Well speak of the...

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100699944

Good job, NPR.
I wonder if this will make the Division St. Bath House any more crowded...

Pączki tally = 6

It's taken a couple not so gentle reminders from Annie for me to get on the ball and post before the end of February. As always, I find it difficult to even begin to catch up. Let's just say that my one February goal –to learn all of the words to House of Pain's "Jump Around"– has not yet been accomplished. The clock is ticking, yo...

Also, from the view where I am now I can see all the way to summer, and even though the valley of June-August is shrouded in mist, I think I see myself staying in Chicago. The situation, however, comes with the anti-Obamist (Obamanian?) "preconditions." I can't stay at my job that long/forever. If I can find a marginally interesting internship and go part-time, then I will gladly cat-sit for Fave Bro and Fam at DreamHome. Ideas thus far: 826CHI, the 2016 Olympics campaign for Chicago, SAIC summer school, something Spanish related... The hope is that come next fall, I will have a destination in Europe awaiting me. Otherwise, hello again, St. Peter, and then I don't know what.

Chicago is pretty rad. Here are some things that I love (in random order): 826CHI workshops, morning swims with Saratonin, Ukrainian Village, Eastern European accents, cupcake stores, running club, and the Russian Bathhouse. This last items refers to one of the best things to ever happen to humanity. I have been twice now, with Annie and Annie + others. Both times have coincidentally coincided with holidays - New Year's and Valentine's Day. What goes on in the steam room must be seen to be believed. Any and all descriptions of barely clad men, beatings by foliage, funny little wool caps, scrubs, soaps, soaks, and gender dynamics will fall short of the magnificence it all deserves.

This video clip makes it look a heckuva lot less awkward than it actually is. Turns out it's not traditionally a girly place. Good thing Annie and I love awkward situations and are not made uncomfortable by inordinate amounts of male butt crack. Also, the hot to cold pool was great practice for our New Year's Day plunge (pictured below).

Other news:

Congrats Fave Bro on Lil' Mason! Although Amy deserves more credit. I hear he has an expressive forehead.

Lydia recently came to visit. That was totally fun, discovering new places in the city and tak się spotkać (znowu) fajnimi ludzmi.

This year I rocked rocked rocked Tłusty Czwartek AND Pączki Sunday AND Fat Tuesday. God Bless America.

Chiditarod = March 7th. Do we have a team yet...?

On March 8 DreamHome#1 will host our First Annual Sauerkraut Contest. Annie, you sure make bitchin birthday plans.

Oh yeah, we have a new president wOOt

Turns out I can't speak Polish in social situations.


Here's to hoping I can make it back here a tad more regularly.

no. explanation.

Happy New Year!

Success!

Ahh Sunday once again.

I spent last night and a very lazy today day with Annie while she is house/dog/cousin-sitting in a northern Chicago suburb. While I missed DreamHome, it was nice to be in a real, lived in home. But the real reason I am writing is to post an update on the baking project. Friday night, thanks to the wisdom of Teany, I made vegan petit fours. Yum. And easy. Yesterday, Annie and I took a baking break to eat some of the past project and still some Thanksgiving leftovers. We did bake our own pizzas from scratch, however. That could count, right? This morning, to cap off our anniversary of the Klobouky Mikulašska jarmek, Annie whipped up a batch of pani dough. Fueled by slivovice, naturally, we braided, rolled, and baked some nice little angels, mermaids, devils, birds, and other strange yet vaguely traditional shapes. Happy Saint Nicholas Day!!

So this is going to take discipline, kids

December.
Deemed the month of Baking One Cookie Recipe Per Day.

So far Annie is kicking my butt.

Background: A while ago, anticipating the baking of Czech gingerbread, I came up with the idea that was voiced something like, "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if every day in December we baked a different cookie recipe??" Annie was all about the idea, but as for me... when push came to shove and the calendar page turned, I rather lost the momentum. Annie is living for a few weeks in the northern suburbs, therefore her enthusiasm for this idea hasn't been translated well through the distance. December 1, she sent me a text message saying "Happy Cookie Month", and when we met the other night, she made me renew my promise. (I should mention, though, that she has the help of a younger and overall impressionable to the whims of her cool older cousin relative. For the record, I too think Annie is the coolest cousin ever. BCEFL, even.)

