No Regrets!

Everyone in the group knew that today was going to be heavy. Visiting the concentration camp was something all of us were looking forward to but a little scared of at the same time.

We hopped onto an early morning shuttle from Krakow, sharing the cramped van with locals heading to the suburbs. Frank, who spent some time in the fruit trade, told me that the giant green grapes I was eating were “Waltham Cross” grapes.

As we passed through small towns, street signs displayed town names, but some of them had a red slash through them as if they used to be there but no longer existed. I remarked to Frank that the red slashes must signify towns that were destroyed in WWII and no longer exist. The truth is much less dramatic. A red slash through a town name means that you are leaving that town.

We came into Oświęcim (aws-vay-CHEEM), the Polish town that gave Auschwitz its name. Given the history of the area, I was surprised that people would still want to live there, but they do. Oświęcim is a decently sized, fully functional town with cafes and mobile phone shops and colorful advertisements.

We walked into Auschwitz and joined an English tour. Before walking in, our guide went over the basics most people already know: Germans enslaved and killed Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, the mentally and physically disabled, and political prisoners at this camp. Of the 6 million Jews killed by Germans in WWII, about 1 million of them were killed here, more than at any other concentration camp.

Some blocks were barracks filled with bunk beds. Another was a torture chamber. Another was used for grotesque medical experimentation.

Exhibits displayed mountains of baggage and kitchenware and shoes and hair that had been collected from the prisoners.

Between Blocks 10 and 11, an alley was reserved for shootings. Gallows were used for public hangings.

Guard towers, barbed wire, and electric fences made escape nearly impossible. Those who were caught trying to escape were almost always killed. Just knowing someone who attempted to escape often led to brutal punishment or death.

Gas chambers were used for mass executions. During 1943 and 1944, the camp worked at a furious rate to kill the hundreds of thousands shipped to them by rail from almost every country under German control.

Speech given by Obersturmführer Franz Hössler to a group of Greek Jews in the undressing room just prior to being killed in the gas chamber:

“On behalf of the camp administration I bid you welcome. This is not a holiday resort but a labor camp. Just as our soldiers risk their lives at the front to gain victory for the Third Reich, you will have to work here for the welfare of a new Europe. How you tackle this task is entirely up to you. The chance is there for every one of you. We shall look after your health, and we shall also offer you well-paid work. After the war we shall assess everyone according to his merits and treat him accordingly.”

“Now, would you please all get undressed. Hang your clothes on the hooks we have provided and please remember your number [of the hook]. When you’ve had your bath there will be a bowl of soup and coffee or tea for all. Oh yes, before I forget, after your bath, please have ready your certificates, diplomas, school reports and any other documents so that we can employ everybody according to his or her training and ability.”

“Would diabetics who are not allowed sugar report to staff on duty after their baths”.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auschwitz_concentration_camp#Selection_process_and_genocide

By the spring of 1944, up to 8,000 people were being gassed every day at Auschwitz.

The gas chamber and crematorium used to dispose of the bodies were partially destroyed by the retreating Nazis but rebuilt after the war as a memorial.

From Auschwitz, we took a bus a few minutes down the road to Birkenau, also known as Auschwitz II. Birkenau is a truly enormous plot of land formerly covered by wooden barracks but now mostly barren.

Our guide took us inside one of the few remaining wooden barracks and explained that people often slept 10 to a bed, with very little clothing or protection from what must have been brutal Polish winters. The lowest bunks were the least desirable, she explained, because then you were sleeping with the rats.

While Auschwitz was built for labor, Birkenau was built for extermination. Behind the barracks and at the farthest point from the camp entrance are the remains of industrial-sized crematoriums. Retreating Nazis destroyed the structures, but the footprint of their ruins gives some indication of their original size.

From the stairs in the guard tower, one can look out a window and see the entire expanse of Birkenau. There are grids of barracks as far as the eye can see on either side, and a train track cuts right through the middle. It was here where the trains unloaded, people were “selected,” and families were broken. So many people died.

I am Jewish. Having traced my family tree back several generations, I am well aware of the dozens of Dutch ancestor cousins who died at Auschwitz-Birkenau. When viewing my tree in graphical form, the damage caused by the Nazis is horrific. Branches representing whole families abruptly stop, leaving large blank spaces where I should now have cousins. It humbles me to think that it could have been my branch that was clipped, leaving other cousins to wonder these things about me.

Standing there, on the ground where my relatives and so many others were enslaved, tortured, and murdered, hit me hard. There is a plaque at the back of Birkenau upon which, as is customary in the Jewish tradition, I placed a rock to show that I have been there to pay my respects.

At Auschwitz-Birkenau, photography wasn’t allowed in some places, presumably because it is somehow disrespectful. Let’s get this straight… At the height of the Holocaust, prisoners risked their LIVES to photograph the atrocities and share them with the rest of the world.

Several members of the Sonderkommando squads of mainly Jewish prisoners working in the crematoria who were responsible for emptying the gas chambers and burning the corpses, “beginning with those of its predecessors,” were desperate “to record the crimes committed by the Germans in the Auschwitz gas chambers.” The evidence of photographs would warn others to resist getting on the trains and attract the attention of the Allied forces.

