Lille 2015

Lille 2015

The continuing travels of Intrepid Rowe on the ANZAC Trail

Arriving in Lille under darker skies, the change in weather from the bright blue and sun of Paris was obvious and it was with some concern I wondered how the next dawn would be…wet, as most of Australia was, or just cold.  Not something I could change, I soon put that thought aside and began the journey with the bumpity clack of us travellers bouncing their roller suitcases through the city streets.  A fifteen minute walk had us at the Ibis Lille Opera hotel, a boutique hotel right in the centre of the town.  The town square was bustling with people, oblivious to the cool wind, and as we set out to try some local cuisine, we passed many old and quite stunning buildings. 

 I do not know, and my’ go to knowledge centre’ Wikipedia failed me, in finding out just what the Le Voix du Nord building was all about, best I can guess Is that it is a newspaper building, but it looked okay so scored a picture. 

The afternoon was drawing on and thirst was on the rise, but at this early stage I had no idea that within two hours my first day in Lille would be over.  I learnt to my suffering that Belgium beer, with a vol/alc of 8% has a habit of chopping you off at the knees without warning.  One minute talking and looking around, the next flat out in the room wondering what the hell just happened.  But the early end to one day was a good thing for the start of the next was just a few hours away.

0215 and we were up and on our way to the designated parking place in Zonnebeke from which buses would transport us to the service location.  It was ‘really good’ to be the first car there, and we got to watch as cars, buses and police assembled over the next two hours.  My body and muzzy head thought this was great fun, when bed was such a recent memory.  Time passed though and we boarded the buses for the short trip to the Buttes New British Cemetery in Polygon Wood, Zonnebeke.  Alighting in the dark (clever that, using light and dark but not in the usual way) we made our way along candle lit paths to stand among the headstones as the crowds grew around us. 

And stand we did, for it was already becoming light before the services began, by which time I had lost contact with my feet.  After a listening to the opening speeches,

I was pleasantly surprised to have the opportunity to see the Foreign Minister Julie Bishop up close as she delivered a fitting tribute to the men of Australia and New Zealand who were so senselessly slaughtered here, and elsewhere during the three years that our war raged on.

It really was a most impressive ceremony, with the Federation Guard providing personnel as well as a tri-service singing trio (http://video.defence.gov.au/play/hoMGNwdDq-zFZKx-jCf9qFst7Xrwkul3#) and brilliant NZ soloist who, I unashamedly say, brought tears to my eyes.  The Last Post was played by Buglers of the local volunteer Fire Brigade, who have been conducting the Menin Gate ceremony since 1928.  Haunting and definitely spine-tingling.  A fitting end to a wonderful dawn service.

On leaving the ceremony I fell in to step with the Chief Bosun (QMG) as we walked towards the buses and we chatted about how it all had gone.  It was pleasing we both thought the low spot was the butchering of the Ode of Remembrance by CMDR Du Toit who just failed to put one word after another.  The other thing that hit me was even though it is now18 years since I wore the blue suit, nothing has really changed and that was reflected in just how easy our chat was, as if in any Mess any old place.

Returning to the car a fateful decision was made that I should take charge of the navigation duties as I at least had been in this part of the world before.  Foolish idea.  Those who have read my older blogs will recall I am not good at this…geographically challenged I would venture to say.  So after driving to our intended destination of Ypres (Ieper) I decided this didn't look like I remembered and then orchestrated a 15 kilometre round trip to the exact same spot we left from.  This was not well received by fellow travellers who proceeded to take the piss out of me mercilessly, but, as my dear old Mum used to say, ‘at least you tried’! 

Close by to the Menin Gate is St Martin's Cathedral. Construction started on the church in 1230, and was finished in 1370. 

It was heavily damaged during the First World War.  Subsequently (1922-1930) the ruin was cleared and the church was entirely rebuilt following the original plans, although the tower was built with a higher spire than the original.  We stayed in Ypres for a brew, a bit more piss taking and the returned to Lille where most retreated to their racks for more sleep, however the Intrepid one headed out to capture some more local history before retiring.  First a stroll through the Grand Place seen here fronting the Hotel de Ville, which is the Town Hall.

The Lille Bell tower is the belfry of Lille Town Hall, opened in 1932, and is the highest in the region Nord-Pas-de-Calais.  The project of construction resulting from the destruction of the old City Hall during the First World War.  The Belfry in brick red and concrete "carved stone way" rises to 101 m height (104 m with the lighthouse), claiming political and commercial power of the regional capital.  Red brick meets the green of the trees surrounding the building.  The belfry houses a fine collection of contemporary works, which complements those that decorate the different municipal halls.

