I’m not particularly fond of the term “dark tourism.” In the travel industry, this traditionally refers to destinations that are associated with death and tragedy and would encompass places like The Killing Fields in Cambodia, World War II concentration camps, slave forts in West Africa, the genocide museums in Rwanda and Liberia and the prison cells where Sandinistas were held in Nicaragua. (Curiously, sites like The Colosseum in Rome, where Gladiators fought to the death and public beheadings were de rigueur, are never included on dark tourism lists.)
Dark tourism implies that these sites have somehow been turned into “tourist attractions” with selfie set-ups at the gas chambers and a “I went to Aushwitz and all I got was this stupid t-shirt” in the gift shop. Nothing could be further from the truth. Without exception, every “dark tourism” site I’ve visited has been respectful, educational and reverent towards its victims. We are living in a world where education is valued less and less with each passing day. Visiting these places is imperative to keeping our understanding of past world events alive.
When you pay the whooping $42 it costs to visit the Empire State Building, where exactly is your money going? I’ve found that the vast majority of dark tourism sites don’t charge an entrance fee. Relaying these stories to the widest audience possible is more important than any profit made by an organization. Of course, donations are always welcome, with that money often going to fund research, keep victims archives open for descendants trying to discover their heritage and for the upkeep of these memorial sites. Your money might actually do some good by patronizing these sites.
These memorial sites don’t exploit the dead- I’d argue The Colosseum is far more exploitive of its Gladiators that any concentration camp grounds are of their victims- but rather they allow the stories of both the deceased and the survivors to be told. Another aspect not to be overlooked is that they hold the perpetrators accountable for what they did. The Killing Fields expose Pol Pot’s evil to the world and guarantee that his crimes won’t be swept under the rug. In the House of Terror in Budapest, as you enter the basement, there is a long hallway with photos. On one side are the names and faces of the people who were tortured, murdered and/or imprisoned by the communist regime. On the opposite side are names and faces of every officer, interrogator, commander or worker who facilitated these crimes. A few were later convicted of war crimes and are serving prison sentences, but many have died or live on without facing any consequences until now. The museum presents an opportunity to exact a shred of justice for the Hungarian people. This will be the legacy for those who committed these atrocities and it’s all out in the open for the world to see.
With all that said, I took a day trip from the capital to the small town of Troisvierges and the nearby convent at Cinqfontaines to better understand the events of The Holocaust in Luxembourg and learn about those who actively resisted the Nazi occupation of the Grand Duchy. Remember, unless you want to ride first class, all trains are free in Luxembourg, so there’s no need to buy a ticket at the train station. Even though Luxembourg City and Troisvierges are about as far apart as two cities can be in Luxembourg, the train will have you there in roughly seventy minutes.
Villa Pauly
On my way to the train station in the capital, I first swung by Villa Pauly, which is also located in the Gare quarter. The estate was constructed in 1923 for one of Luxembourg’s most prominent doctors, but when the Nazi Army captured the city in 1940, the Gestapo seized the building and used it as their headquarters until their expulsion in 1944. The cellar vaults were transformed into interrogation and torture chambers where over 2000 Luxembourgers were beaten, tortured and either killed or deported to camps across Europe.
Villa Pauly has since become a national symbol and in 1989 it received new life as a research center and archive for those who perished and resisted during the Holocaust and occupation. The sign above does not merely state that this was the former Gestapo headquarters; it does not advocate for the visitor to have a passive experience. Those in charge have decided to ask something of us: when you pass by, think of the patriots who were tortured here under the Nazi’s reign of terror. Don’t simply stroll past, admire the architecture and note the building’s use. It’s not enough to simply “never forget” what happened; we are being tasked with actively remembering those who suffered.
