So, this will be a bit like talking about someone behind his back, but nothing I wouldn't say in person if I thought it would do any good. At the Katowice branch of Profi, where I teach every other Saturday, is another American, J. Former Air Force Intelligence, if you believe him, but there's something off about the way he says it, can't pin it down. He is just everything I find embarrassing about the American character. Brash, loud, blithely arrogant and insensitive. He likes to tell just the worst racist and sexist jokes, not because he's racist (though a tad sexist), but just because that's the level of his humor. He actually plays American football (quarterback, of course) in Poland. One of those people who joins a conversation by introducing complete non sequiturs, usually about himself, usually about football, drinking and/or sex. For me, he is the living embodiment of rubbing a balloon, or nails on a chalkboard.
But what really got me last Saturday was his attitude toward his classes. It's end of the year, finals time, and the tests will cover all the material in the books. Polish students take exams very seriously, and even the ones who are learning English for personal benefit want to do well on them. Now, I'm not a big fan of tests myself; I tend to believe they mostly measure how well you take tests, rather than actual knowledge, but I don't expect everyone to share this view. But J. exhibited such a lack of concern, even pride, in being four full units behind, I didn't even know what to say. He seems to suffer from the delusion that just talking with him is enough, and while that may develop fluency, it is actually important to go over conditionals and passive verbs and reported speech, especially for those in test-prep classes (e.g., First Certificate in English, Advanced English, or Proficiency. These groups will take an exam for an internationally recognized certificate that will open up job opportunities and/or get them higher pay at current jobs. It's really important. And native speakers mostly teach these higher levels, so the majority of his students have these exams as their ultimate goals.). In his words, "Fuck the tests, man." This, on the same day that he expressed disappointment in discovering that Polish girls aren't as easy as he'd thought, ("I'm not taking [them] out for [their] personality and broken English.") and offered with pride the details of his current hangover and inability to teach in such a state.
Sigh.
There's so much that's good about the U.S. So much that I love. Literature, press freedom (even when they don't use it, at least it's there), road trips, spicy chicken at Popeye's, coffee refills, hashbrowns, purple mountains' majesty, etc. Why is it that we only export the worst? McDonald's, Burger King, strip malls, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, Hollywood schlock, military invasions and useless missile defense systems, ludicrous justifications for civil rights abuses, and guys like this. It pains me to think that he is our representative here, even if it's just to a relatively few people. Because he reinforces (to my mind) so many of the negative stereotypes of Americans. And, as at home, I just feel no kinship with him. No fellow feeling, no sense of community. The only Polish word I've ever heard him say is "gowno," which means "shit," except Polish people don't use it the same way we do, so it's always wrong. Ah, well. He'll leave soon, and I can hope his replacement is better.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
More standards and measures
Let's start this one with toilets. A great place to think and ponder life's mysteries, engaged as you are in one of the most primal and basic of activities. I also keep my Polish/English dictionary in the bathroom: I figure I can learn a few words a day this way, since I'm there already and my hands are free. And here's what I've noticed in there: toilet paper holders. The American standard is that nifty spring-loaded telescoping rod wedged into recessed holes in the sides of the holder, at least household ones are. Here, the standard is for a small diameter rod, kind of bracket-shaped, or maybe more like a digital watch's zero with one side missing and sideways. Anyway, it's open at the side, you slide the roll onto the rod, and often there's a sort of lid thingy attached that covers the top half of the roll. The problem I have is that my lid thingy is broken and I can't put it on the holder, so when I go to tear off a few squares, sometimes the entire roll comes off the rod, especially as it gets closer to the end, and thus is very light. Which is a very irritating thing to have happen when you're in such a vulnerable position and there's little you can do but tear off what you need while the rest of the roll dissolves in the one spot of water from your shower. And so I wonder, who designed these open-ended holders and why did everyone else think it was a good idea? Am I the only one who has this problem? Am I just deficient in a style of toilet-paper-ripping that Polish people learn in childhood? I don't know.
But then I went to Ukraine and this whole issue got a new dimension for me. Because, you see, in Poland, the rolls themselves are the same as what I'm used to, but in Lwow, they were missing the interior cardboard tube. They just roll up the paper into one solid, center-hole-less cylinder. Which of course means you have to have entirely different holders. What I found were little shelves, slightly curved and low-sided, and infinitely easier to accidentally drop the roll from. And this also made me remember a few bathrooms in the U.K. where they didn't have rolls at all, but instead folded sheets tucked into what seemed like napkin dispensers screwed upside down into the wall. Is it any wonder that we can't settle international issues and disputes when the world can't even agree on the way to wipe our asses? Ok, I'm reaching there, but still.
Toilets also tend to have flush buttons on top of the tank. Haven't seen a single front-of-the-tank lever-flusher. Sometimes it's a pull-knobby-thing, but always in the center of the top. I know they sell lawnmowers, but the only machine I've seen used to cut grass is a weed-whacker. Big ones, but when you see a guy in a big park or along a highway cutting grass with one of those, you get the idea that this is almost deliberately Sisyphean.
