Hallelujah for Halvah

Halvah Selection at Carmel Market in Tel Aviv

About half-way through my month in Israel and, during that time, have probably ingested as much halvah as I have in my entire life.  Israel is not a safe place to be for someone with no self-control when it comes to this tasty sesame treat!  Hummus, falafel, and pita have also been consumed in massive quantities.

Other than it's culinary delights, Israel has much to offer the wandering pleasure-seeker:  the Mediterranean coastline, ancient cities, and desert mountains.  In all these places, stories from the Bible are brought to life, especially for those who have actually read the Bible (self admonition and homework assignment). 

Rosh HaNikra Grottoes

Up to this point in my travels in Israel, I've been to the northern border with Lebanon, the southern border with Jordan, Egypt, and the Red Sea, and many places in between.  I've met my Barishpolsky cousins here, and have heard about their family histories and their strong roots here in this country.  Everywhere I've been and all the people I've met over the course of the last 2+ weeks have caused a reaction in me that is the exact opposite of what I had expected.  The Jewish identity that I've been blindly holding onto for most of my conscious life has become eroded to the point that what's left is that which has always been there...a thin veneer of awareness accompanied by very little substance.  What I mean to say is that you cannot merely will yourself to be something without truly understanding what it is to be that thing.

In Israel, unlike the countries I visited in Central and Eastern Europe, people are quick to encourage Aliyah while extolling the nation's favorable attributes, with an emphasis on the sense of comfort gained by living side-by-side with fellow Jews without fear of anti-semitism.  In Poland, Hungary, and Ukraine, the people that I met seemed to share the sentiment that life in their countries is sub-par in comparison with the way they perceive life to be in Western Europe or the United States.  Growing up in the United States with a relatively high standard of living and a lack of exposure to blatant anti-semitism (perhaps due to my minimal participation in religious and cultural activities), I have never looked to Israel as a refuge as many others have.  And while I appreciate and affirm the raison d'etre for Zionism and the State of Israel, it is not where I want or need to be.  

Holocaust Memorial - Rabin Square, Tel Aviv

On the family side of my visit, I still have not been able to confirm how exactly I'm related to this branch of the Barishpolskys.  However, I can tell you that we have some physical similarities, including the nose...deviated septum and all.  We also share a biological propensity for twins.  We are planning to send our cousin Eugene on a mission in the Kiev archives to see if we can find anything substantive that proves our blood relation, although that no longer has any bearing on the strength of the new relationships that we are building together here.

Next week I will be visiting Jerusalem and the Sea of Galilee.  There is so much to see for such a small country!  I am already taking an inventory of all the sites I've passed up and will not have time for so that I can cover those on my next visit to Israel.  That future visit could happen relatively soon, depending on the plans of my best friend from Seattle and his mother.  We've been talking about coming to Israel together for almost 10 years, so it's about time for that trip to materialize.

Fresh-Squeezed Pomegranate Juice in Tel Aviv

My days abroad are numbered now; I will be back in Boston next month.  I look forward to what the future holds, but I've still got more to experience in these final weeks.  More Israel, a week in Istanbul, 18 days in Malta, 2 days in Amsterdam, and 2 days in Reykjavik.

Mother's Motherland

Holodomir Memorial - Kiev

If my last entry effectively conveyed the deep blue funk that Lviv reigned upon me, prepare yourself for a see-saw ride to the other extreme.  The continuation of my travels in Ukraine were redeeming, both for the country and for my purpose.  I connected with new family, paid homage to my ancestors, got closer to understanding life after Communism, and became ever more certain of the amplitude of human kindness on this lone planet.

The trip east began with a ride on Ukraine's new express train between Lviv and Kiev, covering the distance of ~350 miles (roughly the same distance as San Francisco to Los Angeles) in just under 5 hours.  This modern beauty was purchased from Korea to link several of the country's largest cities in time for the UEFA Euro 2012 last summer.  It was a pleasure, especially since I splurged for first class as a reward for surviving the previous 3 days.  Not too much scenery on the way due to the thick, unrelenting fog, but I imagined at various intervals during the journey the caravans of immigrants who passed over this same terrain a century ago enroute to the ports of Northern Europe, driven by the promise of a free, prosperous life in the the Americas.

My cousin Eugene, one of several Barishpolsky mishpocha that have surfaced over the years thanks to the advent of Facebook and Ancestry.com, met me at the train station.  Here is a complete stranger who has experienced life in such a vastly different way than me; but we share the same family name and are instantly connected because it matters to us.  While the intrigue continues as to the exact ancestral connection, we made fast friends and found common interests and embraced each other whole-heartedly, without pretense.

Cousin Eugene and our Tour Guide - Bila Tserkva

While in Kiev, I stayed with a very nice family who went out of their way to ensure maximum satisfaction for their guest.  Although the same bone-chilling weather followed me from Lviv, I was able to manage by diving into cafes or descending into the subway to warm up whenever I couldn't feel my face anymore.  Kiev is a grand city, full of monuments, beautifully restored churches and government buildings, and wide boulevards.  The subway system is a real experience.  For about 20 cents a ride, I joined the throngs of city-dwellers at an unfathomable depth for a jam-packed ride underneath the vast metropolis.  On several occasions, I recalled stories of attendants in Japan who are charged with pushing people into trains...that's how crowded it was.  Sadly, it was riding the subway in Kiev that I was exposed to one of the heartbreaking realities of the city - homeless dogs.  Click here for more information on Ukraine's abhorrent handling of this problem.

St Sophia Cathedral

The main reason for my week-long stay in Kiev was to use it as a home base for day trips to Gritsev and Bila Tserkva, two towns that are a part of the family history for the Fleishmans and Barishpolskys in my family.  My Ukrainian Manager [UM] (i.e., the woman who I stayed with in Kiev) accompanied me to Gritsev, a 4-hour bus ride into the heart of the country where only Ukrainian is spoken (no Russian).  In advance of the trip, we got in touch with some locals who offered out of the goodness of their hearts to show us around town.  Mischa met us at the bus stop with a big smile and took us directly to the WWII Memorial a few kilometers outside of town where thousands of local Jews were killed/buried in a mass grave.  It was located down a path in the forest just off the main road, a place somehow protected from the world by an impervious shield of serenity.  I wondered if I had any family members buried there.

