Dachau

Yesterday, I visited the Dachau concentration camp memorial site. It was the 72^nd anniversary of the camp’s liberation by U.S. troops.

Dachau was the model on which the other concentration camps were based. And it was the only one to operate during all 12 years of Nazi party rule. After the war, it was used by the U.S. as an internment camp, then as a camp for refugees awaiting resettlement.

Like most of the other concentration camps, Dachau was at risk of being swept under the rug of Germany’s unsavory past. But it became a monument site in 1965. It was the first--and for a while, the only--such memorial in Germany.

As I noted in my post last year about Neuengamme, the similarities between conditions at most of the Nazi concentration camps are well documented. Most of those practices had their origins at Dachau. So I thought I knew what to expect when I stepped through the gate.

Unlike Neuengamme, the SS area of the camp at Dachau was rather removed from the prisoner area, and is not part of the monument site. (In what I can only hope is an unfortunate dark irony, much of those former grounds are now the headquarters for the Bavarian riot police.)

Instead of going to the main exhibit hall, I walked the grounds first, across the roll call area, through the reconstructed prisoner barrack building, and to each of the religious memorial and service sites at the far end of the camp.

The barracks building provided a stark visual on how things changed as the number of prisoners swelled beyond capacity, and living conditions sank rapidly into deplorability. 

From this--individual bunks and a gathering area...

...to this, where more than 400 prisoners
were crammed into space
meant for around 50.

And seeing the monuments and churches—particularly passing through an old guard tower into a nunnery and looking back to see the Jewish and Catholic memorials over the barbed wire of the old walls—was reassuring.

The crematoria area was not originally accessible from the prisoner side of the camp. But as you walk the grounds today, you cross the camp's perimeter ditch, then cross a bubbling brook that is perfectly at home in the wooded copse surrounding you, but totally at odds with what lies ahead.

I decided to start with the "old crematorium" site, thinking that it was a plaque like at Neuengamme, or, at best, a building shell. Instead, I rounded the corner and climbed a couple of steps to find the original building fully intact. Two ovens stared out from the building’s open doors, their own iron doors open to reveal dusty interiors.

I went back down the steps, a bit undone. Across an open area sat the "new crematorium" building, which was easily four times the size of the building in front of me.

The new crematorium building, which was also known
as Barrack X. The short bushes and white plaque
in the distance mark an area where a gallows once stood.

I took a few minutes to wipe tears and breathe deeply and wait for a tour group in the building to depart. They were at one end, so I thought I’d start at the other end and slowly work my way through.

Except my route was the same one the prisoners would have taken. 

The first chamber was the “disinfection” chamber, where prisoners would disrobe. Then they moved into a large blank waiting room. 

The next room had a stencil above the doorway indicating it was the bath house.

But of course, it wasn’t.

Although designed to be a method of mass execution like the gas chambers in other camps, the Dachau gas chamber was only used experimentally. But when you walk into that room, terror takes over and you shrink inside. Your only goal is to make it to the other side before the doors could close you in.

It’s odd to say, but it was almost a relief to move into the crematorium room, with its high ceilings and open space. Then you realize the capacity of the ovens in there, their actual purpose, and the fact that the high ceilings made it easier for the SS executioners to hang prisoners from the beams and throw their bodies into the waiting flames.

Back outside, I walked the pathways for a mental and emotional break before heading to the main exhibit. I knew that my visit there would go a bit more quickly, since beyond the history of Dachau itself would be many of the same stories about prisoner registration, classification, degradation, and death.

It sounds callous, but there is a numbness that creeps up to try to protect you from the horror all around you; from letting the reality of it sink in too deeply. If you let it, that numbness can shut everything out. Yet for me, there are things that poke through.

International Monument sculpture by Nandor Glid

One was the sculpture in front of the warehouse building that houses the main exhibit. It was like the big sister to Le Deporté at Neuengamme--beautiful in its twisted, eternal agony.

Another needle puncturing my protective bubble was a simple plaque in a quiet grove near a wall. It was only a short walk from the crematoria, and I thought at first it was another monument. 

Then I stepped back and saw the holes in the wall and the gouge in the earth and realized it was merely describing the spot on which I stood:  

Execution Range with Blood Ditch.

I’m not relating all of this to be morbid, but to give a sense of how painful and powerful this place can be, even to those with no direct connection to the victims there. I don’t know if I thought there’d be some ghostly sense of joy mixed with despair on the anniversary of the camp’s last day, but all I felt was a sense of oppression and loss.

