Thursday and Friday I plan to take trips to the Drancy and Pithiviers memorials respectively.
Sidenote: I have officially filled half of my notebook. Forty pages!
Until tomorrow!
Monday, May 20, 2013
Brussels to Paris 20th May 2013
Disaster has struck, readers! In the course of today's travels I lost not just one but both of my fancy and beloved Sharpie fine-point felt-tipped pens. This is a tragedy. I am writing this entry with a standard issue ballpoint Bic pen bummed off the reception desk... Comparatively it is like writing with hammer and chisel. A moment of silence for my trusty but lost companions, who wrote me through more than half of this trip. You will be missed!
... I promise I am not going crazy, it has simply been another very long day. I do not much care for what I have started calling "travel days," the days when my just-developed sense of normalcy in a city is thrown to the wind and turned upside down in the move to a new one. But, joking aside, such abrupt changes in scenery and situation cannot begin to compare with those Opa and his family had to make between 1938 and 1945. Even on the most elementary level, mine are voluntary moves where theirs were forced. I cannot begin to imagine...
As I wrote previously I opted for the slow (free) route to Paris rather than the €30 high-speed Thalys train. I don't regret it, though there was a curve ball thrown at me...
The train supposedly from Lille to Amiens was actually a train from Lille to Arras with a bus connection from Arras to Amiens. How did I figure this out? Was it the announcements plastered everywhere on the train in French telling me to take the bus after Arras? Or the spoken announcement in French telling me that this was the final stop for the train? No. I blissfully ignored all of those... Who needs a command of French in France? No, my mistake was made apparent when I looked up from my book to see that I was the only person remaining on the entire train. A moment of panic passed when I found a nice man who helped me to right my wrong, and I made the bus.
The bus, driven by an apparent mad man, made great time to Amiens but still arrived roughly 30 seconds after my planned train to Paris left the station. Woops. I waved it au revoir and waited for the next train to Paris, only about an hour later. Luckily Eurail allows me this kind of flexibility, because I may have been stuck in Amiens, otherwise.
(Sidenote: this pen is leaking on me...)
But taking the bus was actually a very good experience. It wound (sometimes hurtled) its way through the smallest villages I have seen yet in Europe and it was nice to see that rural towns here look much like rural towns in the US: most houses have a swing set in the back yard, etc., etc. It was a very intimate and relaxing way to experience France for the first time before the rush of Paris.
In the city itself I had no trouble navigating the underground (much more busy but much more thoughtfully planned, in my opinion, than Brussels') and finding my hostel (which seems nice, if a bit small).
It is exciting to start in Paris. I need to go to the station and fix/figure out all of my bookings, and I'll do my laundry tomorrow night, but the rest of the day is free for wandering.
More on that tomorrow!
... I promise I am not going crazy, it has simply been another very long day. I do not much care for what I have started calling "travel days," the days when my just-developed sense of normalcy in a city is thrown to the wind and turned upside down in the move to a new one. But, joking aside, such abrupt changes in scenery and situation cannot begin to compare with those Opa and his family had to make between 1938 and 1945. Even on the most elementary level, mine are voluntary moves where theirs were forced. I cannot begin to imagine...
As I wrote previously I opted for the slow (free) route to Paris rather than the €30 high-speed Thalys train. I don't regret it, though there was a curve ball thrown at me...
The train supposedly from Lille to Amiens was actually a train from Lille to Arras with a bus connection from Arras to Amiens. How did I figure this out? Was it the announcements plastered everywhere on the train in French telling me to take the bus after Arras? Or the spoken announcement in French telling me that this was the final stop for the train? No. I blissfully ignored all of those... Who needs a command of French in France? No, my mistake was made apparent when I looked up from my book to see that I was the only person remaining on the entire train. A moment of panic passed when I found a nice man who helped me to right my wrong, and I made the bus.
The bus, driven by an apparent mad man, made great time to Amiens but still arrived roughly 30 seconds after my planned train to Paris left the station. Woops. I waved it au revoir and waited for the next train to Paris, only about an hour later. Luckily Eurail allows me this kind of flexibility, because I may have been stuck in Amiens, otherwise.
(Sidenote: this pen is leaking on me...)
But taking the bus was actually a very good experience. It wound (sometimes hurtled) its way through the smallest villages I have seen yet in Europe and it was nice to see that rural towns here look much like rural towns in the US: most houses have a swing set in the back yard, etc., etc. It was a very intimate and relaxing way to experience France for the first time before the rush of Paris.
In the city itself I had no trouble navigating the underground (much more busy but much more thoughtfully planned, in my opinion, than Brussels') and finding my hostel (which seems nice, if a bit small).
It is exciting to start in Paris. I need to go to the station and fix/figure out all of my bookings, and I'll do my laundry tomorrow night, but the rest of the day is free for wandering.
More on that tomorrow!
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Brussels 19th May 2013
It is a beautiful day here on my last day in Belgium, so I walked into the city center to eat and attempt to change my reservation for 1st June to Amsterdam, which I noticed last night I accidentally made from Toulouse rather than Lyon. Unfortunately the rather unfriendly lady at Centraal told me they cannot make reservations for trains outside of Belgium from here (how did I make the incorrect reservation in the first place? No one knows...). So I will have to do that in Paris. I am a bit worried I may not be able to get to Pau, but more on that if I have to deal with it...
I kept walking past the city center to the European Union Parliament. It was an impressive building but it is closed to individuals, so I could not go inside.
Menno suggested that I should write a bit about hosteling in general to encourage more people to travel affordably like I have been. I think it is a good suggestion, and I think hostels have two major positives that in particular students should consider when traveling: price and atmosphere.
Every hostel's price varies, of course, and in major tourist cities the price will be a bit higher. But I paid €17.00 in Vienna and €17.50 in Brussels per night, the equivalent of roughly $22.00. A night at the Super 8 in Aberdeen, by comparison, costs about $65.00 at least, and the quality is lower than some of the hostels I have been in.
How do hostels offer such a low price? It is simple: in hostels you rent a bed in a dormitory setting rather than an entire room to yourself. Most offer all-male, all-female, or mixed dormitory options, and the dorm life has not been a problem at all; it is a bit like school, just with a few more people in a room (my current room is eight people mixed, in Vienna it was six mixed, in Amsterdam 12 all-male). For the most part everyone I have met has been very kind and very interesting. That brings me to...
Atmosphere. Hostels, frankly, are fun. Students and people our age from all over the world are the primary clientele of hostels and it is exciting to meet people and share stories. The experience is different in every hostel, obviously (I seriously highly recommend the Hostel Ruthensteiner in Vienna... It was amazing.), but most have friendly staff and people which is huge, particularly when traveling alone.
So would I suggest hosteling? Yes! Take the chance to see the world while you're young. As we get older money will get tighter and our expectations will get higher; travel will never be easier than it is today, so do it!
Tomorrow I will spend the day on trains heading to Paris and then locating and settling into my hostel there.
Until then!
I kept walking past the city center to the European Union Parliament. It was an impressive building but it is closed to individuals, so I could not go inside.
Menno suggested that I should write a bit about hosteling in general to encourage more people to travel affordably like I have been. I think it is a good suggestion, and I think hostels have two major positives that in particular students should consider when traveling: price and atmosphere.
Every hostel's price varies, of course, and in major tourist cities the price will be a bit higher. But I paid €17.00 in Vienna and €17.50 in Brussels per night, the equivalent of roughly $22.00. A night at the Super 8 in Aberdeen, by comparison, costs about $65.00 at least, and the quality is lower than some of the hostels I have been in.
How do hostels offer such a low price? It is simple: in hostels you rent a bed in a dormitory setting rather than an entire room to yourself. Most offer all-male, all-female, or mixed dormitory options, and the dorm life has not been a problem at all; it is a bit like school, just with a few more people in a room (my current room is eight people mixed, in Vienna it was six mixed, in Amsterdam 12 all-male). For the most part everyone I have met has been very kind and very interesting. That brings me to...
Atmosphere. Hostels, frankly, are fun. Students and people our age from all over the world are the primary clientele of hostels and it is exciting to meet people and share stories. The experience is different in every hostel, obviously (I seriously highly recommend the Hostel Ruthensteiner in Vienna... It was amazing.), but most have friendly staff and people which is huge, particularly when traveling alone.
So would I suggest hosteling? Yes! Take the chance to see the world while you're young. As we get older money will get tighter and our expectations will get higher; travel will never be easier than it is today, so do it!
Tomorrow I will spend the day on trains heading to Paris and then locating and settling into my hostel there.
Until then!
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Brussels 18th May 2013
If Brussels gave a poor first impression, Ypres did the opposite.
It was a warm and relatively clear day and I have done everything related to Heinz that I need to in Brussels already so I took the chance to catch a train out of the city.
It is a two hour train trip due west to Ypres from Brussels. The trains are smaller and less luxurious on these intercity jaunts but I still got a great view of the countryside. I love spring, even with my allergies. The greens are darker than summer, everything is new. In Belgium rolling hills are broken apart by wooded fence posts and barbed wire holding cows and sheep in their idyllic pastures. It couldn't be more stereotypically rural European, and I doubt it could be more beautiful.
