I arrive in Auschwitz the day after the 70th anniversary of the camp’s liberation by the Red Army. I ramble around in a miserable blizzard, apropos of nothing. I find it difficult to connect myself to the suffering; it’s an alien place to me. An unspeakable crime, I struggle to put myself in that moment in time. Is this what human beings are capable of? It seems so. I depart in a foul mood, which is merely compounded by a flick through the news headlines later that day – murder, bloodshed, war, carnage. Welcome to Earth, I guess. I arrive back in Kraków and immediately hit the beers and vodka. Horrible history.