Paris, je t'aime

"I don't know why all the trees change in the Fall. I know you're not scared of anything at all. Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away. But I know I had the best day with you today."- Taylor Swift, The Best Day

Just a mere week removed from our lovely adventures in Germany, my roommate, Brittni, my friend, Lisa, and I found ourselves lounging around my kitchen attempting to make homemade pumpkin spice lattes despite 1) a lack of understanding how to use my other roommate's coffee maker and 2) lacking a can opener, thus forcing us to rely on the expertise of our friend Peter who proceeded to open said can with scissors. 

No worries, though. We were victorious in our quest as Peter served his purpose and we all enjoyed the splendor of American consumerism, albeit for a short while. 

But, our meeting in the kitchen of Calle de Finlandia Ocho was for more than just coffee. Britt, Lisa, and I were a week out from our next trip and needed to discuss the important details like booking a bus and laughing at the negative comments on booking.com hotel reviews. And, it's just better if you do this over American Coffee. (Besides, we had a few hours to kill before meeting up with our Dutch friend we met in Spanish class and his friends who were in town for the weekend from Rotterdam.) 

In case you were unaware, our next trip, which occurred last weekend, November 11-13, was to Paris. And, my, what a time it was. 

We took a gamble and flew Ryanair again, trusting that we would not run into the same problems we did on our departure from Munich. Luckily, we didn't and we landed in Beauvais, France on time before hopping on a bus to the City of Lights. However, upon arriving in Paris, the adventures began with yet again another cabbie who spoke little to no English but proceeded to sing (loudly) while taking us from the train/bus station to the hotel... and us confusing some random arc on a random street as being the Arc d'Triomphe. (Good thing I whispered when I pointed out the random arc - that saved a potentially embarrassing situation with the cabbie, who by this point was whispering into his iPhone to his girlfriend as though we were going to actually understand any of what he said.)

Minutes later, we arrived at our castle, the Hotel Excelsior. As far as cheap places in Paris go, it was pretty ritzy: one room smaller than my room at my piso with two beds, a closet, a bathroom (which was a separate room, luckily), balcony, and one electrical outlet. It got the job done. The only downfalls were the one electrical outlet, which was conveniently hidden behind the TV attached to the wall and the receptionists who had conflicting answers as to where we needed to walk to get where we needed to go in the city center. 

Hooray for Hotel Excelsior.

After checking in, we decided to go look for food. In a ravenous state, we stumbled upon a great ray of light: a dive called "Quick Burger." Yes, I'll admit it: I cheated on my vegetarianism with some chicken dips...but paid for it later as I did not feel so well. After some churros with warmed nutella (aka "the best thing ever"), we took a long walk around the Place de la Republique and retired to the Hotel Excelsior where we naturally did the second best thing ever after churros and nutella: watched Mary Kate and Ashley's Passport to Paris, a classic from when I was nine.

The next day started the real adventures. After more conflicting directions and being told that we "just had" to take the metro because "it was just too far a walk," we set out (yes, walking) towards Notre Dame Cathedral, just where we needed to be to eventually start our walking tour. We found breakfast at a little cafe near the Isle de la Cite where we had croissants (the ones in Germany were better), freshly squeezed orange juice (the best I've ever had), hot chocolate, fresh French Baguette that would make Panera shameful, and, yet again, adventures with the waiter: In Germany, the waiter chastised us for not eating enough rice, but in Paris, the waiter offered to take a picture of us and then started laughing and explaining that it was hard for him to take pictures because "mornings are tough for him." He did, however, give us perfect directions to the Place de Saint Michel.

We went on another lovely walking tour of Paris with yet another lovely tour guide, Onno from Amsterdam. We saw the Paris usual: Notre Dame, the Louvre, Pont Neuf, Palaces, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc d'Triomphe (I swear it was the real one this time), walked on the Champs-Elysees, visited Lock Bridge, toured Les Invalides, and just had a grand old time. 

That being said, our time in Paris is better expressed in pictures. That, and I don't feel like typing anymore because Big Bang Theory is on Neox. 

Basically, Paris is an incredible city that I absolutely loved. Best three days ever.

A government building.

Notre Dame Cathedral.

Seine splitting at Isle de la Cite.

Brittni, Lisa, y yo.

You call it weird. I call it art.

Les Invalides.

I've wanted to see this for as long as I can remember.

Beautiful.

Arc d'Triomphe.

Champs Elysees.

Font de Saint Michel.

Dachau: "Remember how we died here."