It’s compounded, of course, by echoes in the world in which we live today. Instead of persecuting Jewish people for their religion, the focus now is Muslim people. There is the same ignorant vilification, along with talk of identifying and categorizing them, restricting their movements, and setting them aside in camps.

And now it’s come to light that the government of Chechnya has set up concentration camps for homosexuals. It’s as if we learned nothing from the devastation wrought by the Holocaust. Even those of us with no direct connection should feel empathy and anger at the senseless obliteration of other people.

Hatred and violence against others is certainly not new, and executions and slavery are not just the purview of governments and other large groups. But the scope and depth of hate these days make it the new Ebola, the new AIDs, the new Black Death. 

With each election of each new world leader, I cringe with equal parts fear and hope, waiting to see if there will be one more on the side of those trying to find a cure for this reciprocal extremism, or one more denying the disease even exists.

When you first enter the gate to the prisoner area of Dachau, there’s a plain black wall with a simple message of hope:

If we cannot find common cause in basic human decency, then we have lost whatever it is that makes us most evolved or most exalted or whatever it is you personally feel about where humans stand in the greater web of life.

The evidence exists from the past. We see it unfolding in the present. Are we really doomed to a future of repeating cycles of tyranny and genocide, generation after generation, until none of us are left?

Five Things I Miss About Hamburg

Moving to a new place always means adjustments. In my first few weeks in Munich there are a few differences I’ve noticed that will take a little time for me to work through.

These remind me of those thermometers
used during fundraising campaigns.
These two are rare, in that they show the
whole line. In many stations, you only get
half the thermometer, and have to search the
station for a map to confirm the direction
in which you need to travel.

Transportation System

I will admit a bias in this regard. Hamburg’s system of rail, bus, and ferry had become very familiar, and therefore easy for me to navigate. 

So much so, that I have found myself in these first few weeks in Munich just showing up at the local U-Bahn station and realizing I have no idea how to get to where I want to go! 

To its credit, Munich has more flexible fare options for casual travelers. But the signage in stations could use some help, especially the ones that serve as route “maps” for the trains.

Cost of Living

As I pointed out in my previous blog, Hamburg has a huge advantage on pricing with things that come in bulk through the port. 

Not so in Munich. Housing is more expensive, groceries are more expensive, and the Kaufinger Straβe area in Munich is one of the top 10 most expensive shopping districts in the world.

Enjoying time on the grand canal at Munich's
Schloss Nymphenburg. More of this, please!

Waterways

Munich has the Isar River, which is lovely, and the surf channel in the English Garden, which is cool. 

But in Hamburg you’re never too far from the Elbe, the Alster lakes, or the city's extensive canals and multitudes of ponds.

Somehow, it made the city feel incredibly alive and soothingly at rest at the same time.

FC St. Pauli Fervor

FC Bayern Munich is the German soccer team. They’ve been around more than a century, they’re one of the most successful European teams on the international front, and they have their own TV channel. Yet the local fervor I’ve seen for them (so far) does not match the fervor for Hamburg’s second-tier soccer team. 

Maybe it’s that FC Bayern is now an institution, and FC St. Pauli still feeds underdog dreams. There was a strong populist vibe around everything St. Pauli, and it was a nice counterpoint to Hamburg's usual outward reserve.

I guess that yearning is universal, because I was walking through downtown Munich this week and saw, amidst the many FC Bayern, souvenir, and Lederhosen and Dirndl shops, a store devoted to...FC St. Pauli.

Uncongested Exploration

Even though Hamburg beats out Munich as Germany’s second-largest city, Munich is clearly the more popular tourist destination. 

While there are some benefits to that, the major downside for me is…more tourists. 

When I avoided traveling during rush hour in Hamburg, I could enjoy crowd-free days of wandering the city. 

In Munich, the trains are, shall we say, “well-populated,” and we’re not even in high tourist season yet. Hopefully I can hit most of the big attractions before summer arrives!

My minor, picky grumbles aside, I feel a excitement about exploring in Munich and beyond. I’ve already discovered many things I enjoy about the city, including an inspiring undercurrent of energy. 

In that, I'm not alone. Last week, we had dinner with some of Larry's colleagues. One man was touting the many great things about living in Munich, so I asked if he grew up here. 

He looked at me in mock indignation and said, "I grew up in Germany, not Bavaria!"

He laughed, but it's not the first time I've heard a hard line drawn between life here and the rest of the country. 

