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Published: October 15th 2012
Let's just get it out there: Eastern Europe is not a good place to be a vegetarian.
The ghastly array of meats and other derivations of animal by-products is mind-boggling. One theory is that on some subconscious level, the people are so thrilled to be rid of communism that every meal is a celebration. Another guess is that they need to eat a lot of protein and fat to sustain themselves through the long and dark winters. Whatever the reason, as I traveled to Poland and the Czech Republic with my parents and brother this September, I knew it would be a challenge--in more ways than one.
Thanks to the Duckling Project, I had some mad comp time of which to take advantage. I took the Megabus double-decker from Minneapolis to Madison, Wisconsin the afternoon of August 29 in order to fly to Europe together with my parents and brother. (In the interest of making my sometimes verbose musings more expedient and because it's just so darn clever, I will henceforth refer to my parents as 'Damo,' the brilliant nickname concocted by my brother, Reid, and I for them to save the momentous amount of time wasted by uttering
the full phrase, 'Dad and Mom'😉.
Anyway, Damo, Reid, and I set out on our journey on Thursday, August 30. My mom's side of the family hails from the Czech Republic (formerly Bohemia) and Poland, so this was a cultural heritage investigation of sorts, at least for the three of us. My Irish-Norwegian father would have to wait for a later trip to visit his ancestral homelands.
Flying into the southern Polish city of Krakow was a bit like coming home. From the air, the farmlands and fields looked just like those of the American Midwest. The tiny airport was charming (albeit filled with wisps of smoke emerging from the dangling ends of puffers just outside the entrances--welcome to eastern Europe), and a good introduction to the city where we would spend the first four days of our adventure.
The first day in Poland was overcast and drizzling, a superbly appropriate backdrop for our first major historical site visit: Auschwitz concentration camp. I was surprised to learn the camp was in Poland; I'd always assumed it was in Germany. What we saw and learned while visiting Auschwitz was horrific. There is no reason for me to go
into detail in the pages of this blog; suffice to say I was relieved we visited this important relic early on in our travels, rather than concluding our stay with the atrocities of the Nazi regime. I will never comprehend how one group of people could commit such unspeakable acts of terror towards another culture. As my passport pages fill up with stamps from countries around the globe, I am perpetually struck by how much more alike we are than different. Hatred, in any form, has no place in our world. Perhaps a monument at the location of a former crematorium at Auschwitz said it best:
Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity, where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women, and children, mainly Jews, from various countries of Europe. These words were repeated in 30 other languages.
Day two proved a little sunnier, both literally and metaphorically. The plan was to visit the famous Wieliczka Salt Mine, located a mere twenty minute drive from the city center. The tour started off especially well for me as I was happy to see the same cute Polish guide who
had accompanied us the day before. Cute as he was, however, he provided no advance warning of the 300+ steps we would have to descend into the depths of the mine. Round and round we circled, wooden steps creaking under touristy feet, with seemingly no end in sight. Then--suddenly--we had reached the bottom and were staring at enormous salt chunks that were clinging to the stone walls of the mine. One little boy took furtive licks of the wall whenever his father wasn't watching. It must have tasted good--but I took his word for it.
Our third day in Poland was a royal day, spent at an architectural treasure known as Wawel. While the original structure, begun around 1018, no longer exists, subsequent constructions date back to the 13th and 14th centuries. The enormous, intricately detailed walls and tapestries were overwhelming, yet contained an air of sadness--as if the spirits of the previous inhabitants were still roaming the palace grounds, locked behind the majestic walls for eternity. Poland, as a country, has so much grief in its history. World War II, while a terrible atrocity for humankind, was especially cruel to the Poles. Over six million Polish citizens died
in the war. First invaded by Nazi Germany on September 1, 1939, Poland was splintered into two occupied zones when the Soviets invaded on September 17 of the same year, severing the Soviet-Polish Non-Aggression Pact. Over the course of World War II, 90%!o(MISSING)f Poland's Jewish population was murdered; in total, nearly one-fifth of the population of Poland was exterminated. It was only in the 1970s that population levels reached those of pre-war Poland. This dark history is woven into the fabric of Polish society. Even a light-hearted dinner with friends seemed tinged with a trace of quiet respect for what had happened on Polish soil.
