Wyrd bið ful aræd.

As the writer of a text such as The Willing – an essay taking the liberty of dealing with both Holocaust and environmental destruction, AIDS, malaria, ancient religions as well as a selection of other tragedies in one stream of conscience – I couldn't miss the opportunity to visit Auschwitz when other circumstances brought me within a couple of hours of train travel of it. So I went. Fate remains inexorable.

I have read about the 2^nd World War and the Holocaust. I am watching a good share of the documentaries on TV. Horrifying story – certainly! - but still rather abstract. However, actually being physically present at the epicenter of the, as I wrote, “meticulously planned and industrially executed extermination” changes the rules a bit.

The ticket from Krakow to Oswiecim (the Polish name of the city) is just 8 zloty (about €2). A cheap but also slow and bumpy trip that makes one wonder if the tracks could be about 60 years old. Having carried both victims and Nazis to the crime scene. I spent the hour and a half considering what kind of effect the visit would have on me. If any. And is it cliche to feel sick?

When the impression of Auschwitz changes from what is instilled by the black and white film clips from the documentaries, the cinematically awful places of the WWII movies and the allied aerial surveillance photos reprinted to that of a very real wind swept flat landscape of ruined barracks entirely surrounding you, with Joseph Mengele's ward on the right and crematorium no. 1 on your left there is a reaction. A knot on ones entrails, a sting of headache, an uncomfortableness. Not supernaturally inflicted the second you enter through the “Arbeit Macht Frei” gate but penetrating your defenses sooner or later during the tour of the camp. Probably by the collection of children's clothes, the mountain of suitcases or in the room with human remains halfway processed for industrial use.

I am not about to embark on a new blogosphere literature escapade. How can one add to the tale anyway? One has either experienced it or not. I am not going to show off a big gallery pictures I took there. Although the pattern of chimneys left from the burnt barracks present a gruesome scenery inviting photography. But I did put a couple of shots on a Facebook gallery – even an incredibly unfortunate picture of myself. No doubt disturbing the flow of micro-commercial application updates on people's walls. Because I figured Auschwitz should be in people's face now and then and because there is a message in how average they are: I happened to visit on a regular and clouded day, hence has no sunset or rainbows in my pictures. And isn't it perverse looking for scenic shots? Many motives there are either hard or even unthinkable to photograph, hence pictures get blurred by shaking hands or never taken. I look stupid on the one portrait we could stomach taking – but who can smile?

Also, I did add the two shots you see here to the pool of photos tagged 'auschwitz' at Flickr. As well as a plain 360 degrees panorama video from the center of Birkenau. With that I'll finish here. Because I really have nothing more to add than assure you my personal urge to write about genocide has been recalibrated. And that perhaps sometime in the future I will be able to continue where The Willing left off and write about The Unwilling.

About us rationals who will somehow manage to persuade the radical -ism people and the Muslims, the Christians, the cynically greedy to leave each other in peace in the synagogues, mosques and temples of speculation doing whatever peaceful chore they enjoy. For now I'll sit back and enjoy the three TH!NK3 bloggers reporting from New York where the United Nations convene to end poverty and halt the destruction of our planet. And consider this: the United Nations is a direct outcome of the 2^nd World War.

Fate remains inexorable indeed.