The long train from Lodz

I shall now go backwards in time, like some kind of latter day Christopher Lloyd.  My traveling companion and long time family friend Ryan and I arrived in Krakow at midnight thirty this evening, rolling into this lovely Polish city in a fog as thick and magical as a perfect milkshake poured over the night. How we managed to get here is a mystery to me.

At 4:00 this afternoon we embarked from the gritty industrial city of Lodz, and what was supposed to be a direct train ride turned into a 4 stop, missed connection day of mayhem that left me at one point on the verge of tears in a Mcdonalds in the Central Warsaw train station.  That said, we finally made it on the correct train, and I lay and looked out the windows into the night as the train rushed towards the promised city. We were greeted in Krakow at the hostel by a lovely girl at the front desk, who had set out a plate of food and a glass of champagne in the kitchen on a candelit table for us both. What fortune! What bounty!

Prior to this we had been in Lodz for the last 2 nights, but I digrees. Let us go back to the last few days in Berlin, for the sake of continuity.

Berlin was chaos, it was trashy sexy, it was Turkish delight and techno fever dream all jumbled together like some kind of awful puzzle. It made me feel a little like I had lost myself, which was a humbling reminder that some big cities are too full of movement and sound and fury for me. I did watch a soccer game between Germany and Turkey in a local corner pub in the neighborhood I was staying in, and learned it was a huge match as there is a very strong Turkish population in Berlin. Germany took Turkey 3-0.

Also, my friend Matteo the acrobat returned, who had so graciously offered for me to stay in his apartment while it is in between renters. So for about a week I pretended I lived in a fourth floor walk up.  He took Ryan and I to Potsdam, an area outside the city with castles, the old military and housing quarters for US troops following the war, and an island designed by a queen which looked like it was straight out of a Jane Austen book. There were swans, and peacocks, and rolling fields and beautiful walking paths lined with trees.  It was a welcome return to nature, if just for a moment.

We spent many hours dissecting, discussing, and philosophizing, and I was captivated by his stories and worldliness. He told us about hearing of the wall coming down, huddled around a radio with the rest of his East Berlin circus, while in the middle of Russia on a tour. He was twenty years old that year.

We spoke of the importance of knowing one's roots, and honoring the passing down of these deep memories through generations. I can feel a sense of grief coming up, this internal sand dune shifting around like some great wind is trying to lift it up.  So, knowing that the wind is a blowin', it was time to travel to Poland.

Now, I will devote another post, dear reader, to THE story. But, I will tell you now that my Bubby, Ruth, came from a family of Polish Jews who lived in what is now Belarus, just west of Minsk, prior to WWII.  At that time it was still Poland. She left for Manhattan in 1935, and was the only member of her family to survive.

I am traveling back to a land of ghosts.  From my visit to the Jewish Museum in Berlin I gather even more information and the knowledge falls into place that my family did not stand a chance. Poland was absolutely decimated- concentration camps lie near several cities in Poland, housing projects stand where the Ghettos once stood, cemeteries are overgrown and full, and Minsk was a large deportation center for work camps and forced laborers.  I thought, ignorantly, that I might go to Poland and meet people who reminded me of Bubby, or looked like her.  But all the Jews are gone.  Thank god for Brooklyn.

The train ride into Poland was both uneventful and absolutely profound. It was the most beautiful day I can remember in ages, and for hours I watched the countryside through the window, young forests breeze by, with small villages dotting the landscape. I paid respects to my family, listened to music I loved, and felt in a strange way, like I was home. Or in the least, could recognize that land that once was a home.

Ryan and I had decided to check out Lodz, which is the second largest city in Poland and a fairly poor, gritty, industrial place.  When we walked through the tunnel in the train station we noticed the graffiti, 'fuck the reds' in spray paint on the wall. Parts of the city felt a little intense, though the main part of town is a 3 km, broad avenue with lights strung across the streets, nice cafes, and statues of famous Polish musicians and artists claming space on sidewalks. It is custom to rub the nose of the statue as you walk by, we noticed. 

What Lodz does have is a thriving film school, and with it a strong artistic subculture and young vibe.  If anyone is looking to attend an interesting university, this school is famous for graduating a number of now international figures, such as Roman Polanski. Apparently, David Lynch also filmed 'Inland Empire', here.

We shared our hostel dorm with a Czech priest who was studying for his priest exam, and who wore a lot of cologne and smoked cigarettes and drank beer on the deck.

On Sunday Ryan and I went for a four hour bike ride around the city, on a bitterly cold day, to visit the Jewish Cemetery and sight of the former Lodz Ghetto.  The Lodz Ghetto contained 200,000 Jews. of which 900 survived.  The cemetery is the largest in Europe, and to give you a sense, contains 200,00 graves and 180,000 headstones.  We were not allowed to take photographs, but what I was felt like miles and miles of graves within a forest, protected by a stone wall running around the perimeter. There is no family to care for the graves, and it was both heart breaking and enduringly peaceful.  Trees grow, grass is high, things live among so many who are gone.  There is a ghetto field, marked by rows of metals plates which bears the names and age in Hebrew of 43,000 residents of the Ghetto, who died during the war.  In the Synangogue at the entrance to the cemetery were stacks upon stacks of these simple head stones which are still waiting to be set out.

It's a lot to digest, and in Poland you can feel there has been great loss, not only during the war, but following it as well.  It seems to be changing though, and so far people have been friendly and it has felt very real, which I appreciate.  I will be in Krakow for a couple days, and look forward to walking along the river, perhaps riding bikes (life is always better with bikes), and sampling a LOT of vodka.  Until next time . . .