More Than Acknowledgements

The biggest illusion in life is thinking you're responsible for its marvel and mystery. When life gets interesting, it's easy to claim. Beating your chest in victory makes a lot of noise because the breast you strike is hollow.

^I don't want that. So before I go to Norway, let me summarize the contributions of the people who made this trip possible. I don't intend to seem noble or humble. It's just what's true and fair.

Courtesy Gwinnett Sunrise Rotary Club
Snellville, GA

Rotary has given everything. The Georgia Rotary Student Program drives scholarship, logistics, and hospitality to Norway and back, and Gwinnett Sunrise has shown nothing but good will and support in its recommendation of my participation in this program. If you're unfamiliar with what exactly Rotary does, I posted the Rotary Four-Way Test to give a glimpse. Let me reemphasize the exemplary, servant leadership of the Rotarians at Gwinnett Sunrise and the GSRP in realizing a vision of empathy, peace, and friendship in all communities.

All these attitudes are incarnate in my mom, Angela Wirt. You've sacrificed two sets of Mother's Day, birthday, and anniversary as I've been studying abroad. You always put others before yourself, and "every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you." All that I am, I am yours. I cherish you, and I am so grateful you encouraged me to apply to this program.

There are countless others whose support I feel and who I will soon meet. These two, right now, deserve the highest praise.

Norway: June 18 - July 31

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Brutal Burger: the Taste of Betrayal

Brutus (filtered a bit)

I now turn my attention to the tastes I've indulged over the past ten weeks, which means I must address the knife wound that has ailed my spine ever since we fled The Hague. My brand loyalty to the McDonald's Corporation is as consistent as the meat on a Big Mac. My loyalty is the subject of ridicule, spectacle, and excuse for why we would ever go to a McDonald's while in Paris of all places. I pride myself on my loyalty, but with a heavy heart I confess that I limp from the Netherlands as Caesar betrayed by the Roman Senate.

The Dutch Royale has spoiled with the aspirations of a tyrant: Burger King.

Cassius

I cannot say I'm surprised, though I'm still trying to calm myself. The likes of that establishment haunt the Holland roads, making the McDonald's a rare breed. I would assume there's just something more palatable to the Dutch people about the 'way' Burger King arranges its flavors in the Netherlands; perhaps it is an enigma better not investigated.

Saving graces

Regardless, the smattering of sesame-crowned bun, brown mustard, crisp lettuce, and quarter patty has the vague aroma and taste of, yes, a Whopper. The bun's texture seals the deal on the tactile dining front: a sponginess and thinness reminiscent of that competitive creation. The patty, I am confident, is the source of gustatory displeasure. The lettuce, fine. The mustard...was delicious. The overall experience: a shocking unveiling of a company that may sacrifice taste to the profit margin, which sat fat at somewhere around $11.89 US.

The fries, I'm happy to report, were fresh, hot, and salted as always. Perhaps they were the only things noncriminal about fast food in this 'city of justice.'

Auschwitz-Birkenau

This blog post omits all pictures taken at Auschwitz-Birkenau. This is to focus on what I believe to be the most important message to take away from Berlin and Krakow as regards the Holocaust, namely that the place, the people, and the propensity to do great evils was nothing unique. The terrors of the Holocaust were the results of popular and private inaction and belief in myths as expressed by the National Socialist party members in Germany. It is therefore not the intent of this blog post to memorialize the place or the actions that took place at Auschwitz-Birkenau via pictures, but rather to explain the reasons and facilitating conditions that led to those events taking place.

As I reflect on my time in Poland, my mind strays and finds itself ruminating over my experience at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I recall the cases of human hair, the mountains of shoes, the torture and gas chambers, and the memories that serve as mementos of the atrocities committed there. I recall these acts, which were evil but executed by un-extraordinary people. I recall the capacity of ordinary men and women to commit great evils against one another. The potential to sin is great because it requires--purely and simply--satisfaction with the status quo: a nondescript interest to do nothing.

When Adolf Hitler came to power in Germany in 1933, it was the result of the paradox of democracy. Certainly, he enjoyed popular support by a populace thirsting for answers and action with a wariness toward skepticism and critical approaches to governance following heavy reparations and economic crisis in Germany. Very simply put, the National Socialist party came to power via democratic processes (namely, elections), but vital democratic values such as acceptance toward opposition, freedom of speech and expression, and freedom of belief were certainly compromised.

