Viva Intellectualism!

I woke up with the intention to sit and read the paper all morning long with some tea or coffee. I turned on my computer and headed to the New York Times webpage. The first article I opened was from an ongoing discussion on French literary theory in America. (The hundreds of comments are funny too, expecially when I think about them in comparison to the comments usually posted on the Winona Daily News...) The original article was to review and support a new book with pretty much the same title as the NYT article. However, when I clicked in the link for the actual book, the first line in the description is:

"The must-read exposé of America’s love/hate affair with French theory."

Why do I find that so hilarious? "Exposé!" A "love/hate affair"! I know Bella would agree that lit theory is full of drama and excitement, but come on... Either way, I can't believe that deconstructionism interested me more and quarter past eight in the morning more than the Pennsylvania primary or the instability of the global food market.

But I like this stuff. I think I am ready to back to real school...

A pair of concerts

I feel like I have been running non-stop for the last month. Budapest, Easter with the Ruds, the Half-Marathon, Paris, and then...

this past weekend, a concert with the Akademia Rolniczej choir. It was my first concert with the group (I already missed one while I was off gallivanting in France...), and what a debut. We sang for the X Małopolska Konkurs Chórów (10th Małopolska Regional Choir Competition). It took place in a castle complex just outside of Kraków. First of all, it was neat to perform with the group and secondly, to sing in a castle! I thought we sounded good, and I'm pretty sure we looked good too. Our concert dress is a satiny green wrap top and a black skirts. I, the domistically adept person that I am, forgot to iron my outfit, and so there I stood in the front row with a crease where the skirt had been folded on the hanger. I hope we didn't get docked points because of me...

Anyway, we sang a trio of contrasting pieces: "Hucełko Kseniu' (or something sounding like that in Ukrainian), "Totus Tuus" (a piece written for JPII's first papal pilgrimage to Poland), and "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child." The last piece was both a source of fun and embarrassment - fun because it was a groovy, old-school spiritual with a great solo line but embarrassing because guess who often had to sing in front of the whole choir by herself so everyone could hear how the pronunciation should be. I am not cut out to be a soloist...

After we sang, we got the chance to listen to some of the other choirs. I felt a slight pang of guilt when a Jagiellonian University group took the stage at my not being with them and instead being with the landscape and forestry students. But I got over it real fast.

Sometime soon we are going to sing in the Maryacki Basilika. Wow.

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Last night, a friend from my choir invited me to a concert of Jewish music in Kazimerz that her friend was performing in. I'm not exactly sure on the name of place where we were, but it clearly was (or maybe still is) a synagogue. The music was GREAT. All the guys were fabulous musicians, especially Dominika's friend, the accordionist, but I don't know if they quite gelled as an ensemble. Regardless it was moving and beautiful in the haunting way that Jewish and Balkan music is.

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Spring is here, and I feel like I have a reason to live again! Warm breezes, honest-to-goodness sunshine and the damp smell of flowers in the air. I think it's time to read Anna Karenina again. :)

Two Lovely Weekends

#1:

My dad came to visit! I will add more about this later, once he sends me pictures that we took. But for now I'll just say that I am really happy that for the first time in 27 years my dad set foot outside the North American continent. He was really open to Poland, and I think a visit this short allowed him to see everything in a positive light and not be bothered by the occasional difficulties of trying to live here.

Of course I was also happy for him to come for the reason that we would get to do some cool stuff in cool places, the first of which was a brewery tour right outside of Wrocław. A few years ago father-son team from Winona, MN bought a 600-year-old brewery in a town called Namysłów. From the looks of it nowadays, it seems to be doing good business. It was great to make a hometown connection halfway across the world like this. Ryan, the son, was incredibly nice and hospitable and generous and all kinds of superlatives that describe a good person.

Wrocław itself was nice too. It is a town I think I could get used to. It has a more cosmopolitan feel than Kraków, but I'm not sure why I felt that. Maybe it was because we stayed in the Radisson...

