Happy Thanksgiving!

Or as they say here in Poland: czwartek* (Thursday)
This year, I am thankful for:
- my family.  I miss you and love you.
- old friends that feel like family: Evie and John, Margo, Angie and Justin (even Clint, Jess and Shannon, though it's been a while).  I miss you and I love you too.
- new friends here in Europe: Mark Clarke, Aija Rusina, Reed Fagan, Dan Collis, Kasia Kozioł, Elaine Millar, and more and more.  You make making my dreams come true even better.
- knowing I'm not alone, and I'm not crazy for changing my value system to reflect the things that really matter to me.
- my list.  You got me started.  I'm feeling like myself again, thanks to you.

Goodnight.  I have an early morning, I think.

*This is an edit, because, as my Saturday students were only too keen to point out, and Mark was only too keen to back up, I spelled czwartek wrong before.  Sorry.  My bad.  The point of the post, however, remains the same.

The Everything Day (In which many new friends are made, and one of them is even human)

Poland's been good to me again today.  I'm...well, a bit tired, really.  But I can’t go to sleep until I write a bit about today.  I’ve climbed hills, trees, and very tall lighthouses.  We saw lakes, rivers, and a sea.  Forests, bunkers, and even a Viking village.  We made friends with both goats and swans.  Aija and I peed in a WWI latrine (pretty sure we weren’t supposed to, but we couldn’t wait, and there was no one watching the place).  It was kind of a perfect day.

Viking bitches

Kate, Aija and I all got into Michał’s car this morning with no real idea what to expect.  We didn’t really know him, besides that he seemed nice, and he wanted to take us to Świnoujście.  We knew that he told us to wear comfortable shoes, and clothes that we wouldn’t mind getting dirty.  But it took no more than an hour for us to feel like old friends, singing, laughing, poking fun at each other.  I think  our friendship was probably cemented at our first stop: Wolin.  We got out of the car in a muddy lot, and were greeted by the sound of a rooster crowing.  Dozens of men were all fishing in the same small stretch of river near a bridge.  I already wanted to live there.  Then Michał led us down the road to the Viking village.  Because it’s just about winter here, we didn’t have to buy tickets to get in, the actors in period costumes weren’t there, and we got to touch and play with a whole bunch of stuff!  Helmets, swords, a bow and arrow… maybe we didn’t see the whole song and dance, but it was a very hands-on experience, which turned out to kind of be the theme of the day. 

Bunker party

 Next came the war history: Missile test sites dug into steep hills, which we climbed to inspect; German WWII bunkers hidden away in the forest, which we explored thoroughly, finding trees to climb, very dark gas chambers (ok, probably not really), and secret party rooms; a beautifully preserved WWI bunker complete with equipment that we were able (again, by virtue of avoiding the high-season) to climb on (or into), turn cranks to move the massive gun barrels, and spin the machines themselves around in circles.  We even got to pet a herd of friendly goats.  Until the rams turned up and scared us off, that is.   

And finally, all the water.  We climbed an extremely tall lighthouse for outstanding views of the river.  We crossed to the other side of Świnoujście the only way it is possible to do so: on a ferry.  Would you believe they never built a bridge to span the river that divides their city?  I wouldn’t have, but it’s true.  We were starving from all the climbing and jumping around, so we stopped to eat, and by the time we left the restaurant, it was 5:00pm and pitch dark (Poland is pretty far North).  But did that stop us?  No.  

We went to the Baltic Sea.  We chased the waves, I turned cartwheels in the sand, and we met a pack of swans.  They’re used to being fed by visitors, so they came right up to us and swarmed around us.  Now, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never met a pack of swans before in my life.  I have been sitting here (for way too long) trying to come up with words to describe it that will do it any justice at all, but I can’t.  The moon was full tonight, the beach was dark as midnight, vast, and nearly empty - except for a small handful of people and a lot of swans.  The soft sound of waves rolling in was everywhere, and the occasional blare of a foghorn.  And we were surrounded by these big, beautiful white birds.*  Maybe it happens all the time here, but I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ll never forget it.

We got back in the car, enjoyed some hot chocolate on the ferry, and then Michał managed to get us all safely through the deep fog back to our street in Szczecin, where I’m now happily tucked into my warm bed.  Though a bit sorry to see the day come to an end. 

There are a lot of photos here.

*I know what some of you are thinking about the swan story.  Birds, me?  Beautiful?  I never thought I’d ever say it either. I guess I’m letting go of a few things.  