I'm definitely looking forward to discovering what makes this place tick!

The Move: Getting to Munich

Now that we’ve been in Munich a few weeks, it’s a bit easier to look back with a less exhausted eye to see what it took to physically get here.

Part One: Packing It In

We decided to use the same moving company that unloaded our stuff into Hamburg. Although expensive, they had been careful, professional, and very friendly.

On the morning of the move, 2 guys showed up 40 minutes past the arrival window, apologized because there was traffic, then promptly took a smoking break.

After 2.5 hours, they must have realized they weren’t getting very far, so they took a lunch break and called in reinforcements. By 2:00, we had 4 slowpokes instead of 2. 

It ended up being an 11-hour day that I spent camped out in the bathroom trying to comfort the cat. But it wasn't over yet, because we were leaving for Munich the next day.

I did a quick first cleaning pass of the apartment in the dark. While Larry was at a doctor’s appointment the next morning, I made a more concerted cleaning and paint touch-up effort, then we raced to catch our train.

Part Two: Plane or Train, and Automobiles

Plane vs. train was the admittedly brief debate once we’d figured out our schedule for when things needed to happen. Traveling by air was shorter, but would involve carrying Aji through security, and that was a big risk for such a scaredy-cat who could move quickly and was good at hiding.

Then it turned out our fast-moving tank was too heavy to go in the cabin on at least one of the two major airlines flying this route. Plus, the airline prices were three times the price of the train.

Six-hour ride to Munich it was.

Thankfully, Aji was quiet on the train. That relieved much of my post-apartment-cleaning-sprint stress. To ensure we had plenty of space, I’d reserved a seat for each of us, and gave him one of the window seats so he’d have some light (if he ever stopped sulking enough to lift his head). 

Once we reached Munich, he only protested a couple of times in the taxi cab from the train station to the hotel. (Notably once in response to the cab driver asking if he was a rabbit or a cat.)

After exploring the very cramped hotel room and voicing his displeasure, we created a perch for Aji on top of the radiator so he could watch the birds. 

That kept him occupied for a day-and-a-half until…it was time to uproot him again and take a cab to the new apartment.

Part Three: Taking a Load Off

The apartment walk-through and handover of the keys was a bit of a circus. The previous tenant was still there when we got there, and our landlady is super sweet, but seemed a bit overwhelmed by everything that needed to happen. 

Luckily, our relocation agent was there to help get meter readings recorded and coordinate on needed repairs. However, our landlady had enlisted a German-speaking American to serve as interpreter just in case, so for most of the visit there were five of us in the apartment, with two to three conversations going at a time.

The floors downstairs and the kitchen were dirtier than we’d like, but we decided to come back the next day anyway. The plan was to camp upstairs in the loft to start getting Aji used to his new home before the movers showed up. Debatable strategy, since he spent quite a bit of time over the next two days howling and running to the front door as if to say, “Okay, I’m done with this place. Let’s go home.”

Sigh.

A cleaning team and repairman were supposed to come on Sunday to take care of things before the movers came the next day. Both were no-shows. The next day, the movers did show (and on time), but they were the exact same two guys from Hamburg.

I’m not sure if they thought the amount of stuff we owned magically shrank since we’d seen them four days prior, but after an hour or so, they called in reinforcements. Even then, it was a 10-hour unload and unpack day.

Of course, there are many places along the way where things could have gone very wrong. But we are glad to have this piece of the puzzle out of the way, so we can move on to the fun parts of reassembling our lives in a new place.

We’re still making some refinements to the space, but we’re happy with our new home. You can see some preliminary pictures of it here.

And as always, visitors welcome!

The Move: Finding a Home

I'm jumping backward a bit with these next two posts, to talk about the process of getting to Munich.

We have lived in some competitive housing markets before, but our search for a home in Hamburg had been fairly easy. So it was tough for me to relate when folks talked about the agonies of trying to get a place in Germany.

Near the end of Larry's job search, when it looked like Munich was going to be our new destination, I started the online housing hunt. My list evolved into a spreadsheet as we figured out priorities, and where to find the kind of places that interested us within a reasonable commute and price range.

Larry's company offered assistance via an external relocation agent. Perfect. Except that some internal company miscommunication meant she didn’t know which tasks she was authorized to do for us. A week went by, during which we watched the 10-15 options in our carefully culled spreadsheet begin to disappear.

The dreaded screen to let you know that the listing
you've clicked on is no longer active.

