Strawberry Time!

One thing I must say about Northern Europe, the produce comes to market far earlier than I am used to.
I come from a place where strawberries are only beginning in mid-June and are full fledged in the beginning of July.  In Poland, strawberries burst onto the scene in late May and early June.  Soon, every peddler on the street is hawking baskets of strawberries upon strawberries.  Cherries will follow in the coming weeks, and I am looking forward to that.

Selling strawberries out of a van.

 A traditional way to prepare the strawberries (besides jams and jellies) is to hull them, cut them, sprinkle them with sugar so they form a tart, sweet, chunky sauce of sorts.  This versatile way of prepping the strawberries allows them to be ladled over nalesniki (crepes) stuffed with cheese, put into fruit smoothies, and mixed with yogurt and cream and eaten with pasta.

Fresh-bought strawberries ready to be washed.

Elevators

Old school Polish elevators are something of a curiosity.  They are prevalent in the old blocks, even if one thinks that they violate basic safety codes.  Instead of two doors, these old lifts have a single door that opens outward (it's kind of like walking into a small closet that ascends.)  When the door closes, the elevator rises without an inner door, so you can see the wall climb.  A favorite pastime is to see how fast you can write graffiti on the space between floors before it pass you by.

The new elevators are pretty typical, like you would see anywhere.  Like most things these days—from your toaster to your fridge to your car—they are controlled by microchips that run certain algorithms.  These algorithms, however, are actually pretty shitty and could use a good tune up (imagine your toaster either scorching your bread or barely warming it.  You would say, "What a crappy purchase.  I need a new one.")  Many times have I encountered two elevators side-by-side, that respond to the same button.  Ideally, you would press the button and the elevator that would take you to your destination the quickest and most efficiently would open up and take you (e.g. if you wanted to go down, an already-descending one would pick you up on the way.)  That's not how it works.  Press the button and usually nothing will happen for a space of time, before the least logical choice slowly comes to your floor.  Have an elevator that's one floor away and not carrying anyone?  You're going to have to wait for the one that's thirteen floors away go up in the opposite direction, pick someone up, and then go down to the parking garage, then come to you, all the while the other elevator patiently waits at its floor.  As I said, these elevators need tune ups.

A Few Notes on Jokes

Working and living in a foreign country can be quite a challenge.  Not the least by the conformity you must undergo, and obstacles with language and culture, plus differences in work place laws (learning about Polish/EU labor laws has really been eye-opening for me.)  One of the largest gaps I find hardest to bridge is that of humor.
Now, one of the first things foreigners notice about Poles is their apparent lack of joy (the Poles will admit this themselves) and their totally cynical, depressing view on the world.  This is a pretty broad brush with which to paint the whole Polish Nation, and I don't endorse the view 100%, but it has been brought to my attention.  Humor, it may seem, is pretty hard to root out; it's hidden away in some deep, dark spot in the Polish national consciousness.
It turns out, that there is humor (I wrote about a joke or two I learned some years back.)  But the gap between American and English humor and Polish humor is wide and deep.  I don't get 99% of their jokes and they are more likely to get indignant about my jokes than anything else.  It happens quite often that a co-worker will say something witty and clever and the whole office will burst into reams of laughter, workers shaking with tears streaming down their faces, while I sit at my desk and wonder, "Was a funny just made?  Guess this one is a little over my head."  Being the odd man out is no fun.

I've given up telling jokes to these people.  It mostly ends up with quizzical faces, shaking heads, and a muttering in Polish I don't understand.  But, I haven't given up trying to grasp the essence of Polish humor. So, every-so-often, I ask around for a joke, or by happenstance I get to hear one that I can actually make sense of.

Here's one:  The foreman of a Polish construction site visited the site one day to see how progress was going.  To his dismay, there was very little built, but the workers were running back and forth with empty wheelbarrows, not bothering to load them up with materials.  When the foreman inquired why the workers were scurrying about without actually loading the barrows, the workers replied, "We're too busy."

I heard another, which involves Polish wordplay.  Now, everyone should know that I am a HUGE fan of puns and try to fit them into conversation whenever possible.  This does, usually, come out in the form of innuendo, which is has gotten me in trouble more than once.

Kto ma jaja w Stanach?

(Who has the eggs (balls) in the States?)

—Obama

(Obama.  Oba ma is Polish for "He has both".  The pun is on Obama's name.)

Pretty clever.

My Odyssey Through the Ukrainian Metropolises and Hinterlands

For those who haven't gone through the ritual of getting a residency permit renewed, it can be a total bitch.  Recently, I had to embark on a journey to Ukraine, the nearest non-Schengen country that didn't require me to obtain a visa to visit.  I was told by the Foreigners' Urzad (bureau/office) that I needed to leave Poland on or before the 31st (the date of expiration for my current residency permit) and come back no sooner that the 1st of April.  So, I chose to go to Ukraine.