…

In a 1987 interview, former Spanish Freedom fighter and anti-Fascist David Szmulewski claimed that prisoners damaged the roof of the crematorium to create a need for a repair team. “Working as a roofer, Szmulewski had more access and freedom to move around the camp without being suspected by the guards.” He lowered the camera, hidden in a false bottom of a bucket, into the crematorium to members of the Sonderkommando below and then kept watch from the roof. Alter Fajnzylberg, from France and also a Spanish Civil War veteran, testified in 1985 that four people were present: he and brothers Szlomo (Szlojme) and Josek (Abram) Dragon, at Auschwitz since Dec 1942, guarded and determined the moment when Alberto “Alex” Errera, a Jew from Greece, “quickly took out his camera and pointed it toward a heap of burning bodies and pressed the shutter.” Then the photographer hid between some trees in the courtyard and another picture was taken as the women and men undressed in front of the trees. Alex “tried to escape shortly after the event and was shot at the beginning of September 1944.”

“The exposed film was taken back to the main camp where Helena Szpak-Daton, who worked in the SS canteen, concealed it in a toothpaste tube and smuggled it out of the camp” on September 7, 1944.

http://www.vaniercollege.qc.ca/vcta/VCTA_Apr05.pdf

http://www.sonderkommando-studien.de/artikel.php?c=fotografie/resistance

Not to transmit an experience is to betray it.

-Elie Wiesel, Auschwitz survivor

How does present-day photography at Auschwitz show disrespect for the deceased? Does the end of the war mean that the grisly details are no longer important? Does everyone truly understand the scale of what happened at Auschwitz? Does the story no longer need to be told? Is there no more to be learned? If recent atrocities in Rwanda, Cambodia, Iraq, East Timor, and Sudan, and the resulting global indifference to those atrocities, are any indication, I’d argue that we still have a lot to learn.

With respect for the deceased, and in the spirit of telling their story, I’ve shared my photographs of Auschwitz-Birkenau, including the ones I wasn’t supposed to take.

Back in Krakow, we went for dinner as a group to Kazimierz, the historical Jewish district. The neighborhood was mostly cleared out by the Nazis and is now filled with abandoned synagogues and some Jewish restaurants. My traditional Jewish dinner of chicken soup, pork schnitzel, and fried cabbage was the best meal I’ve had on this trip so far.

For dessert and the train ride tomorrow, I got a giant box of cookies made of seeds and nuts, all glued together with chocolate. Frank says the cookie is called a Florentine.

Went for a quick nighttime walk around Kraków’s historical center before calling it a night.

About to go to bed now. Just outside my room, streetcars are squeaking and rumbling by. They sound just like the Panzer tank going through the village at the end of Saving Private Ryan. Tomorrow, we’re off to Prague.

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Woke up sweating and sore. Out the window, a beautiful sunrise over the Polish countryside.

We gathered our things and prepared for our early morning arrival in Krakow.

After dropping our bags at the Hotel Polonia, we walked around Krakow’s historical center and finished in the enormous town square, one of the largest of its kind in Europe. The lanes radiating outward from the square, with tall, flat rowhouses lining either side, reminded me of small towns I visited in Ireland. Polish signage makes the language seem very complicated. Lots of consecutive consonants, accents everywhere.

At the end of our walk, we found a small church with its doors open and music pouring out. After all the hustle and bustle, we welcomed a few minutes of peace, so we took seats at the back and soaked in the unusual and beautiful guitar and violin processional. When you’re traveling, little surprises like this make it special.

On the rainy streets of Krakow’s historical center, there are a few tourists walking around, but the Poles stick out. Most of them are pale and malnourished-looking, and their faces express something between emptiness and confusion and displeasure. Their eyes are lifeless and sunken, almost like their souls have been hollowed out. Eye contact is met with eye contact, not out of friendliness, but out of paranoia. Given that Poland was particularly devastated by WWII just a few generations ago, is it possible the people of Poland are still a little shell-shocked from it?

After the blazing afternoon sun came out, most of the group took a bike tour around the city, but Frank and I didn’t have it in us. Instead, we had lunch and a beer at one of the local cafes and took a leisurely stroll to Krakow’s main tourist attraction, Wawel (VAH-vel) Castle.

Wawel Castle is so massive that it’s hard to photograph from the outside. We circled it, climbed up the steps, and wandered around a bit inside.

As we headed out, we were stopped by an old man who was looking for the residence of a specific historical figure on the castle grounds. For some reason, this old man thought that I, with my tank top and tripod, would know.

He was German and 83 years old. In heavily accented English, he went on to tell us how “full of fear” he was as a 15-year-old boy in Nazi Germany when Berlin was being heavily bombed by the Allies. At one point, his class was split into two halves. The other half was hiding in a gymnasium when it was bombed, killing everyone in it. He went on to tell us that he was recruited to shoot anti-aircraft guns. “So much fear, so much fear…”

At dinner, Tomi challenged me to a pierogi-eating contest. Despite his smallish frame, he beat me badly. Apparently, when he was in the US a few years back, he won competitive eating contests with ease. They called him the “Beast from the East.”

Before calling it a night, Tomi took us to the Jazz Rock Cafe, a basement bar with grotesquely mutilated baby dolls in display cases on the walls. Kirtan and I started talking movies, laughing at Frank when he said that Matt Damon, and not Mark Wahlberg, was in “The Fighter”. Frank owes us a round for that one.

It was hot today, and I’m completely spent. Tomorrow is our day trip to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp, which we’re all a little nervous about.