By the time our agent was given the green light, we were down to 5 housing candidates, and she decided to “decline the challenge” of finding us a place. 

Which. Is. Her. Job.

The movers were already booked, and our stuff would either be heading to Munich or into storage in two weeks. In near-panic mode, we contracted with folks in Hamburg to make calls on our behalf, to at least figure out if the places we liked would allow a cat, had a washing machine hookup, etc.

During their apartment searches, our Hamburg friends talked about places that needed heavy furnishing--not just the usual lights and kitchen appliances, but in some cases even flooring. We saw some of these quirks in our search, including a place that clearly needed extensive renovating but was advertised as an older apartment in a well-kept building. Like that would make up for the missing toilet in the main bath.

In Hamburg at least our friends were able to go to apartment viewings to throw their hat in the ring with the 50 other contenders in line with them. I dreaded jaunting to Munich to join the bloodthirsty fray in a market where listing agents didn’t even respond to requests for viewings because they had so many candidates.

Then, like a "just-in-the-nick-of-time" movie hero, a new relocation agent called, requesting our list (now down to three places), our priorities, and our price range. Over the course of several days we found new housing options and lost others, sometimes within hours of them appearing online.

But before we knew it, she  lined up five viewings in two days. Larry had to go down to Munich for some meetings before his official start date, so he did real-time photo and video tours for me so we could reevaluate on the fly and make a quick decision on which place to pursue.

Partial view of the living room
in our new place

Hats off to my friends and other expats who have tackled this task on their own. When people heard that we’d found a place without having to go into temporary housing, they actually congratulated us. 

I realize how fortunate we were once again, and how our stress about finding a place and getting settled must have been comparatively small by comparison. 

In the end, luck played a large role in our success. It turns out the owner of our unit is looking to sell it in several years to help fuel her retirement. She was happy to hear that an American and Canadian were interested, because unlike a German renter, we probably wouldn’t be here for the next 10 years. 😊

Yup, that seems highly unlikely given our overall goal to move to warmer climes. But after going through our second move in less than two years, the temptation to stay put for a while is pretty strong right now…

Making Our Status Official

When you move from one German city to another, you're supposed to register your new address. According to the Munich government website, we had two weeks after moving here to do so. But check out the headline at the top of the bureau's homepage:

Fearing the worst, I plowed through unpacking and organizing for two days till I felt comfortable that our apartment was functional. Then I made a plan to get to the closest Bürgerbüro as soon as it opened.

Last Thursday morning, 8:40 am. Office opened at 8:30 am. My number? 71. Ugh.                                    

Some people were outside smoking or considerately keeping large baby carriages out of the precious space available in the waiting room. (Because it was the size of a large living room, with a photo booth in the middle of it.)

People with babies and some elderly folks were ushered in out of order, which I didn't have a problem with. But it did make what looked to be an already long wait longer. 

Periodically I'd glance at the queue board to see how quickly things were progressing. From where I sat, I could only see the counter numbers listed in a vertical column; I had to stand and lean out to see the number being served at each counter.

At one point I glanced up at the infrequent buzz of the board to see that all of the numbers appeared to be served by the same counter: 6. So, I could only see...666.

Then I noticed a woman smirking at a man across the room from her. Had they also noticed the board? Was love blooming in the Bürgerbüro? Nope to both.

I followed their eyes up to the ceiling, which consisted of exposed pipes, painted blue to match the flat surface behind them. One of the pipes was leaking. 

No rain outside. No thumps, groans, or creaks to indicate a flaw or break. Just water dripping steadily from above. It took some astonished stares and one woman to actually slip in the subsequent puddle before the information guy in the lobby found something to put under the leak. 

Finally, my number buzzed onto the board at 11:05 am. Okay. I geared myself up for the bureaucratic drudgery ahead. I had backup copies of the requested documents, proof of identity for both me and Larry, and papers I knew they wouldn't need, but brought along just in case.

Münchner Kindl
from the city's coat of arms

The "counters" were actually desks with numbers hanging over them, arranged around the edges of an open office area in the back. My representative asked a few questions, did some quick data entry, and printed out our new address to paste onto our existing ID cards.

Even with a few interruptions by other workers in the room along the way, she managed to hand me my final confirmation of registration at 11:16 am. 

Two-and-a-half-hour wait. Eleven-minute process. But now we are officially Münchner.

Getting to this point was a bit more of a struggle, however, which I'll talk about in my next post...