The Blog
September 2007
Back in the early 1980's (and yes, I realize some of you reading this may not have been born yet), my family lived on a farm in Imperial, Nebraska. I realize you don't know where that is. Unless you're from the area or got lost on your way to Denver, you've probably never heard of it. Most people from Nebraska don't know where it is - which isn't all that surprising - with a population skyrocketing over the last few years to 1,982, it's lucky to make it on some maps.
That's Casey on the left and me on the right. Kidding. Our hair was never that cool.Anyway, back in the day, I went to Chase County Grade School, just like the other 30 or so kids in my class. My best friend in those early days was a dark-haired kid named Casey. For a long while, we were pretty much inseparable. We could have told you the strengths and weaknesses of pretty much every Transformer on the market, had some epic battles with our Star Wars vehicles, and would likely be found in front of the TV whenever the M.A.S.K. cartoon came on after school.
Since I lived on the farm and Casey was in town, he'd come out to ride go-karts, and I'd go in to ride our bikes around the streets of Imperial (which by the way, actually had a stop light; right in front of the grade school).
Ahh, the good old days. For some inappropriate Transformers humor, click here.Alas, nothing lasts forever. In 1989, due to some interesting circumstances, our family made a relatively sudden move to Missouri. Years passed, and life moved on. Casey and I inevitably lost touch - good memories becoming spotty, then distant and finally forgotten. Once in a while, our family would make it back to Imperial to visit Grandma and see family, but those occasions were few and far between. Once or twice Casey and I had the luck to cross paths, but those times were rare at best.
The last time I saw Casey was in the summer of 1996. I had just finished my first year of college, and my folks and I were in town for some occasion or another. On a whim, I tried calling Casey's house on the off chance he might be around for the summer as well. As fate would have it, he was also in town, visiting his parents and sister, Vanessa who had just finished her senior year of High school. Casey came over and we had a drink on my grandmother's back porch, catching up and reminiscing about the good old days, which at that point weren't nearly so old. As we parted ways that afternoon, I'm pretty sure neither of us thought it would be nearly 11 years until we spoke again. And, certainly, not in the manner in which it unfolded.
If you recognize this logo, you are a true 80's boy. In February of 2007 I found myself on top of a mountain overlooking Quito, Ecuador. Some of you may remember this story from an earlier posting. I overheard some English - American English, and proceeded to talk to them for a minute. Strangely enough, they happened to be from Omaha, Nebraska. Weird. I of course mentioned I too bleed Husker red and to my surprise, they had actually heard of Imperial. They remembered it because one of their friends was from there - a gal named Vanessa. Umm, say that again? Indeed, these people I just met in Ecuador knew Casey's sister. I'm not sure what the odds of that are, but I wouldn't want to calculate them.
We traded information, and I pleaded with them to get in touch with Vanessa and send me Casey's contact details. To make a long story short, these kind people were as good as their word, and about a week later, I had Casey's email address. I fired him a note to see what he was up to, and to relay this crazy story. He replied the next day, telling me he was now living in China! Holy Crap! I told him of my little plan, and how I might be passing through China in the fall. We traded emails over the next few months; me from Africa or Europe, he from Asia or North America. We discussed dates and details, trying to figure out how we might be able to connect. He and his girlfriend were busy jetting between China and the US, I was figuring out how to get through Eastern Europe.
Even best laid plans... As it turns out, due to a variety of happenings, I ended up arriving in Beijing before Casey did. Fortunately though, he'd made provisions. Get this - even though we hadn't seen each other in over a decade, he FedEx'd a key to his apartment to a neighbor, and outlined directions for me to pick it up. I spent a little over a week on my own in a super-nice apartment in downtown Beijing - not too shabby. After a few months of noisy dorm rooms and shared bathrooms, it was nice to have a little privacy. I spent equal time relaxing like a bum and exploring the city. It was really nice, but I was looking forward to seeing Casey again, as well as meeting his girlfriend.
To make a long story short, on September 26, 2007, two old friends shook hands in Beijing, China, for the first time in over a decade. We had a fantastic time - reminiscing about old times, telling stories about family and old friends... catching up on the last ten years of each other's lives.
I'll have a lot of stories to tell at the end of the trip. This will be one of my favorites. Some friendships fade, and others even die. Some however, go into hibernation for a while, waiting to re-awaken. You never know when or where the alarm may go off...
Inappropriate Transformers Humor
(Warning! These clips have language that's not good for little ears - or corporate offices for that matter)
- Dinobots: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hcidUnd-9o
- Optimus vs. Megatron: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tpbp9GXOGU
- If you've seen the old Transformers movie, check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bq1_6D9QS9Y
Maybe because it's made a cameo in so many Jackie Chan and Jet Li movies. Maybe because it represents the heart of the "mysterious" and ancient Chinese culture. Or, maybe it's just the name: "The Forbidden City." Whatever the reason for my excitement, it was pretty cool to see it for the first time.
Admittedly, I don't know much about its history. I had to read my guide book to know it was finished in the early 15th century. That it was home to both the Ming and Qing dynasties, the latter of which lasted until 1911. That it earned its nick-name because it was off-limits to everyone but the Emperor's people for over 500 years.
The enormous front gate, called "The Gate of Heavenly Peace," is painted a deep, imposing, blood red. Seven small white stone bridges curve over a small stream, and lead to five round openings at the bottom of the gate. Four giant stone lions guard the bridge, the front two flanked by tall stone columns with dragons on top.
As I crossed one of the bridges, I got a stare down from the little guard standing post at its center. I meandered on toward the middle of the gate, gazing up at the huge portrait of Chairman Mao. You can't go long in China without seeing his likeness. It's on the money, on pictures hanging inside stores and restaurants... Being dead since 1976 hasn't slowed him down much.
Like a true tourist, I chose the middle opening of the gate - passing right underneath ol' Mao. A set of huge, red double doors were just inside the entrance of 
the opening, adorned with gold studs and golden lions. They led to a long, smooth-walled tunnel running the width of the gate.
A large open space filled with trees, small vendor kiosks and hundreds of people was spread out on the other side. People of all shapes and sizes were trying to sell photo books and maps and bottles of water. A few beggars were stationed near trees with paper cups in front of them.
