Stone Life

My time in Muenchen is growing short, and I nearly left the city without seeing something that I had every intention of seeing for weeks. A neighboring town, not more than 30 minutes from the house where I am staying is Dachau. I was told to give myself as much time as I could, and so after class I raced to the Hauptbanhof and caught a train heading that direction.

My expectations upon departure were to come to a desolate camp, isolated from the rest of the area, and utterly depressing. What I found was something quite different. The town of Dachau is much the same as every other town that I had encountered in Bavaria, surrounded by trees and rivers, quaint shops and houses, and the general quiet atmosphere that makes the land what it is.

I caught a bus to take me the 20 minutes further to the memorial ground, and I was surprised again to find that Dachau Concentration Camp lies in the middle of the city. The area surrounding the walls is so lush and full, hardly fitting of a Nazi torture center. It was sunny as I stepped from the bus, surrounded by loud tourists from all over the world, but upon entering the gates of the camp, as if on cue, lighting struck and it began to pour. The clouds darkened the place, and the mood was set.

As you walk through the gates there reads a sign “Arbeit Mach Frei”, which is something to the effect of “work will make you free”, a lie perpetrated by the Nazi’s. I learned that that is the way they managed to fool the masses into believing that what they were doing was noble. They convinced the world that they were rounding up those unwilling to work, or dangerous and “reforming” them through labor. I walked through several exhibits that detailed the propaganda techniques of the Hitler and his men, and how they were able to deceive so many. I had never seen convincing proof before of how people could be so blind for so long.

Apart from the extensive displays detailing the rise of the Third Reich, beginning after the defeat of Wolrd War I, which in themselves were fascinating, I was privy to the camp as seen through the eyes of the prisoners. From walking through the shower/torture room, the barracks, the role-call yard, the gas chambers, and even the furnaces used to dispose of the bodies, there was such a sense of unreality. How was such a thing possible? I realize such thoughts are cliche, but that was my overwhelming thought.

I led me to think, though. Could such a thing happen again? I am not one to make too many bold, inflamatory statements, but I could not resist thinking about modern day America. (Disclaimer: I am in no way making a case that America is like Nazi Germany) We are a nation that has used our might to wage war with a section of the world, and have certainly rubbed the rest of the world the wrong way. We have detainment camps, such as Guantanamo Bay, or Abu Graib, and they have been created under the auspices of “detaining potential terrorists”, or generally to keep America safe. We have heard about injustices at these facilities, but we call them isolated and overexagerated, and we believe that a greater good is being accomplished. Is it not possible that we could be fooled just as the Germans were?

Like I said, there are far too many differences between Nazi Germany and the U.S., Hitler and George Bush, but it certainly allows for a bit of perspective. If nothing else, it causes me a bit more sympathy for Germans who were perceived to have just “looked the other way”.

After leaving the camp, the rain had stopped, and so I thought it might be nice to walk the 45 minutes back to the Bahnhof. It has been nice to not be on any kind of schedule and have the privelage of meandering back and forth from places. So, I set off in search of the station, and 10 or 15 minutes into my trip the clouds opened up again and it began pouring. I sought shelter under an umbrella outside of a biergarten, but I was still becoming quite soaked. I ducked into a bar next door, had a beer in hopes that the rain would subside, but it did not. Finally I decided that a little rain would not hurt me, and I continued my trip.

An hour or so later, here I am, soaking wet, and glad to be under a roof.

Saturday evening and Sunday we spent the day in Tubingen, another small town bordering Bavaria. We stayed in another living community of sorts for students at the university in the town. We stayed out late on Saturday night, and then Sunday we roamed around the city.

Just behind the two pictures up top lies the Philosophy and History wing of the University, and these are both very old and very famous. I believe they were established sometime in the 1400′s, and they have housed some of the greatest German minds in history. Luckily for me we stayed with a group of philosophy students who were more than willing to walk us through the building and discuss German philosophy with me. What a treat to be able to speak about Heidegger and Nietzsche with those who have actually read it in its original language. The history of thought in Tubingen has left a legacy that those enrolled there do not take lightly. This was by far one of the best experiences of my trip.
As the last two pictures show, Tubingen is built upon a river, though I cannot remember which one it is, and hills. Everywhere that you walk to is either up hill or down, there are no in betweens. After having climbed Muenster the day before, it was very taxing to climb the steep hills in Tubingen all day. The city is beautiful, though. It really gives you a feel of “old world” Germany, where life is just not as fast paced and hectic as the modern world.

