The Art of Progress

America is a really young country. I have a tendency to forget this. In all honesty, I think of the progress we've made over the years and sometimes it makes me a little sad. About 150 years ago America was only have settled, there were miles and miles of undiscovered land lying perfect and untouched.There were hundreds of buffalo that grazed through the fields and birds flew high in they sky. In my opinion, American progression into a modern society is bittersweet. Yes, we are the technological masters of the world, we live in what is perhaps the safest country with books and paintings and many, many other beautiful things. But in order to have these things we have crisscrossing asphalt through what used to be beautiful landscapes and massive hordes of people trampling up and down paved sidewalks.

This feeling of loss isn't here in Europe, because there was never a moment before people.In fact, progress here stands as a beacon to human ingenuity and is incorporated into everyday life effortlessly. The past isn't sacrificed for the future.


This is the St. Servaas bridge. It stretched across the Maas river and connects the two sides. If your interested in getting to the train station or the movie theater you're going to have to cross this bridge (or another just like it). The original bridge that sat in this location was built by the Romans who originally settled the city, but after that bridge fell into disuse, this one was built in the 1200s. Today it's still used, though only as a pedestrian bridge. Regardless of cars or not, it sits at the heart of the city. After eating at one of the outdoor cafes you can take a stroll across this bridge and watch the sun set.

Here's a little local favorite among all the Baylor kids. It's the Selexyz bookstore.

Talk about Heaven on Earth! (Pun is absolutely intended here). Not only is this the biggest bookstore I've ever seen, it's the most creative use of ancient architecture that I've seen as well! This bookstore is complete with coffee shop (at the altar!) and carries books in Dutch, French, Spanish, German, and English (the English section is really big, and I've successfully refrained from buying anything! Go me!) It's interesting to go in here and just study for a little while, the frescoes still glow against the ceiling and all the tomb sites are still marked (I assumed the graves are still there, but I don't know that to be fact.)


When I was taking a walk around the old city center ( ok, so perhaps I was a little lost...) this past weekend I found this.

This is the original city wall that circled around Maastricht when she first was nothing more than a fortress city on a river. It was built in 1229. Look at the coolest part, though. In the foreground is a door. That is somebody's house. You can't see it but there are other doors that line directly across from the wall down the alley way. This part of town belonged to all the tanneries, so houses here are situated between the first city wall and a small river! It's actually quite a beautiful part of town.


Combining the past and present is not something unique to Maastricht. It's present in most European cities, Paris, Munich, Rome. I find this aspect interesting. It is as if to say, "we've progressed! No regrets!" Perhaps one day I'll be able to say thing about America. One day I won't be quite so bitter sweet about the industrialization of our country. I wonder what of our buildings will be incorporated into everyday life in 400 years!

"I want to go on living even after my death!"- Anne Frank, April 5, 1944

Yesterday I took my 2nd pilgrimage to Amsterdam. When I returned it was late and I had a bit of sinus stuff going on, so you must forgive me for not writing then.


At 267 Prinsengracht, Amsterdam, there is a house. It's a simple row house, looking no different from the houses left and right of it. In front, just past the busy little street lies the Prince's Canal. You can see the water flowing from between the trees lines. Little houseboats adorned with flowers are tied along the canal gently bobbing up and down with the motion of the current. It's a house in a simple neighborhood, away from the hustle and bustle of the Van Gogh and Rijksmuseum. A couple of streets over there is an American food store where you can buy Lucky Charms, Reeses, and Mountain Dew, just about anything an American in Holland could ask for. Really, there's nothing special about this part of town, it just like any other street in Amsterdam, but that's the point.

We sometimes forget the streets we tread once lay underfoot of people from a different age, a forgotten age, and that places we live had a life before we stepped through the door, and will continue to have one after we've left. Yesterday I pictured a little girl about thirteen years old in a warm woolen jacket and matching cap skipping with her mother down the street in front of me off to see her father at his shop.She's a bit of a chatter box. Her mother stopped listening to her prattle a few streets back and walks straight in her hands pressed into her pockets for warmth. The girls has yet to pass a stranger and waves at everyone she meets, down to the little paper boy peddling his bike across the street. On her lapel there is sewn a yellow star with the name Jood scribbled across the center. Early this morning (68 years ago) she, her parents, and her sister went into her father's shop and never came out.