About 100 yards ahead stood another gate; a smaller version of the one I just passed through. I passed through it to find another open area much like the first, but even bigger. Two green parks sat on either side of the main walkway. I even saw a basketball court set back a few yards.
At the end of this courtyard however, stood the "Meridian Gate," which marked the beginning of the actual "Forbidden City." After paying 60 Yuan (about 9 dollars) for my ticket, I passed through the gate into a beautiful open space filled with stone bridges arching over the small "Golden Stream". It was gorgeous. Sitting gracefully on the other side of the stream stood another large structure, this one called "The Supreme Harmony Gate."
After passing through, I finally found the view I had been waiting for - the huge courtyard of "The Hall of Supreme Harmony." Unfortunately, The Hall of Supreme Harmony was un-harmoniously covered in scaffolding and green netting. Damn construction. I guess it makes sense to have everything in tip-top shape before next year's Olympics, but it sucks for visitors now.
It was still beautiful though. If you've seen "The Last Emperor", you've seen this area in action. A wide-open space filled with slate-gray stones. Enough space for thousands of people. Beautiful white stone terraces rising from the gray sea up to the gate. I could almost hear the gong ringing.
The rest of the Forbidden City was interesting to be sure, but... well... kind of boring. I know it sounds terrible, but building after building, gate after gate looked exactly the same. Most of the remaining structures are museums full of various artifacts of Chinese culture. I'm certain everything was fascinating, but after walking around for three hours, everything started to run together. There are only so many gates you can go through without losing some of the grandeur.
Don't mis-understand though, the entire place was beautiful. The archways, the columns, the paintings, the golden vases... There was a photo opportunity around every corner. It's just that all the opportunities were pretty much the same. And, the place was massive. Over 1,000,000 square meters of enclosed space. A million square meters of the exact same thing.
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The exceptions were the huge golden lions in front of the "Heavenly Purity Gate." These are the lions you see copied in front of Chinese restaurants and hotels around the world. For me, they were the highlight of the entire place. Uniquely Chinese - strong, powerful and classically styled. Beautiful and horrible at the same time.
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After a total of four hours inside the Forbidden City, I made my way back out of the Gate of Heavenly Peace, where I stopped to take a few obligatory photos. As you might expect, hundreds of people outside were doing the same. Groups of little old ladies were posing in front of Chairman Mao's portrait, a proud father holding his son in front of the massive stone lions guarding the small bridges, a little girl proudly holding up her national flag.
Once my memory card was appropriately filled, I took a stroll through Tiananmen Square. The setting of the famous protests of 1989, it was a little surreal to be walking the same paving stones seen in the infamous video.
The square itself is tremendously big. It's a little like being in the middle of a huge park, only there's no green. No grass, no trees. It's all concrete and stone. A little cold and unfeeling, but impressive nonetheless. I read later that it is the largest public square in the world, and I'd believe it. People were gathered all around in little pockets, talking and laughing. A group of workers were setting up huge flower planters in intricate designs. A few vendors were flying small kites in hopes of attracting a sale. I was offered a couple of really good deals on "authentic" Chairman Mao watches. Good to see some street capitalism rearing its head.
On one side sits the Museum of Chinese History. On the other stands the Great Hall of the People. Two shining examples of bulky, blocky communist architecture. A good-sized obelisk called "The Monument to the People's Heroes" stands just north of center.
In the south-center of the square stands Chairman Mao's Mausoleum. Just like Stalin and Lenin in Moscow, Mao's body is in there, on display for the waiting public. Apparently, every so often he gets shipped off to Moscow for a touch-up by the same folks who take care of the old Russians.
As I walked back to the apartment, I had mixed feelings. I was impressed, but a little disappointed. I'm not sure what I expected. It was immense and memorable, but at the same time it left me wanting more. I felt a little let down. I guess I wanted to walk around that corner in to the open space and see 10,000 soldiers standing at attention. I wanted to hear the gong ringing through the courtyard.
Something I certainly won't forget, but I think Hollywood got the better of me on this one.
Though not as much of a lightning rod as the beard, my ever-lengthening hair has been a topic of discussion on this site and in email.
I've never gown my hair out. It was always cut short as a kid, at least as far as I can remember. Through High School and College, I had to have it short for basketball - coaches don't really seem to like long hair for some reason. In fact, I even had my head buzzed during part of my freshman year.
I think part of the reason for growing it out was just that - as overly symbolic as it sounds, my hair, like the trip in general represented (for me at least) another very visible departure from the norm. I'd have never tried to do this while at work. I never really had the chance to do it before. And, above all... Why the hell not?
Anyway, I'll cut to the chase - It's gone. Most of it anyway. After a little over nine months, I finally got my first real haircut.
Now to be honest, I have had two semi-haircuts during this trip. The first was in Cape Town, South Africa. My mane was starting to get pretty unmanageable, and I was starting to feel like more of a freak than I know I already am. I was walking through a mall, and saw a decent-looking place that had some cute girls working the reception, so I went in. After explaining that I was trying to grow it out, the rather effeminate stylist spent the next 20 minutes snipping away, then another five giving me a lecture on using conditioner and watching out for split ends. What the hell is a split end?
My second cut was actually in Dublin. I was getting a little self-conscious about it in London, so when I found a professional-looking place, I stopped into get a price.
Now, I'm pretty cheap when it comes to haircuts. In the real world, spending over $20 on a cut drives me absolutely insane. I just don't see the point - especially if you keep it short. So, when I found out a cut here was going to be 45 Euros, I headed for the door.
On my way out, I noticed a sign for the "Hair Academy", conveniently located right above the salon. Sweet. That has to be cheap, right? So, I went up the winding staircase into a really hot room filled with about ten female stylists working on various customers. A small price list near the counter said Men's haircuts are eight Euros. Awesome. They're speaking my language now. When I actually asked the lady at the counter to be sure, she said in an Irish lilt: "Oh, we don't charge for gents." Sold!
So, to make a long story short, I got a free haircut in Dublin. And another lecture on split ends.
Fast forward to September. I was holed up in Poland and the Czech Republic for a couple weeks, and apparently had just enough time to get really annoyed with my hair. There's a point in a trip like this where you look at a picture of yourself and say, "Damn. That looks terrible." I reached that point in Prague. I simply got tired of looking at this long stringy mop. I was tired of it being in my face all the time. I was tired of it getting in my eyes and ears. Besides, my hair is not all that good. It's definitely not super-model thick, it grows really slowly on the top and really fast on the sides - a combo that I now know starts to look like crap when you try to grow it out.
So, when I got to Beijing, I thought I'd try my luck. I know there are probably better places to try to find a place to cut your hair. My Mandarin isn't what it used to be, and hair styles in China aren't exactly like those in Kansas City. However, this year isn't about convenience, right?
A couple days after I arrived, I found myself in a nice shopping mall called "The Place" - walking the hallways, trying not to get annoyed with every, single person in the mall staring at me as I walked by. Yes people, I'm a foot and a half taller than you. Close your mouths.
I ended up on the third floor in front of a little modern-looking salon. It was moderately busy, a little buzz of activity which made me feel a little better. Most of the staff had trendy-looking hairdos, which I realize can be good or bad. Much like a European restaurant, they had a price list posted to a little sign outside the entrance. 80 Yuan for a Shampoo and cut by a "Senior Stylist". As the dollar is worth about 7.5 Yuan right now, this felt pretty good - especially since I walked by a place earlier today that was charging 380 Yuan for a cut.
I went to the receptionist, and asked if anyone spoke English. No dice. This could get difficult. I pointed to the sign, and specifically to the 80Y line. A little head nodding later, I was sitting in a leather chair at a "consultation" counter, staring at myself in a huge wall-length mirror with an iced tea in hand.
A thin, wiry guy with black pants, a white shirt, black and white striped tie and black horned rim glasses came up behind me and started cautiously messing with my head. I think there was equal parts bewilderment and apprehension - likely due to the state of my ridiculous head, and the fact that I was nearly taller than him while I was in the chair. He asked something I didn't understand but drew some inferences from. I made the assumption this was my "Senior Stylist" trying to figure out what I wanted to do.
Now, I hadn't really thought about this before sitting down. I sort of arrogantly assumed someone would speak English. How do you tell someone you can't communicate with that you want to get rid of nearly all of your hair, but want it to look a certain way - you know, like it did before.
I tried to use some hand gestures - grabbing the long part of my hair with one hand and making a scissor motion with my other hand. He just stared at me.
Ah ha! My passport. I have a photo of me before I left in my passport. That will do.
Damn! My passport is at the Indian embassy in Beijing right now.
The guy is still staring at me.
Ha! I have my old expired passport in my wallet. In it is stapled a second picture of me from before I left. I pulled it out and showed it to him. He looked at me quizzically - looking at the picture, then back at me, then back at the picture.
Yeah, yeah, I know, I look different.
I made a few more gestures - pointing to the picture then to my head. "I want to look like this again." I don't know why I said it - I don't think he learned English in the last 15 seconds, but just in case...
A second later, a smile of understanding came across his face. He pointed at the picture, then at me. Yes! We were on the same page. Then, he pointed to the back of my head and shrugged his shoulders.
Ah - what should the back look like? Damn. Didn't think of that. I started looking around at the other people in the room. Nope. Nope. Nope. There! A guy talking to a customer near me had a short, squared off cut. Like a three-year old, I pointed at him, then back at me.
Again, the smile of understanding came to the stylist's face. Good deal.
He walked off, and a smaller guy in a little maroon colored smock (I don't know if it was really a smock, as I'm not 100% sure of the definition of a smock, but the word sounds right) came up and asked me to follow him. When I stood, he attempted to put a little jacket-thing on me, presumably to keep all the little hair giblets off my clothes. We had a couple problems with the logistics, as A) he trying to help put it on me, but was about two feet too short to help, and B) their little jackets aren't built for people over 6'5" and 200 lbs. A couple patrons and staff nearby got a good giggle out of the show.
We eventually managed though, and I followed him to the row of basins for the shampooing. Again, I found myself maneuvering myself into some awkward positions, as the designers of the chairs and sinks didn't necessarily have me in mind.
A few minutes later I was sitting in another chair, staring at myself in the mirror with a towel wrapped around my head. I think that's the first time for that too.
The "Senior Stylist" appeared a minute later, followed by the little assistant guy in the smock pushing a little cabinet of tools. It was like a nurse following a doctor. I checked the table for a scalpel, but thankfully didn't find it.
So, now the fun begins. Did he really understand what I was wanting? Was he just going to shave my head? I had my old passport in my hands just in case I sensed an errant clip or something else going awry in the process. I'm not sure what good it would actually do, but I wasn't afraid to bust it out just in case.
As it turns out, however, I didn't need it at all. The stylist was actually pretty damn good. He took his time - cutting everything by hand. I had anticipated him just grabbing and cutting by the handful. He had a process, working from side to side, piece by piece. From time to time, the stylist would say something at which point the "nurse" would come over and use a sponge (I'm not kidding) to sweep the hair giblets off my face. It was pretty cool.
Admittedly, five minutes into it, I thought I may have made a mistake in coming here. He had my hair in clips, hanging every which way. I thought I may be getting the "tourist" treatment. But nearly 30 minutes later, I looked in the mirror and found someone I hadn't seen for nearly 9 months. It was amazing. I looked nearly exactly like the photo. He barked something at the "nurse" who came over with a mirror so I could see the back. Again - a carbon copy of the dude I pointed to. This guy was pretty good.
The nurse led me to the basins again for a second shampooing. I was then led back to the chair, where the stylist put a little "product" in it. Good Lord. Who is that guy in the mirror? It was really strange. I was just staring at my reflection like an idiot for a few seconds.
At the end of the day (and I don't know if you rank things like this, but I do sometimes) - it was probably the best haircut I've ever had in my life. Topped off by the fact that with tip it cost less than 20 bucks, I couldn't think of a better one.
Bet you didn't think I could write an entry this long on a haircut, huh?
Or, "How James Cameron saved my sanity."
I don't intend for this to sound like a "poor me" episode, though I realize it probably will. I don't want you to think I'm complaining about not working and gallivanting around the globe. But, I figure if you're reading this, you're at least somewhat interested in the mental part of the journey as well.