It would be foolish to believe that the horrors of the Holocaust cannot be repeated. They have been (especially in the Balkans, Rwanda, Sudan, and other places). Such hostile elements exist--within ourselves and within our societies. We must, therefore, be vigilant so as to hold ourselves and our peers accountable to ethical, legal, and popular standards that attempt to avoid the devolution of mankind into the unchecked revival of the attitudes and actions that led to the death of eleven million people.

Simple Pleasures

Sometimes life is all about the simple pleasures. Like chocolate. Or diamonds. Here's to both.

Tossed Salad and Scrambled Eggs

I don't know how to put into words those thoughts that have been scattered, smothered, and covered in my hashed-up mind, but nonetheless I'll try to talk about the things that haunt me because I think that it might help scrape them off my plate. Anyways, I have the spirit to write, and--even if my way of writing complicates the message I'm trying to say--I think you'll still get the point.

The point is this: I've grown quite disgruntled with the way we treat one another, and I don't know what in the world to do about it. I have a sneaking suspicion that you might, so I think what'd be best would be to report the instances that have me doubting my faith in humanity. There, you may interpret them.

In Brussels I saw a man kick over a beggar's cup of coins. The man paused, hesitated, and kept on going, leaving the beggar to recollect his estate.

In Athens I saw a man sleeping with his dog near our hotel. Nothing changed about his place within the week we were there.

In The Hague we had the pleasure to observe a trial of accused war criminals from Kenya, one being the Deputy President. We also visited the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. An accused recalled an instance of 'liquidating' a witness's sons during the war.

Writing them, they sound cliche, these memories. They sound like an attempt to garner sympathy or empathy or compassion without accounting an entire story--like Humans of New York or something. But that misses the point. It seems we are indeed capable of great evils in our lives. Certainly, we may be the victims of the evils of others. But reassessing an axiom of my personal philosophy, are people generally good or evil? How do we become good or evil? Is it genetic? Nurtural? So many memories haunt my response.

And then, one day in Gare Central, I see a woman nonchalantly drop a bag in front of a homeless man. Inside: clothing. Clothing that fits.

Tasting Tradition

The only difference between cooking in a kitchen and baking is the scale...baking is an exact science.

Jean-Jacques at work.

For years I've hesitated to write down any of my 'recipes' for fear of marginalizing them to a slavery of replication. I prefer conceptualizations of flavor rather than cloning taste every time I'm in the kitchen, so for the last year, every time I made something worth remembering I would happily describe the concept of the dish without filling in the details of how it is prepared, leaving those details to be interpolated and interpreted by whoever is trying to reconceptualize it. Essentially, this propagates a novelty about cooking--or an inconsistency that some may find annoying or inutile.

I'm beginning to think the same. And a Belgian bakery has made all the difference.

Boulangerie (and patisserie) De Pauw is a bakery located 15-20 minutes from Brussels center, owned and operated by a man I only know as Jean-Jacques. His family has kept the oven fired since 1927, making his one of few remaining artisanal bakeries in Belgium. While I could tempt you with a vivid description of the baguettes and pistolet crackling after they're raked from the gas oven into baskets reminiscent of the post-Sermon-on-the-Mount, I won't. Pictures--and a video--shall suffice. I will quickly note that the bread production is more or less silent--rare for a kitchen--due to the fact that one of the three-man team is deaf.

Jean-Jacques will retire within the next year, meaning that we had the increasingly rare opportunity to see him work. His day starts at 10:00 PM and gets busiest between 8:00-10:00 AM the following morning as loyal customers enter the storefront. Going to Boulangerie De Pauw has certainly become a tradition for them, one which depends heavily on the consistency of Jean-Jacques work. In simpler terms, Jean-Jacques is a cultural Templar: safeguarding the secrets of his craft, the measurements and techniques which make Belgian cuisine unique. It is heartbreaking to know that in a year, he will no longer be in Uccle keeping that tradition alive.

And I think to our own traditions, those foddered by a fastidious following of the recipes of loved ones. Her barbecue sauce, pie twists, and 'taco recipe' is how I've come to remember my grandmother who passed away in 1969. The same is said for Papa's peanut brittle. And as my grandmother's memory fades with Alzheimer's, it's those Christmas cookies that keep holiday memories alive. We all have these traditions and recipes and memories. Boulangerie De Pauw specializes in sustaining them.

I don't know what to do with this other than to say it. Maybe you know. I would love to hear what it is in the comments below.