"For someone like me, it is a very strange habit to write in a diary. Not only that I have never written before, but it strikes me that later neither I, nor anyone else, will care for the outpouring of a thirteen year old schoolgirl."

But people do care. I certainly did back in June when I picked up her Diary in order to thumb through it, and the line of people who wrap around the block of 267 Prinsengracht care as well. Everyone has heard the story of Anne Frank. Seeing the story of Anne Frank is something I would wish for you all.

The rooms were tiny and so very dark, but I know I can sit here and tell you that until I turn blue in the face and it still won't mean anything. It's important to note that when I say tiny, I mean tiny for eight people (seriously, I was standing there having flashback to a horrible summer spent with three crammed into one bedroom). The annex as we refer to it today was actually always intended to be an apartment. It wasn't unusual at the time to have a duplex of sorts with accomodations for a business or home in the front of the building and an apartment in the back. Because of this the Franks and Van Pels had the luxury of a water closet with running water and a working kitchen. After hours they would sneak downstairs into the offices and help their father on clerical work for the business or listen to the radio. The difficulty lay in how they lived, crammed into those little rooms during the day, no sunlight, now fresh air, not even a cracked window. Be quiet or else the neighbors will here you! Still, you enter the rooms and there is a sense of life there. People lived here, they fought and laughed and cried here.



Anne was such a dreamer, a lover of nature and beauty and literature. Her cheerful voice comes shimmering through the pages of her diary unbound by time, uninhibited in her happiness and curiosity.




But here's where my imagination goes.
“I keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would like to be, and what I could be, if … there weren’t any other people living in the world.” This was Anne's last diary entry dates August 1, 1944. Three days later police raided the annex. What was she thinking? How did she cope? Did she cry? What was her father thinking?




Because of the things I've been through and I've seen, I put hefty weight on each and every person having a purpose in life. Sometimes this purpose can be fulfilled long before we ever grow into adulthood, and sometimes this purpose is fulfilled in our passing. Then only true tragedy, I think, is a death that comes before the purpose is fulfilled. This is not the case with Anne. It became increasingly clear to me as I walked through the museum that if Anne had survived there would be no Anne Frank house. Why would there be a need? Today, Anne has not only become the face of 6 million men, women, and children who died during the war, but she is the connecting point of an entire generation that survivors like Eli Wiesel and Corrie Ten Boom miss.

I watched a little girl about ten years old scour this museum. She read every plaque, watched every video, and analyzed every picture and was still there when I left an hour later. I know nothing of that little girl except this. Anne Frank has made a history lover of her, and those who know history and love it do not fall prey to the sins of our forefathers.



"We cannot change what happened anymore. The only thing we can do is to learn from the past and to realize what discrimination and persecution of innocent people means. I believe that it's everyone's responsibility to fight prejudice."- Otto Frank, 1970

"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before beginning to improve the world." Anne Frank,c. 1944

Pilgrimage

So, a couple of weeks ago, I decided that I would head to Brussels on my weekend in Maastricht. It only takes two hours to get there and its virtually a straight shot by train, with the exception of one switch at the ever popular Liege station.

I had an absolutely wonderful time. I think perhaps because I was by myself and so the stress of having five or six other personalities with different interest and needs wasn't present. I got to be relatively spontaneous, as spontaneous as I get which just means walking into a random store or plaza on my way from point a to point b. Nonetheless, I was a restful sort of day, and I got to do some really neat stuff, all while heading toward my main goal: the Musee des Beaux Arts.

