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Biking Poland

24-26 June 2023, Oświęcim, 55.62km
Willa Nad Sola 99zł [R454]


We are in Oświęcim. For 40 of the 56km cycled, we sought out the smallest, least trafficked roads and lanes suggested by Google Maps, and when we hit the Vistula again, we cycled another section of the Wiślana Trasa Rowerowa (WTR), the levee cycle path. At times this morning we cycled lanes so narrow through woods so close, it felt as though we were cycling in the woods rather than through them. For the final 16km into town, we opted for the considerably busier but much faster moving route 44.
We are spending two nights (maybe three) in a tent in our host's garden, a ten minute walk from the old town centre. We treated ourselves to a more-expensive-than-usual dinner comprising orzon pasta, gorgonzola sauce, garlic, spinach, broccoli, caramelised white asparagus, pink pepper, rucola and chives.
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Also seen yesterday - brightly colored and patterned beehives.
According to Jürgen Tautz in his book The Buzz about Bees, bees are quite skilled at discriminating between colors as they approach flowers, but have more trouble discerning colors once they leave a feeding site and head back home. However, patterns are another matter. Bees can discriminate between patterns whether they are approaching a field of flowers or approaching their home hive.
He writes that a row of brightly colored hives each of a different color—say one green, one red, one yellow, one blue—doesn’t aid the bee in finding the correct hive. But hives painted with colorful distinguishing patterns, especially around the hive entrance, can help the bees find the right home.
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You cannot do justice to Auschwitz in one visit. The camps, Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau, are too large, the quantity of information too overwhelming, the emotional impact too intense.
It is tempting to get engrossed in statistics too vast to comprehend and therefore somehow deadening, but the museum does not allow you this luxury. As you walk the subway between the check-in point and the first camp, a disembodied voice reads the names of victims. Photographs and names of 728 Polish prisoners, the first arrivals at the camp, delay your entrance via the gate arched with the words Arbeid Macht Frei. In one building, collections of shoes and suitcases and tin goods and even prosthetics taken from inmates are evocative.
I am too tired to write more now; I hope my photos tell the tale I cannot easily verbalise.
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A quiet day at "home", doing a little admin and planning the next three long days to Wrocław. In the late afternoon, we pottered around town on our bikes, visiting some of Oświęcim's murals.
"Through their theme they mostly call to promote peace, break cultural barriers and stereotypes as well as convey the spirit of tolerance. It has become a tradition in Oswiecim that a well-known artist unveils a mural designed by them, which makes a reference to the peaceful message of Life Festival Oswiecim organized by the Peace Festival Foundation."
Here is some info on the first image:
"Edward Dwurnik is one of the most recognizable figures of contemporary Polish art – unruly and provocative, volatile, unpredictable and full of devilish sense of humor. His works create a stir and evoke extreme emotions, even among the youngest generation of artists.
Oświęcim is a specific place, associated with the museum (Auschwitz-Birkenau – editor’s note) and the Holocaust. It immediately occurred to me that I should paint the pre-war musicians who would play the double-basses. It turned out that the festival organizers want to break the spell of this place – they want Oświecim to become a normal city, and not the one with the camp trauma. I ended up painting young people who play the beautiful orange double-basses. All these characters and these beautiful instruments will be depicted on the background of my beloved Prussian blue."
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I have been thinking, of course, about my dad's family at this time. I am not sure whether Fred Day officially adopted my dad or not, but he grew up, lived and died with Fred's name, and both my brother and I consider it ours.
Our real grandfather on my father's side, however, was Adolph Schauder, one of three brothers living in Uitenhage. Julius and Maurice Schauder are recorded as being brought out to South Africa in 1910 when still teenagers by an older cousin who had been in Port Elizabeth since 1898. I do not know when Adolph joined them.
Adolph and my grandmother, Doris van der Merwe (subsequently Doris Day), fell in love in Uitenhage and Doris became pregnant. They were not permitted to marry...
My dad met Adolph for the first time when 12 or so, I think, and came to know his dad through regular visits. Apparently when Garth and I were very small, we were introduced to Adolph. He never married and died in his 50s.
The Schauder relations who remained in Europe were all killed during the war.
My dad tracked down a cousin a few years ago, a daughter of Maurice. She has told me recently of the brothers' unsuccessful attempts to trace surviving family members and remembers her dad and my granddad crying over their loss.
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