Locks always need the key to be turned twice. Ice-cube trays were really hard to find: didn't know that most people use these plastic bag things. Sofa-beds are common, but that's a space issue, and entirely reasonable. However, I know that many people have vacuum cleaners, and yet carpet-beating is still popular. One of my first mornings in Poland I was woken at 7 a.m. by a rhythmic thwunking noise, almost like gunshots, but a little duller and flatter. Disoriented and confused, especially since it was 15 below zero Celsius and I couldn't imagine what or who could possibly be making such a sound so early in the morning outside in such weather, I stumbled to the window, where I saw a very old woman vigorously beating the bejeezus out of a carpet. They have carpet beating poles all over for this purpose, though I have since learned it's traditionally the man's job. My feeling is, if the dirt is so ground in that a vacuum won't get it, then it ain't a problem. Fortunately, I don't have any carpets in my current place.
The last thing is, this is not a handicapped-accessible country. Didn't think too much about it for awhile, having two good legs and all, but as I was walking to work a few days ago, a man stopped me on Malachowskiego. I took him for a nurse, but he may have been a relative of the very old man in a wheelchair who was with him. It was outside an apartment building, and he wanted me to help lift the chair and the man up some steps. Six steps. Low steps. Of course I did it, but I couldn't help but wonder how long they had been there, and how often they had to rely on the kindness of strangers to get in and out of the building. A simple ramp, common enough on public stairs, would do so much for their quality of life, not to mention dignity. And here I am ranting about toilet paper rolls.
But then I went to Ukraine and this whole issue got a new dimension for me. Because, you see, in Poland, the rolls themselves are the same as what I'm used to, but in Lwow, they were missing the interior cardboard tube. They just roll up the paper into one solid, center-hole-less cylinder. Which of course means you have to have entirely different holders. What I found were little shelves, slightly curved and low-sided, and infinitely easier to accidentally drop the roll from. And this also made me remember a few bathrooms in the U.K. where they didn't have rolls at all, but instead folded sheets tucked into what seemed like napkin dispensers screwed upside down into the wall. Is it any wonder that we can't settle international issues and disputes when the world can't even agree on the way to wipe our asses? Ok, I'm reaching there, but still.
Toilets also tend to have flush buttons on top of the tank. Haven't seen a single front-of-the-tank lever-flusher. Sometimes it's a pull-knobby-thing, but always in the center of the top. I know they sell lawnmowers, but the only machine I've seen used to cut grass is a weed-whacker. Big ones, but when you see a guy in a big park or along a highway cutting grass with one of those, you get the idea that this is almost deliberately Sisyphean.
Locks always need the key to be turned twice. Ice-cube trays were really hard to find: didn't know that most people use these plastic bag things. Sofa-beds are common, but that's a space issue, and entirely reasonable. However, I know that many people have vacuum cleaners, and yet carpet-beating is still popular. One of my first mornings in Poland I was woken at 7 a.m. by a rhythmic thwunking noise, almost like gunshots, but a little duller and flatter. Disoriented and confused, especially since it was 15 below zero Celsius and I couldn't imagine what or who could possibly be making such a sound so early in the morning outside in such weather, I stumbled to the window, where I saw a very old woman vigorously beating the bejeezus out of a carpet. They have carpet beating poles all over for this purpose, though I have since learned it's traditionally the man's job. My feeling is, if the dirt is so ground in that a vacuum won't get it, then it ain't a problem. Fortunately, I don't have any carpets in my current place.
The last thing is, this is not a handicapped-accessible country. Didn't think too much about it for awhile, having two good legs and all, but as I was walking to work a few days ago, a man stopped me on Malachowskiego. I took him for a nurse, but he may have been a relative of the very old man in a wheelchair who was with him. It was outside an apartment building, and he wanted me to help lift the chair and the man up some steps. Six steps. Low steps. Of course I did it, but I couldn't help but wonder how long they had been there, and how often they had to rely on the kindness of strangers to get in and out of the building. A simple ramp, common enough on public stairs, would do so much for their quality of life, not to mention dignity. And here I am ranting about toilet paper rolls.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Mazury, Days 5 and 6, the Wolf's Lair, Boyen Fortress and home
Trouble arose when we reached Ketrzyn on May 3rd, Constitution Day. And it had been such a lovely morning, too. We had descended for breakfast about 8:30, to an empty restaurant. One table was laid for 3 people. As soon as we sat down, we were brought platters of cold cuts and cheese, bread, tomato slices, butter, and wonder of wonders, an entire carafe of coffee, which was actuallyy left on the table for refills. If you're not already aware of this, the American custom of free coffee refills is unheard of in Europe. You pay for each and every cup, ordered individually, extra charge for milk, so this was an astonishing event, and we drank pretty much the whole thing, on principle. We also were offered, and accepted, fresh omelets, plain, but very good. I might also mention that things like butter and jam are also usually extra, so this breakfast was just downright extragavant by Polish standards.
