It Rained in Poland

Yes. I am still dazzled by the rain. Even after a week and a half of Polish drizzle, and a lot of dark, dark photographs...

It started out fine and European. We sipped coffee in the old town square. An old man was playing accordion, and there were pigeons...

Then things changed. The dark underbelly of Warsaw reared up. And truth be told, I liked it... The weather allowed for trudging the streets, watched always by Stalins monolithic Palace of Culture.

It also made for atmospheric photos in the massive old Jewish Cemetery, basically a forest littered with the silent standing crowd of thousands of worn gravestones.



It kept raining as I sat on the train to Auschwitz and Birkenau, feeling pretty apprehensive about how I would react to the site of one of the greatest crimes of modern history. In the cold and the wind and the steady rain, the horror of this place hit home - more than anything because it felt so... normal. Quiet. Peaceful. Neat. I was consumed by a mixture of sorrow and rage. Never again...






The most enduring memory I will have of Poland, however, is of the wonderful people I met. Thanks to all of you. This photo was taken on one of many raucous evenings in the capital.