3/30/2007

London 1, or Alaska Says Sun
The title of this entry comes from a poem by one of my favorite poets, Andrea Gibson. But I'm using it because when I got off the National Express bus, and heard my name called across the rain-soaked crowd, I answered "Abby!" like Alaska says "sun!" after the winter solstice. It's been cloudy and drizzling the whole time, but I haven't stopped smiling. We've been cooking and singing, and going to different outdoor markets and hanging out with her friends. Tonight, we stopped by London's Gay and Lesbian Film Festival to see a mediocre documentary, but I could've stayed in that theatre for hours soaking up all the wonderful energy.

I feel like a kid who has just learned to read because I can read road signs and books, and even the ingredients on the shampoo bottles! I can eavesdrop on public transportation, ask directions of anyone on the street, and, wonder of wonders, buy a book!

I'm not kidding. It's not the weather, it's not Prague, it's simply being with a good, strong friend. I am a happy duck.

3/28/2007

Praha 38, or The Importance of Dialogue

My friend Sara wrote a blog entry describing her decision to study in Israel, as opposed to Prague. If you read the entry, you will see that it frustrated and infuriated me. I don't think my thoughts were very coherent, actually, and I hope I can revisit them soon. In the meantime, I'm going to try and write some poetry about it.

In other news, I'm going to visit the lovely Abby in London tomorrow! See you all when I get back!

3/27/2007

Praha 37, or a Piece of Poetry

In this city, I have learned that familiarity
is a privilege. Czechs don’t care what’s up,
how you are, how it’s going, or how you’ve been
unless they’ve known you for at least a year
and know you can be trusted. So when I fall in step with a
man twice my age, and he asks me how I am,
I dodge the question and his pace, pretending
not to hear and slipping out of view into his shadow,
his drawling “jak se mas” clinging to my eardrums
like the voice of the man my father’s age
asking if he could buy my sixteen-year-old-self “just one drink”.

But as I slip away from him, my eyes slip from their straight path
and suddenly, I catch sight
of a plane crossing the open sky.
And I want to point like a little kid and yell
“Look, plane!” because it’s proof that I’m not trapped here –
the escape is right above me, if I want it. But I don’t want
to leave on such a day, when even the old communist buildings
seemed just a little less gray, and the sky dusts off her old blue skirt
and puts it on for fun, just to flirt a little with the sun
and me. Prague is looking beautiful today,

and the streets are full of whistles and catcalls.

3/24/2007

Praha 36, or Two Pictures from Poland



only my mother/grandmother will really understand this one from Krakow...
little girl, who brought you here?
I want to sweep you into my arms, cover your eyes
and carry you away.
What person in their right mind
brings a child with a memory
to Auschwitz?

3/23/2007

Praha 35, or Before I Lose It

The title of this entry doesn't refer to my mind; it refers to my thoughts about Poland, although thinking about Poland makes me think I'm going to lose my mind sometimes. First though, I'd like to direct all readers to the comments section of my last post. I think every post there was articulate, well-thought-out, evocative and relevant. So, thank you, commentors.

(snapshot)

I'm holed up and sniffling in a hotel in Wroclaw, our last night in Poland. I've somehow contracted a terrible head cold, and am consequently entertaining myself with German cooking shows dubbed in Polish and cough drops. My roomate has left her computer open, and I can see that she's getting wireless internet in the hotel. I check my trusty blog, see that a few people have left comments on my last entry. As I read YLMP's words, I break into sobs, completely unexpectedly. It doesn't last very long, but it's long enough to feel a tiny bit of release.

(snapshot)

Polish people are nicer than Czech ones. I realize this when a fast food worker hands me my zapiekanka, a piece of crusty bread with melted cheese, mushrooms, ketchup and chives, and actually smiles at me. I'm so dumbstruck that I don't know what to do for a moment. And then I remember my manners and say dekujeme, which is Czech, not Polish, but the Polish word is close enough. Later, when Ellen gets lost for the tenth time, she reports that the man she asked for directions not only drew her a map, but he walked her halfway to her destination.

