Arbeit macht frei: Experiencing Dachau

I have a historical confession to make. I have been living in Central Europe for nearly a year and have not taken the time or opportunity to visit a Nazi concentration camp. It's not for lack of education. In sixth grade I read The Diary of Anne Frank and learned about the atrocities committed in the camps at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. It’s impossible to go through the history of the 20th century without reflecting on one of its greatest tragedies and vowing to never forget (while learning ethnic cleansing and mass political executions continue to punctuate history and headlines). But, I had never physically visited a camp.

Tim and Mike had actually suggested the visit, so in the wee hours of the morning we were up and riding the train out to the suburb of Munich that now carries some serious historical baggage with its name: Dachau.

Admittedly, making a visit to Dachau your first side trip in Germany might not make you well disposed towards the country, but Mike and Tim were up for the challenge.

We followed a marked trail from the train station to the camp, weaving through parks and neighborhoods with occasional signs marking the route prisoners took to the camp. The signs also provided some of the historical background necessary for understanding the site we were about to witness.

A section of track once used by a special spur line that brought thousands of prisoners to Dachau, the SS-training ground and concentration camp.

The camp was established in 1933, soon after Hitler was made chancellor. The idea was to keep all political enemies and dissenters in one place. The barracks and the techniques used by the SS guards at Dachau would become the model for all other concentration camps and the word Dachau would generate fear and silence a decade before it was finally closed. Dachau was not strictly a “Death Camp” like Auswitz where prisoners were essentially retained for execution. At Dachau people were theoretically in a labor camp. Of course the prisoners were exposed to harsh punishments, meager rations, medical experiments, and rampant disease. It might as well have been a death camp.

A view from the cramped bunkhouse across the grounds. All of the grey gravel was once the foundation of a bunkhouse.
Another view of the grounds and the dozens of barrack foundations. The guard tower marks the perimeter of the massive complex.

With an audio guide in hand to contextualize the empty bunks and ominous chimney we crossed through the small gate with the ironic and cruel camp motto “Arbeit macht frei” (Work makes one free) and began our tour of the grounds.

The buildings were destroyed decades ago, and empty foundations now mark where thousands of prisoners went through their routine of survival. Near the back of the complex are three chapels to the victims of the camps. One for the Protestants, one for the Catholics (especially for the Polish prisoners who where brought to the site after 1939), and one for the Jews. Michael pointedly asked why they couldn’t share worship space. Why indeed.

The Jewish Chapel.

We followed the path through the barbed wire perimeter fence and found the incinerator. Originally the facility was used to dispose of the bodies of people that died of disease. But, near the end of the war, some of the rooms were fitted with new pipes that would carry Zyklon B, the cyanide gas used to execute prisoners by the millions in Auswitz and in other, smaller camps.

There is some historical debate about the use of these chambers. We know they were never used in a systematic way. The liberation of the camp prevented the implementation of mass execution by this method (though bullets, ropes, malnutrition, disease, and starvation were used from the time of the camp’s opening to kill thousands). But, the pipes had to be tested, and several political prisoners were killed in the chamber. We entered as a noisy German high school group received a lecture about the cramped space. We could only linger for a few moments.

In that time I examined the spigots in the ceiling. Someone designed their grid-like distribution. Someone sat down at a drafting table and thought about how to space the cyanide spray. They thought about how much pipe would be necessary and how to clear the air after the victims had suffocated. Then someone else (or a group of someones) placed the pipes in the ceiling and connected them to a canister of poison. This construction crew was likely composed of prisoners, but they were directed by someone who thought about all of this. Hundreds of hours and people were committed to the meticulous engineering of millions of deaths. There are many words for people who would lay such plans, but none of them quite seem adequate.

It was time to visit the museum.

A memorial and the current museum building.

Dachau is arguably one of the most accessible concentration camps in the former Third Reich. A lot of people stop by Munich to see the beer halls and castles, then take a trip to the earliest camp, so as the museum tells the story of Dachau, it tells the story of all the camps. It starts with the rise of the NASDP and moves on to the stories of the victims. We watched a documentary (in German because we missed the English showing) on the camp and the liberation.

