Chrząszcz...whaaaat?

Be able to pronounce "w Szebrzeszynie Chrząszcz Brzmi w Trzcinie" and you'll be branded a true Pole, or so I was told by a friend of Polish nationality. Seriously, Slavic languages have too many consonants and not enough vowels. I thought Czech was hard enough with the tongue twister "Strč prst skrz krk." But Poland gave me a headache with words like "źdźbło." Say what now?

In all honesty, I wasn’t quite looking forward to that nine-hour train ride to Krakow. Not when I was suffering from an incessant sore throat that refused to go away. Then I found out that the couchette train ticket I’d bought was in fact a seating ticket in an eight-person compartment. (Holy cow! A full six-person compartment is already unbearable. Eight should be made illegal.) Resigned, I sat down with a huff. But hey, I’ve done it with the sister before. What more, I’d rather be sharing the compartment with a man who spoke no English (he left halfway through the journey) than with an overzealously friendly man whom we got tired of entertaining three hours into our journey from Zagreb to Sarajevo.

All in all, a very uneventful journey. After checking into the hostel (free breakfast even on check-in day?! Heck, yes!), I wandered into the city centre. I had five hours to kill before Paula, a dear friend and ex-flatmate in Prague arrives from Warsaw - our meeting being the main priority of this trip.

Castle. Check.
Jewish quarter and synagogue. Check.
City square with a clock tower that chimes trumpets (and abruptly cuts short) on the hour. Check.
Castle. Again.
City square....again?!?! Damn. Krakow is small.

A nice, laughter-filled relaxing day before the mentally draining day that was Auschwitz. The familiar words "Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work Makes (one) Free), emblazoned on the iron gate leading into the camp is probably, in my opinion, the most cynical taunt of the 20th century. This mockery wasn't really the initial intention: my tour guide at the Dachau Memorial - a History major - mentioned that the message held out the prospect of salvation. That prisoners should aspire to achieve freedom through work in the spiritual sense, even though such aspirations are, in most cases, hopeless.

As I stared at the mounds of suitcases, artificial limbs and human hair on exhibition, I was suddenly overwhelmed with anger, sadness and horror. As Holocaust survivor Abel Herzberg said, "There was not six million Jews murdered; there was one murder, six million times."

It's hard to believe that merely 68 years ago, this was the hell on earth. The horrible dream that really happened.

I spent the day wandering around the camp in silence and reverence for those that perished. This visit, while unpleasant, was a good reminder of what ignorance and evil can do if allowed to flourished. Lest we forget the history of the Holocaust, remember then the haunting words of George Santayana,"Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it."

Implusiveness...

...is never a good thing.

Two weeks of being a desk monkey, staring at a computer screen eight hours a day, processing endless amounts of data into the company system, has gotten me antsy. After a high of backpacking with the sister, I was rearing for another trip.

On impulse, I whipped out my credit card on Monday night and bought plane tickets: I decided that I needed an "appetizer" before my massive solo backpacking trip at the end of the semester. So I can get into the groove of traveling alone.

The destination? Amsterdam. And Brussels. And I only have 57 hours total for the long Easter weekend because of flight scheduling. Absolute madness, I know. But totally doable.

Only one minor, insignificant problem: I had overlooked the fact that it's a long weekend and hostels are booked solid. Even the sketchy ones that are smoked-filled with stoned kids, smack dab in the heart of the Red Light District, are unavailable.

FAB-ulous. I suppose the benches at the train station will have to do.