What it was all leading to

It all happened too fast and was all too brief.


I know this year abroad has changed my life, even though I am not sure in what concrete way(s) yet. A big part of why I was looking forward to Poland was to try and reconnect in some small way with the Polish ancestors. I purposely waited until the end of the year to take my trip to Kaszuby (northwestern Poland, all along the Baltic coast) because 1. the weather would be better and 2. my Polish would be better. Good decisions x2.

It still hasn't fully sunk in that I was walking on the ground where they lived and looking at the records where they were hand-documented in nineteenth-century script. There are around 2,000 in still living Poland to whom I might be related. If the circumstances in the chain of history were different, I myself might still be living in that beautiful country.

I laid out an ambition plan: Kraków to Toruń, Toruń to the villages and pure Kashubian countryside, on to nearby Bytów (Winona's "Sister City"), Bytów to Gdańsk, Gdańsk to Malbork, and home again home again jiggety jig. Of course I was slightly nervous about all the aspects of traveling alone - would I be lonely, would I be safe? But I didn't have time for such thoughts! Aside from the hours of travel, which I am used to by now, I kept finding myself in excellent company: Gabriella in Toruń, Stanley -my Kashubian guide- the town authorities of Bytów, who treated me like a celebrity, and Paweł and Madga, a fantastic couple in Gdańsk. (Aside from searching family history, this trip could be a ringing endorsement for Hospitality Club - haha.)

The weight of what I had been doing and where I was finally clicked for me while I was walking along the seashore between Gdańsk and Sopot. My thoughts were accompanied by the sound of the waves and the sight of a few souls braving a venture into the Baltic. I realized I do like to travel alone for the sake of taking my own pace. However, recounting all I did and saw to family and friends after the fact further solidified this week's significance.

The sightseeing in the cities was unparalleled. Of course I marveled at the architecture and ate my fill of piernik in Toruń, was even more astounded by the beauty of Gdańsk and feeling the presence of revolution at the shipyard. But I am unsatisfied with how I left the place of my roots. Maybe I feel like I didn't give it the proper reverence it deserved. Obviously the pace of the villages is much more relaxed than the constant motion of a city or of the whirlwind tour I made of the countryside. I know I need to go back, but I don't know exactly for what. My name has been changed around, and there are no existing tombstones bearing my family's name, so there is no immediate connection to that land. Maybe that is specifically what I feel: no direct connection to the land. I know I am not inventing my affection for the land; it did have a profound impact on me, but it's like an exquisitely carved box to which I have opened the lock but have yet to open it and look at the secrets that lay inside.

I know more now than I did before I went. I know more about my family, and I'd like to think I know more about myself and my inner life, about all the parts that make me.



To think that I could also have such experiences in Switzerland and Germany...

Along with sending down the Holy Spirit, God decreed that all Polish grocery stores should be closed as part of the Pentacost experience

Wydarzenia (Events)

So very much has been going on in recent weeks, beginning even before the epic Lwów adventure.

First: Kraków had a gay rights march. That's pretty impressive for a city that is a hot-seat for Catholicism (i.e. conservatism). I mean, it was officially called a "Tolerance March," I guess so as not to push the envelope too far. [I heard that the march was even canceled in Warsaw in years past, to give you an illustration of the opposing side's influence.] But I was really surprised with how many people turned out for this march and equally surprised with the festive atmosphere surrounding it. The organizers passed out balloons, stickers, and whistles. Of course there were scary police guys with scary guns and in full riot gear, who escorted us all along the Planty and into the Rynek. And of course there were scary neo-Nazi-types waiting for us and shouting things at us once in the Rynek. Yeah, they were pretty lame, but like I said, there was no large-scale violence or out-of-control protests from either side. I'd call it a success, but I'm sure that no equal rights legislation or anything will come out of it. It was still a nice, socially-aware way to spend a Saturday morning.

Second: I'm gettin' around. The day after the tolerance march, I went to visit a friend in Tarnów - a British guy who used to study with me in Kraków before he decided that the 1.5 hour one-way commute wasn't really worth it. Tarnów is a nice little city, charming even, worth a walk around if you get bit by the travel bug and just need to get out of town for an afternoon. One of Tarnów's biggest attractions is that it is the final resting place of Hungarian and Polish freedom fighter, Józef Bem. It always comes back to those Hungarians...