I started my morning, with a different type of art:


It's the Belgium museum for Comic Strip art! I don't believe I've spent much time thinking about Comic Strips being art work, but they most certainly are, and there is so much more into it that what we see in the funnies every Sunday morning. Here's the highlights: One of the most famous Belgian comic characters is a detective by the name of Tintin. Tintin was created around the 1930s by an artist known as Jijé.Together, the two of them basically revolutionized the comic strip world and made it possible for other artists to come forward into the art form. Among these artists was
a Belgian man named Pierre Gulliford aka "Peyo." Peyo's debut into the comic words was with a series called Johan et Pirout. In 1958, Peyo's most famous characters debuted within this comic strip gaining such popularity that they earned their own strip, tv show, toys, etc. The Smurfs!

Have you guys ever heard of the Manneken Pis? Well, then you haven't taken French at Baylor University. I've been hearing about this fountain for the last four semesters, and by george if you didn't think I was going to go check this thing out. When I got there I found what is quite possibly the most pointless tourist attraction known to humanity.Ok, so I knew that the fountain was of a little boy peeing into the fountain (why I do not know) but I didn't expect him to be so small. For some reason I was envisioning a fountain with a life size state in the middle of some square, not tucked into the corner of a little alley way. It didn't seem to matter where he was though because people came in waves to this little alley, 20, 30 at a time to stand and take pictures of this little guy. I stood back and watched while I savored my first tasty treat of the day.

That my friends is a piping hot Belgian waffle with crème and kiwi. You could get these thing with anything, syrup, sugar, fruit, chocolate, or plain and believe me plain would have been just as tasty as anything else. I'm still mystified as to have a waffle can taste so amazing!

I had tooled around Brussels enough already, it was time to complete the pilgrimage. You see the purpose for this trip was to see a painting, not just any painting but my favorite painting ever (circa 7th grade). Last week we were talking about it in history class and I happened to Wikipedia it when I got home and found out it was just two hours away! I couldn't not go see it!
The Death of Marat by Jacques-Louis David

"Ew, it's a picture of some dead guy in a bathtub." How astute you sound, but this just isn't any dead guy in a bathtub, this guy is Jean-Paul Marat. As with most things that I love beyond measure, there is a story. In 1793, France was in turmoil. It was still suffering the throws of Revolution that began in 1789. Now, 4 years later, there was a power struggle going on in the midst of the National Assembly. This struggle was between the Conservatives, the people who wanted to conserve the monarchy and governmental institute, (this is actually the origin of the word Conservative within the context of politics today) and the Jacobins, the leftist group that wanted to overthrow it all and start new with a system where everyone was equal. The leaders of this group were Maximilian Robspierre, Saint-Just, and Jean-Paul Marat. (Eventually the Jacobs won this struggle and it was the period under their power known as The Terror that most think of when the French Revolution is mentioned. That was the time when all of the "traitors" to France and her cause were taken to the guillotine and, in the words of Dr. Rust, made a head shorter). Marat had a very important role within the Jacobin cause, and that was as editor of "The Friend of the People," a leftist newspaper that he used to spur the political cause. Marat also had a skin condition that required him to spend nearly 10 hours in bath every day, and it was from here that he would do the most work for his paper.

On July 13, 1793 a young woman from Normandy by the name of Charlotte Corday appeared at Marat's flat wishing to see him. She was invited in to speak to him while he was in bath, and they had nearly a 15 minute conversation before Corday withdrew from her corset an 8 inch knife and plunged it into Marat's chest. There was no chance of Survival. Later at her trail, Corday simply said that she'd "killed one man to same 100,000."

Marat's death, however had the opposite affect than what Corday intended. Instantly he became a martyr, and this was spurred on by David's dramatic representation of Marat's last breath in his famous painting. David, who was a close friend of Marat's and a Jacobin himself, designed his painting to be the representation of a hero's demise and virtually launched France further into the Great Terror as people became more convinced that traitors, like Corday were trying to undermind the country.( If you want more details about it, please feel free to ask, did I mention I love this painting?!)

Let me just say that for a good ten minutes I got to stand nose to nose with this painting and look at every last detail. It was so cool. Oh, and I hope you like the painting Amanda because I sort of got a print of it to add to the collection!

