Florence, Italy: The Solo Traveler

Arno River, Florence

        I fell in love with Italy before my plane ever even landed on the ground. Circling high above Pisa and her lush coastline, I peered at the Tuscan countryside through the settling fog, feeling nothing but excitement and the impending thrill of discovery. I had always wanted to go to Italy, but the longer I waited to go, the more it seemed that the opportunity would never arise. It felt like everyone I asked had already been. “Sorry, I’ve already done Italy. But you should go, it’s amazing.”

            So as I made my plans for the spring, it appeared that Italy would not make it onto the itinerary. Bummer. But then I thought to myself, this could be the perfect opportunity for some solo traveling. I have always wanted to try it, and have never had the guts. Yes, I will travel to Italy…alone. With the last five days of my February break empty and unfilled with European adventure, it was the perfect chance. I would go to Florence, a city so full of art and history, that even an art history major like me could easily overdose!

Tuscan Countryside

            As my plane landed at Pisa’s international airport, I had one thing on my mind. Well, to be fair, three things: pizza, pasta, gelato. Not having eaten all day, and it being close to dinnertime, my stomach was doing a little more than growling. I hopped off the plane and looked for the nearest pizza place, but once I found it, my efforts at enjoying some pizza were thwarted by a large group of leering Italian soldiers. There was no question in my mind in what country I had landed, “Ciao bella, amore mio.” Taking it as a sign from God that I should wait before indulging my hunger pangs, I progressed towards the “train station”. I put this in quotation marks because the Pisa airport “train station” hardly constitutes a station of any kind. There are 2 tracks, yet the monitors post trains arriving and departing from tracks 4, 8, 13, etc. Well, those don’t exist. As you can imagine, this is somewhat confusing. After an hour or two of complete bewilderment, multiple conversations with the train assistants, and serious amounts of hand gesturing on my part, I finally gathered that the monitors referred to trains at Pisa’s central train station. Oh well, duh. How could I have been so stupid to think the monitors at the airport station would show the trains arriving at the airport? No, no, there are only two trains that come here, I was told. They arrive whenever they please. Fantastic. I would simply wait until the next train arrived. Next obstacle to tackle? Ticket purchase. Not as difficult as I had expected, but my major glitch arrived at the end. A few cents short of the ticket price, I had to stick in a ten-euro bill. Problem: the machines don’t give change. Instead, they spit out a sort of voucher for the amount you overpaid, and then you have to go and stand in an hour-long line at the train station to wait to get it reimbursed. Gotta love traveling.

Gelato

            Whilst in Pisa Centrale, waiting for my train to Florence, I figured that I had enough time to grab a quick slice of pizza before boarding. I made my way from the track to the station building, stood in line, and grabbed a piping hot piece of margarita pizza. I sat down at a table with a proper knife and fork to enjoy my first Italian meal. Before I knew it, 20 minutes had gone by, and I had to race back outside to catch my train. Of course, when I arrived at the track, no one was there. The train had somehow come early and already left. So typical me.

            After I had gotten settled into my new digs at David’s Inn, not far from the Duomo, I got in touch with some friends of my roommate, who were also in town. We decided to meet up for dinner, and went out for pizza at a little neighborhood restaurant near their apartment. The place, run by men from Naples, Italy’s pizza capital, was charming and quaint, with some of the best pizza I’ve ever had. Mine came hot out of the oven topped with big chunks of buffalo mozzarella, spicy olive oil, and farm-fresh tomatoes. So far, my culinary experience in Italy was off to a good start. After dinner, we met up with a few more people and made our way out to Volume, a trendy bar not far from the apartment.

Siena Cathedral

            Wednesday morning came early with a 7am wake-up call from my alarm. I had booked an all-day Tuscany tour, and needed to be outside the train station by 8am. The tour was made up mostly of couples and families, and I must admit that I felt like a huge loner and loser sitting on the bus by myself. However, I quickly found friends in a girl named Carla and her mother, and was set for the rest of the day. (To be honest, I think they saw I was alone and decided to befriend me…people can be so nice!) As the bus raced towards our first stop of the day, Siena, we passed traditional Tuscan homes sitting upon rolling, green hills surrounded by olive groves and cypress trees. Siena, purportedly the best-preserved medieval city in Tuscany, is home to one of the oldest universities in Europe, founded in 1240. As it happens, UVA also has a study abroad program in the city, which a few friends of mine had attended in the past. We met our very eccentric, very Italian guide after getting off the bus. As we walked through the town, she explained much about the history of Siena, and even included a visit to the oldest still-working bank in the world, Monte Dei Paschi. We made our way towards the Siena Cathedral, which can really only be described as breathtaking. Finished in 1180, it is so elaborately painted and carved, that it is hard to take in the site all at once. The interior of the cathedral is equally awesome. The sequences of alternating black and white marble, the “carpets” of marble on the floor, and the wide collection of Renaissance paintings on the walls lend an air of elegance and sophistication to the cathedral. The Piccolomini Library frescos, over 500 years old, are still so vibrant, you feel as if they were painted just hours before.

Il Campo with Carla

            After the cathedral, we walked to the Piazza del Campo, which is said to be the third most beautiful square in Europe. It is here where the Palio di Siena takes place, the famous horse race that happens twice a year, in July and August. In each race, ten horses and riders enter the competition, representing 10 of the city’s 17 districts. They whip 3 times around the clay-based course, until the winning horse crosses the finish line (rider may or may not present, I’m told). When the winning district is awarded its silk banner, it commences a month-long celebration for the win.

Part of our traditional Tuscan lunch

            We left Siena around noon, and made our way to a small, working farm outside San Gimignano. Once there, we got a tour of the farm, including their wine cellars and olive groves. After the brief tour, we sat down to a traditional, Tuscan lunch overlooking the beautiful countryside. The city of San Gimignano loomed in the distance over the rolling hills and gave the impression of a multi-towered fortress in the background.  The lunch itself consisted of bruschetta, homemade tagliatelle with meat sauce, fresh salad, 2 types of pecorino cheese, prosciutto, almond biscotti, and 4 different wines to taste (1 white, 2 red, and a dessert wine). Not having eaten anything before drinking a few glasses of wine, I think it’s pretty safe to say that I left lunch a little more than tipsy!

Tuscany

            After filling up on fresh bread, olive oil, pasta, and biscotti (you can make a fat face while reading that), we were given time to tour San Gimignano, a small city composed of skinny, winding streets and tall signal towers. We passed by shops selling hand painted Italian ceramics and beautiful table linens, and headed to a shop designated as “the World’s Best Gelato”. And I must admit, I don’t think they were lying. In my little cup I mixed three flavors: cinnamon, nutmeg and nutella, and it was just like a little bit of heaven in my mouth. For my first gelato in Italy, I was fully satisfied. To boot, as we walked around in the sunshine on the old ramparts of the city, the view of the Tuscan hills was positively breathtaking.

