The Bare Bones of Bergen Belsen

This is a piece that I wrote for a little competition run by Wanderlust magazine, which they published in the latest May edition.

A childhood school trip that has stayed with me for 34 years.

They say that the birds don't sing in Bergen Belsen; outside, the birds sing in the heath and woodlands, but inside, they remain quiet. It seems fitting.

My father was in the armed forces, and for many of my school years we were in northern Germany, so it was natural that one of our history lessons saw us visiting the nearby site of the concentration camp, famous for having had Anne Frank as one of its prisoners, claiming her young life just months before the camp was liberated on 15 April 1945.

There is little left of the camp, which was burned down by the British liberators, but the mounds of thirteen mass graves stood as testament to just some of the horrors of the place. These graves were where the soldiers hurriedly buried around ten thousand bodies that had been left to decompose when the German guards fled. Many thousands of others who perished here were not even afforded that small dignity in their death.

Around one hundred and twenty thousand Soviet POWs and Jewish prisoners came through Bergen Belsen, and of those, almost half are believed to have died, mostly of diseases like typhus, or simply of starvation. The grounds of the place were a memorial to those who had their lives taken from them, and it was a very moving place to walk around.

It was quiet too - those birds didn't sing.

But as thought provoking as the grounds and graves were, it was what I saw inside the documentary house that was to become burned into my memory for ever more.

It was here, alongside the plans of the camp, discarded prisoners' belongings, and all of the historical facts and statistics, that they had on display the photographs taken when the camp was liberated.

Those pictures, of men, women and children, little more than living skeletons, were truly haunting. Their eyes stared out, too large for their shrunken faces, and it seemed that you could see every single bone in their emaciated bodies. These were the fortunate ones, the lucky sixty thousand or so survivors of the camp.

Other photographs showed those that had not managed to outlive the horrors of the place. Piles and piles of corpses, already skin and bones when they died, and now with the remaining flesh falling away.

These photos have stayed with me, etched into my brain, for the 34 years that have passed since I visited.

And if they weren't already a lasting memory when we left the camp, then our school dinner that day would seal it permanently. We got back to the school, to a meal of roast chicken portions. A single look at the visible ribcage of the cooked bird took me straight back to that documentary house and those graphic images. I wasn't the only one; you could clearly see who had been to Bergen Belsen that morning - I don't think that a single one of us touched our food.

I can eat it now, of course, but to this day, when I see those ribs on a portion of roast chicken, my mind goes to that visit and those photographs. It truly was a sight that I will never forget.

Munich and the Oktoberfest

From Stuttgart we took the train to Munich.  We were staying in a room in a private house just of the outskirts of the city, but it didn't take long to get there.  The prices of accommodation soar around Oktoberfest, and it can be hard to find anywhere for a reasonable price.  Having read the reviews, we didn't fancy the campsite, so found a room instead.  The room was OK, but certainly overpriced for what it was.

We went into Munich for the first day and found ourselves a nice square where we could eat outside with more locally brewed beers to wash it down.  After a wander around the city centre we ate just off the main square in a more traditional place and tried a few more beers.  Well we were here for the beer festival!

The next couple of days we spent at the Oktoberfest itself in Theresienweise. It is huge, but actually not quite as big as I had expected after just being at the Stuttgart one.  The tents are certainly bigger and busier, but there aren't as many of the big rides here.

We headed straight for one of the tents.  After queuing for a while at one, and seeing no likelihood of getting in, we moved on to another, this time with more luck.  We managed to find a seat quite easily as it was still early, and quickly ordered a couple of beers and some very tasty chicken.

The beers here come in the stein style glasses and are all sold as litres.  The beer that you get is that of the brewery tent you are in, so we had the Hofbrau .  You can order a Radler, which is a lower alcohol version, a bit like a shandy when you start to feel you've had too much, but it would not be good form to start on anything but the real stuff.

The people at our table were a couple of older guys from Frankfurt and three people perhaps a bit younger than us from around Munich.  Unusually, none of them really spoke any English, so I got to practice my German a bit.  We quickly got into the Prost habit.  Whenever one of the table says Prost (cheers) everyone says Prost, clinks glasses and drinks.  This can be a dangerous thing if you are with a group of fast drinkers, but our table was a bit more moderate.

We had a bit of a todo with the table behind us at one stage when a couple of them figured they could spread over onto our benches as well as theirs.  My German was tested a little, but I was able to hold up my end of the argument, and with some support from our new friends, we soon had them back in their place. 

We thoroughly enjoyed the tent, listening to the oompah bands and watching the people who had paid large sums of money to have a go at conducting them.  It is certainly a fun experience, helped if you have a good set of people on the table with you.  Eventually though we decided it was time for a break from the beer and a bit of fresh air, so went back out for a wander around.
 

Over the two days we were there we did go in a number of tents but didn't sit down so didn't stay as long as in that first tent.  We did spend some time in a beer garden which was good, and we also tried the rather smaller and more refined coffee and wine tent.  That was good fun too, as the band there played a lot of popular songs and people were up dancing in between the tables.
 

