The glorious European summer continues to open the heavens. I’m losing my optimistic ‘summer is on the way’ attitude... as more flooding is expected. Any jokes about being a ‘wet blanket’ need to be put aside with wet shoes and a soggy attitude.
I hear it’s sunny in London.
And 30 degrees in Finland. Madness. Hope your enjoying it.
Auschwitz was a sobering day
yesterday. For me the moment of surreal becoming the reality hit hard as I
entered the 2nd floor of block 7. Standing there staring at 40,000
pairs of shoes, children’s clothing, pots, pans and spectacles then lastly the
2 tones of human hair on display in a clear case… these personal items taken
after a horrific death put the shock of what happened here into a chilling
perspective.
I just couldn’t understand
why after it was pointed out to not take pictures, people within our tour group
still pulled out the camera and took a few keepsake shots on the side. Respect
certainly comes with a very loose definition amongst some people.
Our guide; a local to the
area, spoke in detail about the arrival of those to Auschwitz. Little did we
know that some had purchased train tickets in advance on their own accord
believing that they were going to be given an opportunity for a new life to
escape from the already grim situation they were in.
Birkenau, the extermination
camp 3km from Auschwitz, immediately has a dismal feel to it as we walked
through the gates. Adding to the atmosphere was the lightening and thunder then
subsequent downpour. You didn’t dare complain about wet shoes here – knowing
that most of those at the camp didn’t even have the privilege to own a pair
themselves even in the middle of winter.
Each year some of the 50
remaining known survivors return to the camp to remember life over death and
pay their respects to the fallen. Walking around Birkenau you can’t comprehend what
actually happened here the feeling that you’re walking over a mass gravesite and
that most of the ashes were used to build the local roads.
Our day came to an end - or depending on how you look at it,
began again last night with an overnight train to Bratislava, Slovakia.
Expecting no sleep, crammed in a 6-bed sleeper with other restless travelers we
were not-so-quietly ahem, stoked when we realized that we had an entire
compartment to ourselves (and the annoying drunk Brit wasn’t in ours). After
making friends with the neighbors, waving out the window (to no-one) we were
off out into the night.
Everyone mentioned that
Bratislava isn’t quite the most exciting of cities. And we’ve learnt today that
they weren’t telling lies.
After wandering the old
town, drinking a cheap beer and trying the local chocolate, the only new item
on the tourist agenda is to stare at the flooding riverbank.
That’s all there really is
to say about this place, leaving me with little left to say.
So I’m going to completely
change the subject and talk about jandels (or flip-flops, thongs, sandals… ).
However you refer to a pair of rubber summer footwear they become a traveler’s
best friend. I’m slowly getting reacquainted with mine. After a endless London
winter they feel like a foreign object on my feet. Kylie is a seasoned ‘jandel’
traveler and doesn’t blink an eye lid as we get – yet another – look from a
passerby. But do they know that my other shoes are soggy and smelly and would
they ever appreciate the instant drying qualities in a pair of Havaiana’s?
Toodle pip x