Ypres itself is an ancient city renowned as the site of numerous deadly battles fought during the first world war. It is a pretty and small city, so I got to enjoy most of it throughout the day.
A farmers' market was ending just as I arrived, so I ate a good and affordable lunch and then wandered the fort wall that surrounds the city. It offered an impressive view of the river flowing around the city and the surrounding countryside. It also was a beautiful hike, with a lot of Queen Anne's Lace (Opa's favorite flower) everywhere. It was eerie to think of the many that died here, and I don't know that anyone is certain as to why...
There were two cemeteries inside town and numerous outside. The poem In Flanders' Fields was written about Ypres. I visited both and lingered for some time. They were both very pretty and very sad. I hate war...
I vastly underestimated the amount of walking that a trip like this entails. I am exhausted at the end of every day. I slept for some of the train ride back and am spending tonight in the hostel relaxing. I skyped with Oma and Aunt Audrey tonight, that was very nice!
Tomorrow I think I may see the EU Parliament and the Atomium and then pack. I am not sure what time I will leave in the morning on Monday.
Until tomorrow!
It was a warm and relatively clear day and I have done everything related to Heinz that I need to in Brussels already so I took the chance to catch a train out of the city.
It is a two hour train trip due west to Ypres from Brussels. The trains are smaller and less luxurious on these intercity jaunts but I still got a great view of the countryside. I love spring, even with my allergies. The greens are darker than summer, everything is new. In Belgium rolling hills are broken apart by wooded fence posts and barbed wire holding cows and sheep in their idyllic pastures. It couldn't be more stereotypically rural European, and I doubt it could be more beautiful.
Ypres itself is an ancient city renowned as the site of numerous deadly battles fought during the first world war. It is a pretty and small city, so I got to enjoy most of it throughout the day.
A farmers' market was ending just as I arrived, so I ate a good and affordable lunch and then wandered the fort wall that surrounds the city. It offered an impressive view of the river flowing around the city and the surrounding countryside. It also was a beautiful hike, with a lot of Queen Anne's Lace (Opa's favorite flower) everywhere. It was eerie to think of the many that died here, and I don't know that anyone is certain as to why...
There were two cemeteries inside town and numerous outside. The poem In Flanders' Fields was written about Ypres. I visited both and lingered for some time. They were both very pretty and very sad. I hate war...
I vastly underestimated the amount of walking that a trip like this entails. I am exhausted at the end of every day. I slept for some of the train ride back and am spending tonight in the hostel relaxing. I skyped with Oma and Aunt Audrey tonight, that was very nice!
Tomorrow I think I may see the EU Parliament and the Atomium and then pack. I am not sure what time I will leave in the morning on Monday.
Until tomorrow!
Friday, May 17, 2013
Brussels 17th May 2013
Today has been one of significant ups and downs... I am not sure now whether I am satisfied with how the day went or not.
I started by walking north toward Rue Verte 3, the address of the building in which Opa and his family lived once they reached Belgium in late 1938. It was a fairly long walk (something like two miles) in the rain and I was soaked by the time I reached it. The street is in a much more modern area of town than most of the city center and, much like Klosterneuburger Strasse in Vienna, today it is a poor neighborhood inhabited primarily by Moroccan and Turkish immigrants. I could not find no. 3, so I entered a nearby hotel and asked if either man inside knew of it. One of the men went out with me (in a suit in the rain! They were both very nice) and explained that nos. 1 - 7 all referred to one building demolished only the previous month! It had housed Islamic immigrants for at least sixteen years (as long as he had worked in the hotel) and then been abandoned in the last few. He did not know if the building had stood in the late 1930s.
They also looked up the name Blanchet for me in the phone book online, as a "Mrs. Blanchet, Rue Verte 3" was listed as a reference for the Najmans on the paperwork I found yesterday at the National Archive. Alas, no Blanchets remain today on Rue Verte. C'est la vie.
I wandered my way back to the hostel to dry off, stopping on the way at a large cathedral (signs simply called it "the Cathedral," so it seemed worth a stop), very pretty and impressive.
I cooked my most ambitious meal yet when I arrived back at the hostel. I wondered what it might take to make my own pasta sauce, and recipes I found online did not look difficult, so I gave it a shot. For those who want to play the "Cook Across Europe with Mike" game, it went something like this: I bought canned whole peeled tomatoes, hand crushed them to the right consistency, grated a carrot, chopped an onion and a clove of garlic, boiled them all together and enjoyed the delicious results. I was really impressed. It tasted something like Oma's pasta sauce and the Olive Garden's mixed. So I can't be doing too badly. Protip: 1.2 kilograms of canned tomatoes makes WAY more sauce than one person needs. Again, I am really enjoying cooking and the whole thing cost me €3.83. Can't complain about that...
At 6:00 PM I headed to the Rue de la Regence to attend services at the Great Synagogue. I am starting to get a feel for the city and can navigate fairly well. I got there around 6:30 but the doors were closed, so I did what is best outside a synagogue: I loitered.
It did not take long before a passing woman looked at me suspiciously and reported me to security. A nice man in his early 30s greeted me firmly and asked what exactly I was waiting for. I told him that I would like to attend the service, and a bit about my project. I showed him my passport, and he asked me if I frequented any Jewish communities in the US. I told him that I did not, and he told me that I would not be allowed to enter tonight.
This essentially boiled down to me not being "Jewish enough." He insisted that it is a matter of security, and I understand that, certainly. But it was honestly a little hurtful to not be accepted by a community that I have felt more and more tied to as this project has progressed. It is, frankly, a disappointing commentary on our time that houses of worship of any denomination should feel the need to resort to insularity to defend themselves from perceived threats. I think for the Jews this feeling is doubly strong given both the historic and contemporary tensions that they have and do face as a group.
Anyway, he was just doing his job. I will try in Paris next Friday if I can.
Tomorrow I may either see some last tourist sites in Brussels or, more probably, hop on a train from Centraal to Ypres, the city in Flanders made famous by numerous battles in World War I memorialized in the poem In Flanders' Fields. I memorized the poem in high school for Trem's English class, and I figure it's an excuse to get outside of the city. There are hourly trains and it is a two hour ride, so it should not be too bad.
Until tomorrow!
I started by walking north toward Rue Verte 3, the address of the building in which Opa and his family lived once they reached Belgium in late 1938. It was a fairly long walk (something like two miles) in the rain and I was soaked by the time I reached it. The street is in a much more modern area of town than most of the city center and, much like Klosterneuburger Strasse in Vienna, today it is a poor neighborhood inhabited primarily by Moroccan and Turkish immigrants. I could not find no. 3, so I entered a nearby hotel and asked if either man inside knew of it. One of the men went out with me (in a suit in the rain! They were both very nice) and explained that nos. 1 - 7 all referred to one building demolished only the previous month! It had housed Islamic immigrants for at least sixteen years (as long as he had worked in the hotel) and then been abandoned in the last few. He did not know if the building had stood in the late 1930s.
They also looked up the name Blanchet for me in the phone book online, as a "Mrs. Blanchet, Rue Verte 3" was listed as a reference for the Najmans on the paperwork I found yesterday at the National Archive. Alas, no Blanchets remain today on Rue Verte. C'est la vie.
I wandered my way back to the hostel to dry off, stopping on the way at a large cathedral (signs simply called it "the Cathedral," so it seemed worth a stop), very pretty and impressive.
I cooked my most ambitious meal yet when I arrived back at the hostel. I wondered what it might take to make my own pasta sauce, and recipes I found online did not look difficult, so I gave it a shot. For those who want to play the "Cook Across Europe with Mike" game, it went something like this: I bought canned whole peeled tomatoes, hand crushed them to the right consistency, grated a carrot, chopped an onion and a clove of garlic, boiled them all together and enjoyed the delicious results. I was really impressed. It tasted something like Oma's pasta sauce and the Olive Garden's mixed. So I can't be doing too badly. Protip: 1.2 kilograms of canned tomatoes makes WAY more sauce than one person needs. Again, I am really enjoying cooking and the whole thing cost me €3.83. Can't complain about that...
At 6:00 PM I headed to the Rue de la Regence to attend services at the Great Synagogue. I am starting to get a feel for the city and can navigate fairly well. I got there around 6:30 but the doors were closed, so I did what is best outside a synagogue: I loitered.
It did not take long before a passing woman looked at me suspiciously and reported me to security. A nice man in his early 30s greeted me firmly and asked what exactly I was waiting for. I told him that I would like to attend the service, and a bit about my project. I showed him my passport, and he asked me if I frequented any Jewish communities in the US. I told him that I did not, and he told me that I would not be allowed to enter tonight.
This essentially boiled down to me not being "Jewish enough." He insisted that it is a matter of security, and I understand that, certainly. But it was honestly a little hurtful to not be accepted by a community that I have felt more and more tied to as this project has progressed. It is, frankly, a disappointing commentary on our time that houses of worship of any denomination should feel the need to resort to insularity to defend themselves from perceived threats. I think for the Jews this feeling is doubly strong given both the historic and contemporary tensions that they have and do face as a group.
