I left Austria for the Czech Republic on a comfortable Prague-bound Intercity train, with a covey of other backpackers, but I had to switch to a local train for the last stretch into Brno. Alas, the Czech trains were just as hot and grimy as the Hungarian. The country itself also looked more like Hungary than Austria, much in need of restoration.
At Brno station I found an ATM machine with no trouble, but couldn't locate the taxis, so I walked to my hotel - 20 minutes uphill, another reminder to pack light. I rated finding the ATM machine as more important than finding the taxis, as I hate to walk around without some of the local currency, preferably in small denomination notes, although these are not often available from ATMs. I subsequently realized that I had confused the exchange rate and had withdrawn the equivalent of $15 instead of $150, and had to revisit the ATM when I went back to the station to buy train tickets.
Brno had a gratifying shortage of foreign tourists, having no particularly exciting sights, and I enjoyed wandering the streets and admiring (and photographing) the many Art Nouveau buildings in the city center. My main objective in Brno, thought, was the nearby National Park and its caves - very popular with Czechs. Getting there involved both a train and a bus, and I should have read Lonely Planet with more care - I had overlooked the warning that local train tickets are only valid the day they are bought, and had to pay a fine. The caves turned out to be mediocre, even with an underground boat ride, but the countryside, forested mountains and a deep gorge, was beautiful.
My Brno hotel, the Pegas, comfortable and a good value, was located above the Pegas bar, where I tried the local liqueurs (high in alcohol but short on flavor). I thought that the bar was full of young tourists, but the woman standing next to me said that almost all were locals. She was studying Spanish at the local university and working as a tennis coach to help pay her way.
It turned out that I should have spent longer in Brno, as Mucha's Slavic Epic paintings are located nearby, and not in Prague as I had thought. Instead of paintings I spent the next couple of days looking at castles, with a base in Ceske Budejovice. Rick Steves recommends staying in Ceske Krumlov, the location of the older castle, but I thought that a town of 15,000 that receives one and a half million visitors a year would be far too touristy. I was right, while Ceske Budejovice also hosted plenty of tourists, its main square, completely surrounded by photo-worthy buildings, was big enough to absorb the crowds, while Ceske Krumlov was overwhelmed.
Castle number one, closer to Ceske Budejovice, was rebuilt in the 1800s, supposedly in imitation of Britain's Windsor Castle, although I noticed few similarities. I was not allowed to wander on my own, and suspect I was the only native English speaker on my English language tour - another embarrassing reminder of the advantages of growing up speaking English. After admiring a sequence of carved wooden ceilings, Czech and Murano glass chandeliers, a big library and some beautiful furniture inlaid with ivory, mother-of-pearl and silver, I discovered that it was raining outside and headed for the Gothic gallery instead of the bus stop. Strangely, many of the Madonnas seemed unhappy with their babies, and at least one Christ-child seemed unhappy with his mother. At least it made a change from the usual saccharine smiles. Waiting for the bus back to Ceske Budejovice I met a French woman escaping from her 40-person tour group and mediocre local guide, and we had a pleasant chat about the virtues of solo travel over coffee in the square.
Castle number two was not only older but bigger, and most impressively had a still-intact baroque theater, complete with stage sets and machinery. Ceske Krumlov's river also provided entertainment in the form of a small rapid which defeated many amateur canoeists, who found themselves wading instead of paddling.
My final Czech stop, Prague, was noticeably short of affordable accommodation, and I arranged to stay in another former prison, the Hostel Unitas. Although my room contained little besides two bunk beds, it had a decent-sized window and was decidedly more comfortable than my cell in Ljubljana. Still, my first impression of Prague was not favorable, as it involved a long, hot and ultimately unsuccessful trek in search of the American Medical Center. I needed a dentist, as I had been suffering from low-grade toothache and bleeding gums for some time. Lonely Planet's second medical listing still existed, but their dentist was on vacation. They did produce a business card for the Millennium Dental Clinic, which I tracked down two days later in a posh mall next to the Marriott. I was told that I had tartar build up and needed my teeth cleaned, but that their hygienist was fully booked. Remarkably, the dentist said that since he had done nothing, he would charge me nothing!