Long before I had even started out, people were warning me about how it wasn't the best idea to drive to Ukraine.  Numerous people stressed that going by car was dangerous and a long long wait.  They told me how I'd probably have to bribe the guards; that the line of traffic to cross the border was miles long and would take hours (days even!) to go through; that going by bus was faster and safer; and that I might end up in a holding cell somewhere. I passed it all off as typical hysteria by people who had never even crossed the border themselves, not even to go to Lwów (actually, one person had done that, and by car.)

So, we started out from Warsaw at 8:00 PM, heading towards the eastern border with Ukraine (about a 3.5-hour drive or 155 miles.)  We went first through Lublin, and then to Chelm (Hkhe-weh-mmm).  The drive was pretty uneventful, but at night so it's not like I could enjoy the passing Polish countryside.  We only stopped once at a gas station to put oil in the car and for my companion to buy a Coke.  We did pass a big industrial site near the border that was full of lights, and I surmised it might be a gas facility for the pipelines that cross Ukraine from Russia.  I dug a little deeper (later) and found that no gas pipeline crosses from Ukraine to Poland, only from Belarus to Poland.

We got to the border crossing at 11:30.  About three miles from the border station we start seeing all these trucks pulled over to the side of the road.  Three miles of parked trucks on the side of the road later, we pulled within 'sight' of the Polish customs station.  The only problem is there is a huge line (several hours' wait) and I need to get a stamp saying that I left the territory of the Republic of Poland before midnight.  There was a lane for buses and diplomatic traffic, and we tried that, but we were stopped by a border guard acting as traffic controller (you know those red cone-like wands air traffic controllers use?  He had one of those.)  So my companion is arguing with the guy, telling him my sob story and they guy just isn't having it and is becoming obviously annoyed.  So we turn around, and park in a pretty seedy looking parking lot nearby and start hoofing it on foot.

We walk back up to the traffic guy, who immediately tells us we can't just 'go for a walk' to the border station (about hundred yards away.)  My friend is just pestering the guy, like seriously pestering him, and the controller is just becoming exasperated.  We break off a little bit and ask a man in a truck (in the front of the line) how long he would have to wait, to which he replied "three hours."  That wasn't going to do.  Meanwhile, the traffic controller is telling cars to go through, but one of the drivers has fallen asleep at the wheel and the controller has to shine his flashlight into the window and knock on the guys windshield.  My friend again goes up to the guy and basically they work out that we can get in someone's car (at the front) and we can go to the station.  The controller talks to a guy in a small red VW Golf, and we get into his car.  There's a moment where we sit in there wondering what we're supposed to do (the driver included), and we're thinking, "Can we go?"  The controller looks at us and beckons angrily with his wand shouting a very exasperated "JEDŹ!" ("DRIVE!")  So, we drive up to the border control station and exit the car.  It's about 11:45 or so right now, and my companion immediately starts laying into some guard there, telling them my story, what needs to happen, what we're doing.  The guard is about as happy as the traffic guy, and he takes my passport, then passes us off to another guard.  The second guard may have been drunk, sleepy, or born a little to slow (or maybe any mix of the previous), but he definitely didn't have his shit together.  My friend starts trying to urge him, and he replies, irritated, "We still have eight minutes [before midnight]".

From the back seat of the nice fellow's Golf, heading into the guard station.

He carried my passport loosely in his hand, fumbling with his keys to get the door open to the guard booth.  He didn't have the key, so he walks back to the other office to get it and returns to open the door, take our documents, and cautiously go over mine, but also starts turning on the computer in the booth.  Another guard comes and together they leave to the other guard house, with my companion in tow.  The minutes tick by and it's past midnight, but they return.  My companion starts asking about what stamp they put in my passport, which they said, grumpily, "The 31st!".  I look at the stamped page in my passport and indeed it says that I left the Republic of Poland on 31-3-2011.  My companion let out a triumphant "Hurrah!"

The driver fellow, with whom we've been talking a bit, turns out to be a Ukrainian and quite pleasant.  He's passed through this border many times (poor him) and gives us plenty of information.  We ask the border guard if we can just go across to the opposite border station and re-enter Poland, and he replies, "No.  You must continue to Ukraine."  He gives a slip to the driver that says the car is clean and is carrying three passengers.

Now, this slip will become important later, because at another checkpoint right down the road, another guard will look at the slip, count the passengers, and wave the car on (and if you don't have the said-amount of passengers, you might just be in trouble.)

Anyway, we speed over the bridge and over the Bug River and pass into Ukraine.

The Ukrainian border station is exactly as you think it would be.  It looks like it hasn't changed since Soviet times, and the border guards are brusque and fit the exact stereotype of what you think a Ukrainian, Russian, or Belorussian border guard would be like.  They have the military fatigues and little fur hats with an Ukrainian emblem pin in the center.