            As the tour neared to an end, we made our way to our final destination: Pisa. I have always wanted to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I’ve just always been fascinated by the fact that it has been leaning since its construction and never fallen down. I’m also a total perfectionist, so it boggles my mind that people could allow this mishap to occur. However, I doubt the city would be as famous as it is today if the tower was straight. On top of wanting to see the tower, I’ve always wanted to take one of those cheesy pictures pretending to hold it up. Well, mission accomplished. I looked like a fool posing for picture after picture, but I finally got the result I wanted, and am pleased that I have that memory of my trip. The real trick was trying to squeeze a picture in while everyone else was attempting to do the same…I even saw a few scuffles over some great posing spots…To be honest, not much else goes on for tourists in Pisa outside of the Tower, Baptistery, and Duomo, so we hung around there for a bit, enjoyed a cappuccino, and boarded the bus back to Florence around 7pm. Fun fact: did you know Andrea Bocelli attended university in Pisa? And that Galileo taught math there? Just a few tidbits I found pretty interesting…

Leaning Tower of Pisa!

            When we finally got back from the tour, Carla, her mom, and I decided to go for dinner at a restaurant that had been recommended to us by one of the guides on the tour. The amazingly tiny Il Cantodino was packed to the gills when we arrived. But get this, with only Italians. I didn’t hear a single foreign voice in there. At the same time, the amazing mix of aromas that swirled around from the busy kitchen was so intoxicating that I could hardly contain myself. 45 minutes later, when we were finally seated, my pesto pasta entrée (with pesto so green it looked as if it had just come off the basil plant), steak with mushrooms, wine, and roasted potatoes, was more than I could handle. All of it so good and so filling, I lapsed into a temporary food coma and had no trouble getting to sleep when I got home.

         On Thursday, I woke up early to start my day of lone sightseeing. I was off first to the Uffizi Gallery at 8:30am, because I heard the lines could get ridiculously long and I really needed to get a move on with my day. Once inside, I spent two hours roaming the halls and salons of the 3^rd largest art collection in the world. It would be impossible to name all of the artists they have in there, but some of the major Italian players were there, including Carvaggio, Verrocchio, Da Vinci, Botticelli, Raphael, Michelangelo, Masaccio, and Titian. Essentially all religious in theme, the paintings are, for the most part, on a grand scale, incredibly colorful, gilded, and could have popped right out of my Renaissance art textbook. I’ve never seen more Annunciation or Coronation of the Virgin scenes in my life, and by the time I had completed my tour, I definitely felt a little bit more holy. Good thing all of my next stops were either churches or other religious art collections…

Duomo

            My next stop after the Uffizi was the nearby church of Santa Croce, founded in 1294 and home to the tombs of Michelangelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, and Dante. It also houses many works by Giotto and Donatello, creating an overall impressive atmosphere in the wide-open, Gothic interior. Attached to the back of the church, sort of tucked off to the side, is an entire working leather shop, which makes basically any kind of leather product you want, and can even inscribe the pieces with your initials. The leather was so soft and smooth that I had to run out of there fast before I bought anything and broke my bank account!   

  I next went to the Duomo, the spectacularly unique façade that claims the center spot in the city. The exterior is so intricate and incredible, it is really only to be seen to be believed. The inside, on the other hand, is not that impressive. There’s a cool clock, but the decoration is very sparse and sober. The church, called Santa Maria del Fiore, is the cathedral church of Florence, built in the 13^th century. The dome, which is by far the coolest part of the interior, was designed by Brunelleschi. As you exit out the right-hand side of the building, the entrance to the Campanile, or bell tower, is directly in front of you. Dying for that amazing view of Florence, and needing a bit of exercise after all the pizza, pasta, and gelato that had recently entered my diet, I decided to pay the six euros and climb the over 400 steps to the top. The climb was nothing less than intense, and when the signs say “not for the faint of heart”, they seriously mean it! Wondering why I paid six euros to torture myself, I was nonetheless pleased I could eat the day’s gelato without feeling guilty. Up on the top, the views of the city were indeed incredible. You could see the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the rolling hills of the Tuscan countryside, and all the major monuments of the city amidst a sea of terracotta roofs.

View from atop the campanile

            Once I descended the tower, and had rid myself of the jelly-like feeling in my legs, I walked to the Accademia Gallery, one of the other largest tourist attractions in the city. Luckily I had booked my ticket in advance, so I slipped right by the lengthening line, and into the museum. Much smaller than the Uffizi, the Accademia’s claim to fame is Michelangelo’s David. Standing alone in an alcove, all 17 feet of the immense sculpture looms above visitors with an air of importance and perfection. Originally placed in front of the Palazzo Vecchio in Piazza Signoria, the David had became a symbol for the pride and liberty of Florence. The sculpture is, as many art historians will tell you, pure perfection. The toned musculatures, the contrapposto position, even the bulging veins in his arms and hands are so lifelike it’s hard to tear your eyes away. Once you do, you notice that there are many other paintings decorating the walls of the museum, and an impressive sculpture gallery full of busts and sculpturesall  in white marble.

            Upon exiting the Accademia, I walked to the area around San Lorenzo Church, the next item to cross off my tourism list. Starving and exhausted from walking and climbing all day, I found the small “make your own sandwich” place that had been recommended to me by a friend, and sat down to a lovely pesto, turkey, mozzarella, lettuce, and sun-dried tomato sandwich on fresh focaccia. After my lunch, I made my way directly across the street to the Medici Chapel, which is at the back of the San Lorenzo Church. A state museum since 1869, the monumental mausoleum was designed and conceived by Michelangelo. Topped by a fresco-covered dome, to say that the all-marble family tomb is opulent would be an understatement. The floor is a carpet of green, red, and multicolored marble designs, inlaid with semi-precious stones. Six tombs and a high altar, all also decorated with semi-precious stones, fill the walls of the octagonal-shaped room.

            Deciding to skip the church (and its six euro entrance fee), I headed to the local grocery store to save a few pennies and buy food to make for dinner. I was very Italian in my choices, and bought some carpaccio, mozzarella, and pesto to make a sandwich. In addition, always the savory snacker, I picked up something I remembered from my days working in a high-end Italian specialty store: patate rosmarino. I guess you could call them the Italian version of the hard pretzel, but essentially they are savory crackers, formed into sticks, seasoned with olive oil, salt, and my favorite, rosemary. More importantly, they’re delicious. Just as a side note, as I’m writing this I am sensing a seriously culinary theme to this blog post…At any rate, by the late afternoon, my legs and feet were killing me from running around all over town, so I ventured back to the hostel and settled in with a good book. A while later, I made my dinner and sat down with some girls who had just joined the hostel. An eclectic group, we included one English girl on her gap year, one Australian girl coming to study abroad in Florence, an American girl getting ready to work on an organic farm outside of Siena, a French girl coming to Tuscany for a dance competition, and little old traveling me. That right there has got to be one of the many reasons I love to travel: meeting new people from all walks of life.