My dad and I also made a stop in Częstochowa, he made the trip to Auschwitz while I had class, and then we popped over to London for two days so he could spokojnie catch his plane back to the States. Oh, the jet-setting lifestyle I lead. Right.

In London, to contrast my ever-cloudy Poland, the weather was fantastic. And I was glad I elected to skip even more class to join him there (believe me, I really was conflicted). I got to do some things that I didn't get have time for in November. Dad loved London as well. He is pretty brave, I'd say, for such a homebody.

Good times. I already said a lot, didn't I?

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#2

When I came back from London I had a play at the Teatr Słowackiego to look forward to. Adam had invited me a while ago to go with a group of his friends to a performance there, and why would I say no? The building is reminiscent of some grand French opera house, and I have always wondered what it would be like inside.

My first Krakow theater experience was, well, an experience. As you may have guessed, the theater itself was in fact gorgeous. The inside is so ornate and perfectly preserved. The main sala wasn't so huge, which was good for viewing. And all 14 of us sat in boxes on one side of the room. I don't think I have ever been in theater boxes before. It was just like you'd see in old movies or in books: only four seats to a box, a door that opens directly to the corridor, and red velvet everywhere. I would even go so far as to say it was downright luxurious. In the midst of all that 19th century Eastern European splendor I felt like I was in that scene from War & Peace where Pierre first sees Natasha.

The play itself was... interesting. "Kordian" by Juliusz Słowacki himself. I could appreciate that the actors were outstanding and that the staging was superb, but that was about it. Which is to say that I could understand a darn thing. Ask me what the play was about and I'll just shrug. And try finding anything about online in English! Basically, it is a 19th-century work about Poland under Russian occupation, and there was a young Romantic hero, who dies in the end... I think... But I shouldn't feel bad because Adam and all of his friends couldn't understand it either. One of them even used the intermission to look up some kind of Polish cliff notes on his phone. Then again, they are all chemical engineers and not lit majors. ;)

I mentioned that there were 14 of us. 7 guys and 7 girls. Everyone was in a legitimate boyfriend/girlfriend pair. Except for Adam and I. Yet again I got to assume the role of the girl who isn't my escort's girlfriend but who puzzles the others present as to what my relationship to said escort really is. At least here in Europe, I pretend that I am one of those Daisy Miller-esque American girls, and that is all the explanation I need to provide. I was the only one dressed in a color on the warm side of the color wheel, after all.

Utter incomprehension and initial social awkwardness aside, I had a great time. And, it turned out that March 8th is "Dzien Kobiet" in Poland, or "Women's Day." Adam explained to me that it began as a Soviet holiday where the authorities would go into the factories and present all of the ladies with flowers. However, I remember that about this time of year there was a "Día de la Mujer" in Argentine. Ah well. Nonetheless, yesterday nearly every girl you saw on the street was carrying a stem of some kind of flower. I wasn't left out. Adam met me at Piast with some pink carnations, goździki, which is the traditional Dzien Kobiet flower, I guess. For me, I'd say it's a nice tradition.

[Side Note: There are still some very strong traces of gallantry such the flowers on Dzien Kobiet among the young gents of this country. At first when we all took our seats, I wondered why Adam chose to sit behind me rather than next to me (where it would be easier for me to whisper my questions about the play to him), but then I noticed that all the guys sat behind the girls so we could have the better view. It was just the assumed practice. Hmmm.]

Red dress, red shoes. That's me. ;)


And that was just my day yesterday. Today, the sunny London weather made it over to Poland, and it would have been utterly unacceptable to stay indoors. Therefore, I went with a few of my friends to the Krak Mound in the Podgórze district. You, reader, must learn more about these strange, strange monuments, and you can read about them here. I think I should make it a goal to visit all of the Cracovian mounds before I leave. Today's visit makes three. I think Annie would approve.


Now I am finally ready to attend my first full week of second semester classes.

an insufficient update

I have made four (soon to be six) border crossings and have celebrated multiple holidays since the last time I posted. There needs to be an über-comprehensive post to bring y'all and myself up to speed with recent events STAT! (Notice the suggestion of German creeping into my vocabulary. That was my subtle way of reveal that I am taking in Vienna at the moment.)