Anyway, he was just doing his job. I will try in Paris next Friday if I can.
Tomorrow I may either see some last tourist sites in Brussels or, more probably, hop on a train from Centraal to Ypres, the city in Flanders made famous by numerous battles in World War I memorialized in the poem In Flanders' Fields. I memorized the poem in high school for Trem's English class, and I figure it's an excuse to get outside of the city. There are hourly trains and it is a two hour ride, so it should not be too bad.
Until tomorrow!
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Brussels 16th May 2013
It has been a rainy and overcast day in Brussels which has done little to improve the past few days' impression of the city, but I had a productive day nonetheless and learned some exciting new information at the Belgian National Archives.
Because of the rain I decided to take the subway this morning. I was a bit alarmed when a man waiting outside the entry turnstiles sprinted to fit in directly behind me so he did not have to pay the fare... Before I realized what he was doing I was ready to hit him for running up on me so unexpectedly... I laughed afterward.
I got off the subway at Place de Palais, a large and vibrantly green park situated in front of the Royal Palace. The palace is the work place of the Belgian monarchy (they live in a castle on the outskirts of town), primarily constructed by Leopold II, that most genocidal of monarchs... It is an imposing building, though...
I wandered the Rue de la Regence all the way to the Palais de Justice, an enormous and important building in Belgium's court system. The plaza here allowed expansive views of the lower city. On the way I found the "Great Synagogue of Europe," a pretty building watched over (perhaps coincidentally) by a policeman armed with a rifle. Two men outside told me that I could not go in today, as prayers had just begun, but invited me to services at 7:00 PM tomorrow. I intend to go.
I had some considerable trouble finding the Nation Archive, but I stumbled upon the Belgian Jewish History Museum. I went inside and looked at the exhibits and then got directions to the archive from a friendly worker.
After considerable paperwork, I registered as a researcher at the archive and was granted access to the files found for me prior to my arrival by Evelyne Haendel (who has been incredibly helpful throughout the planning and execution of my project... Thank you!). I had no idea what to expect and was impressed by the documents. They showed the date of arrival for the Najmans in Belgium (creating a concrete timeline of events is very important for the project), they confirmed various pieces of Opa's memoirs (Moses Najman was arrested and imprisoned for ten brutal days on Kristallnacht), they showed me pictures, finger-prints, and the signatures of Moses, Chana, and Helene )Moses' is a beautiful signature... And I nearly cried when I saw Chana's...), and, perhaps most exciting, they gave me the names, birth dates, and birth places of Moses' and Chana's parents. I did not expect this information at all. I was able to expand my growing family tree by eight people... I am the descendent of Icek Najman, Chaja Billart, Simche Szmckier, and Reize Kamerman. I will expand my genealogical research to include these people. It is rare to discover eight ancestors in one sitting!
I took copious pictures: my time was limited and my French is neither perfect nor fast. One file did confuse me... It mentions Chana and Opa in Brussels but is dated 1945, three years after Chana was killed at Auschwitz and Opa had made his way to Switzerland. A hand written note on a document dated 1972 mentions this 1945 date but I cannot make out the scrawl, especially in French. I will have to study it more closely.
Anyway, that's enough for today. Tomorrow I will go to the address I found for the Najmans in Brussels and then to services at 7:00.
Until then!
Because of the rain I decided to take the subway this morning. I was a bit alarmed when a man waiting outside the entry turnstiles sprinted to fit in directly behind me so he did not have to pay the fare... Before I realized what he was doing I was ready to hit him for running up on me so unexpectedly... I laughed afterward.
I got off the subway at Place de Palais, a large and vibrantly green park situated in front of the Royal Palace. The palace is the work place of the Belgian monarchy (they live in a castle on the outskirts of town), primarily constructed by Leopold II, that most genocidal of monarchs... It is an imposing building, though...
I wandered the Rue de la Regence all the way to the Palais de Justice, an enormous and important building in Belgium's court system. The plaza here allowed expansive views of the lower city. On the way I found the "Great Synagogue of Europe," a pretty building watched over (perhaps coincidentally) by a policeman armed with a rifle. Two men outside told me that I could not go in today, as prayers had just begun, but invited me to services at 7:00 PM tomorrow. I intend to go.
I had some considerable trouble finding the Nation Archive, but I stumbled upon the Belgian Jewish History Museum. I went inside and looked at the exhibits and then got directions to the archive from a friendly worker.
After considerable paperwork, I registered as a researcher at the archive and was granted access to the files found for me prior to my arrival by Evelyne Haendel (who has been incredibly helpful throughout the planning and execution of my project... Thank you!). I had no idea what to expect and was impressed by the documents. They showed the date of arrival for the Najmans in Belgium (creating a concrete timeline of events is very important for the project), they confirmed various pieces of Opa's memoirs (Moses Najman was arrested and imprisoned for ten brutal days on Kristallnacht), they showed me pictures, finger-prints, and the signatures of Moses, Chana, and Helene )Moses' is a beautiful signature... And I nearly cried when I saw Chana's...), and, perhaps most exciting, they gave me the names, birth dates, and birth places of Moses' and Chana's parents. I did not expect this information at all. I was able to expand my growing family tree by eight people... I am the descendent of Icek Najman, Chaja Billart, Simche Szmckier, and Reize Kamerman. I will expand my genealogical research to include these people. It is rare to discover eight ancestors in one sitting!
I took copious pictures: my time was limited and my French is neither perfect nor fast. One file did confuse me... It mentions Chana and Opa in Brussels but is dated 1945, three years after Chana was killed at Auschwitz and Opa had made his way to Switzerland. A hand written note on a document dated 1972 mentions this 1945 date but I cannot make out the scrawl, especially in French. I will have to study it more closely.
Anyway, that's enough for today. Tomorrow I will go to the address I found for the Najmans in Brussels and then to services at 7:00.
Until then!
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Brussels 15th May 2013
I've felt that something is "off" in Brussels since I got here, but I cannot quite put my finger on what exactly is wrong... The string of minor issues I mentioned yesterday compounded into a poor introduction to Belgium, and I think my "funk" may also have something to do with the location and nature of my hostel.
It is located in what is clearly a poor part of town, an Arabic and Islamic district, judging by the two nearby mosques, the "Gaza" stores, and the "Call Afghanistan: €0.16" signs. To see people piled into such a small space is difficult, particularly given the nature of my project, and it is hard to find Belgium's impressive imperial legacy, its grand gold-clad buildings, as beautiful when I walk through this area in the morning and am reminded of the costs of such splendor...
The hostel itself suffers from a similar syndrome... As opposed to the locally run Hostel Ruthensteiner in Vienna, the Meininger Brussels seems... corporate and detached... There are more people but fewer seem open to chatting... There are more staff but they seem flustered and annoyed rather than interested in the stories of their guests... And the stark modernism and emptyness of the building (formerly a brewery) seems indulgent in a place so crowded as I already mentioned.
But, in any case, I have to press on... I spent today wandering the city as I did on my first days in my previous two locations. Even with everything in mind, Brussels is an impressive city in places, with triumphant architecture that rivals those in Amsterdam and Vienna, remarkable considering that the Netherlands and Austria were historically more powerful on a world scale than Belgium ever was... In the back of my mind, though, I know that much of the wealth in Brussels, many of the imperial buildings and plazas and statues were funded by an exploitative genocide in the Congo that pre-dated the Holocaust and caused the deaths of an estimated ten million people... Each one of those people deserves a story like Heinz and will likely never get one.
I went to Central Station and tried to make reservations to go to Paris, but the high-speed Thalys train, privately run, charges a €30 reservation, so I have decided to take the slower non-reservation trains instead. I decided to make a reservation from Toulouse to Amsterdam on 1st June to ensure that I can get back for my flight to the US on 2nd June. I also tried to reserve a seat from Paris to Pau but the high-speed trains appear to be fully booked, which is alarming, but I was told to try again when I reach Paris. If worse comes to worst, I can take slower regional trains, but that will mean less time to spend in the city itself... I will worry about that when the time comes.
I cooked myself dinner again, this time I tried a new concoction: noodles fried in butter with onions, tomatoes, peppers, and garlic. It turned out to be really good! I don't know why I never tried cooking for myself before; I am really enjoying it, honestly.
Tomorrow I will go to the National Archives of Belgium and spend time there researching Opa's family during their time in Brussels. A woman from Liege who responded to my post on JewishGen.org was very helpful and verified for me that there are files to find there relating to Opa, his parents, and his sister Helen. I am excited to see what information they contain. I hope that they include a Brussels address I can visit.
On Friday night I intend to attend Jewish services. There is a synagogue not far from the Archive. I may find it tomorrow if I have time.
Until then!
It is located in what is clearly a poor part of town, an Arabic and Islamic district, judging by the two nearby mosques, the "Gaza" stores, and the "Call Afghanistan: €0.16" signs. To see people piled into such a small space is difficult, particularly given the nature of my project, and it is hard to find Belgium's impressive imperial legacy, its grand gold-clad buildings, as beautiful when I walk through this area in the morning and am reminded of the costs of such splendor...