Back in the village, we saw symbols of Soviet prowess, statues of Ukrainian national heroes, and a world seemingly untouched by the 21st century.  Upon deeper inspection, however, some modern technology had managed to seep into the village:  there was a wi-fi hotspot in the Community Center building and a Peace Corps volunteer in residence to modernize the systems of the office of the Town Council.  This is where I met Yuri, an official of some title that I was unable to ascertain, but who had a document to share with me.  It was an inventory of bodies buried in the mass grave, assembled some years ago by an Israeli who came to Gritsev researching his ancestors.  Back in Kiev, my UM read the names written in cyrillic aloud and I listened for something familiar.  As bizarre as it may sound, I was half-hoping to hear a familiar name, so that I could have a concrete, indisputable connection to the village.  Even so, it was a relief that there were no apparent matches with any of the family names that are a part of my heritage.

Sugar Beet Transport - Gritsev

The remainder of the visit consisted of a stop at the lakeside site that may have once been home to the village's Jewish community, a tour of a museum of local crafts that included a large selection of Ukrainian folk dresses made by girls at the vocational high school, and lunch in the home of our tour guide, Mischa.  To make the best impression on his guests, he picked up some moonshine from a friend's house and proceeded to offer it; per tradition, I felt obliged to drink so as not to offend.  I was able to fend off much of the onslaught politely, but what I did imbibe gave me bloodshot eyes and warm toes.  Thus, the return bus trip to Kiev was slightly more bearable, although I was yelled at upon boarding the bus for not speaking Ukrainian.

The trip to Bila Tserkva was much easier because it's only an hour away from Kiev, to the south on the Ros River.  It's also a pretty big city, so the bus connections were frequent and nobody expected me to speak Ukrainian, or Russian for that matter.  My cousin Eugene accompanied on this trip because he too was able to trace his family to this city, so he had an interest in spending some time there as well.  In another incredible turn of events, we were given the name and phone number of one of the leaders of the Jewish community in Bila Tserkva during a visit to Kiev's main synagogue (Brodsky).  We called upon arrival, with no advance warning, and Natella met us near the bus station with an offer to take us to all Jewish sites of importance straight away.  Although I didn't plan in advance the details of how I'd manage to find my way or discover what there was to discover in these two places, the cards fell into place and I was dealt a royal flush.  My gratitude to those who conspired to fulfill my dreams is immeasurable.


Shtetl Life - Bila Tserkva

Bila Tserkva was different from Gritsev in that a thriving Jewish community still exists there.  Remnants from the past still exist as well, including the old shtetl (although no longer Jewish), a Yeshiva, and the Choral Synagogue.  An active Jewish cemetery exists on the site of the old cemetery that was destroyed by the Nazis, which I see as a testament to the will to survive and thrive.  Eugene and I capped of the day of touring with a visit to the regionally-famous Oleksandria Park, with its romantic Classical structures, glades, stone paths and an international collection of trees and plants.  We headed back to Kiev satisfied with the day's adventure and a newly-formed visual on the place known previously only as a word written in the documents of my grandmother's mother's family.

So I leave Europe now with a better understanding of where my people came from.  The culmination of years of research brought with it pleasure and pain, but in the end, the puzzle is more complete than ever before.  It's still blurry in places, but it's enough for me.  I am ready to put this chapter to rest, put it behind me, and recalibrate the focus of my curiousity to the present and the future.



Reality Bites

Carbonated Water Dispenser from Soviet Era

At first I couldn't quite grasp why Polish and Hungarian people call themeselves Central Europeans, rather than Eastern Europeans.  Now I understand; as soon as I boarded the overnight train from Budapest to Lviv, I had clearly crossed the Eastern threshold.  Suddenly, nobody spoke any English and any concept of customer service or courtesy was irritatingly lacking.  At the Ukrainian Border, the agents who boarded the train for passport control had a chuckle when they saw my American Passport.  My interpretation of his chuckle was, "why the hell would an American want to go to Ukraine?"  I started to wonder the same thing when, several hours later, I disembarked in Lviv and was smacked across the face with an arctic blast of post-Communist desolation.

In all fairness, I believe my experience to have been somewhat corrupted by the November weather.  The temperature hovered around freezing for most of my stay, with a ground-hugging fog that broke only momentarily...enough time to snap a few photos of the beautiful UNESCO-listed historic center.  Like Krakow, Lviv was spared the decimating German bombing of WWII.  I witnessed the architectural and Medieval city planning similarities between the two cities, owing mostly to the fact that both were part of the historic region of Galicia under the Austro-Hungarian Empire.  Due to its proximity to Poland, the Ukrainian language shares much of the same vocabulary and grammar, giving me a very slight language advantage when interaction with locals was necessary. That said, local interaction was limited as most people were shuffling as quickly as possible from origin to destination to minimize exposure to the elements, which included suffocating air pollution.

Lviv Theater of Opera and Ballet

The most humorous attempted exchange was at a cemetery located on the edge of the city.  I was tooling around looking for interesting Jewish tombstones when a woman approached me.  Although we both were skilled in other languages, none were in common.  Somehow, through a mixture of Polish and Dutch (me) and Ukrainian and German (her), I learned that she was cataloguing the cemetery residents and that she worked at an aviation museum near the airport.  She became supremely annoying after a while, asking me to accompany her to the depths of the cemetery because she was scared to go by herself.  This happened to be the coldest day of the three in Lviv, so by the time I was able to disengage, I was already chilled to the bone and had quite a walk ahead of me to get back to my apartment.  To my surprise, my puffy black jacket, hat, gloves, and scarf are not sufficient deterrents to the 100% humidity of the cold air here, which is different from the dry cold that I once knew in Alaska.

Apart from the Yanivsky Cemetery noted above, which was incidentally an assimilated cemetery (Jewish, Ukrainian Orthodox, etc), I also made it a point to visit historic places of interest of the former Jewish community who thrived in Lviv for about 500 years.  Lviv actually had a larger Jewish population than Krakow, but you wouldn't know that given the relative lack of evidence.  In fact, the apparent lack of recognition of Jewish contributions to the community and the remoteness of any memorial to said community was a painful realization.  The lowlight is the story of the Old Jewish Cemetery, which can be found here.  In a nutshell, the 500-year old cemetery was destroyed by the Nazis and has since been paved over and used as the city's largest outdoor marketplace.  Although Soviet and post-Soviet authorities recognize that the marketplace is built on top of more than 25,000 Jewish bodies, no progress has been made in restoring this site.

