Back to Munich; Dachau

Travel:
Thursday morning it was time to bid Belgium goodbye, and I caught an early train back to Brussels, followed by a quick flight to Munich. The beer put me 5kg (11#) overweight, and to my surprise and delight, I was charged 60 Euros (90 bucks!!!) for that precious 5kg. Such a racket. But this far in, I wasn't about to dump anything, so I paid my latest "tourist fine" and went on. It was good to be back in Munich and close to Kathryn--the branch manager of the Munich office was taking us all out that night, so I caught a taxi to a nearby town and shopped for a decent outfit, from head to toe. Also unplanned, but hey, I can't exactly show up in jeans and t-shirt for a formal dinner, right? That day (1/31) was Alteweibfastnacht (part of Carnival), on which the women traditionally emasculate the men by cutting off their ties. So my brand new tie lasted about three hours before being sheared off by Kathryn--that must be some kind of record for short tie lifespan. We went that evening to Palazzo, which is sort of a combination of a gourmet meal, theater in the round, burlesque and circus. It had everything from cross-dressing singers to Ukranian acrobats to a crazy juggler/rope walker that said "WHOOOOO!" every time he did something without a mistake. Very enjoyable, though more so for me since I speak German. Most of the group didn't get the jokes, but there were enough acts that they all still had a great time.

Next morning, I took the opportunity to sleep in a bit, and had lunch at the hotel while waiting for Kathryn and crew to finish up in the office. Around 1, they stopped by to pick me up at the hotel and we drove together to Dachau, which was one of the first concentration camps during the Nazi era. I have lived in Germany and have studied 20th century German and European history, but nothing really prepares you for a visit like this. In a book or on a movie screen, there is still some level of detachment and the ability for a human to convince themselves that this didn't really happen. But when you walk through the heavy iron gate, with "Arbeit Macht Frei" inscribed overhead, you can almost feel the ghosts drifting across the drab and depressing gravel common area where daily roll call was held. The photos and buildings are there in front of your eyes, refusing to go away; insisting that you acknowledge in your own soul that yes, the stories are true. This was a place of suffering and injustice; starvation and torture; murder and death; a monument to the very worst that is within us. As we all walked through the various stages of the museum, it became clear that every aspect of the harassment and torture was calculated--nothing was accidental or left to chance. There really aren't any words to describe this place, but the best that come to mind are chilling and appalling. On the one hand, it makes me feel so very proud of the US (and allied) soldiers of the day and all that they gave to preserve freedom. It makes me understand yet again (as did 9/11) that there is never a time when we can all lay down weapons, because there will always be another Hitler or Mussolini or Lenin or bin Laden. On the other side, it makes me look at how inconsistent our current policies are--only ten or so years ago, a million people were suffering much the same fate in Rwanda, and we (and the UN) did nothing to help them out. What is the difference? No threat to the US? No petroleum? No economic impact? Too much drain on resources? I really don't know the answer to this question; it is rhetorical to me. But I do know that each soul that was lost here, each of the 4,000 soldiers lost in the present Gulf war, each lost in previous wars--each one was a son, a daughter, a husband, a father, a mother, a wife, a friend. And knowing the pain that each loss caused is simply too much for a human being to take in. Kathryn ultimately had to turn away from the pictures, and I had to just walk around outside as it all washed over me again and again. I didn't want to go to Dachau, truth be told. But much like my visit to New York in January of 2002, it is so important to bear witness to things like this, because someday we have to be able to help Ronan and Megan understand what happened here, with some level of impact. "Fail to remember, doomed to repeat."

The drive back to Munich was somber and quiet, but with some good conversation about the whole experience as well. For that hour, we all were some sort of support for each other, helping each other make sense of it all.

We found a local Wirtschaft for dinner, and had a wonderful traditional Bavarian meal together before turning in for the night. Sam B. and I had a coaster-flipping challenge, and we each made it to 26 before I choked on 27 and conceded defeat. But I'm practicing for next time.

Beer:
The Munich leg of the trip is really more about spending time with Kathryn, so not a lot going on. Most of the places where we are staying/eating are within airport and/or tourist zones, so they tend to have the big-name beers that don't really represent the best of Germany. Nonetheless, here's a couple from the Wirtschaft Alte Post:
Erdinger Helles--golden yellow, pleasantly crisp, hint of DMS. Nice session beer and great with dinner.
Gruenbacher Schlosstaler leichte Weisse--a typical hefeweizen with banana and some clove. Also had a hint of something solvent-like, hard to put a finger on it, but not my favorite hefe in Germany.

Tulip Inn Munich:
Beck's Gold--typical large-scale, crisp German lager. Nothing out of the ordinary
Franziskaner Hefe--owned by the same company as Beck's, also typical German hefeweizen, but somewhat thin and also solvent-like. Also not my favorite.