After the Americans discovered the camp and arrested the guards (some of the guards were executed in the controversial “Dachau Massacre”) they forced people from the nearby town to tour the grounds where emaciated corpses still lined the fences. These shocked Germans were then drafted to clean the grounds. The video showed their disbelief and the tortured bodies of the prisoners who were suddenly free. The video was necessary to populate the site that today stands empty and barren. It makes the humanity and horror more tangible, even if I still imagine that time period in stark black and white images with occasional film scratches.

We didn’t discuss the experience very much as we searched for a cheap place to grab lunch and avoid the crowds of bored school groups whose colorful t-shirts and babbling chatter made the site even more difficult to fully process.

I’m glad I finally made it to a camp. I am a person who needs to make history experiential and tactile. That’s part of what has made this last year so fascinating. Staid images in text books and library books have come to life in vivid color and 3-D. That said, I don’t think I need to go back. I don’t need to be reminded that I should never forget. I can’t.

Back in the DDR

If you want some geographic, Germanic whiplash, check out this album. The first section is from deep in Western Germany and the second is from the other side of the country.

Before I left for Germany I knew I wanted to visit Berlin. I also knew Munich would be on the list. The only other German city I really knew much about was Dresden. Everything I knew about the place came from Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five and friends who had studied abroad and claimed it was the most beautiful place they had ever seen. Not a bad series of recommendations. The only problem was I didn’t know anyone in town, and making a trip East wasn’t looking very likely. Until Kes invited me to crash in Leipzig for the weekend.

So, after a week of diligently taking CT scans of little mammal claws and juggling a series of unwieldy programs for analyzing the images, I hopped a train for Leipzig. In case you’re not up on your German geography, Leipzig is almost directly East of Bonn and it took about six hours to chug across the middle waist of the country. Leipzig was solidly in the Former East Germany (DDR) which dissolved twenty years ago (along with Western Germany) leaving a concrete and rebar residue.

I arrived in the dark and Kes held off on the grand tour of Bach’s home city until we got some light. First we needed to find a good dive. The MPI (Max Planck Institute) had just finished hosting an international conference on human evolution and everyone was celebrating at a dimly lit, cheap bar that managed to support three pool tables and a half-dozen foosball games.

As we walked across town, I noticed Kes and I were the only people on the street not sporting leather, tattoos, black lipstick, and gratuitous metal. Kes clarified that Goth Fest was underway, and I wondered allowed what an actual Visigoth would have to say about the guy in a top hat and kilt. I take a distinct pleasure in seeing people in outrageous costumes doing completely normal things. A favorite from the weekend was the woman in a lacy, black hoop skirt and corset fighting with her Marilyn Manson boyfriend over the map. Some things are universal.

When we got to the bar I was introduced as a fellow paleontologist and was welcomed into the fold. Everyone from the MPI struck me as unusually friendly for being a German work group. Then I discovered there were only two native Germans in the crowd. When everyone is a long way from home, it’s easy to make fast friends.

The next morning we rode even further East to the city of Dresden. The city has been an important political and cultural center for centuries as the seat of the Kings of Saxony and Emperor Elector. The elegant city on the Elbe was made sadly notable on February 15, 1945 as a memorial to the atrocities of war when Allied bombing leveled the city, killing thousands of people, mostly civilians

While a member of the Warsaw Pact, many of the historic buildings were reconstructed. City planners also liberally applied the “socialist style” to new buildings meaning there’s plenty of concrete along the walk from the Main Train Station to the Royal Palace.

The Semper Opera in Dresden, that was burned down (1869), bombed out (1945), then flooded (2002). Not the safest spot on this planet, but it sure is pretty.

We made a direct line for the Grünes Gewölbe or “Green Vault,” the largest treasure collection in Europe. The vault has been divided in two. If you want to see some of the most important objects, you need to call ahead and get reservations to tour the “Old Vault.” If you just made plans to visit Dresden the day before, then you can join the masses in the “New Vault” which features such an abundance of exquisitely worked precious metals and jewels, that I really wonder what they kept for the more prepared travelers in the Old Vault.

