"The one who does not remember history is bound to live through it again" George Santayana.

GETTING UP; MIESCZYSLAW KOSCIELNIAK

A picture of the crowded bunks from an exhibition at Auschwitz.

A variation of a quote I'm sure you've all heard before, Santayana's reference to 'the one' implicates the viewer entering one of the exhibitions at Auschwitz in the harrowing history of the Holocaust. A reminder of the significance of Auschwitz, it speaks for the 1.5 million people murdered at Auschwitz between 1940-45.

90% of those killed at Auschwitz were Jews. Overflow from this concentration camp - an efficient extermination machine carrying out the Nazi's plan to destroy undesirabes - was so great that another camp, Birkenau (Auschwitz 2) was built up the road. These sites are a horrific reminder of the hellish Holocaust legacy.

Visiting Auschwitz was a smothering yet expanding experience. Caught in between times for the English tours, we wandered through the camp grounds and exhibitions. So daunting were the displays, the children's bunker, the death section, that I did not see everything. Nor did I go onto Birkenau or the museums. I didn't feel an overt emotional registration - I wasn't overwhelmed by tears. Looking at the walled passages filled with photos of camp victims was distressing and I felt anxiety for those close to me.

Overloaded by horror after horror I felt smothered. I entered one room with a display of 1950kg of human hair, which the Nazis profited from by selling onto the German textile industry during the War. It was sickening. I apologise if this post seems inadequate, but some things are hard to articulate.

From Krakow to Auschwitz, the bus ride is about two hours. Looking out the window from the plush comfort of the coach at the verdant growth and quaint buildings, it is painful to think that many who were deported to Auschwitz, crampled like cattle in trucks, did not see the same side of Poland.

Random rendezvous (RR)

We dined with a physicist our last night in Warsaw, Poland. Wandering back down Novy Swait again for dinner, our stomachs took a liking to a BierHalle offering Polish fare. Overhearing our puzzlement about the cuisine, an American lady cleared up the establishment arrangements. We asked her to join us and she obliged. A physicist, she had arrived from a long trip - America to Warsaw for a conference. Weary from her trip she was keen to avoid her fellow physicists. "If you see a whole lot of geeky people wandering the streets of Warsaw - that will be us" she quipped. Food and conversation were fit for the evening - ordered a Polish soup (zurek) and a dish of chicken breast and vegies. Great stuff.

Travelling brings a plethora of new faces. Introductions begin with a barrage of questions: Where are you from? Where are you going,? Why are you here?. Many connections will soon be lost owing to the tenuous foundations of memory. If anyone is interested, the former US poet laureate Billy Collins has a wonderful animated poem called "Forgetfulness."

Met another Erin - a random Canadian chick at the hostel Oki Doki in Warsaw. Coming back to the room one afternoon, we discovered her in a zombie state. Ran into her again at the train station bound for Krakow, so I inquired after her name. She told me it was the same as mine. When she was mid-stupor that sleepy afternoon, mum's nagging refrain of 'Erin! Erin!' muddled with her dreaming. Why is the crazy woman calling me? her brain queried. Faces flash by constantly - I was enamoured with the cute Polish girl who showed great concern for 'the Australians' coming back so late. Others include some cute Cypriot lads, and it has to be said - a whinging Pom suffering from a cold and an attitude malaise. Will update soon on my sour hostel and an overwhelming visit to Auschwitz.