Troisvierges
Being so close to the Belgian border, the inhabitants in this northern region of Luxembourg will prefer to speak French with you as a rule. Most signage will still be posted in German and Luxembourgish too, so just in case you’re out there and need the translations, Troisvierges is Ulfingen in German and Ëlwen in Luxembourgish and Cinqfontaines becomes Fünfbrunnen and Pafemillen in the same languages respectively.
Starting from the train station, there are two loops of the so-called Sentier des Passuers (Smuggler’s Path). To the south is the 9km (5.5 miles) red circuit; the northern blue circuit is a touch longer at 12km (7.5 miles). Marking both paths, you will find infocards with old photographs and text describing the locations and people who participated in the resistance. As you can see from the above example, the placards were printed only in German, French and Luxembourgish. There is an app you can download that will apparently translate the postings into English as you pass each marker, but there isn’t any WiFi on the trail, so unless you have purchased a data plan in Luxembourg, the app won’t do you much good either. During the warmer months, it is possible to arrange for guided tours of the Sentier de Passeurs, but even this option wouldn’t be practical for a solo backpacker trying to stay on budget.
Troisvierges, which translates to “three virgins,” was founded in 1353 and was named after symbols of Faith, Hope and Charity. The town’s train station is the first anyone would pass after crossing the border with Belgium and for that reason it’s where the German Army disembarked in World War I to declare their conquest of Luxembourg, despite the Grand Duchy’s pleas for neutrality. The Germans returned in 1940 to once again claim dominion over the tiny nation during the Second World War, but this time around, their plans were even more nefarious.
Cinqfontaines
An abbey was constructed in 1906 along the Woltz River, just a few kilometers away in Cinqfontaines. The Nazis promptly kicked out the nuns and converted the convent into the only internment camp for Jews in Luxembourg. The facility was billed as a home for sick and elderly Jews, but in reality it was merely a holding ground for this fragile segment of the Jewish population until they could be deported to concentration camps in Germany and Eastern Europe.
Before World War II, there were approximately 3500 Jews living in Luxembourg. Of those, nearly 800 passed through Cinqfontaines; only 36 who were deported to the camps after their time here survived and returned home to Luxembourg after the war. By 1943 the convent was abandoned, with the Nazis declaring Luxembourg “Judenfrei” or free of all Jews.
Life was anything but easy for those who were forced to live at Cinqfontaines. The elderly never knew if they would see their sons, daughters or grandchildren again. The infirm, who were deemed too weak to work at the concentration camps, were denied an medical treatment and food was rationed out in meager portions. Heat was not provided in the winter and disease and death would run rampant in the barracks that were built on the abbey grounds. Those who died at Cinqfontaines are still buried beside the former convent.
Between 1941-43, periodic deportations would usher out one group and bring in another. At the start of the war, the prisoners were allowed to keep a small suitcase of possessions, a change of clothes and journals/writing materials. As the war wore on, paper and writing utensils were banned, as were any personal belongings. Even clothing was stripped from the backs of the elderly, forcing them to sit around in only their underwear. The psychological cruelty was every bit as torturous as the physical.
In 1969, Lucien Wercollier, a survivor of the camps, designed the above monument that commemorates the lives of all Jews who were deported from Luxembourg. The stone is rose granite, taken from the concentration camp in Struthof where Wercollier was held. He describes the shape of the memorial as a “bent, but standing human.”
Each year a ceremony is held at Cinqfontaines to honor those who died or were made to suffer here. Descendants of the victims place stones on the memorial’s granite blocks to symbolize their loved ones.
And what became of the convent? In 1973 it was converted into a hotel and retreat for those seeking solitude, meditation and healing. In 2020, the government declared the grounds a national monument and a year later, groundbreaking on a museum is underway across from Wercollier’s monument.