The New Green Vault consists of room after room of gold and rock crystal clocks, emerald encrusted nautilus centerpieces, and ivory inlaid jewelry cabinets, most of it made between 1500 and 1900. One of my favorite objects was a thumb-sized beetle that was made in 1530 that could be wound up and skitter across the table with all its legs jerking along. Another was a series of cherry pits that were carved with Biblical scenes and coats of arms that required magnifying glasses to really appreciate.

Natural oddities like narwhal horns, coral, and giant snail shells were incorporated into creative – if expensive – flights of fantasy as dragon tails, gnome bodies, and goddess arms. Every case was crowded with people because you had to stop and scrutinize every jewel. This was not a place you could browse. I must have spent five minutes looking at a schooner made entirely of ivory. The crown jewels or the cathedral treasure chamber are rarely my favorite part of a city visit, but the Vault is in a class of its own.
After spending more time with gee-gaws and whatsits than we ever banked on, we wandered through the Zwinger, the complex of dining halls and gardens that were built by 17th century royals as a fitting place to entertain guests. It started to drizzle as we strolled by the ornate fountain, and took refuge in the Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister or “Old Master’s Picture Gallery.”

Botticelli's Madonna and Child with a slightly less memorable peanut gallery.

The gallery is famous for its stuff from the 15th to 18th century with a focus on Northern art, but there's plenty of material from the French and Italians. The entry hall was a riot of Baroque motion and pudginess thanks to Rubens. From Antwerp we slowly made our way across the continent. Arguably the most famous piece in the gallery is the Sistine Madonna by Raphael. Well, the whole painting isn’t particularly famous. Just the two figures leaning on the bottom of the frame.
These two little cherubs predate the armies of putti and cherubs that will swarm across canvases a century after Raphael put down his brush. They seem to prophesize the boredom associated with their abundance (who really remembers the little winged babies anyway?). The figures could also show Raphael’s fatigue with the image of the Madonna and Child. It’s hard to visit a lot of churches or art galleries and not wish for a solid, adult Christ, or a less serene Madonna. Enough with the baby already. It’s time for his nap.

We then went back into the drizzle to walk through the historic center where the reconstructed and iconic Catholic Cathedral (Katholische Hofkirche) and Lutheran Frauenkirche dominate the skyline. These are best viewed from Brühl's Terrace, a promenade that faces the Elbe and allows a view of all the major 16th through 18th century buildings along the water. Even on a grey and dreary day it was gorgeous.


We grabbed afternoon coffee and cake at Kreutzkamm, a coffee shop near the city center that’s been brewing and baking since 1820. The other patrons were a mix of aged regulars in the midst of their Saturday routines, young families treating the kids to good cake, and couples taking a break from a shopping excursion. Kes and I added a new demographic to the mix. After a particularly cultured snack, it was time to go back to Leipzig to walk the streets Bach and his dozen kids used to stroll.

City hall and the churches were beautiful, but our main goal became food. As the sky continued to drip, we turned a corner and found an alley buzzing with activity under patio awnings and umbrellas. Everyone was outside to eat and chat despite the weather, one of the many things I love about this country. We found a spot at an Irish Pub where I enjoyed a great burger (a tough thing to find) and a “Black and Black” or Guinness with cassis. I was skeptical, but it was actually really good, making the slightly bitter beer much sweeter (go figure). I’ll have to remember the mix for people who may not warm up to the subtle bite of Irish Stout. Kes enjoyed her spargel, German for asperagus. It’s in season, and you’d have to be blind to miss that fact. Every restaurant touts their asparagus menu options which I mostly enjoy 'cause I think it's a great word. The country particularly enjoys white Spargel. I just wonder if that’s why public restrooms have taken a sudden sour turn.

After some help with directions from some sympathetic university students we met up with a group from the MPI at a small cellar bar where Kes and I managed to hold our own on the foosball table. She was showered with accolades for her performance as an American woman. I didn’t get any pats on the back even though I haven’t spun a plastic soccer player in roughly a decade. In Europe, if you’re sporting a Y-chromosome, you’d better be able to play some decent foosball or you’ll be left in the corner. The group was biding its time until we got the go-ahead to walk into the night towards a construction site for a raging party in the woods. Cool.