OK. It's now the 4th, and I have a half-failed batch of Mexican Icebox Cookies half baked and half still in the icebox and some cooling cups of custard in the fridge. "Custard?" you may be asking. Yes, Custard. I was wrested from the reverie of my bank coffee break by a nearly year-old copy of Good Housekeeping. Given my ever-growing reverence for Better Homes & Gardens, I thought I'd find something worthwhile while flipping though the glossy pages. And voilá, custard still counts as a sweet, goshdarnit, and if I am forced to make something sweet, it should at least fit into my evening's dessert plans.

One moment while I try to flip over the cup and give my creation a taste.
(In the meantime, take a look at what I hope to have achieved.)

Loosen the edges with a small spatula - check.
Flip on to plate, and let sit so the caramel can drip onto custard - check.
And now try to soak up soppy mess with a spoon - hmmmm....

I have a jiggly custard and no caramel. Maybe it didn't bake long enough. Maybe the sugar didn't thicken enough. Maybe it was the rum I thought would be a good idea to add to the caramel. Whatever. Maybe December will just be the month of my failed desserts.

Bon apetite.

Sunday is becoming my favoritest day

How did November just slip away? I'm glad to get one more post in here, so it looks like I'm not totally ignoring my blog. I know how I keep saying that I should update about all the less obvious things and changes happening in my life, but I'm not sure what keeps me from it. A full time job may have something to do with it, but that's mostly just an excuse. Home alone on a Sunday night is the perfect opportunity to catch up with my thoughts.

This last weekend in November coincided with Thanksgiving this year. I had a lovely time for at least three reasons: the bank gave me a freaking 20 lb. turkey, my kitchen successfully brined and cooked that bird and many other Thanksgiving staples, and my family was all under one roof for the first time in months. That last point felt nice. Of course there were the expected stresses, but having my own place provided a nice escape. Whenever people come to visit me, I often feel responsible for showing them fun things and places to go, so the fact that parents and brother had a good time is contributing to my contentment. Oh, and also, my brother and I again fulfilled our tradition of going on an adventure for Polish food when he comes to visit me for Thanksgiving. 2003 was a little deli in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. This year was an all-you-can eat buffet on Milwaukee Ave, the "Red Apple" or "Czerwone Jabluszko" Restaurant. (The cooks from that restaurant came to do the pierogi demonstration that I went to a few weeks ago at the Polish Museum of Chicago. Seriously, best pierogi in my life. No joke.)

*I just need to mention -by way of praising my culinary mastery- that this Thanksgiving meal was brought to you by Cafe Brenda, Alton Brown, Better Homes & Gardens, the Polish deli on Cicero Ave, Stanley's Produce Market, and my parents for providing supplemental cookware and cutlery. Julius Meinl stepped in with a fabulous Black Friday brunch, Vienna style. Oh for cafe melange.*

Another thing that has been on my mind is that of my body. I'm sure I have mentioned how living with Annie is like a crash course in physical self-awareness, but I've become aware (or at least more aware) of some new sensations lately. First off, I have been physical in different ways than I am used to. It began with my women's running group. I go once a week to run along the lake shore trail. Now, after training last winter for the Warsaw Halfmarathon, distance running through the cold is nothing I haven't done before, but running here has given me knee pain. It began with my worn out Asics, but I also have IT band and tight quad issues. And I'm only running about 5 miles once a week. What's the deal with that? And biking. I'm doing a lot of biking. The simple act of commuting puts about 10 miles to my legs each day. I'm sure the biking is what has increased my stamina for running -- I can easily do 6 miles now!-- but I'm sure it is also what's making my shoulders and lower back constantly sore. If I get a decent Christmas bonus from the bank, it's going towards a nice massage. Maybe I'll have some cash leftover for a session at the Russian baths, complete with a beating of oak branches. (Subsequently I have invested in -and brought back from the depths of my closet for use, finally- some nice pieces of clothes for winter training.) And today being Sunday, I took advantage of the free yoga class at a studio in my neighborhood. After one simple session, I can be sore for days after, but it is one of those good sore, happy sore feelings. Yoga is one of those things that can blend pleasure and pain so wonderfully to make my body feel balanced. And though all this, I have been on a trial of birth control for to try and ameliorate a rogue ovary. I've actually enjoyed the regularity of my cycle, and I have been experienced significantly less of the associated pain. Shall I continue with the abnormal hormonal levels? And should I have shared all this here? Hmmm...