I should have probably written this post a long time ago, but I needed time to reflect on what I saw, felt, and heard. I needed to put my thoughts together to give justice to my experiences and respectfully find the right words to say. That is why, over two weeks later, I am finally sitting down to form a few paragraphs that probably can't even begin to fully describe the magnitude of what one experiences when they visit the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial in Dachau, Germany, just 11 kilometers outside of the center of Munich.

Before I recap the day, however, I would to state of overarching realization that hit me that day, and I need to do so by quoting Harry Potter. Before you judge me for comparing two things that seem quite unrelated, think about both. Think about history, think about the stories. One can make some connections, albeit not on a large scale. In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, when Harry goes into Olivander's shop to buy his wand for school, Olivander hands him three wands, the last of which becomes Harry's. Olivander the proceeds to tell Harry that the wand has a twin that belongs to Voldemort, who...well, most of you know the story. However, Olivander goes on to say this: "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It's not always clear why. But I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible! Yes. But great."


Now, do not take that quote out of context. Just like there is nothing "great" about what Voldemort did, there is absolutely nothing about the Holocaust was "great" in the slightest. It was a horrible time, full of truly unthinkable things, some of which they don't write about in textbooks. However, my realization that day led me to think of that quote simply because I was hit over the head that humans are capable of amazing things...amazingly good and, in this case, amazingly terrible things.


I'm not going to sit here and write about the events that led to the development of concentration camps. I'm not going to explain the history of Dachau. I'm not going to delve into the history of World War II and attempt to lecture on the political problems in Germany at the time. I'm not going to show you pictures of the crematorium because, quite frankly, I didn't take pictures of the crematorium. I thought it would be too disrespectful to what happened there. But, I am going to ask you to just think about what I write here and merely request that you help me to try and make a change. 

The front door of Dachau always stays open to honor the victims.

Dachau was a horrible place as were most concentration camps. If you were in Dachau, you were not considered a person. You gave up that right when they forced you in the door. They took your right to living the life you wanted. They took your happiness. They took away the ability to laugh when the director of the camp lined you up at your "welcoming" assembly and told you that there is no laughing at Dachau because only the Devil laughs at Dachau and he was the Devil. After that, they took your clothes, they took your belongings, they took your citizenship, and they took your dignity. And then, if you stood out in the least, you were made to be an example by an SS guard, which basically meant that you were beaten, tortured, or killed. 

Your "welcoming" to Dachau began here.

Rows where barracks used to be.

The bunker where the most horrible forms of torture occurred.

Again, I'm not going to write about the things that they did at Dachau to torture and kill. Yes, it's necessary to hear so that we can understand and learn, but you don't need to hear it from me. It's not my place to share. But I am going to ask a simple question: Why hasn't genocide ended today? The question is hard, but the answer, no matter how you answer it, is even more loaded. But the basis of the answer is, in short, that humans, in general, sadly don't care.


At Dachau, there is a memorial in the center of main area that contains a large block of ash from the victims in front of a plaque that reads, "Never Again" in seven or so languages. "Never Again" is a idealist belief, because if you look at the history of the world both before and after World War II, we have no right to say never again. It has happened again and again and again. And we are fooling ourselves if we say it won't happen again in the future. Since World War II alone, there has been genocide, or the new euphemism "ethnic cleansing," all over the world: Bosnia and Herzegovina, Rwanda, Cambodia, and many other places. Look at what is going on today in Darfur. There has been genocide on every continent. And yet, many people just sit there and do nothing because it isn't us. 


Well, my opinion is that thought process is, for lack of a better term, complete bullshit. As Martin Niemoller, a pastor during World War II, said: "First they came for the communists and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me." I can guarantee you that if we lived back then, the Nazis would find a reason to throw everyone I know, including myself, into a concentration camp. I guarantee you that there are people today who would find reasons to throw every one of us into concentration camps if they had the chance. It's a harsh reality, but it's true. And there would be no one left to fight for us because they would be in the camps right beside us.

At the entrance to the crematorium. Translates to "Think about how we died here."

So I make a request of you, the same request that the Dachau Survivor's Association makes of everyone who walks through the literally haunting halls of the bunker, gas chamber, and crematorium at Dachau: "Think about how we died here." And don't just stop at Dachau. Think about how the Native Americans died on the Trail of Tears. Think about how the people died in Serbia. Think about Rwanda and Darfur. Then, think about if it were you. 


And then, most importantly, think about the dignity in human life that has been lost AND how you can help restore it.