The tour de Lille almost completed, I returned to my room and savoured the football replay of Collingwood v Essendon, downloaded through AFL.com, thank you very much.  Then crashed for the night.  A beer free ANZAC Day, most unusual!

But the next dawned with an extended wait for transport and the first beer of the day resulted way too early with a local ale rated 9.9%.  Intrepid knew the day would get messy.  And eventually it did, but that is for another place and time.

Fromelles was the first place on the agenda to visit and it was a solemn place to visit as the French, to their undying credit had re-interred the victims of the fighting there.

Something of the ‘horrors of war’ alluded to by McInnis can be seen on the memorial wall.  Of the 1,299 Australians listed there, 595 (46 percent) were from three of the four battalions of the 15th Brigade – the 58th, 59th and 60th – from Victoria commanded by Brigadier General Harold ‘Pompey’ Elliot.

Artillery fire was supposed to have silenced the Germans and their machine guns in the ‘Sugar Loaf’ before the attack.  ‘Boys, you won’t find a German when you get there’, Brigadier Elliot told his men.  (Good call Sir!)  He was wrong and by the time the Australians advanced, the Germans were manning their machine guns.  Moreover, at the point of advance of the 15th Brigade, no-man’s-land was more than 365 metres wide compared to 90 metres on the left where other Australian battalions attacked.  As the 59th and 60th Battalions left their positions and proceeded across no-man’s-land they were shot to pieces.  Hundreds were killed and wounded and those unharmed took cover.  Shortly after 7 pm Elliot learnt that the attack was a dismal failure and that ‘every man who rises is shot down’.  Most of the leaders had quickly been killed or wounded after leaving the Australian lines.  Captain Aubrey Liddelow, 59th Battalion, was wounded but he told one of his men who urged him to go back to seek medical attention: ‘I’ll never walk back into safety and leave the men I have led into such grave danger – we’ll wait for reinforcements’.  Liddelow was later killed by shellfire.  His name is on Panel 14 at VC Corner along with 235 other soldiers of the 59th Battalion.  The 5th Australian Division suffered 5,533 casualties, rendering it incapable of offensive action for many months; the 61st British Division suffered 1,547.  The German casualties were little more than 1,000.  The attack was a complete failure as the Germans realised within a few hours it was merely a feint.  It therefore had no impact whatsoever upon the progress of the Somme offensive.  (And we trust our Officers?)

A short way up the road was a truly Australian only memorial, known as ‘Cobbers’.  Not a widely used term these days, more is the pity, but this monument truly sums up the comradeship we are renowned for.

A further 200 metres on was a cemetery known as VC corner.  At VC Corner there are no headstones.  Under two large concrete crosses set flat on the ground, to the left and right near the cemetery entrance, are the remains of more than 400 Australians who were killed in action or died of wounds.  They died all around here.  The cemetery is in the middle of the old no-man’s-land between the Australian and German trenches of 19 July 1916.  Beyond the cemetery is a memorial wall commemorating by name 1,299 Australians who died in the Battle of Fromelles and who have no known grave.  Together, the wall and the cemetery mark the location of perhaps the greatest disaster to befall the AIF on the Western Front in World War I.  Of the fighting at Fromelles Lieutenant Ronald McInnis, 53rd Battalion (New South Wales) wrote:

One of the most touching things I saw while walking through all the resting places of these outstanding men was this tribute…a half of Bundy and an ANZAC biscuit.  If I wasn’t already in such a fragile state…this would surely have hit me, but I was well over being tough by this stage and felt a warm line run down my cheek, again when I saw this.

And then it was time to wend our way back to Lille, as a lot of things needed to be bypassed due to the now constant heavy rain.  The fact that the Dawn Service was dry was a blessing and it was easy to accept the weather as a natural event in these parts.  Grateful not to had to encounter the pock marked and muddy conditions of our forefathers, we returned to Lille for some food and sustenance.

BAD Idea

Next…Brussels

The continuing travels of Intrepid Rowe of the Gallic Lands

A slow and restful start to the day as the train to Paris did not leave until midday, and as the Holiday Inn was so comfortable I took advantage of the late start and the free breakfast to become fat and sassy before grabbing a cab to the station.  Although we only spent 24 hours in Baden-Baden, they were certainly memorable as it was a beautiful town.

