Nymphenburg Palace and Dachau Concentration Camp

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Geo: 48.1391, 11.5802

(Erin here.) Day 3 of our trip began with a bus tour of Munich, and as you could probably guess, siting in the back of a bus wouldn't be Sean's or my first choice for how to see a city. Yet it was already part of the tour fee so we tried to make the most of it. The highlight of the city tour was undoubtedly stopping at the Nymphenburg "summer home" (really, a palace) after which Versailles was modeled. It was a gift from Maxamillion I to his wife, and though we had a mere 15 minutes to take in the exterior of the palace, it was breathtaking. Fronted by a couple of large, tranquil ponds where swans and geese swam, the palace itself stretched before us in all its creamy white grandeur. We delighted in hand-feeding the swans and watching them crane their necks to reach the bread crumbs before their squawking competition. That was a first for Hannah and it was fun to watch her reaction as one swan in particular elongated his downy white neck toward her and nibbled from her open palm.

The tour ended in the city center where we had spent the night before walking through the rain—and how different it was in the daylight! Though some of the nighttime magic was gone, we basked in the dazzling sunshine. Everywhere we looked was the contrast of old meets new. In one direction soared the twin towers of the Munich Cathedral, complete with their copper-green, onion-domed roofs, but in the other, an angular department store with Gucci or Dolce and Gabana in the window display. Most impressive was the city hall with its ornate design. On the hour each day, the glockenspiel begins its plucky, music box kind of tune, playing out for the whole plaza to hear. Then the displays of the hand-painted figures built into the edifice of the building begin their animated, merry-go round dance. A trumpet boy in blue blows his horn, announcing to all of Munich that it's safe to re-emerge from their homes after the Black Plague. Two nights in shining armor spar and miss, but on the next revolution, one night is taken down by his opponent. Men in red coats dance a jig. Yet the best sight of all was to see another contrast of the ages: this historic glockenspiel playing out its tune for a 500th year, with the 21st century crowd gathered in the square below with their upturned faces, photographing it with their digital SLRs and I-phones.

During our down time that afternoon, Sean, Kayla and I ascended to the top of a nearby church's bell tower for a view of the city. (Hard to believe, I know—Sean and I, climbing to the top of something.) It was a narrow, wooden, spiral staircase jam-packed with other climbers, and the graffiti accosted us at every turn. Our favorite was simply, “TOO MANY STAIRS.” I even high-fived a guy from Mexico wearing a Steelers T-shirt. At the top, we found a narrow boardwalk that skirted the perimeter of the tower and caged us in from head to toe with wrought-iron. And of course, the view was spectacular—pedestrians and bicycles were dwarfed to Monopoly playing pieces, the terra-cotta roofs stretched beyond us in a sea of red.

Later that afternoon, we traveled to Dachau, the first Nazi concentration camp. The Dachau visit had been downplayed to me by both my tour coordinator over the phone, and our tour guide because there weren't the mass numbers of Jews exterminated there like there would later be at Buna and Buchenwald and Auschwitz. However, an estimated 43,000 deaths occurred there during the internment of prisoners between 1938 and its liberation in 1945, and the emotional effect on all of us as we walked through the gravely courtyard that warm afternoon was immediately apparent.

Only one barrack for prisoners remains in Dachau today, yet the foundations of all the rest are still plainly evident—a series of rectangular plots of concrete that echo the first in a mind-boggling domino-line of what were the barracks of the entire camp. We saw and touched the narrow bunk bed frames. Prisoners had slept where our fingertips rested, or had laid in sickness, or had even died of dysentery, tuberculosis, and starvation. We walked through the crematorium with its infallible system of sequential rooms: the holding room where the prisoners disrobed in preparation for what they were told would be a shower; the gas chamber with its phony, recessed shower heads in the ceiling where the prisoners were simultaneously executed; the room where the bodies were piled before cremation; and finally, the crematorium where four incinerators could be fired up at once to dispose of the bodies. Outside of the building, we walked through the now-grassy and lush grounds where pits of human remains were found, buried. Large tombstones read “The Tomb of the Unknown Thousands” and “We Must Never Forget.”

As a native German, Manuel shared with us that there is a dialogue and a controversy going on right now about the continued presence of the camps. “I hate this place and I think it should just be burned to the ground,” he said. “It's time for Germany to be able to move on. Now it's just a place for tourists wearing shorts and sandals and taking pictures.” He discussed how important it is to teach future generations about the Holocaust, of course, but that we have video documentaries and photos and survivors' testimonies and memorials to help us remember. As a teacher and as a human being, it's a debate I have been wrestling with since we began the discussion. I certainly understand and even empathize with the argument. Still, it's hard to imagine a video accomplishing what I saw the physicality of that place register on my students' faces (not to mention for Sean and me as well). It's hard to imagine that anything could elicit the overwhelming sense of horror and finality I felt standing inside that gas chamber room, other than the very room itself.

Well if there's any way to prove how impacted I was by the enormity of Dachau's history, it's this: I managed to leave behind my first tour member! We were on the bus maybe 5 minutes away from the entrance to the camp, when I realized Carolyn wasn't with us. She had been walking with me right up to the few moments before getting onto the bus, and when I realized she wasn't sitting in her normal spot, I asked Kayla if her mom was sitting at the front of the bus. I stood up in a moment of panic, and didn't see her. Jared walked to the front of the bus and asked, “Carolyn? Are you up here?” Manuel immediately looked back to me, and I had to sheepishly acknowledge that she wasn't on the bus. As soon as we could, the bus driver turned around to go back to the parking lot, and though the whole time span was maybe 10 minutes, Carolyn said later she felt like we'd been gone 30 minutes. When we pulled into the parking lot, we found her within moments and had a quick hug, having both learned a lesson.

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Comments

[Molly]

Wow, you saw a lot of Dachau! I was there back in the summer of '02 but don't recall having such an intimate experience there. Very cool, my friend.

[Brenda]

Hi Erin, Sean, Tony, JB, Carolyn, Kayla & Hannah - I'm moved by your descirptions. Thanks for taking the time to write - I feel like I'm part of the experience :)

[Aunt Connie]

We went to Auschwitz. We didn't stay very long because Gary was so uncomfortable. He lost distant relatives in concentration camps. They should never be removed. I am glad you took your students there, Erin. It is the only way future g
enerations will feel the truth first hand. Remember our German exchange student, Johannes? He told me he didn't believe the Holocaust actually had occurred. Keep up the great trip comments and pics! We love it!