In the meantime, here is the link to my most recent WDN article, published on December 25th. That makes me feel a little honored, quite frankly.

And while you're at it, you might as well check out the online magazine Apuntes, which published a piece I wrote on Spanish-English literary translation in their "Otoño-Invierno 2007" issue. Let's hear it for the functionality of a Sarah Lawrence theoretical essay.

Pics and such

Some scenes from the b-day holiday to London:




















Some are self-explanatory.














The Rosetta Stone in the British Museum: thousands of years of orthographic history at my fingertips!














To prove that Charles Dickens was human, after all.























Tom's sister, Audrey. Thanks for all the food!











After a staying up all night to catch an early bird flight back to Krakow. Somehow, physical exhaustion makes it easier to deal with the announcement of the pilot when he comes on to say that the plane is having engine trouble...

Happy 23 to Me!

Who knew that when I began this blog as a way to record the things I experience in Poland that I would be entering a post about spending my birthday in London? (You don't have to answer; that was a rhetorical question.)

To begin at the beginning, I have a crazy Hungarian friend. The word "crazy" needs to be enphasized many times, but Tamas -as is his name- is turning into one of my dearest friends in Poland. One thing I can always count on Tomi for is for giving into the impulses of Ryan Air. It was maybe three weeks ago that Tomi had the idea to go to London this weekend. Of course I said I would go with him. (Some of you reading this might be able to understand my real motivation.) The day before our departure, the two of us booked another flight to Madrid in February... The point is, I am here in England with him, meeting his sister and staying with his friends.

On the one hand, our weekend has been filled with the traditional "must-sees" of London's top sights. On the other hand, In conversations with all of Tomi's friends, it has been a really interesting look at contemporary immigrant life. I am learning a little bit of Hungarian as an added bonus. :)

As soon as I get back to Krakow I will upload some pictures of the highlights of this mini vacation. The list to include: a nighttime view from the London Eye, uncharacteristically gorgeous November weather, Tom being crazy, AND (my all-time favorite) Charles Dickens' commode.

l'Auberge Polonnaise

So I've been here for a week, and these are just some of the first impressions that I have collected in that time. I will make a more comprehensive post very soon (now that I have internet in my room). First of all, Krakow is absolutely stunning in the fall. The parks and avenues are gorgeous with the warm October sun and all of the yellow leaves falling around you and the sculptures.

The curious thing about living in Poland, the one thing that has been my saving grace, is how much I use me Spanish. Seriously. For example, my roommate, Isabel, is from France, and she only speaks English at a very basic level. However, she did an Erasmus program in Spain, and now she is at a near fluent level of Spanish. This is how an American girl can speak with her French roommate in Krakow... Who would have guessed? If you've seen the movie "l'Auberge espagnole" it resembles that storyline quite a bit.

There is no one here who is mono-lingual. Neither is English anywhere near being a "universal language." Explain it however you want –the proximity of European countries, inter-European study, immigration– but the fact remains that the majority of Americans are at such a disadvantage. The other foreign kids I am meeting, if we talk in English, it is certainly not their first language, and now they are learning Polish with me. What's up with our being able to graduate students and call them "educated" with maybe two years of half-hearted Spanish or German classes in high school?

Even so, the world is not perfect. Isabel and I are in need of a fridge for our dorm room, and as kids were moving into the dorms, there were a few fridges lying about the hallways. Isabel stopped a Polish student on the stairs to ask whether or not the unit in front of us was taken. The conversation went something like this:
(enter Isabel, Sarah and Dude)
Isabel: (in English) Excuse me, do you speak English?
Dude: No, very little.
Isabel: Ok, ummm... español? Italiano? Francais? Deutsch?
Dude: Ah, deutsch.
Isabel and Dude: (a conversation in broken German involving a lot of pointing, gestures, and "um" with Dude offering the correct word for "fridge" in Polish, which I promptly forgot.)
Dude: (Fed up) Okay, no, no, no. (Counts on fingers) Polski, Ukranski, Slovaki, Ruski, Ceska?...
Isabel and Sarah: Dziekuje (and exit)

Even with ten –count 'em, ten– languages available between us, we couldn't hold a simple conversation about a refrigerator! That little encounter made me wonder just what the hell am I getting myself in to.