But that was now behind us and with typical German efficiency, the train to Mannheim departed right on time and 15 minutes later we were on a new station waiting for the TGV to arrive.  This train was the world’s fastest around until the Japanese smashed all records with their Maglev and the conductor was a little saddened when I mentioned this to him, but he got over it quickly and proudly stated it was still the fastest train outside of Japan.  And fast it is.  One doesn’t really appreciate just how fast it is but the monitors in the cabins were showing some pretty incredible numbers up to 320 kph.

The train fairly flew over the border and we watched the country side pass by while sitting in comfort sipping on the complimentary beers.  Four hours after leaving BB we arrived at Paris Est station and after being shuffled up and down the taxi queue we eventually found one that could accept all the baggage plus people and headed to the Lafayette hotel in the 9^th Arrondissement, a shortish ride but just a bit too far to walk without losing a suitcase wheel on the way.  A quaint hotel, but certainly comfortable enough.  I had forgotten just how little fun it was to watch BBC News as the only English option but have noted it is every bit as repetitious as I recall.  Just time for a short walk before an evil gout attack took me out of the game for the rest of the evening…hence my familiarity with the BBC.  I am hoping things improve rapidly overnight with a battery of drugs sent in the attack the gout germs.

Arthrexin, the wonder drug, worked its magic overnight and a sprightly traveller was on the dark streets of Paris at 0545 doing what he does best…speed touristing. 

The first of the mornings sights was what I thought was a dead man in the middle of the pavement, but he turned out to be just one of many homeless I encountered, sleeping deeply on a heat vent on the deserted pavers.

I had decided to head north to a. find a laverie (laundromat; as stocks of clean attire was now nil) and b. to visit the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris, commonly known as Sacré-Cœur is a Roman Catholic church dedicated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 

A popular landmark, the basilica is located at the summit of the butte Montmartre, the highest point in the city.  Sacré-Cœur is a double monument, political and cultural, both a national penance for the defeat of France in the 1871 Franco-Prussian war and the socialist Paris Commune of 1871, crowning its most rebellious neighbourhood, and an embodiment of conservative moral order.  Construction began in 1875 and was finished in 1914.

Being on the highest point of the city, this obviously was a poor choice for me but I soldiered on up stairs reminiscent of Goods Island back in the battery carrying days and, after stopping at various base camps for atmosphere acclimatisation I eventually arrived at the top.  The panorama was quite superb in the crisp morning light, but no picture could do justice to Paris laid out below. 

The highlight of the visit was meeting a lovely Canadian lass, Tracy, who endured my wry Aussie wit and suaveness for a while.  It was her birthday so I boldly took the opportunity for a cheek kiss.  I feel I made her day and will live on fondly in her Parisian memories! 

As seems to always be the case with this intrepid traveller, I passed the funicular rail cars on the way down, which would have been quite handy earlier.

Back to the hotel for an O Group with the BD’s at which it was decided that outstanding Parisian boxes must be ticked.  I have been to Paris quite a few times, the first while doing Exercise Longlook in 1993, so many of the must-sees had already been done.  This time the rest had to happen, for I have no doubt there will not be another chance.  And first on that list was a date with Mona at the Louvre.  Previously I had no time to wait in the queues because speed tourists are not good with them, this time…patience.  And so we walked from the 9^th Arrondissement to the I^st and as Paris is a reasonably flat city found the going quick and painless.  The crowd at the Louvre had obviously slept in and therefore saved their arrival for a little later and so entry was pretty quick.  The first port of call was definitely to see the Mona and after numerous encounters with pushy Japanese we found our way to the barricade in front of this renowned icon of the artistic world.  Now I must stress here that I am far from being an arty person, but it was just a must see black catter been there that it had to be done.  I had heard how small the painting was and how underwhelming it was, but I found it a reasonable size and very well presented. I do find it hard to justify the value though: “Guinness World Records lists the Mona Lisa as having the highest insurance value for a painting in history. On permanent display at The Louvre museum in Paris, the Mona Lisa was assessed at US$100 million on December 14, 1962. Taking inflation into account, the 1962 value would be around US$780 million in 2015”. Just as ludicrous as soccer player payments I reckon!

The canny observer will, of course, notice the same enigmatic smile captured, revealing my affinity with this famous lady.  Sadly my insured value is vastly different to hers.  

The Louvre, although a busy place with way too many selfie sticks was a fascinating place to visit and I parted company there from the BDs to spend a bit more time wandering the vast corridors interested mainly in the Greek and Roman statues.  On leaving, I crossed the Seine and wandered up to the nearby Musee d’Orsay, a museum on the left bank of the Seine. It is housed in the former Gare d'Orsay, a railway station built between 1898 and 1900.  The museum holds mainly French art dating from 1848 to 1915, including paintings, sculptures, furniture, and photography.  