The way home was another adventure in itself. Though we were exhausted, Max and Anja did not want to settle for buying a 35 Euro ticket for the three of us to get home, and so they walked around the Hauptbahnhof in Tubingen asking people if they had a ticket that the 3 of us could latch on to. You see, each weekend pass is good for 5 people, and so the search was on to find a couple who were travelling to Munich. After a bit of searching and asking we lucked out and found a couple heading exactly for Munich. We joined them, and 4 or 5 trains later we were in Neuaubing again. Once again, it was quite an experience. 

Apparantly I am a much shakier cameraman than I like to imagine, so these did not turn out nearly as clear as I would have liked them to, but these are just a few pictures of from inside the chapel of Muenster. I do not know if these do the place justice, but it was breathtaking on the inside.



 

I have the digital equivalent of a role of film taken in the towns of Ulm and Tubingen, but for the sake of time and your eventual boredom I will limit myself to a few of note, with the obligatory long-winded diatribes that seem to accompany them.

Saturday morning we awoke (though it was probably almost noon) to a bright sky, perfect for climbing, that is right, climbing. As the pictures illustrate, Ulm is home to the tallest church in the world, Muenster.

I persuaded Anja, though perhaps the size and weight of my backpack should have caused me to think better of the idea, to scale the summit of the mighty Muenster, and so we did.

Imagine, if you will, a stone closet, no large than the size of the one in your hallway that houses your winter coats, extend it almost straight up for about 7oo stairs, and that should give you some idea of the trip to the top. We
climbed and climbed, and finally we made it to the top, a breathtaking sight. Ulm and the border of Bavaria sprawled out before us like an architectual model of some ancient city, hardly appearing real, and I could say or do nothing except stare, both at the beauty of the landscape, and at the architecture of something so massive built several hundred years before my home country came into existence.

As I came down, much fast than I ascended I might add, more than the feelings of awe and wonder, I was left with one overriding emotion, sadness. I was truly, deeply saddened at the thought that the German people live in the shadows of some of the most spectacular churches known to man, but they are viewed as little more than tourist attractions or premodern examples of the greatness of German craftsmanship.

In short, Christianity has been widely discarded here, placed somewhere in the middle ground between careless apathy and outright rejection, leaning towards disdain. These magnificient structures that dot the roadways of towns and villages both large and small are as ghost-towns on Sunday mornings, shells of their former selves.

The place that birthed Martin Luther, who in turn birthed the modern Christian movement with his utterly rebellious, grace-laced salvation by faith alone, has now subjugated this “faith” to much the same realm as the recycled trash that they sort so thoroughly, good for its orignal purpose, but now serving no conceivable good. So it has been tucked away into the realm of folklore and superstition, and perhaps were it not for the ominous buildings such as Muenster, it would be forgotten completely.

These are the thoughts that circled about my head as I walked down cobblestone streets of Ulm, much the same as they have as I daily pass the churches in Muenchen on my common route; the very same buildings whose towers cast their long shadows on the people of Germany house something so precious, and yet so forgotten.

So, enjoy the spectacular view, and, as I did from the tallest point in the Christian world, pray for the people of Germany, pray that their heritage, so rich in the foundations of the faith, might be recovered as the Israelites did so long ago.

postBody 

I am on someone else’s computer in Ulm, so I am going to make this quick. First of all, sadly, I have watched the final game of the 2006 NBA Finals, and my heart has been broken for the last 24 hours. I do not have the energy to speak of it right now, but your comments and emails are welcome now. Thank you for allowing me to experience on my own. In Munich, the NBA receives no attention at all, so each game was a surprise when I watched it a day or two late.