One final thing that nearly ruined my near perfect holiday weekend: the "Sex and the City" movie. Worst thing ever. Gimme "The Dark Knight" for three bucks at the Logan Theater any day over an excruciating Netflix pick. Next up on the queue, an Argentine flick about the war for the Falklands/Malvinas. Next week should be a good one.

Thanks for making through these digressions.

Memory Lane, all covered in snow

Of course now I am all wrapped up in the business of looking at old pictures. Here is a look at how much snow there was on the ground already on this day in Kraków. And in Chicago, nothing more that a few minute-long flurries.

*sigh*

I'm trying

No way.
I can't let November pass by without a single post. I just spent the last couple minutes looking over the writings of one year ago and thinking about what has happened in the space of one year. Even since I've been in Chicago, there is so much I could be writing about, but the time just slips away. I think it's that things are moving too fast for any time for reflection. My body moves faster than my brain, I guess. C'mon! there's my decent performance at the apple pie baking contest, my two jobs (teller at a bank and, although less and less frequently, "fitness specialist" for seniors), my running club, my French club, MY BIRTHDAY!, Chic-A-Go-Go, stress over a CO-emitting furnace, lots of Annie dancing, a saucy piece of performance art, and a six-hour production of "The Great Gatsby."

But speaking of the bank job, even if it is the kind of job where people tell you when you are allowed to go get a cup of coffee and where you have to wear a uniform, I think it will improve my Polish and at least keep my Spanish from rusting away unused. I got my little rubber stamp bearing my initials, so I am pretty much as official as an employee of Community Savings Bank can get. Clearly, I understand the benefit of a stable job in a time of economic volatility that provides health care, a free 20 lb. turkey next Tuesday and a Christmas bonus can't be all that bad. I just hope it will not resemble a career in any way.

I plan on writing more now that the love haze of a new routine is beginning to lift from my vision. Maybe it's just the freezing temperatures making me want to stay indoors and enjoy computers + Netflix.

See you soon, I promise.

Dream a Little Dream...

Here is something weird that has been happening ever since I moved into my new apartment: I am remembering my dreams. I have always been the odd one out when any conversation turned to dreams because after about the age of 8 I was never able to remember the deep sleep musings of my REM cycles. However, for some reason, barely a week goes by when I don't have some crazy, split-second long flashes from my subconscious. Strange changes. Oh, and just as a side note, Annie and I affectionately called our apartment -before I knew what would transpire in the midnight hours- "DreamHome#1". Fitting.

Another thing that hasn't happened to me since I was I'm sure past the toddler age was waking up in the middle of the night out of hunger. That, too, happened to me last week. Turns out it was the beginning of a week-long stomach sickness. Luckily, my mom came down to Chicago to celebrate her annual flee from the Education MN conference (and to have fun for her birthday). There's no better time to be sick than when your mom is around. She brought me soup, made me cream of wheat and hot water bottles, did my errands, and was okay with skipping the Institute of Art in favor of sleep.

By Saturday night, I thankfully still had the stomach for my first, epic entry into the world of... competitive baking! That's right, I entered an apple pie baking contest. As if I were a 4-H -er! For some reason I really wanted to give it a go and to get some outside validation on my growing gourmand ego. Turns out my first ever entirely from scratch pie was a semifinalist! Out of 75 entries, ours made it in the top third! Of course, I wouldn't have even thought twice about entering if not for the fact that Minnesota Mama was here (her, and the other women of my family present in my kitchen through all the stories my mom was telling as she rolled out our secret recipe pie crust).