The hostel itself suffers from a similar syndrome... As opposed to the locally run Hostel Ruthensteiner in Vienna, the Meininger Brussels seems... corporate and detached... There are more people but fewer seem open to chatting... There are more staff but they seem flustered and annoyed rather than interested in the stories of their guests... And the stark modernism and emptyness of the building (formerly a brewery) seems indulgent in a place so crowded as I already mentioned.
But, in any case, I have to press on... I spent today wandering the city as I did on my first days in my previous two locations. Even with everything in mind, Brussels is an impressive city in places, with triumphant architecture that rivals those in Amsterdam and Vienna, remarkable considering that the Netherlands and Austria were historically more powerful on a world scale than Belgium ever was... In the back of my mind, though, I know that much of the wealth in Brussels, many of the imperial buildings and plazas and statues were funded by an exploitative genocide in the Congo that pre-dated the Holocaust and caused the deaths of an estimated ten million people... Each one of those people deserves a story like Heinz and will likely never get one.
I went to Central Station and tried to make reservations to go to Paris, but the high-speed Thalys train, privately run, charges a €30 reservation, so I have decided to take the slower non-reservation trains instead. I decided to make a reservation from Toulouse to Amsterdam on 1st June to ensure that I can get back for my flight to the US on 2nd June. I also tried to reserve a seat from Paris to Pau but the high-speed trains appear to be fully booked, which is alarming, but I was told to try again when I reach Paris. If worse comes to worst, I can take slower regional trains, but that will mean less time to spend in the city itself... I will worry about that when the time comes.
I cooked myself dinner again, this time I tried a new concoction: noodles fried in butter with onions, tomatoes, peppers, and garlic. It turned out to be really good! I don't know why I never tried cooking for myself before; I am really enjoying it, honestly.
Tomorrow I will go to the National Archives of Belgium and spend time there researching Opa's family during their time in Brussels. A woman from Liege who responded to my post on JewishGen.org was very helpful and verified for me that there are files to find there relating to Opa, his parents, and his sister Helen. I am excited to see what information they contain. I hope that they include a Brussels address I can visit.
On Friday night I intend to attend Jewish services. There is a synagogue not far from the Archive. I may find it tomorrow if I have time.
Until then!
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Vienna to Brussels 14th May 2013
I am on the train again today, traveling the opposite direction as last time, heading to Brussels, Belgium. It is another long ride, just under 11 hours. But again it feels shorter than a similar time would on a plane, so it is not too bad. The weather is nice again, at least, so I get an excellent second look at the German countryside.
It seems strange that my time in Vienna is done... I have already been in Europe a week, and I have a little less than three left. I am very happy with my time spent in Vienna. I have a better feeling now for the city than I possibly could have a week ago, and that will certainly help me to write Heinz.
Visiting Opa's home was the most moving part of the trip to Vienna by far. It was strange to stand so near a place where Opa spent so much time, and where such injustice took place...
In this journal I have already written over 20 pages in my week in Europe, and I think it has been helpful in organizing my thoughts and keeping myself focused. It would be very simple to lose my way in the vastness of the cities I visit, in the vastness of Europe, but I have to stay on task.
Seeing Bavaria in its early summer makes me long for Vermont, though, and a string of chaotic occurrences on my arrival in Brussels (trouble finding my hostel, trouble finding an ATM, trouble finding food, only one washer and dryer for the entire hostel, and my padlock is too big for the lockers here!) have made me feel homesick (not for the first or last time, I am sure). I am enjoying this trip and my project, of course, but I will be happy to be home in June.
I also am inspired by my travels here to travel more in the US. Ethan, we've talked about it and you wanted a mention in my famous blog, so here it is: Let's make a trip happen, maybe on Thanksgiving like we discussed!
Anyway, I am tired. I am going to spend the rest of tonight relaxing and tomorrow I may meet my friend Kaylie who does not live far from Brussels and has offered to show me around the city. Then, as soon as possible, I will visit the national archives to see what information their records hold. I hope that there is an address, since Opa left none for Brussels, just a description of the area.
Until tomorrow, everyone!
It seems strange that my time in Vienna is done... I have already been in Europe a week, and I have a little less than three left. I am very happy with my time spent in Vienna. I have a better feeling now for the city than I possibly could have a week ago, and that will certainly help me to write Heinz.
Visiting Opa's home was the most moving part of the trip to Vienna by far. It was strange to stand so near a place where Opa spent so much time, and where such injustice took place...
In this journal I have already written over 20 pages in my week in Europe, and I think it has been helpful in organizing my thoughts and keeping myself focused. It would be very simple to lose my way in the vastness of the cities I visit, in the vastness of Europe, but I have to stay on task.
Seeing Bavaria in its early summer makes me long for Vermont, though, and a string of chaotic occurrences on my arrival in Brussels (trouble finding my hostel, trouble finding an ATM, trouble finding food, only one washer and dryer for the entire hostel, and my padlock is too big for the lockers here!) have made me feel homesick (not for the first or last time, I am sure). I am enjoying this trip and my project, of course, but I will be happy to be home in June.
I also am inspired by my travels here to travel more in the US. Ethan, we've talked about it and you wanted a mention in my famous blog, so here it is: Let's make a trip happen, maybe on Thanksgiving like we discussed!
Anyway, I am tired. I am going to spend the rest of tonight relaxing and tomorrow I may meet my friend Kaylie who does not live far from Brussels and has offered to show me around the city. Then, as soon as possible, I will visit the national archives to see what information their records hold. I hope that there is an address, since Opa left none for Brussels, just a description of the area.
Until tomorrow, everyone!
Monday, May 13, 2013
Vienna 13th May 2013
Today was a bit of a let-down... I made my way to the Viennese Jewish Community archive on Seitenstettengasse, which happened to be the site of the Stadttemple I wandered my way to on Friday, but the man in charge of the archive is on vacation this week and I couldn't go in. The building is only open Monday through Wednesday, so I could not have gone in even if I had gone Friday. An unfortunate string of circumstances. I will have to do with the Grubers as I did with Opa's family: email for information when I am home.
Afterward I spoke with a helpful police officer who pointed me to the Vienna City Library in the Rathaus (the city hall, essentially). I made my way there on the subway and spent about an hour and a half looking through record books from the time period of Opa's life in the city. I did not expect too much of great value (it is a small library), and everything was in German (naturally), but it was interesting to see even just the stylistic changes in the city directories, etc., that occurred in the late 1930s... Pictures of Hitler and his ministers and Austrian Nazi counterparts are scatted throughout, along with swastikas and the German eagle, and even the writing often changes to the ornate Fraktur typescript that the Nazi regime first promoted as "Aryan" and later banned as "Jewish."
I wasn't able to find the Najmans in the city directory, but many factors worked against me in that pursuit: the nearly illegible font, my rudimentary (at best) knowledge of German, particularly the specialized legalese German used for the record books I examined, etc.
After I spent some time in the library I went to a market and bought ingredients to try my hand at cooking alone for the first time. It went surprisingly well, and I learned several things: a bit of garlic goes a long way, and you have to take the purple skin off, too; and if you cook sliced sausage long enough it curls into a little bowl shape, great for holding whatever it is you're eating with them. And of course, I saved a good deal of money eating this way!
Later I will cook again and pack my things. My train tomorrow leaves at 06:52 from the Westbahnhof and I'm going to get there with more leeway this time so I don't have another close call like I did in Amsterdam!
Auf Wiedersehen!
Afterward I spoke with a helpful police officer who pointed me to the Vienna City Library in the Rathaus (the city hall, essentially). I made my way there on the subway and spent about an hour and a half looking through record books from the time period of Opa's life in the city. I did not expect too much of great value (it is a small library), and everything was in German (naturally), but it was interesting to see even just the stylistic changes in the city directories, etc., that occurred in the late 1930s... Pictures of Hitler and his ministers and Austrian Nazi counterparts are scatted throughout, along with swastikas and the German eagle, and even the writing often changes to the ornate Fraktur typescript that the Nazi regime first promoted as "Aryan" and later banned as "Jewish."
I wasn't able to find the Najmans in the city directory, but many factors worked against me in that pursuit: the nearly illegible font, my rudimentary (at best) knowledge of German, particularly the specialized legalese German used for the record books I examined, etc.
After I spent some time in the library I went to a market and bought ingredients to try my hand at cooking alone for the first time. It went surprisingly well, and I learned several things: a bit of garlic goes a long way, and you have to take the purple skin off, too; and if you cook sliced sausage long enough it curls into a little bowl shape, great for holding whatever it is you're eating with them. And of course, I saved a good deal of money eating this way!
Later I will cook again and pack my things. My train tomorrow leaves at 06:52 from the Westbahnhof and I'm going to get there with more leeway this time so I don't have another close call like I did in Amsterdam!
Auf Wiedersehen!
