A cascading series of transportation failures

A series of cascading catastrophic transportation failures.

That’s how I think of yesterday.  Not the fabulous meal at my father’s favorite restaurant; not visiting the Magritte Museum; not getting Belgian waffles; not even visiting my favorite chocolate shop in the world.  Just the overwhelming stress of transportation failures.

It began the night before when I was unable to get tickets to Brussels as the international desk had closed at 9 pm.  Apparently, no one needs to travel to other countries from Amsterdam after dark.

I woke up at 7 am Tuesday morning, and rushed to the train station fifteen minutes later.  I woke my dad up and had made arrangements with my nephew to make sure he gets to breakfast at 8 am if I wasn’t back.

When I went back to the now-open international desk, I was informed that the high speed Thalys train I wanted was sold out.  We had to take the slower, nearly three-hour train.  I bought the tickets there and for return, they still had space on the fast two-hour Thalys, so I booked those as well.

We could take either the 8:22 train or the 9:22 train.  On my way back to the hotel, I toyed with the idea of taking the earlier train, but figured that would be too rushed, and too chaotic.  As it happens, there really was no choice, because dad was still asleep and abed when I returned at 7:55. “But the clock say’s ‘6:00 am’,” he said, referring to the clock under the tv that we never turned on.  “That clock is two hours slow,” I replied.

After a leisurely breakfast we made our way to the train station. I had already changed our lunch reservation to 12:30, and I figured we’d take a taxi to the restaurant and arrive on time.  The traveled through the picturesque Dutch countryside, and we saw canals, fields, horses, and cattle, along with the occasional wind turbine generator. 

As we came into stations, I noticed that our slow train was getting slower:  there were delay notices on the platform.  First, it was just 5 minutes delay; then 10 minutes delay.  I began to start worrying about making our reservation.  As we sat in stations for minutes on end, I saw us arriving later and later and later.

“Uncle Jeff, are you singing something?  Your lips are moving.”
“Uncle Jeff, when are we going to arrive?”
“Uncle Jeff, are you upset?”
“Uncle Jeff, why are you banging your head against the window?”
“Uncle Jeff, it’s going to be alright.

Finally, they announced we were coming into the Brussels stations:  Brussels-Nord, Brussels-Central, and ending in Brussels-Midi.  My plan was to get off in Brussels-Central, but when we reached Brussels-Nord, we simply sat on the platform.  Finally, at 12:30, they came on to announce that the train would go no further and we all had to exit.  I heard a Dutch woman say something like “there’s a problem at Brussels-Midi.”

Now, I was really freaking out.  I have no idea where Brussels-Nord is in Brussels or how to get to our restaurant, in a southern suburb, from there.  We grabbed a taxi and hoped for the best.  We arrived at 12:55, and I sent them all in while I paid the driver.  That took a while, because he wasn’t expecting someone to pay with a credit card, and now had to warm up his machine.  Which was very old, and slow, and had trouble booting up, and connecting to the internet.  7 minutes later, I went into the restaurant.

Les Brasserie Georges is just as lovely as I remember.  I needn’t have worried about losing our reservation, as it was only sparsely populated at lunch.  After much discussion, dad and I both ordered the millefeuille (puff pastry) filled with goat cheese and apple, while Matt had some shrimp croquettes, and Shayna passed on an appetizer.  The food was excellent.  I also ordered a glass of a nice Sancerre to go with the meal.

For the main course, dad had the glazed salmon, which he loved (though he worried if he could finish it given how big the appetizer was).  I had the onglet, with an onion relish and vegetables, that was fantastic.  Shayna had the bouillabaisse, which she enjoyed very much; and Matt had the spider-cut steak, which was great.  I could tell that the stress and exhaustion were getting to me when I broke my wine glass.  Luckily, it was empty when I put it down on the table and accidentally set the edge of it on top of the edge of Shayna’s knife.  It tipped over and broke.  Needless to say, I apologized profusely.

Then, we walked over to see my parents’ old apartment building, which had been completely renovated and redone since they lived there in 1994-95.  I couldn’t figure out how to buy a metro card, so we took a taxi to the Magritte Museum.  We enjoyed it (though dad sat it out), but I have to say, the collection was smaller than I expected.  They had one or two very famous pieces, and a lot of his lesser-known work.

Shayna very much wanted to see the royal palace, as she’s into all things royal and monarchical these days.  I’ve told here that dad and I are very much republicans (that is, anti-monarchy).  Afterwards, we strolled down past the Old England Building (a wonderful art nouveau edifice) and saw the concert hall where my parents enjoyed classical music.  Soon enough, we found our way to the Grand Place, and found the Belgian waffle place my nephew wanted to visit.  I have to say, I found them ok, but more hype than substance. 

The Grand Place was full of people, many of whom were lined up for free Belgian French fries (some company’s anniversary).  I went to Neuhaus to introduce Matt and Shayna to my favorite chocolate, and buy some for myself.  Then it was time for the long walk to Brussels-Midi.