We got the call and rolled. Literally. Everyone – maybe 30 people – had bikes except Kes and I. The bikes all made it across the abandoned site and past a massive auditorium that emanated Gothic Metal. A huge canopy of tarps had been rigged up over the DJ, the dance area, and the speakeasy bar. I had visions of a raging rave with a few too many illicit substances. But I forgot I was in Germany where the aspirations for a crazy night never quite square with the more reserved natures of the participants. People danced to the techno, but kept themselves carefully within their personal space. Couples only occasionally touched for a quick kiss, but then went back to dancing solo.

After meeting more of Kes’s fellow researchers and managing to avoid most shop talk, we decided to call it a night…or day since the sun was rising as we hiked home. This isn’t so much a comment on how late we went to bed, but on how early the sun comes up. Sunrise today was around 4:30 AM, meaning the sky started to get light around 3 AM. Always remember, Europe is parallel to central Canada, not the U.S. and here we’re toeing the loop of the Arctic Circle.
The next morning we were understandably a little slow to get moving, but finally found ourselves at the Leipzig Zoo.

Lion-tailed Macaque who's been watching 2001: Space Odyssey recently.

A juvenile White Rhinoceros looking alert and tank-like.

A Spectacled Bear who just woke up from his nap.

The zoo has been around since 1878 and still has many exhibits that were built at the turn of the century such as bear pits and leopard cages, but other exhibits were very modern such as the Great Ape enclosure. The MPI is world famous for its research on ape behavior and the zoo is home to most of their studies. Three families of chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, a group of orangutans and a lone gibbon called the sprawling complex home.

The Africa exhibit was also wonderful, with wide open fields for herds of zebra, giraffe, wildebeest, and kudu. I think my favorite critters in the Africa section were the spotted hyenas. More closely related to cats than dogs the clan energetically loped across their enclosure along with two cubs. The zoo had an abundance of cute babies from sloth bears to little tigers, and two-day old goat kids.
Families had turned out in force to see the animals, and I happily listened to little people reading the signs. They spoke slowly and clearly enough for me to understand.

Meerkats doing their best to be the cutest animals in the zoo. I'm inclined to give it to them.

After some quality time with the baboons and seals, it was time for me to venture into the West. I had some packing to get done. In two days I would be fossil hunting…
Tschüss!

The pictures one more time.

Bayeux and Beaches

The album that's been illustrating the last couple of posts. Enjoy!

After a magnificent English breakfast on Easter morning, we loaded back into the car and drove into the small town of Bayeux which is famous for housing one of the masterpieces of early Medieval art: The Bayeux Tapestry.


The tapestry is really an embroidered comic strip that tells the story of the Battle of Hastings when William the Bastard became William the Conqueror.


Edward the Confessor, the king of England and the Saxons, was getting old and feeble and never produced an heir. He had two options: He could pass the crown to his son-in-law Harold, or he could give it to his nephew, William, who was reigning over Normandy. Edward decided to crown William, and he sent Harold to tell the future king the news (a really stupid plan). Edward dies and Harold takes the crown after swearing a sacred oath of allegiance to William. The betrayal isn’t taken lightly by the king of the Normans who sails across the channel with a massive cavalry, an army of foot soldiers, and a bunch of archers.


The battle ensues at Hastings and William wins, leading to Francophied English and a long, bloody debate over who rules France and who rules England.


The tapestry is 70 meters long and presents each event with Latin surcaps. It’s a fantastic insight into life almost 1000 years ago. The armor is rendered in intricate detail, food items are identifiable, and historians have used it to understand the most important values of early European monarchs.

After the tapestry we wandered through exhibits that explored the details of the time period and the battle with models of castles, characters, and family trees. I walked out vowing to read up on my early British and French history (post-Roman, that is).

