Grand European Adventure in pictures

Personally, I had no idea I'd taken so many photos. Granted, it's been more than a week and a half for me of traveling through Europe and seeing as my experience took me all around Europe, there were bound to be a great quantity of photo moments. But nearly 2,000? I certainly couldn't have called that. And even once widdled down to a manageable number, I have been able to compile a scrapbook of just under 200 photos, looking back at every single image in the process of choosing the most universally attractive photos has allowed me to relive an experience that (despite happening as recently as today) feels miles and ages away from when and where I am now.

After traveling through an extensive maze to navigate to the underground and the overground trains in Roma, all just to make it in time for a flight back to the UK, I am exhausted. And after searching through all my photos from the trip, I'm even more tired.

So here are just a few of my favorite photos that I took while in Europe this past week and a half:

According to Denise, there was a festival for the release of the new annual Christmas beer in København the day I arrived. Couldn't find it, but did see this lovely collection of unopened cans.

The most well-known monument of København is the state of Den Lille Havfrue. She's surrounded by tourists taking photos, including this guy (and me, as it just so happens).

 Still in København, we hang out on the body of water separating the royal residence from the København Opera House. This little dog in the photo was so hyperactive that it followed bikes everywhere and did hand stands.

Onto München. While I was disappointed in the biergartens being closed during the winter season, I found the setup of the unused garten very gorgeous.

Later, I climbed to the top of Peterskirche, which boasts some spectacular views of München. Though I was wiped by the end of the climb, it was worth the slightly aching limbs.

I will refrain from sharing many photos from Dachau, but I think this one is pretty interesting - it contains preserved barbed wire from decades ago that was used to keep inmates within the confines of the camp.

Back into the city center is the Viktualienmarkt with fresh produce and other random artisinal foods (some made by an angry farmer's market man).

Not long after, I was on my way to Wien, where my friend Dom showed me around quite a few places and through back alleys that were just gorgeous.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart...in no way underrepresented in Wien.

Following the Mozart craze, however, was my exit from Wien and my entrance into Roma. As you may or may not know, the drivers in Italy move way too quickly and don't look for pedestrians. But their fast moving vehicles make for good photographs.

In trying to get situated with Italian culture, I found myself exploring a market just off the beaten path near the Protestant Cemetery. There were kitschy items, food items, a small bookstore, etc.

And just to cap off this little insight into my time in Europe, this is a photo that I believe wraps up some difficult to convey emotions that were inspired by every stop along my European adventure. There's the warmth of street lamps, the classic looking buildings, etc. The feeling of history.

At this point, I've had to wish Europe a fond farewell. Starting a few hours ago when I left the city of Roma, I've lamented at not being allowed back in (unless I were to buy another plane or train ticket).





Yet returning to the UK was one of the most extraordinary and comforting feelings of my life. And when I really think about it, for the time being these photos are enough. Europe is a great continent to visit, but that doesn't mean we have to cry over it. We should rejoice in its photogenic beauty.

And that we shall.

European highlights, a retrospective

In several hours this long awaited and long lasting European adventure will be over. From the screen of my laptop computer weeks ago to the experience of actually being here, in the thick of things, now, the continent has become something special to me, more closely tied to things like the Roma Termini train station or other means of connecting the city with the rest of the world.

The rest of the world. It becomes a focus only because I rest reasonably far away from general civilization. When you actively choose to visit a graveyard, you also inactively choose not to visit anywhere else of historical significance during that time.

But in the interest of sharing a series of some of the most fascinating stops while I've traveled through Europe the past week, I'll explain why stopping by the Protestant Cemetery in Roma was worth being alienated briefly from the rest of the world.

Protestant Cemetery, Roma

I don't know whether or not my decision to come to Roma was more based off of a livelong fascination with the city (which I can attest for the existence of these many many years), or a more recent fascination with the life of John Keats.

Would it be fair to say that my reasoning is a bit of both? Going to the burial place of Keats at the Protestant Cemetery near Piramide Metro Station in Roma, I was calmed and pleased by the presence of so many others at the plot where stood "all that was mortal" of the love of my life.