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Vienna 12th May 2013
My Canadian friends have all left me! The four guys that work in Switzerland had to go back to work this week and the two Quebecois girls, Florence and Eve-Marie, who were so nice, have gone to enjoy the beaches of Croatia. And now everyone is telling me that I won't find English speakers in France... I could have used you to translate for me in Paris, Florence and Eve! But I guess I can't blame you for heading to the beach!
Otherwise, today was fantastic! I arranged with my cousin Andreas, who lives roughly two hours from here by car, to spend the day with him and his wife Manuela in Vienna. I had not seen them since I was young, and it was amazing to catch up.
We fit a great deal into one day. They picked me up at my hostel this morning and we went to a cafe for breakfast and discussed all the happenings in our extended family. Andreas is the son of my Oma's younger sister, but he knew Opa well, and it was great to talk together about our memories of him. I miss Opa more than I can explain... I know that my family understands this feeling, and Andreas too, even if he was not related by blood.
After breakfast we drove to Schloß Schönbrunn, the Summer Palace of the Hapsburg family. It is an incredibly large and ornate building situated on expansive grounds that also house a zoo, two (because one is for the poor...) botanical gardens, and a maze, among other impressive features.
After our tour there we headed for coffee and desert (Opa would approve) at a Viennese cafe. We continued our discussions on life, my project and the family.
Next we went to an amusement park called Prader, whose main attraction (the one that attracted us) is a large Ferris Wheel that allows a view of the entire city. It is a very old Ferris Wheel and I wonder if Opa ever rode it. I imagine that he must have. From the top I was excited to see the Kahlenburg, a mountain on the edge of Vienna not far from Brigittenau where Opa went to ski and hike.
After this we went to a pizza place off of Mariahilfer Straße for dinner and made our way back to my hostel where we said our goodbyes. I am very glad to have had the opportunity to meet them here: it is a very good feeling, after so long, to see family. I hope they can visit us in the United States soon.
It is hard to believe that tomorrow is already the last full day I have in Vienna. This trip is passing very quickly. I will go to the archive of the Viennese Jewish Community, primarily to discuss general Viennese Jewish history with the staff, but also to look a bit into some names Opa mentioned in his memoir. Two in particular interest me: Josh and Rudy Gruber, boys his age who left Vienna for the United States four months before Opa and his family left Vienna. If I could find them I would be very happy! After the archive I must buy food, attempt to cook for myself, and pack. Busy, busy!
Auf Wiedersehen!
Otherwise, today was fantastic! I arranged with my cousin Andreas, who lives roughly two hours from here by car, to spend the day with him and his wife Manuela in Vienna. I had not seen them since I was young, and it was amazing to catch up.
We fit a great deal into one day. They picked me up at my hostel this morning and we went to a cafe for breakfast and discussed all the happenings in our extended family. Andreas is the son of my Oma's younger sister, but he knew Opa well, and it was great to talk together about our memories of him. I miss Opa more than I can explain... I know that my family understands this feeling, and Andreas too, even if he was not related by blood.
After breakfast we drove to Schloß Schönbrunn, the Summer Palace of the Hapsburg family. It is an incredibly large and ornate building situated on expansive grounds that also house a zoo, two (because one is for the poor...) botanical gardens, and a maze, among other impressive features.
After our tour there we headed for coffee and desert (Opa would approve) at a Viennese cafe. We continued our discussions on life, my project and the family.
Next we went to an amusement park called Prader, whose main attraction (the one that attracted us) is a large Ferris Wheel that allows a view of the entire city. It is a very old Ferris Wheel and I wonder if Opa ever rode it. I imagine that he must have. From the top I was excited to see the Kahlenburg, a mountain on the edge of Vienna not far from Brigittenau where Opa went to ski and hike.
After this we went to a pizza place off of Mariahilfer Straße for dinner and made our way back to my hostel where we said our goodbyes. I am very glad to have had the opportunity to meet them here: it is a very good feeling, after so long, to see family. I hope they can visit us in the United States soon.
It is hard to believe that tomorrow is already the last full day I have in Vienna. This trip is passing very quickly. I will go to the archive of the Viennese Jewish Community, primarily to discuss general Viennese Jewish history with the staff, but also to look a bit into some names Opa mentioned in his memoir. Two in particular interest me: Josh and Rudy Gruber, boys his age who left Vienna for the United States four months before Opa and his family left Vienna. If I could find them I would be very happy! After the archive I must buy food, attempt to cook for myself, and pack. Busy, busy!
Auf Wiedersehen!
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Vienna 11th May 2013
I went to Klosterneuburger Straße No. 49 today. I wasn't sure whether to go today or tomorrow or Monday, but I decided around noon that for some reason I was putting it off and making excuses not to go ("it's raining, I'll go tomorrow sometime..."). This trip has no time and I have no patience for avoidance mechanisms, so I bought a subway ticket and rode the 6th line toward Floridsdorf to Jägerstraße.
From there it was just a short walk to Klosterneuburger Straße.
When I turned south on that street, I realized that, if this story has any true "starting point," I had reached it now. It is difficult to explain how it felt to look down that street.
I walked a few blocks south from the underground station and reached No. 49. It was a yellowed-stucco building, shorter than the buildings around it, with an inset entrance that offered shelter from the rain that had already soaked through my jacket. It was four floors: on the street sat a tanning salon, which struck me as gaudy and sacrilegious, but this place does not have the same meaning for others as it does for me and my family, I reminded myself.
Above there were three residential floors... This made the building one story higher than Opa described in his memoir. But a plaque in German above the door reminded passersby that this building had been damaged in the war years between 1939 and 1945 and had been repaired or rebuilt in the 1950s.
Each floor had seven windows and the house was narrow. Even before renovation it must have offered incredibly little space for each of the three families on each floor as Opa described.
I stood in the rain at Opa's boyhood home for nearly two hours. I am not sure what exactly I was waiting for, I simply was inclined to wait. I spoke to two residents of the current building, a man and then a woman, as they came out onto the street. But neither of them knew anything of the building's history, and neither spoke English well enough for me to feel comfortable asking to go inside. That is how it goes, I suppose. I would have liked to go in, but perhaps Opa and his family are supposed to be the last Najman's to enter Klosterneuburger Straße No. 49...
Afterward I walked a block and a half to Kluckygasse, where the nearest synagogue had been to Opa's house. The street was small: when the synagogue stood, it must have occupied one fifth of the street by itself.
It was destroyed on Reichskristallnacht, 10 November, 1938. I cannot imagine the fear of having a beautiful building symbolizing your faith so near to your home destroyed in malice. They must have realized what its destruction meant... I wonder if Opa went there before the world turned upside down...
I made my way back to the subway, soaking wet and... Different... I think I will start writing soon.
Last night I made friends with 6 Canadians at my hostel. It is exciting to meet people traveling for such different reasons and to such different places (2 are here as part of a four month trip backpacking across Europe, 4 on a weekend vacation from work in Switzerland). We played cards and got late-night ice cream... It is somehow reassuring to know that even here, thousands of miles from home and in a city with such a dark history for my family, that I can meet good people who like me and are interested in Heinz. If any of you reads this, thank you!
Tomorrow morning I have arranged with my cousin Andreas and his wife Manuela to meet in Vienna for breakfast. I am not sure what we will do after. You'll have to hear about it tomorrow!
Until then!
From there it was just a short walk to Klosterneuburger Straße.
When I turned south on that street, I realized that, if this story has any true "starting point," I had reached it now. It is difficult to explain how it felt to look down that street.
I walked a few blocks south from the underground station and reached No. 49. It was a yellowed-stucco building, shorter than the buildings around it, with an inset entrance that offered shelter from the rain that had already soaked through my jacket. It was four floors: on the street sat a tanning salon, which struck me as gaudy and sacrilegious, but this place does not have the same meaning for others as it does for me and my family, I reminded myself.
Above there were three residential floors... This made the building one story higher than Opa described in his memoir. But a plaque in German above the door reminded passersby that this building had been damaged in the war years between 1939 and 1945 and had been repaired or rebuilt in the 1950s.
Each floor had seven windows and the house was narrow. Even before renovation it must have offered incredibly little space for each of the three families on each floor as Opa described.
I stood in the rain at Opa's boyhood home for nearly two hours. I am not sure what exactly I was waiting for, I simply was inclined to wait. I spoke to two residents of the current building, a man and then a woman, as they came out onto the street. But neither of them knew anything of the building's history, and neither spoke English well enough for me to feel comfortable asking to go inside. That is how it goes, I suppose. I would have liked to go in, but perhaps Opa and his family are supposed to be the last Najman's to enter Klosterneuburger Straße No. 49...
Afterward I walked a block and a half to Kluckygasse, where the nearest synagogue had been to Opa's house. The street was small: when the synagogue stood, it must have occupied one fifth of the street by itself.
It was destroyed on Reichskristallnacht, 10 November, 1938. I cannot imagine the fear of having a beautiful building symbolizing your faith so near to your home destroyed in malice. They must have realized what its destruction meant... I wonder if Opa went there before the world turned upside down...