On that note, I've learned that if you're not careful, eight months of solid traveling can begin to get to you. You start getting tired. Little things start to build up. Piling up on your mind.
I could feel things getting that way once I got to Poland. The whole Russian visa - Stockholm/Copenhagen embassy thing was taxing - it deflated me a bit more than I thought. It was stressful - and I was tired when I hit mainland Europe again. And in a stroke of genius planning on my part, I spent five days in a relatively gloomy, still-communisty Warsaw.
I won't go into details, but about the time I made it to Krakow, my dad was going through some fairly major surgery back home. It wasn't unexpected - something we had known about for a few weeks, but it was serious enough for me to think about coming home. When I mentioned over the phone I'd done some looking for a flight home, he adamantly objected to it; which, deep down, I knew he would. As a good friend of mine said later, "That's what dads do." Fortunately, everything went as well as it could, and he's doing great. But when something like that is going on, it's tough to be on the other side of the world.
In another uplifting move, a few days later I made a visit to Auschwitz. If you haven't been there, let me attest - its not something that will turn a frown upside down.
To top it off, for the most part the weather in Krakow was crap - rain, rain and more rain. And, in an effort to make use of my time, I started looking at the next leg of the trip. It turns out Vietnam, India and even Australia required visas or the like to be arranged ahead of time. After the damned Russian adventure, filling out forms and waiting in lines at embassies sounded akin to having my toenails pulled out.
Again, I realize this is sounding like a pity party - sorry about that. It does have a happy ending though - just read a little further.
The day after the Auschwitz visit, I found myself plodding around Krakow. I didn't really have a plan - I was just wandering and thinking. With the idea of treating myself to a theatrical escape for a couple hours (my best self-remedy for any ailment), I ended up in a nice shopping mall near the train station. I swung into a store called "Saturn" (think Best Buy), where I inevitably strolled over to the movie section. I found a rack of titles for just 9.99 zloty. Three dollars for a movie is a pretty good deal in any country.
I rifled through the racks until I found something that stopped me in my tracks. Terminator 2! For three dollars? That's a deal people. I was so excited I nearly forgot to check the back to make sure it had an English track on it. Indeed it did, and I was in business.
I realize it may sound a little sad for one to be excited about something like a Polish copy of an old Schwarzenegger movie. For whatever reason though, I was pretty happy.
Nerd Note* some of you geeks out there (like me) might be wondering about Regional encoding issues - I learned earlier in this trip that my computer can play DVDs from any region. Perhaps this is true for all PCs, but it was a mild and pleasant surprise to me. I won't be able to play them when I get back to the US, but hell, that's a long way off.
So, I spent one glorious rainy afternoon in my hostel dorm room watching the Governator shoot holes in Robert Patrick. Remember when Eddie Furlong was an up-and comer? Remember when Linda Hamilton was ripped and relatively hot? Remember the awesome special effects of the liquid metal? I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not, but just watching the movie immediately put me in a better mood.
When I got to Prague a few days later, I again found myself wandering through an electronics store. There, on the sale rack was another movie which stopped me in my tracks. The Czech title was "Vetrelci," which meant absolutely nothing to me, but the image of a drooling H.R Giger - inspired Alien was familiar enough. Aliens, for only six bucks. I hit the jackpot.
Sigourney Weaver kicking ass. Paul Reiser playing an a-hole and getting eaten. Bill Paxton before he became a star. Big explosions, cool vehicles, pulse rifles and acid blood. What more could you ask for?
The movie-geeks in the audience have by now put things together. For those of you with an actual social life, both films were directed by a guy named James Cameron. His first "real" movie was the original Terminator. He also did "The Abyss" and "True Lies". His last one was Titanic, which earned him a load of Oscars. Right now, he's working on a new sci-fi piece called "Avatar", which sounds cool.
Anyway, he's long been one of my favorite directors. I like his in-your face style and storytelling. He was synonymous with action before Michael Bay took up the reigns.
I don't know how many times I've seen both Terminator 2 and Aliens, but safe to say it's an embarrassing number. However, in this situation - in the middle of Eastern Europe, in the midst of a year-long trip, and lack of adequate access to a movie theater, seeing two of my favorites was a big lift.
Yes, I'm a geek. But, at least I'm a geek who feels better.
Ahh, Prague. The City of a Thousand Spires. Perhaps one of the best things about not being able to go to Russia was that I was able to add Prague to my ever-changing itinerary. I love this city.
I was first here in December of 2003. During the final phases of my assignment in London, I got the bright idea of taking a week's worth of vacation to backpack around Europe for a bit before heading home for Christmas. I was actually fairly excited about the plan. After working like mad for four months, it was time for a little adventure.
I found one brave soul to go with me - a buddy from the project named Lawton. He was as nonchalant about our course as I was, so it worked out well. We ended up booking a flight to Rome, and then found a train to Venice, and after a coin flip with Vienna on one side and Prague on the other, we ended up on a night train to the Czech Republic.
It was absolutely beautiful. Neither of us had heard much about it other than it was something to see, and at that point, fairly un-touristy. The moment we arrived, a gentle snow started to fall over Wenceslas Square. It was mid-December, and bitterly cold. Beautiful Christmas decorations adorned streetlights and building facades over the city. Christmas in Prague is something I'll not soon forget.
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We ended up walking up to Prague Castle, and the beautiful, massive church inside it. We wound our way from Mala Strana across Charles Bridge to the Stare Mesto (Old Town), where the open square had been taken over by tents and portable shops selling everything from candle holders to caramel corn. The lights on the massive Christmas trees twinkled like the Griswold's house.
We only had a day and a half in Prague back then. Far too short, but then, six days isn't much time for four great cities in Europe. Beggars can't be choosers.
Needless to say, I was excited about my return trip. As I stepped off the train, I immediately felt comfortable. I remembered the walk to the station's lobby. I remembered the location of the ATMs. I even remembered my way to Wenceslas Square, without looking at a map. It was a bit like going back to London, but a bit more foreign, and even a bit more exciting.
