Then There WasThe Time I Went To The Hunting & Fishing Museum By Mistake....

I meant to go to the Deutches Museum. I was looking quite forward to an afternoon of learning interesting facts and gaining appreciation for many intuitive and creative individuals, all the while being filled with awe and wonder at the brilliance of mankind. Sounds like a nice afternoon, doesn't it?

I purchased my ticket at the rather unassuming front desk, thinking, Wow, only 3,0 Euros? They really want this museum to be accessible to the public! After wandering through 3 levels of inventive wildlife displays, artistically arranged cases of muskets and arrows, and beautifully carved old wooden sleighs (with realization dawning that perhaps this wasn't just one small section of the museum - this was the whole thing!), I began to suspect that I was not actually where I intended to be.



I was instead at the Hunting and Fishing Museum. Still interesting, but just not quite what was anticipated - although it does contain the world's largest collection of, er, stuffed animals and fish hooks. There just weren't any airplanes or copper engravings or the first automobile ever built (an 1886 Benz!) or demonstrations with electricity or glass-blowing, and stuff like that. I guess this is the risk one takes when one is not familiar with the language and decides if the building's sign (which proudly states Deutsches Jagd- und Fischereimuseum) contains the words "Deutsches" and "Museum," one needn't consider the other accompanying words (which, it seems, would read "Hunting" and "Fishing"!)*

*And besides, when we had strolled past the building an evening or two previously, Ryan had pointed to it and said, "I think that's the Deutsches Museum. You should go there."

Dachau

An old cement platform stands beside a set of abruptly ending train tracks. I can almost hear choked-back sobs and murmured whispers as hundreds of prisoners are unloaded like cargo and directed through an imposing gatehouse that heralds the entry into Konzentrationslager Dachau or KZ-Dachau, Nazi Germany's first concentration camp. Alongside the silent vibrations of thousands of invisible footsteps, I voluntarily walk through a gate that, wrought in iron, reads: Arbeit Macht Frei - Work will make you free. One-by-one, my feet fall upon hardened ground and cold cement foundations, taking a sobering step back into a dark history. Yet despite the emptiness within the walls of Dachau Concentration Camp, there is a triumphant echo that carries over its bleakness.As I tread, I wonder whose paths my footsteps trace? I listen to records reported by Dachau survivors - men of flesh and blood - who really faced starvation, beatings, being forced to labor despite illness or pain, or made to act as human guinea pigs in horrendous medical experiments. Voices gravely with age do not disguise the aching rawness of long-borne memories.

Inside walls of brick and barbed-wire, I crane my neck to view one of many guardhouses and cringe as I note the openings where a gun barrel would rest - conveniently pointing to the prison yard. I stand on the same square where roll-call was held. The sun is shining brightly and I feel its hot rays upon my back; I shiver as I imagine icy winds and cold, pelting rains penetrating tattered coats and ragged shirts. I peer through a barred opening in a thick wooden door closing off one of many small cells where prisoners where held for interrogation and discipline. I flinch at the thought of punishment extracted on a commanding officer's whims.

The originals have been torn down, but I feel a suffocating tightness in the rebuilt barrack, where Jews, Catholics and Communists, among other defined groups, were housed - crammed into bunks to rest so they would be fresh for unending, back-breaking labor the next day. I experience representations of the degradation forced upon men and women who lived up to their convictions, even as they were dying - some slowly, some quickly - because of those creeds.

My feet are planted on a cement floor in an open room in the crematorium - Barrack "X" - where emaciated prisoners were informed they would take showers. I see the ovens where the stank of decaying flesh was reduced to ashes. I pause in front of the firing range where bullets, not sickness or despair, ended a life.

A barrage of thoughts and emotions accompany me throughout my tour of this prison camp. Conflicting within me is a deep sadness and a profound happiness. I am intensely indignant of the horrors of the holocaust that were enacted within the very walls around me, yet I am sensitive of a profound happiness and appreciation for the indomitable human spirit. I don't want to forget how I feel at this moment!

I head back to the gatehouse and reflect upon the intensity of each moment I have experienced. I pause as my eyes take a final sweep across the yard, and I wish I could somehow show, in a verifiable way, what I feel inside; words and pictures emote a stark fraction. Maybe I can't elucidate it all, but I can try.

And I freely pass through the iron gate once again as I leave.

I'm the Queen of the Castle!

The Sunday I spent in Germany was Castle Day. A fitting way to spend the Sabbath, if you're going to eschew church in favor of sight-seeing, right? (I know, I know: I'm just trying to justify our absolutely enchanting excursion into the Bavarian countryside and Tyrolean Alps!)

Prior to my trip, I read that there are over 25,000 castles in Germany. There are indeed castles everywhere - albeit in various conditions! All that might remain of some castles may be a crumbling wall or turret. Some might be in the midst of a renovation. Others may appear museum-like (in which case, they probably are.)

Can I just say that it's a truly amazing feeling to stand beside these amazing stone and brick structures and think, that for hundreds of years, people (probably many with aching backs, stringy hair, and minus a few teeth), walked through the same gates, stepped on the same stones, and gazed up at the same sky. Their lives are far-removed from mine, but I wonder if we really aren't that different after all, beside the obvious physical disparities - like I have all my teeth, my hair is washed and brushed regularly, and at 37, I still have many healthy years left (I hope!).

I mean, did they stop to breathe in the scent of wildflowers? Did they laugh when their children laughed? Or did they wonder how they were going to accomplish in a day a series of nagging, yet necessary, tasks and then decide that maybe just getting through the day with their sanity intact would be triumph enough?

I can't help but think that yesterday's mothers understand me more than I realize. And if that's the case, I think history's princesses and paupers had to have been just as excited as I was to see all these breathtaking castles!

*Here's a funny thing that Ryan said as we were driving up and down very steep, winding, hair-pin twisting roads: "I didn't expect the roads to be so...alpine." I stared at him and responded (with perhaps more than a hint of incredulity in my voice), "Are you serious? We're in the Alps!"

Prepare For the Updates!

Yes, I realize it's been a month since I went to Munich (aah, good times!) and I haven't shared much about that wonderful opportunity with you, my legion of fans. Honestly, I wrote several blog entries - in between breathing the fresh German air and tasting the richness of South Bavarian life - while I thoroughly enjoyed my travels . I just haven't posted my thoughts yet. Why? Well, simply because, prior to this morning, I haven't taken the time to download and organize photos - and I wanted to paste a few pictures to my blog. So hang on - in the next few days, I promise to describe some highlights of my trip.