I made my way back to the subway, soaking wet and... Different... I think I will start writing soon.
Last night I made friends with 6 Canadians at my hostel. It is exciting to meet people traveling for such different reasons and to such different places (2 are here as part of a four month trip backpacking across Europe, 4 on a weekend vacation from work in Switzerland). We played cards and got late-night ice cream... It is somehow reassuring to know that even here, thousands of miles from home and in a city with such a dark history for my family, that I can meet good people who like me and are interested in Heinz. If any of you reads this, thank you!
Tomorrow morning I have arranged with my cousin Andreas and his wife Manuela to meet in Vienna for breakfast. I am not sure what we will do after. You'll have to hear about it tomorrow!
Until then!
Friday, May 10, 2013
Vienna 10th May 2013
I started today early with little plan or idea of what to expect. My first stop was the Westbahnhof to make reservations on an ICE (InterCity Express) train for Tuesday to ensure I can get to Brussels in time to check in at my hostel there. My reservation is for a 6:52 AM (!!!) train to Frankfurt where I will change trains again and continue on. I'm going to try to be a bit earlier for this one!
This has definitely been the worst day of allergies for me so far this year, despite the fact that I am taking daily medicine for the past week or so... I spent the first three or four hours of the day sneezing my way across Vienna like an idiot, pausing in bits of shade to hide my squinty and itchy eyes from the sun and to breath... Protip: if you have allergies, never expect to be at your best on any gorgeous day. You'll be disappointed.
But it was gorgeous in Vienna today. Early this morning the sky was clear and the sun was out. This is a fantastic city for the history nerd. Literally around every turn there is a beautiful new Imperial building to explore, at least in the Hofburg, where I spent most of my day.
Opa liked the Habsburgs. It is strange to think that I am in the Imperial City, the home of their Winter Palace, from whence the Austro-Hungarian Empire was ruled... It is even more strange to think that this is the place Opa was born, the place he lived for 10 years, the place the story begins, and the place I might have been born myself, had circumstances been different. Knowing this gives the city a great weight. A great urgency. I have something to learn about Opa here. I have something to learn about myself here.
It was my intention to see the Jewish History Museum, and wandering the Hofburg I found a sign that pointed the way. It is a museum in two parts, and my status as a student got me a discount. The first I visited, on Dorotheergasse, focused on Jewish humor and media and had an interesting archive on its top floor. I ate lunch there.
But the second, on the Judenplatz, was fascinating. In the plaza is the Shoa Mahnmal, a memorial for Austrian victims of the Holocaust. It is a low gray building, simply built and surrounded by the names of places Jews were killed. The effect of the memorial was powerful. I sat there and thought of Opa and his mother for some time... She was murdered at Auschwitz.
The museum itself featured the remains of one of Vienna's largest synagogues destroyed in 1420. Antisemitism is not a new thing.
The second location is also home to the Jewish Welcome Service of Vienna. I spoke to a woman there who helped me locate Klosterneuburgerstrasse, the street where Opa grew up, as well as how to get there, and the site of the nearest synagogue (the former site, more correctly. Only one synagogue of Vienna's previous ninety-four survived the war). I will make my way there someday very soon. I wonder what I will find...
I continued to wander and toured the Austrian parliament and ate Wiener Schnitzel. I considered attending services at the Stadttemple, the synagogue that survived World War Two, but decided against it.
The weather turned darker later in the day and it is supposed to rain tomorrow. In any case, most Jewish sites are closed on Saturday for the Shabbat. I am not certain what I will do yet. Wien is holding an annual festival of art and culture, so I may see what that has to offer.
Until tomorrow, readers!
This has definitely been the worst day of allergies for me so far this year, despite the fact that I am taking daily medicine for the past week or so... I spent the first three or four hours of the day sneezing my way across Vienna like an idiot, pausing in bits of shade to hide my squinty and itchy eyes from the sun and to breath... Protip: if you have allergies, never expect to be at your best on any gorgeous day. You'll be disappointed.
But it was gorgeous in Vienna today. Early this morning the sky was clear and the sun was out. This is a fantastic city for the history nerd. Literally around every turn there is a beautiful new Imperial building to explore, at least in the Hofburg, where I spent most of my day.
Opa liked the Habsburgs. It is strange to think that I am in the Imperial City, the home of their Winter Palace, from whence the Austro-Hungarian Empire was ruled... It is even more strange to think that this is the place Opa was born, the place he lived for 10 years, the place the story begins, and the place I might have been born myself, had circumstances been different. Knowing this gives the city a great weight. A great urgency. I have something to learn about Opa here. I have something to learn about myself here.
It was my intention to see the Jewish History Museum, and wandering the Hofburg I found a sign that pointed the way. It is a museum in two parts, and my status as a student got me a discount. The first I visited, on Dorotheergasse, focused on Jewish humor and media and had an interesting archive on its top floor. I ate lunch there.
But the second, on the Judenplatz, was fascinating. In the plaza is the Shoa Mahnmal, a memorial for Austrian victims of the Holocaust. It is a low gray building, simply built and surrounded by the names of places Jews were killed. The effect of the memorial was powerful. I sat there and thought of Opa and his mother for some time... She was murdered at Auschwitz.
The museum itself featured the remains of one of Vienna's largest synagogues destroyed in 1420. Antisemitism is not a new thing.
The second location is also home to the Jewish Welcome Service of Vienna. I spoke to a woman there who helped me locate Klosterneuburgerstrasse, the street where Opa grew up, as well as how to get there, and the site of the nearest synagogue (the former site, more correctly. Only one synagogue of Vienna's previous ninety-four survived the war). I will make my way there someday very soon. I wonder what I will find...
I continued to wander and toured the Austrian parliament and ate Wiener Schnitzel. I considered attending services at the Stadttemple, the synagogue that survived World War Two, but decided against it.
The weather turned darker later in the day and it is supposed to rain tomorrow. In any case, most Jewish sites are closed on Saturday for the Shabbat. I am not certain what I will do yet. Wien is holding an annual festival of art and culture, so I may see what that has to offer.
Until tomorrow, readers!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Amsterdam to Vienna 9th May 2013
This time my Blogspot interface is in German! "Neuer Post" it is, then!
This entry, unlike its predecessors, will be written as the day goes on rather than after the fact. I am into my second hour aboard a train from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, Germany, a trip scheduled to take just under four hours with stops along the way in places like Arnhem, Koln, etc. Once in Frankfurt I will board another train that, seven hours later, will stop at the Wien (Vienna) Westbahnhof.
This is my first time (not counting the short trip from Amsterdam Schiphol Airport to Amsterdam Centraal) on a train, and I must say that I enjoy it quite a bit. Planes are faster, true, but there is something to be said for the train. The American romance with trains, as passionate as it was short-lived, has largely ended. The plane offers too much efficiency, too much time-saving, for the growing US to pass up. But this is not the case in Europe. Here, the cities are close and the trains always run on schedule... They don't fool around: I nearly missed this one when I took longer at breakfast than I expected. I had to run (AGAIN, JON DUNNICK) the 2km to Centraal from my hostel. I supposed it wouldn't be a Michael Newman trip if I weren't scrambling to get on my selected form of transportation...
But the wide windows and slow (relative to planes, at least) speed of trains allows a fascinating and romantic experience of the European countryside. The Dutch lowlands are undoubtedly an excellent introduction to this type of travel. On either side are vibrant green sheep pastures and fields cut by small irrigation canals and dotted with windmills, both old and modern. This is farming more in the Vermont style than the Midwestern, and it is refreshing to see such greenery after months in the Midwestern cold.
But it is noticeably not Vermont. The fields are interrupted often by large cities, and the tunnels and train-blinds (which I hate, by the way, they obstruct a view of a lot of interesting stuff!) are all covered in graffiti. It is still beautiful, just different.
With all that said about romance and beauty, the kid in the seat behind me just threw up everywhere. So much for romance. That's the price of second class. And my allergies are killing me today. That's the price of greenery.
I saw what I believe to be a school with a waterslide outside of Utrecht. So that explains Menno Schukking, everyone.
I complained to Rebecca last night that €2.00 was too much for water from a vending machine. I take it back... On the train they charge €2.80 for the same thing. But it's very fancy water. Straight from the Alps.
I found out that my reservation has a specific car and seat number, which makes sense, and I am nowhere near the right place. In my defense, I'm a poor helpless American and the ticket is in Dutch, which we have established is a mildly ridiculous looking/sounding language. The woman who was supposed to have the seat I have stolen is fine with me sitting here, anyway, and she is nice. She is a researcher at the German Institute of Archeology in Rome, home in Dusseldorf to give a guest lecture on the Roman army. So you can imagine that I quite enjoy her company...
Arriving in Koln is a strange experience. It is the first city on my trip that Opa mentioned in his memoir. It was here that he and his family arranged a guide to take them on foot over the border from Germany to Belgium. It is odd to think, as I sit here waiting to continue onward, that Opa at 10 years old likely looked up at the same cathedral I sit beside today...