Third: Ukraine. Enough said.

Fourth: I have a new roommate. Timea is an ethnic Hungarian (again - see!) who lives in Romania. This is an interesting situation specific to Eastern Europe. Hungary used to be a HUGE empire, and their people lived all over. Now that the country is slightly larger than the state of Maine, it's legacy is bigger than it's area. Anyway, enough Hungarian history; I can certainly tell you more when I see you. It's enough to say that Timea is a complete 180º turn from Isabelle.

Fifth: Juwenalia. Ojej. All across Poland in the spring there is a festival for students. In Kraków, there are concerts, parties, and revelry of all kinds during an entire week. But the major event was the parade on Friday morning from the student village (near where I live) to the main square, where then the keys of the city are symbolically handed over to a student government for the day. Sounds like a nice tradition, right? Costumes, nice spring weather, everyone good spirits, etc... But really, like any real student celebration, it's about the booze. Combine any American college homecoming with Mardis Gras and have it sponsored by one of Poland's largest breweries, and there you have Juwenalia.

Large, drunken crowds of twentysomethings generally don't interest me, so I stayed clear of much of it. The overall festive mood was nice, and my friends and I celebrated in our own small ways (booze was inevitably included). My only real regret though is that I missed witnessing the parade first-hand. I went out on Thursday night, staggered home at 3, woke up late and had to rush to a choir performance at 10:00, and then went back to bed to keep sleeping off the night. Therefore, I was out of commission for most of Friday. Good one, Sarah.

Sixth: As this post's title mentions, Pentecost is a big deal in Poland. At first I had only heard the name of this holy day in Polish, "Ziolone Świąt", and it didn't ring any bells. (Even when I called my mother and asked what feast day it was, she didn't know. We're good Catholics...) Anyway, there's always a big procession, where all the nuns and monks come out to play in their different team colors: The Paulinites in white, the Benedictines in black, the Franciscans in brown, some sisters in blue, etc.

I later learned that the reason for extending the hullabaloo into the economic sector (meaning store closings) was that France gave its shop assistants the day off, and if such a secular country like France recognizes Pentacost Sunday, then Poland should get on that boat as well. The American restaurant inside the Galeria Kazimierz (big shopping mall) was still open, though. God Bless America.

Seventh: I am already checked out of school. It always seems to happen at this time of year no matter where you are. It probably doesn't help any feelings of studiousness when your class keeps going on field trips away from Kraków. That you can't get everywhere. ;)

Lastly: My ancestry search will happen next week, thanks to Corpus Christi, which gives us yet another long weekend. Kashubia here I come!

Over and out for now.

Local Pride

Here is a news story from Minnesota in which Winona, my hometown, is featured as "Capitol for a Day" as part of Minnesota's 150-ennial celebrations. All well and good, but my favorite part is where the newscaster becomes obsessed with the Model Legislatures donuts. (They even get official commentary from Representative Pelo.) Some traditions really are sacred and now famous.

shameless self-promotion

I just remembered that an article I was interviewed for is up on the Sarah Lawrence alumnae/i website. The article is about microfinance and a microloan I made on the internet last summer. You can read the text here.

It's nice to be recognized.

L'viv Lwów Львів

After a brief hiatus and a few more trips here and there, I should really be making pages of updates, but I this adventure stands alone as probably the single most crazy undertakings of my life.

From the beginning: May 1 is quite the holiday across Eastern Europe (the original proletariat-inspired Labor Day). May 3 is also a holiday in Poland, so we had a long weekend during which we planned our trip. I had consulted numerous friends who have been there before during the year or in previous years, and they said that there wouldn't be a problem with finding hotels or anything. That was our first mistake - not reserving a hotel. Remember how I said it was a big holiday weekend? Yes, and in that time, many other people from all countries bordering Ukraine came to the beautiful city of L'viv and reserved ALL of the hotel/hostel spaces! Great. So the three of us (me, my Polish friend, Adam, and another American girl, Lydia) wasted our first day zig-zagging clear across the city numerous times trying to find a roof to put over our heads to avoid spending the night in the rain that was beginning, and increasing in panic with each passing moment.