(snapshot)

The night we visited Auschwitz, we also had a talk with some Polish high school students. These students are participating in a 3-year program about the Jewish history in the town of Auschwitz - a history that stretches back about 700 years! It is a program designed to help young Poles feel connected to the Jewish culture that shaped their own culture until the Holocaust, and to promote solidarity and tolerance (how I despise that word!). The students are very enthusiastic, coming out at 8:00 on a school night to talk to Americans. Their English is excellent, if not very confident. I ask one, "When did you first meet a Jew?" "This year, I think," she says. "But one of the things I've learned is that I maybe have friends who don't know they are Jews."

(snapshot)

The Holocaust memorial in Lodz. I won't write about it here, but I want to put it down so I don't forget to write about it later.

(snapshot)

Feeling beautiful because I'm wearing a purple tank top, and a necklace with many chunky red beads. Listening to the Indigo Girls as I walk - no, stride - around Warsaw, reveling in my legs, which seem tireless. I can walk so much farther now - doing six-hour walking tours on a regular basis will do that! And Warsaw is so flat, compared to Prague.

(snapshot)

Warsaw was completely leveled after WWII. There were almost no buildings left at all. So what did the rebuilding committee do? They built the Old Town Square to look as though it had before the war. So the very center of Warsaw is essentially a bunch of 60 year old buildings that look as though they're 300 years old. It gives the place a slightly eerie feeling, kind of like Disney World. See, it looks like the olden times!

(snapshot)

Krakow. The Jewish community here was virtually nonexistent for a long time, but is reviving rapidly, thanks to a new Israeli rabbi. We join them for Shabbat dinner, and benching (singing thanks and grace) afterwards. Later, Ellen will say that she disapproves of his summer-camp style of leading, but I am so happy - so grateful - for the chance to sing familiar songs. Singing loudly, hands beating time next to Yiddish-speaking altercockers, filling the room with the sound of loud Jews. Loud Jews - what a blessing, in the middle of this graveyard.

3/21/2007

Poland 4, or Horseradish

Warning: Offensive Content. There are a number of Holocaust jokes in this entry that may be very difficult to take.

Pesach is fast approaching. I'm reminded of this for several reasons, but mostly, I know Pesach is coming because Poland is flooded with Israeli kids on their pre-Pesach spring break. Ever since Poland joined the European Union in 2004, the local governments and overseas Jewish foundations started pouring money into Holocaust memorials. Where once there were only a few plaques, there are now full-fledged memorials, museums, tributes and preserved sites. And the tourism is absolutely booming. Auschwitz is one of the biggest, if not the absolute biggest tourist site in Poland.

So, of course it would make sense for the Israelis to send their pre-army high school kids here for spring break heritage trips. Not only that, they are also sending American kids who are doing their year-after-high-school-in-Israel experiences to Poland. I hear more Hebrew in Poland than I do English. But what follows is some of my thoughts on Israeli kids at Auschwitz. It is really exhausting to write these entries, so forgive both the shortness and the incoherency.

..............

Auschwitz is flooded with Israeli kids. They travel in packs, herded along by chaperones trying to speak as quietly as possible while still being heard. Some of them wear matching sweatshirts - there's an entire group in white hoodies emblazoned with stars of david that look like they're made out of barbed wire. Some of the groups are full of kids who are clearly religious, girls in skirts over sweatpants (it's a cold day), boys in suit pants instead of jeans. But the one binding factor is the presence of flags.

Every single kid coming from Israel, whether American or Israeli, has a full-size Israeli flag prominently displayed somewhere. Some kids tie them around their necks like capes. Others wrap their backpacks in them, or wear them around their waists like sarongs. Still others have attached their flags to branches or sticks, and carry them in two hands like a color guard. Girls wrap their hair in them, groups carry them in groups like banners.

Israeli groups make Auschwitz I, the morning stop, a crowded place, but the effiencicy with which the guides conduct all the people is astounding. I walk in and out of exhibits, trying to sift through the voices to find the one of my guide, trying to filter out the bits of Hebrew I keep overhearing. I say slicha when I bump into an Israeli, excuse me when I step on the toes of an American, and prosim when the crowd jostles me into Polish tour guides. The Israeli kids want to know where I am from, and I don't want to talk to them.