Hot Chocolate

            On Friday I seized the opportunity to sleep in, as I only had a few more items to cross off my tourist to-do list. Around 11am, I got up and strolled around the markets in the San Lorenzo area. Walking around for about an hour, I saw every kind of Florentine souvenir you could imagine, from pashminas and scarves to sunglasses, magnets, and Murano glass jewelry. Having only an hour to kill before my lunch date, I strolled in the direction of the Ponte Vecchio and center city. Francesca, the girl I was meeting for lunch, was a friend of my friend Elif, who put us in touch when she realized we were both in the city at the same time. Francesca, a native Florentine, and I had been trying to get together over the few days I had been in Florence, but hadn’t, until Friday, been able to make it work. Lunch in the afternoon and then drinks in the evening was our plan, and I was excited to be hanging with some real Italians! Nevertheless, an hour loomed ahead before my lunch with her, so I took another friend’s advice and went up onto the roof of La Ricasante, where the terrace boasts great views of the city, and even better hot chocolate. Deciding to indulge, the hot chocolate that appeared in minutes on my table was literally like a melted bar of dark chocolate, so think it coated the entirety of the glass in its residue.

Boboli Gardens

At 1pm, I met Francesca on the Ponte Vecchio, where she works in one of the nice jewelry shops. We strolled to the nearby area of Santo Spirito to meet her friend Nico for lunch. Nico, a chef at Gusta Osteria, treated us to a lunch of fresh, homemade pasta at his restaurant. Afterwards we went for an American style coffee at Mama’s Bakery, owned and operated by a native San Franciscan. The café, complete with bagels, cupcakes, and many other American-style treats, was a favorite of Francesca, who had recently fallen in love with New York during her February visit. From Mama’s Bakery, Nico and Francesca went back to work, and I turned in the direction of the Pitti Palace, the last item on my checklist. The sumptuously decorated Renaissance palace dates mostly from the 15^th century, when it was commissioned and designed by wealthy Florentine banker Luca Pitti. It was bought by the Medici family during the 16^th century, and from then on became the chief residence of the ruling families of Tuscany. Nowadays the palace has been transformed into a series of exhibits and museums, including the Porcelain Museum and Wine Museum. You can also tour the Boboli Gardens and the Royal Apartments (although separate ticket purchase is required). The Wine Museum, which can be found in the summer apartments of the palace, is set in sumptuously decorated rooms and salons. The frescos on the walls celebrate the time of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and they were truly fantastic. I went through the entire exhibit looking more at the walls and ceilings of the palace, rather than at old stories of wine consumption in ancient Greece (can’t image why…) When the Wine Museum ends, it unceremoniously dumps you into the Porcelain Museum. Without warning you are ushered into elaborate displays of the Medici collection, which is so expansive and impressive, it could take days to wander around and fully appreciate the artifacts. After touring the summer apartments, I ventured outside to the Boboli Gardens. Unfortunately, the Royal Apartments were on a separate 12-euro ticket that I simply could not afford to see…besides, I figured a walk outside in the sun would do me some good. Once outside, I plugged in my iPod and began traipsing around the vast gardens. One could get seriously lost in the maze of winding paths dotted with fountains, sculptures, and groves of trees. Near the exit to the gardens is the Medici grotto, which is actually pretty cool when not crowded with snap-happy tourists.

In San Gimignano

            Once out of the palace, I did a bit of shopping along the Ponte Vecchio and Via Por Santa Maria. I grabbed some food to make dinner, and went back to the hostel to pack and get ready for the evening. A newcomer had arrived in the hostel, and she had packed solely in plastic grocery bags. Originally from India but currently a graduate student at Duke and studying abroad at LSE, and she had come to Florence for the weekend. In plastic bags. Bizarre. Around midnight I met Francesca and her friends at a club called Lochness, filled with chic Italian men and woman clad in all black, holding colorful cocktails and cigarettes in their hands. They played lots of salsa and old American music, and it was really a lot of fun! Lochness is also home to possibly the best lychee martini I have ever tasted in my life. When the club closed, I strolled home in the light rain, taking one last look at the city I had come to adore. The next morning, I would be up bright and early to catch my plane back home…

Edinburgh, Scotland: Joining the Nest

            I have always had a fascination with the bagpipes. I cannot explain why, but I just think it is the coolest, most unique sounding instrument. So naturally, on my first ever trip to Scotland, I was going to find me some bagpipers.

Bagpiper on Princes Street

Around 4pm on Thursday, February 24^th, I got off the plane from Poland and stepped onto Scottish soil. I felt like I had gone to the tropics. No real need for my wool sweater, puffy jacket, three scarves, and heavy boots? Fine by me! Waiting in line to get my passport checked, I shed all the vestiges of my Polish wardrobe (I’m quite sure the agents thought something was wrong with me, as I kept exclaiming how hot it was. In reality, it was 12 degrees), put on my sunglasses, and felt like grabbing a pina colada and heading down to the beach. Once through immigration, I took a bus into town, where I was going to meet Zanna, the girl I would be staying with over the next few days. A good friend of mine, Eliza, who I’ve mentioned before in my London blogs, asked her friend Zanna if she wouldn’t mind having an American refugee staying with her in Edinburgh for a few days. Luckily for me, she didn’t, and during the time I spent in Scotland, we became fast friends.

The milk chocolate ones are
the only ones worth your while.

Upon arrival at Zanna’s apartment, we sat down for a nice cup of tea, had a bit of a chat, and decided to go food shopping for dinner. Trips to the grocery in the UK are pretty much my favorite thing ever, as Eliza can attest to, because it feels the most like home. Note: I love the grocery stores in America. I think they are fantastic. Quite possibly because I hate the ones in France. When I was home for Christmas I would volunteer to go grocery shopping for my mom every day just so I could walk down all the aisles and soak up all the processed goodness that is America. The weirdest things make you miss home, eh? At any rate, I love Tesco’s because I also have a new obsession, thanks to my step dad: McVittie’s digestives. I have a serious bone to pick with whoever made these devilish little pieces of deliciousness. They are addicting. And ever since I brought some home for Frank for Christmas, I decided the next time I went to London I would try them. Well, Mr. McVittie, I have tried them (damn you) and will quite possibly have to have them shipped over to me from London for the rest of my life.