Holocaust Monument at Entrance to Former Jewish Ghetto

In Lviv, I felt depressed.  The buildings were muted and warn, just like the downward-turned faces of the city's inhabitants.  The feeling of desperation and desolation pervaded the city's parks, churches, and monuments to Ukrainian nationalists.  Soviet-era housing blocks were just a stone's throw away from the 14th century churches and restored Baroque facades of the historic center.  I could not find a soul nor a heart in this city of 1.5 million. 

One of the challenges I am facing during this phase of my travels is that I am barely able to keep up with all the new sights, sounds, and history that I am encountering in each new place.  By the time the revelations occur to me, it's onto the next city and a whole new bag of surprises.  This is the downside of lumping my checklist of must-sees all together in one big trip.  Hopefully over time I'll manage to sort through and make sense of what I've experienced in Central and Eastern Europe; I'm hoping that this brief diary will offset my less-than stellar short-term memory.  To maximize the benefit of this adventure, I must come away from this with some conclusions or self-awareness that will stay with me for years to come.

Land of the Magyar

Hungarian Parliament

Eight days in Budapest was not enough to get an adequate introduction to all the city has to offer.  I realize that many travelers only spend a long weekend or a few days of their European mega-tour in Hungary; I must be spoiled after my 7 weeks in Krakow.  Part of the trouble is that the winter season has arrived, and with that season comes dramatically shortened days.  Coupled with my lack of discipline when it comes to waking up at a decent hour (I'm on vacation!), 2 days in Budapest in November is equal to 1 day in London, Amsterdam, or Krakow in September.

I walked around aimlessly most days until my legs fell off.  I had no preconceived itineraries or must-sees as this is the beginning of my travels in unknown lands sans Lonely Planet.  I love to travel this way as you never know where the day will take you and what pocket-full of mysteries will challenge your knowledge of the world (or lack thereof).  There was so much eye candy with all the different styles of architecture, a true marriage of East and West!  In fact, I couldn't stop taking photos of all the exotic facades that I encountered on my meanderings - see Facebook photo album for the highlights.  This awakening of my unknown architectural sensibilities made me think of my Mom's reaction to Gaudi's designs during her visit to Barcelona several years ago.


Art Nouveau Facade

I stayed in a great neighborhood in Distirct VII, which is where the Jewish Quarter is located.  Unlike much of Eastern Europe during World War II, a large number of Budapest Jews survived the Holocaust, which means there is a thriving community still in existence today.  Still, there is no lack of horrors to be told in the city's memorials to the Jews who did perish in the ghetto or were deported to concentration and extermination camps.  As I was wondering through the Great Synagogue complex, which is the largest synagogue in Europe, I happened upon the Family Research Center, where I was able to scan microfilmed birth records of Jews born in Budapest in the 19th Century. 

According to my records, my great great grandmother Lena Kline was born Budapest in 1872.  Unfortunately, I was unable to locate her birth record after two hours of searching +/- 5 years of records.  It is possible that she may have been born in a village near Budapest, or maybe her age was more than 5 years off from what is shown on her death certificate, or maybe she had a different first name that wasn't anything like Lena (I looked at as many variations as I could imagine).  Despite the failure, I enjoyed the search and it did help me to confirm three things:  1) the name was definitely spelled Klein in the old country, 2) this was a VERY common name, 3) Lena's mother's name, "Saly", was very likely a short version of the common Hungarian/Jewish name "Rozalia".

Tree of Life Holocaust Memorial - Victims Names Inscribed on Leaves

Budapest was full of Vienna-style coffeehouses (kavahas) with delicious pastries and warm drinks offering refuge from the frigid Transcarpathian air.  I found a few favs, but there were many more that I would've loved to patronize had I had the time.  The intake of rich, calorie-laden delights helped make a dent in the weight loss I suffered in Paris...that is, until I got take-out from a Bangladeshi restaurant on day 5.  Big mistake, but at least I can still fit into my skinny jeans!

Let's see, what else...I spent a day at a Turkish bathhouse that was built about 5 centuries ago, took the suburban train to the picturesque Danube settlement of Szentendre with it's Serbian Orthodox churches and marzipan museum, got a haircut at the most exclusive salon in Budapest on Andrassy Street (think Champs Elysees) for $25, saw the 1000-year old right hand of Saint Stephen (the first King of Hungary) in an ornate box called a reliquary, got lost in the hills of Buda populated by wealthy villa-dwellers, and visited the American Embassy for notary services on Nov 7th, a day of jubilation for 50.7 percent of Americans.

Rudas Turkish Baths

Budapest was a beautiful city, full of surprises and delights.  I cherished my time there and can't believe that I've spent all these years unfamiliar with this jewel of the Danube.  I hope to make it back one day soon and perhaps I'll be able to share it with someone special.  I'm in Lviv, Ukraine now; the contrast between Central and Eastern Europe couldn't be any more dramatic.  More on that in the next post!

I'm Back!

Rewinding the clock back a couple of weeks to talk Paris.  Where to begin...

My 10 days in Paris began with a high-octane tourism blitz co-piloted by none other than Yuko Furugori.  Yuko and I went to University of the Pacific together back in the 90's and our friendship is one of the few from that period that has stood the test of time.  Although I have yet to make it to Japan to visit her, our paths have crossed in Long Beach, Amsterdam, and now Paris over the course of the last 15 years.  Yuko loves Paris as much as I do, which is why she invited me to hang out with her during her vacation.   

The Clock at the Musee D'Orsay

Although I've spent a lot of time in Paris over the years, I've never given in to the popular attractions to the extent I did during my first four days with Yuko.  Bottom line is I'm cheap and Paris is not, so I am typically reluctant to hand over my hard-earned dollars for the exorbitant entry fees to museums, churches, palaces, etc.  Our apartment was beautiful (and free for me!), in the 7th arrondissement a couple blocks away from the Eiffel Tower and the American University of Paris.  We visited Versailles, the Orangerie, St Denis Chapel, the Musee D'Orsay, the food hall at the Bon Marche, and Sex and the City filming locations.  We dined on steak frites, Basque cuisine, and the famous and pricey macarons of Laduree.  We packed in so much in such a short period of time; not an easy transition for me considering the relaxed pace I treated myself to in Poland.  At the end of our time together, I probably blew more cash than I spent in Krakow in a month.