Cheerful despite an overcast day, we walked the few blocks to the bus station, and there was one lone bus idling, which just happened to be going through Ketrzyn, which is the closest town to the Wolf's Lair, Hitler's headquarters for the last 3 years of the war. We hopped on, and 34 kilometers and half an hour later, we were in Ketrzyn. Where the problems began.
The Wolf's Lair is actually in Gierloz, 8 km outside of Ketrzyn. It was about 11 when we arrived at the tourist office, where the nice lady informed us that today, being a holiday, there was only one bus to Gierloz, at 2 p.m., and one bus returning, at 6 p.m. Just about any other day, they ran every hour or so. Our bus from Ketrzyn back to Gizycko was at 2:30, although there were trains as well.
So we splurged and took a taxi. Expensive, but better than hanging out all day waiting for buses. The driver was crazy, passing other cars and tour buses on narrow country roads by driving on the left shoulder into oncoming traffic, but we arrived safely. The Lair is out in the woods, a compound of heavily fortified bunkers that the Germans tried to destroy completely after Hitler's suicide, but had built too well. None of them are usable anymore, but 9 meter-thick steel-reinforced concrete apparently doesn't just fall apart when you blow up 60 tons of explosive inside it. It's all open: you pay at the entrance and then just wander around, though there are well-marked trails, color-coded depending on whether you want the full tour or shorter ones. If you care to disregard the signs that warn of danger, you can enter the ruins of the bunkers and walk the same corridors as Hitler, Eva Braun, Goring, Bormann, SS officers, stenographers, typists, Wehrmacht and Air Force and Naval High Commands all did. Nothing has been maintained or restored, and the forest is reclaiming what it can. I was sorely tempted to pocket a bit of rubble from Hitler's bunker, but restrained myself. It was a fascinating couple of hours, and as the sky cleared and the sun shone and the birds sang, it was difficult to imagine this truly being the center of so much horror and destruction.
Another nail-biting taxi ride, a pleasant nap on the bus, and we were back in Gizycko shortly after 3. The pub across from the hotel had nice tables in the sun, and we had coffee and watched families and couples strolling the boulevard, teens and children shouting and chasing each other and eating ice cream from the shop next to us. Finally, we motivated again, and headed across the canal to the Boyen fortress, a big, vaguely star-shaped brick thing on a hill, built in the early 1800s, used as an outer defensive post for the Wolf's Lair before it fell to the Russians without a shot at the end of the war. Here, too, much of it has been left to trees and bushes: the outer walls are now entirely overgrown, and only the too-regular manner in which it encircles the inner fortress hints at what it once was.
We arrived too late to enter the central part, but had a pleasant stroll around the outer walls, after which we went looking for another sunny table, if there still was one, as it was getting on in the evening. At the canal though, the bridge was open, forcing us to detour slightly to the pedestrian bridge, but interesting enough that we stopped at the pub on the other side. It opens by swinging its entire length on a swivel mounted on one side, so that it rests along the bank, sort of like a pinball flipper at rest. The amazing thing about it, though, is it's operated manually. That is, the 100-ton structure is moved by one man (on this day, the operator seemed to be in his 70s) cranking a series of winches and things by hand. No motors whatsoever. It takes about 5 minutes to complete the operation, but when the time came, sure enough, we could see him cranking away, first by walking around a big, vertical, turnstile-type device, then inside the bridge house, spinning this wheel and that, vaguely reminiscent of Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. Without the fishnets and corsets, of course.
We met up with Philippe for dinner, and called it a night after that. The next day's journey home was long and tedious, though it began well enough with a reprise of that most excellent and unexpected breakfast, and did include a pleasant hour and a half in Olsztyn's rynek again, but since it also had misread schedules, wrong trains, extra hours and legs, pleadings for compassion with conductors (which actually worked-it's very complicated, but about 10 minutes before we were to finally get off the train, a conductor wanted to charge us for an entirely new ticket, but relented, even at risk from his supervisor. Thank you, good sir.), and another taxi ride before I finally walked through my door, almost 16 hours after leaving Gizycko, just over 8 before I had class in the morning, and 12 or so hours since I last ate anything more substantial than peanuts or chips. It was all worth it, nevertheless.
Cheerful despite an overcast day, we walked the few blocks to the bus station, and there was one lone bus idling, which just happened to be going through Ketrzyn, which is the closest town to the Wolf's Lair, Hitler's headquarters for the last 3 years of the war. We hopped on, and 34 kilometers and half an hour later, we were in Ketrzyn. Where the problems began.
The Wolf's Lair is actually in Gierloz, 8 km outside of Ketrzyn. It was about 11 when we arrived at the tourist office, where the nice lady informed us that today, being a holiday, there was only one bus to Gierloz, at 2 p.m., and one bus returning, at 6 p.m. Just about any other day, they ran every hour or so. Our bus from Ketrzyn back to Gizycko was at 2:30, although there were trains as well.