It houses the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces in the world, by painters including Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cezanne and Van Gogh.   It was pretty impressive to see so many famous paintings in one place, but again, I found myself puzzled at just what it is that gets the arty people so excited.  Some of the paintings were just rubbish I thought, but I guess someone raved at some time and the rest is history!

It was the seascapes I found the most interesting and Renoir and Monet seemed more in to them than most of the other ‘masters’.  I liked Renoir’s Pont des Arts, and Monet’s Le Pont d’Argenteuil and Chasse Marée à l Ancre more than the landscapes, portraits and fruit bowls.

 And one more had to get a look-in here, simply because it was were done by Van Gogh ‘Starry Night over the Rhone’ and is worth a lot of money.

From the Musee d’Orsay I backtracked to the Notre Dame de Paris (French for Our Lady of Paris), a Gothic, Catholic cathedral on the eastern half of the Île de la Cité.  Construction began in 1163, during the reign of Louis VII.  The cathedral was effectively complete by around 1345.  Notre Dame de Paris was among the first buildings in the world to use the flying buttress (arched exterior supports). 

There was no sign of Quasimodo, the protagonist in the novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame (1831) by Victor Hugo.  Quasimodo, you will recall, was born with a hunchback and feared by the townspeople as a sort of monster, but he finds sanctuary in this church and an unlikely love that is fulfilled only in death. So romantic!

Sights were coming thick and fast now and I really loved walking along the path along the Seine.  No other river in the world has been the subject of such poetic fussing, frantic picture-taking, and all-around adoration.

Not far up the track was the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, a triumphal arch located in the Place du Carrousel opposite the Louvre.  It was built between 1806-1808 to commemorate Napoleon's military victories of the previous year.

The next place of interest was the Hôtel de Ville which houses the City of Paris's administration.  It has been the location of the municipality of Paris since 1357 and serves multiple functions; housing the local administration, the Mayor of Paris (since 1977), and also serves as a venue for large receptions.

A little further up the river, heading west is the Luxor obelisk from the temple of Ramses II at Thebes.  It is a 23 metres (75 ft) tall monolith in pink granite and weighs approximately 230 tonnes.  The Luxor Obelisk is over 3,200 years old and was originally situated outside of Luxor Temple, where its twin remains to this day.  

It first arrived in Paris on December 21, 1833, having been shipped from Luxor via Alexandria and Cherbourg, and three years later, on October 25, 1836, was moved to the centre of Place de la Concorde by King Louis-Phillipe.  It was gifted to France by Muhammed Ali, Khedive of Egypt.  Missing its original pyramidion (believed stolen in the 6th century BC), the government of France added a gold-leafed pyramid cap to the top of the obelisk in 1998.

Never one to spend too much time in one place, the next venue to peruse was La Conciergerie, a former royal palace and prison.  It is part of the larger complex known as the Palais de Justice, which is still used for judicial purposes.  Hundreds of prisoners during the French Revolution were taken from La Conciergerie to be executed on the guillotine at a number of locations around Paris.  Famous prisoners include Queen Marie Antoinette.

Off now to the Military Museum, which I found a little underwhelming until I got to the crypt of Napoleon Bonaparte.  The remains of the emperor, inside the sarcophagus, are protected by six concentric coffins, built from different materials, including mahogany, ebony, and oak, all one inside the other. 

On May 5^th 1821, Napoleon died on the island of St Helena, where he had been in exile since 1815.  His remains rested there until October 15^th 1840 when his remains were exhumed and brought to Paris, under the instructions of Louis-Philippe, who demanded that the English return the emperor to French soil.

Always a beacon to any traveller in Paris, The Eiffel Tower is an iron lattice tower located on the Champ de Mars.  It was named after the engineer Alexandre Gustave Eiffel, whose company designed and built the tower.  Erected in 1889 as the entrance arch to the 1889 World's Fair, it was initially criticised by some of France's leading artists and intellectuals for its design, but has become both a global cultural icon of France and one of the most recognizable structures in the world.  The tower is the tallest structure in Paris and the most-visited paid monument in the world; 6.98 million people ascended it in 2014.  The tower received its 250 millionth visitor in 2010.  The tower is 324 metres (1,063 ft) tall, its base is square, 125 metres (410 ft) on a side.

Having climbed the tower stairs on a previous visit I knew I would not be repeating that act of stupidity again somy course was set to the north towards the Arc de Triomphe.

The Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile, (Arch of Triumph of the Star) is one of the most famous monuments in Paris.  It stands in the centre of the Place Charles de Gaulle at the western end of the Champs-Élysées. 

