360 Degrees Longitude by John Higham

up in 1278 when King Ottokar II of Bohemia sent Henry, a bishop from Kutná Hora, to Jerusalem. Henry returned with a little bit of soil from Golgotha, the hill on which Jesus was crucified. For centuries the local townsfolk wanted to be buried on the land because of the holy dirt, and it eventually became the resting place to an estimated 40,000 souls. In the mid-1700s a church was placed on the site and bones from the cemetery were stockpiled in an ossuary. What does one do with an ossuary full of bones? Decorate, of course! A century after the church was built an artist was commissioned to do just that. Not exactly what I would have done with thousands of centuries-old skeletal remains, but I clearly do not have the imagination it takes to build a world-class chandelier made entirely of human femurs or a garland made of skulls.We spent time examining the teeth on various skulls. Dental work sure has come a long way over the centuries.
    While returning to Prague, the four of us were sitting on a train facing each other. “That was cool,” Jordan remarked. “Better than any of the other churches we’ve seen.”
    â€œI thought it was creepy,” September disagreed. “Who would want to go to Sunday school with a bunch of skulls staring at you?”
    â€œWhat’s creepy about it?” Katrina asked. “It’s not like they’re going to spring to life and start chasing you.”
    â€œAlthough that’d be cool, too,” Jordan quipped.
    I stared at Jordan and imagined his real reaction if bones sprang back to life and started chasing him. “All talk,” I said. “You’ll be having nightmares tonight.”
    â€œThe flying monkeys kind of nightmares?” Jordan responded. He was referring to my prediction of the impression that The Wizard of Oz would have on him when he was five. He thought the flying monkeys were cool, too, and never did have nightmares.
    â€œThe flying monkeys still creep me out,” I said, recalling how I was terrified of them when I was five.
    September and I had been discussing visiting another place that could give someone nightmares, but we’d been warned about taking the kids there. Turning to September, I whispered, “I think if they didn’t freak out in the ossuary they can handle Auschwitz. It’s something we shouldn’t shy away from.”
    â€œShy away from what?” Jordan demanded.
    â€œWhat don’t you think we can handle?” Katrina asked excitedly.
    â€œCan’t your mother and I have a simple conversation without you both interrupting?” I said, exasperated.
    â€œWe are discussing the fact that we should get tickets to Krakow, so that we can visit Aushwitz.” September explained calmly.
    The journey from Prague to Krakow, Poland, was an all-day affair in one of those trains built before air-conditioning was invented. We once again found ourselves on a train platform, watching the train depart, with a mass of bicycle panniers at our feet.
    â€œThe panniers worked out great when they were attached to the tandems,” September said, “but they’re a terrible choice as general luggage. Maybe we could attach wheels to them.”
    â€œWe’ll look for a luggage cart along with a wheelchair,” I replied. “For now, let’s just grab a taxi to our hostel.” Taxis aren’t exactly the budget traveler’s transportation of choice, but after a long day with so much luggage to schlep and a daughter who needed to be carried, we splurged. As I tumbled into the back of the cab, my ears were affronted.
    â€œWasn’t ‘Stayin’ Alive’ banned by the United Nations or something?” I asked on the way to our hostel. “Isn’t it like 30 years old?”
    â€œYes, dear. And so is Dark Side of the Moon.”
    The door-to-door service was pleasant, despite the disco. And the fare was so low I couldn’t see how the driver