We then wandered to the Bayeux Cathedral where Otto, the brother of William, set up a massive church to glorify the Normans and house the tapestry. We were also in time for the Eucharist on Easter morning. After exploring the Romanesque and Gothic interior, we piled back into the car and headed for the beaches.

First we drove near Omaha Beach. We enjoyed lunch at a small hotel/restaurant that overlooked the waves. The region is famous for supposedly inventing the omelet, so I ordered one for lunch. I wasn’t sure if that would be enough, so I ordered what I thought would be crab cakes, or maybe crab salad. I received a crab. The boiled arthropod stared me down, challenging me to figure out what to do next. I’ve eaten an entire lobster, but never tackled a crab. Eventually through a process of elimination I figured out where all the meat was and can now say I dined on crab on Easter Day in France. Don’t know when I’ll say it, but know that I can.

We started with the World War II memorials along the coast and I dunked my toes into the water. Then we drove up the coastline to the American Cemetery. We didn’t have a lot of time, since the place closed a 4:30. We were just in time to see the flag lowering performed by an American family, and assisted by a private security guy who is presumably employed by the U.S. Government. For some reason I thought we would see military personnel at the cemetery, but I suppose resources are a little too thin.

The iconic fields of marble crosses were breathtaking. So many names. So many people who never made it past 23 or even past 19. As I reverently walked past crosses of unknown soldiers, and soldiers whose families had recently decorated their graves with flowers, a slow rage began to build. This didn’t need to happen. Some historians cast Hitler as an inevitable figure. Germany was kicked into the dirt after the Treaty of Versailles, was suffering through ineffective governance, and was in the midst of depression. Someone would rise.

But it didn’t have to be Hitler. Most of Europe, most of the world, was going through depression and political turmoil. The monarchies were dead. People needed to figure out how to run their country. Fascists and communists vied for attention and power. Mussolini, Franco, and Hitler. The first two were terrible dictators and made noises about inciting war, but neither could make their threats real. There was too much internal dissension. Hitler had a vast majority of German hearts and minds behind every damning decision. His hatred for minorities and non-German nationalities was no secret. He preached oppression and anger. Most went along for the ride. There were a few voices of opposition, but not enough to change the self-destructive momentum of the country.

So, these young men had to leave their homes on the other side of the Atlantic to stop a lunatic and the willing followers he created. Hitler wasn’t inevitable, but he was made possible by German politicians, and more worryingly, normal citizens. I don’t hold modern Germans responsible for the actions of their ancestors, but standing in that cemetery I couldn’t shake my anger with those ancestors who let this happen. The rage subsided.

The cemetery was closing. We got back into the car and waited in a long line of traffic to drive further up the coast to Utah Beach. On the way we stopped in a town that was a German garrison on D-day. As paratroops started dropping into the village, the Germans were thrown into confusion, but eventually started to open fire on the descending soldiers, one of whom was caught on the church steeple. He survived by playing dead and cutting himself down. The village became the first French town liberated by the Allies, and they memorialized the event by installing unique stained glass windows. Instead of fluttering angels and putti around the Virgin and St. Michael, heroic soldiers waft through the air.

Utah preserved the beach obstacles, barbed wire, and German guns that fortified the beach. It was easier to imagine the chaos of that day as soldiers rushed across the beaches and into open fields in one of the largest operations in history.

Everywhere French, Canadian, British, Norwegian, American, and Belgian flags reminded me this was a coordinated, international effort. I tend to focus on the American side of the story, but the British had their own beaches to take (Sword and Gold), along with the Canadians (Juno).

After a day of heavy history that began with the Normans crossing the channel to fight the British, and ending with the British crossing the channel to liberate the Normans, we drove back to Bayeux for dinner. The restaurant was recommended by the Michelin Man and Rick Steves. Each dish was elegantly –maybe gaudily – presented. Dad’s chicken came with a glass of gravy crowned with a chicken leg making it tough to eat. It was all delicious, but you felt a little guilty rearranging the chef’s ornate creations.

Back to the manor to sit on the couches by the fire and prepare for another day in the car, retracing the trail of the advancing Allies up through Belgium to the Rhine.

Pictures again.