It was built to honour those who fought and died for France in the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars, with the names of all French victories and generals inscribed on its inner and outer surfaces.  Beneath its vault lies the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I.  The monument was designed by Jean Chalgrin in 1806 and its iconographic program pitted heroically nude French youths against bearded Germanic warriors in chain mail.  It set the tone for public monuments, with triumphant patriotic messages.  The monument stands 50 metres (164 ft) in height, 45 m (148 ft) wide and 22 m (72 ft) deep.  I made my way under the road to the base of the Arch, only a madman would try to cross the roundabout fed by 12 intersecting roads.  Ticket bought I headed inside.  I knew there would be a climb involved but seriously, this place made the Eiffel Tower climb seem not so bad.  Admittedly there are about 700 steps at the tower against 300 here, but a very narrow spiral stair case that seems to on forever absolutely ripped my legs apart. 

In the end it was more pulling myself up by the hand rails than climbing.  I sometimes need to remind myself I am not the buff trim athlete I was in my youth!

But the view from the top was well worth the climb with glorious weather making the often hazy sky clear and bright.

After seeing all there was, it was down the stairs again, a much less laborious task this time and time to head in the direction of the hotel.  I chose to detour a little to walk past the Moulin Rouge, a place I really wanted to see the show at, but the price of tickets is a bit ridiculous so this was as near as I was prepared to get.

Lille next.

Germany 2015

The continuing travels of Intrepid Rowe of the German hinterlands

Things began really well as my dear daughter Ash turned up right on time to pick me up for the trip to the airport and I arrived a little excited at Adelaide Airport and headed inside through the solid rain fall and up to the check in desks   On entry to the lounge it took no time to find Barry and Donna and Pamela.  We sat in the lounge for a while then they departed for their flight to Melbourne, two hours before me.  Alone in the lounge I attacked the party pies with vigour and after 15 had passed my now burnt and blistered lips I decided to head to the front desk and invest 10000 points on an upgrade to Melbourne.

Flights being flights, all went very well to Melbourne right up until ATC said wait and we began to see way too much of Werribee.  Landing 15 minutes late created a bit of a problem for me as I chose to sacrifice a minute in the QClub with kin to ensure getting on the Emirates flight which was allegedly boarding while I was still queue bound in Immigration.  (Side note…piss poor Melbourne – open more gates)  So a (for me) sprint to Gate 16 which is allegedly 8 minutes’ walk but I boast I did in 6.  As I lent against a support recovering and cooling it soon became apparent that boarding wasn’t imminent and I could just feel my humour level dropping by the minute.  About 20 minutes after planned boarding, activity.  I claimed my Gold status and headed down the check-in lane but was sent to the desk as my boarding pass failed to register.  An outstanding outcome as I was moved in upper deck paradise with a Business Class upgrade…again.  Emirates…feel my love.  I boarded and felt an immediate affinity with my ‘fall flat’ bed.  A magnanimous call by the Intrepid one allowed a pair of fledgling young lovers to sit in harmonious proximity.  One can feel good doing this when there is absolutely nothing to lose.  A most restful flight and a great experience as I found the Business Class area of the Emirates A380 has a small but absolutely wonderful little bar tucked down aft.  Movies left a little to be desired, but no fault of Emirates, Hollywood has been slack and this is reflected on the play list.

So the 11000 kilometres unreeled below us and at …I have no idea…we landed in Dubai.  They served breakfast before landing so I guess it was early.  As we do, a shortest path was plotted to the Emirates Lounge and soon a chilly Heineken was nestled beside my second breakfast.  Knowing the rels were incoming, I kept a wary eye out in the club in between regular patrols to the bar to replenish hops and ‘salted mixed’ nut stocks.  I had about an hour and a half of peace before the blustering Marion Express rolled in.  One of the advantages of being Intrepid Rowe of many geographical locations is that I can…’assess, adapt and assimilate’. The BDs found Dubai a little daunting although my sis did spend a large amount on using the safety first SMS where are you service.  It was a somewhat tense reunion but I had thought ahead and had chilled Heineken and Moet on hand to soothe savage beasts…which was both suitable and effective.  A short time in the Club before heading to the closely located Gate A23.  Although we set off together, I found myself alone for a considerable period.  While waiting at the check in gate I was offered another Emirates upgrade…this time to Munich but for reasons I may even start to understand one day, I knocked it back and chose to sit in my window seat alongside Barry and Donna as planned.  Unplanned was the fact that before the flight will have travelled too far…actually not airborne...Barry would be in the window seat and my Bose headset would be on his head.  Intrepid knows no limits to his ability to raise the standard of luxuries for my accompanying Adelaide dwellers.

