The Hague

The Hague (or Den Haag as the Dutch call it) is admittedly not a typical stop for the average young North American backpacker. It was, however, the location I was most looking forward to on our entire trip.

The Hague is a sort of unofficial world capital for international human rights, a kind of social justice headquarters. It is the location of the United Nations International Court of Justice, which deals with, well, issues of international justice. It is also home to countless similar organizations, governmental, inter-governmental and non-governmental. Most interesting for us was the International Criminal Court (ICC), for which we had to go through a lengthy process before our application to visit was approved.

So, for one aspiring human rights lawyer and one potentially aspiring human rights lawyer, our journey to The Hague was a sort of pilgrimage.

Our visit to the ICC was scheduled for our second day in The Hague so we spent our first day exploring. The Hague is beautiful. We bought a map of a city walking tour, which took us all over. The Hague is an undoubtedly Dutch town with international flare. After the drought of sidewalk cafes I’d experienced in Germany, The Hague was like quenching a long thirst. Adorable little bakeries and cafes were everywhere and most of them offered High Tea, which I heard was because of their close proximity with Britain. The cobble-stoned shopping streets had shops which sold elegant cigars, ancient maps and antique books. Everything was loved and well-cared for. Even the Pizza Hut had chandeliers and elaborate Renaissance-style carved moldings. (While we stood outside laughing in disbelief, a woman on a bicycle wondering what the joke was about stared at us a bit too long, crashed her bike into the curb and fell hard in what looked to me like slow motion. It was hard to help when neither of us spoke a word of each other’s language, so we helplessly stood back while she hollered and her daughter yelled back.)

We wandered along the numerous canals in the mornings as fog blanketed the city. We ate pannekoek for lunch and fries for dinner. We sat on the swings in the gardens of the Queen’s current working Palace. We explored the newly built high rises the Dutch are so proud of but bore us Canadian visitors to tears. We toured the elaborate Parliament buildings and shopped for gifts. We chased pigeons in squares and watched swans float along the canals. We even tried to catch a glimpse of the Prime Minister as an aid held open the door of his office and a black car sat outside waiting.

I loved this city of helpful people, quaint historical shops and international influence. I would love to return in the summer, when the beach, which is a twenty-minute bike ride away, opens for surfing and strolling along the promenade. But a visit in the fall was just as beautiful; fall-coloured trees and foggy canals.

Our second day in town was spent at the ICC. Before sitting in the visitor’s gallery of the court, we got to join in on a tour organized for Master’s of Law students specializing in European Law at the University of Luxembourg (and just declined to mention to anyone that we had barely got our B.A.’s). We got multiple informative sessions lead by ICC staff and met a judge, a feisty blonde middle aged woman from Belgium.

Sitting in the court viewing room was a surreal experience. The court room was small, and held no more than twenty people: prosecution, defense, judges and witness. The man on trial was being tried for multiple war crimes.

The viewing gallery was separated from the court room by a thick pane of glass and held double the amount of individuals as were in the court room. A curtain was drawn in front of the middle pane of glass so as to protect the identity of the witness testifying. The voice of the witness came through our head sets garbled and distorted. The view shown on the TVs (which gave a live stream of various angles of the court) distorted the face beyond recognition. The identity of this witness was completely protected.

The Hague is a quaint little place where big world decisions are being made. I'm so glad we made it there.

Sachsenhausen

On our third day in Berlin, Katie and I took the S-bahn to Oranienburg, a quaint suburb that was home to one of the Nazi-built concentration camps, later used by the Communist Soviets as a work camp for the Nazis they had captured. Unlike the more famous camps, such as Aushwitz, Sachsenhausen was not an extermination camp, but a concentration camp. Though massacres and human experiments did take place in Sachsenhausen, it was not the camp’s primary purpose.

The inmates of Sachsenhausen were worked, starved and made to live a hellish nightmare. There’s probably no one reading this hasn’t been informed of what life was like in a Nazi concentration camp, so instead of explanations I will give my impressions.

As we walked along the path leading to the main entrance gates, we were bordered by fences on either side, one cement and the other chain link. Beautiful bright orange and gold leaves hung over the tops of the fences and made the walk in rather beautiful. The air was crisp and birds chirped all around us. It was a perfect serene fall day, a gift that I suppose not even jailers can deprive their prisoners of.