We hand them our passports and start explaining things to an incredulous border guard.  Now, in my passport photo, I have long hair (it was taken five years ago), and now my hair is of more 'normal' length.  The border guard doesn't like this very much and stares at me for a very long time.  He starts barking questions in rapid, accented Polish, to which I can only say a little.  When my companion tries helping me, the guard tells him, "I didn't ask you, I asked him."  We explain about the stamp I need, and that we intend to leave Ukraine as soon as possible.  But, he's having a really hard time with my passport photo, so I hand him my (now-expired) karta pobytu (residency/identification card), in which I have a shaved head.  The guard exclaims something along the lines of "What's with your hair?!!!"  He left, then came back with another slightly older guard; he began flipping my passport under a black light to test for authenticity, then handed it to the new guard, who took and stared at it then at my face for no less than five minutes.  I had to practically stick my head into the window while the examined my face, then my passport and karta pobytu.  They began flipping through my passport again and asking me questions in a sharp pointed manner, stopping on my expired German visa.  They asked me questions like, what was I doing in Germany, when did I leave Germany, how long did I stay, all in a gruff, accusatory tone.  Finally, they stamp my passport and hand back all our identity documents.  My companion raids my wallet, saying that the 100zl bill I have there is too much, and grabs thirty zlotych and gives it to the driver.  The driver hops into his Golf and speeds off into the night.

The entire time I was there, I'm fighting the urge to pull out my camera and start snapping pictures.  But, my saner head prevails saying, "This is not the best time nor place to start photographing."  I still was able to snap a few dark pictures, which I had to edit a little to bring out any detail.

The guard exits the booth and we follow him into the main office.  This time, I wasn't sure what exactly was going on and I was thinking, "OK, they're probably going to search us and stuff."

We marched after the guard (and he walks exactly as you think he would walk) through a hallway and out into the checkpoint for people leaving Ukraine for Poland.  He walked right up to another booth, took our passports and immediately began explaining things to the guard in the booth.  They had great fun as they started laughing, also noting that my name is that of Michael Jordan's (a common thing here.)  There are burly Ukrainians swarming up around the booth.  The guard picked one, who was driving a large white commercial van, and basically said to him, "You're going to drive them across the border."  The poor guy wasn't too pleased about it, but before he could do anything the guard marked on his slip of paper that the van contained three passengers, forcing the man to take us at least to the final Ukrainian checkpoint, where another guard would scan the slip and count the persons in the vehicle.

So, we followed the man to the van and he cleared a whole bunch of shit off his front seats (it had three front seats) and he let us in.  Then he demanded to see our passports (who knows why!) and he examined each one by flipping through them.  While he was going through mine, I thought I might have to buy it back from him with the remaining 100zl bill I have.  That, or I might have to stab him, but one thing is certain:  I was getting my passport back.  He gave them both back.  Then, he drove as far as the duty free shop to buy some stuff (probably food for the continuing wait), then drove to the last check point, where the guard shined his flashlight into the cab of the van counting, "One, two, three.  OK."  And we drove another fifty yards before hitting another traffic jam.  We got out and thanked the hapless fellow for taking us this far and began to walk.

Crossing the Bug

I must admit, it was pretty cool walking across the bridge and the Bug (the actual border of the two countries.)  The entire road was bumper-to-bumper vehicles, all of them with Ukrainian plates.  There were cars, trucks, and vans. Cars with trailers containing what looked like whatever was rustled from an antique dealer's dumpster.  The cars themselves looked as if they were held together solely because their bolts had rusted into an indiscernible mass, and they were running on little more than a prayer (the icons that were present in almost every car couldn't have done any harm.)  Almost every car looked like some mechanic's nightmare (or wet dream).  The whole place smelled like burning rubber, burning oil, and unburned gasoline.  The average age of the cars there had to be no less than twenty years.

Crossing the Bug, see the cars.

We walked to another traffic controller, who told us that we could not walk to the border station, so we simply asked to fellows in a blue van.  They obliged and carried us as far as the station, where we got out and began to look for a booth to get stamped.  We wandered around for a bit, asking a border guard, who told us that we had to be in a vehicle to be processed; he suggested getting on one of the buses just for the ride over.  We tried two buses, but no luck.  We loitered a bit, then headed back to the line of cars, finally asking two Ukrainians in a white sedan if we could ride with them to be processed.  They agreed, so we hopped in and they drove twenty yards up and pulled over.  Everyone hopped out, leaving all doors open, popping the trunk and letting the Polish border guards search the vehicle and take our passports.  We got back in again and my companion and the two guys talked a bit.  It turned out that they had waited in line for ten hours and they were crossing the border to work unloading freight trucks.  The 2012 EuroCup was discussed, and I was forced again to listen to Ukrainian techno-pop on the radio.  I noticed that the procedure for examining cars went something like this:  A line of about eight cars pulled up and stopped.  Then, each car was inspected, started from the back of the line.  Once the front car was inspected, the cars would all drive off and another line would pull up.  We sat for maybe twenty minutes until the guards came back and we all had to jump out again, they searched the car (even popping the hood), then gave us back our passports and we drove off, handing the slip of paper to the last checkpoint, a female guard who counted the passengers of the car.  The lads were obliging enough to drop us off the entrance of the parking lot where we had left almost exactly two hours earlier.

