Well – as it turns out, Nick and Stew do not have to grab their flight at one. Nope, their flight doesn't leave until four (they're in the air as I write this – everything going well.) This meant they didn't have to grab the train to the airport until one, which left more than enough (well – ok – JUST enough) time to go down and check out the Holocaust Memorial.
The only thing of note we passed along the way? A man who sold sausages cooked on a Bar-B-Que that he wore. Honestly - that much fuel strapped onto your back, with flames spitting out your front? Probably not safe - but still, the giant sausage was delicious, and a bargain at just one euro twenty.
31 July 1942,
Dear father! I am saying goodbye to you before I die. We would so love to live, but they won't let us, and we will die. I am so scared of this death, because the small children are thrown alive into the pit. Goodbye forever. I kiss you tenderly.
Your J. [twelve year old Judith Wischnjatskaja]
This was, by far, a more powerful experience than Auschwitz. This was real. This was human. This was personal. Rather than concerning oneself with numbers, and masses, this memorial hit home by its specific focus, and intensity. Sometimes one is stronger than one hundred.
From there it was a quick rush back to the hostel (detours for graffiti shots) so Stew and Nick could pick up their bags, hop on the underground, and head off to Manchester. And that as that. I'm travelling solo once more.
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