A bit later, over dinner, I got a hearty dose of the Kate and Will fanaticism that is currently gripping the United Kingdom. Not only was there serious desire to catch a glimpse of the royal couple at the St. Andrews fashion show we would be attending on Saturday, but also there was about a 2-hour long discussion about wedding dresses. Moving on from the subject of who is to design Kate’s dress (still a mystery to the British public), the girls then each picked out their own, discussing the advantages and disadvantages of sleeves, straps, sweetheart necklines, and trains. Call me un-girly, if you will, but I have never been one of those girls that dreams about her wedding dress, where she’s going to get married, what the flowers will look like, or any of that business. Probably because I figure I will use my wedding as an excuse to travel to somewhere I’ve never been before…Maldives, anyone? In that case, I better get married soon, or my location will be underwater…

Edinburgh

After an amazing sleep (Zanna has probably the best bed in the entire world, it cannot be contested), Zanna and I woke up early to accomplish our respective goals: mine – sightseeing, hers – essay-writing. In my planning, I had failed to notice that I would be arriving in Edinburgh at the height of dissertation and essay season. Fortunately for me, Zanna was already finished with her dissertation, and her last piece of work would be turned in before my last night in Scotland. So all partying was not lost. As Zanna raced off to the library, I enjoyed a lovely morning at the National Portrait Gallery. One of only five national portrait galleries in the world, the Scottish National Portrait Gallery was built in 1889. All of the staff wears tartan plaid pants or skirts, which I love, and speak with the lilting accent of a true Scotsman (or woman). When you arrive, you are ushered into the first floor Portrait of the Nation exhibit, which is completely devoted to memorializing Scottish identity. There were sections devoted to contributions in science, war, society, politics, writing, etc, each with larger-than-life portraits of the most famous Scots in their fields (enter, Sir Walter Scott). The remaining part of the floor is devoted to European art from the 16^th-19^th centuries. There were works by Rubens, Titian, Velazquez, El Greco, Bernini, Rembrandt, Van Dyck, and JMW Turner. Impressive. In the Italian art section there were some Titians, Raphaels, and Da Vincis, but my favorite section (as always), was the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist section, complete with Cezanne, Degas, Van Gogh, Seurat, Rodin, Monet, Sisley, and Pissarro.

Scott Monument

After roaming the museum for a while, I headed out to what is perhaps the strangest monument dotting Edinburgh’s skyline, the Scott Monument. Designed by George Meikle Kamp, dedicated to Sir Walter Scott, and completed in 1844, this Victorian Gothic monument on Edinburgh’s Princes Street is somewhat of an eyesore. In my opinion, the architecture does not really fit in with the rest of the feel of Edinburgh. However, climbing to the top does give you an incredible vantage point over the city. You can see pretty much everything – from Edinburgh Castle to Calton Hill. The climb up those 287 steps is indeed a workout, and as you exit on each viewing platform (there are 4), it gets progressively windier and windier, until you feel that at the top, you will get completely blown off! The steps up are very skinny and windy, so I asked myself how large men could even fit themselves in here. The answer to that conundrum is that large men probably don’t see the need to climb the Scott Monument. But however ugly and strange this building may be, I have special place in my heart for the Scott Monument because as I exited onto the 4^th viewing platform at the very top, somewhere in the distance, a bagpipe started playing. Looking out at the lush green countryside, the beautiful castle and the sprawling city of Edinburgh, with the bagpipes in the background, well, I knew I was in Scotland.

Greyfriar's Bobby

After my bit of exercise, I crossed over to the Royal Mile, that lovely cobblestoned tourist trap in the heart of Edinburgh. I swear I have never seen more souvenir shops in one place in my life. And cashmere shops, they love cashmere shops. You can also buy your own tartan plaid outfit, if you please. I met Zanna for lunch, and we decided to go to this tiny, hole-in-the-wall, African wrap place called Coffee etc. This is why I love staying with locals. You get to go to the places you otherwise would have missed. And no offense Coffee etc, if no one knew how good you were, I bet some people would be wary to enter, as you don’t exactly scream “amazing Somali wraps found inside.” After lunch, I made Zanna take a detour to the grave of Greyfriar’s Bobby. Never having heard this story before, I made her explain who exactly Bobby was. Apparently, back in the 1850s, this dog Bobby belonged to a man named John Grey, who worked for the Edinburgh City Police. While Grey was alive, the two were inseparable. After Grey died in 1858, Bobby spent 14 years sitting on and guarding Grey’s grave, until he died himself. On the dog’s gravestone it reads, “Let his loyalty and devotion be lesson to us all.”

Edinburgh Castle

As Zanna reentered the library for the better part of the afternoon, I traipsed up to the other end of the Royal Mile to explore Edinburgh Castle. Sitting atop Castle Rock, and providing an amazing view of the city and its surrounding areas (good for a castle, I’d say), it is an impressive sight. Apparently there has been has been a royal castle in this location dating as far back as the reign of David I in the 12^th century. It was used as a Scottish royal residence until the Union of the Crowns in 1603. The castle has played a central role in many Scottish historical conflicts, and it is where James I, son of Mary Queen of Scots, King of Scotland and later King of England, was born. The castle itself contains many different museums, including the Museum of the Royal Scots Regiment and the Scottish National War Museum. It is also home to the crown jewels of Scotland, also known as the Honours of Scotland (of course this was the primary reason for my visit). The crown, sword, and scepter date back to the 15^th and 16^th centuries, and are the oldest set of crown jewels in the United Kingdom. They were used at the coronations of Mary, Queen of Scots, James VI and Charles I. The Stone of Destiny, a block of red sandstone used in the coronation ceremonies of Scottish kings and queens for centuries, is also on display. Today, it is still used in the coronation ceremonies of the Kings of England, and it will be taken and moved down to London for the coronation of England’s next king.

With Zanna at the Sheep's Heid

Not far from the castle is St. Giles Cathedral, a Church of Scotland cathedral on the Royal Mile. Unfortunately the inside was under renovation during my visit, so I wasn’t able to grasp the full atmosphere of this gothic church. I will say something though; it has much less gilding than all of the Polish churches I visited, that is for sure.

After checking this item off of my sightseeing agenda, I retired home for a cup of tea and some McVitties digestives (of course). My feet were hurting after a long day of walking around on cobblestone streets and climbing seemingly endless amounts of stairs, so I welcomed the relaxation. As the girls had to do a bit of work, I settled in with my book, and we called it an early night.

On Saturday, we got up late and went for lunch at Sheep’s Heid, the oldest pub in Scotland. Built in 1360, this pub has had many a famous visitor, including King James VI, Prince Charles, and Sir Walter Scott. The drive to the pub, located not far outside of Edinburgh, was really pretty, as we drove through the crags, by lakes, and through the lush, green, Scottish wilderness. It was a welcome change to the harsh, cold, snow-covered, communist-looking Polish landscape. For lunch, the Sheep’s Heid serves your typical pub fare: fish and chips, haggis and neaps (and don’t even ask, no, I will never try it), sausages, etc. I had a hamburger and a pint of Tennents, which, according to my fellow diners, is essentially the Natty Light of Scotland. I don’t know anything about that, but I found a pint of it quite enjoyable. Afterwards, we only had a few hours to go home, pack up, and get ready for our journey to St. Andrews for the 2011 Fashion Show.

