Poland

Poland is a beautiful country. It was warmer than the UK, there was lots of adorable nuns, roller skaters and pretty buildings. Everything is cheap, the transport is efficient but there's no sort of queueing system which I find emotionally distressing and the diet is too meat-based for my liking. If I ever move there I'll have to sharpen my elbows and live solely on pierogi ruskie (dumplings), pretzels, zapiekanka (baguettes with cheese and mushrooms, so good) and wimberries (the only place I can find them is Saddleworth Moor which is horrifying) 

We arrived at the hotel past midnight. I immediately put my pyjamas on then went wandering the streets of Krakow in search of a 24 hour shop selling vodka.

The visit to Auschwitz was a bizarre experience. I didn't take many photos as they don't allow photography inside the barracks. Naturally, people ignore this. 

It wasn't as upsetting as I anticipated. The blue skies and chatter of hundreds of visitors made it difficult to picture the horrors. I suspect that there's been a gradual desensitisation towards these sorts of atrocities as we watch them unfold on the news every day. 

Although initially unaffected, I'm now haunted slightly by what I saw. 7 tonnes of human hair, glass cabinets full of suitcases, baby clothes, glasses, shoes, mobility aids and shoe polish. The entire building dedicated to evidence documents, blueprints of building plans as Holocaust denial is so rife. The prison cell of Maximillian Kolbe, a Francisan who martyred himself. 10 men would be selected for execution as punishment for escape or attempted escape of a prisoner. Maximillian volunteered himself for execution to save the life of Franciszek Gajowniczek. He was starved for two weeks before finally being injected with phenol. He was canonised in 1982. But the very worst was the gas chamber. Dark and damp smelling, the images of suffering were made real by scratches on the wall, only to suddenly find yourself stood on the tracks leading into a crematorium. The thought of the condemned being robbed of their possessions to be sent back to Germany, tortured and used "efficiently without waste" is horrifying. Felt socks made of human hair, soap made of human fat, gold bars composed of gold teeth, ashes used as fertiliser or dumped in a pond. 

Later that evening we went out for a meal. We found the most ridiculously massive pizzas and a karaoke bar; I had many cocktails, far too much vodka, sang far too loudly both in the bar and in the street with the busker who played Wonderwall for the pisshead Mancs and got lost on my own in the centre of Krakow in the middle of the night in search of a shop to buy some juice and was guided back to the hotel by my friends singing Where Is The Love far too loudly. 

We were woken at the crack of half 9 being told we had half an hour to pack, get ready and leave for Schindler's factory. The half hour walk took more than an hour, my feet were blistered gently to death (I am considering amputation, it is that painful to walk, let alone put on shoes and go outside) and I ended up about 40 miles behind everyone else, dragging my coat along the floor as it was so warm, being tripped over by dog walkers on roller skates, elbowed by a nun and being stared at. Presumably admiring my new favourite dress/possible love of my life purchased from the beautiful and generally amazing Vix from Stockport vintage fair, which is not at all a surprise. 

(sidenote: what colour is this dress? Everyone says it's orange but I think it's pink. The eye hospital doctor said something about colourblind but I didn't listen because I wanted to know whether I'm dying or going blind. The answer is "not yet" which is not all that reassuring. Turns out I'm not just terrible at making my clothes match after all though. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it)

Schindler's factory was really interesting although I bombed through as we had so little time and certain tourists were getting on my nerves. No offence to all the millions of lovely people who travel but as someone who works with tourists as well as occasionally is a tourist I can confirm that there's a small group of very stereotypical (piss annoying) citizens of a certain country. Mentioning no names. 

I had a lot of top bantz with my pals, got two wimberry muffins and some vodka at the airport on the way home, enough cheap cigs to keep Mother Murphy happy and I still only know one Polish word (sklep which means shop to everyone who never goes outside) and I can't wait to go back for more embarrassing English drunkard shenanigans incredible history.