Landing in Munich was under dark grey skies but getting out of the airport was a breeze and before very long we were in a taxi heading in to the city centre to our hotel, the Sendlinger Tor.  A scenic trip with 130km speed limits along the way and we arrived without incident at the quaint ‘Pension; hotel and checked in.  Basic is how I would describe the room, although comfortable enough.  We are in Germany and as such no English speaking channels were found on the tv so the free internet was a real bonus.  After dropping the bags we headed off to have a look around Munich centre which was an interesting mix of old and new.  The grey clouds had now unleashed heavy rain and so we splashed back to the rooms and changed to more suitable clothing for the elements.  A visit to a beer hall to get something to eat while sampling the local brew was first up…but we decided not to eat.  After two we went in search of food at an Irish bar where ‘lusty English lager louts’ were having arm wrestling competitions, including taking on the bar maid.  No food though and while there we met up with a couple from Preston NW, a guy from Warrnambool and a couple of others and they accompanied us across the square to the Staatliches Hofbräuhaus (Royal Brewery). 

The Hofbräuhaus in Munich was one of the beer halls used by the Nazi Party to declare policies and hold functions. On February 24, 1920, Adolf Hitler proclaimed the 25-point program of the Nationalist Socialist program in front of around 2000 people at the Hofbräuhaus, which reconstituted the German Workers' Party as the National Socialist German Workers' Party, known as the Nazi Party.  It was quite an experience to walk the same stairs as Adolf had, I along with many wish he had tripped and broken his neck! 

The place was jumping on a Friday night with a lively traditional band playing to a large crowd.  After failing to conquer a huge stein of the local brew, I begged off and left the Velts to party on while I walked aimlessly through the streets asking directions often in an attempt to get back to my room.  After about an hour I finally found it and flopped on the bed, an exhausted sleep quickly claiming me.

The jet lag effect kicked in and I was up early on Saturday, which was the day we had chosen to visit the Dachau Concentration Camp.  A short walk to the Marienplatz station and then a few wasted minutes travelling up and down escalators whist attempting to find the right station in the underground labyrinth, we boarded the S2 and headed out.  On arrival at the Dachau Railway station we took time out to wander the streets and find coffee before returning to the bus stop to catch the 726 for the short passage to the camp.

Crowds were building and it was reported that a million people each year visit the site which stands as a stark reminder of a time when unthinkable things became thinkable and unimaginable horrors became commonplace.  

The visit began at the termination of the railway line just outside the main entrance to the camp located under the gaze of the Camp Commandant who lived in the building on the right.

Disembarking here, the prisoners had just a short walk through the gates to Hell, seen below now, and as it was in 1945. 

A brief overview of Dachau KZ

On March 22, 1933, a few weeks after Adolf Hitler had been appointed Reich Chancellor, a concentration camp for political prisoners was set up in Dachau. This camp served as a model for all later concentration camps and as a "school of violence" for the SS men under whose command it stood. In the twelve years of its existence over 200.000 persons from all over Europe were imprisoned here and in the numerous subsidiary camps. 41.500 were murdered. On April 29 1945, American troops liberated the survivors. Dachau served as a prototype and model for the other Nazi concentration camps that followed. Almost every community in Germany had members taken away to these camps.  Although Dachau had gas chambers built, there is no evidence that they were used for large scale genocide. They did have crematoriums which burned furiously throughout the early 1940’s.

One of the reconstructed prisoner barracks in the background

The camps covered 1.5 square kilometres and besides administration buildings, a huge prison block and the crematorium, also had 34 buildings housing prisoners in increasingly cramped conditions.  Three people to one small wooden bunk became the norm as more as more prisoners were sent to Dachau as the German empire diminished.

 This scaled model of the camp shows just how vast it was.  The main area open to visitors  (one would not use the term ‘tourist’ when in such a place) is the section on the right which     shows Admin in the centre with the ‘parade ground below the 34 barracks. 

 

The camp prison ‘the Bunker’ comprised of 160 cells, 80 either side of a long corridor.  It was used from 1938 to 1945 to incarcerate high-level ‘enemies of the state’.  The bunker remained in use by the Americans up until 1960.

A reconstructed barracks…330 feet long, 33 feet wide.  After 1942, although no additional barracks were ever built, the prison compound had at least 12000 prisoners, living in the space designed to house 5000. 

