#3 - Misery and beauty, all in one
The Jourhaus, the main entry block at Dachau Concentration Camp. Every incoming prisoner walked through here to enter their new hell. Most never walked out
You know when you have those experiences in life you vow you’ll never forget? I had one of those today, at one of the most miserable places on earth. Day two in Munich started off early, in the darkness of 6am, with jetlag seemingly determined to ruin my sleep-in. I was too excited for breakfast to sleep again, so as soon as it hit 7am I was downstairs to devour as much fresh German bread as I could. Mission accomplished. With this being my last night for a while in a ‘real’ hotel, I was determined to make the most of it and I did. I basically drank them out of orange juice in one sitting.
"Work sets you free", says the inscription on the entry gate to Dachau Concentration Camp. Of course, it was a lie. Many thousands were led through these gates and never walked free again.
I needed a full tummy because my destination for the day was Dachau Concentration Camp, which is located about a 25-minute train ride from central Munich. I’d first heard about the camp a few years back when it made international headlines after some oxygen-thieves stole its historic front gates. They’ve never been seen again, and so a replica was made. In my research for Munich, it kept coming up as a must see – despite the lack of a genuine front gate - so I was determined to give it a full day.
After a nervous train and then bus ride full of anxiety about whether I was heading in the right direction, we arrived at the very sombre entrance. The harsh winter had stripped all the trees in the camp of their leaves, so it was like walking into the remnants of a nuclear winter. They were quite depressing surrounds, which contrasted starkly from the beauty of the town of Dachau and its quaint countryside nearby.
Dachau was originally a munitions factory but was converted into a concentration camp in 1933 so the rising Nazi party could imprison people it felt were contrary to its lofty goals. In Dachau’s sprawling maintenance block, a detailed display walks you through just how Germany’s defeat in WWI led to the rise of Hitler and eventually the outbreak of WWII. Following the war, the victorious Allies solely blamed the Germans for the conflict and imposed heavy sanctions and restrictions on the country which castrated Germany's economy and humiliated its people. This stirred anger in some circles of the country's political system and led to the rise of a nationalist movement determined to restore German pride. Unhappy with its place on the world stage, and suffering through the economic crisis of the early 1920s, Germans looked for a saviour in a non-conventional leader. Enter a young Adolf Hitler who, as history told, rode this wave of political discontent to tragic, horrific results. The parallels are eerie...
Aside from the history lesson, the display provides a no-holds-barred account of what life was like inside Dachau, which operated from 1933 to 1945 until it was liberated by the Americans. The running of the camp was taken over by the brutal Schutzstaffel (SS) soon after opening and they oversaw a regime that forced hundreds of thousands to perform back-breaking labour in awful conditions, often in the miserly cold of the German winter. Ultimately, about 30,000 people are believed to have died in Dachau, while untold more were tortured, starved, and left for dead. It is a depressing place, but a story that must be told.
I spent about six hours wandering through the displays and checking out the grounds, which have been preserved magnificently. As the sun began to set, a beautiful light show lit up the sky, offering a calming and poignant finish to the day. Such beauty in a place of such misery.
After such an emotional day, I felt the need for beer. It was now time to check into my first hostel (Gspushi Bar), and once I got settled I got chatting with an American fella named Rick, a veteran traveller who was full of advice and tips. He suggested we go out for beer, and I nearly snapped his arm off in agreeance. We decided on the Hofbrauhaus, the historic brewery dating back to the 1600s which is synonymous with Oktoberfest and beer in general. We sunk steins, smashed free bread, delved deeply into each other's lives and what had brought us to Munich and then, when the beers had taken effect, trundled off to find food. All the street markets were closed at midnight, but Burger King, mercifully, was open. Oh baby. Nothing says 'Germany' like destroying a Whopper with Cheese after too many steins, right?