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Alex and I visited Tacheles, a recommendation from my friend Chris. The historical and partially demolished building is now a haven for artists. It’s filled with paintings and graffiti and sculptures. It smells like paint and mold and piss.

We visited the Berlin Wall Memorial, a preserved section of wall with displays for those who were killed trying to cross it.

Then a walk past the Berlin Cathedral and a stop at the uncreatively named History Museum. According to Rob, most of the public buildings in Berlin were given generic names to avoid potential conflict between the East and West if buildings were named for specific historical figures.

At the museum, I saw the oldest globe in the world (I love old maps!) and saw photos and videos documenting the rise and fall of Hitler and the Nazis. In the Berlin Wall exhibit, I learned that West Germans playfully painted it with graffiti because there was no danger of them crossing. East Germans, warded off by lights and dogs and guns, rarely even approached the wall.

I did a ridiculous amount of walking in Berlin. My ankles are angry and my feet are shredded. Maybe wearing Chaco sandals for day-long urban hikes was not a good idea.

Just before meeting up with the group for our overnight train to Poland, Kirtan and I and some German wasps filled up on some schawarma. I popped into Bäckerei Morgenduft and got some food for the trip: a baguette sandwich, a triangular pastry densely coated with glazed seeds and nuts, and rice pudding filled with German wasp larvae.

As a group, we headed to the banhof (train station). After changing trains in Berlin, we were headed out of Germany.

After crossing the border from Germany to Poland, I gazed out the window at the suburbs and greenery passing by and wondered what the area must have looked like during WWII. If these trees could talk…

Night fell. We stopped at the Poznań Główny railway station to connect to our overnight train to Krakow. To pass the two hours between trains, I entertained David and Tomi with Polish jokes. I got some Polish money from the ATM and spent my first zlotys (ZLAWT-eez) to use the public toilet.

Now on the overnight train to Krakow, crammed into a tiny cabin with Kirtan and Frank. I volunteered to take the top bunk.

The cabin is dark. Through the open window, I hear the loud clacking of the train on its tracks. It’s all a bit creepy. Are these the same tracks that were used for transporting Jews to the concentration camps?

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Kirtan and I started off by visiting the East Side Gallery, the longest continuous segment of Berlin Wall left standing and now decorated by local artists.

From there, we ventured to the west side of the city to the iconic Siegessäule, also known as the Victory Column. I’d seen photos of it before. I guess I imagined it to be bigger.

A spiral staircase inside leads you all the way to the top. Nice views of the city.

From there, we took a stroll through the enormous Tiergarten, an urban park in the middle of Berlin much like New York’s Central Park.

One of the other places I wanted to go for photographic reasons was the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, bombed in WWII and left damaged in remembrance. Naturally, we arrived at the church to find it completely covered with scaffolding.

You couldn’t see anything from the outside, so we popped inside for a quick look at the interior and headed back.

We returned to the hotel for our 6pm meeting with the group. At first glance, I thought, “Uh oh, mostly older people.” I silently hoped that they were cool.

We went around the table and introduced ourselves. There are 4 Aussies, 1 Kiwi, 1 Brit, 1 American, 1 Canadian, and me. Aside from Kirtan and Alex, a loud, bubbly, ridiculously tall teenage girl from Australia, most of them seem to be in their 40’s and 50’s. To my surprise, everyone is traveling alone. They all seemed cool, and Aussies are always lots of fun, so I’m optimistic that it will be a good trip.

I could tell right off the bat that Frank, one of the Aussies and a grandfather, was going to be the joker of the group. With his Rorschach t-shirt that reveals strippers and lots of man humor, he instantly became one of the guys.

We went to dinner as a group and walked back to East Side Gallery at dusk. Snapping away with my giant camera and tripod, many of them took an interest in my photography, peering over my shoulder and asking technical questions. I guess you can’t avoid that kind of attention when you’re walking around with a big-ass camera and your tripod makes 6 loud, attention-getting clicks as you open it.

Friedrichshain began to fill up with skinny kids smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, ready to hit the clubs. Boys proudly wear ill-fitting skinny jeans, girls wear black pantyhose or black tights. All of them seem happy and friendly. I’ve warmed up to the Germans. After getting past their harsh-sounding language, accepting that history is history, and interacting with them a bit, they seem like a nice enough people.

Before calling it a night, Tomi led us past some dark, decrepit buildings to a bar for a couple of drinks.

Kirtan and I had some curryworst, sausage soaked in curry sauce and sliced up into little pieces. A local specialty.

I got back to the room to find Kirtan, who had come home earlier, snoring away. Just as I was dozing off, he lurched up in bed and loudly asked nobody in particular, “What is this for?” Moments later, he was snoring again.

I’m now back at the Bäckerei Morgenduft for another glorious breakfast with the yellowjackets. My research suggests that the insects, which are all over Berlin, are the German wasp, aka Vespula germanica. The females sting when provoked and like to lay eggs in strudel.

I’ll be meeting up with Alex this morning to do some exploring. Like me, she’s been in Berlin for a few days and has already seen all the highlights, so we’ve picked a few out-of-the-way places to go to. Three days is just about the perfect amount of time to take in Berlin.

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Just as day started to break on the left side of the plane, the orangey glows of small Normandy towns became visible in the blackness on the right.