It was a hot and sunny day, and while the walk should have taken 20 minutes, it worked out to about 40, with lots of questions of where is the station, why is it taking this long, and my worrying about how to keep my father from falling as he weaved about the cobble stones.

When we arrived at the station, we found our train delayed 40 minutes.  At first there was no explanation, then that there was a problem on the tracks, then that there had been an act of vandalism.  Finally we found that it was a combination of electrical delays in France, people on the tracks near Brussels-Nord, and some delay involving a train in the Netherlands.

By the time we left we were 90 minutes behind schedule and I was down to my last nerve, hanging on a thread.  I just checked out for a while. 

Ok, we’re about to board our flight to Copenhagen.  More later.

Why One Shouldn't Rent a Pedal Boat in Amsterdam

I slept relatively well last night: over eight hours. However, I did take a sleeping pill when I woke up at 12:40 am, after which I slept another 6 and a half hours.  Shayna was rather tired this morning; Matt’s snoring woke her up and she had a lot of trouble falling back asleep. 

After breakfast, we headed out to the Amsterdam Free Food Tour.  It’s not really free; you don’t pay anything in advance, but the guides work for tips. Our guide, Marius, was a lot of fun, and was very patient and helpful in answering all our questions.  We started out with a chocolate shop where we tried poffertjes, which are usually called dutch minipancakes, but sort of resemble madeleines.  They have a “pancakey” taste.  We also got to try some raw chocolate beans, which are very, very bitter (I passed).  Finally, we were offered some of their homemade ice cream: mandarin orange and mango.  The orange had a delicate, floral taste, while the mango was refreshing.

Our next stop was a short distance away: a store specializing in tradition and non-traditional Dutch cheese. After seeing the process by which gouda is made we were offered a variety of samples, including young gouda (very tasty), very aged gouda (dry, crumbly, and more intense), and numerous flavored goudas, including chili pepper (sort of a pepper jack taste), fenugreek (nutty), lavender (the only blue – colored – cheese I’ve ever liked), and the guide’s favorite: asparagus.  It did have an asparagus smell and grassy taste, but I think I liked the plain gouda best.

We visited a very old gin distillery, but didn’t get any samples.  Afterwards, we walked to a seventeenth-century Catholic church, which was hidden in an attic. The Dutch Republic was one of the first governments to grant freedom of conscience, but that did not include the right to public worship.  Catholics were not arrested, but if they wished to pray, they could only meet in private.

Since we had one ten-year old and one infant, he couldn’t bring us into the Bulldog, the oldest pot coffee shop in Amsterdam, but we learned about its history.  I couldn’t help but notice how many locations they had on this block, so I asked him if they owned the whole street.  “They might,” he replied; “it certainly seems like it.”  Pot is a $1 billion+ a year business in Amsterdam, and the Bulldog has made a significant portion of it.  “I once saw a man with dreadlocks,” he told me, “walking a dog on a golden chain.”  “Was he the owner of the coffee shop?” I asked.  “I think so,” he answered.

At a store specializing in pot products, we learned which ones work (the brownies), and which ones are just for show (the lollypops). After that was one of the highlights of the tour:  the young herring.  In other parts of the Netherlands, they eat it whole, but in Amsterdam, they cut it up and serve with pickles and chopped onions. At first Shayna wasn’t interested, but she was convinced after I told her that it was really Dutch sushi.

I asked the guide where we could get nordzeetong (aka Dover sole).  He pointed at the rather art nouveau restaurant behind the herring stand:  the Seafood Bar.  I had seen it recommended online.  I checked and they did have sole.  We also stopped for stroopwaffel, while learning about their history.  Oddly enough, the ten-year old was the only one who refused to try any.

After passing by one of the most popular chips stands in Amsterdam (all of which is topped with mayonnaise sauce <>), we ended our two-plus hours’ tour at a pool hall where the served “bitterballen.” These are balls of dough that have beef and beef broth mixed with flour, coated with breadcrumbs and fried.  They were tasty, but I found the soggy interior off putting.  After tipping the guide, we hurried back to the hotel to meet dad.

We decided to get our lunch by the museum, so we took the tram and again got off at the Concert-Gebouw.  “Why don’t we try the museum café?” I suggested.  We did.  Dad again skipped having anything solid, preferring to have a large orange juice and water.  Matt and I both ordered the smoked salmon sandwich, while Shayna had the goat cheese salad with quinoa, walnuts, beets, and watercress.

Yesterday afternoon was cool and breezy; today was warm and sunny.  We started our tour of the Rijksmuseum on the second floor with the Dutch masters wing, culminating in Rembrandt’s The Nightwatch.  While everyone enjoyed the paintings, dad was a little disappointed not to see Rembrandt’s Anatomy Lesson, but that turns out to be in a museum in The Hague.  It was pretty clear to me that I had a lot more energy than anyone else in our group for touring the museum. 

Going through the first floor of the museum, my dad pointed out various objects that he really liked, such as some elaborate porcelain and glassware.  Shayna was very excited to find the print by Toulouse-Lautrec that she absolutely loves.  The last room is dedicated to an enormous painting of the Battle of Waterloo.  Shayna announced that she hates Napoleon as he was setting up dictatorships.  “But why root for the tsar and for the Prussians?” I asked her.  After all, Napoleon liberated the Jews of Europe from ghettoes and spread the values of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution.

