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Published: August 6th 2007
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It's warm and the surrounding countryside is vivid green under the clear blue sky. A thin strip of lush forest stands just outside the boundary of the camp, barbed wire divides us from it. The trees have brought scattered ash back to life. It's hard to see the red-brown wire in front of the forest today, my eyes are drawn to the vibrancy of the surrounding countryside. I'm sure the people who stood here before me, just out of the carriage in their 1940's dusty clothes and dirty shoes saw the wire much more clearly as they adjusted their wire rimmed glasses after their inhumane journey. It was probably a little confusing at first, then to those who survived the platform to understand it's true meaning, damning.
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Later that evening, as we left the apartment via the dim wooden stairway, things had a slightly surreal feeling. The bare wooden steps were worn concave by generations of feet. Paint on the walls was discoloured and flaking, providing a glimpse of a previous tenants vision.. as if each coat held a trace of another person's story. It was due for another coat, the building's selective Ikea tourist interior suggesting it was
now entering another incarnation, another chapter of history.
We close the grainy door behind us, dry rot has eaten away the bottom and the corners are worn so it no longer completely fills the entranceway. The tram takes us over the river and past the old Jewish Kazimierz, into the heart of the old town. It's an easy walk, but the stop is right outside our apartment. Buses and trucks once left from this very corner loaded with the painters and tenants, making the hour long journey down the same concrete roads we travelled this morning. Through the same vivid green fields, and through the village the Germans renamed Auschwitz, to an entirely different destination.
Tonight warm dry weather has bought people to the city from all walks of life. We pass through long afternoon light in the bustling square, the north gate has a separate guard tower. Surrounded by a moat, it could once provide archers a point to fire on attackers as they approached the city gates.. tonight the interior is venue for a fencing competition, we hear the crack and scrape of foils as we cross the drawbridge for a closer look.
The outer
Adding to bustling market life
Mum and Dad (but mostly Mum) shopping for Baltic amber wall of the town heads off to the west, centuries of brickwork alternately blend and contrast, indicating where some areas have evolved while others have cracked under the pressure of change. Wandering in through a west gate we pass the monastery; hundreds of years of music lessons are echoed as violin scales flow from an open upper floor window on the opposite corner. Streets around the small intersection are empty and as we stop to listen, the moment feels timeless. A flock of silouette swallows slice through the deepening blue sky for emphasis, searching for eves to nest in as they've surely done for countless summer evenings.
Continuing on, we eat dinner while drinking spirits on the upper deck of a lone river boat. Accross the water the east bank of the Wisla River is lined with historic pre-war factories. Embraced by Jewish ethic and then communist ideals, they now stare somewhat uncertainly accross to the bright lights and ancient city walls on the west bank. The evening is relaxed, and Mum and Dad walk back to our Ikea tourist corner, the apartment exterior once again giving nothing away of the rejuvination underway inside. Asia and I head back
Dinner in the warm evening
River boat on the Wisla River toward Kazimierz to soak up some of the night. The streets are mostly empty and sparsely lit, but warm night air and an orange glow from the lamps off the stone buildings gives a sense of safety, an impercepteble evolution, it's as if the scene hasn't needed to change in decades. Tchaikovski is playing as we sit thoughtlessly chatting waiting for a tram.
Slowly the music separates from our surroundings as our conciousness drifts back to the present. We become more aware of the incongruity of such a scene today and look up at the dark windows accross the street to see who's watching television. But there's no telltale ficker of the changing scenes.. instead, giant shadows dance accross the grey brick fascia, a hazy grey skirt flies out as the dancer spins to the end of giant shadowy arm.. Around the corner an open air ballet fills the small Kazimierz square. A short chain link fence separates a small crowd of couples, kids, and cyclists from pre-war girls who tease and flirt with young men destined to fight, and die, for their country. The Nutcracker - set to beautiful girls, powerless men, fiery violence, and displaced children - in an ancient town square that's seen more of any of this than one cares to imagine....
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