When I was a senior in high school, I first started learning about the genocides occurring in Darfur in my Government Class. A group of us started a chapter of STAND at our school and did a whole day of presentations on what was going on in Sudan. The highlight was that our US Representative, who was at the time one of only 25 representatives to sign a letter petitioning the government of China to stop using Sudanese oil in response to the atrocities in Darfur, came to discuss the topic of Darfur and show us ways we could help. We sold T-Shirts and raised money. My first semester at Temple, I joined an organization that educated on Darfur and tried to raise awareness on what was going on there. I remember being absolutely sickened when someone in a faith-based community on campus told me in conversation that I "shouldn't be worried about Darfur but more concerned about buying Christmas presents." Even if it was joking, it wasn't funny. Not in the slightest. Talk about a major slap in the face of the victims and just blatant disrespect.


But, I'm not perfect. I'll admit that school work, friends, and other organizations I was involved in got the best of me and I have not done anything to support the anti-genocide movement in a few years. That embarrasses me. I'm ashamed I didn't do more. Going to Dachau was the hit in the head I needed to get back into it. And, yet again, I'm asking you to do the same. Write letters to your politicians, watch a video online, donate money, join an organization in your town or on your campus tell your mom, just DO SOMETHING. Just think if it were you.


But, please, this is not about me. Don't do this because I asked you to do this. Do this for the victims- the people who really matter. Do this in their honor in the hopes that one day we truly can say "Never Again." After all, when I went to Dachau, I was granted the blessing to do something that so many people who walked in its doors did not get to do: I got to walk back out.


And you would have as well.

Adventures in Germany. Quite literally.

It’s been quite awhile since I have taken the time to update this blog and I understand that, at least some of you, have been anxiously awaiting the latest installment. I’m sorry it has taken me so long and, in the future, I will try to update it more frequently. 

However, my lack of recent updates reminds me a bit of a quote from one of my favorite movies, Forgetting Sarah Marshall (albeit, I’ve substituted some words): “I was going to update my blog, but then, umm, I just carried on living my life.”

Now, I mean no disrespect to any of you by relating my situation to that quote, but if I don’t live my life, I have nothing interesting to write about, and by default, you have nothing interesting to read. It’s a lose-lose situation and if I just wrote something for the sake of writing something, it would be worse than my very first draft of my Fulbright Statement of Grant Purpose essay (which was so bad it made my fifth grade paper on Humpback Whales seem like Pulitzer Prize winning stuff.) 

Anyhow, recent life took me to Munich, Germany from October 29-November 1*. (I put the asterisk next to that date because it really ended up being November 2, but that’s a story for a little bit later on in the post.) We flew out of Valencia on Ryanair, one of the classiest European airlines. It’s like the Megabus of Europe. Our flight there was relatively decent with the exception of being an hour late. Our return flight, was non-existent, but, yet again, I’ll get to that later. We landed in Memmigen, Germany in an airport that is smaller than Tuttleman Hall on Temple’s Campus and took the bus to Munich.

After our bus ride to Munich and taxi to the hotel which included listening to a mash-up of intense German rap and the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song, we arrived at our hotel very hungry and took the front desk guy’s suggestion of eating at the Indian restaurant next door. However, as we walked into the restaurant, which was really more like walking into some rich kid’s tenth birthday party, we were informed that the restaurant had closed only a minute earlier. Luckily, the host was nice and said we could eat there anyway, but still gave us a ten minute lecture on being aware of opening and closing times at restaurants. We tried to eat as quickly as possible and get out of there, but our plan was thwarted when said host came up and asked us if we would like more rice. Already full and thinking we should just pay and leave so we could let him close once again, we said, “Thank you, but we think we’re good.” That was apparently the wrong answer as we were immediately greeted by a huff and “You know, if I keep this restaurant open for you, do NOT deny the rice.” Of course, such a situation would only happen to us. 

Hotel Kent: The beds were like sleeping on clouds.

The next morning included a nice ride on the Underground, getting lost on the Underground, switching trains, and finally ending up in the Marienplatz. The Marienplatz quite literally looks like it jumped out of the page of a book in a fairy tale. We ate in a little shop that provided the best croissant I have ever had and waited for our tour to Dachau Concentration Camp to begin. (I will not be writing about the experiences at Dachau in this post as it requires a post of its own. I strongly encourage you to read the next post for that documentation.) While waiting, we got to watch the Glockenspiel, which, quite unfortunately, lives up to its dubbing as the “second most overrated tourist attraction in Europe.” In fact, the tour guide’s parody of what happens in the Glockenspiel was better than the actual thing itself. The rest of the day was spent at Dachau, followed by a good German dinner of Kaiserspatzle with new friends and walking around the same city block for three miles. 

Oh, Good Morning, Marienplatz!