With Cecil at the fashion show

The drive from Edinburgh to St. Andrews was gorgeous. It reminded me much of the drives we used to take around Charlottesville and the Virginian countryside: rolling green hills, farms, beautiful houses, and sunsets that set the mountains on fire. When we arrived, the normally sleepy little university town was anything but sleepy. There were massive tents set up, loud music blaring, and lights that shone for probably a mile away. Students and partiers were making their way down the streets towards the show, which proves to be one of St. Andrews most fun events of the year. Zanna’s friend Nick had organized the entire event, so were lucky enough to score almost-VIP status. We had a table so close to the catwalk you could see the twitch of every muscle in the nervous models’ walks. On top of it, we found complimentary bottles of champagne, the makings for gin and tonics, and gift bags filled with all kinds of health and wellness goodies. The evening was off to a good start. When the lights eventually went down and the DJ started playing from his booth (elevated 12 feet or so above the catwalk), everyone went wild. So much for getting a table, I don’t think we ever sat down. Everyone was up on their feet, dancing to the music, screaming and yelling for their friends in the show, and having an all-around good time. The show itself was pretty incredible. The choreography was well done, you could tell it had been rehearsed numerous times, and everything seemed to go off without a hitch. After it was over, the crowd moved on to the after party that was taking place in an adjacent tent. Blissfully unaware of most of my surroundings, and not thinking I would run into a single person I knew (St. Andrews is a small town and the only people I knew were either with me, or not going to the even at all), I was surprised when I felt an unfamiliar tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I found it was none other than my Swedish friend Nille, who I had traveled Croatia with this past summer! He had come down to St. Andrews with a bunch of friends just for the event. Small, small world.

FS2011

Sunday morning started late as we relished in the events of the night’s extravagant affair. At noon, starving and desperately needing a Diet Coke, Cecil, one of Zanna’s flatmates, and I wandered into “downtown” St. Andrews to find something to eat. And by downtown, I mean one main street. However, I must admit it pleased me to find that things were open on a Sunday. In France, this would not be the case. We popped into McGregor’s Coffee Shop for a quick panini, which was delicious, before I went off to explore the cathedral area and Cecil went to meet her mom. As I strolled around in the brisk morning air, I soaked up everything this quaint little town had to offer. Not knowing what to expect of the cathedral I had heard so much about, I was somewhat astonished to find that it was not a cathedral at all, but rather cathedral ruins, complete with an impressive graveyard. I walked around the grounds for a bit, and then found my way out around the back, to where a pathway leads down to the pier. The seagulls squawking overhead took me right back to my days as a kid, with summers spent on the shores of Lake Michigan. I adore being near water. Having left my hair down from the night before, and forgetting a hair tie, my jaunt down to the pier was….well, hard to see, as the wind kept whipping my hair into my face. I made it about halfway down, and then decided that it was so cold, and so windy, I had better turn around. I found a bench to sit for a moment, and I noticed how many American, and not British, accents I heard. When I explored the Saint Andrews website for a bit, I found why. There is a specific admissions page dedicated to students from North America. Currently, 15% of the undergraduate student body is from the US or Canada.

St. Andrews, Scotland

Around 1pm we left the beautiful stone buildings and cobblestone streets of St. Andrews to head back to Edinburgh. We had a Scotland vs. Ireland rugby match waiting for us on the television, and these Scots were not about to miss it!

On Monday, as Zanna left to drop off her final paper, I made my way to the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen’s official residence in Scotland. It has been a royal residence for over 500 years, and is still a working palace to this day. As such, tours are only available when the royals are not in residence. The palace itself sits on 650 acres of gardens, with the Salisbury crags providing an amazing view out the left-hand side. Each summer the queen is in residence here, and there are many ceremonies and traditions that take place with her arrival. As you walk into the palace grounds, you notice that it is quite symmetrical, with two large towers on either side. The left-hand tower, as you’re looking at it, is where Mary, Queen of Scots, had her private apartments when she lived in the palace. The way you progress through the palace is along the royal processional route. You go from the grand staircase, decorated with tapestries, paintings, and a portrait of the Queen, to the royal dining room, which can seat up to 30 people. As you approach the chamber where you would meet the king or queen, the rooms get continually grander and grander, with more elaborate plaster moldings on the ceiling, and finer tapestries and paintings on the walls. In the very impressive Great Gallery, there are portraits of all the former kings and queens of Scotland, which decorate the walls from floor to ceiling. After you pass through the Great Gallery you enter a small room, in which there is a display containing the regalia of the Order of the Thistle, the highest order of chivalry in Scotland. Established by James II of England, the Order of the Thistle is comprised of 16 knights who have committed some extraordinary deed for the monarchy. In fact, a member of Zanna’s family was actually part of the Order while he was alive…

Palace of Holyroodhouse

When you enter the private chambers of Mary, Queen of Scots, you will see that they are adorned with relics of the time period, including bejeweled swords and pendants, and some locks of Mary’s hair even kept in a glass case. While you’re walking around this part of the palace, the complimentary audio guide spells out the story of the tragic life of Queen Mary, who was eventually put to death by Elizabeth I for treason. When you exit the palace and the old abbey, you come out into the gardens, which are unfortunately only open in the spring and summer months. These gardens are the site of one of the largest parties in Scotland, the Royal Garden Party, which has over 800 guests. Try getting an invite to that one!

Zanna picked me up from the palace and we went to lunch at a little restaurant called The Outsider to celebrate the end of her academic semester. From our table we had an incredible view of Edinburgh Castle, and it was hard not to appreciate all the history in the place. We toasted Zanna with a few glasses of fizzy elderflower water (possibly the greatest thing since sliced bread…or McVitties digestives, for that matter), and had a great meal.

Me and Zan

Monday night, my last night in Scotland, was too much fun. We went over to a friend’s for drinks, where I instituted fizzy elderflower water as the greatest cocktail mixer of all time. Try it. Seriously. We later made our way to Why Not, a club, and Edinburgh institution, whose VIP section (yes we were in it) is characterized by a giant RedBull fountain. Around 3am, we decided to go home so I could catch a couple hours sleep before my 5am bus to the airport. A flight to Pisa awaited me in the morning, and I will tell you, at 5am, I was less than happy to get on it!

In Poland, we just smell the bread

            I am, in every definition of the word, a sun-worshipper. Which is why, when I decided to spend my spring break in sub-zero temperatures, I almost declared myself certifiably insane. For many people, Poland could be considered quite a random vacation choice. It’s not the sunniest or happiest of places, but it’s a country full of culture and history, no matter how devastating. So, when my plans came together, and Warsaw and Krakow somehow made their way into the itinerary, I thought, why not?

