I’ve had a whirlwind couple of days since arriving in Krakow in less than spectacular fashion. Most notably taking the angel behind the hostel desk out to dinner and generally punching above my weight. Today however, it’s time to put things into perspective. I’m visiting Auschwitz.
It’s the only reason I decided to turn North into Krakow a few months back. I wasn’t originally planning on seeing a bit of Poland, but I was pleased to discover the infamous camp located not too far from the city. I’ve always wanted to visit it, be it part of my fascination with the historical macabre, or simply to pay my respects. In the end it turns out to be a bit of both, but I leave with the shamefulness of the later generations. We really don’t know we’re born.
The sheer scale of the Nazi war machine was astounding, so much so that you almost have to admire the unbelievable logistics of it. Fighting a war on four fronts, occupying so many countries solidly and managing to exterminate over 100 million European Jews. Looking back now how was that possible? Where did the man power come from? When driving through small backwaters in the dark corners of Europe, you realise that German military muscle would still have been stationed there, tightening their grip on the continent. One can only imagine what might have been had they used such capacity for good.
Birkenau gate of death
I’ve chosen to take the tour that picks you up from your lodging for the sake of ease. You’re handed a headset and radio receiver, not for pre-recorded audio, but so you can hear your guide from distance. For the off-season, the place is still full, and we shuffle around in little sheep packs. I’ve been preparing myself for the shock of this place, but I honestly cannot write the words to describe the feelings I felt from the things I’ve seen today. Certainly not any better than has been penned before. It almost doesn’t deserve words, more so to just visit this place of horror and stand in respect and contemplative silence. The amount of human hair shaved from the corpses, the thousands of shoes, children’s suitcases, shaving brushes and prosthetic limbs and crutches. All displayed behind glass, all echoing a chilling past.
Cold eyes stare from camp record photographs. Bullet holes in walls. Dark starvation cells. Gas chambers. Railway track sidings and transports. Sentry towers. Horrible living conditions. It was a conveyor belt of death. Millions shipped in from miles around, and ‘selected’ for work or death. In the end, most became the latter regardless.
The firing wall between blocks 10 and 11
Prisoners were told they would receive a hot meal and registration for a new way of life after they had a shower. They labeled their things, and tied shoes together to be collected after washing. Filed into underground chambers complete with fake shower heads, Zyklon B gas was dropped in from the roof by the SS. About 2000 men, women and children would be dead within 15-30 minutes.
Prisoners starved, were hung, tortured, worked to death, froze to death, died from disease, were experimented on, humiliated, gassed, shot and burned. Workers fit enough to help with the extermination found themselves burning their own family members, then they were liquidated themselves, and a new team drafted in. The first job of the new laborers was to dispose of the old ones. A never-ending nightmare.
One story struck me right at the end. A 15-year-old girl was found alive among the gassed dead after one extermination. A Jewish camp doctor at first attempted to hide her, but an SS officer was wise to it. The doctor begged and pleaded with the officer that she must be allowed to live. The chambers had one rule however, once you went in, you weren’t coming out alive. At 15 years of age, they believed her too young to not keep her mouth shut about what she had seen, and she was shot in the back of the head. The cowardly bastards did their best to cover up the atrocities here, but with the Soviet liberation in 1945 and the smuggled evidence from prisoners risking their lives, it wasn’t to remain secret for very long. All too little, all too late.
Block 11. The death block. No photographs allowed inside. A basement of horrors.
Standing in quiet reflection at the end of the train tracks of extermination camp Birkenau and the trivialities of life seem to pale into insignificance. It makes you want to be a better person. It makes you think twice about whining about some first world problem or ‘FML’ facebook status update. It’ll slap you in the face and tell you to get a hold of yourself.
You must visit here. Everyone must. We must ensure that the generations to come know all about it so that it can never happen again. My hand is on a harsh, cold, wooden bunk, fit for two people, that actually crammed in around eight or nine. I picture the prisoners there. I see their faces. I hear their cries. And I have never known a broken heart.
Birkenau gate of death
The firing wall between blocks 10 and 11
Block 11. The death block. No photographs allowed inside. A basement of horrors.