Życie Codzienne (daily life): Shopping for Food

When Margaret asked me about the differences in day-to-day life, I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me to write about it before.  I guess because I didn’t think anyone would care.  But the more I think about it, that’s one of the most interesting things about living in another country, isn’t it?  The touristy stuff is for tourists.  So, thanks, Margo.  Day to day life is different for me, personally, in a million ways.  Of course, some of those changes are down to my change in career rather than my change in country: if I worked at a bank or a law firm here, I’d probably be just as dissatisfied with my life as I was at home.   But some of the simplest things are different to the core. 

So I sat down to write a quick summary of all the things that were different.  But that idea went out the window as soon as I saw how much I had to write just about food.  So instead, I’m going to try to check in at least once a week with another blog entry about one thing that is different here.

Shopping for food: There are a couple of big Super Walmart or Target-style stores here (They call them hypermarkets,  and they’re mostly imports from Western Europe, like Carrefour and Tesco).  They’re usually busy, well-stocked, and offer the widest selection of food, so if you want to buy a lot at once (usually on the weekend), or get ingredients for stir-fry or Mexican food or something, they’re the only place to go. 

However,  it is commonly known that the best places to buy fruits and vegetables are not the hypermarkets.  There is nearly always, within a 5 minute walk of wherever you are, a fruit and vegetable stand.  The selection is smaller, but the quality is higher.  They are not shipping fruits and vegetables over to Poland from Southern Chile (not to say none of it is shipped over, but not at such obscene distances). Sometimes the stands are part of an indoor market, like the one pictured in this blog entry, and sometimes they are no more than tiny little boutiques or street stalls.  Everything is laid out in bins or baskets with handwritten price tags.  

Usually (though of course not always – each one is different), in my experience, the arrangement of the display seems to have been determined with an eye for color and has the aim of creating visual interest rather than trying to group like items together, which I find endlessly charming.   In my mind, it shows a kind of appreciation for food, and a pride in the work the owners are doing.  Food is not just a generic product to be moved on and off of shelves – it’s important and beautiful and meant to be appreciated – of course, try to remember that we are still in Poland, not France or Italy, so eating isn’t a near-sexual experience, either.  Anyway, where was I?  Oh.  At the greengrocer’s, you don’t put each different item into a sterile plastic bag to be weighed, stickered and scanned.  You load up your arms with the items you want and take them to the owner.  They are weighed, added up, and dropped into a single bag (which they will give you, but it’s always better to have one with you).  And off you go.

Another difference has to do with frequency.  Since the food here doesn’t have all the preservatives that food has in the States (and thank God - apples shouldn’t refuse to go brown after being cut in half four or five hours ago!), most people don’t just do all their shopping for the whole week all at once.  They have the staples at home, and every couple of days, they stop and pick up fresh ingredients to add to them.  For this kind of shopping,  many people go to the fruit and vegetable stands, to the bakeries, butcher shops, or to the Sklepy spożywczy: the small corner grocers.  In some of them, you pick up a few items from the shelves and take them to the counter.  In others, you stand at the counter and tell them what you want, and they go to the shelves and collect it all for you.  Of course (just so you don’t get too idyllic an image of Poland), with the onward march of capitalism, many of the corner stores are drab, fluorescent-lit places like Netto and Biedronka, where the arrangement has nothing to do with visual appeal, the selection is limited, and the employees are tired and often kind of rude, but the prices are rock-bottom (think Aldi).  And every major street (and many minor ones) has a żabka, too.  Think 7-11.  Not open 24 hours, but relatively late, and every day of the year, holiday or not.

So, yeah.  It's pretty different.  It doesn't really have to be, I guess.  If I wanted to pretend I still lived in the States, I could go to the hypermarket once a week and load up on pre-packaged preservative-laden food.  But I don't.  I like the Sklepy Spożywczy, and I like the greengrocer.   I hope they don't go away as Poland marches ahead into the Western world.  If they do, I might have to marry a Frenchie just to live in a land where they still value food.  For now, I'm happy here.

OK, enough.  I actually have to go do some grocery shopping.  I need some fresh bread, some tomatoes, some chicken, and spinach, if I can find it.  It’s Italian tonight.

L'esperienza de questa dolce vita

The question on the table is this: what do I miss about America?  And friends and family don’t count.

Well, I think the answer is that if friends and family don’t count, then I’ve got nothing.  What was great about my life there had nothing to do with geography.  It had to do with my family.  With the talented, passionate people I surrounded myself with.  