Outside of Bonn the landscape becomes more and more mountainous. The flat farm country gives way to hills and forests and gone are the vast cities and graffiti... Here is the rural Germany I expected to find somewhere: small villages and beautiful views. I am excited to get to Austria.
In Frankfurt I changed trains. I am on the train now that will take me all the way to Wien. This time I am in the right seat. This train is far more full than the last but it makes numerous stops along the way at Nurnberg, Linz, etc.
I am incredibly aware of my foreignness now. People address me first in German and I must stumble my way into English. I dress differently and am in general shorter than most. But that goes without saying.
It is now 15:30... We just left Regensburg. I have repositioned to a window seat and can take more pictures now. The countryside is amazing. A seven hour train ride is worlds more interesting than a seven hour plane ride.
I have fallen into and out of sleep for the past two and a half hours. We just left Linz (I am in Austria) and the train is practically empty now. This is my longest entry yet and nothing particularly exciting has happened. Today I am truly rambling.
We are in the longest tunnel of the day thus far... Tunnels interrupt the path of the train when we have to pass through mountainous areas. I do not particularly like them: your ears pop with the heavy pressure of the earth above you and then again when you exit.
Across from me, a man roughly my age has been downing beer by the large bottle-full since Regensburg. Interesting guy: spiked hair, stunner shades, techno music blaring from his head phones, John Lennon backpack, and apparently a dwindling case of beer in his luggage...
When I reach Vienna my hostel is not far from the train station. I hope to get there, do laundry, find something to eat, and sleep. I will, of course, type up this entry: I am sure all of you are dying to hear of the puking boy from this morning and the drunk guy tonight!
I am not certain what I will do tomorrow, yet. I need to make Eurail reservations for my return trip to Brussels on the 14th, and then the day is free. I may use it to get a feel for the city. In any case, I've written enough today.
Until tomorrow!
This entry, unlike its predecessors, will be written as the day goes on rather than after the fact. I am into my second hour aboard a train from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, Germany, a trip scheduled to take just under four hours with stops along the way in places like Arnhem, Koln, etc. Once in Frankfurt I will board another train that, seven hours later, will stop at the Wien (Vienna) Westbahnhof.
This is my first time (not counting the short trip from Amsterdam Schiphol Airport to Amsterdam Centraal) on a train, and I must say that I enjoy it quite a bit. Planes are faster, true, but there is something to be said for the train. The American romance with trains, as passionate as it was short-lived, has largely ended. The plane offers too much efficiency, too much time-saving, for the growing US to pass up. But this is not the case in Europe. Here, the cities are close and the trains always run on schedule... They don't fool around: I nearly missed this one when I took longer at breakfast than I expected. I had to run (AGAIN, JON DUNNICK) the 2km to Centraal from my hostel. I supposed it wouldn't be a Michael Newman trip if I weren't scrambling to get on my selected form of transportation...
But the wide windows and slow (relative to planes, at least) speed of trains allows a fascinating and romantic experience of the European countryside. The Dutch lowlands are undoubtedly an excellent introduction to this type of travel. On either side are vibrant green sheep pastures and fields cut by small irrigation canals and dotted with windmills, both old and modern. This is farming more in the Vermont style than the Midwestern, and it is refreshing to see such greenery after months in the Midwestern cold.
But it is noticeably not Vermont. The fields are interrupted often by large cities, and the tunnels and train-blinds (which I hate, by the way, they obstruct a view of a lot of interesting stuff!) are all covered in graffiti. It is still beautiful, just different.
With all that said about romance and beauty, the kid in the seat behind me just threw up everywhere. So much for romance. That's the price of second class. And my allergies are killing me today. That's the price of greenery.
I saw what I believe to be a school with a waterslide outside of Utrecht. So that explains Menno Schukking, everyone.
I complained to Rebecca last night that €2.00 was too much for water from a vending machine. I take it back... On the train they charge €2.80 for the same thing. But it's very fancy water. Straight from the Alps.
I found out that my reservation has a specific car and seat number, which makes sense, and I am nowhere near the right place. In my defense, I'm a poor helpless American and the ticket is in Dutch, which we have established is a mildly ridiculous looking/sounding language. The woman who was supposed to have the seat I have stolen is fine with me sitting here, anyway, and she is nice. She is a researcher at the German Institute of Archeology in Rome, home in Dusseldorf to give a guest lecture on the Roman army. So you can imagine that I quite enjoy her company...
Arriving in Koln is a strange experience. It is the first city on my trip that Opa mentioned in his memoir. It was here that he and his family arranged a guide to take them on foot over the border from Germany to Belgium. It is odd to think, as I sit here waiting to continue onward, that Opa at 10 years old likely looked up at the same cathedral I sit beside today...
Outside of Bonn the landscape becomes more and more mountainous. The flat farm country gives way to hills and forests and gone are the vast cities and graffiti... Here is the rural Germany I expected to find somewhere: small villages and beautiful views. I am excited to get to Austria.
In Frankfurt I changed trains. I am on the train now that will take me all the way to Wien. This time I am in the right seat. This train is far more full than the last but it makes numerous stops along the way at Nurnberg, Linz, etc.
I am incredibly aware of my foreignness now. People address me first in German and I must stumble my way into English. I dress differently and am in general shorter than most. But that goes without saying.
It is now 15:30... We just left Regensburg. I have repositioned to a window seat and can take more pictures now. The countryside is amazing. A seven hour train ride is worlds more interesting than a seven hour plane ride.
I have fallen into and out of sleep for the past two and a half hours. We just left Linz (I am in Austria) and the train is practically empty now. This is my longest entry yet and nothing particularly exciting has happened. Today I am truly rambling.
We are in the longest tunnel of the day thus far... Tunnels interrupt the path of the train when we have to pass through mountainous areas. I do not particularly like them: your ears pop with the heavy pressure of the earth above you and then again when you exit.
Across from me, a man roughly my age has been downing beer by the large bottle-full since Regensburg. Interesting guy: spiked hair, stunner shades, techno music blaring from his head phones, John Lennon backpack, and apparently a dwindling case of beer in his luggage...
When I reach Vienna my hostel is not far from the train station. I hope to get there, do laundry, find something to eat, and sleep. I will, of course, type up this entry: I am sure all of you are dying to hear of the puking boy from this morning and the drunk guy tonight!
I am not certain what I will do tomorrow, yet. I need to make Eurail reservations for my return trip to Brussels on the 14th, and then the day is free. I may use it to get a feel for the city. In any case, I've written enough today.
Until tomorrow!
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Amsterdam 8th May 2013
Tip for travel in Amsterdam (likely in all of the Netherlands and Europe): a small coffee is very small and expensive (about €2.50), but it is also very good, so I suppose it is worth the cost.
Today has been incredibly tiring (I wandered around all day... I regret not doing any cardio, Jon...), but I seem (tentatively speaking, of course... I could be exhausted tomorrow...) to have beat the jet lag with few negative effects. It is roughly 15:00 (3 PM) now here, which was 08:00 (8 AM) for me two days ago in South Dakota, and I have already done my wandering for the day.
I started early heading west roughly in the direction of the Anne Frank house, where she and her family and four other Jews hid for two years during the German occupation of the Netherlands, a story made famous in her diary, published posthumously by her father, Otto Frank, after he learned of her death at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in 1945. I knew, prior to coming, that Anne was a contemporary of Opa's (both were born in 1929: Anne was only 5 months and 7 days older than Opa), but to see the conditions, the small quarters in which all eight of the hidden people could not move during the day for fear of alerting workers below to their presence... I cannot describe the feeling... I cried afterward: for Anne, for Opa, who lived in a similar world of terror and persecution, for my Oma, whose generation of Gentile German children could not have understood what was being done to their Jewish friends, and for my sister and family, who I am indescribably glad never knew the experience of being told to be quiet for the sake of their lives.
It has been only two days, and I have yet to reach a city relevant to Opa's story (I anticipated that my arrival in Vienna would signal the start of the emotional journey this trip will be), but today Amsterdam showed me that this will, without question, be a life-changing project of incredible emotional weight...
I headed east then to Mr. Visserplein, where I toured the Jewish History Museum (a beautiful, if somewhat predictable, collection of Jewish artwork and historical artifacts; I was most impressed by a dark postwar painting depicting the faceless leaders of the Nazi regime, Goering and Speer, among others, at the Nuremberg Trials surrounded by crows and ravens) and then the Portuguese Synagogue, a Sephardic place of worship built in 1675.
It was suggested to me by a woman on the plane from Minneapolis, and has been called by some the most beautiful synagogue in the world. I am far from an expert on such matters, but I cannot say that I disagree. It is a place without electricity (large windows allow light to enter in the day and hundreds, if not thousands, of candles light the synagogue at night), with powerful columns and impressive decoration, straight-backed pews, and a vaulted ceiling.
It is a place where even I, neither religious nor Jewish by upbringing, felt a remarkable affinity for my own 'Jewishness.' I was struck especially by the 'Winter Synagogue,' where services were held during and after the war when the congregation was at its smallest. The contrast with the enormous Esnoga is horrifying: one of Europe's largest Jewish congregations was cut to fit in a small room by Nazi hatred.
