My last day in Krakow.

Things I will miss about the city:

The trumpet man:
I feel like I have done everything that I wanted to do in Krakow except one thing: meet the trumpet man on top of St. Mary's Church. You can climb to the top of the church tower and see him play, but the day I went to do it, they had already closed for the season. A reason to come back to Krakow. But really, the lovely sounds of the trumpet at every hour always made my heart skip a beat.

St Mary's Church at night. They were shooting a movie, hence the lights.

The restaurants:
Going to restaurants in Krakow is something like going on a treasure hunt. Many of the restaurants are hidden from the street. Often times, you have to walk down a random hallway, some flights of stairs and you never know what will be on the other side. There is no better feeling than walking down a sketchy, random alleyway only to discover an enchanting, secluded restaurant that is better than you ever expected. I really enjoyed discovering new places--and eating all the pierogi that I wished!

Dining with Steffi and others at Smaki Swiata. We were eating potato pancakes in a meat sauce topped with cheese and sour cream. Mmmmm.

The nuns:
Never in my life have I seen so many nuns in one place. Sure, I would see priests, too, but it was the nuns, sometimes sporting black fleece jackets over their black dresses, that delighted me the most. I could see them walking around town, speaking with each other, shopping, taking the tram. While I would never choose their lifestyle, I am fascinated by their faith, their decision to devote their lives to one thing. I am a woman who cannot make up her mind, and here are people who know exactly what they want to do with their lives. Are they happy? Do they have any regrets? Watching these women mill about the city would make my imagination explode with questions.

And the things I won't miss:

The napkins:
When you visit any restaurant in Krakow, you discover this one fact. Poland has a napkin problem. Practically every restaurant uses the same kind of napkin, and so this napkin company must be making a boatload of money. They really shouldn't be. Their napkins blow. To use a Polish napkin is like wiping your hands on a small piece of paper. Imagine that feeling. If you think that might feel unpleasant, than you are correct. Now imagine how clean your hands will be after wiping them on a piece of paper. If you are thinking not so clean, than again, you are correct. And to make matters worse, all of these so-called napkins are placed into a type of dispenser where they are folded in half, thus making it nearly impossible to take one out without having twenty coming out with it. They are terrible things, these napkins.

Krakow, we have a problem.

The mini drinks:
I hardly drink soda in the United States, but here in Poland, I have been drinking soda all the time. Perhaps because it is easy to order in a restaurant and also because you always know what it is going to taste like and it reminds me of home. Soda in restaurants is served in a little bottle which is then poured into a glass, and this is the standard in most of Europe. Pretty classy, by the looks of it, but the problem is, there is never enough to drink. I run out of drink in the middle of every meal. My fellow students would laugh at me--sometimes they don't even order drinks with their meals--and then roll their eyes and say, "Oh, you American with your free refills."

It's the same deal with bottled water. And if you are ever in Poland, make sure that you clarify that you want water without gas. If you don't mention it (like I did once), they give you water with gas. It's completely gross.

Little drinks make Yvonne thirsty.

The pigeons:
Does anyone really like pigeons? There are a million of them here. And none became my friend. I won't miss them.

STO LAT! (Well, actually, 29 lat!)

Roksana surprises me with a gift and card.

October 5. My birthday.

The weather today was not birthday worthy: It was dark, dreary and rainy. All I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head and stay in bed, but I couldn't. You only turn 29 once.

And I am glad that I got up. My birthday was filled with surprises.

The first surprise actually came last night. Dan had insisted on speaking on Skype at 11:30 pm my time, so we could be on the phone as it became my birthday. I had a feeling he had something up his sleeve. I was thinking maybe he would hold a birthday poster, wear a cone hat and sing to me or something. But it turned out to be even better. He made me close my eyes (which I did, even though he would never know) and when I opened them, I saw that Dan was not alone: Dani and Megan, two of my favorite people and former co-workers, were standing in my New York City apartment, yelling Happy Birthday!

I have to say: The special Skype appearance of Dani and Megan was so much fun. First of all, they were so excited to watch themselves on the computer screen, so I got to watch them pose and pout. Then they had so much to say that I could barely get a word in edgewise. But it didn't matter. I was laughing so hard and was so happy to hear news from home. Then, along with Dan, they sang "Happy Birthday" to me and ate a cupcake on my behalf. It was an excellent birthday surprise indeed. Much love and thanks to Dan for arranging that.