The Grand Trianon at Versailles

After Yuko left, I went to stay with my friend Celine Battestini and her husband Olivier.  Celine is the sister of Frederique, who was a childhood friend that I met during my first ever overseas trip to Corsica when I was 14.  Celine lives in a suburb of Paris called Chatillon, a very quiet and restful place that was the perfect balance after being run ragged by Yuko.  Unfortunately, my first night in Chatillon I came down with a gastro-intestinal virus...aka the stomach flu.  The doctor said that there is an epidemic in Paris at the moment, and the subway is one of the primary breeding grounds.  By day 3 I had lost about 7 pounds and was considering upgrading the title of my malady to the Bubonic Plague.  Luckily, the involuntary discharge tapered off and I began to regain my humanity.

As soon as I was up to it, we went to see Skyfall at Bercy, weeks before it had been released in the US.  What's up with that?  We then went hunting for a new iPhone for Celine; I have never been in a household with so many Apple gadgets before.  Without the support of Celine and her husband, Apple would likely be bankrupt.  I spent my final days in Paris visiting some of my old stomping grounds:  the Marais, Montmartre, and the Ile St Louis.

Rainy Day at Montmartre

Due to my current interest in and focus on Jewish sites of interest, I also made my way to the Shoah (Holocaust) memorial and the Great Synagogue.  I also noticed for the first time a number of memorial plaques at the entry to Parisian elementary schools, in remembrance of the thousands of Jewish school children who were deported to labor and death camps during Nazi occupation.  In almost every instance, the memorials to the Jews of Paris who suffered during this period included verbiage assigning equal blame to the French government's for their complicity.

Overall, Paris was a welcome break from the challenges of being alone in foreign lands.  Spending time with friends in a familiar place, speaking a familiar language helped me to recharge my adventure batteries.  Hungary and Ukraine, here I come.

Heathenism

As the fall weather continues to astound locals and visitors alike in Krakow, I have taken the opportunity to take a closer look at some of the sites that I initially overlooked, namely those of an ecclesiastic nature.  I have been utterly astounded by the beauty contained within a number of these centuries-old palaces of monotheistic worship.  Because photography is either forbidden or requires an additional payment (hey, I'm on a budget!), I have only a few interior photos to share with you that I was able to sneak in before being reprimanded.


Famous Triptych (Closed) in St Mary's Basilica

Starry Blue Ceiling in St Mary's Basilica 



These photos are of St Mary's Basilica (Mariacki), which is the largest and most well-known of Krakow's churches.  One would never know from the massive and simple red-brick exterior that such delicate and intricate beauty resides within.  The triptych is something of a tourist attraction - it is opened every day at 11:50 by a nun in front of an audience of hundreds.  This altarpiece was created in the late 15th century by Veit Stoss and, when open, depicts 12 scenes from the life of Jesus and Mary.  It was disassembled and hidden away during WWII, but the Nazis found it and took it Nuremburg where it barely survived Allied bombing.  It was recovered, restored, and reinstalled in its proper home about 50 year ago.

 

The ceiling blew my mind.  The combination of the height, the richness of the royal blue color, the architectural/structural elements of the gothic ceiling, and the gleaming gold stars were awe-inspiring.  There was also at least one wall of stained glass in the church that had survived since the 14th century!  How is that possible?  Divine intervention, I'm sure.

Royal Cathedral at Wawel Castle

I stepped into at least a half-dozen other churches over the course of the last two weeks.  Besides St Mary's, the other one that really stood out was Wawel Cathedral.  It is here that monarchs of the days of yore were coronated and interred.  Many other prominent Polish visionaries and revolutionaries are buried here as well, including Tadeusz Kościuszko, Adam Mickiewicz, and two Polish Saints.  Wawel Cathedral was built in the 14th century, with many alterations occuring over the years that made the cathedral what it is today - a hodgepodge of towers and domes from different architectural periods.

 

I am leaving Poland in a few days, satisfied with the luxury of time that I granted myself here and the opportunity to truly absorb and reflect upon my surroundings.  I am ready to move on to my next destinations, where I can only hope to be as nourished as I've been here in my great great grandfather's homeland.  The itinerary of these future destinations is coming together in expected and unexpected ways.  Next stop, Paris.  It has been 9 years since I was there last.  Where have the years gone?  

Daytrippin'

Tarnow Train Station

Tarnów – This small town is located about 50 miles east of Kraków, making it a prime candidate for a daytrip via train. Almost as exciting as the destination was the voyage via a decrepit 1935, Poland-built train running on decrepit tracks. Chugging along at a snail’s pace, it took a whopping 90 minutes to cover such a short distance, making the Amtrak trip between LA and San Diego that I’ve used on occasion to visit my folks feel like the TGV. The town was very interesting because, similar to Krakow, much of its medieval center was spared the bombing and razing that have occurred in this part of the world over the centuries by the Swedes, the Tatars, the Germans, and others.

It was practically a ghost town - I was definitely the only American tourist there. The striking thing about Tarnów was that, due to its small size, the Jewish history of the town was much more in-your-face. There were memorial plaques, monuments, and evidence around every corner of how integral Jews were to the Tarnów community. Before the war, they numbered close to 40,000 and made up half the population. An interesting fact about the town is that it was the origin of the first transport of prisoners to Auschwitz.

Ruins of 17th-Century Synagogue

Zakopane – Most Poles rave about the beauty of the Tatra Mountains, which are located along the Polish-Slovakian border to the south of Kraków. This is a sub-range of the Carpathian Mountains. After spending a month in the urban flatlands, I decided it would do me some good to see snow-capped peaks and breathe the fresh mountain air. The bus ride to Zakopane, the main alpine village/jumping off point for outdoor adventures was filled with spectacular vistas as the bus ambled up and across the foothills to reach an elevation of about 2,500 feet. In the wintertime, people come here to ski; during the off-season there is hiking and trekking. All year around, people come here to drink the śliwowica (plum brandy/moonshine), which is more or less lethal with an alcohol content of between 70 and 80 percent.

I spent most of the afternoon trying to secure accommodation. After my unpleasant hostel experience in Amsterdam, I was trying to avoid another hostel so I roamed all over town knocking on doors asking for single rooms. None to be had. One of the pitfalls of traveling solo is that most lodging options are geared towards double-occupancy. So I ended up at the local hostel and it was WORSE than my previous experience. My 6-bed dorm was really an 11-bed dorm, as it was two interconnected rooms sharing the same door and the same bathroom. I just can’t catch a break with these dumps. Oh yeah, and the hostel was at-capacity because it is off-season and the other two Zakopane hostels are shut down until winter.