I had looked forward to Prague as the home of the Mucha Museum, and of many Art Nouveau buildings. I even booked a guide for a three-hour Art Nouveau tour, and that did prove worthwhile, as much for the discussion as the tour. The museum, however, mostly contained items I had already seen at the Mucha exhibition in Raleigh a few years back. And Prague was impossibly crowded. The old center is small and the streets narrow and the place was overwhelmed: one of the guys working at my hostel said that all the locals who could had left town. My guide said that the crowds had started at Easter (with the Italians) and would probably last until October. Getting up early helped some. Staying up late did not: the famous Charles Bridge was still a river of tourists at 11:00 p.m. Moving a few blocks away from the center didn't help either - by the time I lost the crowds I had also run out of interesting buildings.
In addition I thought the castle overrated and I found the supposedly innovative Black Light Theater boring after the first act. Only the Jewish quarter was interesting - an exhibit on Jewish history and practices spread across the four main synagogues, and I realized how little I really know about Judaism - and that I had learned precisely nothing about it at school, despite attending "Religious Education" classes. Even here, the crowds caught up with me after the first two synagogues, and I was totally unable to view the exhibition of children's art from the Terezin concentration camp, crammed into a room that could maybe hold a dozen people in comfort. I was, however, moved almost to tears by the long, long list of names carved into the walls of the Pinkas synagogue, family after family fallen victim to genocide. The next night, eating shrimp soup and chicken curry at a Thai restaurant while the opening ceremony for the Athens Olympics played, I was moved almost to tears again, this time by the sight of so many smiling faces on a TV screen.
Between the heat, the crowds, and a couple of rain storms, Prague was something of a disappointment, and I was happy to board the train, even an East European train, for Krakow in Poland. Here I skipped breakfast at my B&B (a comfortable single with shared bath and kitchen, up lots of stairs but close to the center) in favor of orange juice and cappuccino at a cafe on the main square. It cost more, but the view was worth it - the turreted church spires seemed straight out of a fairy story.
While Krakow's castle was missable, I did find a beautiful church, St. Francis' Basilica, with Art Nouveau glass and wall paintings. The castle is said to be located on the site of a major earth chakra, or sacred site, and I did see more priests and nuns in Krakow than anywhere else except perhaps the Vatican. I find it interesting that religion sustained Poland's opposition to Communism, while the neighboring Czech Republic managed without divine guidance, and is still largely irreligious.
My main objectives here were outside town: the Wieliczka salt mine and Auschwitz/Birkenau. I opted to take a tour to the mine and to visit Auschwitz on my own, to minimize distractions. Theoretically, it should be more efficient and informative to take a tour, but theory isn't necessarily practice. It took a full hour to collect all the group members and load us into minibuses. Thanks to a traffic accident and confusion because no English-language guide was available at the mine, it was another hour before the tour started - with the Krakow comapny's guide translating for us. Getting back was also problematic as "drop you in the city center" turned out to mean the southern edge of the center, while I was living at the northern end. I finally got dropped off, last, where I was picked up.
It could be argued that I did little better on my own. The bus timetable handed out by the T.I. was wrong, and I had to wait 30 minutes for a bus to Auschwitz. Coming back, the bus was full, and I stood for the ninety-minute ride. On the other hand, I could have waited for a later bus, and I prefer the freedom of doing it myself.
The tour of the mines was interesting: I always thought that salt was white, but this was mostly black. The mine is no longer in operation, having been closed for safety reasons - 400 steps below the surface this news was somewhat unwelcome! The many sculptures created by the miners range from gnomes to the current Pope, and the main attraction is a church completely created from salt - from the chandeliers to the many biblical scenes - mostly primitive but powerful.
The experience of visiting Auschwitz could also be described as primitive but powerful but in a very different sense. Some people have questioned why I went, but once I decided to visit Krakow I knew that I would visit Auschwitz - for many reasons. I went as a reporter, to describe the experience, I went as a witness, to stand with those who will never forget and I went as a mourner, to honor the dead and the survivors. It turned out that I went also to be counted, as a record is kept of the number of visitors. What if nobody went?
We have all seen the photographs: the "Labor Makes Free" gateway, the barracks, the railway siding and selection area at Birkenau, the gas chambers and crematoria. They are all there, and they are all like the photographs. What the photos cannot show is the atmosphere that still pervades the place, where even the grass seems reluctant to grow in such tainted soil. The pain and terror are still almost tangible, the screams almost audible. Some things I learned: those chosen to "live" lasted three months on average, Birkenau is more shocking than Auschwitz because it is so much bigger, and there is a grove of trees near the outer boundary of Birkenau that I thought must be postwar, but that were where the condemned waited their turn when the gas chambers were overloaded.