What is your point? I want to ask. Do you intend to conquer Auschwitz in the name of the Holy Land?

Bitterness fills me like horseradish. It is a new feeling; I am used to the exhaustion, the heaviness, the desire to sleep and cry. My brain comes up with the darkest jokes, the most bitter statements, and I long to share them with someone.

Look at how efficient these Polish guides are. You'd think they were Germans.

This is such an excellent memorial. Lovely, really. I think I'll go beat up some puppies now, to cheer myself up.

The Israelis make this place so crowded, soon they'll have to start performing selections on the visitors.

I stay out of the hardest parts of the tour. I do not go into the torture chambers, the gas chambers, the isolation cells. These are all rooms without windows, and I feel myself beginning to suffocate before I reach the doorways. Instead, I wait outside, sitting in the grass, thankful that today, the grass is green. Life exists inside the barbed wire, and while I don't feel very alive, the wet grass under my backside is absolutely alive.

Marjorie comes stumbling out of Block 11, where the torture cells line the basement. She looks steady enough, but I ask her if she wants a hug anyway. She takes me up on my offer, and starts sobbing into my shoulder. Suddenly, the scene is familiar - someone is crying, and I am holding them, and I don't have to cry. Only the hordes of Israelis add alienation, friction.

Picture the most famous view of Birkenau: the imposing main gate, with the train tracks going through it. This is where we spend the afternoon, wandering around the barracks at Birkenau. We've beaten the Israelis here by about twenty minutes, and are morbidly savoring the emptiness. It's all I can do to keep walking, try to make my mind stop being so awfully bitter. It's as if every tear I should cry has turned into some wisecrack. I say Kaddish next to a small pool, beside a memorial stone inscribed in Yiddish. "Nazis dumped crematorium ashes in this pool," it reads. "The victims never recieved a proper burial. May their souls be at peace."

Time to go. I sling my burdens over my shoulder and start walking down the tracks towards the gate, slipping every so often on the railroad ties. Suddenly, I hear music. I look up, and see one of the most startling things I've ever pictured:

At least five hundred Israelis are marching down the tracks. From this distance, the appear to almost be walking in rank. The flags are whipping around in the heavy winds, but the marchers seem undisturbed. The source of the music is a boombox, carried on the shoulder of one of the leaders. I think it's playing Hatikvah. As we get closer, I realize that I need to step off the tracks and walk on the uneven gravel to make way for them...

Fascinating, thinks my unrepressed brain, they brought the Salute To Israel Parade to Birkenau.

3/19/2007

Poland 3, or Ping-Pong

Dear Mammy,
This story is especially for you.
Love,
~D


His name was Tyllman, a Medieval German name. He's one of the many German civilan volunteer corps members that have flooded Poland and other parts of Central Eastern Europe. His job: to work in Oswenim, or, in German, the town of Auschwitz. He helps to run the Jewish center in town, and works around the camp itself, doing clerical maintence. Our group was scheduled to have a talk with him at dinner, after going to Auschwitz and Birkenau.

I don't remember much from the talk, but after dinner, I saw a ping-pong table, and asked if anyone wanted to play. I remember the strong feeling of urgency; it had been an emotionally exhausting day, and I hadn't cried, hadn't talked to anyone. There's no one on this trip I can trust with those kinds of feelings. But suddenly, I had this idea that if I could play ping-pong, everything would be okay. Tyllman volunteered.

We volleyed back and forth for two hours, talking the whole time. When I mentioned how I used to play the piano, he let the ball drop, and took me to a corner of the room, where beat-up upright sat against the wall. It felt good to play. It felt even better when I asked if he knew any instruments, and he sat down and played a Chopin nocturne. Nocturnes have always been my special pieces - I never played one myself, but my mother used to, and I know most of them. I sat on the floor and reveled in the music, his company, the release of hitting a ball back and forth.

We wound up talking for another two hours, before we were both exhausted. I told him how I didn't trust anyone on my trip, how scared I was that Auschwitz couldn't make me cry, how much I feared being desensitzed. I asked him,

"Do you feel guilt? Is that why you're a volunteer here?"

"No guilt," he replied. "Only completely responsible for the future."

