Auschwitz

Auschwitz is sad. There is really no other way to describe it. The second a person sets a foot onto the camp, it is like his or her body has walked into a bubble of sadness. Around you see hundreds and hundreds of people, but somehow the area is quiet — minus a few claps of hard-soled shoes and the occasional, “Oh, my God!” It is impossible for a person to smile cordially, let alone with joy.

Three quarters of a century later, there is still no joy inside of Auschwitz. Perhaps it is lost amidst the remnants of torture chambers and killing machines, but more likely it was taken with tattered shoes and clothing as a helpless million walked into hell on earth.

Joy will never come back to Auschwitz. It can’t. The best a person can do now is to try to learn from the painful experiences of others in the hope that our sometimes-evil world retains as much joy as possible. If not, we may as well give up on hope too.

Lawn Care, or Lack There of

I would like to introduce Europe to proper lawn care—if only for the next three weeks. Lawns in the Czech Republic often resemble something similar to a cattle grazing pasture—but without the cattle and with some of the most beautiful tulips a person could ever imagine. Sadly, instead of proudly displaying his or her beautiful tulips, people often let them become hidden behind a foot and a half of overgrown grass and dandelions. To me (the American), it is like Europeans are lost to the beauty that is proper lawn care. To them (probably the rest of the world), proper lawn care does not make sense.
An old episode of This American Life made me mildly aware of the sort of distain many Europeans have for lawn mowers and hedge trimmers before coming to the Czech Republic. According to the European interviewed in the episode, mowing one’s lawn regularly is a sign of conformity that reminds many people in Europe of communism and totalitarian regimes—especially in Central and Eastern Europe. While this makes sense—because nothing says conformity quite like the suburban image of “little boxes on the hillside”—I still cannot help wanting to show them (the Europeans who do not mow their lawns) that a little bit of conformity can be good—you know, like driving on the right side of the road or liking the Goonies. Then, perhaps. I could escape the mutant mosquitoes that have taken over my residence. Sadly, I do not see the tides turning—or the grass trimming—any time soon.

Polish Beer Needs to Remain in Poland

There is a reason Polish people only drink hard alcohol…and it has nothing do to with tradition. It is the theory of this writer that Polish people are constantly trying to wash back the taste of their beer. Nothing short of 80 proof can bring a person’s taste buds back to any state of normalcy.

After my first experience with Zywiec, the national beer, all of Poland became a bit dimmer. The grass was no longer as green…the sun not nearly as bright…but seriously, a pile of horseradish would have please my mouth more.

The traditional and delicious Polish perogi helped me to choke the painful brew down, but my victory was short lived. I spent the better part of three hours trying to escape the bitter toxin that had taken over my whole body. Coke and water did nothing to let my body leave it behind. Just as I was preparing to make run for a little of that 80 proof, I was released. All I can say is Zywiec can remain in Poland, and I will go back to the Czech Republic—and I will not bid it a fond farewell.

There is No Place Like Home

No one person is safe from homesickness. A person can be having the time of his or her life one night. Then, a split second later, he or she wants nothing more than a Runza sandwich and a hug from his or her mother.

My first signs of homesickness came as I was walking back from the big box store. Jolly as I could be, I was clinching the world’s most delicious chocolate bar and thinking about all the wonderful opportunities I have coming in the next few weeks. Then, I saw her: my high school math teacher as she stepped into her car. A few minutes later, I saw a friend walking a dog. Finally, I see one of my coworkers reading a newspaper. As I would step closer and closer to each of these individuals, excited to make conversation, I would just as suddenly realize how impossible it was that these people were gallivanting around the Czech Republic. As I arrived back to my empty dorm room, I realize how much I miss the life I left behind.

To be able to take part in a study abroad experience is one of the greatest opportunities any person can be afforded. The participant is literally taking on the world, and no person can come back the same. This fact has made me feel guiltier and guiltier about my growing desire to step back into the “Cornhusker State.” However, at this particular moment, nothing in the world sounds greater than a glass of ice tea with extra ice, a prime rib dinner, and the company of my closest friends and family. Honestly, I would settle for the tiniest taste of stable Hastings in the chaos that is the rest of the world. Dorothy said it best, “There is no place like home.”