I ended up spending about a week in Prague. It was absolutely wonderful to have more time. I found a great hostel called "Sir Toby's" in the northeast part of the city. I figured out the metro system. I figured out the tram lines. I tried the cuisine at several local places I remembered from my last visit. I tried a few Czech beers. I walked narrow side streets didn't have time to venture down before. To top it off, I even had time to find a really good English-language church on Sunday called the International Church of Prague.
However, I quickly realized this trip was different than my last. First, it was about 50 degrees warmer. No gently falling, fluffy-flaked snow this time. While better for comfort, it detracted a bit from the original experience. Secondly (and more disappointingly), there were about a thousand times more tourists than four years ago. It was amazing. They seemed to ooze out of every door, past every window and down every street. Short little tour guides armed with a Madonna-microphone and a little speaker around their waist led packs of 10-15 wide-eyed tourists around the streets of the old town.
Yes, yes, I know. I'm a tourist too. I definitely don't want to become a traveling snob. As fate would have it, I read this quote a couple weeks prior to making it to Prague:
Travelers never think that they are the foreigners.
~Mason Cooley
How true. But, it was disappointing - I had Prague built up in my mind as this perfect, snowy, gothic, picturesque place... and unfortunately found it has fallen prey to many of the same touristy gimmicks you find in big, popular cities. I wanted MY Prague. Alas...
Don't get me wrong. I still love the place. And despite the hordes, it's still one of my favorite places on earth. The architecture, the streets, the spires... It's still breathtaking.
I'm sure everyone who has visited Prague will have the same list, but there are three areas of town I will always go back to. Areas that ARE Prague:
1: Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral. The icon of the city. One of the largest castles in all of Europe, it sits across the Vltava river on a hill overlooking the entire city. The castle itself is impressive, but the church in its heart is absolutely magnificent. It's the first thing I look for. From a distance it looks almost jet-black. Its tall sharp towers pierce the horizon. If I could save only one thing from Prague, it would be St. Vitus.
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2: Charles Bridge. In my opinion, one of the most beautiful bridges in the world. It arches gracefully over the Vltava, linking the old town with the castle. It's adorned with beautiful gothic statues opposing each other on each side. And, like all the architecture in Prague, the bridge and the statues themselves are made of dark stone, have sharp edges, and seem to collect shadows. It's gothic architecture at its best, and I absolutely love it. I love the fact that the statues are black. They seem more defined, more imposing. I walked across Charles Bridge no fewer than five times during my visit. And, as with anything, if you stay long enough, you'll hear some interesting discussions. At one point I heard a distinctly American voice (notable for A. its volume, and B. its southern twang) say "I wish I had a power washer to clean these things up a little." Sigh.
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3: The Old city. The old town of Prague is stunning. As all European cities, it's dominated by a large open square surrounded by huge churches and outdoor cafes. Every hour, large crowds gather around the Astronomical clock, trying to get a glimpse of Death and the Apostles. Towering around the square in each direction, magnificent spires stab at the sky.
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Unfortunately, during this visit there was a good deal of construction - the main church had scaffolding all over it. The main fountain was surrounded by a large advertisement. And, the square was full of tourists instead of tents and Christmas vendors. Definitely not Christmas of 2003. Can't have everything I guess.
4. Legends Sports Bar. As a matter of fact, the drinks were way over priced, and the menu sucked, but they were showing American football on Sunday night. It was great to actually watch a game. And, accordingly, it was packed with American ex-pats. The games were ok, and the crowd was decent, but I absolutely loved the décor. It was an underground bar, and at equal points around the bar were posters of different sports. Rugby, soccer, tennis, cricket, and yes, even American football. And the best thing of all, was that the poster was of John Elway. They could have picked anyone of any era of the NFL. Good to see even the people of the Czech Republic know greatness.
Prague is amazing. It's one of the best cities in Europe. And while this visit didn't have the same effect on me as my last visit, it was still impressive. I can't wait to go back.
While on the train to Prague, I got a chance to read my guide book. It had a small section on day trips, and recommended a visit to a small town called Kutna Hora. The town itself didn't sound overly remarkable - an impressive church called "St. Barnabas" sat high on a hill above the city, but outside of it and the requisite fountain and city square, it would fall off of most people's radar. Though at one point it was a hub of silver mining, today its claim to fame is actually in one of its suburbs, and something most of the locals aren't all that proud of - The Bone Church.
First of all, it's not actually an entire church made out of bones - I thought that too. Apparently in the late 13th century, the abbot of Sedlec returned from Jerusalem with a bit of dirt from Golgotha, which he spread over the grounds of the cemetary. Everyone who heard this wanted to be buried there, and overpopulation quickly became an issue. When the bubonic plague hit, there was simply no more room for the dead. 
The All Saints Ossuary was created in the basement of the church in 1511. Evenutally (and I can't make this up), a half-blind monk collected the bones of more than 30,000 people and stacked them up in huge piles. Eventually, the Schwarzenbergs a rich local family, commissioned an artist named Rint to compose the bones into artwork inside the ossuary. Apparently over 40,000 people's bones now "adorn" the ossuary.
A day after I arrived, I asked the attendant at the hostel if he had any tips on getting to Kutna Hora. He didn't seem overly pleased. He went into a little spiel about how there were many other beautiful places to visit around Prague, and why do people always want to go to the Bone Church.
Yeah, yeah man. Whatever. What train do I catch?
An hour and a half later, I stepped onto platform number two of the Kutna Hora train station. About 15 people got off with me, most of which were equipped with backpacks and bottles of water and seemed to have the same idea as me.
I followed the crowd - a little train of tourists walking like lemmings down the streets of the town. I'm sure it was pretty funny for the traffic passing by. After a couple of twists and turns, we ended up on a small street with a gentle incline which ended at a grove of trees. Through the trees sat the spires of the Cathedral of the Assumption of Our Lady and St. John the Baptist.
As with most European churches, there were a multitude of gravestones squeezed into what would have been the building's lawn. I don't think there would have been room for another.