What followed was an unbelievably long, borderline criminal walk from the farthest gate in Terminal 2C to the farthest gate in Terminal 2D. Sweating profusely, I got to the gate just in time.

Flying into Berlin, the first things I saw through the hazy gray clouds were the famous TV tower and white apartment buildings of identical design all over the place.

On the bus from the plane to the terminal, I studied the mostly German passengers I had just flown with. They have a look, but it’s hard to pin down. Their most common features are skinny frames and thin lips, but there is a lot of variation. None of the women wear make-up, and many have short hair, making them look a bit masculine. In a juvenile and probably offensive way, I wondered how many of them had fathers or grandfathers who were Nazis. Does that make me an asshole? Or is that a valid stigma German people will battle for generations to come?

Strangely, there was no customs or passport stamp upon entering Germany. Is that because I had just come from Paris, where they did briefly glance at my passport? Once you’re in the EU, you’re in the EU?

The helpful girl at the information desk gave me a map and precise instructions to use the bus and train to get to my hotel.

I was introduced to Berlin through the bus window. Every street sign had a platz or a straße on it (that ß is kind of cool-looking). As instructed, I got off at the Alexanderplatz train station.

I got onto one of the S-trains to Warschauer Straße in Friedrichshain (FREE-dricks-hine), a borough on the east side of town.

After a bit of gratuitous walking (address numbers work a bit funny here), I finally made it to the Friedsrichshain Hotel.

At this point, it was 4:30am for my body and I was running on two hours sleep, but I kept going. Running on the adrenalin rush of being in a new place, I consulted a few maps and headed out to explore Berlin.

I thought it would be a good idea to force breakfast down, so I went to Bäckerei Morgenduft next door to grab a bite. The yellowjackets swarming around the food on display were unappetizing, but the free wifi made it easy to plan my day.

I figured that a free walking tour of the most important historical sites in Berlin was a good way to start things off, so I headed back into town for that. On the way in, I noticed that the trains sound like the baby monitors from the movie “Signs.”

Over the last few weeks, I’d been watching the History Channel and brushing up on World War II. I knew the basic story about how the Soviets and Allies invaded Berlin, and I was familiar with a few of the buildings. I was excited to see them come to life.

With some time to kill before the tour, I wandered around the Reichstag. It’s an impressive building, fully restored from the war and surrounded with serene grass fields filled with sun-seeking locals and tourists. I couldn’t go into the building because you have to register a few days in advance for that.

I grabbed a wurst from a street stand and headed over to the famous Brandenburg Gate, only to find a Nike-sponsored track and field competition on the plaza in front of it. The gate is an iconic symbol of Germany, and I was disappointed that I couldn’t get a good picture of it.

At 4pm, I met up with the group for the free walking tour. Our guide was Rob, a guy from Manchester. The company runs on a pay-what-you-think-it’s-worth philosophy, which I really like since it motivates the guide to give the tour value.

Rob gave us a crash course on German history, using the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag as a starting point. Our next stop was the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, known locally as the Holocaust Memorial. Interesting space, one that is open to a wide range of interpretations.

Rob then took us over to a run-of-the-mill parking lot a block away and abruptly stopped. Sliding his toe in the dirt, Rob said that we were standing on top of Hitler’s bunker, approximately 15 feet above the spot where Hitler committed suicide. Amazing.

Rob went on to say that Germans carry a lot of guilt from WWII. The Holocaust is compulsory in every student’s education, and politicians are required by law to visit a concentration camp once a year.

I was quite surprised and delighted with all of Rob’s jokes at Hitler’s expense. I asked if all Germans are as light-hearted about Hitler, or if they are still sensitive about it. He said that most Germans make Nazi jokes but that you’ll always find people with varying senses of humor.

We walked around and explored more Nazi-inspired modernist architecture. All the buildings are solemn and gray, with straight lines, and right angles, perhaps. The former Luftwaffe headquarters was particularly impressive. It’s the largest office building in the world. Rumor is that Stalin made an arrangement with the Allies to prevent it from being bombed so that he could use it for a Soviet government in Berlin. Today, it’s the tax office.

Just behind the building, I saw my first section of the Berlin Wall. As we looked at it, Rob explained that it was 50 years ago to the day, maybe even to the hour, that 25,000 German troops were mobilized to build it. It went up almost overnight. Rob also pointed out that the seemingly random line of bricks in roads all over Berlin marks where the Berlin Wall used to be.

We walked by heavily-touristed Checkpoint Charlie and a few more historical buildings before the skies opened up and thoroughly drenched us.

After the tour, Rob recommended the pub crawl organized the same tour company. Since the rest of my tour group hadn’t arrived yet and I had nothing better do to for the night, I signed up.

The rain had finally stopped when the pub crawl started under a bridge. Young Brits and Americans traveling in groups proceeded to drink heavily and pose with each other for new Facebook pictures. I’m glad Carl steered me away from a Contiki tour filled with these clowns. It’s fun for a night or two, but it would get old quickly.

I chatted a bit with a group of grad students from Baltimore. They’ll be in Prague in a few days, so I might meet up with them there. I met a guy named Ogene from Saskatoon. He and I were the only ones who were alone on the pub crawl, so we bonded quickly. I also befriended three German students, Stefan, Tomas, and Matias, who were in Berlin on vacation. They were young, a bit nerdy, and fun to bullshit with.