It was now 4:30 pm and we’d been in the museum for 1.5 hours.  We still hadn’t seen the post-post-impressionist wing on the 3^rd floor, and Shayna, despite being more than a little tired wanted to see their Mondrian.  At that point they announced over the loudspeakers that the museum would be closing in half an hour.  Shayna and I ran up four flights of stairs to see their one Mondrian.  I really enjoyed some of the expressionist works they had up there, as well as, for some reason, an airplane.  After about 15 minutes we went back downstairs to meet Matt and dad, and I picked up my bag while they visited the gift shop. There, I found some napkins in a Delft pattern my mom requested.

Dad was tired, so we took him back to the hotel after which Matt and Shayna and I returned to the museum area to rent pedal boats.  This was probably not the best travel decision I’ve ever made.  I had thought that there would be pedals for all of us, but it turns out only for the two in front.  Furthermore, because it was late in the day (5:40 pm), most of the boats were blocked by other now idle boats, so the only one we could take out turned out to have some water on the floor (about 1-2”).  I got in first, followed by Shayna, and then Matt, who sat in the back.  The rudder was a bar in the middle.  We started pedaling while I also tried to steer.  I didn’t want to get my feet wet, and I thought my nephew could use the exercise, so I suggested he and I trade places.  Matt and Shayna would peddle while I would steer. 

The first problem was that in order to steer, the boat needed to be going faster than the current.  If they paused pedaling, the boat would drift into the main traffic lanes or into moored boats. At the same time, pedaling was pretty strenuous activity, and I could hear Matt and Shayna huffing and puffing.  Even when the boat was moving, though, the rudder was very sluggish and non-responsive. 

This is what it sounded like in the boat.

“I need you to pedal.”

“I NEED you to pedal faster.”

“Pedal faster!”

“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!”

“Uncle Jeff, we’re going to hit the wall! Steer left”
“I’M TRYING! But unless we’re moving the rudder won’t work.”

“BACK PEDAL!! BACK PEDAL!! BACK PEDAL!”

<> as we bump into the canal wall.

Did I mention that people in other boats watching us were laughing and filming?

After about ten minutes, I decided we better turn around and head back to the dock.  The final problem was mooring the boat as there was now only one narrow space between the dock and a larger boat and I was worried about hitting boats trying to back it in.  Finally, a worker bee came out and told us we should back in. I refused. Eventually, we went in nose first and he tied us up. How to get out?  He suggested we make our way across the wet, sloping front of the boat, but that didn’t seem like a good idea.  I said “why can’t we just step over into the next boat.” “Ok” he answered.  In less than 30 seconds we were back on dry land.

I was afraid they might hold our deposit after that, but they did return it.  We then went back to the hotel.

At the front desk, I asked the clerk if he would make reservations for us for dinner, but it turns out that they only reserve half their tables.  They suggested walking over there and trying in person.  On the way, I had a “hit and walk” incident.  Trying to avoid a pedestrian, I bumped into a parked bike.  Five seconds later I heard a crash.  I turned around and saw that the bike I bumped and fallen over and taken a second bike with it.  I looked up and a group of twenty tourists were pointing at me and laughing.  I sheepishly walked away.

After all that it turned out that they don’t take walk up reservations and suggested that if I came back at 7:30 pm with everyone, we might have to wait.  I scampered back to the hotel (via a different route) and woke everyone up to come to dinner.

Matt was delighted with the way the white walls and the fish smells reminded him of the restaurant run by the family in Granada with whom he stayed.  They had a very nice display of fish and shellfish, and dad was suitably impressed.  He started with the lobster bisque, which was very nice and rich.  He and I both ordered the dover sole, while Matt and Shayna both had the fritto misto, a selection of fried squid, shrimp, and salmon.  Our sole came sautéed but whole, with bones in place.  This led to a very quiet meal.  Dad enjoyed the sole, but would have preferred fillets. 

Since the meal was relatively light, we headed over for pancakes by the flowermarket.  Most of the shops had closed for the “night” (it is only now, at 10:55 pm, getting dark), but the Old Dutch Pancake House was still open. For some reason, it’s decorated with murals of Venice. Dad got a slice of apple pie, Matt and I each ordered the poffertjes with Nutella sauce, while Shayna had the sugar pancake.  We then watched part of the Iran-Portugal match, and saw Portugal make the first goal of the game.  Dad then argued with Matt and Shayna about who just had to pay a multi-million dollar fine for tax evasion.  Dad said it was Renaldo, while Matt and Shayna insisted on Messi.  I just looked it up:  dad was right.

When Shayna went souvenir shopping, I headed up to the train station to pick up our tickets for tomorrow.  Unfortunately, the international desk closed at 9 pm, just 20 minutes earlier.  I’ll have to get up a little early tomorrow to buy them before breakfast.