As I wrote immediately afterwards, I found the experience profoundly upsetting, much more so than I had expected. I think this was partly because of the atmosphere at the site, but also because I grew up with the comforting myth that such in humanity could only happen "there", but I am all too aware now that that is not true. Seeing the evidence of what was done at Auschwitz makes what has happened since, in Cambodia, Rwanda, the Sudan, somehow more real, and our apparent inability to stop such horror more depressing.
We also comfort ourselves with the idea that Hitler failed. True, the Third Reich did not last a thousand years. Europe's Jews, gypsies and homosexuals were not exterminated. But, walking around Krakow's former Jewish quarter, I realized that Judaism in Europe, at least in Eastern Europe, was in a very real sense wiped out. In 1939 30% of Krakow's population, 65,000 people, were Jewish. Now one small synagogue serves the 100 or so who remain. A thriving community with its own schools, hospitals, synagogues, cemeteries and most especially culture has disappeared. The surviving synagogues are museums, the main square is lined with tourist cafes and those old houses that are left are being pulled down to make way for posh apartments - for Christians.
Don't misunderstand - Krakow is a charming town, with plenty of beautiful buildings, one of Europe's best squares and lots of good food. I'd be happy to return. But the ghosts at Auschwitz are very real. We should all visit. Once.
On my (hot) train to Warsaw I talked with a Romanian girl, and was reminded of the 20th century's other murderous dogma, Communism. She is studying for two degrees, but, along with most of her friends, is only interested in emigrating and not in helping to rebuild a poor and corrupt country (her description).
Warsaw, as I expected, was not especially interesting, having been basically flattened by the Germans. What survived the 1939 invasion was destroyed during the ghetto uprising or the later Warsaw uprising (while the Red Army watched from across the river). The rebuilding of the old town center may rate an A for effort, but it struck me as totally unconvincing - all the buildings are finished in the same way and have aged the same amount. I had planned to use Warsaw only as a stopover on the way to and from the Bialowieza National Park, which protects a remnant of Europe's original forest. However, this required two long and undoubtedly hot bus rides. After seven weeks in Eastern Europe, with only five and a half nights with AC, I decided to take a vacation from traveling and give myself a belated birthday present by moving into the Marriott for a long weekend. Right across from the train station and with no view it was half the price of the Budapest Marriott, and the weekend rate included a lavish breakfast buffet that made lunch unnecessary.
Naturally, the day I moved in the weather turned cool, and stayed that way until the day I moved out. However I came down with a cold the day I moved in, and if you're going to be sick while traveling, the Warsaw Marriott is a great place to do it. Big, soft bath robe. Huge bed with lots of pillows. Deep armchair with foot stool. English-language TV. English-speaking staff. Massage and jacuzzi in the basement. Lots of good food. Drug store next door. I spent three luxurious days sleeping, eating, reading, watching TV, making full use of the free tissues and slipping across the street for cheap net access at the station. I left feeling much better.
The night train to Vilnius was a considerable improvement over Poland's day trains. I shared a 3-berth compartment with two German women visiting Lithuania with a tour group, and met my first Trans-Siberian travelers at Warsaw station. As with Venice, I knew at first sight that I would like Vilnius, Lithuania's small but beautiful capital. While my room was hardly the Marriott, it was large, with lots of pale wood, my own bathroom down the hall, a good breakfast and a small library of English novels downstairs. I spent most of my second day in bed, still nursing my cold, reading P. D. James while rain fell outside.
The other two days the sun mostly shone and the city charmed. Wide, clean streets with lots of old buildings and cozy cafes. Crazy, comic sculptures - Lithuanians must have a good sense of humor. A small river at the foot of a steep hill crowned by a castle. Clearly, I should plan to spend more time in the Baltics. I had hoped to visit Riga and Tallinn on this trip, but several trains have been canceled and I couldn't connect them by rail. Besides, I wanted to reach Siberia before winter. Shivering in inadequate shelter as I waited to board the train to St. Petersburg in another rainstorm I hoped that the weather was not an omen.
Originally sent from Xi'an, China, 12 October 2004
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