After my trip to the museum my day was pretty much over, but I couldn't leave without having one last thing!
Belgian frites, in a cone with Andalouse sauce (a mixture of ketchup, mayonnaise, and pepper). The Belgians invented the fries, so I don't suppose I need to tell you how amazing they were!

Alright, that's all for now! Have a safe and happy fourth!

Day trip to Belgium= exhaustion

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

To do list:
1. write 10 page paper for Literature class
2. 2 walking tours around Maastricht(1)
3. find new favorite restaurant in the Netherlands
4. start 3 5 page papers for my history classes
5. Watch Holland and Germany win their soccer games
6. Visit Belgium.

Hup Holland Hup!

I have entered the land of World Cup Mania....


Really, I should have written about this sooner, but I hadn't taken my camera to class yet, and you really needed to see this to understand.
The Dutch sure do love their orange! Why orange you ask? The national flag is red white and blue! This refers back to the Dutch Royal family. Since the 13th century, the family ruling the Netherlands has been the House of Orange-Nassau. Thus, Orange is the unofficial, official color.
Ok, so I've made fun of soccer and the whole World Cup thing in previous posts, but in all honesty it isn't that bad.
1. I can follow the game relatively well
2. There isn't a lot of down time the way there is in other sports (namely Football and Baseball) so I don't get distracted.
3. It's fun join in all the local's excitement.

Honestly, are any of you getting this World Cup excitement over there in the states? Is anyone taping inflatable Statue of Liberties and Bald Eagles to their front doors? Are there buildings that have been painted red, white, and blue? I'm not thinking there are. That's alright, America tends to focus on other things, but still I have yet to be anywhere in America that has gotten so excited over a single game! Alright, I know New Orleans was pretty psyched back February, and Boston went into mass hysteria over their World Series win several years ago, but there aren't places like this in Mississippi, and... dare I say it, I'm not a Cowboys fan in Texas.I'm soaking this in for all its worth.

Today at 4:00 (16:00 for you European minded folk) the Netherlands played Brazil. Brazil was most definitely favored to win this match I believe and so can you explain everyone's elation when Holland won 2-1!!

Yep, that's right. Some of my friend and I headed down to the city square and fit ourselves into the back corner of a pub and joined in with the screams (both of delight and frustration). Then the the time ran out everything went chaotic! Apparently, its the going thing to, after your team makes it into the final four, to drive through city center honking your horn with flags and streamers.So Holland's made it in and Uruguay and Ghana are playing right now (1-1). Argentina plays Germany tomorrow at 16:00 and Paraguay plays Spain at 20:30. (These are my times for the game because we're in the same time zone, so the translations I think are 10:00 and 1:00)

We're all hoping that Germany pulls it out tomorrow and hopefully to play the Netherlands for the final. If they do all the Baylor kids are threatening to take a field trip to South Africa to see the final game. (Our Baylor Director is from Germany, we think he might just go for it! haha!)

Ah well, I'll keep you up to date. Oh, and here's the results of my to do list so far. One day down, two more to go!



1. write 10 page paper for Literature class
2. 2 walking tours around Maastricht(1)
3. find new favorite restaurant in the Netherlands
4. start 3 5 page papers for my history classes
5. Watch Holland and Germany win their soccer games (1)
6. Visit Belgium.

To do list:

1. write 10 page paper for Literature class
2. 2 walking tours around Maastricht
3. find new favorite restaurant in the Netherlands
4. start 3 5 page papers for my history classes
5. Watch Holland and Germany win their soccer games
6. Visit Belgium.


I think it's going to be a busy weekend!

"Arbeit Macht Frei"

Alright, I think I've put off this blog post about as long as I can. It's time to sink my teeth in and just write. It's certainly not a pleasant topic, but many of you, my friends and family will never get to see the things I saw last Saturday. That was the day I visited Dachau.

"Arbeit Macht Frei," : Work will set you free. These are the words etched into the gate as you first enter the compound. (Interestingly enough, most of my pictures didn't turn out due to over exposure, but I hope I have enough to give you an idea of what it looks like today).