The Only Photo Evidence of My Presence in Zakopane

I hated all the snoring, stinky, know-it-all, in-your-business foreigners in residence with one exception. I met a really nice kid from Warsaw named Tomasz who was there killing time before starting his new job in November. He knows the town very well because he is there about a dozen times a year. Apparently there is a bus from Warsaw that, if booked far enough in advance, costs only 2 zloty, which is less than $1. And it's an 8-hour trip! You couldn't pay me to sit on a bus for 8 hours. Anyow, we hit it off and afound all kinds of trouble to get into surfing the local bars and sampling all the beers/vodkas/etc. that Poland has to offer. My plan to go for a hike and take photos of the refreshing mountain scenery the next day was shot to hell when I woke up with a sore throat and a hangover. I high-tailed it out of there on the first bus so that I could get back to the comfort of my own bed in Kraków and the cold meds/vitamins that I imported from home!

Deflated in Southern Poland

A few days ago I went to Auschwitz, or as it's known here in Poland, Ocweicim. It took me a day to recover from the experience and now I'm ready to write about it. To add to the mood, please listen to the haunting music of Lana del Rey as you read this...

I have no photos to share, as I purposely did not take any and I was sickened watching other visitors to the camp take videos and snap photos of barbed wire, camp signage, ovens, and human ash pits. It is wrong to do this on so many levels. What are you going to do, go home to Korea/Norway/Germany and assemble all your favorite Auschwitz photos into an album so that you can cherish it forever and show your grandkids photos of your visit to one of the most heart-breaking places on the planet?

Well, that was my reaction on Monday, but today I've calmed down a little bit and am feeling less judgey. This is just what we've been trained to do - when we see something interesting, take a picture. I didn't want any pictorial evidence of my experience. It was more than enough for me to be there and to feel what I needed to feel and then leave.

Yes, I was moved.  Yes, I was disgusted.  Yes, I was devastated.  All of these sentiments are typical and to be expected when putting one foot in front of the other in the footsteps of tragedy, especially one of such abhorrent and calculated inhumanity.  Perhaps it is more meaningful for someone, like myself, who has a personal connection to the events that culminated with the near complete extermination of generations of European Jewry.

However, I did not feel the pain as deeply as I wanted to, as strange as that my sound.  You can't imagine how many people get shuttled through Auschwitz on any given day...and those crowds detract for sure. Especially when the guides seem to be wholly concerned with butting up against the tour group ahead or being rammed by the one behind. It turns the experience into more of an exercise of timing and crowd control than an opportunity to contemplate what is there.

The constant encounters with other tour groups were troubling for another reason. You see, it is compulsory for grade-schoolers from many European countries to take the tour of Auschwitz. While it makes sense in theory, I got the impression that these kids were not mature enough to contextualize what they saw. Many were simply there because they had to be there, and they were more focused on being kids and being on a school trip with their classmates than they were on the subject matter. For someone like me, who was there because I wanted and needed to be there, it was difficult to coexist in this social environment. I found it to be disrespectful to the memory of those who had such a heinous "existence" here and were ultimately murdered. God damnit, there were still bone fragments in the soil from the incinerators!

Wow, I guess I am still trying to make sense of what I saw two days ago. I still feel raw - it's so draining to be pounded for four hours nonstop by shattering and devastating revelation after revelation. It is not digestable like the bit-by-bit history we learn about in school or in documentaries/Hollywood dramas. I feel sorry for the Poles who have to live with this on their soil; their country will always be known by many first and foremost for this hideous three or four years of history.

Krakow, Galicia

Autumn Sun

Krakow has been many things to me in the two weeks that I've been embraced by its midieval charms.  It has been a place of rest - sleeping in until 9am or later is a luxury that had evaded me for at least a decade.  It has been a place of new understandings - life 20 years after the fall of Communism is something that you can read about in a book, but cannot comprehend until you witness it firsthand.  And finally, it has been a place of self-awareness - with each passing day I get closer to the truth of what brought me here and what I need to accomplish during these precious months that I have away from home.

Tomorrow I move into an apartment in the center of Krakow for one month.  Finally, I can ditch the perpetual state of transience, unpack my suitcase, and pretend that I actually live somewhere.  I spent my first week here at an Airbnb listing in the center of town with a hostess who goes by the name Goga.  Her place was more like a hostel in that there were several rooms occupied by short-term visitors from all over the world all sharing one toilet and shower.  Week 2 I moved to another Airbnb property a bit outside the center in a neighborhood caled Podgorze.  That's where I am now.  I'm in the bedroom of a one-bedroom apartment; the host is sleeping in the living room on the sofa.  In both cases, the hosts have been great about giving me tips for visiting and local insights into Krakow life.

The Old Cemetery @ Remuh Synagoge

The main focus of my explorations so far has been Jewish history, and there is no lack of it here in the heart of Southern Poland, which was once known as Galicia.  Apart from the obvious emotions one would expect from seeing centeries-old synagogues and cemeteries, and more contemporary WWII relics, I cannot help but feel a hollowness among these sites.  I know that they were at one time functional and full of life/death, but today they are only museums and memorials.  With little to no modern day community here, these places feel almost like a movie set.  It is an overwhelming disappointment to feel this way, as I do yearn to feel a stronger emotional connection with these places, names, graves, memorial plaques, etc.  After all, this is the general area where my 2x great grandfather Rosenblum came from, so I imagine that some of my distant relatives experienced a Jewish existence here.

Last Surviving Segment of Ghetto Wall

Since I've bought myself another month here, I haven't hit all the major tourist sites yet.  I'm saving Auschwitz for a cold, damp, grey day more befitting of the place.  I can't say that I'm in a hurry to get there.  I went to the Wielizcka Salt Mine a couple days back, which is about 40 minutes SE of Krakow and is a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It has been in operation for 700+ years and its vast labyrinth of tunnels and chambers hundreds of feet below the ground were impressive.  The highlight was the salt cathedral, where even the chandeliers were made of rock salt.  Unfortunately, I didn't snap any photos because I spent so much on the entrance ticket that I couldn't afford to pay an extra $3 for the privelege of operating a camera.  Now THAT'S Jewish heritage for you!