            As always, my trip started with a train. It always starts with a train somehow, I find. On Friday, February 18^th, I took an overnight train from Kehl to Berlin, where I was connecting for my next train to Warsaw. I must admit that I was thoroughly pleased with my digs on the Deutsche Bahn. Their reclining chairs laid back almost into beds, and I had so much space, I almost couldn’t reach my footrest! This was a welcome change of pace from flying RyanAir, let me tell you. I boarded the train around 10pm, and settled into my chair to read my book amidst the snores and heaving breathing of those already asleep. Catching a few winks myself, the 7-hour ride flew by.
           On Saturday morning, around 7am, we arrived at Berlin’s central train station, and I had my first taste of how cold this leg of my journey was to be. The station is semi-open, welcoming birds to fly in and out at their leisure and poop wherever they please. However, I did spot out of the corner of my eye, a little jewel squeezed back into the corner of the station, the blissfully familiar green and white sign of Starbucks. For my two-hour layover, I sat with my hot cup of coffee, staring out at the typically grey, winter day in Germany. When I finally boarded my train to Warsaw, my feet and hands were practically numb. Despite what anyone tells you, leather gloves do not keep you warm.

Poland. Covered with snow.

            My second train ride was rather enjoyable, as I squished into a 6-person cabin occupied by three old, Polish ladies who, resilient as they were, would not give up trying to include me in their conversations, despite the overtly obvious fact that I do not, in any capacity, speak a single word of Polish. When they finally realized my blank stares were stares of utter incomprehension rather than unawareness of their existence, they offered me candy and got back to their conversation. As we rolled along through the Polish countryside, the amount of snow on the ground seemed to increase as headed eastward. This was not a welcome sight. I am of the firm belief that snow has no purpose unless it is for skiing. Poland does not seem to agree. When I arrived in Warsaw, I had absolutely no idea where I was going. No one spoke English, I couldn’t understand the signs, and I was quite alone. My friend Nick, who I was meeting there, told me to “look for a taxi sign, and then take a right.” Simple enough. Except try finding about 500 taxi signs within 10 feet of the platform. I chose the nearest one (wrong), and ended up in an underground labyrinth of stores and shops that seemingly had no end. Spotting a coffee shop, I thought it would be best to sit and wait until I heard from Nick on where to go. I delighted in my overpriced, unpalatable cup of coffee as a refuge from the confusing maze of Polish life I had unknowingly entered below the train station.

            An hour or so later, I met Nick, and could settle in comfortably to my new Polish digs. Back at his house we enjoyed an afternoon snack of quesadillas and cupcakes, quite an odd combination, before I got the grand tour, and then prepared myself for a dinner out in downtown Warsaw. We went out to a restaurant called Kucharzy, which Nick amusingly described as a “communist restaurant”(I’m still not sure I understand why). At dinner we were five, Nick and his friend Monika, and another couple, Anastasia and Johnathan. As we walked into the restaurant, I felt I could only describe the décor of this place as sparse. Nothing on the walls, or anywhere for that matter, and seemingly covered everywhere with white tile, it can only be said that it strongly resembled my bathroom.

Tastes much better than it looks...

            Nick’s favorite thing on the menu is their steak tartar (done in a “Polish manner”, I was assured). So in an effort to do and try everything, which should be one’s motto whilst traveling, that is what I ordered. Apparently in Poland, this delicacy is accompanied by a shot of vodka. As their waiter said, “you need a tough drink to counteract the tough meat.” Being the only one eating tartar and not driving, I was on my own for the vodka shot. Oh how I love drinking alone. Not. However, I did learn an interesting Polish trick, if you will. When the vodka gets to be a bit too much, and you have the strong alcohol taste sitting in the back of your throat, you are meant to “smell the bread” to cut the taste. Let’s just say I needed about 12 pieces of bread for this shot. In other words, it doesn’t work.

            Overall, dinner was fun, and the beef tartar was thoroughly enjoyable. We spent the better part of the meal discussing how the Polish language sounds to Americans, and I think I can say, with all honesty, that when I hear Polish, it sounds like this, “smeh smeh smeh, smeh smeh.” I will not be making an effort to learn this language…After dinner we raced off to a club called Sketch, where we were to meet (get ready for this) my UVA friend Jose’s best friend from home in the Dominican Republic, Yong, who currently lives in Warsaw. How I love how small the world actually is. Sketch was crowded, seemingly the popular place in Warsaw for people to spend their nights out. We stayed until close, and then made our way back to Nick’s to get some sleep.

Warsaw Old Town

            Sunday morning we woke up to a breakfast of French toast, coffee, juice, homemade bread, and hot dogs (so random, but apparently Polish people eat these for breakfast), all prepared by the family’s amazing chef. After our meal, we decided to check out the Chopin museum, and arrived there in early afternoon. It must be said that the Frederick Chopin museum is the most poorly laid out museum I have ever been into in my life. The exhibit starts out two floors below the entrance, so that if you proceed as normal, and go to the exhibit on the first floor, you end up in the middle of his life. None of the exhibits flowed into one another and I caught myself staring at some things thinking, “why in the world is this here?” The top floor of the museum was entirely devoted to his death, which is somewhat creepy. There were even some locks of his hair on display that had been taken before his embalming. Walking through, I felt it was just a bit TMI for everything. They retell practically every letter he ever wrote in his entire life in exact detail, and even letters people wrote to one another about him. For some, it was a bit like, who cares? The museum’s attempts at being interactive were incredibly confusing, as you had to use your museum pass to play things, but your pass was coded to Polish, so if you didn’t speak Polish…well, too bad. To boot, a lot of the time the interactive bits didn’t even work. Essentially, the moral of Chopin’s story is that he was a musical genius who died young and was a big weirdo during his life. One thing that was cool though, was that they had the last piano he ever used on display inside the museum.

Enjoying Polish doughnuts

            After the museum, we went to Warsaw’s Old Town, basically the only part of the city that doesn’t look like Stalin built it. Probably because it’s the only part of the city that survived when Hitler boomed the living daylights out of Warsaw. It has windy cobblestone streets and old brick buildings, and feels a lot like old Europe. We ducked into an old church, ate Polish doughnuts (filled with marmalade, delicious), and explored as many of the little shops as we could before our hands and feet were numb from the cold. Late in the afternoon, we had lunch at a sushi restaurant, which, I’m really surprised to say, was very good. For being in the middle of Poland and not on the water, I was impressed. Afterwards, I had just enough time to change and get ready for dinner, before we dashed out to drop Monika off at the train station and make it to Yong’s for 7:30pm. The dinner was a lot of fun, as Yong had two Polish friends there to join us. They had made a delicious meal of saffron rice, salad, shrimp, and garlic bread…not very Polish, but still good! We talked a lot about life in the Dominican Republic, and Yong recounted stories of his misspent youth. One thing I did learn was that poor people in the Dominican steal manhole covers to melt them down and sell the metal. So, if you’re ever in the Dominican and see a missing manhole cover, you now know why. Apparently, Polish people also steal manhole covers for the same purpose. The average annual Polish salary is 24000 złoty, about $8,300. If you had to live off of that, you’d probably steal manhole covers too.