I was surprised with all the burdensome processes involved in crossing the border.  For instance: the fact that every single car was inspected.  I was told later that this is mostly done to lock down on smuggling, specifically cigarettes.  One can buy a pack of cigarettes in Ukraine for about sixty cents, then take it to Poland and sell it for a greatly inflated price.  But Poland isn't usually the destination for cigarettes, because if you can make it to France of even England you can make a tidy profit.  As we were getting into our car in the parking lot, some man walked up to us holding a plastic grocery bag full of cigarettes trying to sell us them.  We drove away, and didn't even have to pay a parking fee; the parking attendant just let us ago.

A shot from the parking lot, looking at the border station, as we were about to leave.

And so, we drove back towards Warsaw, past all those trucks parked one after another on the side of the road.  About a half hour later, the rain came.  We arrived in Warsaw around 5 am, my usual waking time, and I got to get home, eat a small breakfast then head off to work.  I was in the Foreigners Urzad (office/bureau) by 11:00AM, passing in photocopies of my newly-stamped passport.  The lady accepting them was confused by the stamps that said I left Poland on the 31st, but arrived in Ukraine on the 1st, then left Ukraine on the 1st.  I said, "It was at midnight."  She nodded, then stamped the photocopies, accepted them and bid good day.

Recipe: Paczki

Most people know paczki (singular: Pączek) as a Polish doughnut, jelly doughnut, or as Berliners (pretty much the same thing.)  They are a soft, yeast-dough doughnut, traditionally filled with rose hip jam.
Paczki are imbedded in Polish cuisine like wódka, piernik, and pierogi.  On Fat Thursday (Tłusty Czwartek, the Thursday before Lent.  The French have Mardi Gras and the Poles have Tlusty Czwartek), Poles traditionally eat paczki.  Businesses order them by the bushel for their employees (I alone at five at work and brought another three home.)  The only downside is that Paczki don't keep very well and are best eaten fresh.  You can revive them by sticking them in an oven or microwave, but nothing beats that sinfully soft and chewy dough, mere moments from being pulled from the boiling vat of oil (get it all in before Lent.)

Without much further ado, here's a traditional recipe:

1 kg flour
100 grams yeast
1/2 liter milk (warm)
7 yolks
1 whole egg
3/4 cup sugar
100 grams butter (melted, cooled)
1 jigger (shot) of rum or spirytus (grain alcohol)
Juice of 1 lemon
Pinch of salt

1.5 liters of cooking oil plus 2 spoonfuls of lard
Rose hip confiture (or any other fruit preserve) for the filling
Powdered sugar for dusting (or a mixture of lemon juice and powdered sugar for a glaze.) (Optional)
Candied orange peels (cubed into small pieces) (Optional)

Mix the yeast and 2 teaspoons of sugar and 2-3 teaspoons of flour with a little bit of milk and warm water until it starts foaming.  In a large bowl, beat together the egg and yolks and sugar.  Add in the milk, butter, yeast mixture and then flour.  Mix together and add in lemon juice and alcohol.  Knead for 20 minutes, cover in a bowl and let rise for 30 minutes to an hour.
Punch down the dough.  Place the dough on a floured cutting board and roll it into a thick rope.  Cut the dough into 1.5 cm lengths and roll out into fat pancakes.  Add a spoonful the fruit preserves to the center of every-other pancake. Seal the paczki well using the other 'pancake', making sure they are round.  Place the paczki on a floured surface, cover them, and let them rise for 30 minutes to an hour.
In a wide, shallow pot or wok, gently boil the oil and lard.  Add the paczki to the oil, flipping them occasionally so they cook equally on either side—a nice brown.  Set the fried paczki on a grate to drip dry or on paper towels.  Place on a plate and dust with powered sugar, or sprinkle with candied orange pieces and drizzle with glaze.

Smacznego!

In The Meantime

Well, I haven't posted in a long time.  The main reason being that I started a new job in Warsaw and it's eaten up pretty much all the free time I've had.  I still teach English and try to get out (I saw a pretty insane chicken show.  Yes, a chicken show.  They had so many awesome chicken, you'd be amazed.  Those fighting cocks looked like they could take down a doberman, plus there were some exotic chickens that looked more like birds of paradise than anything else.  It may sound hickish and lame, but it was actually pretty interesting.)

Spring has come to Warsaw.  It came at the end of February, and March has been one long balmy holiday. It did snow last night, so it looks like winter might still be grasping.  Basically, winter disappeared right before Christmas, which sucked.  The end of November and December were fairy-tale white with snow.  The rest of winter was slushy, muddy, but had a surprising amount of sunny days.

I also think that The Social Network was robbed blind at the Oscars.  I mean, The King's Speech was an OK movie, (I'm not going to shit on it), but let's get real here: The Social Network had far better directing and was a far better movie.  Stupid period pieces.