The Canals of Amsterdam

Following up on yesterday, when I was so tired I couldn’t type straight, I had no difficulties picking my nephew up from the airport.  It was a clear, warm, and sunny day, so I decided to walk to the central train station rather than take a tram.  Not only would it help me with getting to know the neighborhood, it would also help me adjust to the time zone change by being in sunlight.

The train ride to the airport is very fast, faster, than the airport hotel shuttle.  The difference is that with the shuttle, you don’t have the added time and hassle of getting to the train station.  While I waited at the airport I bought some bread with nuts and raisins; it was sort of a cross between a pretzel and a hard roll.  Very tasty.

No trouble at all finding my nephew and we made our way easily back to the hotel.  My nephew was impressed by how scenic Amsterdam was.  Lots and lots of college-age students and bicycles.  So many bicycles that my niece told me that if she moved her, she would have to learn how to ride one.

After getting everyone set up in their room, I searched for someplace close by for us to eat.  The hotel gave us a list of recommended places, and this one, the Sluizer, had five stars.  It was a fish restaurant specializing in Dutch seafood dishes, and was a lovely five block walk.  I varied our walk to and from the restaurant so we could see the neighborhood better.  We crossed over a canal bridge and walked through two shopping streets. 

The restaurant was small and lovely.  At first I thought we might be underdressed, but the host seated us in the window.  “The advertising spot,” my father said.  The host presented us with the special asparagus menu, and told us that this was the last week they will be having it as the season is almost over.  I almost got the asparagus soup, but my father and I split the stuff Portobello mushroom, which came with a salad of rocket, shaved parmesan, tomatoes, and walnuts (lightly dressed).  Dad and I both got the grilled salmon over a bed of white Beelitz asparagus, Shayna had the grilled salmon with a light green sauce, while Matt had the whole grilled Turbot.  We all immensely enjoyed our meals.

Afterwards, we made our way back to our hotel through Rembrandt Square, and took photos with the life-sized version of the Nightwatchmen.  It started to drizzle slightly so we headed home to bed.

I showered this morning, and I was surprised by the complimentary toiletries provided by the hotel:  peppermint shampoo, cilantro conditioner, and rum body wash. It’s just kind of an odd mix of smells.  The hotel’s breakfast buffet was nice, with a typical northern European emphasis on meats and cheeses and breads. The bread was excellent, of course. 

After breakfast, we headed for the Anne Frank House by way of the flower market and Dam Square.  It was a little chilly, so my father went back in for his jacket, while we headed on our way (he never planned on seeing the Secret Annex with us – besides, it would have been very difficult to navigate some of the steep, narrow Dutch stairs).  The flower market was not as robust as I remember.  Maybe because today is Sunday; maybe because the last time I saw it was in springtime.  Shayna loved seeing the royal palace in Dam Square. 

I hadn’t seen the Anne Frank house in probably 23 years, but I was impressed with how accessible it is now.  There’s a lot of information and context for the story of the Franks, and the use of timed tickets keeps it from being unbearably crowded (though it is still crowded).  Shayna was particularly moved by the exhibits and asked me if I could forgive the Germans for what they did.  I told her that only those who were hurt directly have the power to forgive; I can’t forgive on behalf of those who are dead.  That being said, I don’t have trouble being in Germany, and I would love to live in Berlin.

Afterwards, we walked back to the hotel the long way; I’m trying to see as much of the neighborhood as I can.  I’m glad I did because we found the café we went to for lunch.  I asked the hotel staff about two of the cafés we passed, and they immediately recommended Café de Bazel, located on the ground floor of the State Archive building.  Dad wasn’t hungry so only ordered an apple cider.  Matt and I both got the lunch special:  soup of the day (a spicy sweet potato soup) and a “toasty.”  His was the tuna melt; mine was a grilled cheese sandwich using a mild Dutch cheese.  I thought about getting the Elderberry juice to drink, but the waitress said many people find it too strong.  I ended up getting the pomegranate, but I asked if I could try some of the other on the side just to taste.  The smell was quite unpleasant, though the taste was simply acerbic.  Then I realized I was confusing elderberry with elderflower.  Now, finally, the insults screamed by the French soldiers in Monty Python’s Holy Grail finally made sense: “your mother is a hamster and your father smells of elderberries!”

After lunch we caught the tram to the Concert-Gebouw, which is the stop nearest the Van Gogh Museum.  I asked if they had any concerts tonight, but no, they didn’t.  They were having an early afternoon concert of young talent, but we had no time to stay (they had a red carpet out).  I asked if I could see the elaborate chandelier in the lobby of the box office and they let me.  From there, we strolled through the park to the Van Gogh museum.  The sky clouded over and it was a little breezy. Shayna and my dad were a little chilly. 

Our tickets were for 2:30 and it was only 2:10, but thankfully they let us in early.  We started with the special exhibit on Van Gogh and Japanese art, as this was the last day of that exhibit. Shayna was very excited by some of the nineteenth-century prints Van Gogh had acquired as models for study.  They had one video showing different aspects of Japanese prints that Van Gogh had adopted and used computer animation to highlight those aspects in various paintings on display.  It was quite fascinating.

From there we headed over to the main wing of the Van Gogh exhibit, but it seemed like everyone other than me was getting kind of winded.  Dad was very happy that they had The Potato Eaters on display, as he had spoken earlier about how much that piece had moved him the first time he saw it.  Shayna used the exhibit on draughtsmanship and Van Gogh to make a sketch.  Eventually, we headed down to the museum café to refresh ourselves.

I had had to check my bags, so I told everyone to wait while I retrieved it.  Unfortunately, I found that they wouldn’t let me go back into the area of the museum with my now unchecked bag!  I wasn’t sure how long this stand off would last, but the guard agreed to temporarily watch my bag as I raced up to the café to tell everyone to follow me down.

We had originally planned to rent paddle boats, but as the weather was chillier than we expected (the high was 65 today), we took a canal tour instead.  Shayna and dad sat in the enclosed area, while Matt and I sat in the outdoor section.  I enjoyed the fresh air and wanted to take pictures without obstructing glass.  She and dad napped for a bit and then later, Shayna came back to sit with us. I asked her if she wasn’t cold, but she said no.  That left dad sitting all by himself. 

The canal tour is a great way to see the city and we all enjoyed it.  Shayna chatted for a while with some recent graduates of Notre Dame who joined our boat (it was a Hop On, Hop Off tour boat).  At Amsterdam Centraal Station, the bike parking lot is four stories high.  Later, we headed out into the harbor for a view of the city I had never had before. 

Back at the hotel, we took a 45-minute break while I located an Indonesian restaurant for us for dinner.  The desk clerk asked if I had ever been to Indonesia and I said no.  Because, he explained, if I had been, I might be disappointed in the food.  I said that was alright and we ended up going to Indrapura, a restaurant only 3 blocks or so from the hotel. 

There, we ordered the rice table for four. We thought about getting two different ones, but the waiter discouraged us on the grounds that the table was small and tilted, and that number of dishes simply wouldn’t fit. What number?  Here’s what we ordered by getting just one:

Starter:  shrimp and crab fritter with peanut sauce.

Main course:

Fried corn fritters

Shrimp krupuk

Deep-fried spicy potato sticks

Roasted peanuts with salted fish (more like fish powder)

Mixed pickles

Tofu and soybeans with red chillies

Stir-fried vegetables

Green beans with shrimp

Braised chicken in light curry sauce

Beef tenderloin with chillies

Beef in soy sauce

Chicken satay in peanut sauce

Beef satay

Sweet and sour cucumber

Fried shrimps in coconut sauce

White steamed rice

Yellow rice cooked in coconut broth

The food was good, though a little on the mild side.  Nothing was particularly hot or spicy.  Still everyone enjoyed the meal and we were very careful not to let the multiple dishes slip off the table on to the floor (as happened to the couple sitting at the table next to us).

Afterwards, we went for ice cream at a place near Rembrandtplein.  It was just across from a spectacular art deco movie house.

Tomorrow’s plan is for the free (except for tip) food tour in the morning, and the Rijksmuseum and paddle boating in the afternoon.

Like a Virgin

Like a Virgin

The trip out here started well, but became increasingly difficult as the day(s) went on.  I began by losing my Uber virginity and ordering a cab through the service.  Only a few hiccups, entirely on my end, over the confusion of how tipping worked.  Still, despite screwing up the time of our departure by three hours, we arrived early enough to visit the Priority Pass Lounge in Terminal 2.  There are two such lounges in Terminal 2, but the one that’s like a traditional lounge can only be used by Priority Pass members in the morning; the other, in Barney’s Beaner can be used all day, but it’s essentially a restaurant. Still, I could order up to $28 per person complimentary.  We all got desserts.

In order to make our extremely complicated travel plans work, we had to fly Virgin Atlantic via London Heathrow.  The only plus of the flight turned out being the chance to catch sight of the actor Martin Freeman (who boarded early and went to whatever the elie level first class is.  The seats in coach were a little on the narrow side, but what airline seat isn’t these days. I decided to catch up on movies that I had thought of seeing in the theater but the sounded weak after reading the reviews.  Unfortunately, it was clear that each of these movies deserved the bad-to-poor reviews it had received.  Eventually, I decided to go to sleep, and that’s when things got really uncomfortable.  Even on seats that poorly recline, I can manage 1-2 hours of sleep; not last night.  No matter how I turned there was something jamming into an arm or a foot or a hip.  And then there the couples who felt the need for conversation despite the dimmed lights.  I eventually found a forest noises tape on the sound system, which I listened to with my earplugs on.

My niece slept very poorly; she complained that my father kicked her seat (in fact, he was simply resting his head against it. The real shock was that my father also slept poorly since he can sleep almost anywhere and through anything.  He also complained about how narrow the seats were.