Woke up to a knock on the door this morning, feeling a bit rough but well-rested and time-adjusted. It turned out to be Kirtan (KEER-tin), an English guy booked on my tour. We talked for a few minutes, and he told me that there were now nine people booked on the tour.

Kirtan and I met Tomi, our young Slovakian guide, in the lobby. He seemed a bit timid, perhaps because of his imperfect English, but very friendly.

I just brought Kirtan over to Bäckerei Morgenduft for früstüch (rhymes with “push took”), or breakfast. Again, yellowjackets are all over the place, landing on the strudel in the display case and likely reproducing in them.

With one day of Berlin under my belt, I gave Kirtan a quick orientation. We’ll probably hang out today before returning to the hotel to meet Tomi and the rest of the group.

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I’m sitting on Air France flight #39. My seat in 15L is next to a window about 30 feet from an enormous engine. Out the window is the featureless blue-gray swath of the Atlantic Ocean. It stretches to the horizon, where bubbly cumulus clouds and layers of white stratus are having a party. This will be the seventh time I have crossed the Atlantic.

With my personal life calming down a bit and the tail end of summer approaching, I decided that it was time for another travel adventure. I didn’t have any friends willing or able to go with, so I was on my own.

I had a couple of weeks in August that seemed like a good time to go. The season motivated me to pick a northern hemisphere destination, but where? When picking a destination, I am often guilty of paralysis by analysis. It took some effort, but I whittled down my “must-see” list to these three options:

• Iceland/Scandinavia – I’ve always wanted to take a photographic expedition to Iceland, and I’ve always been curious about Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Denmark. I also know that summer is be the only time to go to these places.
• Greece/Turkey – Greece is a must, and I hear good things about Istanbul.
• Central Europe – I haven’t seen any of these countries. Prague and Italy are high on my list.

I reached out to traveler friends and relatives for advice, leading to some in-depth conversations on Facebook. My cousin Eric and his partner Carl were particularly helpful, having been around the world themselves.

Economic instability and rioting ruled out Greece for the time being, and Iceland/Scandinavia looked like it was going to be a very expensive trip, so I eventually settled on central Europe.

I loved my organized tours of Australia and New Zealand with Oz and Kiwi Experience, and I thought it might be fun to do something similar in Europe. A bit of online searching, and I was overwhelmed. Carl, now a travel agent, had the inside scoop on a lot of the tours. He steered me away from Contiki, saying that those trips would be filled with drunk, vomiting teenagers. He recommended Intrepid and Gap Adventures.

I found an attractive package with Intrepid going from Berlin to Venice, and when I learned that they were offering 20% off the package price for the dates I wanted, I jumped on it.

It’s such a cool and strangely nervous feeling when you click the book button and stare at the web browser for a few moments before you get confirmation.

http://www.intrepidtravel.com/trips/amrb

• Berlin, Germany – Was never high on my list, but it’s included and might be cool. There’s the obvious WWII history, which I want to explore. Other than that, all I know is that Germans make great cars, don’t really have a sense of humor, and have a rough-sounding language. I’m getting here a day before the tour starts to do some exploring on my own.
• Krakow, Poland – From there, I’ll be taking a day trip to Auschwitz. Don’t know much about Krakow itself.
• Prague, Czech Republic – I’ve heard only amazing things from people who have been there. Beautiful city, beautiful people.
• Cesky Krumlov, Czech Republic – Never heard of this place. A quick Google search reveals it to be a small, medieval town. Hopefully, there’s some charm there.
• Vienna, Austria – The place to see and hear classical music. Other than that, I’m guessing Austria is pretty similar to Germany.
• Budapest, Hungary – I think I’ve seen pictures with some cool architecture, but I don’t know anything else about it.
• Bled, Slovenia – Never heard of it, but my friend Josh just went there and loved it.
• Venice, Italy – For some, the most romantic and beautiful place in Europe. For others, 24 hours is more than enough. From what I’m hearing, the city is slowly going underwater, so I should probably see it while I can. I want to see the rest of Italy, but to do it thoroughly, I’ll need to devote a separate trip to it. I’ve booked an extra day at the end of my trip to relax a bit before heading home.

It’s an impressive-looking itinerary. Should be lots of opportunities for photography, good food, and people-watching. I’m a little concerned that a day or two in each of these cities won’t be enough, but with careful planning, I should be able to hit all the highlights. We’ll be spending quite a bit of time in transit, but that’ll be a good time for me to catch up on blogging and photos.

Accommodation in hostels, hotels, and apartments is included. Transportation by train, coach, local bus, minivan, and metro is arranged, as well. In each city, we’ll have lots of optional activities to choose from, but my understanding is that we’re free to do as we please.

I’m also looking forward to the nightlife in each of these cities, given that my social circle at home is slowly being dismantled by relationships and careers. That’s what happens in your mid-thirties. It’s been many months since I really let loose.

After years of mostly independent travel, this is the first organized tour I’ve taken since 2000, when I toured New Zealand (or since the summer of 2004, when I was a Trek America tour leader, if you count that). I’m finding that, as I get older, I have less and less patience for all the comparison-shopping, schedule-making, and communication difficulties that go along with booking complex international itineraries. With a friend doing some of the gruntwork, it’s tolerable. If it’s just me, I’m all for easy.