So we splurged and took a taxi. Expensive, but better than hanging out all day waiting for buses. The driver was crazy, passing other cars and tour buses on narrow country roads by driving on the left shoulder into oncoming traffic, but we arrived safely. The Lair is out in the woods, a compound of heavily fortified bunkers that the Germans tried to destroy completely after Hitler's suicide, but had built too well. None of them are usable anymore, but 9 meter-thick steel-reinforced concrete apparently doesn't just fall apart when you blow up 60 tons of explosive inside it. It's all open: you pay at the entrance and then just wander around, though there are well-marked trails, color-coded depending on whether you want the full tour or shorter ones. If you care to disregard the signs that warn of danger, you can enter the ruins of the bunkers and walk the same corridors as Hitler, Eva Braun, Goring, Bormann, SS officers, stenographers, typists, Wehrmacht and Air Force and Naval High Commands all did. Nothing has been maintained or restored, and the forest is reclaiming what it can. I was sorely tempted to pocket a bit of rubble from Hitler's bunker, but restrained myself. It was a fascinating couple of hours, and as the sky cleared and the sun shone and the birds sang, it was difficult to imagine this truly being the center of so much horror and destruction.
Another nail-biting taxi ride, a pleasant nap on the bus, and we were back in Gizycko shortly after 3. The pub across from the hotel had nice tables in the sun, and we had coffee and watched families and couples strolling the boulevard, teens and children shouting and chasing each other and eating ice cream from the shop next to us. Finally, we motivated again, and headed across the canal to the Boyen fortress, a big, vaguely star-shaped brick thing on a hill, built in the early 1800s, used as an outer defensive post for the Wolf's Lair before it fell to the Russians without a shot at the end of the war. Here, too, much of it has been left to trees and bushes: the outer walls are now entirely overgrown, and only the too-regular manner in which it encircles the inner fortress hints at what it once was.
We arrived too late to enter the central part, but had a pleasant stroll around the outer walls, after which we went looking for another sunny table, if there still was one, as it was getting on in the evening. At the canal though, the bridge was open, forcing us to detour slightly to the pedestrian bridge, but interesting enough that we stopped at the pub on the other side. It opens by swinging its entire length on a swivel mounted on one side, so that it rests along the bank, sort of like a pinball flipper at rest. The amazing thing about it, though, is it's operated manually. That is, the 100-ton structure is moved by one man (on this day, the operator seemed to be in his 70s) cranking a series of winches and things by hand. No motors whatsoever. It takes about 5 minutes to complete the operation, but when the time came, sure enough, we could see him cranking away, first by walking around a big, vertical, turnstile-type device, then inside the bridge house, spinning this wheel and that, vaguely reminiscent of Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. Without the fishnets and corsets, of course.
We met up with Philippe for dinner, and called it a night after that. The next day's journey home was long and tedious, though it began well enough with a reprise of that most excellent and unexpected breakfast, and did include a pleasant hour and a half in Olsztyn's rynek again, but since it also had misread schedules, wrong trains, extra hours and legs, pleadings for compassion with conductors (which actually worked-it's very complicated, but about 10 minutes before we were to finally get off the train, a conductor wanted to charge us for an entirely new ticket, but relented, even at risk from his supervisor. Thank you, good sir.), and another taxi ride before I finally walked through my door, almost 16 hours after leaving Gizycko, just over 8 before I had class in the morning, and 12 or so hours since I last ate anything more substantial than peanuts or chips. It was all worth it, nevertheless.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Mazury, Day 4, Mikolajki to Gizycko
A cold, clear day dawned in Mikolajki, blue sky, blue water, gusty wind in green trees. A wonderful day to take the 3 hour boat trip to Gizycko, through Lake Talty and several canals to Lake Niegocin, in the northern part of Mazury. A round-trip tour left at 10:30, but we were certain we could get one-way tickets, so we headed down to the docks. At the Kasa Biletowe we were informed that there was no boat to Gizycko; that is, they didn't have one. We looked behind us at the 3 tour boats tied up next to us, then back at the man. "You don't have a boat?" "Nie ma. Not today." He shrugged. What can you do?
So it was back to the tourist office to see what other options were available to get to Gizycko. Buses? Well, yes, but today there was only one, which left at 7 a.m., 3 hours ago. We could catch a bus to Ketrzyn, and try to get a connection there. Trains? Not direct. Again, we might take one to another town and hope for something heading north. Didn't we want to stay in Mikolajki?
After some disappointed discussion, we agreed on a plan. Go back to the docks, and if there was a boat tomorrow, we'd stay in Mikolajki for another day, otherwise, we'd try the bus/train thing. The major reason for visiting Mazury is the lakes, and we really wanted to take this trip. Much to our surprise, in the 45 minutes we'd been gone, the situation had changed. Now the man told us the 3 p.m. boat was available, though he made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, as if minutes earlier he hadn't told us exactly the opposite. Ah, Poland.