I believe Neima's reaction to this was "HOLY S---!"

Does this not look like it was taken out of a Fairy Tale?

Sadly overrated.

Full day two in Munich started late as we were a bit tired from the day before, but it was still just as eventful. After attempting to find a free bathroom in the city and stumbling upon a makeshift memorial to Michael Jackson, we took a free walking tour of the city. The tour guide was very enthusiastic and you could tell she loved what she did. I thought it was a compliment when one of my roommates told me that he could see me being just like her in a few years...living in Europe, teaching English, and being a crazy tour guide. But the commonalities between the tour guide, whose name is Diana, and myself don’t end there: it turns out she is not only from Philadelphia, but went to Temple and received a Fulbright as well (she stayed after her Fulbright year and is studying to get a German teaching degree, hence why she is there now.) Small world. Later that night, we went on a tour that taught us about the German Beer culture. We had a different tour guide, but were surprised to see Diana join us on that tour. 

Random Michael Jackson memorial.

More important than MJ, but less publicized historical memorial.
The history is long, but displays the people's disdain of the Third Reich.

Lions all over Munich!

Hofbaruhaus. Even my mother told me I "just have to go there."

Paulaner Biergarten.

The next day was a long one, which was made longer by our airport mishaps. We left our hotel early and with time to kill just meandered around the city. Neima went to a Starbucks to read while Brittni and I explored a bit and then sat in and looked around the Frauenkirsche, the church that was built by the Devil himself. Britt had a lot of questions about certain things people do in Catholic churches (since she is Protestant) and it was nice to see her find everything so interesting. Finally, we all met up at the Hauptbanhof and got on the bus to go home. 

Or so we thought....

We had to go back to Memmigen Airport, which is an hour and a half away from Munich. Our flight ended up being delayed four hours due to fog and then was ultimately cancelled. Now, I’ve never been on a flight that was cancelled and didn’t know what to do so I made a 6.50 euro phone call to my Dad, which in retrospect was a stupid idea since, being 6,000 miles away, he was unable to help me. (It’s okay though...Britt made an equally expensive phone call to her grandmother in South Dakota to arrive at the same conclusion.) Memmingen Airport kindly told us that if we would like to wait until the next flight, we would be guaranteed a spot on it. The only catch is that flights only fly into and out of that airport on Tuesdays and Saturdays. We then started calling friends in Spain and luckily our good friend, Lisa, was able to find us a flight to Alicante (a city south of Valencia) through Air Berlin at 6:00 am from the main airport back in Munich. We boarded the bus again which was another hour and a half ride to the Hauptbanhof, where we boarded a half-hour train that took us to the airport. After arriving at the airport at 2:15 am to find that the Air Berlin check-in desks were not yet open, we slept on chairs with the other stranded people from our original flight. Luckily, I woke up just as the check-in desk was opening at 4:00 and we were seamlessly able to get through check-in and security and then sit at our gate. I was so hungry that I relented and bought a 5.50 euro bottle of freshly squeezed kiwi juice knowing it was all I had eaten in close to over thirteen hours and all I would eat in God only knows how long. 

Air Berlin itself is a very nice airline. It provides you with free sandwiches, drinks, and magazines, and includes my favorite thing: assigned seats on flights. (I HATE fighting to get a good seat on Southwest and Ryanair.) Too bad Brittni and I were asleep the entire flight and did not enjoy any of these things. Luckily, Neima was nice enough to ask the flight attendant for some nice vegetarian sandwiches for us for later. The only time I wasn’t sleeping I vaguely remember groggily staring out the window down at the beautiful French Alps that were snowcapped and visible through the clouds. I stupidly didn’t even think to take a picture. 

After arriving in Alicante, we had to take another half-hour bus to the train station where we learned that the earliest trains and/or buses to Valencia were at 2:30 pm. It was only 10:08 am. Therefore, we did the only thing we could think of doing: sleeping at the train station. I’ve never felt so dirty in my life. Long story made shorter, we arrived at our apartment at 5:00 pm after over 24 hours. I’ve never been so happy to be home in my life. 

Looking back, I’m proud of myself for having only one moment of freaking out in which I called my Dad and then regrouping to get it together and get home. Looking back, it’s a good story to tell and a great life experience to have. It’s nice to be able to look back on it and laugh. After all, what else can we do?

I’ll be leaving Spain again next weekend (November 11-13) with Brittni and Lisa to go to Paris. We’re flying Ryanair again. Please just say  prayer or something that we don’t have any problems with our commutes. As fun as our German airport adventure was, I’d like to skip that same good time in France.