So now it's time to settle in and get a daily routine established.  I can go grocery shopping, entertain guests, hole-up on a dreary day with a good book and a cup of tea, and go to a gym.  I'll also be planning my trip to the Ukraine, which I expect will happen at the end of October, and trying to figure out how the other places (Budapest, Israel, ?) fit into the grand scheme of my travels.  One thing is set in stone already - Istanbul for Christmas, can't wait!

Thanks to those of you who have been prodding me to update the blog.  With Facebook, email, and Skype, I've got a lot of communications going on so it's harder to juggle than I had imagined.  BTW, I have so many photos and cannot share them all here...so they're on Facebook.

Transatlantic Passage

I've got some catching up to do...first I'll recap my last days in Boston, then I'll tell you a bit about my 9-hour layover in Iceland, followed by reflections on time spent in London, Amsterdam, and Eindhoven, before I reveal my first impressions of Krakow where I've been for the last 2 days.


Baker Street Cemetery in West Roxbury

I truly took advantage of my time in Boston.  As you would expect from me, I visited the cemetery where my great grandfather Jacob Fleishman and his sister Ida are buried.  I had been once before to this cemetery, but lost the pictures when my desktop computer blew up a couple years ago.  This is a beautifully maintained cemetery and easy to navigate due to the cleanly demarkated boundaries between the different temple societies, trade societies, and landsmanschaften.

A few days after visiting the cemetery, I learned from my Aunt Pearl (Ida's daughter) that there were at least two other Fleishman siblings who stayed behind in Russia (present-day Ukraine).  I shudder to imagine what fate they were met with.  Maybe they were lucky and escaped by shunning their jewish identity or by hiding in Siberia similar to what the Barishpolsky cousins did.  One can hope, at least.  There is unfortunately nobody alive now who can shed any light.

Barishpolsky Cousins

Speaking of the Barishpolsky cousins, I met Veronika and her daughter Katia who came up to Newton from Sharon to say hello thanks to an introduction made by Julia, the cousin in New York who is also Veronika's sister.  It was such a great visit and I really feel fortunate to be able to connect with people from such a different cultural background and life story.  Family ties are incredible!  Julia and Veronika are still very much in contact with family in the Ukraine, so who knows, maybe I'll get to meet some family when I get there.

On my last day in Boston (Sept 5), the fear of what was to come began to set in.  I was not expecting this to be my emotional state upon departure, rather, I thought I would be jumping out of my body with excitement as I had been for many weeks prior.  Somehow, I wasn't fully prepared for the finality of leaving the country, even though it was the very core of what I had concocted to pry myself from the doldrums that I was experiencing in LA.  Despite my cold feet, I boarded my plane and headed off to see family and friends in London. 


Geothermal Power Plant Adjacent to Blue Lagoon

I enjoyed my brief visit to the Blue Lagoon in Iceland during my stopover and wondered if I'd be able to stay awake to make my connecting flight to London.  The combination of the red eye flight and the great music selection on Icelandair gave me only 2 hours of sleep to work with.  I ended up taking a little nap in a deserted area of the airport, which gave me just enough energy awareness to be able to get from Heathrow Airport to Aldbury where my Cousin Tami lives.  I stayed with Tami, her husband, and twins for four glorious days in the Old Post Cottage.  What a lovely village they live in, especially with the unseasonably warm September weather.  We partied, we vegged, and I observed potty-training at it's finest.  Even got to see my Dutch friends Heleen and Maarten and their two girls one afternoon.  Thanks for schlepping all the way up to Aldbury guys!

The Old Post Cottage

I don't have any photos from my time in Amsterdam because it was raining intermittently for the two days I was there and I didn't want to short-circuit my phone.  I am going to avoid hostels as much as possible from here on out.  Sharing a tiny room with 5 stinky Portuguese college students that snore all night is not my idea of a good time.  Don't even get me started on the communal bathroom.  I would rather cut my trip short by spending more money on accommodations than to go bare bones and be uncomfortable and feel like a creepy old man.  Lesson learned.

Amsterdam is the same as I remember it, except all the people are missing.  No more Sjaak the flower guy, no more Tjebbe the hair stylist, etc.   No more visiting Nance, Mondi, and Dion on whatever gracht they lived on.  I would live here again in a heartbeat BUT would need to convince all the characters from 10 years ago to return with me.  I did get to see Nance and her family on my last day in the Netherlands in Eindhoven, where they moved about 5 or 6 years ago I think.  It was a short visit, but always great to catch up with someone who means a lot to me and always will.  Although we don't see eachother often enough, our friendship has endured thanks to a mysterious connection. 

Here's a teaser for the next installment: 

Polish beer, beet broth, and pierogi

Eastern Standard Time

3,155 miles, a dozen cities, and 15 states.  I made it across the country to my final US destination, Boston, on Wednesday.  It's really nothing more than a blur at this point, considering how much ground I covered in such a short amount of time.  As harried as my drive may have felt at times, I was able to find time to see both the living and the dead.  I even ran into someone that I hadn't planned on seeing - a former colleague from Seattle (falls into the "living" category) who just happened to be at Smorgasburg in Brooklyn at the same time I was there with my cousin Marissa.  What are the chances?



Ran into this clown in Brooklyn

This last piece of my roadtrip was all about family.  In Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and West Roxbury (Boston), I shared news of my upcoming adventures with those that are no longer with us.  In one sense, the trip to the Old Country that I'm about to make is a payment of respect and gratitude to these ancestors who risked it all to ensure continuity of the bloodline.  Had they stayed put where they were, there's a very good chance that I would not be here sharing my stories with you today. 

I also met family members on this trip that were only names on a family tree before.  I am so greatful for the open and warm reception that I've received from everyone; for whatever reason, I have been given the gift of choreographing reunions of cousins across the country and beyond after a generation or two of withering family connections.  And I am cherishing every moment of it.


Rosenblum cousins meeting for the first time

Perhaps the most rewarding reunion to date is the family in Yonkers, whom I wrote about in a previous post.  It was an emotional day for me when I was able to finally meet cousin Beatrice and her daughter in person.  I was treated to stories of the family matriarch and patriarch, Sarah and Sam, and of Aunt Ida, who's mint-condition pale yellow upholstered chair I was able to rest my ass upon while viewing family photos.  My interminable and thorough detective work truly paid off this time! 