After passing through the main gates inscribed with the infamous Arbeit Macht Frei (work will set you free), and crossing past the no-man’s land, where anyone escaping would have to pass and anyone caught there would be immediately shot, I found myself standing in front of a half circle field. This was the roll call field, where roll call would be conducted twice a day. Often inmates would be required to stand on it for hours on end or do endless pointless movements as punishment. The ground was barren. So many feet have trampled this former patch of grass that it has never grown back and remains dirt to this day. It was also as hard as walking on cement. The usual give of a dirt field was long gone, the dirt having been packed down as countless feet trod upon it. In this case, the evil effects of what took place in the camp have even inhibited the earth’s ability to renew itself.

Directly in front of me, about 100 feet away, stood the former location of the gallows, where prisoners would be hung for various reasons. The gallows were set up in two deep rounded holes, conveniently the same size as an evergreen tree trunk. Every Christmas the jailers would set up a Christmas tree in one of the two holes, celebrating the birth of a life on the exact same spot that so many were taken away. Was this meant as a mockery to the inmates? Was it to further humiliate the many Jewish prisoners? Or was the Christmas tree simply placed there out of convenience, the jailers unaware of their own hyposcrisy? It served to remind me that the jailers were just as human as the inmates, celebrating their nation’s holidays as any other German would. Realizing they were human and not monsters, just as we all are, made it ever the more disturbing.

We like to think we are far removed from the atrocities of the Nazis and that such inhumane hatred could never again manifest itself the way it did in the past century. But those responsible for these acts were human, as we are also human. Only a few years ago one of the remaining barracks, number 32, which housed primarily Jewish inmates, was firebombed. We need to remember we are only one great hate away from the irrational manifestation of such fear and anger. The proper response to such a danger is not fear, which makes us irrational and all the more susceptible to manipulation, but integrity, involvement in the democratic process and keeping our leaders accountable. It was Plato who said “the price of apathy towards public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.” If members of a democracy refuse to allow such things to occur, they simply will not. No man can stand up against the citizens of an entire country, and this citizen will never allow a Christmas tree to be placed at the same location as the gallows.

Berlin

Berlin was such a momentous stop. There is more to see and do and experience in that city that anywhere I have ever been. Berlin is a business hub, home to the German Parliament, a burgeoning artist community, thriving music scene, and a complex of museums known as Museum Island. But perhaps greater than all the rest is Berlin’s history. The most notable historical events of the last 100 years were based largely in Berlin. It was from Berlin that the Nazis operated their campaigns of horror and terrorized the world until the end of the Second World War, when it was split into West Berlin and East Berlin, the wall was erected and then the wall fell down.



War ravaged pillars slowly being replaced



Our hostel couldn’t have been located in a better spot. We stayed at CityStay, roughly three blocks from Alexanderplatz (with the famous TV Tower) in one direction and Museum Island and Lustgarden Platz (where Hitler famously marched before thousands) in the other.

We’d been recommended a specific tour guide, Terry, by others who had been to Berlin, so we hunted him down on our first day in town. His tour was ten hours of history, insight and first-hand stories. Terry had worked for the British foreign service in Berlin after the war helping East Germans immigrate (read: escape) to West Germany. When the wall fell, he rode a kid’s bicycle along the top of it, and pointed out to us his old place of employment, the Palace of Tears, where family members from the West would have to leave their Eastern relatives behind. His guide skills are so good the Allied troops once used him as their tour guide.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of the Holocaust

Terry showed us all the major sights of Berlin as well as the lesser known places of historical significance. We went to the famous Jewish synagogue, which was saved from Kristallnacht rioters by one police officer who had the courage to turn them away. Behind the synagogue he took us to a dilapidated old building which, he explained, used to be a Jewish school for girls, until the Nazis raided it one night and shipped all the girls to a concentration camp.

(Sadly, all these years after their persecution by the Nazis, the Jews of Berlin are still not safe. Police are stationed around the clock at all major locations of Jewish significance, protecting them from a newer sort of enemy: Islamist extremists.)