Rejuvenated, optimistic once more, the sun a bit brighter, the wind less chilling, we returned to the tourist office to get help finding a room in Gizycko, as we'd now be getting in much later, and that went smoothly as well. Two phone calls, which I made, in Polish, thank you very much, and we were booked in a small hotel on one of the main streets, just a few blocks from the waterfront. While we were discussing what to do for the next few hours, we met Philippe. He was also headed to Gizycko, and wanted to know how to get there. We told him about the boat and invited him to join us. A Frenchman, it turned out he was studying law in Katowice, the city next to ours. We were practically neighbors.
After some idle wandering, a couple bowls of zurek, and reprovisioning, it was time to go. We got a good table on the top deck, not that it mattered; on a boat that could easily take a hundred passengers, we were 3 of about 15. A group of German cyclists, some elderly couples who stayed downstairs, a few Polish tourists.
The journey was lovely. We had good sun for the first two hours, as we passed through Talty, sailboats weaving around us. Tree-lined canals, storks flapping slowly overhead, occasional towns on the shore, once, an older man patiently waiting at a put-in point with two cans of gas, whether hoping to sell it or a pre-arranged meeting was unclear. We didn't speak much; Philippe was suffering from a head cold and Patrick and I were just enjoying the lake sounds. I sent a snarky text message to all our friends that hadn't joined us: I'm on Lake Jagodne. Where are you?
It was overcast by the time we reached Gizycko, but reasonably mild when the wind wasn't blowing. Philippe came with us to Hotel Jantar to see if they had another room, which they did, and his presence proved unexpectedly helpful as the woman who ran the place spoke no English, but very good French. So in three languages we learned that we could have petit dejeuner anytime we wanted, in the hotel restaurant; that there was some sort of commemorative festival that evening for tomorrow's Constitution Day (her exact words were "Boom, boom."); and that if we returned after the restaurant was closed (since it was also the entrance and reception), we could get in by pressing the buzzer on the back door.
The room was the best yet, and a sharp contrast to the one we'd came from, not least because it had an indoor toilet. On the first floor (second for you Americans) overlooking the street, clean, basic but nice Ikea-like furnishings, a working TV (only 3 channels, but each of them twice), soft, fluffy towels (at the Wysoka Brama they were like drying off with sandpaper), and a shower with just the best pressure I've felt in a long time.
Somewhat worn out from the day's travels and travails, and Philippe from his cold, we ventured out to forage, found pizza and beer to bring back, watched Manchester United get severely beaten by AC Milan, and turned in.
So it was back to the tourist office to see what other options were available to get to Gizycko. Buses? Well, yes, but today there was only one, which left at 7 a.m., 3 hours ago. We could catch a bus to Ketrzyn, and try to get a connection there. Trains? Not direct. Again, we might take one to another town and hope for something heading north. Didn't we want to stay in Mikolajki?
After some disappointed discussion, we agreed on a plan. Go back to the docks, and if there was a boat tomorrow, we'd stay in Mikolajki for another day, otherwise, we'd try the bus/train thing. The major reason for visiting Mazury is the lakes, and we really wanted to take this trip. Much to our surprise, in the 45 minutes we'd been gone, the situation had changed. Now the man told us the 3 p.m. boat was available, though he made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, as if minutes earlier he hadn't told us exactly the opposite. Ah, Poland.
Rejuvenated, optimistic once more, the sun a bit brighter, the wind less chilling, we returned to the tourist office to get help finding a room in Gizycko, as we'd now be getting in much later, and that went smoothly as well. Two phone calls, which I made, in Polish, thank you very much, and we were booked in a small hotel on one of the main streets, just a few blocks from the waterfront. While we were discussing what to do for the next few hours, we met Philippe. He was also headed to Gizycko, and wanted to know how to get there. We told him about the boat and invited him to join us. A Frenchman, it turned out he was studying law in Katowice, the city next to ours. We were practically neighbors.
After some idle wandering, a couple bowls of zurek, and reprovisioning, it was time to go. We got a good table on the top deck, not that it mattered; on a boat that could easily take a hundred passengers, we were 3 of about 15. A group of German cyclists, some elderly couples who stayed downstairs, a few Polish tourists.
The journey was lovely. We had good sun for the first two hours, as we passed through Talty, sailboats weaving around us. Tree-lined canals, storks flapping slowly overhead, occasional towns on the shore, once, an older man patiently waiting at a put-in point with two cans of gas, whether hoping to sell it or a pre-arranged meeting was unclear. We didn't speak much; Philippe was suffering from a head cold and Patrick and I were just enjoying the lake sounds. I sent a snarky text message to all our friends that hadn't joined us: I'm on Lake Jagodne. Where are you?