To be honest, I have been feeling nostalgic lately, but not for my country, per se.  Rather for jumping around in packed basements, so close to the band that I could smell the beer on the singer’s breath, staying up ‘til 5am singing Replacements songs while Nate played the guitar, for the old reservoir (when you still had to squeeze through the crack in the padlocked gate) and jugs of wine on deep humid summer nights.  For dance parties at Endless Nameless, touring bands in my kitchen eating bagels from Trish the next morning, for long road-trips, and waking up on the floor someplace like the Kosher House in Missouri to the sound of Eric shouting  at the Modern Machines: “wake up, motherfuckers!  It’s time to go to Rock City!” For late nights at greasy diners with my friends, everyone writing songs or stories or drawing cartoons on the back of their placemats and believing anything was possible. 

But well before I left Milwaukee I’d backed away from this scene.  And why?  I’m not going to lie.  It was partially all the drinking.  I wasn’t 21 anymore, and I couldn’t keep going that way forever.  But also, it was because I was realizing it wasn’t really my world.  I wasn’t contributing anything to it – I was just living in it.  I watched all of my friends go on tour, put out records, produce videos or set up art shows.  I supported them.  I was happy to.  But I wasn’t adding anything.  I loved living in that world, but it wasn’t enough anymore to just live in someone else’s world, however loud and passionate.  Maybe I wasn’t brave enough then.  Maybe if I went back now it’d be different.  But I’m not there now.  I’m here.  And I feel like I’m doing something here.  Or starting to, anyway.  I’m writing again.  And not just in this blog.  I’m actually writing again.  I’m inspired by things I’m doing and seeing.  I’m going to volunteer with a really cool community organization here.  I’ve swung around in the trees on ropes like Tarzan, stayed up ‘til 4:30 having real conversations, made friends with people from a dozen different countries, and I’m (ever-so-slowly) learning another language.  This life is not perfect, but it’s actually mine.  And when I go back to visit my old pals, it’ll be like no time ever passed.  We’ll slip right back into these places in each other’s lives that we’ve been keeping warm for each other.  Because that’s how friends work.

So do I miss America?  Of course, because it contains the people I love: my niece and nephew, my parents, brothers, and sister-in-law.  My amazingly talented, strong, stubborn friends, many of whom never say die.  Even when others might say that they should.  Might I go back someday?  I guess I might.  But if I learned anything from the happiest people I know, it’s not to worry too much about what I’ll do next.  One step at a time, and it’ll come to me.  

It says "I love Szczecin."

All Souls

All Soul’s Day in Poland is quite a big deal.  Offices and shops close, and families get together and go to the cemetery to pay their respects to those they have lost.  This includes not only friends and family, but also those that were killed in Katyn, in uprisings against the Nazis, in Gulags, in the armed services in general, etc.  They buy flowers and candles by the thousands – millions – and light up the cemeteries.  Trams heading to that part of town overflow with people, roads close, police direct foot traffic, and firefighters stand at the ready (which seemed like a bit much to me, until I saw the vast sea of candles glowing in every direction).  Some people think it’s a morbid holiday, demonstrating the Polish ability to suffer like no other nation,  but I think it’s pretty wonderful.  You never stop being loved here, even long after you die.  The cemetery in Szczecin is massive (supposedly the only one bigger in Europe is Pére Lachaise in Paris), and every time I turned another corner and stared down rows and rows of graves, I searched in vain for even one grave marker that lacked a candle.  I thought I’d decorate a lonely grave marker with one of my candles, but it wasn’t necessary.

I’m not going to back off of my position that it is absolutely not a depressing holiday -the atmosphere was more reverent than mournful - but it was a bit sad for me.  Mostly because of the timing.  Jamie Ewing died almost exactly two years ago.  November 4, 2008.  Those who were around me at the time remember how hard I took it.  And walking around looking at all of these candles, I was touched by the beauty, but I also felt myself emptying out, feeling lost and lonely and confused about life, the way I did when I first heard about Jamie.  After all this time, waiting for someone to wake me up and tell me I’d just been dreaming.  When someone dies young, sometimes it’s hard to look back on even the good memories without feeling a little mournful.  But he certainly didn’t lead a mournful life.  And I’m not here to spend my time looking back on all the things that have gone wrong along the way.  I’m here to live.  Because you can lose all your money, all your possessions, even your home, and you can re-build.  Make more money, buy new possessions, find somewhere else to live.  But you can’t get your time back.  So I lit a candle for Jamie, I cried a bit, and then I took a deep breath and remembered to pay attention to just how beautiful the scene around me was.  To be grateful for being alive.

More photos here (although many didn't turn out, because my camera doesn't like the dark).