Just because it was a hoot, here is the website for the pie contest. Why was this contest so awesome –besides getting a free mug, a Home Depot gift card, and aggravating my stomach with more pie than was good for it...? Their slogan: "Pies You Can Believe In."

catholic = universal = multilingual at the very least

There is a Catholic church about two blocks away from my Chicago apartment. It is known as Holy Innocents Church OR Parafia świętych Mąodzianków OR Parroquia Santos Inocentes. Yes, this church serves the three communities that live in the neighborhood - the Polish, the Hispanic, and the English. In other words, it's perfect for me. :)

I went to a mass the other week (which happened to be in Polish, and while it's not a church that will take your breath away like some grand cathedral, but it has it's charms. Like for example the two side altars at about the halfway point of the church. On the left as you face the altar is the obligatory tribute to the Holy Queen Mother of Poland, Matka Boska Częstochowska. <----- She is done in a mosaic of golden tiles and resplendent in all her jewels. It is a rich but subdued statement of devotion. Who does Matka Boska stare at from across the nave? None other than Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe! Yesssss, there she is. In duplicate, maybe even triplicate. Surrounded by 3-d tissue paper flowers of many colors. And other photos whose significance is lost to me. By comparison to her European altar, this one might seem a bit cluttered, but the point is the eclecticism and the vibrancy. This is a Mary with spunk! Contrast #1 in my perceptions of the two cultures that this parish serves.


Contrast #2 came from the church's 103rd anniversary celebration mass, which involved songs and readings in all three languages. I was already intrigued. (Plus, there were going to be refreshments afterwards. I was in.) In 103 years, this was going to be the first service in which all three languages were going to appear in the same Mass. There was a small paper program outlining the order and which readings or responsorials were to be sung in each language. For example, the first reading was read from the lectern in Spanish, but the program had the text in Polish and English.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'd like to back up to the beginning of the Mass. After the opening song, the next two parts of the Ordinary are also sung: the Kyrie and the Gloria. The Kyrie was in Polish. The text is as follows: Kyrie elesion / Christe elesion / Kyrie eleison, or Panie zmiłuj się nad nami / Chryste zmiłuj się nad nami / Panie zmiłuj się nad nami, or Lord have mercy / Christ have mercy / Lord have mercy. To me, the Kyrie seems like an acknowledgment of something done wrong, a plea for atonement. It is very solemn, and the way it was sung by one soprano voice invoked the modality of Gregorian chant. And the subtext under the Greek text points to the exotic and conflicted Baltic region and the weight of history on Baltic and Slavic shoulders.

Next up, the Gloria. Here is where I burst into laughter in God's house. The Gloria is a song of praise and thanksgiving. Its text is much longer and more complicated. It verbosely talks about the Father and the Son with metaphors and allusions to Scripture. So what better musical setting for this upbeat text than a Mariachi band?? That's what Holy Innocents thought. Keeping in line with its Latin roots, the lines were sung in Spanish accompanied by guitar, keyboard, tambourine (yes, tambourine) and a host of voices declaring, "Gloria, Gloria, cantamos al Señor," and other joyful, joyful strains.

Maybe it's just me and my experiences in a Slavic and a Hispanic culture, but the way I felt when these two peoples stood face to face, I couldn't help but deem their musical interpretations and choices as extensions of their cultures and their respective worldviews. No doubt about it, the whole experience was so cool! I'm not sure if other parishioners felt the same, but then again, I'm not sure if any others have had the chance to see spirituality from both (or all three) sides. The bottom line is exactly the motto of the church, as echoed in the words of the pastor's homily, the church is a house of prayer (dom modlitwy, una casa de adoración) for all people (dla wszystkich ludzi, para todas las gentes)...