Obviously, as I mentioned a moment ago, we are in Ulm, a small University town an hour or two outside of Munich. For the first time in my life I hitchhiked to get here. Anja and I went together to the bus and headed to the edge of Munich. I was warned that once we stepped onto the edge of the Autobahn entrance that it might take a bit of time to get a ride, but hopefully not too long, as Anja assured me she had luck in this location. Well, literally no more than 45 seconds after she stuck her thumb out onto the road, a car pulled over and offered us a ride.

Picture this, a car that might be smaller than my Mini, filled with luggage and junk so that it was pouring from the open windows, but they invited us in nontheless. We sat down in the back and they piled things on top of us until pretty much only our heads were showing so that we could breathe. We spent the next hour or two driving down the Autobahn with a delightful couple from France (him) and Germany (her). We all spoke an interesting mixture of French-German-English, and the ride was extremely enjoyable, mostly on account of the gorgeous farmland that rolled for miles outside of the window. Everything is just so green in Bavaria. I have never seen so many different shades of the same color, but in Deutschland I have.

Upon arrival we wandered about the city until finally finding the dorm of the student that we are staying with. Tonight 4 of us will sleep in a small dorm room, smaller than any I have been in in the U.S. Tomorrow we will head for Tubingen, another University town with an interesting heritage.

I am adding something to my travelling repertoire this weekend by doing something that I vowed I could never, would never do. I am going to hitchhike with Max and Anja to a few of the semi-neighboring cities this weekend. I do not think that I would have the gall to do it by myself, but they do it all the time, and say it is quite easy in Germany. Apparantly three cannot do it together, so I will travel with Anja and Max will fend for himself. I feel very Kerouack-esque.

Sorry for the relative lack of communication lately, for those of you reading faithfully. School has been quite tough these last two weeks. When they say “intensive”, they really mean it. Not only is the class fast paced, and not English is spoken from start to finish, but the homework is fairly difficult. A quick aside; it was such a beating for the first week or so, because they homework assignments are all explained quickly in German, and so there has been a few times that I have turned in the wrong page, or not done what was asked of me because I did not catch the nuances of what he/she were asking.

Yesterday evening was very enjoyable. Max and Anja asked me yesterday afternoon if I would like to go swimming with them this evening, and, since it has been very warm in Munich these last few days, and I had blown them off to study the previous night, I decided I would join them, though I really should have stayed in to study. They took me to an extremely nice spa of sorts, filled with water activities of varying degrees. It was a massive complex with indoor olympic-like swimming pool, waterslide, lazy-river, and an indoor-outdoor saltwater spring, with jets coming out of the floor. Apparantly it is a pretty swanky place to lounge, but for the last 1 1/2 hours each night they offer a 3 Euro price for the “commoners” to come and enjoy. A sizeable crowd partook, and it was a welcome relief after a bike ride through the city.

The best part, though, was the sauna-wing of the complex. The upper floor was a giant sauna area, which I was thrilled about, loving steam saunas as I do, but this was quite different than the ones I had been to in the States. First of all, there are numerous signs proclaiming that there are no bathing suits allowed, and so there were a host of nude bodies walking about the sealed-off upper floor. Secondly, it was coed. Once again, the European mind seems to have no qualms about nudity, and so men and women mingled together in the buff, enjoying the sauna experience.

There were rooms of different temperatures, from what I gathered, but Max and I chose the hottest one, which was filled with the typical stair-like wooden benches surrounding two large platforms in the middle of the room piled atop with rocks. After spending the first twenty minutes sweating and relaxing an attendent came in with a bucket of water. She proceed to ladel a minty liquid over the rocks that served to both clear your sinuses and intensify the heat tremendously. She then went around with a towel and waved the steam directly onto each person, and it was almost more than the body could take. My lungs and nose burned, my breathing strained, and my head was swimming, but, despite that poor description, it was such a great feeling.

When we could take no more we exited and lowered ourselves, one at a time, into a cold-water bath that shocked your system. As we stumbled down the stairs, exhausted and relieved, we vowed to return to this place at least once in the next week and a half before I hit the road. 

This is exactly why I love being a Mav’s fan, and, yes, love the fact that Mark Cuban is the owner (sorry Debby). I love reading his blog, and during the Finals run he has been in top form. Take your mind off the “doom and gloom” scenarios that are floating about and enjoy some good old fashioned ‘ranting’.

Go Mavs!