Section of the wall bordering the former Gestapo headquarters

We walked past the city’s famous art galleries and later, apartment buildings occupied by starving artists who decorate the street with brightly-coloured strips of cloth. We stood on top of Hilter’s bunker and Terry pointed out just how close the Soviet tanks where when Hitler finally committed suicide; they were less than a block away. We walked past Checkpoint Charlie to the former headquarters of the Gestapo, which has been turned into a museum in the past few years where photos are displayed along the building’s foundations. It felt like I lived 80 years in a single day.

Aushwitz inmates

Our second day in Berlin, we went to the German Historical Museum for a special temporary exhibit on Hitler and the German citizens. We stayed for close to six hours and only made it satisfactorily through half. It explored a question so many of us have asked ourselves when studying WWII and the Holocaust: how could the German people have let this happen? What role did they play and how did they get there? The exhibit delved deep into the activities of Hitler before he became Chancellor as well as his better known activities after.

I had always assumed that the best way to survive such a government would be to keep your head low and avoid trouble as well as involvement. I learned that this was not an option with the Nazis. They had organizations set up for every segment of society: boys clubs, girls clubs, mothers organizations, clubs for families wishing to take holidays, young boys who wanted a job, etc. If one was not a member of any club, others would be suspicious, but one would also be severing oneself from social interaction and community. All organizations were taken over by Nazis: churches were only allowed to teach Nazi-approved lessons and unions were outlawed and then reformed as Nazi organizations. It was impossible for the German citizen to escape from the Nazis, and once they had you, they worked you. The exhibit was excellent, and I felt I learned more lessons on the relationship between citizens and their government in those six hours than I did over four years of political studies.

Our activities during the days exhausted us and we ended up in bed earlier than usual, so we never encountered the famous Berlin nightlife. Of all the places we visited, Berlin is the city to which I would most like to return. I feel I only scratched the very surface of what this city has to offer.

Lustgarden Platz, near our hostel

Lustgarden Platz. Hitler is the one marching with his arm outstretched in the centre.

Prague

Fifteen years ago, Prague was every backpacker’s dream. Far from the nearest Western European tourist destination, it was untouched by the Second World War and cheap, a sort of hidden European oasis with 4 Euro hostel beds and beer for even less.

Since then, the rest of the world has caught on to this gem of a city. And it really is a gem. The political history is fascinating, having been absorbed by the Nazis and later “freed” from them by the Communist Soviets, who imposed yet another form of dictatorship upon the population. Hitler loved Prague and planned to make it the cultural capital of his empire. Throughout it all the Czech people resisted and their enduring spirit is often praised.

The city is wonderful to wander. The old cobblestoned areas are so expansive that they extend beyond what one can walk in a day (or perhaps, what I can walk in a day). We took one of the Free Europe tours that operate in major European cities which enabled us to get our bearings (I highly recommend them if you’re ever in Europe). We explored the Jewish Quarter, once the city slum, now the area that boasts such shops as Louis Vuitton and Prada. We crossed over the famous Charles Bridge (which was really just a bridge with lots of tourists) to the John Lennon Wall, an ever-changing wall of graffiti dedicated to the theme of peace. It was very colourful and covered in peace signs and bible verses and lyrics from Beatles songs, the sorts of things I love.

On our first night in town I dragged a jet lagged Katie to the main Old Town Square (what a good sport!), where we climbed the beautiful tower of the astronomical clock and got a view of the city as twilight began to settle in. We could see the castle, the fall market, the streets and the Tyn Cathedral, which was far more beautiful from up high than on the ground. Perhaps it had something to do with the moon rising brightly from behind.

Despite our meager budget, we were still able to sample plenty of Czech food. We found a bakery around the corner from our hostel that sold delicious and decently-sized pastries for as little as 12 cents. There was also a fall spice festival in the main town square for the time we were there which boasted multiple pigs roasting on spits. Oh, the heavenly aromas that manifested themselves in that square! Bratwurst on a baguette was a filling dinner for only 3.50 Euros, and a lunch of baked and fried potatoes smothered in three melting cheeses cost me only 2 Euros.

Prague is the Europe that so many North Americans dream of. It is as big as a city but as quaint as a wealthy medieval town, growing in character with each passing century.

(Oh, and a quick logistical note: if anyone is planning on visiting Prague, I would encourage you to stay at the Mosaic House, a palace of a hostel, which set our standards high from the very beginning of our adventure.)