Roller coaster, wah ooh ooh ooh, roller coaster, of loooooove (a.k.a. My roller coaster of an Indian Summer)

Yet again I am face to face with that seemingly eternal problem of where to begin… Ever since leaving tennis camp in August, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends – and from the middle too. First, there was Vladimir’s visit, which lasted a good three weeks. We went together though Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois, Washington, D.C., and New York. I came back on a rainy Friday afternoon to my cheery, amazing Technicolor apartment and have happily stayed put since. Relatively speaking. My new task is to find that elusive beast called “job security.” In case I need any more evidence that the old adage “It’s not what you know – it’s WHO you know” holds true, I need to look no further than my dream house teammate, Annie. Annie works at a fitness center for senior citizens, and recently she told me that her supervisor had asked them to recruit possible new employees. And while I am typing this post sitting at Annie’s very own fitness center, I am still only less than part-time. A substitute. I do have a rather busy October, but now come the first time in my life where I really have to consider how to make ends meet (and how to justify my membership to Netflix and a pair of new running shoes…). The holiday season might be interesting since I did agree to work at an outdoor Christmas market for a Polish home goods store. At the very least I can practice my Polish with the shop owner and hopefully earn a tidy sum in an environment that I can only hope resembles the Rynek Krakowski.

Now when I sat down, I thought I would have oh so much to write about: our fabulous apartment and neighborhood, how much I love biking in Chicago, how my bike got stolen, how I found a new bike, adventures in domesticity (how I actually like cleaning and cooking!), being in Obamaland during election season, the orchestra I want to try out for, the books I’m now reading, my upcoming Fulbright deadline, the joys of paying bills, the hassle of banks, my fabulous running finds……. but it’s so hard to take the time out from living my life to write about it. Maybe that’s been my problem with feeling overwhelmed. The other day, when I simply did not want to get out of bed –and, in fact, I spent plenty of the day there­– Annie did say to me that she thought I needed to write. Yes, I do. I have a good WDN article in me. I think I have some other things in me as well. Perhaps with the time and the office-like space we have at home, I’ll finally be able to get something down in the way of writing once again. Aside from the notable downs, there have been a lot of ups in getting to know not only the city but, after traveling around the world, I’m finally getting to know myself.

CHICAGO

Dear Friends and Others,

I am still alive. I realize I have not been around in the blogosphere for a few months, but come Friday, when I will get incredibly expensive broadband internet installed in my new Chicago apartment, things will change. Fear not for plenty of exciting things have been happening in the Sarosphere, so stay tuned. :)

Pozdrawiam,
Sarah

Go Gdańsk!

What lovely timing, just when I am really missing Poland and Europe, that this article came out in the NY Times travel section. It really paints a positive picture of Gdansk and Sopot. What is even more impressive is that the Times readers who voted where this correspondent should travel overwhelmingly chose Gdansk over Copenhagen and Hamburg. Plus, the writer gives props to the Solidarity museum - definitely one of my highlights.



I am so happy that I made it to this beautiful city. It was definitely one of my favorite weeks of the entire year; the Trójmiasto, coupled with the journey to my family's villages, northern Poland is fantastic. Take me back...

WDN article

Here is the pre-publication version of my latest Winona Daily News article. (It certainly been a while since I have written one of these...) It felt good to get it down. I think finally that I am feeling better about being here/being back home.

What’s in a name?

We tend to think about foreign travel in terms of what we can gain: experience, photographs, souvenirs, new ideas, new friends, and a broader perspective. But what if we shifted our focus to think about everything we could stand to lose as a result of travel? Some answers are obvious. Keys, money, and passports stand among the most common. You can easily lose your way in an unfamiliar place. Meaning gets lost in translation – just think of reading the English on a menu in a foreign locale. You might lose your stomach if you are my mother on an airplane. (Sorry, Mom.) But one of travel’s prime benefits is that it can strip us of some of our stereotypes, our prejudices, and even our fears.

Now that I am returned from my year in Poland, I can thankfully say that I have gained everything from that first category and lost little among the materials from the second group. However, I might end up losing something more personal, something that is literally who I am. Thanks to living abroad, I might lose my “witz.”

I don’t mean that a year in Poland permanently damaged my hold on sanity, although certain moments during a dark winter brought me close to the brink. I am referring specifically to my last name. W-I-T-Z is not an ending common among the Polish nation; rather, it should end in W-I-C-Z (pronounced “vitch”).

In May, I took a solo trip up to Kashubia and to my ancestral villages in northern Poland. I gazed at the pages of an old church register over a century old. Sure enough, the children among my antecedents who were born, baptized, married, and buried all bore the surname “Merchlewicz.” CZ at the end.