My second surprise happened in Krakow. After our last class, we had our farewell party where we ate and received our diplomas. Then all of a sudden, I was surrounded by my classmates and members of the Prolog administration. Roksana, who was our guide for the entire trip and a great person (she is actually taking a year off from her stressful university studies to live in England and concentrate on her painting and herself for a while--sound familiar?), offered a few words in Polish, wishing me all the best. She gave me a little gift, which included Polish candies and a card, and then everyone joined together to sing a rousing rendition of "Sto Lat." It had been my secret fantasy that I would hear the Polish birthday song today, and it happened and not in a way that I ever expected.

Other than that, it didn't feel like my birthday. I got a few emails and phone calls from family and friends (thank you!) but it was rather quiet. I spent the evening at Café Camelot (where else?) with Steffi and Juliana, drinking wine and ordering a big cheese platter, which was just too much cheese for me, and then stupidly ordering a cheese cake for dessert. Sometimes wisdom doesn't come with age. Then, we joined British Jill and her roommate Kate for some more drinks at Buddha.

Yesterday, Juliana had asked if I felt sad being away from my family and friends on my birthday. I admit that I was a little melancholy from time to time. But at the same time, one year ago today, I remember that I was also away from my family and friends. I was away on a business trip. My co-workers managed to make the day memorable, taking me out to dinner and buying me a gift, but I remember feeling sad back then, stuck in my workaholic way of life, that even my birthday couldn't escape.

"Last year, I had to work on my birthday," I answered her. "This year, I am in Poland. I may be alone, but this is so much better."

I have come a long way, baby.

Birthday surprise! Megan and Dani give some birthday love.


Polish 1B classmates: Andreas, Tobias, Jill and me.


Too much cheese: At Cafe Camelot with Steffi and Juliana.

Commie Bastards.

Nowa Huta steel mill sign.

So I have a confession to make. I am not very good at Polish.

I had my second test today, and I am not sure if I passed. I was able to answer every question, and I had an inkling of what was going on, but I know I made plenty of mistakes. After we were done, the teacher Marek started reading our test answers out loud and yelling at us if we got something wrong. He yelled at me a lot.

The truth of the matter is that I haven't studied as much as I should. After three hours of intensive classes a day, the last thing I wanted to do was go home and study. And after four weeks of intensive classes, I am beat. My other problem is that I am not a total beginner, so I think I am better than I really am. I assumed it would just come easy to me. But like most things in life, I think that in order to be good at speaking Polish, I will have to work at it. My classes end tomorrow, and then I will begin my studying.

Yesterday when I should have been studying, I joined my classmates on a guided tour of Nowa Huta. Originally a city of its own, Nowa Huta was built by the communist government after the Second World War. Our guide explained that most Polish cities--such as Warsaw and Wroclaw--were destroyed after the war--not only the buildings, but the social infrastructure as well. Krakow had experienced devastation in terms of its Jewish population, but its buildings and society remained untouched. The communists saw this as a threat and therefore created this brand new city right next to Krakow as a way to bring in the "working class" and their industrialization ideal into the region.

Nowa Huta has two parts. One is a giant steel mill, which was designed almost as a city of its own, that would employ thousands of workers. The second is the town, where the workers would live. Originally, the town was not allowed to have a church, but after Stalin's death and the communist rule became more lax, the town was allowed to build a church. Afraid they wouldn't have a chance to build another, it is a massive and intricate building. When we visited the church, there was a Wednesday night mass taking place that had more worshippers than some Sunday masses I have seen in the States. (Just an aside, often times I have popped my head into a church in Krakow, and no matter what time of day, there is a usually a mass going on and there is always a full house).

Now that the communist rule is over, Nowa Huta is kind of a ghost of the past. The steel mill is still functioning, but employs less than 1,000 people. Unfortunately, throughout the years, the mill was responsible for much air population in Krakow, deteriorating buildings that had stood for centuries. The town functions as a suburb of Krakow.

I had expected Nowa Huta to be incredibly depressing. I heard it wasn't very safe. My classmate Tobias told me that it was "the Bronx of Krakow," which made me laugh.

Sure, the grey, uniform Soviet-style architecture is a strong contrast to the pastel wonderland of Krakow, but it wasn't ugly. It just looked dirty. There were many trees, flowers and paths, people walking around. The only problem is that there is no culture. If someone living there wants to see a movie or go out to a restaurant, they need to take a 20-minute tram to the city.