Needless to say, we weren’t happy campers by the time we reached London Heathrow.  Heathrow is one of the worst airports in the world, perhaps only second worst in comparison to JFK in New York. We landed early, but that was the last good news we got.  We couldn’t park at the gate, but rather they deplaned us on the tarmac onto buses.  It took over 30 minutes for us just to get off the plane.  The buses took us to Terminal 3.  Now we wandered the labyrinth looking for connecting flights to our British Air flight to Amsterdam.  We eventually ended up in a really long line, and I noticed that one of the guards was telling some people to change lanes.  I asked and she looked at my boarding pass.

“You’re in Terminal 5, so take the Terminal 5 lane.”  When I got back to my niece and father, however, they told me that they had looked on the board and that our flight was in Terminal 4, so we could take the shorter Terminal 2 and 4 lane.  To get to terminal 4 we had to take an inter-terminal bus, stopping first at Terminal 2 and then and Terminal 4. When we reached Terminal 4, however, we were told that our flight was departing Terminal 5. Now we had to race over there, which added another 20 minutes to our process. 

Going through security again, we kept ended up in lines with problematic people and the guards kept changing our lane in the hope that we could make it through.   I refused on the third “helpful suggestion.”

The bottom line:  despite having a 2 hour and 45 minute layover, they were just about to start preboarding when we reached the gate.  By the time we reached Amsterdam, were all just wiped.

As am I know.  I’m having difficulty keeping my eyes open, so I’ll save a description of the hotel and the nice rooms for tomorrow.  I’m definitely wearing ear plugs tonight as I can hear the people at a bar four floors down and half a block away celebrating the World Cup.

All I’ll say is we had a very nice seafood dinner at a place a 15 minute stroll away.  Lots of asparagus, too.

My Post-Trip Garden

Good news: my garden survived my month abroad.

First, the tomatoes:

The "orchard" is doing fine as well.  So well, you can't even see the apple tree.

My fig tree:

My pomegranate:

My apple:

And finally, my Meyer lemon:

Last Day

Our last full day in Poland is always a light one.  I let the students sleep in, so our departure this morning wasn’t until 10 am.  We walked over to Kazimierz and explored some of the efforts to create a post-war, post-communist Jewish identity for this district.  We checked out the famous courtyard used by Spielberg and so many other filmmakers to evoke a “Jewish feel” for the neighborhood.  We also stopped by the Kupa Synagogue, which has a restored roof and some wall art.

After that we headed over to the Galicia Jewish Museum.  Lila, who we met at the JCC, was behind the counter and she let us in for free as most of the museum was closing in 10 minutes to prepare it for an event this afternoon.  Actually, we had close to 20 minutes to look over their core exhibition of photographs Traces of Memory, looking at the history of Jewish Galicia.  Our final stop in Kazimierz was the High Synagogue, where we looked at a short exhibition of photographs from Krakow Jewish families.  I would have also liked to visit the Remuh and Isaac Synagogues, but we had to be at Wawel Castle by no later than 12:20, which didn’t give us a lot of time.

The castle has stunning views of the river and even a legend of a dragon (Smok).  In 1972, they built a statue of one at the base of the castle, and every few minutes it breathes fire out its mouth. 

The tour of the State Apartments was nice; I miss seeing Lady with an Ermine, but the Da Vinci painting was moved last month to the National Gallery a bit aways.  Afterwards, we sat in the café on the castle grounds and had a late lunch.

After that the students were free until our farewell dinner.  I went off to the Stare Miasto to do some last souvenir shopping, then off to the train station to buy a newspaper.  They were out of The International New York Times so I got the weekly Guardian instead.  After that, I stopped at a café for one last kremowka and cappuccino.

It’s been a warm day (84 earlier, 73 now) and a little humid.  It’s been threatening rain all evening and we now have a 50% chance in the next hour.  I showered and changed and met the students for one last time here in Poland.

We walked the 15 minutes to Kogel Mogel.  They had a table for us indoors as they thought it might rain.  I have to say that I like this place better than Szara Kazimierz, which is where we’ve eaten the last few times.  I think they had a wider selection of entrees and first courses. 

I started off with the goose liver pate with roasted cherries and pumpernickel sand.  It was excellent; some of the best pate I’ve ever had and on a par with the duck liver pate crème brulee I had in Berlin.

For my main course, I went with the goose leg.  Kogel Mogel won an award for best goose in 2012, which is a good sign they know how to cook it well.  The skin was crispy but the meat wasn’t overcooked and dry, the way it can be.  It was covered in a roasted plum sauce.

About half the students ordered the dry-aged beef tenderloin, mostly cooked medium to medium well.  Many of them were only cooked medium rare (which would have been perfect for me)

I thought about getting the profiteroles for dessert, but they weren’t filled with ice cream, but egg nog (advocat).  I knew the szarlotka would be too heavy, so I ordered the home made vanilla and cherry ice cream on hazelnut sand (the really like “sand” in this restaurant.  It was just what I needed.

This was the Szarlotka:

I suggested that after such a heavy meal we walk back.  The temperature had cooled off and I thought it would be nice to visit the rynek square one last time.  There was a busker singing a popular Polish song, with all these Poles arm and arm singing along at full volume.  All the buildings were lit up and the restaurants and cafés full of people, with the horse carts for tourists clopping by every few minutes.