            After a few bottles of wine, we waxed philosophical and moved on to topics such as, “Does having a lot of money truly make you happy?”; “Is there such a thing as a selfless good deed?”; “If you were the richest person in the world, what would you do with your money?”; and my personal favorite, “Do the illuminati actually run the United States?” Looking back, I have absolutely no idea how we got onto these topics of conversation, but I must admit, it was very entertaining.

Exhibit from the Warsaw Uprising Museum

            Monday morning we were up early, as my only way into the city for my day of sightseeing was to accompany Nick as he drove to work at 8am. Let me just say that sightseeing in Warsaw, in February, when it’s -16 degrees outside, is not my idea of fun. I nabbed a cab from Nick’s office to the Warsaw Uprising Museum, using the time to test out the few words of Polish I had learned. After my complete butchering of the language and the cab driver’s inability to understand (I don’t blame him), I reverted to English and was on my way in no time. The museum itself, placed a bit outside of city center, had an incredibly austere exterior. If the cab driver hadn’t pointed the tiny, almost imperceptible sign saying, “Muzeum Powstania Warszawskiego”, I would never have known this was a museum. When you walk in, the first thing you hear is the sound of planes flying overhead and bombs dropping. It was so lifelike I looked up to see what in the world it could be before I realized it was more for creating a mood inside the museum than for scaring patrons. In all of my studies of World War II, I had never even heard of the Warsaw Uprising, the event to which this entire museum is dedicated. Essentially, during the war, Hitler destroyed the city of Warsaw. He blew up the palace, stopped education for Polish children, censored all news and information, etc. Finally, in August of 1944, the Polish resistance Home Army rebelled in an effort to liberate Warsaw from Nazi Germany. In the end, over 200,000 people died, mostly civilians.

Palace of Science and Culture

            As you walk into the museum, there is another sound that mixes in with the sound of bombs and airplanes, a sound so familiar to us, we hardly notice it anymore, the sound of the human heartbeat. The constant heartbeat is loud inside that small space, and “beats in remembrance of those who fought and perished” in the uprising. This museum, in contrast to the Chopin museum, was very well done. There was a lot to do: movies to watch, texts to read, drawers to open, and binoculars to look through to pick up pieces of information. A lot of it was nauseating. Movies of people picking up emaciated dead bodies from the street, Jews being shot, hanged, and gassed, or bodies being unceremoniously dumped into piles and then burned.

            During the rebellion, the Poles used the sewer system to carry messages and important information about Nazi whereabouts. The museum has a replica of the Warsaw sewer system that you can walk through and really feel what it was like to be down there. After exploring the museum, you begin to understand that this uprising is one of the proudest moments in Polish history. The people came together to fight their common enemy, and that is a beautiful memory in the midst of all their horror.

View from the Palace of Science and Culture

            After 2 hours in the museum, and swelling with some adopted Polish pride, I grabbed another cab back into the city to explore the Palace of Science and Culture. This downtown Warsaw monument, which was built by Stalin, has become synonymous with the city itself, and stands as the most elegant and largest building in the city. I entered the building and took the elevator up to the 30^th floor for a panoramic view of the city. To be honest, Warsaw is not the most beautiful place on earth. It’s very grey, industrial, and looks as if construction is going on all over the city. From the Palace of Science and Culture, you can’t see the one building that makes the city stand out because you’re in it! When you ride the elevator down from the 30^th floor balcony, it does not take you back to where you started. Confusion begins. It drops you down into an exhibit about evolution, that even if you don’t want to see, you’re forced to. There was seemingly no exit to this place, and as I was wandering around the endless halls, looking for some way to get out, I actually thought I would be trapped there for hours, with no one in sight, no service on my phone, and if someone did eventually come, I wouldn’t even be able to explain to them the problem because I didn’t speak Polish. I managed to escape after a number of minutes, and welcomed the fresh air outside.

"Here lies the heart of Frederick Chopin"

            I walked a good twenty minutes or so in the direction of a church across town where Chopin’s heart is buried. Spying a coffee shop out of the corner of my eye, and knowing I had a good book in my bag, I popped in for a good hour and half to relax and read before finding the heart. I did eventually make it to the Church of the Holy Cross, which has the most gilding I’ve ever seen inside a church (in addition to the heart). There are incredible paintings and triptychs, and it was so quiet, I could just sit and soak up the art and religion. After some peaceful contemplation, I walked to the Church of the Nuns of the Visitation, one of Warsaw’s oldest buildings. Not being able to read the sign in Polish on the door, and oblivious to a very specific car parked outside, I waltzed into the church, only to find that I had stumbled upon a funeral. The car? A hearse. The sign in Polish? Probably said, “Do Not Disturb”. It’s times like this when I wished I understood at least a little of this complex language…

            I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the city, doing a bit of shopping, and waiting for Nick to get off work. When he did, we went out to a classy little bar for a glass of wine, and then home for an amazing dinner of pierogi, which are essentially boiled, fried, or baked dumplings filled with a multitude of foods. For the main course, one can have pierogi stuffed with meat or potato, and for dessert, ones filled with fruit or cheese, topped by a special cream sauce. Afterwards, because Nick wanted to complete my knowledge of the Warsaw Uprising and WWII, we watched The Pianist, a Roman Polanski film in which Adrian Brody plays a Jewish musician who struggles to survive in the Jewish ghetto of Warsaw during the war. If you haven’t seen it, you should. It’s a great film.

Krakow

            On Tuesday morning, I was up early to pack, shower, and eat breakfast all before I needed to catch my 9:30am train to Krakow. As Nick had to work, his brother drove me to train station, and thank god he did, because I otherwise would never have made my train. Here is the thing about Polish train stations: no one speaks English. On top of this fact, none of the announcements are in any language other than Polish, so if the platform of your train gets changed, and you don’t speak Polish, you’ll most likely miss the train altogether. Feeling quite helpless, Mike helped me get my ticket, find the platform, and decipher which wagon and seat I was in. After that, the train ride itself was easy. Once in Krakow, I found my way easily to my hostel, as it was on the main square in Krakow that constitutes most of the tourist beat. After settling in and booking my Auschwitz tour for the next day, I went to have lunch and walk around for a bit.