After two hours into the tour, I had seen enough. To be honest, there was not too much to see, but yet we stayed and stayed, walked and walked, the tour guide talked and talked. So many questions were asked, so many were answered in a very long, tedious way. People were getting hungry, grabbing fruits at fruit stands and candy bars from newsstands. It started getting dark and cold. But our tour guide seemed oblivious. When we finally arrived at the church with the mass, we walked in when the mass was over and simply sat there for 20 minutes, just looking at the empty altar. What we were supposed to look at for that long, I am unsure.

I finally got back to my apartment 4 hours after the tour started, and I did my best to memorize the future tense, the months of the year, the time, and a hundred other things. So it's no wonder why I didn't do well on the test.

I blame the communists.

The steel mill.

View of one of the steel mill towers.

Where the working class lives.

Building in Plac Centralny, depicting Socialist Realism Architecture.

Quiz Night

Steffi, David, his girlfriend, and Elisabeth.

So I lied. I didn't hate EVERYONE that I went out to lunch with the first day that I met the neo-Germans. There was one girl in particular who I really liked. Her name was Steffi, and like me, she was also in the first session of classes, but I never met her then. She had a friendly face, a wonderful laugh and was the only one who seemed interested (and interesting) that day. Before we parted ways, she told me that her boyfriend was coming into town.

Then she fell off the face of the planet. I never saw her again. Until yesterday.

I was sitting in the hallway at school, talking with British Jill, and Steffi saw me and ran up to me. She was so happy to see me--I could see it in her face. Apparently when her boyfriend was in town, she stopped going to classes and then the weekend came, and she was sad that we hadn't exchanged phone numbers. We were both going to the school-organized movie outing (to see a Polish film called The Debt) and so she invited me to come out afterwards with some of her friends.

After the movie, I felt like Steffi and I had some catching up to do. So I told her about my classes, the mean Germans, my trip. She told me about her boyfriend's visit. She even said that she had told her boyfriend about me, and how I might come visit them in Germany. Considering we met over a week ago and only briefly discussed this visit, I was touched.

Her friends ended up being people that I sort of knew from last session. There was David, the friendly Brit with a blonde hair and the very small head, who brought along his Polish girlfriend. There was Jacub from Austria and Nele from Germany who I bumped into time to time. And then there was Elisabeth, one of the neo-Germans from the first-day lunch table, who I discovered is a nice girl, perhaps a little shy.

We went to an Irish pub that was something like going into a warp zone. All of a sudden, everyone spoke English. The bartender spoke English, the wait staff spoke English. We were one of the first ones there, but after an hour, the bar filled up with a rowdy contingent of people from England, America and Australia. Hearing everyone speak English--quite loudly and quickly--made me realize how slow of a pace the conversations I have been having with my fellow students who are not native speakers.

The reason why the bar was so crowded was because it was Quiz Night, which is quite the rage in England right now, according to David. Essentially, someone working for the bar reads out a list of themed trivia questions and you work in a team to write the answers on a piece of paper. The team with the most questions right gets a prize.

Our team was called the "Violent Fishcakes" (I wasn't involved in the name selection process, so don't ask). A British guy with bad teeth walked around the bar screaming "Shut Up!" and then he read the questions on the top of his lungs. We would have a few minutes to converse and answer the questions.

The first round of questions, called "Heroes & Villains", had lots of comic book references, so I wasn't very good at those. The second round, "Live Fast and Die Young" offered me some relief, with questions about James Dean, River Phoenix, Kurt Cobain and Anna Nicole Smith. There was an American movie section where I ruled, and then "Sporting Losers" which was the death of our team. These included questions such as "who were the last four teams to lose the World Cricket Championships?" The group of Australian boys sitting next to us got every single one of those right.

I tapped the Australian guy with the blonde hair on his arm.

"Can you explain cricket to me?" He rolled his eyes. He said that it was like American baseball but with 100 balls, but I still don't know what that means. And then he said that Americans stole the game from them and that Americans don't invent everything. Okay, good to know.

And so the Violent Fishcakes came in 5^th place out of 11 teams. I am usually horrible at trivia, so I was surprised that I was a viable player in the game. But then I realized it is because it was mostly about pop culture. Before the quiz started, our table had gotten into a ten minute discussion about the history of the Austria-Hungarian Empire. It was so boring that I completely zoned out. My classmates know history, but when it comes to James Dean and Anna Nicole Smith, they know nothing. Only I know. Silly American yet again!

Writing down our answers.

Nele, me and David.

Bad Connection.

Here is what I have to say about the new regime of Germans: NEIN FUN PIGS.