Work has started on the new subway line in Warsaw!  We only have to wait another twenty years for this one to finish.

More to come.

Adventures in Telecom

A few months ago, I got a new phone and SIM card.  Ever since then, I've been plagued by a series of random phone calls that look not unlike:

I:  Hello?

Caller:  Hallo, Asia?

I:  Co?  Nie ma Asi.  Nie jestem.  Ona ma inny numer.

Caller:  Co?  Asia?  Asia?  Asia?  Co?  Kim jest?

I:  Nie ma Asi.  Nie znam Asię.  You have the wrong number.

Caller:  Co? Co?  [hang up]

Or:

I:  Hello?

Caller:  [An old lady babbling jibber-jabber too fast for me to comprehend.]

I:  Co?  Who are you?  Nie rozumiem.

Caller:  [Continues ranting for a moment, then hangs up.]

So, this happens every so often.  Usually the phone rings and I think to myself "Hooray!  Another gig!"  only to have some random person on the other babble on about someone whom I've never heard of or met. They always seem rather annoyed when they hang up.

But, I few days ago, I got a text that read:

Ja bartek a ty odp

(I: Bartek, and you ans[wer])

I duly wrote back:

Oki, Bartku.

(OK, darling Bartosz.)

He replied no too long ago with:

Kim jestes odp

(Who are you?  Ans[wer])  (His grammar is lacking.)

Now, I am waiting for him to reply to my:

Jestem Batmanem.  Co potrzebujesz?

(I am Batman.  What do you need?)

No reply yet.  Let's see how it goes.  It's not unlike this post about a year ago, which was over a similar event.

One of my many avenues of not being understood by the Poles.

The Orange Festival: 2009-2010

While the summer is dominated by music festivals like Gdynia's Open'er and Krakow's Coke Live Music Festival, Warsaw's Orange Festival has become a small, semi-respectable music fest.

Last year, The Orange Festival was big, open, music fest with two stages and several worthy acts supported by various lesser ones.  It was two nights of open music in the center of Warsaw.  This year, the Orange Festival moved to the more controllable Sluzewiec Racetrack and ticket prices have been introduced (59zl for the first night and 99zl for the second.)

A year ago, I most maddeningly missed The Crystal Method by fifteen minutes (oooh, I was steamed.)  Instead, I got to see the laughably bad N.E.R.D, whose poorly written, poorly performed music drove me away even before the first song had ended.  Luckily, Calvin Harris was performing on the Young Stage (the second, smaller stage), and gave quite a show.  The respectable MGMT followed, but Calvin Harris really was the highlight of the night.  Ja Confetti played the first night, and I was actually able to enjoy them from across Marszalkowska.

This year's lineup touts both Nelly Furtado and Courtney Love's Hole (both I'm none too crazy about.)  The rest of the lineup is filled with Polish bands, or incredibly minor acts.  It seems that Orange has scaled back this years music fest.  No longer is it in the center and free, but on a racetrack and charging 129zl-tickets for both nights.  Perhaps they lost money last year or at least didn't make as much as they'd hoped.  Granted, Nelly Furtado and Courtney Love are big-name acts with wide recognition; but Courtney Love is fifteen-years past her prime and most of the energy has gone into promoting Furtado.
There was a suggestion that one could enjoy the music by going into the area of the Sluzewiec and one could hear the music wafting on the breeze.  But honestly, it didn't really seem worth it.  None of the bands performing this year piqued my interest.
Open'er 2010 was able to showcase bands and artists like Massive Attack, Nas, Ben Harper, Pearl Jam, Matisyahu, and Cypress Hill.  Coke 2010 had: Muse, Thirty Seconds to Mars, The Chemical Brothers, Panic! At the Disco, (and N.E.R.D).  While many of these artists, in my opinion, suck, they still bring in large crowds and have large, international followings.  It doesn't seem likely that anyone would fly to Warsaw specifically to catch a music festival with Courtney Love & Hole and Nelly Furtado (not to mention the bands The White Lies and Edyta Bartosiewicz.)  Other, more massive, music festivals like: Bonnaroo, Coachachella, Lollapalooza, and Big Day Out, attract top artists at the peak of their careers, plus hundreds of thousands of spectators (including foreigners coming just to see the event.)  The point I'm making is that the Warsaw Orange Festival isn't really worth the $40-tickets.  It ought to revert back to it's open, free-for-all format of yesteryear.  Until they start pulling out the big guns, or at least bands that I would chock up money for, I'll find something else to provide enjoyment (for instance, Roger Water's will be in Lodz next year playing The Wall.  I will definitely try to go.)