It was overcast by the time we reached Gizycko, but reasonably mild when the wind wasn't blowing. Philippe came with us to Hotel Jantar to see if they had another room, which they did, and his presence proved unexpectedly helpful as the woman who ran the place spoke no English, but very good French. So in three languages we learned that we could have petit dejeuner anytime we wanted, in the hotel restaurant; that there was some sort of commemorative festival that evening for tomorrow's Constitution Day (her exact words were "Boom, boom."); and that if we returned after the restaurant was closed (since it was also the entrance and reception), we could get in by pressing the buzzer on the back door.
The room was the best yet, and a sharp contrast to the one we'd came from, not least because it had an indoor toilet. On the first floor (second for you Americans) overlooking the street, clean, basic but nice Ikea-like furnishings, a working TV (only 3 channels, but each of them twice), soft, fluffy towels (at the Wysoka Brama they were like drying off with sandpaper), and a shower with just the best pressure I've felt in a long time.
Somewhat worn out from the day's travels and travails, and Philippe from his cold, we ventured out to forage, found pizza and beer to bring back, watched Manchester United get severely beaten by AC Milan, and turned in.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Mazury, Day 3, Mikolajki
Mikolajki. Hub of Mazury, ground zero of weekend sailors and tourists for the region, situated as it is almost in the center of Mazury, on a narrow inlet of Poland's largest lake, Jezioro Sniardwy, where it meets Jezioro Talty, a long, twisty, almost riverish body of water. The waterfront is lined with docks, behind them pubs and restaurants of exactly the type you would expect to find in a place that depends on tourism, behind them a smallish town full of cafes, hotels, restaurants, outdoor gear shops and signs for rooms to rent. It's a pretty place, and worth visiting, but it's easy to understand why many people I talked to told me to avoid it. Overly boisterous young men drunk at 10 in the morning, small children wired on sugar from whipped cream covered waffles shrieking underfoot, tour groups parting and swarming like schools of fish, over-priced food, etc. I was glad I went, and somewhat relieved to leave it.
We arrived mid-morning, at the tiny station just outside the center of town, and made our way to the tourist office to find lodging. They were well-prepared with a many-times-photocopied list of accomodation which the lady quickly marked with prices in our range. While there are plenty of hotels, the cheapest option is a room in a private house, something almost every resident offers it seems. Eventually, we ended up across the pedestrian bridge from the center at a house whose owner spoke no English, but Patrick negotiated for us. We would get a room, bathroom access, and that's it for only 70 zloty for both. A good deal. She showed us the bathroom, which to preserve family privacy we would have to get to by going out the back door, crossing only a few feet of backyard, and reentering through the laundry room. Why she showed us this, I'm still not sure, maybe for the shower. As it turned out, the toilet we were supposed to use was actually in a shack at the end of the yard, with a sink on the outside, and pretty frigging cold. Patrick I think was a braver man than I, but come morning I got seriously constipated just thinking about that icy toilet seat, and didn't unclench until we reached Gizycko.
But that first day in Mikolajki, blissfully ignorant of toilet troubles to come, we merely divested ourselves of extra weight and headed back to town.
Our first stop was on the waterfront. We'd agreed that kayaking and canoeing were out, due to the cold, and sailing wasn't an option as neither of us had a license, so we wanted to check out the lakes by tour boat. We got tickets for what appeared to be a tour of Lake Sniardwy-that is, the sign said: Mikolajki-Sniardwy-Mikolajki. That left us a couple hours to get something to eat, and after perusing the available options along the water, we settled on the guy barbecueing sausage in a little cul-de-sac of restaurants and pubs. There was good sun when a cloud wasn't overhead, the enclosing buildings cut the wind, and he also had nalesniki, a filled pancake thing I'd yet to try. They are indeed good, but I ran into a little trouble with them. I asked for two, the guy asked me something, and, as I usually do when I don't understand but think I know what the question is, I said "Tak, tak." He must have asked if I wanted two for each of us, as Patrick had waited with bags while I ordered; in any case, I ended up with four of them, which is an awful lot, as they're very filling, full of whipped cream and fruit. One is enough to make you diabetic. This kind of thing happens all the time.
Anyhoo, after strolling around a bit, it was time for the tour. A big boat, two decks, lots of tables and chairs, a bar on the lower deck, and only half full. All seemed well. We set out down the aforementioned inlet to the main body of Sniardwy, a light breeze blowing, sailboats moving with varying degrees of success around us, a very pleasant afternoon jaunt. At last, half an hour after setting out, we reached the lake. And promptly turned around. Evidently, the sign was absolutely literal. The tour went from Mikolajki to Sniardwy and back and that was it. Our reasonable assumption that we would actually see the lake was only that, an assumption. A bit disappointed, but overall content to have spent time on the water, we shifted position to stay in the sun and got another beer for the return trip.