Sentier des Passeurs
Luxembourgers on the whole fiercely resisted the Nazi occupation. On August 30, 1942, a decree was handed down that all young men were required to enlist in the German Army and fight against the Allied Forces. The Sentier des Passeurs- an Underground Railroad of sorts- helped smuggle Jews and those who would not join the army out of Luxembourg and into southern Belgium, where the Nazis had less of a stranglehold on the population. Of the 3500 Luxembourgish Jews, an estimated 1000 of them were successfully transported into Belgium (and often on to neighboring France). Likewise, hundreds of young men and their families were smuggled over the border as they ignored their summonses to serve.
Beyond Cinqfontaines is the hamlet of Sassel where three men (Aloyse Kremer, Batty Mutsen and Pierre Kergen) organized and ran the Sentier des Passeurs. The operation began in Op der Knupp and spirited escapees away in a single file line along the river, past the railway tracks and through the nearby forest, pausing at safe-haven farms along the way. Across the Belgian border was a refuge called the Maison Rouge. It was here that Kremer, Mutsen and Kergen left those fleeing in the hands of the Belgian resistance and returned to Sassel to begin the process over again.
The widow Susanne Diderichs-Koener allowed her farm, Haanenhaff, to be used as one of the pit stops along the Sentier des Passeurs. The trio of organizers never moved anyone before 23:00, making it difficult to complete the trail in a single evening. The Nazis also caught on that people were escaping through the northern border and a mixture of guards and spies sought to put an end to their efforts. Sometimes groups would be forced to spend several days in the widow’s barn, hiding from those looking to thwart their plans.
Eventually Aloyse Kremer was captured on a night run and sent to a prison camp in Germany where he was executed in 1945. One of Kremer’s relatives saved his journal and in 2002 another descendant petitioned the government to install the placards and memorialize the trail that saved so many lives. These “attractions” were not born out of any wish to make money- all but the guided tours are free- but rather to educate and reintroduce the legacies of deserving figures to a new generation.
Return to Luxembourg City
Upon my return home to Luxembourg City (it’s funny how quickly a new location can suddenly feel like “home,” especially after a day trip) I knew there was one more stop I needed to make before grabbing some dinner. As I turned to look back at the train station, I thought about how much I take for granted the freedom of movement and travel. I spent the day learning about people who had all their freedoms ripped away. Some were deported from this very station and never allowed to return. Others moved under the cover of darkness, risking their lives to cross borders that I navigated so easily a few days earlier. Travel will always allow you to see things from ever-new perspectives.
Kaddish Monument
Recently unveiled in 2018, the Kaddish Monument in the Ville Haute is Luxembourg’s latest attempt to memorialize the Jewish lives lost in the Holocaust. Like Wercollier’s tribute at Cinqfontaines, this statue was also designed by a survivor of the camps, Shelomo Selinger. Now 93 and living in Paris, Selinger was 15 years old when he was sent, along with his father, mother and sister to the Faulbrück concentration camp in Germany. His entire family was murdered at the camp, but Selinger miraculously managed to survive being transported to nine different camps over a two year period. In 1945, as the Allies liberated Theresienstadt, Selinger was discovered barely breathing atop a pile of corpses.
Selinger eventually attended a school for fine arts in Paris and is now entering his seventh decade as a sculptor. His Kaddish Monument sits on the site of a synagogue destroyed by the Nazis during the occupation. The piece is a tower of flames, with faces and body parts protruding from the fire. Selinger’s achievements underscore that there was not only a great loss of life in the Holocaust, but also a destruction of Jewish culture and a deprivation for the entire world of the would-be Jewish art, theater and music that we never had to the privilege to experience. The Holocaust wasn’t just about taking lives. It was an attempt to stamp out a heritage and traditions that date back millennia. Selinger represents some small proof that this plan was foiled and ultimately failed.
I had prepared myself for a difficult day, and many moments were certainly somber, but I was also moved by the memorials that honored The Holocaust’s victims and was inspired by those who fought and sacrificed their lives against a fascist regime. This supposedly “dark tourism” somehow morphed into something uplifting. I guess these initiatives did their job, because here I am, writing this post and doing whatever little I can to keep this history alive.