The Guard tower above, one of the many bordering the camp, had clear lines of sight and clear instructions to kill anyone who attempted to get through the electrified fence. It reflects on the desperation of those confined that many chose this option rather than face the suffering of life within the camp.

We wandered through various parts of the camp, reflecting sombrely on what had transpired here.  I had no idea what my feelings would be once we got there…which was a good thing for nothing could prepare one for the impact of first seeing the Crematorium.

 I was surprised at how small the building was, yet I had no reason to think otherwise.  Perhaps the sheer amount of bodies that were disposed of here and in other similar buildings created the impression they should be huge structures with towering chimneys.  Bland and non-descript, probably by design to aid to the illusion that these were non-threatening buildings.  The crematoria served to dispose corpses from the concentration camp; mostly the ovens were in operation day and night. At the end of 1944 their capacity was no longer enough to cremate the scores of dead from the camp. Upon liberating the camp at the end of April 1945, American soldiers came across countless corpses piled up in the crematorium.  The structure had clothing disinfection at the far left; the next room is a holding room before the door to the gas chamber, which was made to look like a showering room.  The next room, conveniently located was the Crematoria.

A page that needs no words….

 “Think how we died here”

And so it was that we had seen all to see and reflected deeply on how anything like this could have come to pass.  In total, over 188,000 prisoners had passed through Dachau and its sub-camps.  It has been estimated that nearly 50,000 of those prisoners met their death in Dachau.

It was well time for a beer so we headed up in downtown Dachau for some food and sips.  The mood lightened and fatigue set in so it was back to the station for the train ride back to Munich.  The trains are clean, fast and on time, all a tad different from those I am used to back home.  And once back in the home of ‘Oktoberfest’ we found the town very much alive on a busy Saturday afternoon. 

Marienplatz: (Mary's Square) is a central square in the city centre of Munich.  It has been the city's main square since 1158.  In the Middle Ages markets and tournaments were held in this city square.  Marienplatz was named after the Mariensäule, a Marian column erected in its centre in 1638 to celebrate the end of Swedish occupation. Today the Marienplatz is dominated by the New City Hall (Neues Rathaus) on the north side.  The Glockenspiel in the tower of the new city hall was inspired by these tournaments, and draws millions of tourists a year.

In close proximity to the Hard Rock café, a fortuitous occurrence, so we settled in there for a lager or two before walking back to the hotel to recharge for another Munich day to come.

Sunday dawned brightly with cloudless blue skies and a healthy nip in the air and before long we were on foot heading to the train station to catch the U8 to the Munich Olympic Stadium, scene of the 1972 Games.  As was becoming apparent, the transport system in Munich is very efficient and we arrived without any drama.  On departing the station, the first building we approached was a beautifully modern museum / showroom for BMW. 

Inside were the latest and oldest BMWs, Rolls Royce’s and Minis, which reflected the new owners of the latter two marques.  Free fast wi-fi was available I this ultra-modern setting which was also a bonus.  Described in Wikipedia as: BMW Welt (BMW World), is a multi-functional customer experience and exhibition facility of the BMW AG, located in Munich.  In direct proximity to the BMW Headquarters and the Olympiapark, it is designed to present the current products of BMW, be a distribution centre for BMW cars, and offer an event forum and a conference centre.

A 1939 BMW with the latest Rolls Royce

We spent quite a bit of time at BMW Welt, after all, it was a museum!  before walking the well-tended grounds of the Olympic site.  Despite the 43 years that had passed since the Games were on, all the facilities (swimming, track gymnastics) were still in use and appeared very popular with both locals and tourists.   The first point of call was a grassy hill which gave an excellent view point to see all of the stadiums as well as Munich city and even the Alps in the distance. 

Recalling watching the Olympic Games way back in 72, it was good to actually visit the site where my one true love of the time, Shane Gould became the first woman to win three Gold medals in the same games.

The track

The Athletics Stadium

To the right of the Track..the swimming arena

Thoroughly satisfied we had seen all there was to see in this area, a trip on the U5 to the main station was taken to do a recce of the place before departing from the main international platforms the following day, after which we hopped a U4 to Odeonplatz to visit the ‘English Gardens’.  Whilst walking there we passed some magnificent old architecture, the first being the Munich Residenz (Munich Residence), the former royal palace of the Bavarian monarchs of the House of Wittelsbach. Below is the neo-classical 250 metre long Banqueting Hall Wing (Festsaalbau) in the north section of the Residenz was added between 1832 and 1842 by Klenze under instructions from King Ludwig I.

Festsaalbau

Close by was the Bayerische Staatskanzlei (Bavarian State Chancellery).  It was erected from 1989 to 1993 around the central dome of the former Bavarian Army Museum, which had been built in 1905 at the site of the Hofgartenkaserne barracks and was demolished in World War II.