 

Frankfurt

The first day of our big Eurotrip started with a train delay which caused me to miss my connection that would take me to the Frankfurt airport. Three trains and plenty of waiting later, I greeted a jet lagged and travel-weary Katie. Our hostel was located in Frankfurt’s Red Light District. All the reviews we’d read online implied the area was completely safe and clean, nothing at all to worry about. Not so. Two girls walking alone after dark would have been completely unsafe. Luckily we had the sense to arrive back before the sun went down.

Frankfurt was nice, a sort of one-day visit nice. In an effort to get Katie adjusted to the time we explored as much of the city as we could. We strolled along canopied paths beside the river, did some window shopping and marveled at the massive skyscrapers beside beautiful Gothic architecture and half timbered houses. Not much old architecture is left in Frankfurt.

The city was fine, but one day was enough and we were eager to move on. The next morning began at 6am as we boarded a train and set off for Prague!

Beyond the Black Forest

Whew! Exactly one month after my last entry and I have returned!

One month ago, my friend, Katie flew to Frankfurt and the two of us set off on a European tour, following our hearts wherever they desired. As a result, we managed to visit six different countries in four weeks. One month is nowhere near enough time to do Europe justice--indeed, it is not long enough to do justice to the average European country alone--but we were restrained by our budget, our life goal timelines and the fact that winter was rapidly settling in.

Katie and I travelled well together, something that wasn't entirely unexpected, as we'd previously been roommates twice, in two different provinces, and had travelled together before for lesser amounts of time. Furthermore, we both favour history over art, have been deemed to have the same personality type by the (in)famous Myers-Briggs and, as is often important for the geeky type, have extremely similar political views.

Over the next week and a bit, I'll be posting photos and highlights from the various places we visited. Thanks for still checking in!

In Bruges, Belgium

The Day of Secrets

Part of what I love so much about Europe, in particular this part of Germany, is that there are secrets hidden everywhere. Just take Wednesday for example, another day Shar and I spent cycling around the village where Jonas was raised. We hauled the bikes out again and got ourselves all set up to go (this time packing sustenance). We decided to head to Neckarbishofsheim, a village we’d biked to last summer and found absolutely charming. The ride, we knew, was completely flat. The first three kilometers were through fields, the second three on a bike path beside the highway. So we set off, enjoying the blue sky and sunshine.

We took a new, hillier path and reached the village tired. We pulled in to a park we knew and walked around until we found a spot in the sunshine. The park used to be the location of a castle, now just a random ruin scattered here and there, a huge pond with fountains, plenty of red-leaved trees and a newer-style hotel and fancy restaurant. We played cards, ate pastries and rested.

When we were ready to go, we set off out a side gate of the park that took us to the fields. We saw markings for two different bike paths, one a blue square, the other a red triangle. Finding the markings was a sort of treasure hunt. They were painted on the side of barns, tacked to fence posts and glued to the ground. The bike paths went in the same direction for a while but we soon reached the point where they separated. As we were trying to decide which path looked more promising, I noticed a sign tacked to an post, old and worn, barely visible beneath the ivy that now covered it. It had the red triangle on it, pointed in the proper direction, and on it had the words written, Schloss Neuh…., schloss meaning castle. A castle in these parts? Neither of us had ever heard of a castle so close to Jonas’ childhood home, and we were sure we would have by now if it was real. But there was the sign, encouraging us forward, promising a castle stood nearby. What did we have to lose?

So we set off in the direction of the red triangle, which lead us first between garden plots for elderly city folk, behind a barn and then up into a dense deciduous forest. It was beautiful (unfortunately, this is where my camera died, so I didn’t get any photos of the surprises we discovered next).

Before long, on our right appeared a large and open hut made of wood with a roof but no walls, in the middle of the forest just off the steep and seldom-used pedestrian path. I parked the bike and climbed up the hill into the hut. From there, I could barely distinguish something further up the next steep incline beside the hut. I climbed down from the hut, up the next incline, and found tire swings, monkey bars and a little dragon to sit on which rocked. Up the next incline were picnic tables and an old grill. We’d found a play park, totally deserted, some of it in ruins, some of it not, all of it looking old and forgotten. In the middle of a forest. Perhaps the most intriguing part was a door visible only from the bottom of the hill coming out of the side of the hill. It was small, hobbit-sized one might say, with the date 1839 above the blue metal door bolted shut. From further up the hill, looking down, there appeared to be nothing there, but a smoke stack gave away the existence of something tucked into the hill.