Luckily I found a named Loretta, a British girl with a Polish mother, who grew up speaking Polish. What would I be doing without her help?? I really don't like NOT being able to understand what is going on around me or not being understood myself. I mean, come on - I was more or less a communications major. I live for being able to get my ideas across, and I always prided myself on how well I could get around Argentina with my Spanish. I honestly feel like a little child. I can really only look and observe. Pronunciation and reading is very difficult right now. The few words I do know are not enough to string into conversations, and when I do recognize things on billboards or that I overhear when other people speak, I get really excited.


I know I probably have enough literary references for this early in my blog, but here is one passage that struck me from the book that I was reading on my transatlantic flight. It's from Paulo Coelho's The Pilgrimage:
When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth. You confront completely new situations, the day passes more slowly, and on most journeys you don't even understand the language the people speak. So you are just like a child in the womb. You begin to attach more importance to the things around you because your survival depends on them. You begin to be more accessible to others because they may be able to help you in difficult situations. And you accept any small favor from the gods with great delight, as if it were an episode that you would remember for the rest of your life.
At the same time, since all things are new, you see only the beauty in them, and you feel happy to be alive... The word pecadillo, which means a "small sin," comes from pecus, which means "defective foot," a foot that is incapable of walking a road. The way to correct the pecadillo is always to walk forward, adapting oneself to new situations and receiving in return all of the thousands of blessings that life generously offers to those who seek them.

True words when they refer to the simple state of a traveler and of how important it is just to keep walking, to keep persevering...

The Historic First Post

Hello Friends!

I began this blog with the thought that this would be the most efficient way to keep anyone who may be remotely interested in what I'm doing informed about where exactly I am doing that something. So thanks for reading!

Tomorrow at 9:30 am I leave good ol' Minneapolis to undertake a Polish adventure. I will be spending the next year at a university in Krakow basically getting paid to soak up Polish culture. Hopefully I will have many stories and photos to share here, so keep checking back.

I know that this post is falling prey to the over-exuberance and long-windedness that I am sure many first-time bloggers go through, but I just have a few thoughts that I feel reflect where I am in my opinions on travel. And of course, like the good lit student that I am, I refer now to some inspiring reading.

First is a passage from Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities:
Marco Polo imagined answering (or Kublai Khan imagined his answer) that the more one was lost in unfamiliar quarters of distant cities, the more one understood the other cities he had crossed to arrive there; and he retraced the stages of his journeys, and he came to know the port from which he had set sail, and the familiar places of his youth, and the surroundings of home, and a little square in Venice where he gamboled as a child.
At this point Kublai Khan interrupted him or imagined interrupting him, or Marco Polo imagined himself interrupted, with a question such as: "You advance always with your head turned back?" or "Is what you see always behind you?" or rather, "Does your journey take place only in the past?"
All this so that Marco Polo could explain or imagine explaining or succeed finally in explaining to himself that what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.

Yes, this selection is also listed on my Facebook page, but I can't help repeating to as many people as will read it. I think that this eloquently captures what the travel experience means. Calvino is a genius! Read him! A lot!

The other reading that made me reflect on what it means to travel comes from the venerable Don Quixote. (Speaking of geniuses, the newest translation by Edith Grossman so wonderfully renders the glory that is Cervantes' prose.) This book is the pure essence of finding one's purpose in life and following it until the very end. Yeah yeah, so Don Quixote dies in the end freed from his delusions, but for the remaining 935 pages, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza believe so confidently in their dreams –no matter how crazy or unreachable– that I think they can teach us many valuable lessons about courage, friendship, and adventure.

I am I...
My destiny calls and I go,
And the wild winds of fortune
Will carry me onward,
Oh whithersoever they blow.
Whithersoever they blow,
Onward to glory I go!

Onward to Krakow!