I should have known from the beginning that it was not going to work out between us. I left our first lunch together feeling depleted and bored (that being the lunch where no one spoke but me).

Today--after a weekend alone--I thought I would try again. After classes, I approached one of them and asked if anyone was going to lunch. She shrugged and said she had work to do, but there was another group who was going and walked me over to them.

"Do you mind if I join you for lunch?" I asked. The girls looked at me blankly and shrugged.

"Sure," one of them said.

And then they turned to each other and continued speaking German as if I were not standing there. Maybe they were just finishing a thought. I pretended to be interested--hoping they would notice that a non-German speaking person was amongst them--but it didn't do anything. They ignored me even more, continued speaking German, even turning their backs to me to exclude me from their circle.

I finally plopped down in a chair and watched them talk for a while, feeling invisible and getting madder by the second.

Finally, I stood up and tried to involve myself. Where do you want to go to eat? How do we get there?

"Kazmierz," was the only reply.

I finally realized that I did not want to spend the next few hours of my life with these people.

"Okay," I said, looking at my watch. "Well, I have to meet someone in an hour so Kazmierz might be too far for me, so maybe some other time."

They girls looked at me blankly and shrugged. I hurried out the door and onto the tram.

It occurred to me that perhaps this group of Germans do not speak English that well, and it is possible that they just don't understand me. But still, why would they be so cold to me? Why wouldn't they even try? I have heard some of them speak English, and they aren't so terrible. If you were going to study a foreign language in a foreign country, why would you only want to stay with your own kind? Why wouldn't you be open to others?

The other day, when I was at the Wyspianski Museum, I was speaking with another German student, an older woman with a deep voice who smokes hand-rolled cigarettes. A boy from my class walked up and suddenly the three of us were standing together awkwardly.

Gesturing at the two of them, I asked, "Have you met each other yet?"

The woman smirked at me. "Oh, you Americans. Always trying to be friendly and making sure that everyone is at ease. I have never learned such manners."

There was an awkward silence.

"Would you like to do the honors of an introduction?" she finally asked. I could see she was mocking me. And quite frankly, I had forgotten her name.

"No, that is okay," I said.

And so we just stood there and no one said anything, and they never introduced themselves. Who are these people?

Today, I went to lunch by myself and I sulked, but then I realized that I was just too smart and good-looking to let this bother me. And so I spent the day doing things I like to do, like walk around Krakow and study Polish and eat ice cream.

On the way home, two men stopped me in road, asking in broken Polish if I spoke English.

"Yes," I answered, "I am American." And they hollered laughing, happy to have met someone that spoke English. They were from Holland and were looking for their hostel. I took their map from them and actually directed them where to go. (Who would have thought I would come so far as to know where things are in Krakow?) And then another man ran up to us and started speaking to us in rapid Polish but then stopped when the other two said that I spoke English.

We parted ways, and the guy who had ran to us started walking in my direction instead of with the other two.

"Oh, you are not with them?" I asked. He wasn't. He was a student at the university and today was his first day in Krakow. He was trying to help them out, too, but he doesn't know the city either. For the next five blocks, we walked together and talked. We told each other where we lived and compared the difficulties of the Polish and English languages. It was a very nice discussion. When it came to my street, I told him that I had to go but it was nice meeting him.

"Good luck! Enjoy your time in Krakow!" he yelled to me and continued on his way.

Even though it was only for three minutes, I was happy to have met him. I didn't need his phone number. I didn't need to see him again. I was just happy to know that I had my mojo back.

Things that made me happy today: Horses with horns...

...the teddy bear store...



...learning that High School Musical 2 is the #2 album in Poland...



...and finding one of my favorite magazines written in Polish.

Polish Shopping

Writing today's post.

Today was the first day in my whole entire trip that I felt a little lonely. And dare I say it, a little bored. I had thought that spending a quiet weekend in Krakow was just what I needed after a week of being sick. And while yesterday was nice to read books and relax, today I woke up and thought, "What am I going to do with myself?"

The best thing to do, I decided, was to go to the mall. (I am, after all, an original Jersey girl).

Galeria Krakowska is a giant monster of a shopping center with three levels and 270 stores. For easy access, the mall was built near the center of town, right next to the train station. However, this new development wasn't planned very well because there is only one road that leads to both the mall and the train station and so there are always massive traffic jams.

The mall is walking distance for me and it was a beautiful day so I didn't have to deal with the cars. Even though I don't have much money to spend or space in my luggage, I wanted see how the Polish mall looked (Bolek would be proud).

