Sketches and blisters from a cold, wet walk

   

Above: illustration of front gate at Stalag IIIC from 1944-1945 logbook of George Boersma, courtesy Jackie Kruper. Below: photo of entry in January 2026

Article 7 of the 1929 Geneva Convention states that prisoners of war must be evacuated from the combat zone to safer depots as soon as practicable. It specifically says:

“The evacuation of prisoners on foot shall in normal circumstances be effected by stages of not more than 20 kilometres per day, unless the necessity for reaching water and food depots requires longer stages.”

The rule was intended as a humanitarian limit on how far captured soldiers should be forced to march in one day, unless exceptional logistical needs require otherwise.

I’ve been reflecting on that distance, 20 km (12 miles), as I make my way step by step east from Kostrzyn nad Odra. In a vehicle or on a bicycle, it’s a pleasant blink. On foot with no weight to carry, it’s a nice stroll. In my case, tromping through wet snow with winter camping gear, it’s been a somewhat exhausting and blister-inducing experience. 20 km a day clearly does not account for weather.

In the specific and chaotic case of POWs liberated from the Stalag IIIC camp on January 31, 1945 (see earlier post), I would guess that they carried not much more than a wool blanket and a canteen. Today I have all the lightest modern winter camping gear I can afford - not to mention that the land I am traveling through is no longer a recently flattened combat zone - and the journey still offers me plenty of physical challenge.

Above: photos in the dusk of Stalag IIIC camp, and sketches from the logbooks of interned prisoners Tony Vasquez and George Boersma, courtesy of Jackie Kruper

Hopping off the train from Berlin and a short 8 km hike north brought me to the gate of the former POW camp. I arrived in the dark, and set up camp out of sight in the woods nearby amidst ancient foxholes, one of which my grandfather reportedly hopped in once long ago. At first light the following day, I spent an hour pacing in circles around the place, consulting maps and sketches and documents compiled by Jackie Kruper, whose father spent a few months here in 1944-1945. (I’ll share the full packet of scanned documents I received from Jackie here for posterity’s sake: Stalag IIIC Documents). Here were the guard towers, here was the barber shop, here were the latrines, here were the barracks. A quotidian stroll. In Jackie’s documents there is a description of around Christmas Eve 1944 where guards and prisoners joined together in a round caroling Silent Night, Stille Nacht, presumably in several more languages.

The place is peaceful and beautiful, and I was charmed to see a plaque installed by a local group just one year ago to commemorate the 80th anniversary of liberation. And yet, a mass grave lay unseen somewhere nearby, containing approximately 20% of the 70,000 or so persons that entered this place but did not leave. Superstition has never guided me and ghosts don’t have a role in my imagination - and yet when I walked through the three foot high gate to enter this place, instinctually I reached back to close the latch, but stopped, and instead left it open. Why would I ever close the latch to this gate while I was inside?

Briskly, ready to move on, I continued northeast to Debno. My route for the most part has been on rural logging roads used by the Polish Forestry department. The walking is mostly flat and easy, if slowed by snow and ice. Owl hoots echo and deer tracks etch fresh snow. A convoy of enormous lumber trucks roar by every few hours, perfumed by fresh pine sawdust.

Last night I arrived in Gorzòw Wiekopolski, a larger regional hub. Here I am hosted by Içlal, a local English teacher and fellow user of Couchsurfing.org. I’ve never been more grateful for the idea of strangers letting strangers stay in their home. She invited me ahead of time to sit in on her evening class, so I arrived around 6:00 pm ready to answer questions about Alaska. I was greeted instead with the surreal experience of having my previous blog post having been assigned as reading homework to this classroom of teenagers, and they peppered me with personal questions.

Tomorrow I will continue on towards Poznàn, batteries recharged and sleeping bag dried out. I am grateful  for all I’ve absorbed so far in my brief time here and can’t wait to see what’s around the corner.