BUT we found a Ukrainian angel. During the course of the circus of a border crossing between Poland and Ukraine, a blonde, cherubic-faced girl named Ania sat on the bus from the Ukrainian side of the border next to Adam. They talked the whole way into L'viv. Turns out she studies at my university in Kraków but was coming home to L'viv for the weekend. She gets off at a stop closer to her her flat and leaves Adam with a list of Ukrainian beers to try and her phone number with the condition, "give me a call if you run into any problems." 6 hours later, we had a problem.

Ania graciously welcomed us into her flat where she lives with her mother about 20 minutes outside the city center. It was around 11 pm when we arrived, but she flitted around the apartment making us tea and sandwiches, preparing the beds in the spare rooms and rattling off billions of suggestions (orders, rather) of things we should see and do in her beloved city. It was a sheer miracle. The next morning, she called around and found us ONE open hotel room for the night, prepared us a lovely traditional breakfast and even hunted down a Lvovian violin maker's phone number that my friend was looking for. With the utmost feeling of gratitude we left Ania and her Polish-speaking mother with plans to meet again in Krakow.

Then, we finally began our sightseeing. We went first to the Lychakiv Cemetery and reveled in the Polishness of olden day L'viv. Then the Rynok, the Prospekt and many, many churches. L'viv is the farthest east I have ever been in my life, and while it is a mere 6 hours away from Krakow, I really felt the difference thanks to the Greek and Russian Orthodox Catholic influences. Oh yeah, there's the whole Cyrillic writing things too that reminds you that you are not really in Poland anymore, but I digress... So as we were visiting one of the beautiful Orthodox churches near the Rathus, a service appeared to be going on, so we were hesitant to enter. And should we decide to go in, were we cover out heads? A girl by the door noticed us and, laughing a bit, said something to us in Ukrainian. I mumbled something in Polish, and then this girl with her sweet face started a conversation with us in earnest trying to remember the Polish she once learned. We told her were were from Krakow and were just sightseeing. At one point, Lydia did her characteristic, "Jestem Lydia," sticking out her hand for a good ol' American handshake. That sealed the deal; we were going to be friends.

Natalya, our new coincidental acquaintance, it turns out, was showing around a friend from Eastern Ukraine for the weekend, so if we would like we could go with them up to the Vysoki Zamek and around. It was amazing. Our little group kept growing with friends of Natalya who kept meeting us along the way and trying, in Polish, Ukrainian and English, to be our personal and enthusiastic tour guides. They took us to fun cafes, through Shevchenkivskyi Hai, where they had packed a huge picnic lunch for us, to Puszata Chata for artery-saturating Ukrainian food, and did I mention that Natalya said we could spend our last night in her flat? Miracle of miracles!

The whole trip was like that - a parabolic wave of extreme stress to being rendered speechless by hospitality. Take, as another illustration, our attempt to go the opera. We wanted to see La Traviatta on Saturday night. We walked up to the ticket counter and (un)fortunately all the tickets were sold out. But wait! A older lady who seemed to be a tour guide offered to take us inside to check out the theater and the interior for a mere 20 hryvni (a quarter of the price of a normal opera ticket). We accepted; what else were we going to do with our afternoon? The woman only spoke Ukrainian, and while Adam and I could speak Polish with her, it didn't always work out for our understanding the situation. The woman led us around and left us in the theater with about 20 minutes before the curtain goes up for the opera. We keep looking around, snapping pictures, trying out the plush chairs, and the woman comes back with chairs that she sets up in the aisles. So we go from ticketless schmuck tourists to sitting in the front row at the L'viv opera! So many other of our experiences followed that same pattern. I would explain how we got back home to Poland, but that would take another epic post, and I fear I have gone on far too long already. Let's just say it was the same ride of emotions and same experience of being rejected point blank or not given any helpful information. (As another side note, how can someone sitting at the window marked "Information" at the freakin' train station tell you she doesn't know about any trains to Krakow??!!)

So in a nutshell, that was my trip to L'viv. With a little more distance and time between me and that trip-of-a-lifetime, I can really begin to appreciate what a spectacular time it was. I would LOVE a chance to go back! Who wants to come with me? ;)