Pierogi

          Taking a recommendation from the Krakow native running the hostel, I went to a place called Babci Maliny, a restaurant that was decorated much as if the Victorian age had never ended. There were copious amounts of pink lace, velvet, dainty chairs, and kitschy Polish paraphernalia that decorated the subterranean restaurant. Still on a pierogi kick, I decided to order one of their specials, a plate that came with three different kind of pierogi: Russian, which are filled with cheese and potato, meat (which were my favorite), and mushroom and cabbage (not so good). I also had a small side of Cracovian potoatos, which were to die for, if you like dill. Basically I spelled lunch C.A.R.B.S., but it was delicious. Not able to finish the meal, as there was too much of the very heavy and filling food, I moved on to do some sight seeing. One of the landmarks of Krakow is Saint Mary’s Basilica, which houses the Veit Stoss Altar. The church itself, built in the end of the 13^th century, is a perfect example of Gothic architecture in Poland (or so I was told). The interior is predominantly painted in gold and blue, with symbols of the Polish monarchy on the walls. It’s relatively dark, but as you look towards the altarpiece, with the stained glass windows behind it and the ornate ceiling above, it generates a light that is powerful and overwhelming. The altarpiece, which was designed for the worship of St. Mary, is the largest Gothic altarpiece in the world, created in the 15^th century by sculptor Veit Stoss and funded by the townspeople of Krakow.

Cloth Hall

            After visiting the church, I made my way to the Cloth Hall, a sort of central market that has all kinds of jewelry, devotional objects, furs, leather goods, souvenirs, glass, pottery, etc. You name it, they probably have it. It used to host the city’s central market, but is now home to Krakow’s biggest tourist trap. As I walked around outside, I noticed how much the city was a mix of traditional and modern. For example, you’ll find the Hard Rock Café in an old, prewar building, sitting right next to St. Mary’s Basilica. It’s much prettier than Warsaw because it wasn’t bombed and ruined by the Nazis. After the Cloth Hall, I walked to Wawel Castle and Cathedral, built in the 14^th century. As luck would have it, all of the exhibits inside the castle were closed, but the cathedral was still open to the public. Essentially the Westminster of Poland, Wawel Cathedral is the burial place of many Polish kings, queens, and princesses, as well as poets, musicians, bishops, etc. The church, fitting in with all the other Polish churches I have seen, is impressive. It is very ornate on the inside, with many little chapels and monumental tombs. As I walked outside the church, the snow started to fall in tiny flakes, which cast a romantic glow over the whole castle and cathedral exterior. I walked home not hating the snow, but rather enjoying it for the first time in a while.

Wawel Cathedral

            Back at the hostel, I met the two girls sharing my room, Sunita and Sheena, two Canadian girls who were traveling all over Eastern Europe for about 6 weeks. Still full from our respective lunches, we decided to go out to grab a drink together. As always, we looked for the quirkiest and most idiosyncratic place we could find: The Mexican. A clever name for this tiny hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant that served by far the weirdest tortilla soup I have ever seen. Basically a mix of whatever was left in the kitchen, the girls’ soups looked like chicken broth mixed with kidney beans, whole tortilla chips, cheese, and peppers. Happily content with my Corona, I found the “Zorro” that zoomed around the restaurant with sparklers to be the highlight of my evening.

            The next morning, the three of us ventured out for our tour to Auschwitz-Birkinau. Now, I don’t have to tell you how depressing and sobering the experience was. But I will tell you some of the things that astonished me throughout the day, and some of the facts I had never really comprehended before visiting this place of horror for myself.

            Over one million, one hundred thousand people died in Auschwitz during World War II. Established in 1940, it was the largest Nazi death camp, equipped with four crematoria, 46 furnaces, and barracks that each housed over one thousand people, six to a bunk. Almost all the Jewish children that were sent to this camp were murdered. And of the 1,300,000 people sent here, only 200,000 made it out alive. Auschwitz was chosen as the perfect place for a concentration camp because it had previously been a Polish garrison, so there were already barracks here. It was isolated and the area had never been bombed by the Allies. In 1942, the Nazi’s decided that the “solution to the Jewish problem” was their complete and total annihilation. For whatever reason, the majority of Jews at this time lived in Poland - over 3.5 million. Today in Poland there are only 12,000 Jews.

Gate to Auschwitz

            Of the 1.3 million people at Auschwitz, 90% of those killed were Jews. Others included Soviet prisoners of war, Polish political prisoners, gypsys, etc. Our guide’s uncle was among those sent to Auschwitz to die. As we toured through the barracks, now converted into museums telling the story of the concentration camp, our guide explained that “nothing in the camp went to waste”. All of the belongings that people brought with them to the camp were taken, sorted, and sent back to the Third Reich to be sold. Their shoes, combs, cooking utensils, suitcases, crutches, eyeglasses, prosthetic legs, etc. Everything. Even their hair was taken to be made into yarn. I had to resist the urge to vomit as I walked into a room where over 2 tons of human hair sat piled up behind the glass window. In the next room sat thousands upon thousands of suitcases with peoples’ names, dates of birth, and country of origin written on them. Sarah, being a Hebrew name, was written on more than a few.

            In some of the barracks, pictures of those who died at the camp adorn the walls, with their dates of entry into the camp, and their “date of expiry”. Many died within just days or weeks of arrival. We toured the torture units, where the Nazis had “starvation cells”, “suffocation cells”, and “standing cells”. We went inside the gas chambers and crematorium where so many were killed. A sign read, “you are standing inside a building where the SS killed thousands of people.” To stand where they had, decades before, been led to their deaths, was a lot to handle. As we walked around, our guide explained the “industrial genocide” that occurred in Auschwitz. On the bus ride home, it was hard to shake the mood from the experience.

Smalec. Nasty, nasty, nasty.

            A few hours after our return, the girls and I had regained our appetites, and decided to try a restaurant that Nick had recommended. We found Chlopskie Jadlo not far off the main tourist beat, in a comfortable, farmhouse-type atmosphere. Much like how you’ll find bread on the table in an Italian restaurant, or tortilla chips in a Mexican restaurant, a loaf of bread was placed on our table with two condiments. One was a white cheese, that looked basically like cream cheese with dill and cucumber, and the other, which before knowing what it truly was, I could only described as Thanksgiving in a bowl, and not in a good way. It was incredibly salty and tasted of some kind of unidentifiable meat. When we finally asked the waitress what it was, she said, “Oh, pork fat and lard,” like it was the most normal thing in the world. Known to Poles as smalec. It's apparently a peasant dish. I could not believe I had tried it. Again in an effort to try everything once, I ordered some typical Polish dishes. To start, I had a cup of rye flour soup, which was so sour and bitter that I had about two bites and had to stop (I also found some unidentifiable chunks at the bottom that I was not about to risk). For my main meal, I ordered a special Polish dish that has no English name. It came with three different kinds of meat, including ham, sausage and chicken (I think), plus roasted potatoes in a yogurt-based sauce with dill (they really like dill here). The meat was made with lots of garlic and other spices, and altogether, that part of the meal was not so bad.

            Later that evening the girls left for the train station, and I was alone in our room. Alone with my thoughts. Not able to shake what I had seen earlier, I decided to take a few Benadryl and get a good night’s sleep before traveling early to Scotland the next morning. Having spent a good five days trapped in a vivid memory of Hitler and WWII, I knew I would welcome Edinburgh’s more pleasant history…