Marilyn and Beatrice in Yonkers

While in New York, I stopped by the Center for Jewish History to do a little research on the landsmanshaftn that some of my relatives belonged to in Philadelphia and Boston.  Very interesting stuff.  I didn't find anything particularly relevant to my family's past, but looking at original membership leaflets and social programs did give me a glimpse into what these immigrant organizations were all about back in the 1930's and just how important it was to find and build community with your own people in America during economically, socially, and politically turbulent times.

I am enjoying my final week in the US with family in Boston.  I leave on Wednesday evening for Europe, which I fully expect will inspire me to live life in a more meaningful way.  I owe it to myself and I owe it to all those around me who have to listen to me go on and on about my trip.

Utah Survivor

State Route Sign - Utah

Epic drive today - Las Vegas to Grand Junction.  The majority of the day was spent in the lovely state of Utah where I only stopped once for gas/food as I feared some form of abduction was imminent.  Although I did encounter large families of blond-haired, fair-skinned Joseph Smith believers, I escaped unharmed and carried on at 80mph!  Never seen a speed limit that high before, although it was pretty much impossible to reach that speed with highway resurfacing projects popping up every 20 miles.  Note to self - do not trust trip duration provided by navigation or Google Maps when driving long-distance during the summer months (i.e., construction season).

The scenery was nothing short of breathtaking, sort of like seeing 100 mini Grand Canyons, or at least what I imagine the Grand Canyon would look like. Couldn't pay too much attention, however, as I was very busy trying to unravel the mystery behind the Utah State Route symbol. It looks like a cross between a beehive and a teepee. Anyone?

Lighting for Winos - Palazzo Hotel/Casino

Las Vegas was Las Vegas.  My mom and I did go to a great NY-style pizzeria called Grimaldi's where I snapped this photo of great recycled lighting.  Also had a chance to catch up with a friend/former coworker from Atkins (San Francisco) who is going through her own major life change...but not a midlife crisis because she is just a kitten.  Happy birthday Kelly!  Finally, last night I was treated to a complementary concert by FUN.  They were playing the Marquee rooftop last night at the Cosmopolitan, directly across from my hotel room at Paris.  That is a great band!

Ugh, must...stop...eating.  Maybe I'll join Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers while I'm in Eastern Europe.  Over there it's probably known as Yeni Craigovitch.  If I become a spokesmodel then maybe I can get my trip sponsored/paid for!

I recently learned about the 90-day limit in a six-month period for American tourists in Europe, more specifically, in the Schengen Zone.  This is the borderless area that encompasses most countries of the EU + a few others.  As you know, I am planning to spend more than 3 months in Eastern Europe, so this is an unforseen complication that requires a little bit of fancy footwork or law-breaking.  Countries NOT included in the Schengen Zone that are a part of my planned itinerary are England, Ukraine, and Israel.  Since I can't afford to stay too long in the UK, and am afraid/ill-equipped to stay too long in Ukraine, I am beginning to explore the possibility of an extended stay in Israel.  Kibbutz?


California Dreaming

I've covered a lot of ground over the last week.  Since my last entry, I've traveled to San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Seal Beach, and San Diego, where I am currently spending my last few days in the Golden State.  On Sunday morning, the long trek east begins...

Dolores Park

San Francisco was simply spectacular. I got to spend time with many friends, enjoy great unseasonably warm and fog-free weather, and see three naked men @ Castro/17th (notable because I recall only seeing one naked man during my previous visits to that location). Let's see, what else...the price of a slice of pizza went up to $4.20 at Marcello's, the Mission is now the unequivocal center of all hip activities in the City, Sunday Streets warms the heart and feeds the soul, and Mid-Market will never become gentrified.

After a regrettably short visit with my sister and her hubby in Santa Cruz, I took my grandma to one of the classiest joints outside of Leisure World, Denny's, and then headed south to San Diego for some quality time with the parental units.  Since I arrived on Tuesday, we've been spending a lot of time outdoors enjoying all that SD has to offer...Balboa Park, The Bayshore Bikeway, Mexican-style lobster feed in Old Town, a gigantic flat screen Blu-ray entertainment center, and Mama's fried matzoh.

I've also been busy trying to get all my affairs in order, as all my mail is being forwarded here and this is really my last opportunity to address any outstanding issues with the sale of my home in Oakland, the rollover of my 401K, and anything else that may have popped up since I began traveling.  After a fresh oil change and a new air filter, my car is ready for the next leg, despite taking quite a beating on I-5 last week.  As I was entering the Los Angeles Basin, something that looked like a large mud flap flew off of the back of a semi in front of me and slammed into the front of my car.  I am interpreting this despicable act of malice towards my sweet, innocent Kia as a sign that I need to get out of Los Angeles!

Aunt Mary's "Manya" Death Certificate

I received Manya's death certificate in the mail today, indicating where in the 5 boroughs she is buried.  For those of you who I haven't told already, Manya is the "missing" aunt of my grandmother that is also the person who brought me into contact with my Ukrainian relatives who represent another branch of the Barishpolsky family tree that nobody of the last three generations knew anything about.  A Ukrainian cousin, Julia, who now lives in New York, contacted me about Manya several months ago because she needs to fulfill her grandmother's dying wish of visiting her grave.  Her grandmother was close with Manya before she left the old country, and they stayed in touch for several years.  However, after about 5 years, nobody heard from Manya again and didn't know why.

Through my love of genealogy and highly-developed investigatory skills, I connected the dots and found Manya's progeny in Yonkers.  It turns out that Manya died in 1919 at age 25 of the flu during a time when there was a major worldwide epidemic.  That is why my grandma didn't remember anything about her aunt Manya, and that is why relatives in Ukraine stopped hearing from her.  I will visit Manya's daughter and granddaughter in New York at the end of the month, and I am also hoping to accompany Julia to Manya's grave so that we can pay our respects together.

Blast from the Past

Goodbye Seattle

Nobody told me that a new season of Project Runway had begun! As I sit here in my Yreka motel room on a mango margarita high catching up on the missed episodes, I am reflecting on the last few days catching up with old friends in the Pacific Northwest, spewing my story in all directions. It was a pleasure and well worth the mileage to reconnect with folks who mean so much to me.  For those of you who expressed interest in meeting me in Europe at some point during my sojourn, please make it happen!  I'm pretty sure that familiar faces would be welcomed after months on my own in the darkness and cold.