There are several impressions you get upon first entering the camp. My initial reaction was complete breathlessness, (which I found interesting as I'm not generally an emotional person. I hadn't expected much of a reaction at all). The center square is absolutely massive stretching far into the distance only to be punctuated with a guard tower directly across from your line of sight. On Saturday the square was barren. It is filled today with white gravel that matches the sterile buildings that square it off on all sides. One can hardly imagine such a place filled with people, living skeletons dressed in rags as they stood in this, the Roll Call Square for hours on end.

The second impression, we all noted with a little unease was that the grounds were beautiful. Between the rows and rows of bunkhouses there is a center walkway, a mall if you will, lined on either side with tall cypress trees brilliance with green in the midst of the monotone colors of the camp. At first you would think, "but surely nothing like that would be original to the time," but it is. They were part of the propaganda of what the camps were "designed" to be at the start. As questions began to be raised by institutes such as the Red Cross, the Nazi's simply invited them to come have a look for themselves. The camp was then cleared of the most dangerous looking "offenders" (i.e. Communists at this time) and the cleanliness combined with greenery added a nice, hospitable effect. "My there are being well cared for!"

Dachau was the first of the camps to be opened in March 1933. At its opening, Hitler had been in power as Reich Chancellor for a little less than two months. However, after the notorious Reichstag fire (see post from June 28) Hitler found himself granted with temporary Enabling Rights (the temporary part would soon fall away). With this power he turned with full force against his political opponents. Soon the German Parliament belonged to one party, the Nazi party. Non Nazi newspapers were being harassed into shutting down and everyone not of the Nazi party was seen as an enemy of the state. The enemy must disappear.

The press release for the opening of the camp:
'All Communists and—where necessary— Reichsbanner and Social Democratic functionaries who endanger state security are to be concentrated here, as in the long run it is not possible to keep individual functionaries in the state prisons without overburdening these prisons, and on the other hand these people cannot be released because attempts have shown that they persist in their efforts to agitate and organise as soon as they are released.'

Inmates are said to lose three things upon arrival at Dachau, their possessions, their rights, and their dignity, and they were reminded of these losses time and time again. The first night in the barracks, laying across bunks covered with straw mattresses was the coldest of all. How many lay in their beds staring at the little strip of wood over their heads: a shelf, installed to remind them only that they had nothing to put on it. Did they then remember the treasures stowed away in their bags? Pictures of family, money, clothes. What? Loss of possession shouldn't mean much, you say? Let us move on to rights: the right of self. Identity was stripped, names torn away from their owners, ancestors and families negated in the power of a simple number, a number that became the only distinguishing factor from prisoner to prisoner. Further the inmate spirals into a world where no one knows they exist, no one cares except himself. Loss of dignity came at the edge of a razor blaze, rusted and chinked sheering hair from the prisoner's body upon arrival. The truth is (and I can attest to this one) one can never feel more naked, more vulnerable than when he has no hair.



This is the real Dachau...








But the history becomes much more darker. It becomes increasingly difficult to flip through the pictures or watch the video screen, but this is the most important part of it all.

This is the real Dachau...

I thought a long time about whether or not to include my pictures, and ultimately decided I would do more damage denying them to you. This is the real Dachau, 12 years and 31,000 dead. Don't turn your back.


This is the real Dachau...

This is the real Dachau...

"Den Toten Zur Ehr Den Lebenden Zur Manhung"

"To remember the dead, we must warn the living."

Gone Camping....

In forty years my grandkids are going to ask me to tell the story about how I went to Munich, Germany and slept on the floor of a circus tent. I'll have a tale to tell then.

Welcome to The Tent...
We heard about this place from some guys in our program that were in Munich a few weeks before. "So, there's this park in downtown Munich, it's called The Tent, and like 200 people come and spend the night there. You should try it out," they said. After a quick glance among everyone else who would be traveling with me next week, I consulted my travel guide which said the same thing, "join 250 international 'campers' under a gigantic tent in a series of bunk beds or on the wood floor." Oh yea, we were definitely going to have to try this out.