In light of such unspeakable tragedy, it is important to note the small solaces of that time period. Throughout the occupation, many members of the underground resistance movement, known as the Armia Krajowa, supported by the Polish government in exile, and millions of ordinary Poles--at great risk to themselves and their families--engaged in rescuing Jews from the Nazis. Grouped by nationality, Poles represent the largest number of people who rescued Jews during the Holocaust. To date, 6,135 Poles have been awarded the the title of
Righteous among the Nations by Israel--more than any
other nation. Some estimates put the number of Poles involved in rescue efforts at up to three million, and credit Poles with saving up to 450,000 Jews from certain death.
On a cheerier note, I learned that Polish pierogi, or dumplings, are even more delicious when consumed in the Motherland than they are boiled from a frozen state in the United States. Who knew? The first evening we spent in Poland, we wandered into a little corner of the city clustered with restaurants. This particular restaurant had been recommended by my mom's ubiquitous guidebook, so it was sure to be a winner. We were greeted with a chorus of Polish, which quickly changed to English when all we could muster in response were faces of incomprehension. We were led to a gorgeous little patio that completely defined my heart's idea of 'Europe': white linen tablecloths, flickering candles, charmingly rustic wooden furniture. The evening commenced with the presentation of four elegant flutes of hard cider--a welcome-to-Poland gesture. And then...my wonderful pierogi arrived. Plump and resplendent with potato and cheese filling, steam wafting up into the night sky, the pierogi cemented the feeling that I had arrived back 'home.' The only
other country in which I'd felt that way, aside from the country of my birth, was China.
I contemplate the idea of 'identity' quite a bit when I travel overseas. I've written before about what it means to identify oneself as an American, when our country is increasingly a melting pot of differing skin colors, religions, and ideals. A small minority of Americans, whose families have been on US soil for generations, can be distrusting of newcomers, or those they perceive as 'outsiders.' Would it be easier to live in a homogeneous society where everyone shares similar physical characteristics and religious backgrounds? Perhaps. However, the avid current events follower knows that the situation in Europe is far from perfect. And when a society becomes too closeted, it's easy to feel hostile towards outsiders. That's partly the reason for what is happening in China this week (that, however, requires a separate blog post). Thus, we return to the question--what is identity?
Webster's defines 'identity' as the "distinguishing character or personality of an individual." Fair enough. That's probably the go-to definition for most Americans or Westerners. However, the second definition reads as follows: "sameness of essential or generic character in
different instances." Hold the phone! Couldn't that definition be interpreted to mean that individuals acting in a similar fashion, though
separated by oceans, could, in fact, share similar behavioral tendencies or characteristics? Isn't that what I've been saying all along--that humankind is more alike than we are different? It's really something to ponder.
Well, I digress.
After connecting with the Polish cuisine, people, and homeland, we were almost reluctant to continue to the next city, Prague. I had convinced Damo and Reid that we should take the overnight train rather than fly, as it was a better immersion into the European experience. I had traveled all over China by train over the four years I spent in the country; I couldn't imagine a more enjoyable mode of transportation. The memory of the gentle lull of the wheels rumbling over the tracks, rocking me to sleep, was firmly implanted in my mind. Chinese trains were also full of people curious about and wanting to talk to me, either to practice their English or hear my Chinese. I assumed the European experience would be much the same.
Wrong-o.
In stark contrast to the sleek bullet trains now racing
around China's countryside, the boxy, lumbering, Russian-made contraption squealed into the station and shuddered to a halt as I double-checked our ticket numbers to make sure this was, in fact, the train we were supposed to take to Prague. It was. It seemed the European debt crisis had taken a toll on the E.U. transportation system. As we awkwardly shuffled with our luggage down the tiny aisleways, banging into the walls, it became apparent that we were in for an entirely different kind of experience. The tiny, musty-smelling compartments contained two bunks each and were barely wide enough to store our suitcases and have room for our feet. I had to laugh when I opened one of the storage compartments and found instructions for the lightbulb in Polish, Russian, German, French, and Spanish--but not English. That was a first. Damo were not pleased to discover that they would have to navigate the tiny aisle in the middle of the night to reach the archaic-looking toilet at the end of the carriage...but that was all part of the immersion fun!
The train slowly chugged out of Krakow Station as we leaned out of the windows to say goodbye to Poland.