I spent a few hours in the place. And while it may sound silly, it became one of the highlights of my entire journey around Roma and around Europe. There was just something so ideal about being in a quiet, funerary spot.

Prater, Wien

Alternatively, the Prater theme park (of sorts) in Wien, Austria, is not morbid of quiet however it has become quite abandoned in recent years due to a lack of enthusiasm by the general public. The Prater was one of the first amusement parks (if not the first) in the world and includes attractions like a ferris wheel and various rollercoasters, gift shops and food stands.

It wasn't the most fancy or architecturally stunning location in the city, but there was something about the history of it and the casual existence of it just within the city confines that felt special somehow. It's a theme park in a city. It's quiet and slightly abandoned. But it still has a lot of heart. I could feel that heart just walking around.

Dachau, München

Despite the distempered responses I've received since writing about my experience in Dachau - including those which did exactly what I explained was most disheartening about being "half-Jewish," as I call myself (and will continue to do regardless of dissenting opinions) - I would still like to list the experience of traveling to the concentration camp at Dachau among my most valuable experiences in Europe. And actually, as one of my most valuable experiences of all time.

To anyone who questions my authenticity or the connection I have with what occurred on the ground of that place so many years ago, I say that maybe it actually is none of your business. Maybe I shouldn't have shared it. Because, in truth, what I experienced and what anyone experiences when visiting Dachau, is a connection between themselves and whatever higher power strikes them as concerned, regardless of denomination and regardless of personal history.

In response to those who believe I have no right to align myself with my Jewish ancestors because I was brought up with different beliefs, let me just say that I still take issue with this argument. Though I appreciate the input and definitely understand why some might take offense, I still believe that everyone is the harbinger of their own cultural alignments, as aided by their upbringing and personal convictions and no one in the world except oneself has any right to dictate otherwise.

I am half-Jewish in the cultural but not religious sense. And there are plenty of non-practicing Jews who would likely align themselves similarly. Just because I don't follow the religion doesn't mean I deserve to lose the ability to explain the aspects of myself that aren't correctly described by a geographical location. My family were Eastern European nomads, but what characterized them within their culture was their Jewish community. It's not just a word denoting religion, but also the customs that surround that religion and don't necessarily need to be passed on through the religion. Still, I appreciate the alternative viewpoint and hope for peaceful coexistence. But I digress.

Den Lille Havfrue

To take away a bit of the stain of the more dramatic aspects of this post, I'll return to the very first part of my trip which was to the beautiful non-denominational statue of Den Lille Havfrue (The Little Mermaid) in København.

As someone who has long appreciated animated films and the fairy tales that are their source material, seeing this statue in person and remembering the history of the story and the man behind it (Hans Christian Andersen), made it one of the most important moments of my European voyage. It wasn't a personal or familial connection like Dachau, nor was it a quiet contemplative one like the Protestant Cemetery or the Prater. But it was a place to reflect on an object that is of personal significance to me - that has brought value and direction to my life for years. I guess you could say the same of some of the other places I visited, but in a strange way a Little Mermaid statue seems to be a good symbol of what I want out of life. The peace of storytelling and a quiet place to partake in it.

Thank you, Europe

Even while writing this blog I've been through some ups and downs. And Europe itself showed me some of those, depending on the hour and the day and the location. But overall the experience was irreplaceable and invaluable. I could never have wished for a better introduction to Denmark, Germany, Austria and Italy. And I will have quite a bit of trouble leaving tomorrow.

Arbeit nicht macht frei

It's past 8:30 pm and I still have a few hours of waiting around before I leave on my train to Wien (Vienna). I'm sitting in my hotel, the same spot I was in yesterday, using the internet instead of buying a coffee at a Starbucks nearby and using theirs. I can tell that the man at reception is unnerved that I've been here for over three hours. He has good reason to be. For all he knows, I'm staying here all night without paying for a room. But alas, that is not true.

In an effort to economize, and to experience something new and strange, I've booked myself into an overnight train from München to Wien. It leaves at 11:40 pm and arrives at a brisk and way-too-early 5:45 am in Austria. I don't know that I'm mentally or physically prepared. But there's a bed on a moving platform that has my name on it, and I'll hopefully be sleeping on it very shortly.

