Apart from the quote, I picked this because the bus looks undeniably like the old Maltese ones…right? :)
I was going through some of my older photos when I came across a few from a short visit to Duck Village so I thought that I would share.
Firstly you should know that It’s not your typical tourist attraction.
I found a few reviews before writing this which summed the place up as a bit ‘weird’ and all I can say to that is, well…esthetically, yes I suppose it’s not your average home for ducks but it’s a home nonetheless and since quirky is my thing, I quite like it.
Duck village is a little area set up on Manoel Island in Gzira and from what I can tell is run entirely on charitable donations.
As well as ducks, it’s also the home to a few cats, chickens, rabbits and guinea pigs all of which seem content with their lives.
Why not go and check this little haven out whilst you’re in the Sliema/Gzira area? Buy some bread from a local shop and go and feed our little quacky friends (don’t forget the bunnies and guinea pigs too!). There’s also a box to leave a little donation.
I wrote this on the evening after visiting Auschwitz & Birkenau and I felt that it needed to be shared. I was feeling a little ‘creeped out’ by the whole experience so excuse the mournful tone.
I’m having trouble sleeping tonight. Every time I close my eyes all I see are visions of Auschwitz & Birkenau scorched into the back of my eyelids. Today we visited two of the death camps that I’ve heard so much about. It felt so wrong that the sun was shining on this place, yet despite it being a bright and sunny day full of curious tourists I still felt an eery stillness walking around.
Before arriving there, I kind of felt it was a little wrong to visit a place which was the resting place of millions of Jews. Did people really get a kick out of this? I wondered. Now I’ve been there however, I can’t emphasise just how important it was to go and see the camp with my own eyes.
We need to remember. We need to be educated. We need to pay our respects for those who perished and the few who risked their lives for the sake of others.
Inside one of the buildings at Auschwitz, there was a wall of photos of some of the men and women registered into the death camp. Some, though only having just arrived showed signs that they had been beaten; some wore a blank expression and some (and the ones that really got to me) were faces of men and women wearing genuine smiles with what seemed like no inclination of what was soon to happen to them.
Of about eight hundred jews who tried to escape, only about one hundred and fifty managed. It didn’t matter how long it took to search for an escaped prisoner, the Nazis would carry on searching even if it took a whole year.
We learnt about the medical experiments performed on the jews for various purposes and how a lot of the prisoners would end up physically handicapped and thus would meet their end much faster because they could no longer work and were therefore deemed useless to the Nazis.
We learnt about Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish priest who died as a prisoner in Auschwitz. When a prisoner escaped, the prisoners in the camp would be punished. This was to discourage other prisoners from having even the notion of thinking about escaping (and also because they were just merciless bastards). On this occasion there were ten jews selected to be eliminated in the starvation bunker including Franciszek Gajowniczec who began sobbing for his wife and children. Maximilian stepped forward and asked to take this mans place. Oddly enough, the officer agreed and the priest was thrown down the stairs into the starvation bunker and left to starve. Whilst the other prisoners were gnawed at by their thirst and hunger (often drinking their own urine and licking the cold walls) the priest would pray.
After two weeks only four of the ten were still alive. The Nazis grew impatient as they needed the cells for more victims so an executioner was sent to inject a lethal dose of carbolic acid into each of the men. Maximilian was the last to die and whilst fully conscious, he lifted his arm to receive the shot. A true saint
Franciszek Gajowniczek survived to tell the story and died in 1995 at the age of 95.
After putting pen to paper, I finally managed to get some sleep. I won’t ever forget my visit nor will I forget the fluttering wings of the butterfly that danced past a gas chamber that day.
On another note; try to be respectful if you go. Taking pictures of you smiling next to a display case of glasses (or whatever) just makes you look like a fool.
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- The land of everything and more (simmystravels.wordpress.com)
- Evil (jordypama.wordpress.com)
- My Words Are Finally Together… (notyouraveragepolandtrip.wordpress.com)
- Auschwitz: a visit (myluckytown.wordpress.com)
Happy Tuesday everyone! I’ve just created a new page which is a little introduction to Malta and a place where you can directly find any posts related to this little rock.