The Fluctuations Of The Wisla

For those of you that remember, Poland's 2010 spring was defined by two things: the Presidential Plane Crash, and the Floods.  The floods (which apparently still happen in the notorious 'flash' form) caused billions of dollars in damages and were blamed, in part, on the work of beavers.  Now, Warsaw didn't really experience much of the floods, but there were warnings, especially for the zoo.  Warsaw lies about mid-point of the river, and the river's rise was cause for much spectacle.   (See the previous post here.)
The funny thing with the Vistula, is that these days it seems to rise and drop almost daily.  I visited the banks in spring to see the massive rise (and speed) in the river's flow, but also weeks later to see to subside to a more reasonable level.  Then, I passed over it again and saw that the river had risen again.  Now, going back over it, I can see the drop occurring again.

The river cresting this spring.

The river at more normal level.

The Military Year

2010 has been a banner year for Poland, and Warsaw in general. They broke new ground on the MoMA; Chopin is getting a year's-worth of celebration for his 200th birthday; the 600th anniversary of the Battle of Grunwald; the 66th anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising; and now, the 90th anniversary of the Miracle of the Vistula.
For those of you who did not know what the Miracle of the Vistula was: it was a decisive Polish victory over the Soviet forces in the Polish-Soviet War in 1920.  On an interesting note:  Charles De Gaulle served with distinction in this war (not too many non-Poles, non-De Gaulle fans know this.)  Anyway, it was a huge victory for the Poles and their legendary leader, Jozef Pilsudski.  It was kind of like the Polish Gettysburg, but only kind of.  The greatly defeated Soviets soon sued for peace and the borders of Poland (which, at that time included Lwow and Wilno) remained intact until the German-Soviet invasion of 1939. The battle remains an important date in Polish history, except it happened in a war more forgotten than the Korean War.  During the Communist times of Soviet hegemony, the Polish-Soviet War was covered over and hushed up much like the Warsaw Uprising (ask Norman Davies; he know firsthand of the matter.)
The war is a point of Polish pride in that it was the first major Polish military success in a couple of hundred years (and remains so) and that they defeated a much larger enemy to preserve their independence and freedom.  The war, along with the Winter War (Russo-Finnish War), showed how terrible the Red Army really was.  For those of you who would wonder why Germany would ever invade the Soviet Union, much smaller, much less powerful countries were able to embarrass the Soviets militarily.
Today, there was a commemoration of the battle at, most apt, Plac Pilsudskiego.  There was also a big military fair in the Saxon Park (the Polish military's outreach to the public.)  I stood around for some of the ceremony, involving ranks upon ranks of uniformed soldiers.  Unfortunately, they blocked off Pilsudski Square, so the spectators couldn't really be close (except the VIPs.)  The crowd wasn't that large, and the day was broiling, so I snapped a few film pictures (I don't have a digital camera right now.)  So, I didn't stick around for the speeches, military drills, overtures, or displays, and I don't have any pictures beyond some black-and-white film pictures I took on a Zenit-E (an old Soviet model.)

When The Cat's Away…

A sight lacking from Warsaw is one of rats.  While they can be seen easily enough in pet stores, I've yet to see a nasty little rodent skittering around on the streets.  Even in their usual haunts—dark alleyways, trash bins, the subway—they are absent.
In New York City, the case is just about the opposite.  New York is infested with vermin.  Huge, brass-balled rats, hailing taxicabs, are a ubiquitous sight on Manhattan.  Descend into the Hades that is the subway, and look at the tracks (this goes for Boston as well.)  You'll see a horde of hungry rats and mice squeaking and squealing over any scrap of food they can find.  When I stayed with my brother and my cousin in their apartments in Roxbury, they had to lock up food like ramen for fear of the mice.  Mice actually went into my backpack and gnawed on several of my E. Wedel chocolate bars (which I was saving for my grandma.)  How horrible is that?
Well, Warsaw doesn't really have this problem.  Oh, I am sure that someplace there is an apartment building with a mice problem, or a nest of rats infesting some poor sucker's house, but for the most part, Warsaw is clear.  How is this miracle?  Cats.  Lots of cats.
Poles love their dogs and their cats.  Moscow may be the city of stray dogs (these dogs famously take the subway into the center to find food during the day, then take it out to the 'burbs in the evening) but Warsaw is the city of cats.  Stray cats are everywhere and are generally cared for by the population.  One babcia I knew set up a small kiddy tent and provided the herd of cats (about fifteen) with food and water every day.  Her care enabled the cats to breed and produce more and more kittens, which in turn needed more care.  BUT, they wasn't a mouse or rat or other nasty little rodent in sight.  The Warsaw Metro?  Clear as clear can be.  Many business parks and apartment complexes have a few cats hanging around that are generally fed and taken care of by the occupants.  It's not uncommon to see as few kitties tousling about near a stack of office buildings or sitting and watching beneath a bush or shrub.

My (deceased, may blessings of peace and love be upon her) cat here showing the true power of the feline by downing a rabbit.  (Maine Coon cats are not to be trifled with.)