 Back at the hotel I said my goodbyes to about half the students who are either staying in Europe or on other flights.  Now I’m about 50% packed and need to finish up.

Fireworks

Today was the last hard day of the trip.  We left early at 8 am for the drive to Birkenau, because the camp is enormous and I needed at least three hours in it.  I warned the students that Birkenau was far larger than Auschwitz, but you could put Auschwitz I in a small corner of Birkenau and you might not even notice it.  Auschwitz I held about 11,000 prisoners; Birkenau (Auschwitz II) held about 100,000 slave laborers at any given time. It was the largest slave labor camp in Europe.

After walking through the main gate, we went to the ramp and I had the students read an excerpt from Yaffa Eliach’s book Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust.  This was a story told by Jack Garfein about how at age 13, he and his mother arrived in Birkenau and stood on the ramp awaiting the selection.  His mother shoved him away from her into the men’s column. The man behind him lies to Dr. Mengele, telling him that Jack was 16 and an apprentice mosaic artist.  When Mengele sends both of them to life, Jack, not understanding what just happens, turns around to apologize for the lies, but is kicked by a kapo. 

He soon learned how the man behind him, who he described as a gentle Talmud scholar, had saved his life.  For weeks, he searched for the man to thank him, but one day he realizes that he’ll never find as he was the Prophet Elijah, sent by his mother’s prayers to save her only child. 

From there we walked the path of those selected for death; it takes about 5-10 minutes to walk from the ramp to gas chamber and Crematorium II.   Historians estimate that around 500,000 people were murdered in this one gas chamber.  With Soviet forces approaching, the SS evacuated some 60,000 prisoners on January 17 and 18, 1945.  Prisoners were forced to march in heavy snow and bitterly cold temperatures (all while wearing only pajamas and wooden clogs) between 30 and 35 miles to the nearest rail station.  About a quarter of the prisoners collapsed or were murdered on these death marches.  On the 20^th, they blew up the crematoria in an effort to conceal what happened in the camp. Soviet forces liberated the remaining 7,000 prisoners scattered among the camps on January 27^th.

After walking all around the physical space, we sat nearby in the shade and read excerpts of Filip Müller’s interview in Claude Lanzmann’s film Shoah.  Müller was Czechoslovakian Jew who was forced to become a Sonderkommando [a prisoner who carried bodies from the gas chamber] in 1942.  He was one of only a handful of Sonderkommando to survive, as he managed to live through five liquidations, including the revolt of the Sonderkommando that took place in Crematorium IV on 7 October 1944.  In the chaos of the evacuation of the camp, the SS forgot to shoot the Sonderkommando, and Müller was death marched to Mauthausen.  A week or two after they arrived there, the SS asked all Sonderkommando from Auschwitz-Birkenau to step forward and identify themselves (in order to kill them).  None did.  He was liberated by American forces on 5 May 1945.

Müller describes in graphic detail how the killing operation worked.  While I think everyone understands that being murdered in a gas chamber was bad, other than historians, very few people realize how horrible and painful it was.  As soon as the victims were inside, the doors were sealed, the lights turned off, and the particles of Zyklon B dropped in from the ceiling.  Zyklon B was a solid, gravel-like compound which then sublimated into a gas in the warm, damp gas chambers.  As the gas began to rise from the ground up (it was heavier than air), terrible panic would break out in the gas chamber as people fought in the pitch-black darkness.  Since so many attempted to break through the door (which was impossible), their bodies were piled up against it, and would fall out in an avalanche when the Sonderkommando opened it 30 minutes later.

Our second reading from Müller involved the murder of the first Czech family transport in March 1944.  The Sonderkommando warned the transport that they were about to be gassed and offered to rise up in revolt with them.  The issue here was that this transport was in relatively good physical shape (only 25% had died after six months) and couldn’t be tricked into the gas chambers.  In fact, though, the violence used against the Czechs was extraordinary and physical revolt was simply impossible.  The most they could do was to refuse the order to undress.  Instead, they sang the Czech national anthem and Hatikvah. 

Müller, watching all this in the undressing room, decided to commit suicide by walking into the gas chamber with them, which he did. Standing there, a group of women approached him and urged to leave and bear witness to their suffering. Although he didn’t say it in the interview, in his autobiography, Müller says one of the women shoved him into an SS guard, who recognized Müller has a Sonderkommando and then threw him out of the gas chamber screaming “we decide when you die!”

I have the students read all these excerpts because, well first, because I need to save my voice, and second, because I start to break down and cry if I read them myself.  The students’ faces were ashen and shell shocked as we walked to the so-called Sauna, where prisoners selected for slave labor were inducted into the camp.

After walking through the undressing room, the hair cutting room, the showers (which were either boiling or freezing), and the room where they received their prisoner uniforms, there is a photography exhibition of family photos of Jews from one Polish town (Bȩdzin).  Looking at the various pictures, some students found images of children that matched their nieces and nephews.

It’s a rather long walk back to the front of the camp to the quarantine barracks.  The area around the gas chambers is wooded and swampy.  The woods existed back then as a sort of camouflage, and the ponds were where some of the ashes of those murdered were dumped.  We went into some of the open wooden barracks to see the conditions of the prisoners. 