We were sternly chastised by the train carriage attendant soon afterwards. Meeting this distinguished gentleman was probably my favorite part of the overnight journey by train. After showing us to our "rooms," he inquired whether we would enjoy 'koh-fay' or tea as we rolled into Prague the next morning. After a morning filled with starts, stops, and, occasionally, urgent shouting between attendants outside on the ground, we awoke to a gentle knock on the door and 'gifts for everyone!' : A chocolate croissant, some tea, and a beautiful map of Prague. Though he spoke almost no English, his gentle smile and the mischievious glint in his eye left a deep impression on me. He was 'one of us'--or, perhaps, we were 'some of them.'
The next morning, we were greeted by a bustling city as the train slowly rolled into the urban jungle of Prague. In contrast to Krakow, everything seemed to have been constructed on a much grander scale. This was likely in large part due to the War. While Poland had been bombed to the ground, Prague was spared, as it had been intended for use by Hitler and the Nazis. Magnificent Prague Castle overlooks Vltava River
and the famous Charles Bridge; Hitler had intended to make the former Bohemian royal residence his own. It was a rather macabre history, but I was learning that much of Europe's history is quite dark on account of the wars. The heavy burden of war in the country's history was accurately reflected in the remaining architecture of each respective city. Krakow, beaten into submission, had shorter buildings, darker paint on the building facades, and more achingly beautiful music (Chopin was a native son). Prague was more colorful, with grand stone masonry and rousing melodies (think Dvorak's New World Symphony). It was a thought-provoking angle from which to ponder the history and culture of the two lands.
I hadn't spent a lot of time prior to the trip fantasizing about what each country and culture would be like. The more global treks I've undertaken, the more I understand how important it is to go into such an undertaking with an open mind and few to no expectations. When you are expecting something completely foreign to be a certain way, you are almost certain to be disappointed. The grand majority of my best adventures have occurred when I was least expecting
them! For example, take a Saturday I spent riding the rails to the end of the line in Beijing. I found myself in the middle of suburban nowhere, a complete curiousity to the locals who had never before been face-to-face with a blonde Westerner. I spent the afternoon having my hair stroked by inquisitive children, drinking tea with neighborhood grandmothers, and nodding thoughtfully as I pretended to know a little something about farming while in conversation with the local heads of household. Pure magic.
Anyway, Prague was nothing like that. We had so few days on the ground that plotting our itinerary was a total necessity. On Day One, Reid was able to fulfill his lifelong fantasy of visiting Prague's epic Castle overlooking the city, where we were able to set foot in the 'defenestration room'--a location where one gentlemen on the outs with the King was thrown out of the third story window--and, somehow, survived. Witnesses called it a miracle and a gift from God.
We couldn't visit Prague without delving into the tragic history of the city's Jewish population. As we were horrified to discover, something like 90% of the city's Jews had been exterminated by
the Nazis during World War II. As we walked through the former Jewish ghetto, a chill raced up my spine. I felt the same way I'd felt the first time I walked down Chang'an Avenue (the street of Eternal Peace), which is such a misnomer when you consider what took place at nearby Tiananmen Square in 1989. It was if I was in the midst of history, and the spirits of those who had gone before me were walking silently at my side, compelling me to relive a difficult part of history. Whenever I travel, I try not to get too caught up into the make-believe world of the tourist and focus on both the past and the present. In Vietnam, that meant researching the Vietnam War from the Vietnamese perspective (FYI, it's known as the American War in Hanoi). In Tibet, I soaked in the rich spirituality of the Tibetan people. And in Prague, I mourned for the millions of lives lost in senseless violence.
As Reid and Dad continued exploring Prague Castle, Mom and I stepped back in time to learn more about the Jewish experience during World War II. We began at the Old Jewish Cemetery,
which was first established in the first half of the 15th century. According to Halakhah, or the collective body of religious laws in Judaism, Jews must not destroy Jewish graves nor remove tombstones. This meant that when the cemetery ran out of space and purchasing extra land became impossible, more layers of soil were placed on the existing graves. The old tombstones were taken out and placed upon the new layer of soil. This explains why the tombstones are placed so closely together--the cemetery has 12 layers of graves. Whenever I visit a cemetery, I am struck by the hushed and peaceful atmosphere. Often, there are legions of trees among the headstones, allowing sunbeams to filter through the canopy of leaves and create a heavenly glow. Strange as it may seem to others, I have felt most at peace and introspective when I've gone to pay my respects to either loved ones or historical figures in their eternal resting place.