The rest of the day was spent in somewhat aimlessly drifting from establishment to establishment, the longest time spent in the jazz bar of Hotel Prohibicja, a 1920s themed place, with framed photos and movie posters on the walls, Norah Jones on the stereo, trading word puzzles, mostly revolving around heteronyms and homonyms. A decent but unexceptional dinner at a waterfront place, then back to the room and 15 minutes of trying to turn on the TV before the owner heard us and informed us it didn't work. That was all the encouragement I needed to decide that sleep was the only thing for me. Especially as this was also when we realized which toilet we had to use, and staying awake would only mean I'd have to go out there more often.
We arrived mid-morning, at the tiny station just outside the center of town, and made our way to the tourist office to find lodging. They were well-prepared with a many-times-photocopied list of accomodation which the lady quickly marked with prices in our range. While there are plenty of hotels, the cheapest option is a room in a private house, something almost every resident offers it seems. Eventually, we ended up across the pedestrian bridge from the center at a house whose owner spoke no English, but Patrick negotiated for us. We would get a room, bathroom access, and that's it for only 70 zloty for both. A good deal. She showed us the bathroom, which to preserve family privacy we would have to get to by going out the back door, crossing only a few feet of backyard, and reentering through the laundry room. Why she showed us this, I'm still not sure, maybe for the shower. As it turned out, the toilet we were supposed to use was actually in a shack at the end of the yard, with a sink on the outside, and pretty frigging cold. Patrick I think was a braver man than I, but come morning I got seriously constipated just thinking about that icy toilet seat, and didn't unclench until we reached Gizycko.
But that first day in Mikolajki, blissfully ignorant of toilet troubles to come, we merely divested ourselves of extra weight and headed back to town.
Our first stop was on the waterfront. We'd agreed that kayaking and canoeing were out, due to the cold, and sailing wasn't an option as neither of us had a license, so we wanted to check out the lakes by tour boat. We got tickets for what appeared to be a tour of Lake Sniardwy-that is, the sign said: Mikolajki-Sniardwy-Mikolajki. That left us a couple hours to get something to eat, and after perusing the available options along the water, we settled on the guy barbecueing sausage in a little cul-de-sac of restaurants and pubs. There was good sun when a cloud wasn't overhead, the enclosing buildings cut the wind, and he also had nalesniki, a filled pancake thing I'd yet to try. They are indeed good, but I ran into a little trouble with them. I asked for two, the guy asked me something, and, as I usually do when I don't understand but think I know what the question is, I said "Tak, tak." He must have asked if I wanted two for each of us, as Patrick had waited with bags while I ordered; in any case, I ended up with four of them, which is an awful lot, as they're very filling, full of whipped cream and fruit. One is enough to make you diabetic. This kind of thing happens all the time.
Anyhoo, after strolling around a bit, it was time for the tour. A big boat, two decks, lots of tables and chairs, a bar on the lower deck, and only half full. All seemed well. We set out down the aforementioned inlet to the main body of Sniardwy, a light breeze blowing, sailboats moving with varying degrees of success around us, a very pleasant afternoon jaunt. At last, half an hour after setting out, we reached the lake. And promptly turned around. Evidently, the sign was absolutely literal. The tour went from Mikolajki to Sniardwy and back and that was it. Our reasonable assumption that we would actually see the lake was only that, an assumption. A bit disappointed, but overall content to have spent time on the water, we shifted position to stay in the sun and got another beer for the return trip.
The rest of the day was spent in somewhat aimlessly drifting from establishment to establishment, the longest time spent in the jazz bar of Hotel Prohibicja, a 1920s themed place, with framed photos and movie posters on the walls, Norah Jones on the stereo, trading word puzzles, mostly revolving around heteronyms and homonyms. A decent but unexceptional dinner at a waterfront place, then back to the room and 15 minutes of trying to turn on the TV before the owner heard us and informed us it didn't work. That was all the encouragement I needed to decide that sleep was the only thing for me. Especially as this was also when we realized which toilet we had to use, and staying awake would only mean I'd have to go out there more often.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Mazury, Days 1 and 2
Well, it was a long week, or long weekend, as everyone called it here. May 1st is the Polish Labor Day, and the 3rd is Constitution Day, which means that most people also get the 2nd off as well. Given that this year the holidays fell on a Tuesday and Thursday, many schools and businesses also closed on Monday and Friday (which is Steelworkers' Day), so I followed suit, canceled my Monday classes, and went to Mazury with Patrick.
Mazury is in the north of Poland, and justly called Land of a Thousand Lakes. Popular for sailing, kayaking, water-skiing, and associated water activities. And beautiful. Rolling hills, shady forests, quaint villages, pleasant resort towns, the whole bit. We had a good time, albeit a little cold.