Fun fact about me #1, I've been camping twice in my life at Lake Forest Ranch when I was in the 5th and 6th grade. Camp was only for a week, I had a bed, lots of pillows, and air conditioning. The only other camping experience I had was when I went rock climbing with my youth group in the 7th grade, I think I cried the entire first night (this should be new information for everyone who was on that trip with me btw) and by night number 2 I'd vowed never to go on another outdoor adventure again (I was down to plotting a sabotage of the trip by night 3). Yet, I thought sleeping on the wood floor of a tent was a good idea. Well, it was.

The showers/drying towels

The cafeteria/ eating area

This wasn't just a rinky dink little campsite. It had 24 hour reception, cafeteria that served breakfast and dinner, kitchen, laundry, guy and girl showers (with hot water!!!) and a separate sight for campers who brought their own tent. The place was packed with people from all sorts of places. On our last night in Munich we all crowded into the cafeteria to watch the US v Ghana match on a big screen (I was disappointed to find out that everyone from England and Australia was cheering for Ghana! What's up with that?) I met a two girls from England and a Chinese girl studying in Hanover. I had a brief conversation with some guys from Mexico, another guy from California, and, of course, the guy wandering around with the American flag tied around his neck as another Texan. I think this experience is the closest I'll ever get to Woodstock... without the drugs... but possibly with more beer (I mentioned this was in Germany, right? Geez) Point is, this seems to be the place to go if you interested in other people and their stories. Sleeping, however, was a different matter.

When we first checked in it was 11:00 at night, we were cold and tired and didn't much care where we would sleep at that point. The man at the desk gave us a foam pad (the rainbow colored thing) and 4 wool blankets, "come back if you get cold" he told us. I thought I was going to be hot. Here's the part of the story when I tell you that I looked like the city girl come stay in the country when I was unpacking. I had preplanned, coverall all my basis. Really, it's what I do. So I'd also thought to bring my Dreamie (a satin sleeping bag type thing) and not one but 2 pillows. (What can I say I'm spoiled) Anyway, fast forward to two in the morning and me shivering in my dreaming with three blankets piled on top of me. Feet are frozen and fingers are numb. I could have gone and gotten some more blankets but I didn't really feel like getting out in the cold. Finally, I got smart. I climbed out of my Dreamie, wrapped the softest blanket I had around me, then got back into my little caccoon and pulled the blankets up. I survived the night.
By the end of our stay, I'd tamed the cold so much so, that I was sleeping really well. (not sure I ever enjoyed sleeping on the floor before, but it was good) I ended up sleeping in my sleeping clothes, socks, jacket (with a hood for my ears), the soft blanket around me, inside my Dreamie and four more blankets on top of that.

Needless to say my little caccoon was nice and warm and I didn't want to have to leave for Maastricht. But alas, books need to be read, classes attended, and papers written.
Until tomorrow!

"Ich bin ein Berliner!"- JFK

After some great deliberation on how to write this weekend's blog post, I think I finally settled on the only way I can think to tell you everything about the weekend (yes, it was that amazing of a weekend). I'm going to break it down into several smaller posts. Then, I'll feel free to talk as much as I like!

I LOVE BERLIN!

You can imagine how surprised I was, especially after I planned to be in the city less than twelve hours on Thursday. I'd heard good things about the city from the other students who'd travelled before me, but the consensual favorite was Munich. With that in mind, I simply planned to take a walking tour around the city and be off to Bavaria. My how we can surprise ourselves.

Berlin is a city saturated with history, an imperial history, a dark history, a young history, a history of pain and perseverance. In the three hours I walked around the city, I learned more about her existence than I thought I'd ever know. I have seen sights dripping with a past, a story. I think everyone needs to know these stories.


Brandenburg Gate was built in the late 1600s as an entrance into the city. She was originally decorated with the goddess of Peace, who drove her chariot into the city with a wreath made of olive leaves held high over her head. After Prussia's fall to Napoleon's army, the statue was confiscated by The Emperor for his personal art collection. The Prussians took the sculpture back and in the process renamed her Victoria, the goddess of victory. They then changed the name of the square over which to presides to "Pariser Platz," or "Paris Plaza" so there would forever be victory over Paris.