By now we had been in Birkenau for over two and a half hours.  Our last stop was the women’s barracks, Camp Bia.  This is the earliest part of Birkenau, and many of these barracks were built from brick and concrete.  The later parts of the camp, BII(a-e), were built from wood, and all that remains of almost all of them is the brick heating channel in each barrack (if prisoners could find or steal some wood, they could burn it in winter to warm the barracks). 

Most of the barracks are closed for restoration or preservation.  We entered a few.  Block 16a, where 600 Polish children deported to Birkenau from Warsaw or Zamosc, were kept here.  Some of the prisoners had painted images for the children on the walls of the barracks, so these horrible, dark places were slightly less terrible.

Most of the other barracks contained up to 1000 Jewish or Roma women, forced to sleep 6 to a single bunk of a three-tiered bunk bed (18 per bed).  I told them how Kitty Felix, brought to Birkenau with her mother when she was only 16, survived the camp, and how her mother was able to survive as well, working on the hospital block.

After spending over three hours in the camp, we headed across the street to the parking lot, where I bought the students lunch at the bus stop café (café is too generous a term for it).  We rested for about an hour, and then we headed to our last stop of the day, the Labyrinth art installation by Marian Kołodziej at the Franciscan monastery in Harmȩze. 

This is the third time I’ve taken students here and we had Renata, the same wonderful guide we had two years ago. Kołodziej’s art powerfully conveys the horrors of the camp and addresses the experiences of prisoners (he was on the first transport to Auschwitz in 1940) through religious imagery.  Through his art, he calls on us not only to witness his and the other prisoners’ suffering, but to make better choices in our lives.

I knew better than to try to talk about this on the long drive back on the bus.  It’s just not conducive to having a discussion.  Because of road construction, the last two days we were forced to take a detour through a small town.  I noticed the first day a large mural labeled “White Power” on the wall of a garage, and the students had seen a sign saying “Anty-Jew” with a Jewish Star in a circle with a line through it.  I had my camera ready and I managed to photograph some of it, but not all.

Back in Krakow, we gathered in the breakfast room and talked about the day for about 45 minutes.  Students were reluctant to speak, but that’s not unusual.  Most said a few words, but there was also plenty of silence.  I think it’s important to give them an opportunity to think about and process what we’ve seen.

That really ended the substantive part of the class.  Today is our last full day in Poland and it will be very light:  some synagogues in Kazimierz this morning, Wawel Castle at 12:30, and a farewell dinner tonight.

I took all the students who wanted out to dinner last night at a somewhat kitschy Polish restaurant in the Stare Miasto.  I had the top sirloin, but it was cooked medium to medium well, and I wasn’t all that happy with it. Another student had ordered it and hers was medium rare. Since she preferred medium well, we switched about two thirds of the way through and both of us were happy.   

Six of the students ran out to join a pub crawl and the rest of us went looking for a place for dessert. 

There was a big festival in Krakow yesterday; something to do with the summer solstice.  We saw a lot of women with flowers in their hair so I asked a woman of a certain age waiting at the tram stop with us if she spoke English.  She was from Belgium.  I asked if she knew why the women had flowers and she said that it was just a Polish custom.  I knew that wasn’t right, but I wasn’t going to argue with her about it.  We talked about Belgium for a little bit.  She and her friend were from Ostend.  I told her my favorite chocolate was Neuhaus, but she preferred Côte d'Or.

I asked what she was doing in Krakow and her voiced dropped to nearly a whisper as she told me that her father had been in the Belgian resistance during the war, and that he and his friends had been sent to Auschwitz.  They had been at the camp earlier that day. She then added in a whisper that ISIS was becoming just as bad as the Nazis.

When we got of the tram I could see a stage set up on a small side street, and there was a concert, so I grabbed the students and walked over to see what it was.  This street houses the French, American, and German consulates, and they sponsored a street fair for the holiday.  Here I finally learned why so many of the women were wearing flower wreaths.  In the old days, a maiden would toss her wreath into the river and whichever boy recovered it would win a date with her.  At the German booth, they were giving away CDs of music composed in Leipzig (mostly Bach) so I picked one up.

On the stage of main rynek there was a huge crowd watching a Polish woman sing hard rock songs.  On the way back after dinner, the crowd was even louder, listening to Polish rap.  Like salmons swimming upstream, we made our way through the throngs heading to the main square and found a place for tiramisu and ice cream.

When we left, we discovered the concert had ended and seemingly everyone was now walking our way.  After we got back to the hotel we found out why.  I was just starting to type up this post when I heard loud explosions.  My first thought was terrorism, but when I saw the reflections of light on the building opposite, I went to the window near the elevator facing the river and saw a massive fireworks display based around the river and Wawel Castle. The explosions were remarkably loud and seemed to shake the building.  As I was only on the second floor above ground, I couldn’t see the lowest explosions, but what I could see was pretty spectacular.  

It lasted a good 15-20 minutes.  It was a nice way to end the day.