Before we split to go to bed, I reached to give him a hug. He held on far longer than I expected him to, and I felt myself sag against his chest. Other than my parents, he was the only person to hug me in the two months I've been abroad, and it felt as good as a hot shower.

"I'm sorry," I said into his shoulder, "I know we're strangers and all, but this feels wonderful."

He didn't answer, but squeezed me gently, and waited until I let go first.

3/17/2007

Poland 2, or The Overture To the Commencement of A Very Rigid Day

The title of this post is a fancy way of saying that I'm going to Auschwitz tomorrow. And I'm borrowing this computer, so this entry is going to be very quick, and not so cohesive.

1) I don't know if I will have internet for the rest of the trip, beginning tomorrow morning. I promise lengthy, detailed and insightful updates upon my return to Prague, but I can''t promise updates or even email contact for the next week.

2) It is still gray in Poland. The sky has not broken once, except to rain all day today.

3) I am coming slowly to the conclusion that it is impossible to be a truly global Jew unless one is Orthodox, or can follow an Orthodox service. More on this in the future.

4) I bought presents for people today, which made me smile. Especially one I bought for an 8 year old: a small wooden box, with a tooth carved on the cover. It's for teeth that have fallen out.

5) I am missing you all very much right now.

6) The letter I quoted in my last post was a letter I wrote to my rabbi from home, MK.

Good night, everyone. See you in a week.

3/15/2007

Poland 1, or Arrival

So, I forgot to mention that I was leaving for a nine-day trip to Poland. I woke at 5:30am, and hopped into the CET van around 6:00. And now it's 3:00, I've arrived safely in Krakow, and my roomate, Diana (from UVA) and I have just discovered that our hotel has wireless internet! So I know I'll be able to update and get email until Sunday morning.

And now, an exerpt from a letter:

...I can’t imagine what Poland will be like. In my imagination, the entire country is gray, as if crossing the border into Poland is like crossing the border into Kansas of the Wizard of Oz. Similarly, I can’t imagine a blue sky over Auschwitz, or grass, or flowers. Will I be plagued by Adorno’s curse (there is no poetry after Auschwitz)? Or will it be like Dachau, when I couldn’t write enough about it for years?...


In actuality, the sky did turn gray when we crossed the border - Ellen and I exchanged glances across the bus, and nearly laughed. Yet, there's a kind of tension here. Communism seems closer to the present, as does the war. I'll see what's really what after our walking tour of Krakow tonight.

Oh, and one thing I've noticed already - Poland has good pickles!

3/14/2007

Praha 34, or A Short Letter

Dear YLM and YLP,

Thank you so much for the incorrigibly generous gift you sent via Mom&Dad Mail Express! With its magical power to metamorphize into just about anything, I thought you might like to know what it eventually became. Here is me, in my pajamas, with my brand new "Express Sexy" gear: I'm in my pajamas because I was doing laundry when the picture was taken. Thanks again!
Love,
~D

3/13/2007

Praha 33, or Just a Little Green

This entry shares a title with a Joni Mitchell song. Today, I'm writing this entry from a CET computer, in the lab. The windows are wide open, the sun is bright, and there's hardly even a breeze. Really, I forgot how much more cheerful I get when the sun comes out. Joni is singing in my head...

Just a little green
Like the color when the spring is born
There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow
Just a little green
Like the nights when the northern lights perform
There'll be icicles and birthday clothes
And sometimes there'll be sorrow



Of course, this means that tourists are really beginning to flood Prague. It's even affecting my short commute to school - so many more people to dodge!

In other news, I've been wracking both my brain and the Internet, trying to figure out what to do with myself this summer. I know it would be more career-smart to do an internship, or something big and fascinating, but honestly, I don't think I have the energy. I am so much more tempted to be a day camp counselor, save some money, spend time adjusting back to the States, and use my free time to hang out with friends, volunteer, and try to get some poetry published. After a semster with so much discomfort, I want to come back and nest for awhile. And then I'll start my cool research job in the fall.

What do you think, members of the blogosphere? Am I making sense? Is it stupid to "waste" my last academic summer break being so ordinary? What about those of you who have been abroad? What sounds smartest to you?