We never found the castle. We cycled a few more kilometers through a conservation area and then back to the secret park. As we sat on the tire swings we decided some hidden things are best kept hidden, it is their secret nature that makes them exciting, their mystery which gives them purpose. I didn’t mind my camera dying that day. The hidden park will remain hidden, waiting for the next forest wanderers to discover.

Mannheim

The castle in Mannheim is also the university. Pretty sweet place to get a B.A. We visited Mannheim last Tuesday, taking the train 25 minutes past Heidelberg. It’s a decent-sized city with a bustling downtown core, with nicer shops than anywhere nearby. The castle is a few minutes walk away from the main train station and we found it easily.

I love university towns in Germany (or, in Mannheim's case, university city). I’ve only just realized what an impact having a university can do to an entire town. It can make a sleepy, out-of-the-way place full of life. It encourages coffee shops and cafes where otherwise normal people would be too busy to sit and talk philosophy for hours on end. It makes it ok to sit with no purpose on a brick wall, sell DIY felt crafts, and it can make a city feel suddenly responsible for injustices that, besides matters of conscience, don’t really affect the citizenry. University towns are delightful.

The castle museum was beautiful and educational and really a good use of time. I was mostly intrigued by the story of Stephanie, Napolean Bonaparte’s adopted daughter, who lived for a time in the castle. An orphan raised and educated by nuns, Napolean adopted her and then used her through marriage to strengthen his empire, when she ended up in Mannheim. Those daughters of hers which didn’t end up as European queens ensured their daughters did. How’s that for ambition?

We found some cute little boutiques and some upscale department stores. We stumbled upon a fall market around dusk where I got a dinner that was sort of scalloped potatoes on home-made dough baked in a clay oven. Delicious. As I ate it, Shar recognized the lead singer of a German techno-pop band, chased her down, and had a Ger-english conversation with her. She was impressed a Canadian had heard of them.

We took the last train back to Sigrid and Peter’s and I could see my breath as we walked from the train station through the little village, already sleeping.

Cycle to Sinsheim

Monday morning we slept in. Then we woke up and felt ambitious. Ambition fuelled by guilt may be the strongest type there is. We were, therefore, determined to bike to Sinsheim. It won’t take long, we reasoned. It is, after all, only a 15 minute drive by car.

We found two bikes our size in Jonas’ parents’ garage, loaded up the saddle pack on one, and set off. The first 8 kilometres were enjoyable and familiar. I had biked this way once before, and Sharlie had even more. Flat and scenic, it was enjoyable and we took our time. We pedaled past corn fields, train tracks, lines of apple trees and rolling green and yellow hills. We made it to Waibstatt, a cute village with lots of flowers and fountains. In the village centre we found a bike sign pointing up a hill claiming Sinsheim was only 6.5 kilometres away. Piece of cake, we’d already come farther than that. We set off up the hill, only to find that the hill didn’t seem to ever end and it got steeper the further we travelled along it. Had we taken a wrong turn? Soon we saw the highway far beneath us. We were slowly climbing uphill parallel to it, while the cars stayed along the valley floor. How nonsensical! Eventually, we were rewarded for our hard work and made it to a beautiful forest cycle path. We travelled far along this path, enchanted by the beauty around us and the coolness of the trees. Then came the turn and a sudden hill. A beautiful, wonderful, fantastic, exhilaratingly steep downhill. So excited we were to finally find a downhill that we didn’t stop halfway down to check the next bike signs. Had we stopped, we would have seen we were supposed to turn right. As it was, we ended up at a highway entrance, thoroughly confused, refusing to go back up the hill we had just come down. We finally made it back to some more signs and crossed the highway, where we found our next set of directions knocked over and hidden in the long grass. So we hopped on the highway for a bit then hopped off only to get obscure directions from some construction workers. The rest of the ride was entirely downhill and involved a lot of sneaking through construction barricades until we finally made it to the town. Two and a half hours later and we had finally made it, too tired and hungry by this point to even remotely enjoy walking around the city.

Stubborn and persistent, we made it back home in an hour less than it took us to get there. Thirty kilometers later, I have to admit a new appreciation for the ‘land of rolling hills.’