We spent some time watching the men lining up to test their strength on the hammer.  It was all men that we saw having a go.  Some didn't do too well, and didn't manage to ring the bell even once; they sloped off looking a bit sheepishly.  Those who managed to hit the top at least once generally looked fairly satisfied, and took their fake rose away with their heads up high.

But the crowd's cheers were mostly reserved for those few who managed three out of three right to the top.  Their prize of a pair of fluffy dice in colour options of luminous green, orange or pink, paled into insignificance compared to being able to claim victory in this test of their manhood.
 

I couldn't persuade Nic to try out his strength, but we did have a go at a couple of the stalls here.  Nic tried splatting frogs onto lily pads.  His first attempt was pretty pathetic, but he improved, and we came away with a few little stuffed toys to prove his skill.

We both had a go at hammering nails into a block of wood with one hit.  Nic just beat me when I failed on one of mine.
 

But I discovered a new skill when we had a go on the shooting range.  The initial plan was to share a go with nine shots each, but when I had got all nine of my targets down, we agreed that if we wanted the prize, I should carry on.

Having hit all eighteen and got the fluffy wild boar, I asked Nic if he wanted a go; he declined, on the basis that he couldn't do any better and might not do as well.

We had two good days at the Oktoberfest, and managed to get through them without collapsing comatose on the grass or being carried off on a stretcher like some of the people that we saw.  We certainly enjoyed it, but if we came again we would make reservations for some of the tents, and probably it is best experienced in a bigger group so that you have a table full.

Stuttgart and the Cannstatter Wasen Volksfest

When we decided to go to Germany for Oktoberfest we thought we would also visit Stuttgart.  Many German towns have their own festival at this time of year, and Stuttgart is one of the bigger ones.  Less well known than its Munich counterpart, the Cannstatter Wasen Volksfest is none the less a pretty large event and just as much fun.
 

As we were no longer going to Tubingen, we had four nights in Stuttgart and had decided to camp next to the show ground on the banks of the river.  The campsite was OK.  Like most German campsites I have used before, it had quite good facilities; the toilets and showers were much better than a lot that we used last year, and there was a little shop and a bar/bistro that opened in the evening until very late. Unusually though, we found that the loos weren't kept very clean - ie not cleaned for about thirty-six hours!

The other issue there was the tent area itself.  Whilst thankfully not as crowded as the caravan and camper van area, where they were packed with a hairs breadth between them, it was between two busy roads, so even after the music of the fair finished, there was no peace and quiet to be had.  But at least there was no cess pit nearby, which you will understand if you have been a regular reader.

But we weren't here for the quality of the campsite, and it was certainly convenient for the Volksfest.  And during the festival, the U-bahn (local trains) stop at the gates, so it is easy to get into the city too.

We had a bit of a wander around the city, strolling around the park and castle vicinity, but we didn't do any of the museums or other tourist bits.  If we had been so minded, we could have gone to the city museum, the Steiff museum, and the pig museum.  Or if cars were our thing, we could have gone along to the factory museums of Mercedes or Porsche.

Instead, we found a couple of nicer bars and restaurants.  We tried a few local dishes.  The first was called gaisburger marsch and was a broth with beef, vegetables and dumplings.  It wasn't quite what we had expected, but it was tasty.  In another place, Nic decided to try the pork hock.   I had warned him that it would be big - after all, we are talking about a leg of pork - but I don't think he was quite prepared for what was put in front of him, with the added chips, sauerkraut and so forth.  He got through most of it, and I was happy to help him out with the crackling.

The festival itself was fun.  Nic was relieved because due to my continuing cough (more about that later) I didn't really feel I could do the big rides, so he wasn't dragged onto any of them.  Mind you, I think he felt a bit giddy just watching them.  He frequently asked why anyone would want to be thrown through the air, turned upside down and around at great speeds.  I could only say 'because it's fun!'.  He did at least agree that it was amusing to watch the people walking automatically duck when the arm of one of the rides passed at speed over their heads with a lovely whooshing sound!

We didn't go in the beer tents here, as we figured those in Munich would be better, but we did find a nice 'village' area, where they had live music.  We found ourselves a space at one of the tables and sat eating roasted wild boar with rosemary potatoes, listening to a couple of guys doing excellent versions of numerous kitch songs in different languages, and drinking a few of the beers brewed especially for the festival.

And of course I had to have a Bratwurst.  I got to like these sausages when I lived in Germany, and always take the opportunity to have one when they are available.  In theory, you get them in the UK these days, usually at the European style Christmas markets, but somehow they never quite seem right.  That said there's a pub in Whitstable that really does have the proper ones.  The owner is German and brings them over himself to make sure they are right.  That was a nice surprise when we went there to watch the football once.  But back to Stuttgart, I couldn't resist the half-metre long Bratwurst.  Nic foolishly thought the idea was to share, but I soon put him right.

So we spent a few days at the Volksfest, watching the people in their lederhosen and dirndls, taking in the parade of bands, old cars and livestock, and generally enjoying ourselves.  I would definitely recommend it if you happen to be in the area at the right time.