I can attest to the power of having a cat to free yourself of all other little invaders.  My own cat, Patches (who recently passed away after seventeen years), kept our property clear of squirrels and chipmunks (as well as songbirds.)  We used to walk about in the yard and find furry tails of squirrels (that would be all that was left of them: a tail attached to nothing.)  Her passing has enabled the songbirds to return, and hence our house is now dotted with nests.

For all of you that suffer from finding greasy paw prints on your stove in the morning, or wake up to see that some little bastard has nibbled at your bread: get a kitty.  It's what Warsaw has decided to do, and so far it's worked for them.

A cat in Szczecin stands guard and keeps the castle clear.

A kitty sleeps in Lazienki (look at his little tail flopping down between the boards of the bench!)

Warsaw: Not So Gay

In the wake of last week's EuroPride 2010, I was able to prod the Poles I know on their opinions and views.  One Pole actually marched in the parade; another Pole warned me beforehand not to be 'converted'; but most Poles afterward were rather ambivalent.  Many discussed how they didn't hate gay people, stating that they were OK around gays and thought they should have equal rights (sometimes, including marriage.)  Most, were rather skeptical of the gay-pride parade, wondering why anyone would "be proud to have sex with another man."  (I, playing devil's advocate, pointed out St. Patrick's Day parades and why anyone would be proud of being Irish.)  The whole point of the parade was called into question and there were calls for the gays to "go back to Berlin."  (I also pointed out that the Love Parade was not a gay-pride parade.)  Almost to a T, they all stated that gays ought not to be able to adopt children, claiming that two daddies would confuse the child and that it was unnatural.
So it is, Warsaw (and Poland) really isn't that gay or that welcoming to gays.  Sure, there are a few gay clubs (it was news to me too) and probably plenty of gays living in Warsaw, but many gays have left Poland for places like the UK, Germany, and Norway (where many Poles go anyway to get educated and for work.)  Even sponsorship of the parade was mostly muted.
Now, don't get the wrong idea, Warsaw isn't the most open city towards GLBT, but they aren't the most closed (maybe Moscow takes that trophy.)  Many Poles are tolerable and probably couldn't care less; it's more of the whole marriage/adoption thing they oppose.  They may be put off by drag queens dancing to samba music, or by the sight of two fellows necking, but to most, it doesn't exactly stir feelings of hatred or anger.
As for the future, I say things are probably going to change and loosen up a little.  Deeper contact with the EU and the exchange of ideas will change the society bit by bit.  Let's see what happens in twenty years.

(NOTE:  My own opinions are kept under wraps.  I am only putting what others said to me into context.)

Stateside for the 4th

A bit 'o news:  I'm spending the 4th of July in the States for the first time since 2007.  I'll be heading back to Poland pretty soon, but I'm glad to celebrate this holiday proper style (food, beer, fireworks.)

Pic related: it's the hamburgers I made in 2007 (inside-out cheeseburgers.  They each have about a pound-and-a-half of meat.)

Taps and Springs

Polish tap water is notorious for being undrinkable.  At least, that's what all the Poles say.  Poles buy an inordinate amount of bottled water.  The water that comes out of the faucets in Poland is used for almost everything besides drinking straight (they will, however, drink it after it's been boiled.)  Coming from a place where we had perfectly good well water, and thinking there is nothing better than an ice-cold glass of water after a run (from the tap, of course) this has stressed me much.  Long have I suffered lugging those five-liter bottles from the store up the stairs.

Now, I've only recently discovered that not to far from me is a public spring.  Much like public water fountains, these are basically taps providing clean, free water.  The one I had previously known was in Powsin, a bit far away for me to lug the seven five/six-liter bottles back to the apartment.  People from all around bring their empty water bottles to fill up on the water (especially near holidays.)  The springs cut down on our water bills (since the garden is a bit thirsty this year) but also allow us to purchase less water in the stores.  We don't drink the water from the bottles unless it's been boiled (since it's usually sitting around in the bottles at room temperature for a few days) but it's perfect for cooking and making tea.

Filling up at the tap.

The Coming Weekend

Last night marked the start of the Chopin Festival here in Warsaw. This year has been dubbed "The Year of Chopin", marking the 200th anniversary of his birth. Last night, the Chopin Open concert was held at the National Opera. It wasn't a purely Chopin performance, as there was Schumann and Bach, but then again the Mostly Mozart festival isn't 100% Mozart, but mostly is. Aside from the traditional orchestral pieces, there was an accordion trio playing an arrangement of Chopin. They didn't look like the typical classical musicians; one had ass-length hair (dreads?) pulled back in a ponytail, while another had a shaved head, the third looked generic. The piece was… interesting, and enjoyable at some parts. The accordion is an instrument that is surprisingly versatile. The shaved head was getting really into the music, bucking and stomping his feet. He looked like he was either involuntarily having his liver removed or having the most intense orgasm of his life.

A ticket cover to the concert.

Oh, and for those who don't remember or don't care, yesterday was the opening of the FIFA World Cup. It's sure to be a snoozefest, and I'm actually kind of glad that Poland isn't in it (it means less Polish hooligans and assholes on the streets.) For those of you who haven't noticed, I find soccer to be the dullest mainstream sport.