A small crowd had gathered at the entrance - obviously the innards of a nearby tour bus which had oozed out onto the sidewalk. I meandered my way (as deftly as possible for someone 6'9") toward the entrance - hoping to avoid waiting in line. I bent myself around the door, making it inside just before the guide started the procession. The ticket counter was right there - I paid my entrance fee, along with another 30 Czech crowns to be able to take pictures. (Which, in my opinion, is a load of crap. This has happened in a few other places - one price for admission, then tack on another 60% just to get out your camera. I'm sure they have their reasons, but it's dumb.)
Once they were done ripping me off, I turned to face a stone stairway which lead down into a dark room. In front of me, above the stairs, a wall was decorated. Not with a beautiful mosaic or a painting by a renaissance master - no, it was adorned with a cross shaped from human bones. They were everywhere - outlining the cross, surrounding the arched window above my head... To either side of the stair case sat a vase - but not ordinary vases - they were tall and intricate - as ornate as those typically seen shaped from gold or silver. But these had been shaped from human tibias and femurs. Scapulas and pelvic bones. The tops were capped with a lid of skulls.
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Bizarre? Yes. Creepy? Check. Disturbing? Oh yeah.
I went downstairs, where thankfully there were a few people already gawking. It made me feel better to see others around. When I reached the floor, I found the room to be dimly lit, with candles burning, a few uncovered incandescent lights glowing, and a shaft of sunlight coming in through the east-facing window.
I looked to my sides. Both the left and the right contained large openings covered with wire fencing. I went to my left and stood in front of it. Behind the metal sat a huge, irregular shaped "bells" - probably ten or twelve feet high, twelve to fifteen feet across, and consisting of two levels separated by a horizontal concrete edge. The entire bell - every conceivable area - was covered with bones. Layers upon layers of skulls and other bones. The bell was literally made out of them. There was a semi-circle shaped hole in the center, about three feet wide and a foot and, just about large enough to slide a body into.
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I found there to be four bells - each resting in the corners of the room. As I walked around to the other side of the one I was facing, I found what appeared to be a huge crest, which turned out to be the Schwarzenberg family seal, made from bones. Hanging from the top of the opening, it was at least eight feet tall and about five feet wide. It of course consisted of only bones - some arranged to form the shape of an axe, others the shape of birds.
Wow.
I wheeled around to face the center of the room. I looked above to the ceiling. A lattice-work of skulls and other bones were draped across the stone roof like streamers.
Hanging low from the middle and surrounded by four tall pillars was the church's defining item - The Chandelier. I'd read about this in the guide book. The chandelier apparently contains at least one of every bone in the human body. It was immense - eight tentacle-like arms curling out and up from the center - each holding a candle in bones arranged like a large flower. Femurs hung down from the arms like wind chimes, each swaying just slightly. The skulls in the center seemed to be staring at me.
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Four black granite, obelisk-shaped pillars were arranged below the chandelier, forming a square. Each was about ten feet high, decorated with an array of human skulls on each side, one on top of the other. Disturbingly, the top of each was adorned with a trumpeting angel, every one of them holding a skull on its lap.
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Behind the chandelier, toward the back of the ossuary stood an altar. The image of Christ on the cross hung high on the wall, with a set of very dirty windows behind it. To my relief, this image wasn't made of bones. In fact, there were very few bones at all inside the altar itself. I couldn't help but wonder what Christ would think about this.
I stayed for a while, taking pictures, and wondering what kind of man decides this is a good idea. As I left, I noticed the "artist's" name on the wall - and of course, it was signed in bones.
As I went up the stairs toward the door, I passed a new group of people with bewilderment in their eyes. An interesting day trip to be sure. I can't really say I enjoyed it, but it was indeed amusing. I'm not sure I'll ever see anything like that again.
It was probably appropriate I woke up to low, misty gray clouds. My early morning walk to the bus station was drab and chilly. It seemed like no one I passed was smiling. Everyone was looking down at their feet or intently at a Polish newspaper. I was thinking it was just me, but even the bus driver appeared hard pressed to find a grin. He took my ten zloty anyway, and I found a seat in the back. Three others were already on board, and true to form, none seemed happy. Again, maybe it was just me - maybe it is true that you see what you want to see. That your attitude dictates what you perceive to a degree. Admittedly, I wasn't in the mood for smiling. It's hard to think about happy things when you're headed to Auschwitz.
An hour and a half later, I stepped off the small white bus in front of the visitor's center in front of Auschwitz I. I found the information desk and learned from the stone-faced attendants the next English-language tour would start in about 20 minutes.
I walked around for a bit, reading some of the literature and taking in a few of the permanent exhibition pieces. One piece was particularly disturbing - a life-size sculpture done in concrete depicting the melding of an agonized human form with a curved concrete fencepost; the whole thing wrapped in barbed wire. It was something that no one else seemed to pay much attention to, but captured me at first sight. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. And, as I'd soon find out, it set the tone for the whole experience.
At 11:30, a group of about 50 people gathered just outside the main door. In the distance, about 100 yards away, stood the front gate of Auschwitz I. It actually sent chills up my spine. Three female tour guides divided us into three roughly equal groups. My little pod ended up with the oldest of the three guides, which was actually ok with me. One thing I've learned in these travels - age before beauty ain't bad in guided tour situations. She looked to be in her mid 50's, and wasn't overly friendly - something which would have put me off in a normal situation. But this was pretty far from a "normal" tour.
Our guide moved us down the gravel pathway a bit. We stopped a standing map of the camp where she addressed us in heavily accented English. At times it was pretty difficult to make out her speech. She started by giving us information on the layout of Auschwitz I, and told us the differences between Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II, some of which I knew; much of which I didn't. "Auschwitz" is actually the German name for the town nearest the camp - known as Oswiecim (sp). Our current location, the camp known as Auschwitz I, was actually the administrative headquarters for four different camps which fell under the name Auschwitz. The largest and most famous camp is actually Auschwitz II - the camp made famous by Spielberg's Schindler's List. Our guide went on to tell us we'd be going there by bus in about an hour and a half.
Looking at the map she stood next to, even this camp seemed really big - over 20 similar-shaped buildings arranged in rows, with a few others on the periphery of the camp - the entirety surrounded by rows of fencing. I looked over her shoulder and saw lines and lines of barbed wire strung tightly between the concrete fence posts.
Five minutes in and our guide hadn't smiled. Not once.
