Praha, Cubed

We continued our vacation from vacation in Prague while visiting with A's old roommate D (an expat), via the first of four train rides. To the untrained eye, Praha is a quaint, yet boring tourist destination, known for its unblemished architecture, famous bridge and castle (and exceedingly dead nighlife). However, what seems to be less known, but written in the Artel guide to Praha is the city's fondness for all things cubist. Traditionally, cubism is associated with canvas, a la Picasso, but the Czechs embraced it in their home furnishings. We managed to pick up a few household items from Modernista/Futurista/Cubista (why the boutiques all embraced “ista” as their claim to 'modern household furnishings' is unknown to D.

Hearing our complaints of "no more meat & potatoes please!" D complied with Tex Mex Czech style, which surprisingly was quite good (it fulfilled my need of guacamole and pork). However, both A and I agree that Czech beer is where it's at. Despite getting our fill in Germany, the Pilsner Urquell and another local brand, Svijany were some of the smoothest beer I've ever tasted – I can see why beer IS cheaper than water!

The 1452 girls were in Praha as well, and it was fabulous meeting up with fellow travellers (and english speakers), fun times.

Auschwitz-Birkenau

A: Quantifying feelings and events is one of the challenges of writing. How to convey the roar of a waterfall or the spice of a meal can take a few revisions. I hunt for the right combination of little lexical lumps to paint a picture. Today, I'll test that art as I never have, for today C and I spent our time at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Krakow is pretty and the bus ride to the countryside evokes pastoral feelings while you see Polish farmers bail hay. It's not until your last few steps up to the Auschwitz gate that a respectful lump forms in your throat coming face to face with pallid reality. For unlike faux theme parked horrors and imaginary neighborhood haunted mansions - not more than my grandparents age ago millions looked upon this ground with a combination of entreaty, dread, and worse resigned fatalism on the way to their graves.

Human feelings and scope have a terrible issue. To think about a human being murdered is the fundamental subjective experience. You take all your personal loves, joys, plans, and hopes and imagine them coming to an uncaring and deliberate end - you shiver and return to the safety of the moment. Far away from your projection. But now a whole family dies - a mother and a wife, a father and a husband, a little boy. The trio are split as a man is pointed left and and the woman and boy right. It's explained through smiles and handing them towels that they're to be given food and comfort soon - imagine the man's horror are they're never seen again.

I look at a room - nothing more, nothing less, and there are scratches on the concrete walls. We look at an open septic latrine where jews hid in filth to avoid being worked to death. They stood in front of a wall before their end.

And so our minds stop - simply processing that many people, a room full, several rooms full, in fact the population of my home city of San Francisco and a few full football games - all perished. Each one was lied to through gates that promised "Arbeit macht frei" (Work brings freedom) and I'm ashamed to be human, grateful that my grandfather had the decency to kill whoever did this, selfishly thankful that my time came once it's all done.

Now, an open field, some train tracks, a wooden guard house, de-electrified fences, and me and C just kicking along a dirt road. An abyss of evil so great that it cannot be remedied. Simply you walk and look and learn.

Snapshots of Berlin

The Farmer's Market - Bio/Organic is in! (and so are delighfully butter filled pastries)



The remnants of the wall


Spirit Yoga Berlin (photo courtesy of Spirit Yoga)

A vacation from the vacation

Arriving in Berlin, it felt like we were coming home. Apart from the small signage in the U-Bahn, the efficiency and cleanliness of the metro was amazing. It was literally the sparkle sparkle of stainless steel.
We stayed in Prenzlauerberg, which is an up and coming district in the former East Berlin side of the city. Full of artists, strollers, bicycles, and 24 hour chow, we felt right at home. It felt like the best of NYC, SF and the new condos of Seattle merged into one neighborhood.

All Yogi's have Yogi voice: As part of our 'vacation' from vacation, I went to a power yoga class down the street from our hotel. Not only was the studio the most beautiful yoga studio I've ever seen, I've learned that regardless of language, all yoga instructors possess 'yogi voice'. You know, that calm, soothing voice that propels you to make funny breathing noises, stretch and twist your arms around your legs, all while quieting the voices in your head. My experience was literally "duestche duestche down dog... more german... cobra".

Berlin is very much a sensory city... We wandered around neighborhoods, checking out fabulous architecture, paint colors, industrial design, and farmer's markets! It really felt like home (after all, we were due, we've missed 2 weeks of farmer's markets). Most of all it made sense (just like Hauptbanhof station, which is by far the most beautiful train station I've ever seen - also sleek and sexy in stainless steel and glass, but it made so much sense! East-West trains run on the top tracks, and North-South trains run on the bottom tracks, with the train tracks built above and below the shops and walkaways).

On our trip to the Reichstag, I was so excited when the security guard explained in every language "please empty your pockets and place it in the scanner". He had it down to a science:
Security guard: "Where are you from?" - asked in German/English
Tourists in the queue: "Greece, Argentina, US"
Security Guard in Greek/Spanish/English: "please empty your pockets..have a great time!"
Perhaps I would be less bowled over if it weren't for the fact that in all the tourist places in Russia, it was apparent no one spoke english.

Nightlife in Berlin - we're kicking ourselves for wussing out with the pouring rain and not making it out to the Tape club - which just means, a Berlin 2.0 Trip! There will definitely be another trip to Berlin (if not a future residence, it's always nice to find places where it just feels like home/or a potential home).

Now we're off to the East: Prague, Krakow, Vienna (newly added), Budapest and Istanbul over the next 11 days

Peter's Place

A : Alliteration seems to be catching.

With high hopes we stepped out of the train into Saint Petersburg. Moscow, it seems, left a sour tinge on everyone's palette - and we weren't alone. The most expensive city in the world, ripe with the undulation of debutantes had us hungry for out next destination. So hungry in fact that we spent the morning of our departure practicing our trip to Leningradsky train station (C's idea). It was a prescient move given that it took hours to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of beauracracy. Worth the trouble...

Saint Petersburg is quite nearly a world apart from Moscow. Built at the behest of Peter the Great, from scratch mind you, the city has a strong neo-classical charm. Water defines this place, with sweeping canals and bridges every few kilometers the air smells of sea breezes. Every few blocks a towering monolith of gilt stone, and domed heights appears. It's a beautiful place.

So, we take in the Hermitage. Shortly said the Hermitage is the Louvre of the East - boasting art and artifacts from every corner of the globe - some given and some taken. C and I running like mice through its hallways dodging the elephantine foot of massive octogenarian tour groups. I had an art moment in front of a lovely Picasso of a jeune femme. I was teleported back into a mind of a genius, his work before me - seeing backwards through the prism that produced this image.

Peter's place has made believers of us. It benefits from the comparison with its homely sister Moscow - fleeing as we were into the arms of an affordable and affable refuge. Welcome us into your generous collection of English speaking tourist boothes, your quaint thousand room palaces, and the hearts of your still questionably dressed yet notably more caring populace.