We left Sosnowiec early Sunday morning, as it's a 9 hour train ride to Olsztyn, which is technically in Warmia, not Mazury, but on a good-sized lake anyway. At the station, Patrick, who's going back to the States after 5 years here, got an attack of the "Last Times." You know, when you leave a place you've lived in for awhile, you keep looking at things and thinking: It's the last time I'll see this/eat here/walk down this street/talk to this person. This trip was in a way his farewell tour, as we have no other holidays before the end of the semester, and he's leaving shortly after that. I mention it because this fact colored the week; you could almost sense memories being deliberately stored and tucked away against a future time.
Anyway, 9 hours, a few sandwiches, 6 drunk soldiers, several games of cribbage, a thermos of coffee, and 1.5 liter bottle of water later, we arrived in Olsztyn. I'd found an online deal for a 3-star hotel that was really cheap for the first night, and which claimed to be "near" the station. However, since I was unable to locate a map that showed the station, I was sceptical. Descriptions like that are notoriously unreliable, but I figured it couldn't be more than a ten or fifteen minute walk. But for once, reality was even better than advertised: Hotel Gromada was across the street from the station, something that I would've emphasized had I written the web page copy. It proved to be bland but clean, as expected; we dumped our stuff and headed out in the last of sunlight.
We'd both been told by both guidebooks and people that Olsztyn wasn't much, and we both took exception to this. It was a lovely rynek (market square) centered around what used to be the Town Hall, and is now the main library, complete with coffee cart in the lobby. Nice pubs and restaurants around the edges, with flower sellers and cotton candy vendors in front. By the winding river, which is nicely lined with trees and a grassy path, is a castle where Copernicus lived for a few years, though it was closed on Monday. Many buildings have interesting mosaics on their facades, or relief carvings, blocky and strong, either well-preserved medieval art or intended to evoke such, depicting the essentials of life, fish and animals, fruit and farming. The second night we stayed in the Hotel Wysoka Brama, which is in the old town gate: hostel rooms in the three story-gate itself, additional rooms in a more modern building attached to one side. At the lakefront, we drank beer on the deck of a nice and mostly empty restaurant, watching some kids weave around the docks in little 6-foot sailboats, and criticized the rowing efforts of what looked to be a Viking longboat of very poor sailors. There's a good Irish pub a block from the rynek and just an enormously friendly and helpful tourist office. I like Olsztyn, even if it did snow on us as we left for Mikolajki on Tuesday morning.
Mazury is in the north of Poland, and justly called Land of a Thousand Lakes. Popular for sailing, kayaking, water-skiing, and associated water activities. And beautiful. Rolling hills, shady forests, quaint villages, pleasant resort towns, the whole bit. We had a good time, albeit a little cold.
We left Sosnowiec early Sunday morning, as it's a 9 hour train ride to Olsztyn, which is technically in Warmia, not Mazury, but on a good-sized lake anyway. At the station, Patrick, who's going back to the States after 5 years here, got an attack of the "Last Times." You know, when you leave a place you've lived in for awhile, you keep looking at things and thinking: It's the last time I'll see this/eat here/walk down this street/talk to this person. This trip was in a way his farewell tour, as we have no other holidays before the end of the semester, and he's leaving shortly after that. I mention it because this fact colored the week; you could almost sense memories being deliberately stored and tucked away against a future time.
Anyway, 9 hours, a few sandwiches, 6 drunk soldiers, several games of cribbage, a thermos of coffee, and 1.5 liter bottle of water later, we arrived in Olsztyn. I'd found an online deal for a 3-star hotel that was really cheap for the first night, and which claimed to be "near" the station. However, since I was unable to locate a map that showed the station, I was sceptical. Descriptions like that are notoriously unreliable, but I figured it couldn't be more than a ten or fifteen minute walk. But for once, reality was even better than advertised: Hotel Gromada was across the street from the station, something that I would've emphasized had I written the web page copy. It proved to be bland but clean, as expected; we dumped our stuff and headed out in the last of sunlight.
We'd both been told by both guidebooks and people that Olsztyn wasn't much, and we both took exception to this. It was a lovely rynek (market square) centered around what used to be the Town Hall, and is now the main library, complete with coffee cart in the lobby. Nice pubs and restaurants around the edges, with flower sellers and cotton candy vendors in front. By the winding river, which is nicely lined with trees and a grassy path, is a castle where Copernicus lived for a few years, though it was closed on Monday. Many buildings have interesting mosaics on their facades, or relief carvings, blocky and strong, either well-preserved medieval art or intended to evoke such, depicting the essentials of life, fish and animals, fruit and farming. The second night we stayed in the Hotel Wysoka Brama, which is in the old town gate: hostel rooms in the three story-gate itself, additional rooms in a more modern building attached to one side. At the lakefront, we drank beer on the deck of a nice and mostly empty restaurant, watching some kids weave around the docks in little 6-foot sailboats, and criticized the rowing efforts of what looked to be a Viking longboat of very poor sailors. There's a good Irish pub a block from the rynek and just an enormously friendly and helpful tourist office. I like Olsztyn, even if it did snow on us as we left for Mikolajki on Tuesday morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.JPG)