With the prospect of a new city tomorrow, I am having a bit of trouble reflecting on what's already felt like quite a bit of time in Germany. I may only have arrived here just over 24 hours ago, but I feel as if I know the city (as a confused and wandering tourist, anyway).

In less than two days I've bought a dirndl, climbed to the top of the tower of Peterskirche (St. Peter's Church) near Marienplatz. I've gotten lost multiple times in various parts of the city, I've figured out the public transportation in the city, I've had an apfelschorle in a stein at Hofbrauhaus. It's been a touristy, yet personally fulfilling adventure.

Then today I went to Dachau.

And I think that's what I'm going to focus on for the rest of this blog, because not focusing on it wouldn't capture the significance of going to a place like the KZ-Gedenkstätte Dachau.

I'm half Jewish. And (too) many times, I've been told that I'm not Jewish at all. I'm not born of a Jewish mother, but rather a Jewish father. And therefore, according to whatever traditional or historical or religious precedent, I'm not Jewish.

That's fine, I wasn't raised Jewish. But regardless of distinction even by the greater community, I identify as a Jew. At six years old when my friends would ask me what my ethnicity was - because, let's face it, you can't tell by looking at me - I would answer "I'm half Jewish and half Japanese."

Back then, I wouldn't get weird looks. No one knew what any ethnicities existed so they didn't protest when I called "Jewish" an ethnicity. But 14 years later, when asked the same question I answer more along these lines:

"I'm half Japanese and half Eastern European Jew."

And now I get the weird looks.

Because, first of all, I don't look like I'm white. Maybe I do look like a halfie (what I call people who are of mixed race - it's a term of endearment coming from me, not like "mudblood" or anything), but that doesn't mean I avoid incredulity from others when I admit to being part European.

Secondly, I don't have any particularly Jewish traits or indications of being of the culture. I don't practice the faith, so I don't appear to be Jewish.

And thirdly, is "Jewish" really an ethnicity anyway? Isn't it a religion? People who are "Jewish" by ethnicity are Israelis? Or something.

Yeah, this was never clarified for me as a child or as a grown-up.

Therefore, I am Jewish. And I will forever call myself Jewish. When my future children ask me what their ethnicities are, I will say "you are a quarter Japanese and a quarter Jewish and [insert whatever my male counterpart is here]."

Now that I've explained the issue of my classification of ethnic backgrounds, I will go on to explain Dachau. The experience, the ramifications, et al.

I had resolved to go to the Nazi concentration camp at Dachau practically the moment after I decided I was going to visiting München. You may find this strange. Dachau isn't a tourist attraction by any ordinary standards. You might find it in the tour books, but you won't see it among the top attractions. Maybe they wouldn't even call it an attraction.

And it's not. It's a memorial site to a horrific place. The kind of thing you want to forget, not be reminded of when you purchase The Idiot's Guide to Munich.

I got there around 12 pm. By then, there were already several groups of German secondary school students walking around with their teachers and making the silent grounds into a school playground. I avoided them as best I could.

The memorial site itself is tasteful. Things are kept in their original condition or restored to recreate the environment that might have been present at the Dachau of the 1930s and '40s.

And while it doesn't exactly make you feel like you're there, experiencing the terror of the Nazis upon the Jewish people, it does make you recognize the magnitude of what happened at this sort of place.

The site consists of various chapels and memorial sites, a recreation of prisoner barracks, a museum within the mechanical building, a hallway filled with prison and torture cells and two crematoriums.

Crematoriums.

I don't think the gravity of this experience really occurred to me until I read the word "Crematorium" on the map guide.

It was cold today. I walked around on the unpaved roads, my heels digging into the gravel. My boots made loud sounds. I felt as though I sounded like a prison guard. More than once, I scared myself with the sound. It made the place seem more real.

I read an information plaque that explained the roll call that took place at Dachau. Prisoners would be taken out of their barracks regularly and counted one-by-one to make sure that none had escaped. If one did, they would be left out in extreme weather wearing only their work uniforms until someone might confess to the disappearance of whomever they had lost track of.