After visiting the cemetery, we ventured into Pinkas Synagogue. Victims of the Holocaust were commemorated in a permanent exhibit of children's drawings from Terezin. Terezin functioned as a transit camp between 1941 and 1945, where Jewish inmates were held
before shipment east to extermination camps. The drawings were made during what was essentially a clandestine education program for children at Terezin as a means of self-expression and a way of channeling the children's imaginations and emotions. From this perspective, the art classes also functioned as a kind of therapy, in some way helping the children endure the harsh reality of ghetto life. There were depictions of transport to the Terezin ghetto, of everyday ghetto life, and conditions in the children's 'homes.' There were also depictions of Jewish festival celebrations and dreams in which the incarcerated children returned home or went to Palestine. Before being deported to Auschwitz, the children's teacher filled two suitcases with about 4,500 of the drawings and put them in a secret place; immediately after the war they were recovered and given to the Jewish Museum in Prague. The drawings are a poignant reminder of the tragic fate of Bohemian and Moravian Jews during the second World War. Only a few of the Terezin children survived; the vast majority were deported to Auschwitz, where they were exterminated. In many cases, the drawings are all that remain to commemorate their lives.
Venturing back outside into the
Look! An Ancient Bell!
Bell Tower, Prague Castlebright sunlight and cobbled streets of Prague was jarring. I felt emotionally drained, all energy sapped out of me. It's said that some people are more empathetic than others and, consequently, can be more affected by intense experiences such as the historical site we'd just visited. I'd recently taken an online assessment called StrengthsFinder at the bequest of my employer prior to a day-long team retreat. The assessment was designed to reveal an individual's top five personality characteristics (strengths). In so doing, a team could determine how to better work together by utilizing the strengths they had in common, or by complementing one another with contrasting strengths. My second biggest strength happened to be empathy (and, in case you're wondering, the other four were Intellect, Belief, Harmony, and Connectedness/Spirituality). I had a similar reaction when we visited Auschwitz in Poland. It was visceral, an innate fight-or-flight response. I wanted to run far away and never look back, but it's important to educate oneself about the past so we don't make the same mistakes in the present. History isn't always beautiful, but it does make the little moments seem that much more exquisitely lovely in comparison.
Prior to our heritage
trip, my Mom had purchased a new pair of glasses originally to be used in place of more expensive frames while playing sports. The ink black, plastic frames were totally retro in nature. They gave her a totally ethnic look, especially when worn in combination with her newly purchased Czech scarves and her Polish nose. In fact, both the Poles and the Czechs mistook her for a local while we were shopping in the markets, hawking their wares in a foreign tongue at a dizzying speed. When she paused, uncertain of how to respond, they mistook her silence for hard-nosed Eastern European bargaining and lowered the price. Her dormant Polish/Czech identity had come to life.
When traveling overseas, I always make an effort to learn at least a couple of phrases in the country's national language. The local people are often overjoyed at my attempts and always engage me in conversation that quickly goes right over my head. I can't help but compare those experiences to the situations I've witnessed in the United States when foreign tourists are summarily dismissed by shopkeepers because they don't speak perfect, idiomatic American English. What is wrong with this picture? Have we become a nation of condescending elitists, unwilling to make any concessions to our international friends and neighbors who are so clearly just trying to fit in? I'd hate to think that was the case.
I never really thought much about my eastern European heritage growing up, aside from being annoyed with how long it took me to say Polish-Czech-Irish-Norwegian when asked about my cultural background. Sure, we ate Norwegian lefse and kremkake at Thanksgiving and Czech kolache at Christmas, but it was a mere nod in the direction of our heritage, rather than a full-bodied immersion. Having the opportunity to travel to the lands of my ancestral fathers with my parents and brother is something I will always remember. It wasn't only about the chance to discover the culture of the homeland; it was about experiencing something of this magnitude with my family as a group of adults. It was completely different from the hundreds of hours we spent crisscrossing the United States in our trusty Town & Country van during the summers of my childhood. In some ways, it was more meaningful. We were able to discuss topics like World War II and the Holocaust intellectually and philosophically. We voted democratically on where we would eat dinner. And, perhaps most importantly of all, after all my years in China and my parents' move to Arizona, we were once again a family of four.
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Mom
non-member comment
What a Wonderful Time It Was!
Thanks, Hon, for all of your descriptive verbage and insightful comments. We did have a great trip.