How did we get into that party?

As a note to start this off; I have been travelling around Poland for the past week or so, and have not had sufficient access to a computer to regale you with the exciting adventures I've been having. In lieu of posting, I took notes throughout my trip, so I will convert these into more interesting stories for your reading pleasure. I'll break them down into several different posts.

Last Saturday, I set out for the city of Cracow at 5 in the morning, after burning the groats that I cooked at 4:25; I swear, those hot plates are just getting hotter. My experience with trains in Poland has thus far been excellent and this trip, though long and indirect, was no exception. It was on the trains that I first experienced what my friend had told me, that the Polish truly value foreigners who travel to their country. When Mark and I travelled to Wroclaw, a couple of weeks ago now, and there was an altercation with the guy coming down hard off of something (knowing neither where he was going nor where he had placed his ticket), the train conductor handled the situation quite calmly, and with what I thought was superhuman patience. Afterwards, the girl in our compartment told me that he was really behaving himself in front of foreigners. I've since seen other examples of this (some more dubious than others), and I am incredibly grateful for this aspect of Polish culture. It's wonderful to go somewhere that you are wanted. Apparently, this also applies to the job market in Poland. A lot of emphasis is placed on foreigners and the skill that they could bring, so much so that they are often selected over Polish national for competitive jobs. Very different from the Godzone (NZ).

After 8 hours of random conversations with the study abroad students, finishing The Satanic Verses, and doing isometrics in the dining car, I arrived in Cracow, one of the few major cities that was not completely destroyed by either Hitler or Stalin, and was overcome by the beauty of the city that was immediately apparent. Where my location in Poznan boasted block after block of Soviet style egg crates, with some German bastions interspersed here and there, Cracow was like a walk through one giant park, bedecked with Italian ornamental designs. After leaving our bed and breakfast (where I got taken out by some ham the next morning), we ventured into the rynek, which was not a far walk and thus quite easily accessible. One of our number clamored for food, so we ate and then ventured up the uncountable steps of St. Mary's cathedral to buy a postcard from the bugler. He bugles from the four corners of his small living space up in that tower every hour of every day. I wondered how one became the bugler; is it an elected position, or perhaps defined by familial lineage? In any case, I wanted to be bugler for about 5 minutes, until he finished playing, and I realized just how terrible that job must be.

The next couple hours were spent wandering along the oldest shopping mall in Europe where I purchased certain gifts and spent nearly twenty minutes trying to decide whether or not I should get a "genuine" Russian hat, complete with silly ear flaps and realistic Soviet stars. In the end, I decided not to buy it, for I had been warned not to act too Russian in Poland. Later in the week, I was to learn why most Poles frown when they hear that I speak some Russian, but at that point, I was unaware of the extent of the animosity and thus count myself lucky that I have a hard time parting with my Zloty. After I had taken in my fill of cheap trinkets and Baltic amber, I headed back to my room where I found both JP and Jonathan passed out on their beds.

The events that transpired next occurred in such a way that, if one of them were but slightly altered, I would not have had what I consider to be my best night in Poland thus far. Here is my tale:

I sat out in the lobby reading a book, since I didn't want to disturb the sleepers. A couple of the study abroad students passed by as I was falling into a state of sleep and told me that they were going to look for some food and an internet cafe. Hanna had said to meet her at 8:30, but no one knew what she wanted to do, so we figured that we'd just skip it and see her in the morning. But as we wandered closer and closer to the market, we figured we'd meet up with her and find out what was going on. Hanna's friend Kasia, the woman I met in Wroclaw, and her husband Michael were there and they told us that we had to come with them to see the parade of monsters on the river.

I feel a bit of explanation is needed. I have not gone a whole week yet without witnessing some kind of celebration; it seems like every other day I nearly starve since I can't find a delikatessy that hasn't been closed for a holiday. Poland is a party country, and the party that night in Cracow was one of the best I've ever seen. In Cracow, there is a giant castle, the Wawel Castle, that has stood since Poland was newly baptized thanks to the Nazi commander who was using it as a base and opted not to destroy it as he fled; he merely plundered some of the artifacts. As Hanna said, there were a lot of good Germans. In ancient times, a dragon lived under the castle, and the king entreated his sons to kill it. They did so by filling cattle skins with sulfur, which choked the beast when he attempted to swallow his foul smelling snack. The dragon under the castle became the symbol of Cracow, and every year the people put on a parade of monsters and dragons that puts the collective American parades on Thanksgiving to shame. I can only describe the celebration as a never ending, river borne, conga line of Nightmare Before Christmas/The Wall half-breeds, floating along in ponderous arcs amidst sweeping lasers and exploding fireworks, all set to John Williams' brilliant score for Star Wars: Episode I.

We started walking towards the river, eventually passing over it and coming to a posh looking building with many people in suits and dresses standing around. As we approached, I remember thinking, What the Hell are we doing? We can't be here! I was dead wrong. It transpired that Kasia had been invited to a private party for the guy (I don't know who he is, but I was told that we only missed him by about 30 minutes at the party) who had spearheaded the recovery of the Polish economy during the post Solidarnosc era, after the fall of communism. Everyone was impeccably dressed except for our group, wearing t-shirts and incredulous expressions, struggling to understand how we had found ourselves with free food and drink, not to mention the first class view of the river front and the surreal creatures. I took advantage of the situation and ate 5 plates of salad and about 3 kilos of fresh Polish strawberries.

All in all, this was the best night I have had in Poland, and I just can't get over the fact that somehow, I got into a private Polish party only 3 days after the celebration of Solidarnosc for one of the founders of modern day Poland, ate a ton of free food, and experienced the parade of monsters from a vantage that very few people have ever had. This is the kind of thing that I was hoping I'd get to do more of through the Park program, and it's funny that it happened first in Poland.

When I got back to the room, JP and Jonathan woke up and headed out for a kebab. Some things will never change.

It's been good to think back on these great times today since I recently learned that my Aunt is not expected to live, as of right now, for more than an hour. I just called her and sang a song written by Seu Jorge that my Portuguese friend translated for me a couple of weeks ago. It is a terribly desperate feeling to be in another country while a member of your family dies. I am grateful for my ability to communicate with her in her last hours over the phone, but it pains me not to be there with her. I have thought of her often over the past couple of weeks and unfortunately missed my last chance to actually have a conversation with her; life can play cruel tricks on us, but we must not shield feelings in regrets. I love her, and I wish her well; we have both lived our glorious lives, but mine is not quite at an end.

Tomorrow, I will write what has been very difficult in formulation: my journey to Auschwitz-Birkenau. I will probably keep up this method of posting to get in all of the events and information acquired during my trip, as well as the day to day dance that is the UAM physical chemistry lab. Things are moving along and look promising; I shall know more soon.