Bavarian State Chancellery

On such a great day the English Gardens were a popular place with hundreds of people reading, picnicking and walking around.  The Englischer Garten is a large public park in the centre of Munich, stretching from the city centre to the northeastern city limits. It was created in 1789 for Prince Charles Theodore, Elector of Bavaria.  With an area of 3.7 sqkm the Englischer Garten is one of the world's largest urban public parks, larger than New York's Central Park.  The name refers to its English garden form of informal landscape, a style popular in Britain from the mid-18th century to the early 19th century. It is a great park with fast running brooks filled to the brim with icy snow water, and within the park in a couple of spots ‘standing waves’ have been created on which ‘cold-proof’ surfers ride the waves.  Surfers line up along the bank taking turns entering the water with their boards. After a minute or so, successful surfers will voluntarily drop out returning to the end of the line allowing the next person in line an opportunity – and I add, to prevent hypothermia!

Surfing the Isar

Our day was drawing to a close but there was always one more thing tosee, and the Munich tour ended with a viewing of the Siegestor (Victory Gate), a triumphal arch crowned with a statue of Bavaria with a lion quadriga. The Siegestor is 21m high, 24m wide and 12m deep.  The gate was commissioned by King Ludwig I of Bavaria in 1852.  Lions were likely used instead of horses because the lion was heraldic charge of the House of Wittelsbach, the ruling family at the time.  The gate was originally dedicated to the glory of Bavaria, today it is a monument to peace.

The Siegestor (Victory Gate)

One more train trip and we found, just across from the hotel, Kennedys Irish Pub, with some lovely bar staff which was a fitting and enjoyable way to wrap up the Munich leg of the European expedition.  And so it was on the move time again and early in the morning with a bitter chill in the air we walked to Sendlinger Tor station for the short trip to the main Munich Railway Station.  A coffee before boarding ICE 610 and then we were on our way across Germany heading east towards our next destination, Baden-Baden; a small town nestled in the heart of the Black Forest.

ICE 610 – these trains are capable of doing 300kph, though ours only topped 250kph

We arrived at BB after a chaotic train change at Mannheim involving station changes and late trains and caught a taxi to the Holiday Inn, base camp for this overnight stay.  After a brief pause to drop bags, we walked in to town past the Festspielhaus, (Germany’s largest Opera house) to the local bus stop to catch the 205 to

the Merkur Bergbahn,  a funicular railway that climbs Mount Merkur to the location of the Observation Tower at Merkur. 

The line reaches a maximum steepness of 54%, and to my eyes this is an incline I would have hesitated to try if it was a roller coaster.  But the ride was well worth it as the destination was the Merkur summit and observation tower from which excellent views of the surrounding Black Forest region were had.   After such an exhaustive climb, for the cable car, not me…who would never have made it on foot…a chilly beer was in order to sip while overlooking the valleys in brilliant sunny conditions.

Heading back down, another bus ride to the city centre and a compulsory visit to the Faberge Museum, owned by Russian billionaire Alexander Ivanov.  Two Faberge eggs are displayed in the Museum along with other Faberge pieces and gold dining collections.  We had a really informative guide there who made seeming dull things sound interesting.  No photography was allowed after I got busted taking a snap of one of the eggs…probably a bit security conscious! 

The most significant item in the museum's collection is the Rothschild, that was made as an engagement gift from Beatrice Ephrussi de Rothschild to her brother's fiancée.  Ivanov bought it for £9 million because he thinks that it’s the “finest ever” made by Faberge.  I managed to snap the last Imperial Egg, made of Karelian birch with gold and diamonds for Easter 1917. Czar Nicholas II was deposed before he could give it to his mother.

The Karelian Birch egg was the only one to use an organic substance (wood) as a primary construction element. Its "surprise" was a miniature mechanical elephant, covered with tiny rose-cut diamonds, wound with a small jewel-encrusted key.  It was made this way due to the austerity caused by World War 1.

All up there is somewhere near $1.5 billion worth of Faberge and other works on display and big solid KGB men are always present.  Understandably!

It was nearing dinner time but we thought we could try the Casino before eating however this turned out to be a bust as they charge an admission price.  We decided paying to lose money was a scandalous idea so passed but the tulips in bloom out the front were nice so it was not all bad.  A fine meal at ‘Le Bistro’ consisting of tenderloin steak with a pils or two to wash it down and then a stroll along the River Oos to the hotel made a perfect way to end the German holiday.