3/12/2007

Praha 32, or The Return of Tourism

(written 3/11/07)

Until my parents arrived, I hadn’t realized how much I no longer identify as a tourist. In the days that they’ve been here, we’ve traveled, seen museums, taken tours, and eaten in restaurants every night. They’ve come to be tourists, and I’m enjoying the ride.

“The ride” was a literal one on Friday – my parents hired a car, driver and guide to take us to three sights outside the city. The first was the glass factory in Nizbor (pronounced NEEZH-bohr), where we saw the famous Bohemian glad being melted, blown, cooled and decorated. Almost as interesting as the work itself was the condition of the factory. In the manufacturing room, where workers handled melted glass at over 1,000 degrees Celsius, there seemed to be no safety standards in place whatsoever. Workers were dressed in tshirts, shorts and Birkenstocks. They wore no protective gloves, eyewear, or aprons. One man was knocking back a few beers at his workbench as he twirled the glass, and then took a cigarette and lit it off his lump of cooling glass!

It was cool to see the etching rooms, where workers – again with little to no protective gear – sat at grindstones and held the glass to the spinning wheel to create the intricate patterns on the glass. The light in there was fantastic – my dad got some amazing pictures of people and glass, and I, as usual, forgot to bring my camera.

From Nizbor, we went to Karlstejn (KARL-shtayn), a small and pretty tourist town. Its main attraction is the castle called Karlstejn, after Charles IV, who often felt unsafe in the capital city of Prague, and had the castle built as a residence for both him and the crown jewels. I have to say, I’m sick of castle interiors – they really do start to look the same after awhile – but the exterior of Karlstejn was beautiful. Karlstejn is so close to Prague, that it’s possible to walk the 14km trail between the two. Our guide said he often ran with his dog along the trail. I want to visit Karlstejn again, with friends – it seems like the perfect picnic spot, a good place to spend a day outside the noise and pollution of the city.

From Karlstejn, we went to our final stop, Plzen (PIL-sen). Plzen is the sight of the brewery for the famous Pilsner Urquell beer that is so cheap and readily available in Prague. The tour of the brewery was a perfect way to end a long day – particularly the beer tasting at the very end! Since the beer is no longer brewed in the old-fashioned wooden barrels, but in much more modern stainless steel and copper vats, this was a really special thing. In order to make sure that the beer coming out of the new process tastes as good as the beer they used to make, they still manufacture a small amount of beer in the old way. This, they use for taste testing and quality control – and for the benefit of tourists, like us.

Yesterday, we spent time at Petrin, (PETR-zhin), the Central Park of Prague. Except, unlike Central Park, Petrin is a mountain. We rode the funicular railway up the mountain, and then climbed the “Eiffel Tower of Prague”, which is an observation tower, from which one can see a breathtaking 360 degree view of the city. As we climbed down the mountain, we came upon an orchard of cherry and apple trees that were just beginning to bloom.

And it was then that I began to see Prague’s enchanting side – only from the distance, and only in the sunshine, from the view of a grassy hill. Suddenly, I felt like I was looking out at a postcard, and I understood why everyone told me how beautiful Prague is when I told them that’s where I’d be studying. It is beautiful, from so high up. It’s like a small cluster of red and green roofs, church spires, the winding river, and the many bridges, all in a late-afternoon halo. The birds were singing on the mountain, and trees were everywhere. It was a different Prague from the one I live in. I wanted to sit on that hillside for a very long time.

And, of course, I forgot my camera.

3/07/2007

Praha 31, or Sara's Account

Several weeks ago, I blogged about my friend Sara's visit. Here is her account.

Mom and Dad arrived this morning, and it's so good to see them! More later!

3/06/2007

Praha 30, or Dane Plays Cheery Tour Guide for the Masses


Here's the famous Astronomical Clock at night. Why is it famous? Why, because it's a really complicated clock that not only measures time, but zodiac signs. And they apparently built it in such a time when such mechanical complexity was unheard of! Currently, it's one of the most profitable spots for pickpockets in Prague. Every hour, on the hour, some bells play, and little mechanical people twirl in circles for the entertainment of the masses of tourists...tourists that are too busy trying to watch the clock to notice their pockets!


