You might notice that the heading for this post comes from the same bible chapter as the last, only in a different translation. This one includes the idea of a frown along with a smile. In hindsight, it's easy to act as if I had the perfect trip, with nary a moment to grimace. But the truth is, there were quite a few sobering sights that hit me right in the gut: twisting it with confusion, punching it with guilt, constricting it with sadness, or simply paralyzing it with indifference. After all, eastern Europe has had a storied past full of events not to be grinned at.
This vast wasteland is Theresienwiese (Teresa Meadow), where the infamous Oktoberfest is held in Munich. Throughout the rest of the year, it sits idle, like some sort of post-environmental clean-up, and in a way, I suppose it is. A woman from Munich who we met in Berlin expressed dismay at how the festival is so far removed from its roots. Apparently, the original event was a horse race to celebrate the marriage of Prince Ludwig and Princess Therese in 1810. Sure, there was lots of beer at that first party, but I doubt it was accompanied by tourists bent on swilling so much that they puke and piss all over the German city:
In terms of much more profound impacts, Berlin gets two gut-wrenching entries. The wall is still a palpable presence in the city, being pushed as a tourist destination in similar fashion to Oktoberfest, but its remnants are not so expansive. It takes some effort to follow the wall through the municipal streets, but markers can be found; to me, the most shocking part of seeing these memorial bricks is the last year, when I was not only alive but already 13 years old:
A different memorial recognizes an equally unnerving separation, although further in the past, before my lifetime. A whole plaza is devoted to the Holocaust. From the outside, it looks like mounds of coffins, but when you walk among them, they feel like cells. I didn't venture in far, waiting instead for Tim. My nerves at wondering when and where he would emerge from the pillars was a small echo of emotions from the genocide:
In our wanderings around Warsaw, we trekked up to the Cytadela (Citadel), the outside grounds of which actually have become a nice park for the surrounding neighborhoods. Inside, however, you can follow the path on which Soviet executioners led their soon-to-be victims. Luckily, the fortification was closed for the holiday, because the imposing metalwork on this gate was fearsome enough:
This next picture isn't something to rue about the past, but about the present. Vilnius has done a great job fostering a quaint feel amid commercialism, but like many of the Baltic cities, it is just now realizing the need to preserve its buildings. The Bastėja (Artillery Bastion) was closed for renovations. A good thing, indeed, considering it was used in the 17th century as a defensive wall against the Swedes and Russians, in the 19th century as an orphanage, and in the 20th century as a vegetable storehouse by the Soviets. And even before then, the Basilisk living there was said to act as a Medusa, turning people to stone with its gaze:
I've already mentioned the seedy side of Riga, but that didn't make me frown; in fact, I kind of enjoyed the debauchery. But beyond the market (the largest in eastern Europe), where few tourists are urged to venture, there are some sorrier sights. Lots of Soviet-era buildings and projects have been left abandoned. And the overcast skies didn't do much for the graying facades:
It was pretty hard to wipe the smile from my face during the medieval merriment of Tallinn, but during a walk home after most of the family fun had shut down, I was reminded what the town might've been like during the Dark Ages, despite the electric lights along this slick corridor:
I was pretty excited when we booked bunks in a dorm room for the second night of our stay in Helsinki. I thought it would be fun to spend a night inside the Olympic Stadion (Stadium), built for the 1940 Summer Games, which were canceled because of World War II. It wasn't used until 1952, the first time the Soviet Union participated in the Olympics since 1912. But the hostel was a bit of a disappointment, as was the arena, which seems to have fallen into disrepair. Sadly, the tower was closed because of the holidays, so I never got to recreate the season 10 stop of "The Amazing Race," and I was just a few months shy of the good summer concerts, including Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen later this year:
The first full day of our trip was full of sunshine, so it was probably karma that our last full day was full of clouds. Stockholm was a beautiful city, but it just looked so cold, literally, with all those nimbostratus puffs. By this time, I was getting a little tired of wearing a scarf, toboggan, and gloves, too, so this landscape -- almost -- made me feel ready to get back to the Israeli desert:
In the next, and final, installment: An optical ode to my boyfriend
This vast wasteland is Theresienwiese (Teresa Meadow), where the infamous Oktoberfest is held in Munich. Throughout the rest of the year, it sits idle, like some sort of post-environmental clean-up, and in a way, I suppose it is. A woman from Munich who we met in Berlin expressed dismay at how the festival is so far removed from its roots. Apparently, the original event was a horse race to celebrate the marriage of Prince Ludwig and Princess Therese in 1810. Sure, there was lots of beer at that first party, but I doubt it was accompanied by tourists bent on swilling so much that they puke and piss all over the German city:
In terms of much more profound impacts, Berlin gets two gut-wrenching entries. The wall is still a palpable presence in the city, being pushed as a tourist destination in similar fashion to Oktoberfest, but its remnants are not so expansive. It takes some effort to follow the wall through the municipal streets, but markers can be found; to me, the most shocking part of seeing these memorial bricks is the last year, when I was not only alive but already 13 years old:
A different memorial recognizes an equally unnerving separation, although further in the past, before my lifetime. A whole plaza is devoted to the Holocaust. From the outside, it looks like mounds of coffins, but when you walk among them, they feel like cells. I didn't venture in far, waiting instead for Tim. My nerves at wondering when and where he would emerge from the pillars was a small echo of emotions from the genocide:
In our wanderings around Warsaw, we trekked up to the Cytadela (Citadel), the outside grounds of which actually have become a nice park for the surrounding neighborhoods. Inside, however, you can follow the path on which Soviet executioners led their soon-to-be victims. Luckily, the fortification was closed for the holiday, because the imposing metalwork on this gate was fearsome enough:
This next picture isn't something to rue about the past, but about the present. Vilnius has done a great job fostering a quaint feel amid commercialism, but like many of the Baltic cities, it is just now realizing the need to preserve its buildings. The Bastėja (Artillery Bastion) was closed for renovations. A good thing, indeed, considering it was used in the 17th century as a defensive wall against the Swedes and Russians, in the 19th century as an orphanage, and in the 20th century as a vegetable storehouse by the Soviets. And even before then, the Basilisk living there was said to act as a Medusa, turning people to stone with its gaze:
I've already mentioned the seedy side of Riga, but that didn't make me frown; in fact, I kind of enjoyed the debauchery. But beyond the market (the largest in eastern Europe), where few tourists are urged to venture, there are some sorrier sights. Lots of Soviet-era buildings and projects have been left abandoned. And the overcast skies didn't do much for the graying facades:
It was pretty hard to wipe the smile from my face during the medieval merriment of Tallinn, but during a walk home after most of the family fun had shut down, I was reminded what the town might've been like during the Dark Ages, despite the electric lights along this slick corridor:
I was pretty excited when we booked bunks in a dorm room for the second night of our stay in Helsinki. I thought it would be fun to spend a night inside the Olympic Stadion (Stadium), built for the 1940 Summer Games, which were canceled because of World War II. It wasn't used until 1952, the first time the Soviet Union participated in the Olympics since 1912. But the hostel was a bit of a disappointment, as was the arena, which seems to have fallen into disrepair. Sadly, the tower was closed because of the holidays, so I never got to recreate the season 10 stop of "The Amazing Race," and I was just a few months shy of the good summer concerts, including Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen later this year:
The first full day of our trip was full of sunshine, so it was probably karma that our last full day was full of clouds. Stockholm was a beautiful city, but it just looked so cold, literally, with all those nimbostratus puffs. By this time, I was getting a little tired of wearing a scarf, toboggan, and gloves, too, so this landscape -- almost -- made me feel ready to get back to the Israeli desert:
In the next, and final, installment: An optical ode to my boyfriend
2 comments:
Kim, thanks for posting. Amazing photos. I'm quite jealous of your adventure.
I have to say how happy I was to see your use of "toboggan"
- Lawton
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