But then again, she has another history as well...

It's strange to stand in a place you've seen a photograph of over and over again and have it look completely different and yet very much the same. It's even more strange when that place is so beautiful was it is today.

The Reichstag was (and still is today) the German Parliamentary building. It is an absolutely looming building that was rebuilt as the capital for the German government in 1999, seriously, folks when I'm saying Berlin is a young city, I'm not joking. After everything she has been through in the past 100 years she's like a newborn trying to stretch her legs for the first time. Today the German lawmakers do their work inside the building directly below the glass dome (you can see a little in the picture). Visitors to Berlin are actually permitted to walk around in that dome and to look down into the legislative sessions. It's said the dome was constructed so that if the lawmakers forgot who they were working for all they had to do was look up
(millions of tourists!).

The Reichstag holds another important key to German government (I didn't say this "important" was a good one). In 1933, a few months after Adolf Hitler was selected Chancellor of Germany, the Reichstag, the German symbol of democracy was set on fire. The Nazi's arrested Marinus van der Lubbe, Van der Lubbe was a Dutchman and, more importantly, Communist. In a country already unstable from the transition from imperial to democratic rule, and having already seen the mess of Russian politics, many Germans were terrified by the Communist party. This, Hitler manipulated to his advantage. Claiming Van der Lubbe was part of a conspiracy by the Communists to attack the German government and eventually gain control, Hitler convinced the then President Hindenburg to award him total power. This decree, granted by Hindenburg, was what allowed Hitler arrest Communist members of government a replace them with members of the Nazi party, ban certain publication, and ultimately pass the "Enabling Acts." Thus the "legal" dictatorship began.

Then, of course there are some less hefty stories that can be told of Berlin's buildings. Recognize this hotel?

(Forgive the fact that that man's head is in the way, I was going for angle here.)

No? How about now?

Why yes, yes it is...

One of my favorite stories goes with the TV tower. It
was built in East Berlin under Russian control. The man who was in charge of Berlin at the time (forgive me I don't remember his name) was apparently hardcore atheist. "Why do I need God? I have Marx and Lenin," he said. It was built between 1965-1969. Why did it take so long? I'm glad you asked. So, the construction of this massive tower, was supposed to be the symbol of Berlin and the largest structure in Germany. Aside from this it was suppose to be the big Russian, "look what we can do." Great. Go Communism. Whatever. Even then, though the Russian's had problems with it and had to call in a team of engineers from Sweden to finish the project. But that is not the best part of the story, the best part of the story comes after the tower is built and the sun hits the structure for the first time. Low and behold what appears?

A CROSS! (can you see it on the center of the ball?)

Needless to say the atheist dude was horrified. Not only could he not get the tower built himself but now it has a religious symbol painted across it every time the sun shines. He tried everything to get the glare to go away, he took bits off the tower, adjusted the angle, added things to it (he wound up announcing that it was not a cross but a plus for "Communism is awesome!"). Still the cross appears when the sun hits it. Today this little phenomina is called "The Pope's Revenge." I like to call it, "God's Sense of Humor."


Of all the things I saw in Berlin, one thing stuck with me the most, and, as usual, it had nothing to do with what I thought I would take away.

The Berlin Wall was constructed when my father was one year old. It was torn down six days after my first birthday. When I hear Winston Churchill's Iron Curtain Speech, I think of the Wall. When I think of Communism, I think of the Wall. When I think of the inability to go from place to place, to travel, to see things, to read books, to tell stories, I think of the Wall. The thing is, I didn't realize this is what I thought of until I got there and actually saw the Wall. This wall, is the greatest symbol of weakness to mankind, it's concrete, steel rods, and piping are far inferior to paper, ink, and ideas that strengthens my country. I took no greater pleasure in my entire 8 hours in the city than to take this picture:Be as cynical as you like about politics, but I promise you. We all get to the same place eventually.
That is Berlin!