I am not resigned.

Almost a month ago, the entire Calvin group travelled to Poland for four cold and rainy days filled with history. We spent several days in Krakow, touring the city with a local guide and learning just a small fragment of Poland's complex history over the past centuries and most recent decades. It was incredible to learn about the realities of life in Poland during the Nazi occupation in WWII. As we walked through Krakow's misty and dripping streets, we came upon a giant red-brick building where over 180 university professors and academics were arrested and later sent to concentration camps. Walking down those cobblestoned streets made history come alive and become concrete. It was incredible to learn the raw statistics of the age. Before the war began, hundreds of thousands of Jews called Krakow home. Today, decades after the ravages of the Nazis, only 100 Jews remain in Krakow.

On Saturday morning, we travelled an hour and a half ouside of Krakow to Auschwitz/Birkeneau. Our experience at Auschwitz is indescribable. When we initially arrived, I was struck by the "touristyness" of the whole thing. Giant groups of high school students and tour buses and crowds of picture-takers lined the entry-way of the museum, speaking loudly and laughing. I longed for perfect silence and sombre attention.

As I walked in the rain and cold across Birkenau’s barren landscape, I could not help but feel anger, frustration, heartache and sorrow for all those lives lost, all those freedoms shattered. I’ve known about the realities of the Holocaust since I was very small. And yet, even with all the information, the statistics and various details of the time shoved into my brain, standing before the ruins of the crematoria shattered my world. I can’t get those images out of my mind. I can’t go one day without thinking about the long, straight tracks which run down the center of Birkenau, their only purpose to glide innocent men, women and children to towards death. The most inconceivable human cruelties have become history’s reality. That day, Jordan and I discussed how the word "unbelievable" has taken on a completely new meaning since walking along the gravel-lined lanes of Auschwitz.

In Italy, several weeks later, I purchased a book of selected poems. One of them cries out as gruesomely appropriate after my experience in Poland.

Dirge Without Music

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in
     the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains, -- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter,

     the love, -

They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant

     and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do

     not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses

     in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Gracie, Ciao! Ciao!

This past week, after very little planning and even less mental preparation, I journeyed to Italy and experienced one of the most incredible trips of my life. The decision to go to Venice and Florence for the week was a quick one. The few of us that went on the trip together packed our things Saturday afternoon and headed to Venice that night, filled with expectation and excitement and immense curiosity. After the 13 hour train trip overnight, complete with several early-morning border control stops through Slovenia and Croatia, we arrived to beautiful morning quiet and serenity of the Venice canals.

Our first morning in Venice was like a dream. The early morning mist and fog hung over the canals as an orange sun peeked behind tall, terra-cotta buildings with arched windows and split wooden docks afloat before them. Before the ever-present tourist bustle began, we wound our way through the maze-like streets and over tiny, picturesque bridges, past closed shop windows full of sparkling, vibrant Murano glass. In our short time spend in Venice, our first morning sticks out in my memory. I reveled in the quiet of the streets as shop-keepers unlocked their doors and wiped down café tables in preparation for the crowds to come. The grey coolness of Venice's empty streets and canals is a gorgeous sight.

After that one quiet morning, however, our time in Italy was filled with crowds and countless cameras, tour-groups and over-priced tickets. Don’t get me wrong, the trip was amazing as a whole. And yet, there were certain days when I felt like a cow in a herd of cattle—swept one way or another by those fellow tourists around me, gawking at the scenes and taking unnecessary pictures. The “touristy-ness” of Venice and Florence was a definite turn-off, an unfair remark to make as I, myself, added to those giant crowds and picture-takers.

Beyond my slight annoyance with the swarms of tourists, the trip was filled with mind-blowing art. On a day spent in Padua, a small city just a short train ride away from Venice, we had the amazing opportunity to see the Scrovegni Chapel. The simply-decorated exterior of this tiny church is deceiving. The plain red brick exterior gives no clue to the revolutionary art inside—frescoes by Giotto. The chapel is filled from top to bottom with Giotto’s masterpiece, chronicling the life, teachings, suffering, death and resurrection of Christ. Before Giotto’s work in this chapel, figures were painted as flat and one-dimensional, lacking movement or natural shape. The walls of Scrovegni, on the other hand, are filled with the work of Giotto’s masterful brush and revolutionary ideas. The figures are painted with correct perspective and beautifully textured clothing and hair, their faces wrought with all varieties of emotion. The chapel was vibrant and beautifully preserved—a true masterpiece.

Along with Giotto’s chapel in Padua, we had the incredible opportunity to see Michelangelo’s David on our last day in Italy. That giant, graceful, beautifully-crafted figure is an amazing accomplishment and a feast for the eyes. Never before have I seen such perfect grace in a statue, such smooth beauty and wonderfully complex emotion. The David was the perfect conclusion to this once-in-a-lifetime trip. A trip filled with intrigue, beauty, sunshine, history, laughter and joy.

...and, let's be perfectly honest-- a whole lot of gelato. Twice a day isn't a crime.

Here are just a few photos from the many (ahem...700) that I snapped on the trip: