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.

I'm dizzy.

This has been a really uncomfortable (but amazing) week.  I thought I was completely prepared to come here and deal with the ambiguity of not really knowing where I’d end up after the CELTA, but you can’t ever completely prepare for that, can you?  Whether I meant for them to or not, images formed in my mind about the places I might want to end up, the schools I might want to work in, the people I’d like to be close to.  But because I placed priority on good schools, on my roots, and on what I really wanted, I let go of all of that and branched out.  I stretched my hands out to people and places I wasn’t thinking about last week.  I decided to decide when the time came that I had to.  I haven’t been able to get the butterflies out of my stomach since (and my pants are already getting quite a bit too big for me.  If I keep this up, I’ll be swimming in them by next week).  Despite the discomfort (or maybe even because of it), I’m really feeling a part of the world again.  I’m not just forming images in my head of what my life should be, or will be, or could be.

So because of all of this, I’ve been thinking about two kinds of people: those who reach out, and those who don’t.  I always used to think of myself as one of those who does reach out, but for the last five years or so,  I’ve mostly been among those who don’t. I placed far too much stock in the necessity of seeming like I was strong, or cool, or any of a million other things that I couldn’t possibly have seemed like, walking around swathed in the emotional equivalent of bubble wrap. (And if any of that was cool, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to be cool.)   I’ve known this for quite a while, and I’ve wanted to open myself up, but I’d been stumped about how exactly to go about fixing it.  It just seemed like trying to teach myself to breathe underwater. 

Well, maybe it’s the culture here, maybe it’s got something to do with getting away from home and all the expectations about who I am there, or who I have been,  maybe it’s because I need help from other people here, or maybe it’s just the right time, but now I’ve gone back to reaching, without even really thinking about it.  And because of it, I’m making friends, learning amazing new things from them, and noticing things I never would have seen on my own.  I’m interviewing for jobs in places I never thought I’d live (happily!), having legitimately interesting conversations during these interviews instead of just posing and cringing inside.  I’m opening myself up to the honesty of really, really wanting something. 

I feel like myself again.

*

Stamps and Spadek

     At the post office the other day, the extroverted guy who’d been in line in front of me (who had shamelessly flirted with the cranky-looking woman behind the glass window, by the way) came over and fired a question at me in rapid Polish.  

     I stared dumbly at him for a minute before stammering out,“Przepraszam, nie mówię dobrze po polsku. ” (Excuse me, I don’t speak Polish very well.)  

     He looked at me as though I were some kind of alien for a second and then said, “Nie mówisz po polsku?!?  (You don’t speak Polish?!?)  Where are you from?” (In perfect English, of course.) 

     I smiled sheepishly and said, “America.” 

     For him, that seemed to explain it all.  “Ooooh.  America!  But you’re Polish, right?  Your family is Polish?” 

     “Yes.” 

     “I could tell.  You look Polish.  Why don’t you learn the language, though?  You should learn the language.  It’s your roots, your spadek.”

     I thought he was trying to have a go at me, there in the post office, for being some stupid American who couldn’t even be bothered to learn the language when I was in the country of my fucking spadek.  I could feel my hackles starting to rise.  Why was the post office always the place where these things happened to me?  I was never going to set foot in a Polish post office again.  
     Then he said, “Uczysz się po polsku?” Are you learning Polish?

     Well, yes, of course.  “Oczywiście, ale…”

     He was smiling now.  “Ah, jest skomplikowany.”

     ‘Skomplikowany’ was a brand new word for me.  I’d never heard it before.  But when he said it, if you try to say it, it seems obvious.  It means what it sounds like: ‘complicated.’  I nodded enthusiastically and tried the new word.  “Tak.  Jest bardzo skomplikowany.”

     We laughed, we smiled and said our goodbyes, he wished me luck, and I went on my way.  But of course the whole experience made me more eager than ever to learn the language.  To get it down, once and for all, and to be able to really talk to people.  Really be a part of society here.  It occurred to me that just being able to order coffee or beer or say good morning to the woman in the store was not enough of an accomplishment for me anymore.  I was dying to really talk to people.  I’d been called out as an imposter, a foreign Pole, and I didn’t like the feeling.  I wanted to be a real Pole.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen just like that, just because you want it to.  I’ve been working hard at it, but it’s still going to take ages.

     I walked away light-hearted, though, because he really hadn’t been meaning to lecture me; he was just interested.  Light-hearted, because there was something about his bluntness that felt real and good, compared to the nice baristas who were always pretending my Polish was so lovely.  And it obviously wasn’t.  But I thought about how far I’d really progressed.  From the flight over, when I was too afraid to say the word for “chicken,” to the flight attendant, even though I knew it, and I resorted to English with her,  to this moment in the post office, when I’d been able to have a conversation about my spadek and my Polish education, about 1/2 of which was actually in Polish.  Probably not very pretty Polish, but Polish nonetheless.  And I can’t really expect more.  After all, it’s skomplikowany.

     I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.  I’d been confronted with my deficiencies, had seen the long road curving ahead of me.  But I could also see how far I’d come.  I’d had a small victory, there in the post office.  And moments like that, they are exactly why I came here.  I am in the right place.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

Apologies (to both of my readers) for the lag between entries.  The last couple of weeks of the CELTA were pretty busy, and the day after I finished, I moved to an apartment where I cannot make the internet work.  It’s really lovely, though.  Dorota and her husband have gone on vacation, so Ayisha and I are dog-sitting two of the best-behaved, loveliest dogs I’ve ever met, Waru and Hades.  I’ll be doing that for two weeks, while I send my CV out to language schools all over Poland.  Hopefully by the time I have to leave Dorota’s house, I’ll have some idea where I might be going.  I have friends in Kraków, Gdańsk, Poznań, and Wrocław, though, so wherever I end up, it’s possible I’ll know at least one person living within a reasonable distance.  I am a little concerned about getting a job, because I’ve heard it can be tough for Americans, but I’m persistent and convincing, and I really love teaching, so I’ll find a way.

Now that I’m done with the CELTA, I was hoping to spend a bit more time learning Polish.  And I have been, kind of…but I’ve been focusing a lot on the job search.  Of course, I occasionally have to step out to see friends off before they leave town, and that’s when I try to get as much practice in as possible.  I’m pretty good at ordering all kinds of beverages.  It does make me feel a bit like one of those dumb Americans who can’t be bothered, though.  I’m really trying, I promise, Poland.  Actually, at the celebration for the end of the CELTA and DELTA (those poor saps were at it for 8 weeks), I did get a chance to practice my French with one of the DELTA guys.  It was really fun, and it made me feel a little bit less stupid about my Polish not coming along as quickly as I’d hoped.  It reminded me I’m not hopeless at this, it just takes time.  And my receptive skills are getting much better.  I understand a lot more than I can say.

Anyway, I’ve gotta go for now, or I’ll miss the next express bus and I’ll either have to wait 40 minutes for the next one, or spend 40 minutes on the tram.  Neither sounds like a really wonderful way to spend my evening.

Love from Poland.

Home Stretch

Another week done.  By this time next week, I'll be done with the CELTA.  Between now and then I have two more written assignments - one long, one short; two more assessed lessons - one long, one short; and  fifteen more hours of input.  I can do that.  I'm pretty excited to be done, because I'll actually have free time to see more of Poland, and to focus on learning Polish, and I can stop worrying about how to get a job and start working on getting a job.  But I'm also going to miss the people from the course, many of whom will be scattering to the four corners of...well, Europe, when this is over, and I'm a bit stressed about what's going to happen now and where I'm going to end up.  


The good news: (1) Dorota and her husband are going away for a few weeks right after the course, and they've offered me and Ayisha a place to stay if we walk their dogs for them, so I know where I'm going next Saturday when we have to leave our school flat, and I have a bit of job search time without committing to a lease in a city I may not be living in.  (2) If I want to go to the Gdansk area, Anna may be able to put in a good word for me with the school she works for.   (3) I've made friends with someone who is Director of Studies at a school in Krakow.  He doesn't think there are any spots open at his school at the moment, but he may be someone I can consult with a list of schools to find out whether they're dodgy. (4) For the first time in almost five years, I feel like I'm doing something I can get behind.


The bad news: (1) I'm exhausted.


Well, I think the tilt of the balance is pretty clear at the moment.  Now let's hope it all works out.
Stay tuned.


P.S. I bought a Polish translation of The Little Prince today.  I was thinking it would be cool to have a copy in every language I learn - someday I hope to have at least 5 different editions.  Here, he's called Mały Książę.
-

Breathe, Eat (kind of), Lesson Plan, Teach, Sleep (kind of), Repeat.

I've only really got time for a quick one today.  This month is going to be a little bit ridiculous.  I'm really enjoying myself, but this class is really going to be very difficult and time-consuming.  I even feel a bit guilty that I'm writing this now, when I've got a lesson plan to finish before tomorrow at noon or so.  I "taught" a section yesterday, but it only involved playing a funny game.  Tomorrow I teach my first real lesson.  It will be observed by other CELTA students as well as one of our instructors.  That is not to mention the 12 eager Polish students who want to learn from a native speaker of English.  They're very nice (as all Poles seem to be) and very clever.  But it's intimidating all the same.

While teaching my lesson, I'm supposed to be thinking constantly about making sure my instructions are understood, getting a particular concept across, keeping the students engaged, filling the time allotted to me for teaching, being approachable and creating a good classroom rapport, etc. I will never underestimate a good teacher again.  It takes a lot of hard work, not to mention natural talent.  And while everyone else is merely worried about passing, I've got to worry about doing well enough to get very good recommendations, or a high grade (better yet, both!), so that I can convince a good school that it would be worthwhile for them to take the trouble of helping with the complicated work permit process so that I can stay.  I guess the only way to do it is to focus on the students though, isn't it?  If I think too much about the other stuff, I will certainly not be able to keep all of those balls in the air, and I will flop miserably.  I guess if I do that once, I just get back up, though.  As the tattoo on my arm always says, "If he has fallen, he fights on his knees."

PS The lovely Polish ladies who are taking the CELTA course as well have really taken us native speakers under their wings.  They have kept quite busy showing us around, helping us with language questions or problems, and pointing out traditional Polish food we ought to eat.  So three cheers for them!

Mam Rację

Another day is come and gone here, and it's been the best one so far.  I've had some trouble sleeping the last couple of nights (whether it's the jet lag or stress, I'm not sure), but today I got up reasonably early, determined to spend another full day out in the city, exploring and enjoying it.  I ate breakfast and left my hostel, determined to make it to the Botanical Garden today.  The garden is right near the Wroclaw Cathedral on Ostrow Tumski, so far my favorite part of this city, so I began by heading toward the Cathedral.  On the way, I got sidetracked about 8 times by beautiful things I just had to see.  One thing I didn't see, though, was a lot of people.  By this time, it was almost 10:00, and on weekdays, the streets were buzzing.  I had thought that a Saturday would mean that many more people about.  In my world, Saturdays are for running errands, and beautiful Saturdays are for walking around, so I wondered just what Polish people do on Saturdays. I was just getting to the bridge when I spotted the Hala Targowa, a beautiful old building that appeared to have been converted into some kind of market.  I stepped inside and was convinced that I had found the answer to my question.  Shopping!  Obviously, they were all shopping.  This was not just a market.  It was Wroclaw's answer to the Super Walmart: you could buy anything there.  Of course, it didn't have the same atmosphere...

I didn't really want to buy anything that I'd have to lug around with me all day, and I didn't have any plans of heading back to my hostel anytime soon, so I cleared out after a brief look around.  Before long, I was back in Ostrow Tumski, standing in front of the Wroclaw Cathedral again.  I don't think I could ever get tired of looking at it.  This time, though, I went in and paid a tiny 5 zloty fee to climb a few flights of stairs and then catch an elevator to the top of one of the massive towers.  As soon as I stepped out into the open air, I saw this:

 and this:

and a whole lot more. 

My time at the top of the cathedral convinced me that I needed to get my butt to the botanical garden pronto, so I did.  And it was stunning.  Quiet, peaceful, beauty everywhere I looked.  I wandered for hours, then found a quiet place to eat lunch and read for a while.  I stopped at the cafe on the way out and ran into a couple, maybe a bit older than my parents, who clearly did not speak any Polish.  The woman sounded North American, so I asked her where she was from.  It turned out that she was from San Diego, and her husband was British.  We talked, and laughed and made travel suggestions to one another.  Pretty soon, we'd been talking for almost an hour.  Our coffee was gone.  They gave me their email address and told me to keep in touch, and they both hugged me when they left.  It is so amazing how being thrown together in a different culture is a good enough reason to be the best of friends with people you wouldn't have had anything in common with back home, after only 45 minutes.  I was incredibly glad to have met them, because it got rid of a bit of the loneliness that had been nagging at me.  After all, how long do you think you could spend with only yourself to have long conversations with?  

Anyway, after I left the gardens, I walked around some more, I went grocery shopping, and I sat down with myself at a cafe for a while, watching the people walk by two by two, almost as if onto the ark.  Young couples, old couples, new parents, skinny couples, fat couples, pairs of young women and pairs of old men.  A deaf couple even sat next to me, and when a beggar approached everyone on the patio in turn and tried to coax us into parting with our hard-earned zlotys, the deaf woman caught my eye and made a funny face at me.  I laughed, and thought that some things are universal, whether you are Polish, American, deaf, hearing, whatever... And it was then that I first thought about how little my own troubles with language really counted for anything.  They couldn't speak or hear at all, and they'd gone into the same cafe as I had and successfully ordered coffee as well.  

Walking home, I was very content about my day, but I realized something.  I hadn't fallen in love with Wroclaw on Thursday.  That was just infatuation.  It's like the sexy stranger you want to know better, but who intimidates you a bit.  Love requires knowing someone more.  And I want to love Wroclaw, which means I've got to get to know it better.  I've got to reach out and really explore and see it for what it is.

To that end, I've got to run now.  I'm going to find a new bar and grab a drink with my new Canadian friend, who I just met in my hostel common room.  More later!

The first 36 (give or take)

I'm in the common room of my hostel, watching Polish TV.  I understand very little, besides that it is awfully cheesy.  But it's amazing how little language you need to understand cheesy sitcoms.  It's been a roller-coaster the last few days, but I'm pretty much glad to be where I am.

My flight was smooth, but long, and the seat I was sitting in was ergonomically designed for someone two to three feet taller than me.  I was wedged in next to an older Polish lady who seemed very sweet, but who could've stood to lose more than a few pounds, and was therefore sitting half on top of me the whole trip.  When I tried to put my sweatshirt on, I pulled something in my neck.  No joke.  Basically, it was an economy-class flight across the Atlantic, so by the time I landed in Warsaw, I was sweaty, exhausted, and beginning to wonder what I'd been thinking.  But a smooth trip through passport control, some (delicious) cherry juice, and a few hours of personal space and book-browsing in the airport Virgin store was sufficient to improve my mood a little.  The plane to Wroclaw (which, alas, I was only to be on for thirty minutes) was much more comfortable.  I arrived in the city I was going to live in feeling optimistic.  Unfortunately, it was not an easy afternoon.

By the time I went to sleep last night, if I'm honest (and I hate being honest about this), I was homesick.  The first night, and I was homesick.  I couldn’t understand half of what was going on around me:  I’d wandered the city center for 45 minutes looking for a pay phone, only to find they didn’t work without the cards sold at the post office.  So I went to the post office and was told (surprise, surprise) they didn’t have any karte telefonyczna.  At all.  Nie mam.  I finally bought (for 140 zlotys, less than $50) what was probably a hot phone and starter prepaid kit from a guy selling them out of a closet with a window in an alley off of Ulica Swidnicka and managed to place a call to my mother to assure her that I’d made it in one piece and to hear her calming voice.  I was a little bit afraid to order food or drink, so I was thanking god for the snacks I’d tucked in my backpack, both from Kristy and from being  offered an obscene amount of food on the plane and accepting all of it (for later). I’d had high hopes of arriving and being one of those hopelessly cool travelers who can pull off calm, collected, and funny while on the move, but I was tired, overwhelmed, and my Polish was, in a word, shit.

But I don’t give up that easily.  I was not about to resign myself to the possibility that this was (so quickly) a mistake.  After all, the hostel employee I knew was incredibly nice, and so had been my taxi driver.  I still hadn’t met any of my classmates or visited my school – they would be able to speak my language, at least, and would hopefully become good friends.  People were singing karaoke out my window, which would probably get old, but was pretty awesome for the moment.  I had managed to get my ass to Poland, explain to a taxi driver with very little English where I was going, maneuver all of my heavy luggage to my hostel, buy a phone, and somehow be mistaken for a local twice (not my language – my looks), all without more than an hour and a half of sleep or more than a couple hundred Polish words in my arsenal (which sounds like more than it is).  I was doing fine.  I took a deep breath, reminded myself that the good stuff never comes easily, and hoped like hell that I would feel a lot better on the other side of a shower and a good night’s sleep.

And I did feel better. I showered and slept, and once I’d woken up, brushed my teeth, and gotten acceptable looking, I rolled downstairs for breakfast.  And it was much better than I expected.  Bread, a million types of cheeses, two kinds of cereal, coffee, tea, jam.  For thirty-five dollars a night, this place is the bargain of the century – I don’t care how small my room is - and it isn't large, but it's big enough for just me.  They gave me a view, a bed, a table, a place to shower, a map, a guidebook, breakfast, and kindness.  Deal. 

But the truly amazing thing happened when I stepped out my door with a clear mind.  I fell in love with this city.  It is astonishingly, breathtakingly beautiful.  The first three-hour walk I took resulted in no photographs, since I'd (D'oh!) left my memory card in my computer at the hostel.  But I have never (never!) been to a city with more beautiful architecture, streets, or people in my life.  Not even Paris holds a candle.  Even crumbling back-alleys hold sculptures and treasures (this is, mind, the city center...I'm sure much of the suburbs are as dilapidated as any European metropolis).  The weather was beautiful, the smells were rich, and today (probably because of an attitude adjustment on my part more than anything else), everyone seemed so friendly and accommodating about my shit Polish skills.  I managed Polish numbers quite well, bought a heavy bag of groceries (for 6 dollars!!!), and tried my first zapiekanka - a delicious pizza-like food served on french bread with (inexplicably) ketchup on top.  I wasn't so sure about the ketchup, but it turned out to be just right.    I saw things today that, as much as it kills me to be this sentimental, honestly brought tears to my eyes, they were so beautiful.  Most of them on Ostrow Tumski, Cathedral Island, the ecclesiastical center of Wroclaw, full of churches, monasteries, and convents.  All architectural gems.  And beautiful waterfront parks.

Here is one thing I will say that pisses me off.  Despite living in a city that obviously prides itself on its aesthetic beauty, and perhaps even more offensively, despite the fact that this beauty is largely the result of painstaking reconstruction after World War II, many of the inhabitants seem to think nothing at all of marring the face of this sparkling city with graffiti.  Almost nowhere is exempt.  Except, seemingly, Ostrow Tumski.  I guess they really are devoutly Catholic.

Anyway, overall, it's lovely, and I'm completely charmed, but also glad I'll be starting school soon.  It's weird to have so much day stretching before me with no idea how to fill it all.  I walked for five hours today, and it was wonderful, but my feet are starting to blister.  For now, I'm going to move on to my bed.  It's nearly midnight, and I'm trying not to let the jet lag defeat me.  More later.

Traveling, or, The Fount of Eternal Questions

Hello! I know, it's been a long time.  Too long. It's because, these days, when I'm not working, I'm either... working (at my other job), or trying to answer the million and one questions that come up when you're planning to move almost 5000 miles away from your home.  And they're not necessarily the questions you'd think.  If I had a nickel for every time I'd had this conversation (or one roughly similar to it), I wouldn't need a job in Poland:

"So, you're really moving to Poland?"
"Yep. Only 26 more days until I leave.  I'm really excited!"
"So do you speak Polish?"
"I'm learning.  It's a pretty tough language."
"So how are you going to talk to people?"
"Well, in a big city like Wrocław, a lot of people speak English.  For the ones who don't, I'll use my limited Polish and a whole lot of pantomiming.  Once I'm there, I'll learn it.  I'll probably have no choice."
"So are you scared?"
"No.  A little nervous.  Scared of what?"
"Living alone?"
"Nope.  Done that before."
"Being so far away from family?"
"Nope.  I'll miss them, of course.  But it's not scary."
"Being a single woman in a foreign country?"
"As opposed to being a single woman in the US?"
etc., etc.

I'm going to tell you what really keeps me up at night.  Come closer, it's a secret.  It's all the stupid little things.  And not because I'm afraid of making the wrong decision, but because every time I make one decision, another one presents itself.  They range from minor-ly important details to the completely insignificant and inane (but with the potential to make life a bit easier or harder).  Such as:  What kind of luggage should I take?  A duffel, a regular suitcase, a giant hiking backpack?  (FYI, I settled for one suitcase I already have and a ginormous rolling duffel, as pictured on the left.)  What are the size and weight restrictions on my airline, and how much extra do I have to pay for the privilege of taking enough clothes to make it through the seasons?  What the hell are packing cubes?  Should I get packing cubes?  How many books do you think I can take without exceeding the weight limit?  My laptop is basically a desktop now (broken monitor), so should I drop a couple hundred bucks on a netbook to help get my work done and keep in touch with family?  Which netbooks are good?

Then, there are all the Catch-22s of travel, such as: it is much much easier (and desirable, from the standpoint of choosing wisely) to get a job while actually on Polish soil, either after completing the CELTA or at least while it's in progress.  But in order to get a long-term residence visa based on work, you must be in your home country, at the consulate that serves your state of residency.  However, it is possible to get, once you're in Poland, a residency card at the Voivoidship Office (seriously?), if you have a Permission to Work and a zameldowanie - still trying to figure out exactly how that works.  So, I have to have enough money to maybe fly back to get a visa, if I fail at the voivoidship office.

Here's another one:  you can't enter Poland without health insurance, and since I'm staying there, I'd like to get the kind that costs less than American Insurance because it is going to be used primarily overseas.  I am allowed to buy a policy up to 30 days prior to departing, as long as I intend to be outside of the US for at least 6 of the next 12 months.  I do!  Yay!  But on the application form, my address of residency must be outside of the US.  So, I called the insurance company, and I asked the guy, "What's up with that?  Sounds to me like y'all are trying to screw people."  Turns out, he was nothing like an American insurance customer service guy.  He didn't give me another number to call, or tell me that was just company policy.  He told me he'd call me back.  And he did!  Five minutes later!  "This is the trick," he said, "Just put your hotel, or hostel address in there.  Then, in your mailing address, put where you live now, and that's where we'll send the paperwork."  Do you hear what I'm saying?  An insurance company customer care representative actually helped me, a customer!  Isn't that outrageous?

And then there are my cats.  Despite all the other questions and worries, what I'm really scared about what's going to happen to my cats.  Nobody seems interested, and  I'm going to be upset no matter who I leave them with when I go, but I think it would break my heart to take them to a shelter.  I told you.  It's never the stuff you thought it'd be.

Anyway, I could go on about paperwork and travel plans all day.  International travel is fraught with questions, answers, etc.  But I'll stop.  I have to.  I took off work today.  I'm going to spend some quality time with my mother, call some offices during business hours, go to the bank and make moving arrangements, see my doctor about updating prescriptions and making sure I'm vaccinated, maybe get a haircut, and finally, try to work on a plan for the cats.  Only way to tackle your worries and fears is to...tackle them.

Welcome!

Welcome to my blog. First entry, coming up.  But I guess first thing's first: if you don't get why I'm looking for Maude, you'd better get your hands on a copy of the movie ASAP.  It's near-absolute perfection.  I do take minor exception with one particular plot point, but I'll forgive it as necessary to make the movie what it is.  And I still love Jamie Baird for introducing me to it back when I was 20. 

What did I do today?  I took a break from all of the worries about work visas, ESL training, housing, and money for my impending move to Poland(!!!), and I went to visit my grandparents.  Since I was headed out to their area, I thought I'd stop at St. Mary's in Fancher to stroll through the cemetery to look for my great great grandparents' grave.  Since I first thought about the possibility of moving to Poland, I've developed a fascination with finding out where I come from.  I'm hoping to trace my family back to the point where I can go visit the towns, cities and villages where
                                    my ancestors come from.

On this search, I've stumbled upon a bit of a mystery.  My family has always assumed that my great great grandfather, George Betro, was from Italy.  Someone who knew him told my grandmother that George grew up somewhere in the south of Italy, near the crossing to Sicily.  When I look him up on ancestry.com, I find that he (and his wife Pauline and several sons and daughters) are all recorded in several censuses.  But each one lists a different place of birth for him, and a different place of birth for his parents.  Wisconsin, Philadelphia, Italy, Syria, Prussia, France...I have no idea where he comes from!  I do, however, know where he's buried.  I thought that maybe the cemetery might give me clues.  Maybe his parent's names, a place of birth, something.

After wandering for ten or fifteen minutes, I finally found it:

Alas, it really offered me no information I didn't have already.  But it was pretty cool to stand there anyway, and to pay my respects to people who made their way over here (on ships!) to start a new life, and ended up creating my family.

Because it was a beautiful day, I was driving through the country, and I had my camera, I began seeing delicious photo ops everywhere I looked.  I firmly believe that, when you're holding a camera, everything starts to look more compelling. So I passed a lovely afternoon being enchanted by everything I saw.  Here's an abandoned farm house that caught my fancy:

Yes, those trees are really growing right out of the house.

Finally, since I was visiting long-gone family, I stopped by my Grandpa Irv's grave just to say hi on my way home.  The sun was shining, but as soon as I reached his grave, it started raining.  If you know me, you know I love rain.  Especially warm rain.  So I said thanks to Grandpa and went home, where I saw...

A double freaking rainbow!  Right over my house.  My mom says that means someone from the beyond is trying to contact you.  Hmm...