I know now that I cannot know what this project will mean... This is far bigger than myself, already far heavier that I imagined it would be. I worry what will happen at Drancy...
In any case, I must move forward. Tonight I will eat again and then pack. I will be up at 7:00 AM to shower and walk to Centraal, where I take my first train (to Frankfurt, I think), and then to Vienna. I am not certain I will be able to post tomorrow, as I am uncertain whether the train will have WiFi access. If I cannot update, I will update you all as soon as possible!
Until next time.
Today has been incredibly tiring (I wandered around all day... I regret not doing any cardio, Jon...), but I seem (tentatively speaking, of course... I could be exhausted tomorrow...) to have beat the jet lag with few negative effects. It is roughly 15:00 (3 PM) now here, which was 08:00 (8 AM) for me two days ago in South Dakota, and I have already done my wandering for the day.
I started early heading west roughly in the direction of the Anne Frank house, where she and her family and four other Jews hid for two years during the German occupation of the Netherlands, a story made famous in her diary, published posthumously by her father, Otto Frank, after he learned of her death at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in 1945. I knew, prior to coming, that Anne was a contemporary of Opa's (both were born in 1929: Anne was only 5 months and 7 days older than Opa), but to see the conditions, the small quarters in which all eight of the hidden people could not move during the day for fear of alerting workers below to their presence... I cannot describe the feeling... I cried afterward: for Anne, for Opa, who lived in a similar world of terror and persecution, for my Oma, whose generation of Gentile German children could not have understood what was being done to their Jewish friends, and for my sister and family, who I am indescribably glad never knew the experience of being told to be quiet for the sake of their lives.
It has been only two days, and I have yet to reach a city relevant to Opa's story (I anticipated that my arrival in Vienna would signal the start of the emotional journey this trip will be), but today Amsterdam showed me that this will, without question, be a life-changing project of incredible emotional weight...
I headed east then to Mr. Visserplein, where I toured the Jewish History Museum (a beautiful, if somewhat predictable, collection of Jewish artwork and historical artifacts; I was most impressed by a dark postwar painting depicting the faceless leaders of the Nazi regime, Goering and Speer, among others, at the Nuremberg Trials surrounded by crows and ravens) and then the Portuguese Synagogue, a Sephardic place of worship built in 1675.
It was suggested to me by a woman on the plane from Minneapolis, and has been called by some the most beautiful synagogue in the world. I am far from an expert on such matters, but I cannot say that I disagree. It is a place without electricity (large windows allow light to enter in the day and hundreds, if not thousands, of candles light the synagogue at night), with powerful columns and impressive decoration, straight-backed pews, and a vaulted ceiling.
It is a place where even I, neither religious nor Jewish by upbringing, felt a remarkable affinity for my own 'Jewishness.' I was struck especially by the 'Winter Synagogue,' where services were held during and after the war when the congregation was at its smallest. The contrast with the enormous Esnoga is horrifying: one of Europe's largest Jewish congregations was cut to fit in a small room by Nazi hatred.
I know now that I cannot know what this project will mean... This is far bigger than myself, already far heavier that I imagined it would be. I worry what will happen at Drancy...
In any case, I must move forward. Tonight I will eat again and then pack. I will be up at 7:00 AM to shower and walk to Centraal, where I take my first train (to Frankfurt, I think), and then to Vienna. I am not certain I will be able to post tomorrow, as I am uncertain whether the train will have WiFi access. If I cannot update, I will update you all as soon as possible!
Until next time.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Amsterdam 7th May 2013
So! Lesson one of the Internet in Europe: I apparently have to use Blogspot in Dutch while I am in the Netherlands. Google uses geo-location to determine the country I am in based on my IP address and then redirects me to blogspot.nl rather than blogspot.com. This is frustrating, and I can't figure out how to circumvent it. For those of you interested, "nieuw bericht" is Dutch for "new post." In other news, Dutch is an incredibly vowel-happy language.
Anyway, hello from Amsterdam! I am exhausted. A combination of jet lag, lack of sleep (I never could sleep on planes or in cars), and hours of travel has taken its toll. If I were not trying to stay awake to kick the jet lag fast I would already have gone to sleep. And it's only 1610 (4:10 PM, since I know many of you will object to my use of the entirely rational 24 hour clock. Get with the times!)...
That said, Amsterdam is a pretty place and the people have been friendly and speak excellent English. I expected as much. From my arrival at Centraal Station (the vowels! Centraal is a triumphant and extravagent train station in downtown Amsterdam) to my wanderings through narrow streets between listing buildings (Amsterdam, like Venice, is built below sea-level and sees similar subsidence), I have seen today the nature of "Old Europe." This gives me hope that my travels to the cities Opa passed through will indeed help me capture the essential feeling of each place and better enable me to write this story.
The city is arranged, again like Venice, with a series of canals flowing throughout. On either side of these canals run narrow one way streets, chaotic with incessant pedestrian, bicycle, and automobile traffic. This setup allows for picturesque scenes where buildings sit directly on the waterfront, leaning inward to create a canopy of sorts for the boats that float here and there, mooring themselves to the street when their passengers wish to come ashore. Benches dot the canalside; I sit on one as I write this.
The people in the city are varied, as in any major tourist destination, but there is a significant presence of Asian food and curio shops, a legacy of the Dutch colonial past. I ate Indonesian food for dinner (an early dinner, remember that it is roughly 4 PM now, I'll be hungry later...), it was not my typical choice, but I figure I should expand my horizons while I have this opportunity.
A casual (in truth, accidental: I was lured by an interesting-looking church) walk through the Red Light District in the daylight convinced me not to go back at night. Some things are a bit too much for my sensibilities, even if I do consider myself fairly progressive.
I made my first Eurail reservation when I arrived at Centraal: I will depart for Vienna at 8:00 AM local time on Thursday and arrive, eleven hours later, at 7:00 PM. When I arrive I will have to be sure to reserve a seat for my return trip from Vienna to Brussels. It wouldn't do to be stuck in Vienna with a train ticket but without a reserved seat!
Tomorrow I intend, most likely, to wander my way to the Anne Frank House Museum. Though Opa never came to Amsterdam himself, there is much Jewish history to explore here and I will devote much of tomorrow to that pursuit.
If this post seems to ramble or have little point, I apologize. As I said, I am tired. I have hand written this prior to posting it in the hope that I may catch some errors during typing (turns out I made no mistakes... I am great...). If I miss any, please accept my apologies!
Until tomorrow!
Anyway, hello from Amsterdam! I am exhausted. A combination of jet lag, lack of sleep (I never could sleep on planes or in cars), and hours of travel has taken its toll. If I were not trying to stay awake to kick the jet lag fast I would already have gone to sleep. And it's only 1610 (4:10 PM, since I know many of you will object to my use of the entirely rational 24 hour clock. Get with the times!)...
That said, Amsterdam is a pretty place and the people have been friendly and speak excellent English. I expected as much. From my arrival at Centraal Station (the vowels! Centraal is a triumphant and extravagent train station in downtown Amsterdam) to my wanderings through narrow streets between listing buildings (Amsterdam, like Venice, is built below sea-level and sees similar subsidence), I have seen today the nature of "Old Europe." This gives me hope that my travels to the cities Opa passed through will indeed help me capture the essential feeling of each place and better enable me to write this story.
The city is arranged, again like Venice, with a series of canals flowing throughout. On either side of these canals run narrow one way streets, chaotic with incessant pedestrian, bicycle, and automobile traffic. This setup allows for picturesque scenes where buildings sit directly on the waterfront, leaning inward to create a canopy of sorts for the boats that float here and there, mooring themselves to the street when their passengers wish to come ashore. Benches dot the canalside; I sit on one as I write this.
The people in the city are varied, as in any major tourist destination, but there is a significant presence of Asian food and curio shops, a legacy of the Dutch colonial past. I ate Indonesian food for dinner (an early dinner, remember that it is roughly 4 PM now, I'll be hungry later...), it was not my typical choice, but I figure I should expand my horizons while I have this opportunity.
A casual (in truth, accidental: I was lured by an interesting-looking church) walk through the Red Light District in the daylight convinced me not to go back at night. Some things are a bit too much for my sensibilities, even if I do consider myself fairly progressive.
I made my first Eurail reservation when I arrived at Centraal: I will depart for Vienna at 8:00 AM local time on Thursday and arrive, eleven hours later, at 7:00 PM. When I arrive I will have to be sure to reserve a seat for my return trip from Vienna to Brussels. It wouldn't do to be stuck in Vienna with a train ticket but without a reserved seat!
Tomorrow I intend, most likely, to wander my way to the Anne Frank House Museum. Though Opa never came to Amsterdam himself, there is much Jewish history to explore here and I will devote much of tomorrow to that pursuit.
If this post seems to ramble or have little point, I apologize. As I said, I am tired. I have hand written this prior to posting it in the hope that I may catch some errors during typing (turns out I made no mistakes... I am great...). If I miss any, please accept my apologies!
Until tomorrow!
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