Wondering if the change took place as one of those countless Ellis Island-type mistakes of orthography, I reported my find to my grandfather, the oldest living family member of the line, who replied, “Oh, no, it got changed when I was about seven or eight years old.”

That fact indicates that I am only two generations away from the way my last name, my very inherent identity, had been known for who knows how many generations before that.

The question now is whether or not I should do away with the American “invention” that hangs at the end of my signature and go back to my roots or to leave it and embrace the inevitability that both time and people change. Preparing for such a long period of time away from the United States, I anticipated having one big, life-changing experience. I didn’t expect, however, that my stay would have an effect on how I might introduce myself to other people.

The way the world sees you is an important factor on how you view yourself. As anyone who works with kids will know, if children grow up hearing enough comments about how they are “bad”, “stupid”, or “untalented”, then they will eventually begin to believe them regardless of their unlimited potential. We can think of ourselves as being a certain person, but, thinking exclusively of names, we are only what the world calls us.

In this quest for authenticity and who I have become after visiting the so-called motherland, I frequently think about the name of my forefathers as it relates to my identity.

There is one aspect to a name change back to the way it was that could bring an undesired association: the altercation in English pronunciation would render me as Sarah Merchlewitch, and that, I think, might actually drive me crazy.

Give Me A 'T'

My right forearm is so sore. I am nearly two full days into my fourth summer as a tennis instructor at Gustavus Adolphus College's Tennis and Life Camps. (Some of my muscles are having a rude awakening to that reality...) Based on the fact that I missed over half of one summer from being in Argentina and part of this summer from being in Poland, I don't feel like a full-fledged veteran. Don't get me wrong - I love being here, and I especially love seeing all of the people who make it worth coming back for, but there is the definite disadvantage of not feeling as close with the staff as I could be. And as much as I always forward to coming back to St. Peter, I feel different this time around. I am a different person, I can tell, even if I can't concretely put my finger on it.

There is the most comfort in the familiar faces of my friends and colleagues, but one thing that surprised me was how comforted I feel when I recognize a camper from previous years. I have also felt surprised at both how natural and how spotty at the same time my teaching is. Of course that comes from not going through the beginning-of-the-summer training camp here or from not playing much tennis in Kraków. One of my friends here put it, "Don't worry - it's just like falling off a bike." Hmmm... Thanks, I think, for the encouragement.

Why do I like to come back, even if it's not the most comfortable of options for my current interests or schedule? This is an emotional place. This is a highly social and energetic place. Yes, those reasons are both true. But something that seals the deal is how beautiful the sky can be at sunset and twilight. The plains of Western Minnesota give way to an expansive sunset with its wide display of colors and light. The air smells good and clean. I think this is a healthy place in terms of my physicality and for my spirit. Except now I've got to get back outside to teach and catch up on my fabulous tennis tan...

Well...

The following was written 25 June 2008, en route to Chicago:

New York disappointed me. First of all, not only had Kelly already moved to San Francisco after I had agreed to stop in NYC specifically to see her and Meg, but the city also turned out to be too much for me, too many people, too noisy, too much space. It was of course all familiar, but being there felt in no way like the homecoming I was expecting.

New York still holds it's special beauty for me: the view of the evening sky from the fire escape on Meg's top-floor apartment, Central Park and the smell of the flowers, the jagged and characteristically crowded skyline. But, however, most strongly I met with the city's difficult aspects, which were accentuated by my year's absence - the noisy ans smelly subways, the way things are sooooo far apart from each other, and how people have to try so darn hard just to make it. Most people work like dogs, and the fashion there, if not downright cutthroat with specific uniforms of cool, is still an extremely competitive sport.