Moving to our first destination, we passed by the "official" entrance to the camp. A set of tall, black, iron gates are flanked by a weathered brick guardhouse and a drop-down traffic barrier. Ironically, a wrought-iron sign gently curves over the top of the gates reading "Arbeit Macht Frei", translated to "work makes you free." Nazi bastards.
We walked on. Tall, curved concrete fence posts were everywhere, strung together with black lines of barbed wire.
Our first destination turned out to be one of the most powerful during the tour. We stopped in front of the still in-tact Auschwitz I crematoria, which stands at the far end of the complex. Just walking towards it, knowing what it was - it was sobering. I started trying to imagine what the victims would have been thinking as they walked towards it. I couldn't take my eyes off the chimney.
Our guide talked to us about the layout of the building itself - about how it had been a communications building, but was turned into a crematoria. She showed us on a map how the rooms had been enlarged, where people were forced to move, where they were murdered, where they were burned. All inside this building right in front of me.
She asked us to remain silent inside the building. She explained that the crematorium, as well as the entire camp, is now thought of as a cemetery. Though there are no headstones, it is a cemetery (and a large one) nonetheless. This of course prohibited us from taking pictures inside any of the structures - something which was much more easily complied with than I had thought.
We entered the crematoria through the same door as the victims would have been forced through years ago. We stepped from a small entry way into a long, dark room. The only light was coming from a few naked incandescent bulbs attached to wiring which almost had to be original. There was a smell inside that I can't describe. Not overpowering, but metallic and musty at the same time. The air seemed warmer - more compressed. Blackened concrete walls stretched before us for about 150 feet. I swore I could see scratch marks at certain points down either side of the room. Irregular chunks have fallen away over time, revealing worn concrete and dark metal rebar.
The ceiling above us was low - and not just for me - but for everyone. The room was claustrophobic. I could feel my heart beating faster. A thin layer of sweat broke out under my shirt. Black wooden support beams lined the ceiling, to which were anchored several metal shower heads. However, as we learned from our guide, they are not and have never been connected to water lines.
Between the support beams above us, thin slivers of daylight could be seen, which formed a small square about twelve inches long on each side. We were told later it was through these holes the Nazis would drop the gas - the covers would be lifted off, and a wretched pesticide called Cyclone B would be dropped through. Death wouldn't be instantaneous - Nearly 20 minutes of painful suffocation awaited the hundreds below.
I don't know how to describe the feeling at that moment. To be standing in that place... In a room where literally thousands of people were murdered... What would it have been like? Naked, scared, screaming... horrible. It was one of the most disturbing and powerful moments of my life. I wanted to cry and to throw up at the same time.
We continued on through a small door to our left. In this chamber was the actual crematorium - to our left, a "preparation" area for the bodies. To our right, a room with two large brick ovens with heavy steel doors and a horizontal "platform" leading into each. One of the oven doors was open. I don't know why, but that bothered me - a lot. I could imagine a fire inside - the glow it would have made...
As if the gas chamber wasn't enough, it was in this room where an almost equally horrifying set of actions took place. The Nazis, knowing long-term exposure to Cyclone B would be deadly, "selected" other prisoners to work in the crematoria. This "special detail" of prisoners would pull bodies out of the gas chamber into the crematoria room. Then, anything of value left on the bodies was stripped - watches, glasses, gold teeth, hair... The workers would then load the bodies onto the platforms and push them into the ovens. Eventually, of course, these "workers" would fall ill to the poison. They themselves would become the work of another specially "selected" group of workers to continue the tasks.
Getting out of the structure was a relief. We were only in there for about five minutes, but it seemed like hours. I felt a lot better once I got some sun on my face. Everyone else in the group was walking around slowly - taking deep breaths while looking up at the sun, or the trees.
Our guide collected us, and walked us toward the rear of the crematoria, where a lonely wooden gallows stood. She explained to us that after the war, the former commandant of the camp, a man (probably not the right term) named Rudolf Höß (Hoess), was found and tried for war crimes in Nuremburg. He ended up admitting everything, and was eventually sentenced to death. At the request of the Polish people, in 1947 he was hanged right here, in full view of the crematoria where he sent so many people to die.
We then walked down one of the gravel roads between the barracks buildings. Apparently the camp was originally a Polish army barracks, which was converted into a concentration camp when the Nazis invaded. According to Höß, the location was selected because of its remoteness to other villages and settlements, and ease of camouflage. They obviously didn't want anyone, including the local farmer or villager knowing what was going on behind the fences.
Signs labeled "Halt!" and "Stoj!" with skulls and cross bones were visible at regular points along the barbed wire fences. Looming over the tops of the fences at the corners and midpoints were wooden guard towers.
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We ventured inside one of the barracks which (like all the barrack buildings) has now become a museum - room after room filled with old pictures and maps. However, the most incredible entries in this museum are the remnants of what the allies found when they liberated the camp. One window displayed mounds of eyeglasses. Another room was full of shoes. Another filled with luggage bags. Yet another literally filled with pounds and pounds of human hair. It was horrifying. Each item - each pair of glasses or shoes represented a life snuffed out. Not that the rest of the displays didn't have an effect, but once I saw a room full of infant and children's shoes - piles upon piles of tiny shoes... It was one of the most difficult things I'd ever seen.
And, to further illustrate the scope, our guide said these displays represent only part of what was left in the camp at the time of the Nazi retreat. Until that point, everything of value was sent to inner Germany on a regular basis.
We ended up in another barracks building which housed a different set of displays - one room held a model of one of the crematoriums in Auschwitz II, along with blue prints and schematics found for their design. Another display held canisters of opened Cyclone B, along with the history of how it came into use.
Still another building housed remnants of what it would have been like to live in one of the barracks as a prisoner. Ridiculously tight sleeping conditions, no hygiene, ordered toilet breaks, food available only for those strong enough to get to the front of the line. In the corridors of this room were pictures of inmates taken in the early stages of the camp. The pictures proved to be too costly later on, and were replaced with tattooed numbers on the left forearm. The bottom of the pictures contained the victim's name, date of entry into the camp, and date of death. Our guide pointed out a few - brothers, sisters, fathers and sons. She pointed out the difference between political prisoners and criminals; she showed us people who had lasted nearly a year in the prison, and some who had lasted a single day. To look into the eyes of these people - real people who really died right here...