“Work shall set you free”
The washrooms
Electric fence at the main gate
The barracks
Thousands of hair, shoe and shaving brushes
Prosthetic limbs and crutches
Over 40,000 pairs of shoes recovered
Children’s suitcase. Petr Eisler, born 1942, arrived and died at the camp shortly after
The main gate
Fence detail
Between the fences
Camp commandant Rudolph Hoss met his end here in 1947. Until then he was living in a beautiful house and grounds with his family, just yards from the incinerators
gas chamber
Reconstructed gas chamber
Electric fence sign
Auschwitz II Birkenau
Sign on the Birkenau death gate
Sentry tower
Walking to the platform
Recovered train car. Hundreds crammed in for days at a time, traveling from all over Europe, they would not see daylight until the door opened on the platform
Rose on train car door
Jewish women return from a memorial service
The end of the line
The memorial plaque in 22 languages. 22 nationalities suffered and died here at the hands of the Nazis
Standing in front of the ruined chambers
Gas chamber two ruins
Gas chamber ruins
Birkenau barrack interior. Several people crammed into the space fit for two. Those at the top froze in winter, those at the bottom slept in mud
Auschwitz
I’ve had a whirlwind couple of days since arriving in Krakow in less than spectacular fashion. Most notably taking the angel behind the hostel desk out to dinner and generally punching above my weight. Today however, it’s time to put things into perspective. I’m visiting Auschwitz.
It’s the only reason I decided to turn North into Krakow a few months back. I wasn’t originally planning on seeing a bit of Poland, but I was pleased to discover the infamous camp located not too far from the city. I’ve always wanted to visit it, be it part of my fascination with the historical macabre, or simply to pay my respects. In the end it turns out to be a bit of both, but I leave with the shamefulness of the later generations. We really don’t know we’re born.
The sheer scale of the Nazi war machine was astounding, so much so that you almost have to admire the unbelievable logistics of it. Fighting a war on four fronts, occupying so many countries solidly and managing to exterminate over 100 million European Jews. Looking back now how was that possible? Where did the man power come from? When driving through small backwaters in the dark corners of Europe, you realise that German military muscle would still have been stationed there, tightening their grip on the continent. One can only imagine what might have been had they used such capacity for good.
Birkenau gate of death
I’ve chosen to take the tour that picks you up from your lodging for the sake of ease. You’re handed a headset and radio receiver, not for pre-recorded audio, but so you can hear your guide from distance. For the off-season, the place is still full, and we shuffle around in little sheep packs. I’ve been preparing myself for the shock of this place, but I honestly cannot write the words to describe the feelings I felt from the things I’ve seen today. Certainly not any better than has been penned before. It almost doesn’t deserve words, more so to just visit this place of horror and stand in respect and contemplative silence. The amount of human hair shaved from the corpses, the thousands of shoes, children’s suitcases, shaving brushes and prosthetic limbs and crutches. All displayed behind glass, all echoing a chilling past.
Cold eyes stare from camp record photographs. Bullet holes in walls. Dark starvation cells. Gas chambers. Railway track sidings and transports. Sentry towers. Horrible living conditions. It was a conveyor belt of death. Millions shipped in from miles around, and ‘selected’ for work or death. In the end, most became the latter regardless.
The firing wall between blocks 10 and 11
Prisoners were told they would receive a hot meal and registration for a new way of life after they had a shower. They labeled their things, and tied shoes together to be collected after washing. Filed into underground chambers complete with fake shower heads, Zyklon B gas was dropped in from the roof by the SS. About 2000 men, women and children would be dead within 15-30 minutes.
Prisoners starved, were hung, tortured, worked to death, froze to death, died from disease, were experimented on, humiliated, gassed, shot and burned. Workers fit enough to help with the extermination found themselves burning their own family members, then they were liquidated themselves, and a new team drafted in. The first job of the new laborers was to dispose of the old ones. A never-ending nightmare.
One story struck me right at the end. A 15-year-old girl was found alive among the gassed dead after one extermination. A Jewish camp doctor at first attempted to hide her, but an SS officer was wise to it. The doctor begged and pleaded with the officer that she must be allowed to live. The chambers had one rule however, once you went in, you weren’t coming out alive. At 15 years of age, they believed her too young to not keep her mouth shut about what she had seen, and she was shot in the back of the head. The cowardly bastards did their best to cover up the atrocities here, but with the Soviet liberation in 1945 and the smuggled evidence from prisoners risking their lives, it wasn’t to remain secret for very long. All too little, all too late.
Block 11. The death block. No photographs allowed inside. A basement of horrors.
Standing in quiet reflection at the end of the train tracks of extermination camp Birkenau and the trivialities of life seem to pale into insignificance. It makes you want to be a better person. It makes you think twice about whining about some first world problem or ‘FML’ facebook status update. It’ll slap you in the face and tell you to get a hold of yourself.
You must visit here. Everyone must. We must ensure that the generations to come know all about it so that it can never happen again. My hand is on a harsh, cold, wooden bunk, fit for two people, that actually crammed in around eight or nine. I picture the prisoners there. I see their faces. I hear their cries. And I have never known a broken heart.