I always thought that Kraków was too small and time capsule-y for me. but I already miss it for its familiarity and charms. When I had the day to myself yesterday, the first place I headed was Greenpoint, Brooklyn so that I might be surrounded by New York's Polish immigrant community. I followed the streets where some of the shops signs were written in Polish --Gabinet Kosmetyczny, Adwokat, Solarium, and the St. Stanislaus Kostka church-- and I strained to listen in on people's conversation to try and catch some sounds I might recognize. Sure, there were Polish placards on every corner deli, but (and maybe because I was out in the middle of a workday Tuesday) the result of my excursion was not what I was looking for. When my brother, Peter, and I went for lunch at a Polish restaurant in the neighborhood a few years ago, I seem to remember a more visible and vibrant presence of the culture. Yesterday, the most permeating signs of the people I was seeking were the empty Żywiec and Tyskie bottles filling the bins on the sidewalks set out for recycling day. (Even so, I could walk out of the Beford Ave station and barely walk across one street to buy a bottle of żubrówka from the proprietor of a liquor store in Polish... That was fun.)

...........

I don't know where I feel at home anymore. I feel like at any moment I might break into tears (ok, maybe only because I am physically and emotionally exhausted) because I miss what I don't have. One of those things is a desire to return to Minnesota. I don't know what the next step will be, and even worse is that I don't know what I want it to be. I know New York, and I blend in there. A tourist couple stopped me at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge to ask me directions to the nearest A train despite the fact that I actually had no idea and was looking myself! But then I remember how on my first solo orientating walk of Kraków I was stopped by a girl for directions or something of which I am not even sure because I could only speak 5 words of Polish at the time. So, I'm not sure where I feel the most comfortable and the most myself. I think I need more time...

At Meg's place, because Meagan is working at a Starbucks and can bring home tons of free food, my diet has consisted of Starbucks for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with a pizza last night thrown in just for variety. Then we'd all sit, play on our computers and watch TV. Welcome back to the United States.

Dzięki Bogu, że jest piątek

6 hours of exams on Thursday + 5 hours on Friday = 1 tired Sarah

Of course, with each day that passes I am getting closer to the day on which I have to leave Poland, and that is sad. (We're down to 10 days...) I don't like the end of things. But no matter how much I wish that time would cease to rush on, I find this graphic HILARIOUS and EXACTLY what I am feeling post-soul-draining Polish exams.



Cheers.

The List

Happy June 1st (Dzień Dziecka w Polsce, by the way)! That means that I have less than one month left here in Kraków. There have been plenty of goods and plenty of bads, so here is a running list –which I am sure will be updated as I keep thinking about things– of what I WILL and WILL NOT miss about life in Kraków/Poland/Europe/Abroad. And since I am generally an optimistic person (meaning not yet 100% Polonised) this list seems to favor the positive recollections... for now.

+ THE POSITIVES

• being able to hop on a train and cheaply travel to any part of the continent when you've got some time on your hands
• not having to be at the train station more than 15 minutes before departure
• morning walks to school along the Wisła and Wawel Castle
• hearing the hejnał at the top of every hour, especially late at night
  
• discovering new running paths up to and around the Kopiec
• the Planty
• Park Jordana and the Błonia
  
• the smell and color of rapeseed fields in the countryside
• my international friends (especially the Hungarians and their cooking)
• getting some free money at the beginning of each month from the Polish Bureau of Education
• Polish piwo and wódka
• dare I even say that I might miss surówka and kapusta?
• for sure all of the beets and barszcz
• how even though the dollar has taken a nose dive, things still cost half-price
• how no matter how bad my last self-administered haircut turned out, there will always be some Polish girl with a worse euro-style something on her head
• making up for lost time in the sense that I am living the life that most people already went through in college
• the way foreigners pronounce my name - long "a"s just sound better
• Chór Uniwersytet Rolniczego
• Vladimír
  

- THE NEGATIVES

• the so-called "napkins"
• all the hand-washed laundry
  
• laundry in Piast
• pigeons in Piast
• cranky receptionist dude in Piast
  
• ok, just Piast in general
• and all those stupid pigeons in general
• not being able to express what I'm thinking among Polish speakers and consequently feeling shy, submissive, and not intelligent
• not being able to master the difference between pronouncing "ś" and "sz," "ć" and "cz," as well as "ź" or "ż"
• trying to ride a tram down Karmelicka during afternoon rush hour
• the smell of the horse carriages on the Rynek (ewww)
  
• the time gap between the end of the day bus schedule and the beginning of the night buses
  

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.