Trilling and Dancing

A few weeks back, there was a free concert showcasing traditional Polish folk dancers and singers. The whole ensemble was accompanied by an orchestra in adorable costumes. The dancers (see below) were very entertaining. I was quite captivated by the girls' trilled whoops (see if you can hear them do it in the videos.) The costumes are straight out of a Polish logo (Zywiec, or some butter company, etc.)

I wonder if Polish Folk Dancing will ever catch on the way Irish Step Dancing did. Maybe it's due for a renaissance.

Now, I was shooting this video blind and standing at the very back of the crowd. Please excuse me if the camerawork kind of sucks.

Eurovision

Last night was the great Eurovision Song Contest, the annual performance mega-competition between the states of Europe. It is often a huge point of pride for countries who send their darling pop stars (or unknowns) to compete and win. You see, Europe doesn't fight wars anymore; they do battle on the stage and in the sports arenas (Euro Cup, etc.) These contests can be heavily politicized. Eurovision recently changed their voting rules so politics and voting blocs wouldn't get in the way. These are the wars of the future: wars of talent; to see who can hold the best melody; score the most goals; fly the highest, fastest, farthest; who can write the most annoying tune to get stuck in your head.

Well, it's an international event (one I'm not too keen on, but whatever) so many people just watch it because of the tradition. This year's winner was nineteen-year-old Lena (Meyer-Landrut is her last name, but the press knows her as Lena.) A Romanian friend of mine was most proud that the Romanian warrior placed third.

Poland's Champion has his moment to shine.

Deutschland über alles!

Oh, Yes; There Will Be Floods

The swollen Wisla has risen—and crested—here in Warsaw. The total toll in Poland has gone up to about seventeen souls; most were in the southern Poland where the flooding is worse. Here, in Warsaw, the Vistula has swallowed the walkways meandering along its banks and even threatened the zoo. Zookeepers were worried they would have to put down a lot of animals rather than risk their escape. (There are no other holding places for these critters?)

The Vistula became a sort of an attraction, drawing in the largest crowds the normally-sleepy Powisle district had seen in years. They lined the bridges and pressed up against the tape to watch the swift current and marvel at how quaint the benches looked under the flow.

Poland is no stranger to flooding; it happens every year and is something to be expected. This year's flooding has been the worst in a decade. The wet spring led the rivers to wreck havoc on a country known for its flat central plains.

At first glance, it doesn't seem so bad.

The road just leads underwater.

Little Vacay

I haven't been writing so much these past few weeks. I will be back with all sorts of news, from the floods, to elections, to the drastic drop in the Zloty (and everything in between.)

Spring is here and the days are marked by passing clouds and showers and some heated sun. The garden on the balcony is starting to take off. People still tote coats around, but even the nights can be sometimes balmy.

Oh, and the US just parked a PATRIOT missile battery in northern Poland. The Ruskies are pissed.

Plane Crash: After Effects: The Memorial

I put off a long time writing about this for reasons I can't really explain.

I went to the Saturday memorial; Ogrod Saski was flooded with mourners and Plac Pilsudskiego was mostly taken up by official guests and the whole stage anyway. Scouts were everywhere, directing people; handing out water bottles from massive storage piles; later on, they help distribute communion. Ogrod Saski had a huge screen and speakers so the crowds could see the action. Warsaw banned the sale of alcohol until 6PM or something. Thankfully, the weather cooperated and it was one of the nicest days all week.

The crowd was somber and almost no one took pictures. The whole ceremony started out with the choir singing a baleful lament. Then came the listing of the names and titles of all those who had perished. There were speeches (I couldn't recognize who was speaking and I didn't understand what they had to say), plus a company commander ordering the troops about with a firing salute. Then came a Mass. Even the Polish Orthodox prelate was there with his funny hat and funny beard. There was an army of bishops with their funny miters and excellent getups.

I snagged one of the programs, which the scouts were handing out. In it was a selection from Kaczynski's speeches, a brief history of the Kaczynscy, and thoughts on Kaczynski from prominent leaders from around the globe. The very first blurb was from none other than the Pope, then Obama, Barroso—the President of the European Commission, Merkel, etc. One thing very noticeable about the order was that Sasakashvili was listed directly before Medvedev (a slight against Russia that I couldn't miss.)

The next day, I watched the funeral on TV, which was held in St. Mary's in Krakow. I was shocked at how much weight Jaroslaw had lost (he looked either terrible or in the best shape of his life—it depends on how you look at it.) There were more speeches and the walk down to the Wawel was very, very long. Then there was a blessing of the coffins in the Wawel Cathedral, and then they put them into the crypt. Apparently, Medvedev came for the funeral and left just as Saakashvili came for the blessing (perfectly timed.)

A scout distributing water.

The stage and some banners.

Giving communion.

Crowds in the Saxon Gardens.

Free water.