It was strange retracing my steps in the neighborhoods of Seattle, almost 5 years later, noting that character is being buried in favor of gigantic red-brick facade monotony. And the Pearl! Holy matzoh balls how it's grown...almost extends to I-405 now. Anyhow, thanks to everyone for accommodating me and my crazy schedule AND for allowing the spotlight to shine on me. Your time will come too, and when it does, you can expect reciprocal quantities of love and support.

Magnolia Blossom - Washington Park Arboretum

When the radio stations don't come in anymore and I tire of the 10 albums that I can stream from my phone to the car sound system, I work on my Polish (thanks B and BIL!) If you happen to see me drive by and can look past the multiple layers of dried bug guts, you'll see me talking to myself whilst driving. No need to worry...I am not about to join the mentally unstable, soiled masses on Skid Row. It's tough, but I'm learning the basics - just enough so that the locals can make fun of me when I attempt to communicate with them.

Oh, did I mention that I hate driving in WA and OR? I'm going to put up signs along every mile of every freeway indicating that slow-ass drivers need to get the hell out of the left lane. More importantly, I'm going to insist that a minimum speed limit be posted next to the max. Am I the only one who is appalled by this? Resources need to be mobilized, special committees need to be formed, emergency meetings need to be called by the UN, G7, and the WTO. This travesty deserves at least as much attention as the current controversy surrounding Chic-fil-A. Do widzenia!

Interstate Mass Murder

Carnage

I completed the first leg of my two-part roadtrip yesterday.  As you can see by the photo of my grill, a multitude of innocent bystanders had to give their lives in order to make this trip possible.  I wonder if there's an add-on at the car wash for the extra scrubbing necessary to properly exhume mangled bug corpses and their associated juices.

The route took me through the beautiful and varied landscapes of California, Nevada, Oregon, Idaho, and Washington.  Lots of hot desert.  I apologize for not taking photos, but you really had to be there in person to appreciate the beauty.  I overnighted in Bishop, CA and La Grande, OR, which I realize is a deviation from my planned itinerary.  Moving out last Friday took me longer than I expected, which meant that I got on the road later and got stuck in leaving-town-for-the-weekend traffic...domino effect with the rest of my schedule.

Nic & John's New Abode in Normandy Park

Arriving in Seattle last night was a relief on many levels.  My blood pressure is dropping, my mind is clearing, and I am no longer anchored in that dark, desperate place where I have been harbored for so long.  However, my heart is heavy and will be for a significant period after saying goodbye to Cesa and Emma, my two faithful companions who have never been without me.

Now that I've put a few thousand miles between myself and Los Angeles, my reflection is that I don't enjoy competing every day with my fellow citizens for extremely limited space and resources.  So much commotion, very little peace.  The allure of the big city and the hollywood limelight is strong, but my tolerance for everything that goes along with it is limited and seems to be diminishing more and more as I get older.  With that thought, the introspective segment of this post is concluded.

Not that I want to think of getting in my car again, but I should preview what lies ahead in the next week for you and also as a gentle confirmation to myself.  After reminiscing with friends here in Seattle and trying to explain the underpinnings of my insane and irresponsible adventure, I'll be heading south to San Diego with stops in Portland (Tim & Cambria), San Francisco (Gil, Edgar, Mark & Maxine), Santa Cruz (Bridget & Sergey), and Seal Beach (Grandma).  Now that I'm officially on the road with laptop in tow, the blog posting frequency should be more reliable.

Here are some closing words that characterize my feelings at the moment:  anticipation, excitement, nervous, money-conscious.  Above all, and not trying to sound arrogant or too self-involved here, I am so proud of myself for putting this plan in motion considering how many obstacles I've faced.  I am going to pull this off after all.

Goodbye STV

Barely survived the day, my last day at STV.  Lots of goodbyes and a mix of emotions.  Last meal at Langers, first happy hour at Soleto's.  I'll miss you guys!!!

Downtown Abbey, Sugarfish Hater, Dirt Farmer, and angry Gelito

Double L

Calendar of Events

No big suprises here, but just wanted to share with you my planned whereabouts over the next couple of months. The obscure places are roadside resting engagements, while most everywhere else is a friend or family member that I'm thrilled to be seeing. 

It's time to begin playing catch-up with all those people and places that have been accumulating on my wish list over the years. Two weeks of vacation annually just isn't enough!

July Travel

August Travel

September Travel

It's Closing Time

Rebecca Hilton and Eva Wachtel

Yesterday I said goodbye to my Grandma Eva and Aunt Becky.  Before leaving, I left my Grandma with a nice parting gift - I found her cousin Beatrice in Yonkers, New York, whom she hasn't seen or spoken to in about 80 years.  They are both 94 years old and enjoyed speaking on the phone after all those years.  Memories that had been hidden away in the deepest corners of the mind percolated back to the surface and brought visible joy to Grandma.  This is what I live for!

Willow and Marta

As I was already in Orange County, I continued further south to Irvine where I met my friend Marta Baillet Crane and her dog Willow at the dog park next to UCI.  The most beautiful dog park I've ever seen with plentiful grass, space, toys, and delectible smells that Emma and Cesa delighted in.  I used to work with Marta at the City of Santa Ana, and her husband taught one of my graduate courses.  Marta's son, Max, worked as an intern at PBS&J in San Francisco, where I worked for several years.  So I guess you could say that I have somehow become interwoven with Marta and her family.  Not sure how it all happened...we just clicked and have found a way to maintain a friendship over the course of the past 14 years with very little effort. 

At the end of the day, I asked Marta for a picture of her waving goodbye to me so that I could post to my blog...I decided to do this as I say my goodbyes and make my way across the country.  Well, she punked me by taking a photo of me waving goodbye and posting it to Facebook last night before I could finish this blog entry.  She beat me to the punch and took the wind out of my sail.  My original idea was hijacked.  Boo.

In other news, my itinerary is coming together nicely.  Confirmed cross-country stops in Seattle, Santa Cruz, Las Vegas, Houston and St. Louis.  This week I'll work on Portland (OR), Phoenix, and Boston.  I found a flight from Boston to London via Reykjavik that looks promising at only $399 with a 10-hour stopover in Iceland.  Those of you who know me know that the stopover is a good thing.

No more procrastinating...back to packing.