At last check with Intrepid, there were only 5 or 6 people booked on this trip. With so few, it’s a crapshoot. One or two assholes or a few boring, old people, and the next two weeks could be miserable. But if I luck out with fun and interesting travel companions, it’ll be a blast. Tour guides can also make or break a trip, but when most of our time is away from the group, I wonder how involved the guide really is. Seems like his/her role would be mostly logistical.

This Airbus A380-800 is a big-ass plane. The ride is wonderfully smooth, and it’s pretty quiet up here in front. The flight’s at barely 50% capacity. I wonder how many people they need in order for the flight to be cost-effective. There’s a camera in the tail and nose of the plane, as well as one on the bottom that looks straight down. You can use the in-seat video monitor to check out the view. First time I’ve ever seen that.

The captain said that flight time to Paris will be only 6 hours, 23 minutes. We arrive at 6am local time, which will be midnight for me. I should try to get some sleep to minimize jet lag.

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Eight months ago, I took a last-minute trip to Mexico with my buddy Anthony for New Year’s. We had a pretty good time down there, but it was also a good opportunity to get away from home and sort out personal issues we were both dealing with at the time. Travel therapy. I didn’t keep a formal blog, but I thought it might be fun to remember some of the highlights.

I met Anthony at the Cancún airport late at night. I was waiting for him outside, where the air was thick with humidity and tourists were hustling and bustling for taxis and vans and shuttles. We had read in our guidebooks to be careful not to get ripped off by one of these people, so we carefully explored our options. An hour and a half later, after all the other, more sensible tourists had gone to their hotels, we were part of a small group of people waiting for the last shuttle of the night to pick us up.

Anthony and I spent a couple of days exploring the beaches and sneaking through some pretty impressive all-inclusive resorts. Some of them were cool with us hanging around, but others were quite exclusive, refusing to let us walk through their property without the requisite bracelets.

At night, we did our best to find intestinally friendly food that wasn’t overpriced for tourists, a delicate balancing act. Then we’d hit the clubs. There aren’t any chill sports bars or lounges or pubs, just raging dance clubs that start pounding up and down Kukulcan, the main road, as soon as the sun goes down.

Most of the clubs charge a cover of about $40 for an open bar. Since it’s often hard to tell if there are any people inside or if the place is a dump from the street, it was always a risky proposition. The high cover charges mean that there aren’t many locals in the clubs, just rich gringos and South Americans on vacation. Even though it wasn’t Spring Break time, there was definitely a Spring Break vibe. Lots of young, overweight girls in skimpy dresses and douchebags with pink shirts, giant sunglasses, and flip-flops.

Once they suckered you in with the cover charge, the drinks were always tiny and watered down. Bartenders would get moody if you didn’t tip them, refusing to serve you or aggressively pointing to the tip jar if you played cheap. Anthony and I worked out a system where we’d take small change in pesos (worth next to nothing) and slam it into the tip jar as we ordered our drinks so that the bartenders would know that we tipped them but couldn’t tell how much. Some of them caught on, knowing that tips consisting of only coins were worthless.

Cover charges were jacked up to nearly $100 for New Year’s, so we knew that we’d have to just pick a place and hope for the best, knowing we’d be stuck there all night. After talking to a few of the guys selling entry bracelets on the street, one of them made a pretty good pitch for The City. He kept telling us that it was the best because there were three separate bars: a street-side dance bar, a giant warehouse club that could hold thousands of people, and a pool deck on the ocean, and with the bracelets, we could go to all three. He also claimed, of course, that he had better prices than anyone else on the street. We went for it.

After some tacos and some drinks at the street-side bar, we went into the warehouse. We found a good spot on a platform in the middle of the dance floor and the lights went dim. As numbers flashed on a big screen behind us, we counted down with the crowd and screamed in the New Year.

A few watered down drinks later, we were completely taken by surprise when the music died down and acrobats, dancers, and performers put on a show for us in the middle of the club. We would later come to find out that all of the big clubs in Cancún did something similar for New Year’s.

We stumbled onto the beach to watch the first sunrise of 2011.

One afternoon, we rented scooters to explore downtown Cancún, a short bridge crossing from the tourist zone. I loved zipping up and down the traffic-filled streets and navigating our way through unmarked downtown intersections, but Anthony was scared shitless. We visited some of the popular tourist markets and, with some effort, found the #1 rated restaurant on TripAdvisor, Pik Nik. Great food and a wonderfully friendly staff.

Anthony was keen to do some scuba diving, so we booked a cheap package. I’m a bit freaked out by the whole scuba experience, but I sucked it up for Anthony and braved my way through pool training and two dives. I’m no expert, but I thought the two places they picked to go down to the reef kinda sucked. Not much life, just lots of dead-looking plants and coral. A bit discouraging, given the reputation this part of Mexico has for diving.

Things were made a bit more adventurous when one of the tourists we were with, the girlfriend of the guy who shot this video, passed out underwater. She spent the rest of the afternoon reclined on the boat covered with towels.

To fill our days, we took a few day trips from Cancún. Our first was to Isla Mujeres, a small, mostly unimpressive island a short ferry ride from Cancún. We sat on the beach and explored the island a bit on bikes, but it wasn’t much more than a good way to kill a day.

Our next trip was to famous Chichen Itza (chee-CHEN eet-SAH). I was very excited at the photography possibilities there, especially since a stop at a cenote and a “Light and Sound Show” at the ruins were part of our package.