The biting cold dug through my coat and I tried to place myself even more in the shoes of these prisoners. How could I, in two layers, not handle the November chill, but they, wearing only thin cotton, face the same temperatures with strength despite lost pride and lost comfort?

Walking through the rest of the camp, I learned bits of information that I'd never considered about the Holocaust. One item which stunned me the most was the concept of standing cells. As a form of torture, prisoners might be kept in prison cells split into four 2 1/2 ft x 2 1/2 ft squares. It wasn't enough space to sit or lie down, just stand.

It seems a small bit of the worst the Nazis did during the war, but in the same way I read Eating Animals a couple of years ago and saw the page in the book that depicted the amount of space a chicken in a factory farm had to move around (it was literally less than an A4 or 8 1/2 x 11 piece of paper), the idea of confined space gave me just enough of a realization to be disgusted and absolutely defeated.

You'd think the whole experience would have defeated me. Certainly the crematorium. And the gas chamber. And the area where the medical buildings were - which were also murder grounds for those who were slowly dying.

But it wasn't.

Many times while walking through Dachau, I thought about myself. And before you deem me selfish, let me clarify.

My great-grandmother on my paternal grandfather's side came to Ellis Island from Austria-Hungary in the early 1900s. None of her immediate family members came with her. She made a life in New York City, but left many behind. A similar situation happened with my great-grandfather on my paternal grandfather's side, though he came from Poland.

These two people, my great-grandparents, came from large families. But after the war, nothing was heard of them ever again.

And to think, just a spur of the moment decision to not get on those boats heading westward, and my grandfather, my father and I would no longer be here.

But that wasn't that struck me the most. The real punch in the gut when visiting Holocaust memorials or seeing movies about what happened to the Jewish people in the 1940s is the thought of what my life would have been like had the year 1941 actually been the year 2002 or 2005 or any year I've been alive.

My mom once told me a story about going to see Schindler's List in theaters with my grandmother. Since the movie came out in 1993, I must've been just under or over a year old at the time of its release.

According to my mother, my grandma was overcome with tears at several points during the film. She reportedly called out my name ("Rachel") during scenes where families were being separated, children from their parents, etc.

I certainly don't see myself in those films. Being a few generations detached from the horrific experiences of the Jews in World War II, I somehow feel I'm exempt.

But then I look at the men in these movies and I immediately think of my dad. And thinking of my dad in that context does make me think of myself. And my sister. And my paternal grandparents. And my cousins and aunt and uncles. And my niece.

Because we all have Jewish blood. And by the determination of the Nazis, we'd all have gone to concentration camps just like our distant relatives before us.

It's these thoughts, and these alone, that made Dachau too much to bear.

As the tears welled up, I made it a point to keep them away. I didn't want to feel vulnerable or destroyed by this place. While my relatives, the ones I never met, deserve the respect of my admiration and love for them, the memory of this place warrants a more powerful reaction. Not breaking down and weeping, but going on and proving the Nazis wrong. The Jewish people are not what they might call vermin or worthless scum. We are people. And we are strong.

I say "we" because I feel so strongly that it is a "we." In the same way that the Nazis considered all people of Jewish descent to be Jewish (and therefore unworthy of life), I believe anyone of Jewish descent is Jewish and therefore worthy of some degree of respect. Respect, at the very least, to the extent of calling us Jewish if we so choose.

And I so choose. I may look more Asian than white. But I am most definitely Jewish.

I bought a mezuzah today. It was simple and of course its religious significance is partially lost on the agnostic in me. But as I walked away with my German mezuzah, I felt solidarity with my people. My people.

Tonight, I leave München. I walk away from the place where I've seen and experienced Bavarian culture. I enter a new place with a slightly different frame of mind.

But I will never leave behind my thoughts of Dachau. What sustains me is my belief that I was brought into this world not by sheer dumb luck, but because I was blessed to be here in some way.

I was blessed to be born Jewish and Japanese. I was blessed to find my own religious path. I am blessed to be in München. And I am blessed to be moving on, but always looking back.