europe | cmr

It was me, your host, Christen "Superstar" Roberts, and her traveling companion, smitten-bitten boyfriend and friend, Dave "Feltenbenbergersteinovski" Feltenberger. One day in March, they said, "Let's go to Europe," and it was done, such completionists are our two main characters (let the made up words slide, huh?).

We decided mainly on Eastern Europe. Why? Because we're cool. Because we know where the good stuff is. Because we're smarter than everybody else (except you, of course). Christen speaks German and knew it could be used in all those places, while Dave could revel in the language complexities so like Russian, and yet so different as well.

MAY 20 - MAY 22: DRESDEN I cannot say enough about Dresden, nor will I be able to say enough about any of the places we visited. I used my German, haltingly, shyly, doubting my "danke" and my "bitte," and even my right and my left. Yes, it's loaded with tourists, but not American tourists. Even Germans go to Dresden, to see how remarkable it is that a city can be completely destroyed, and rebuilt in the image of the original. Every sidewalk is like a park. It's amazing. Click on the picture to see more pictures, and please come back to leave comments.

We had to choose more than one destination, right? I was in Berlin in the summer of 2000. I was well into my "Kafka-thing," creating theories for the sole purpose of somehow including Kafka. I wanted him to be a source in all my papers for the mere pleasure of rereading (this worked very well for Nietszche, I'll have you know). Alas, my vote for a train ride to Prague was outvoted, and instead we were off to Amsterdam to see the coffeeshops and the museums... the latter we really only saw the structures themselves. So I waited for the next vote...

And, boy, was it my lucky day! Dave was all game to go and with the blessing of our dear friends, some who have visited and some who have not, we were on our way. I had vague hopes of seeing Kafka's grave, but really--what was I gonna do there? Say hi? So I just looked at the streets...

PRAGUE | MAY 22 - MAY 25 Prague Prague. Prague. Kafka lived here, you know. The tortured, the sufferer, the "whiner," some say (you know who you are). And despite what comes off in his writing, he was a writer nonetheless. He spoke of Prague as if it were a neighbor, a cat, a being in the sewers and sitting on the light posts. He spoke of the windows out of which he lamented, the women who passed by, the strangeness of the people on streets too familiar. Dave and I went to Prague and we wished we had another week or two or three to stay. Bridges, alleys, streets, food. No matter how many tourists, no matter how many craftsman selling items on the bridge, no matter how many magnet shops and sweatshirts with "Czech me out" written on them, Prague was it's own person. A personality in the shape of a city. I'm going back. See photos by clicking on this small sample, and don't forget to leave comments for me.

Why did we choose to go to Krakow? You ever hear of Auschwitz? Ever hear of "the Prague of Poland"? Well I heard of one of them and the second seemed pretty darned good! Plus, we found great ticket prices to leave from Warsaw and of the two major cities in Poland (to us, anyway), Krakow seems a good place to go. I had personal wishes to see Lodz and Warsaw, for the simple fact that they both housed the most famous and dire of the ghettos during World War II. I have a morbid curiosity that I relate to my thirst for knowledge and lessons learned by history to see these things. It strkes me in a way too corny to explain via "blogging," so I'll only say that to see it is to believe it; to find signs of effects in the people, the landscape and the architecture is amazing.

KRAKOW | MAY 23 - MAY 26 Krakow is an old place. It was barely touched during World War II and is the ground for buildings over four hundred years old. We walked a lot around the Old Market Square where pigeons made their home, a man blows on a trumpet every fifteen minutes (a ritual that has existed for over 200 years), people are selling flowers, people are drinking beer and you get a ride on a carriage, pulled by a horse, while eating pretzels and delicious cheeses. We had fantastic bartendars at our hotel, which was a mere 200 or so yards from the main market. We tried a new delicacy: lard. Yes. LARD. With pickles on bread. It was okay. I just wouldn't do it again if I planned on living the next day. We visited the Salt Mines (unfortunately, I have no pictures of these, though Dave does), and visited Auschwitz, which is next on my list of photos. Leave comments once you've seen the pictures.

Auschwitz. It has grass now; the sky was a brilliant blue; we walked around with layers of clothing, water, cameras and the convenience of kleenex in our back packs. We looked in layers of glass at tons of hair the Germans shaved off the Jews and Gypsies, political prisoners and others, before they were gassed and generations of families were simply and quietly stamped out.

AUSCHWITZ | It was a place we had to visit if were going to be in Eastern Europe. Poland was the number 1 killing country in Eastern Europe during World War II. We wondered, with trepidation, hoping to be courteous, conscientious... how many here think about it everyday? It was difficult not to. Anybody who looked old enough, I thought "Was he a Nazi? Did he lose family? Is he angry, sad, hurt?" Is it exploitation to go to the camp? Is it education? Is it trampling on memories? Is it something best left alone? Conflicting feelings. I attach this mostly to being an American as well, though it's difficult to explain why. We seem to be an enemy; a young child who had no idea about the effects of a disastrous, cutting history.

Our last stop. The last go. The last ride. The end. Even before we got there, I had depressing ideas that I'd hate it. My body wanted rest and my mind wanted more, more, more, more. More. To sleep in late? No. That's blasphemy, a sin against travelers, a no-no. We were there to see what we couldn't see tomorrow, and we had only three more days to do it.

WARSAW | MAY 27 - MAY 29 The Warsaw Ghetto. We did not go to the Jewish Quarter, nor did I stop to see the last remaining piece of the Warsaw Ghetto, which was completely razed after the strongest uprising in all of World War II. Hitler ordered that the entire city be completely and utterly destroyed--and so it was. Buildings, palaces, churches, homes... all disappeared in a mere few weeks, most sections in only days. But millions of people from around the world, a large portion of them Polish Jews, contributed funds voluntarily to Poland and Warsaw was rebuilding. Volunteers helps lift bricks and before their very eyes, Warsaw was back as it always was. Before and after pictures are absolutely AMAZING. Unfortunately, my camera battery was on its last legs and being it was our last stop, I didn't have the heart to waste time in charging it. I walked and took it in. I suppose much of that visit will have to stay with only me. Perhaps someday I'll write about them for you (*wink,wink).

Everybody in Europe can speak English. This used to embarrass me. Why can't we speak their languages? Why do we try and hear a perfectly-accented English response? I shared my angry sentiment with a Polish woman, who was with her Parisian boyfriend on a train platform in Poland. They both looked at me and said, "Why?" Why was I embarrassed that our country is not required to teach languages and they come as options, in most cases, when the person is already 13 years old? "You don't need to know other languages!" they said. "You're American! It's universal!"

Well, another thing that's universal is the exit greeting of every European to an American. Dave and I looked at each other after hearing it quite often and thought, "But we don't say that, normally. We teach children to say that, but... but we don't say that!" What is it? "Bye-bye." Not just "See you later!" or "Keep it real!" or "Good bye!"--but "Bye-bye." I instinctively want to hold my hand up in that child-like cup shape and flap them together wildly. "Yes, bye-bye! Bye-bye!" By the end of the trip, I couldn't help it. I was "bye-bye"ing left and right, up and down.

Then I got a beer. Our trip was over. We were outta there. We had our taste, but not our fill. We had our postcards but not our European flat. We had our backpacks, but not our job offers. Someday, perhaps. Someday. Bye-bye.