We didn’t have a whole lot of time at Chichen Itza. Just as we got to one end of the grounds, the park closed and security started ushering us out. Alas, Chichen Itza prohibited tripods, so I had to do my best bracing against railings and laying in the dirt to get my shots. A featureless sky, crappy time of day, and tripodlessness meant that my Chichen Itza pictures were mediocre.

We also visited Cobá (koh-BAH), another Mayan archaeological site. The structures there were less impressive but more expansive than at Chichen Itza, so it was mostly just walking around and listening to the guide explain how much cooler these things were 1,500 years ago. Most of the ruins are at least partially climbable, which is kind of fun. Still no tripods, still no clouds, so the pictures turned out a little boring.

From there, we went to Tulum (too-LOOM), a site with Mayan ruins on cliffs overlooking the ocean. We were lucky enough to meet up with my friend Doug and his girlfriend Elizabeth, who were in Tulum for a destination wedding for one of their friends. Walking around the ruins, we caught each other up on our respective trips. I had originally hoped that Doug would be able to join us for a larger part of our Mexican adventure, but it was not to be. He was so wrapped up with wedding commitments that we only got to spend about an hour with them.

On our last night in Cancún, we went to Coco Bongo’s, a big club we were hearing a lot of buzz about. It was the largest and most expensive club we hadn’t been to, but worth every peso. The non-stop performances by musician and movie star look-alikes were spectacular, and with great music, lighting, smoke machines, confetti, and balloons everywhere, the party atmosphere was off-the-charts. Definitely the best club in Cancún.

Another fabulous New Year’s in the books. With our bodies and minds refreshed, Anthony and I returned home ready to make some important life decisions. Anthony has decided to move from the UK to Rio de Janeiro to be with the love of his life. How cool is that?

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With green ski slopes surrounding the town and streets lined with empty bars and restaurants, I could tell that Jackson really hops in the winter. For us, it seemed quiet and sleepy.

After checking into our room at the ironically named Virginia Lodge, we headed back to the center of town where Stef treated me to a fabulous birthday dinner at Snake River Grill. After consuming some delicious pork shank, we strolled into the store next door called By Nature Gallery that sold upscale fossil relics. Very cool!

The famous Million Dollar Cowboy Bar was pretty empty, but we took a moment to sit in the saddles by the bar before leaving.

The Silver Dollar Bar was packed and had a great band. We sat and chatted with some fellow travelers for a moment, but we couldn’t stay out too long as our flight home was scheduled for early in the morning.

At dawn, I headed over to the reception desk at the lodge to catch some wifi. I plopped down in a giant, overly soft leather couch on one side of the. I’ve always felt a little weird about public leather furniture. Do people’s germs stick and fester on leather more than on velour or wood or plastic? I get skeeved out when public leather touches my skin.

Checking our flights, I noticed that our flight home was delayed for a couple of hours. A great thing for Stef, because she really needed another couple of hours in bed.

Outside, the sun slowly rose behind the mountains, turning the sky blues from dark to deep to cheerful to pale. When I start sensing the end of a trip, I start thinking about home, about what may changed while I was away, even though in this case I’d barely been gone a week. As I cling to my last few hours of adventure, I wonder what mundane things my friends and family are doing at home, and I get depressed knowing that I’ll be doing those same things very soon.

It’s been one of those trips where everything just works out perfectly. We always missed the crowds, doing hikes and seeing sights and finding wildlife before buses full of tourists showed up. Wrong turns resulted in tremendous viewpoints. We’re quite satisfied with the wildlife we saw without even trying. Except for a night in the car in Yellowstone, we booked rooms where and when we needed to. And the weather was perfect. There was no rain despite a continuous forecast for it, and the sun always came out when we stopped the car.

When we dropped off our rental car at the airport, the odometer revealed that we had covered a total of 1703 miles on our trip, an average of 213 miles a day. Sounds like a lot, but it seemed quite manageable.

Before we knew it, we were home. We headed straight to the bar, where Stef and other friends had organized a surprise birthday happy hour for me. My friends are pretty cool sometimes.

Now, it’s back to real life…

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The alarm went off. It was still dark and cold. Stef and I made our way to the lodge’s observation deck to watch the sun rise over the Tetons. Hot chocolate kept my hands warm as we found a spot on the edge of Willow Flats, the huge expanse of mushy scrubland between the lodge and the mountains.

Elk bulls pierced the cold morning air with passionate bugling. The mountains slowly changed color as the sun came up behind us.

We returned to Horseshoe Bend for some more scenery.

Up to this point, Stef and I had seen bison, elk, and bighorn sheep, but we agreed that moose and bears were the coolest animals and were disappointed that we hadn’t seen any.

As Stef drove is up the winding road on Signal Mountain, Stef screamed out “Holy fuck, a bear!” Sure enough, about 50 yards ahead of us, a black bear was crossing the road. I fumbled with my camera and tried to get a few quick shots.

We stopped the car and I hopped out. The bear was quite small, so I looked around for a large, mean Mommy bear and gingerly took a few more pictures before the bear disappeared into the foliage.

Vans and cars stopped around us. Camera-toting tourists curiously crowded us to ask what we had seen, but the bear was already scampering off. Stef and I were proud to have had our quiet moment with the bear.

A short walk up the Signal Mountain trail took us to the Jackson Point Overlook for an impressive view of the park. The air was crisp, the scenery was a lesson in geology, with every conceivable landform within view. The spot would be cool field trip for a geology class.

