Dachau
Outside of Munich is the very first concentration camp built by Hitler. Its first prisoners were political opponents, and then expanded to include Jews, Communists, Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses, gay people, the mentally ill and the physically deformed. Many nationalities were there, probably about 40, if memory serves. The museum had large signs with the names of each country who had prisoners there that you could walk through.
The crematoria, or at least some of them, still stand, as do the gas chambers. The barracks have been razed, but the concrete foundations remain. One or two replicas have been built for the sake of the visitors. We were shown how the "beds" were essentially like shelves, with increasing numbers of prisoners practically stacked on top of each other as the war went on and the camp's population grew larger.
The former kitchen and administrative buildings have been made into a museum, where the shoes of the victims are on display, along with prisoner uniforms and many other things.
I visited during my trip to Germany in 1998. Munich, in fact, was such a central location for the Nazi party that they offer "Nazi history" tours of the city, focusing on important buildings and places where the Nazis assembled and worked and came to power.
I took a bus out to Dachau. It was surreal, because we were dropped off in a beautiful residential neighborhood, with lots of green, leafy trees. We walked a couple of blocks and came upon the infamous barbed wire fences. I was chilled to the bone because I'd read so much and studied and knew so much about what that barbed wire represented for the entire Holocaust and the fate of millions of people.
Our tour guide was an enthusiastic PhD candidate in history from a nearby university. The tour was three hours long! Not too many people remained at the end, but it was so interesting that i was one of them.
I remember walking past the ovens and standing in the gas chambers; I can see them in my mind's eye. I didn't feel very much, because there was too much to feel, I guess. Every step I took, I knew that someone had suffered, someone had died, someone had watched a loved one die or be shot or beaten or humiliated on that very spot. I really don't remember feeling very much. We saw how the electrified fences worked, and learned that sometimes prisoners would commit suicide by running into them.
I'm really glad I went. On the bus to the camp, though, were some very loud American frat-boy types from the South. They were boisterous and saying things like, "Dude! We're going to Dachau!" It was very distasteful. So many Americans stick out like such sore thumbs in Europe.
The crematoria, or at least some of them, still stand, as do the gas chambers. The barracks have been razed, but the concrete foundations remain. One or two replicas have been built for the sake of the visitors. We were shown how the "beds" were essentially like shelves, with increasing numbers of prisoners practically stacked on top of each other as the war went on and the camp's population grew larger.
The former kitchen and administrative buildings have been made into a museum, where the shoes of the victims are on display, along with prisoner uniforms and many other things.
I visited during my trip to Germany in 1998. Munich, in fact, was such a central location for the Nazi party that they offer "Nazi history" tours of the city, focusing on important buildings and places where the Nazis assembled and worked and came to power.
I took a bus out to Dachau. It was surreal, because we were dropped off in a beautiful residential neighborhood, with lots of green, leafy trees. We walked a couple of blocks and came upon the infamous barbed wire fences. I was chilled to the bone because I'd read so much and studied and knew so much about what that barbed wire represented for the entire Holocaust and the fate of millions of people.
Our tour guide was an enthusiastic PhD candidate in history from a nearby university. The tour was three hours long! Not too many people remained at the end, but it was so interesting that i was one of them.
I remember walking past the ovens and standing in the gas chambers; I can see them in my mind's eye. I didn't feel very much, because there was too much to feel, I guess. Every step I took, I knew that someone had suffered, someone had died, someone had watched a loved one die or be shot or beaten or humiliated on that very spot. I really don't remember feeling very much. We saw how the electrified fences worked, and learned that sometimes prisoners would commit suicide by running into them.
I'm really glad I went. On the bus to the camp, though, were some very loud American frat-boy types from the South. They were boisterous and saying things like, "Dude! We're going to Dachau!" It was very distasteful. So many Americans stick out like such sore thumbs in Europe.
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