Here is a shot of what I affectionately call the Communist Tunnel. It's fairly close to my apartment, and serves as a safe way to cross the three-lane highway - just go under it! This picture was taken at night, so there's no way to see the food vendors that are usually on the left-hand side. But Communist Tunnel, you ask? Yes! The first time I walked through this tunnel, with its many peeling layers of musical and political flyers, my imagination went alight with visions of resisters, meeting in this tunnel to plot to overthrow the government.


And here is a beautiful sight - a busy worker at a klobasa stand, the Czech's mighty response to the pitiful American hot dog. These things are large and delicious, and I never, ever want to know what's in them. You can choose to eat them in a soft bun, or plain on a paper plate, with a slice of chleba to sop up th grease and mustard. Nevertheless, they are among the best things to eat in Prague, if you have no objection to committing suicide by a self-induced heart attack!
Hope you've enjoyed this part of the tour, folks! Next, we'll encounter a Czech tram conductor, and poke him with a stick to get the genuine "service with a snarl" experience that's so familiar in these Bohemian parts!

3/05/2007

Praha 29, or Excerpt from a Letter

... I’ve started making a list of things I will miss when I leave here, as a sort of twisted way of convincing myself that I *do* like it here. So far, I’ve got: apricot juice, legally purchasing alcohol, cheap wine (which is all I really drink), good hot dogs, and belly dance class (which everyone here calls Oriental, with the emphasis on the TAL, and I’m still getting used to). I think this is a very unsubstantial and somewhat pathetic list, but I’ll keep working on it.

One more note about class and Freaks and Geeks, a TV show I've been watching here: one of the plotlines involves the main character, a white middle-class girl, being accepted to an intense academic summer program that she didn’t apply for. Everyone tells her what an exciting and great opportunity this will be for her, but all she can do is mope about how she wants to be at home for the summer. Finally, her friend, who is also white but decidedly working-class, snaps at her, saying that other people would kill for the chance to get out of their town. “Sure,” says the main character, “if you want to get out, you should just go.” “Easy to say,” her friend replies, “when you’re the one who gets to leave and doesn’t even want to.”

It made me think. I knew that when I was kvetching constantly about not wanting to go that you wanted me to be thinking about class. I avoided thinking about it for awhile, because I had enough anxiety without thinking about class on the plane, but I’ve reopened it tonight.

I think my complaining falls under the category of “honey, if I had problems like you have problems, I’d have no problems.” I like that category, by the way, and am just a little disturbed at how many of my problems seem to go under it. It’s good for perspective. I was whining about not wanting to do something that you and other people will likely never get to do, and definitely not in the capacity that I’m doing it. That’s pretty intolerable.

But at the same time, it’s like my mom telling me to finish my goulash because there’s starving children in Ethiopia. What good does it do you whether I go or not? Or does it not matter because it’s still intolerably annoying to listen to me whine?

In any case, I’m sorry I made you listen to it...

3/02/2007

Praha 28, or Small Moments

(written 3/1/07)

1) A new ice cream place just opened right across from my school. In one of my more amusing moments with the Czech language, I ordered one scoop of ice cream – in the biggest cone available. I swear, the ice cream girls were looking at me weird.

2) Tonight, I made pita bread. It was delicious, but a little off. When I checked my measurements, I realized I’d put in not ¼ cup of oil, but ¼ liter of oil. I thought I’d been using too much flour…

3) I found an open mic at an expatriate bar* in English! I got to perform just two poems, but I’m going to perform again…and again….and again. It was probably the most fantastic moment I’ve had since I arrived. I love performing. I love the feel of a microphone in my hand, love looking at an audience, love the way my whole body moves and breathes differently. My adrenaline was high, my endorphins in full swing…it was so much fun!

Regarding #3…part of me was surprised at just how I happy I was. It also made me a little nervous; I’ve traveled halfway around the world, and the most fun I have is with a bunch of expats? It’s not like CET makes it easy for us to go out and meet actual Czechs, but reading at open mics is something I do in the US. Is bellydancing the only new thing I’ll come away with from this trip?

*expatriate = the community of people who were born somewhere else, where a different language is spoken, but are now living in Prague