From there, we headed down to Jenny Lake for a short ferry ride and a couple of highly rated hikes. Hidden Falls was surprisingly dull for something hidden, and Inspiration Point offers a surprisingly uninspiring view of Jenny Lake.

We hit the road again and made our way across the rather flat interior of the park. The maps are deceiving. The park is tiny, and you could very easily drive through the whole thing in a day. Stef, always the outdoors type, groaned every time she saw a runner or biker, wishing she were doing the same. What a glorious place to be active.

At one of our stops, I ran into a Trek America driver. I worked for Trek America in the summer of 2004, and I tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he wasn’t interested or even friendly. Was he threatened by the fact that I had already done what he’s doing? Scared that I might be critical of him? Or did he just not like my toe socks?

We came upon a group of people gathered along the bank of Snake River. A moose bull was resting in the foliage on the opposite bank. Everyone was taking photos and waiting for the rest of his family to show up. We had seen a bear and a moose on our last day!

Just before saying goodbye to Grand Teton National Park, we drove up to the Snake River overlook where Ansel Adams took his famous photograph. I wanted to pay homage to Ansel and take a similar photo, but conditions made it difficult. I tried my best.

We’ll be spending our last night in Jackson. We fly home tomorrow morning.

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The hike up Geyser Hill to the observation point was a bit strenuous and cold first thing in the morning, and it felt even colder when Old Faithful didn’t erupt as scheduled. Bracing ourselves against brisk winds, Old Faithful teased us with tiny queefs.

Finally, it erupted. It’s much less impressive when viewed from far away but an interesting perspective nonetheless. From such a distance, the geyser’s signature whooshing sound cannot be heard. With similarly freezing tourists on either side of us, we watched in silence.

After hiking back down, Stef and I followed the wooden boardwalk across Upper Geyser Basin. It was still early and chilly, but nasty fumes from the geysers and steam vents kept us warm as we walked. It was surprisingly busy, with families and camera-toting Asians crowding around geysers and waiting for the next scheduled eruptions.

Geysers dribbled and burped but were mostly gray and boring. The geothermal pools were more interesting to me. Their dazzling colors and mysterious stillness made me want to stick my hand in, but I held back. Unfortunately, people have been throwing garbage into these pools for decades. Trash settles and blocks the natural underground plumbing, disrupting microecosystems and diminishing their color. Shame.

From there, we dashed over to another geyser hot spot, the Black Sand Basin.

Before leaving Yellowstone, I wanted to get one last look at Grand Prismatic Spring. I knew that somewhere, there was vantage point to see it from above, but I didn’t know where it was, and park maps for the area were useless. Following the advice of a park ranger, we drove to the Fairy Falls trail and followed it a bit before veering off to hike up a hill.

From above, the view is spectacular. A gentle breeze silently wafts away the steam, revealing a full spectrum of colors that you never get to see on the ground.

The trail is not marked, but this hike should be required on any visit to Grand Prismatic Spring. Truly amazing, and a great way to finish Yellowstone.

We hit the road and headed south. On our way out of Yellowstone, we learned that the Antelope Fire had closed down a good chunk of the park up north. Once again, we lucked out.

As we approached Grand Teton National Park, the grasses became thicker and more golden. The area around Lewis Falls was particularly beautiful. The purple Grand Tetons (French for “big tits”) greeted us in the distance.

When you first enter on John D. Rockefeller Parkway, the scenery is spectacular. Jagged, picturesque mountains resemble the massive stone peaks of Glacier National Park, only with less snow and vegetation. Trees are awash in fall colors, and late afternoon sunlight fills everything with a golden glow. Yellowstone had none of this! Yellowstone may be good for wildlife and geysers, but for landscapes, Grand Teton National Park is where you want to be.

After a few phone calls, we learned that many of the lodges were closed for the season. I know it’s the end of the season, but why is everything closing down when these parks are still so busy? Jackson Lake Lodge was pricey, but it was the cheapest available room in the area, so we grabbed it. After checking in, I asked the lady at the front desk if there was a good spot to go for sunset, and she recommended Oxbow Bend, a small lake just down the road.

We arrived there to find dozens of photographers with their huge tripods and lenses pointed at the bushes on other side of river. Apparently, a moose family had been out the evening before, and they’d been sitting there for hours just waiting for it. Wildlife photographers have a patience I can’t even begin to understand.

Back at the Jackson Lake Lodge, we relaxed on the deck overlooking the meadow and watched the sun disappear behind the Grand Tetons and felt night slowly descend over us. Quite a view.

While waiting for a table at the lodge restaurant, we sat in the Shining-esque lobby and struck up a conversation with an older couple from Columbus, Georgia. My friend Rob lives in Columbus, but they didn’t know him.

Stef has been having some stomach problems, but that didn’t stop her from ordering elk at dinner. It was very lean and delicious, but I’m not sure exotic meats are what Stef’s ailing tummy needs. I had the duck, which was also quite delicious.

Along with the gastrointestinal issues, Stef’s legs are killing her and her feet are covered with blisters. We both have sunburned faces and chapped lips. All this adventure is taking its toll. Vacations are rough!

Tomorrow’s the last day of our adventure. We’ll start the day with a hike around highly recommended Jenny Lake and then head further south to Jackson Hole for our last night.

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