I pictured a blasted wasteland, the land sown with salt, where nothing would grow and no one would live. But Dachau is a typical small Bavarian town, with its church steeple and beergarden. There are houses and schools and bakeries. Flowers grow in the gardens, and children play in the park.

I cannot imagine growing up here.

I could have come out on my own; the S2 from downtown Munich connects with a bus to the memorial site. But Munich Walks offers a tour, and I felt I wanted some company to ground me. I looked around at my fellow tourists--mostly from the US, a few non-Americans who spoke better English than German--and wondered what had brought them here. There are a hundred things to do in Munich. Why purposely pick the most depressing one? I felt it was too personal a question to ask, so I kept to subjects like the weather and travel plans.

What brought me here?

I could say it was because my grandfather fought in World War II--although not in the European theater. I could say it was because my mother's mother was Jewish--although she gave up her religion to marry my grandfather. I could say it was because it's important that we never forget what can happen when good people stand by and do nothing--although American schoolchildren are innundated with World War II history, so forgetting is unlikely. I could even say it was because Dachau is a standard day trip from Munich. I could say all of these things, and they would all be true. And they may even be why I came. I'm still not sure.