Our group then went to the "wall of death" - an area between two barracks buildings where executions by shooting took place. Unlike the rest of the camp, this corridor actually had a gate which could keep prying eyes out. Apparently thousands of people were killed here as the execution of sentences passed down on the prisoners.
The building to the right of the execution wall housed the "criminals" who were "on death row" so to speak. We took a quick visit inside to see for ourselves the cruelty of the Nazi "justice". For example, several rooms in the basement were made for "standing punishment" - four people were stuffed into a dark brick-walled room which was about three feet by three feet. There was no light, save a five-inch air-hole at the top of the room. The prisoners would stay there all night, and then have to go work the next day, knowing they'd be back in the room that night. What mind comes up with this?
As we walked, we stopped in front of another of the buildings which happened to be the office of Dr. Mengel, known by the prisoners as "the Angel of Death". I won't go into details - you can read more about him here - but if there's one person who deserves a seat next to Hitler in hell, it's Mengel. Imagine what a deranged Nazi doctor with a penchant for experimentation would do if he had an endless supply of subjects he could do anything with. "Studies" on sterilization and experimentation with twins were his specialty - most of the time without the use of anesthetic. The devil's doctor to be sure.
After a short break we boarded a bus which took us the three kilometers to the largest and likely most famous of concentration camps - Auschwitz II (also known as Auschwitz-Birkenau).
From the bus, I could see the familiar shape of the guard house and watchtower. I remember it from Schindler's List - and as we passed the train tracks leading into the building's curved mouth - "The Gate of Death", I remembered the scene of the cattle cars full of people headed into the camp. It sent shivers up my spine.
The clouds overhead had gotten darker. It was 2:30 in the afternoon, but it felt like 7:00. It was August 31, but it felt like late October. No one in our group was smiling. No one was talking. You can't talk at that point. There's nothing you can say.
While standing on the train tracks inside the gate, our guide talked to us about the camp - about how it was designed with the learnings of Auschwitz one in mind. The crematorias, the barracks, the fencing, the guard towers - all "perfected" from Auschwitz I. She walked us around just some of the 400+ acre camp - through some of the un-insulated wooden prisoner barracks, through their toilet rooms which consisted of long, concrete platforms with holes in them, around wooden guard towers, past rows of black barbed wire...
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We ended up near the back of the camp at the site of a monument between the complex's two massive crematorias. Both were destroyed by the Nazis about a week before the Red Army came knocking on the door. It's all in ruins, but you could still see quite a lot - the underground gas chambers, the remnants of the ovens... With the model we saw back in the exhibition, it was easy to form the mental picture of what it looked like.
When the tour ended, I talked to our guide for a little bit. I asked her a couple questions about the rest of the camp. She was actually really easy to talk to when out of "tour guide" mode. We talked for a few minutes, when I finally asked her how she could do this every day. She simply said "It's my responsibility," and for the first time all day, gave a gentle smile.
The rest of the tour group headed back to the entrance of the camp to catch the bus back to Auschwitz I. I didn't go. I wasn't ready to leave just yet. I went out on my own to take a walk and think. I'm not sure you can have a more intense three hour tour.
I walked toward the north corner, and found myself alone, save for a couple standing next to a standing map a few hundred feet away. Again, I'm lost for words - being by myself in this place - looming, charcoal skies - a thin mist starting to fall...
I slowly passed a large brick building where working prisoners were occasionally de-loused. I continued on, passing some large in-ground sewage tanks bordered by a couple of large brick structures. I walked past another, smaller crematoria which had also been destroyed. I came to the back corner of the camp, and turned to my right, heading in the direction of the gate.
I walked a few hundred feet until I found what I was looking for. A small grove of trees surrounded a small, kidney-shaped pond. The water was a mirror, save the interruption of a few broken tree stumps, a patch of brilliant green reeds and twelve beautiful red roses floating near the shore. In front of it stood four black granite blocks with these words written in English and Hebrew:
To the memory of the men, women, and children who fell victim to the Nazi genocide.
In this pond lie their ashes.
May their souls rest in peace.
I'd read about this pond - a place where the Nazis used to dump the human ashes after cremation. As it says in the guide books, the shores of the pond are still a milky-gray color. Even after reading about it, actually seeing it turned out to be something I wasn't really prepared for.
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After about an hour, I made it back to the gate, where I found my way up into the guard tower. Again, I remember a few chilling scenes from Schindler's List which were set here. Seeing the view of the camp from here - wondering what conversations went on in this room...
Eventually I made it back to Auschwitz I, at which point I walked around a little more before finding a ride back to Krakow. It's a place I desperately wanted to leave and desperately wanted to stay at the same time.
It's impossible to get your head around. To see these things - all of this in the course of a few hours is a lot to digest. It's incredibly hard to find your bearings.
On the way back to Krakow, I thought about everything. I thought about nothing. I thought about children's shoes and barbed wire. I thought about crematorias and cattle cars. There was one thought that wouldn't leave my head though. Even more so than the rooms of maps and photos and luggage, I couldn't stop thinking about the blueprints of Auschwitz II. I have a tough time processing the fact that someone - a human being - decided a more efficient means of killing was necessary. That this person found others who thought the same, and worked with still others to design it. That someone decided that killing and burning 200 people a day wasn't good enough. 
That someone figured out that herding people into underground gas chambers would be less disturbing to others who would soon be following them. That someone came up with the idea to install showerheads and water pipes in the gas chambers to give victims the illusion that they were safe.
That true Evil has walked the earth.
And, that this was just 60 years ago.
To be honest, I was pretty useless for about a day after my visit. I went to bed early that night, and just milled around downtown Krakow the next day. A few people at the hostel asked how my day went. "I went to Auschwitz." The reply was invariably the same: "...Oh... Yeah." And that's it. You don't really discuss it more than that. You can't.
I'm not sure how many of you will ever get to Poland, but if you do, make an effort to get to Auschwitz. It's not fun, and you won't enjoy it. But it will change you, and affect you in ways you hadn't thought of. It's tough, and hard and depressing. But it's worth it.