The mall was nice. They have everything there: Nike, Puma, Timberland, Sephoria, H&M, plus many other European clothing shops I have never heard of but sold nice stuff. My favorite being a teenage shop called "Troll" (for the namesake only). There was a drug store, a pet store, a shop that sold fruit. McDonald's, KFC and a deli with Polish Ham. I considered buying some clothes but I realized that I didn't need to. I could buy everything--or something like it--in America.

I ventured into Empik, which is their version of Barnes & Noble, and flipped through American Vanity Fair and Glamour, two magazines I never read, just to get some flavor of home. I opened the Polish version of Harry Potter and tried to read the first paragraph. I kind of knew what was going on, but it's probably because I read it before. Maybe one day I will be able to read it in Polish. The rest of the books in the kids section were Polish renditions of The Little Mermaid, My Little Pony, Bob the Builder. In a way I was happy that Polish people have the opportunity to enjoy American products and creations, but at the same time, I found it somewhat amiss. What about the Polish cartoons?

Walking through the mall, each store playing club music louder than the next, it all felt a little empty. I left the Polish mall wishing it were a little more Polish.

Galeria Krakowska.

Peace of mind.

Me with the head.

One of my favorite things about Krakow is the bugle call. Every hour, from the top of St. Mary's Church on the main square, a trumpet player toots a short, simple melody four times, facing north, east, south and west.

The song stops abruptly at the end. This dates back to the Tatar invasions. When the watchman on duty saw the Tatars coming, he played the song as a warning but was hit in the throat by arrow, thus why the song is cut short.

There is something about walking about Krakow and hearing the trumpet play. First, it lets me know that it's at the top of the hour. Second, it reminds me WOW! I am in Krakow. Sometimes I like to stop and watch the church when I hear the song. Depending on where you stand, you can see the mouth of the trumpet poking out of one of the little windows.

Someone should have sounded the bugle. The tourists have invaded.

It was an absolutely beautiful day, perhaps the most beautiful since I have been here. I had heard that the tourists are bad in the summer, that the square gets so filled that it's hard to walk through. Today it happened. There were swarms of people everywhere-the square, the stores, the restaurants. I walked into Cloth Hall, hoping to buy myself an amber ring, but when I saw the lines of people, the English-speaking customers, the utter chaos, I had to get out of there.

I knew it was bad when I could barely hear the bugle call over the street performer's music, the roar of the crowd, the fashion show taking place in the middle of the Rynek. I watched a group of boys in white t-shirts walking around with a promotional sign that said "Colgate." This is not the city that I love.

So I tried to get away from it all. I ducked into to the Czartoryski Museum, which is supposed to be one of the best in Krakow. To be honest, I found it very boring. I don't really like looking at old swords and armor and tapestries, and all the paintings were either very gloomy or very religious (sometimes both at the same time). The highlight was Leonardo da Vinci's "Lady with an Ermine" painting.

Afterwards, I went to Camelot Café, my favorite place to eat in Krakow. This place has a nice outdoor seating area, but it's the inside I really like. With wooden floors and rustic furniture, it feels like you are at someone's home--and the food is good. I was excited to find that they were serving breakfast late, and I finally had the opportunity to eat some scrambled eggs (which I have been craving) along with a fresh baguette and coffee. I sat for a few hours, reading my book. It was a perfect afternoon. I had nowhere to go. And the tourists didn't bother me there.

St. Mary's Church, where the bugle plays. Where did all these people come from?



Just what I needed: Scrambled eggs, a good book and some peace and quiet.


Planning my trip itinerary and talking to Dan on Skype.

Don't ask me the time.

Back in Krakow. New session of classes. It's not the same without the Germans.

I have come down with a cold. It is no fun meeting new people when you are shoving a tissue into your nose every five minutes. The group of students for this session is much smaller than last time, and they are not a vocal group. I went to lunch with four German girls and found myself completely dominating the conversation. When I stopped speaking, no one would say anything. I feel that if me--shy, quiet Yvonne--is the loudmouth of the table, there has to be a problem. The excitement level of the group--on a scale from 1-10--should be at about an 8. (HELLO! We're in Krakow and the weather is gorgeous and we're learning Polish and we're meeting new people!). This lunch group, the energy level was at about a 3.

My class only has four students in it, including me. One of the other students is Jill, a Brit who was in my class last session and who likes to talk, and then two boys who don't say much. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, our teacher is Agnieszka, who couldn't be more pleased to be teaching us Polish. No matter what we say, she nods her head with enthusiasm. Her excitement level is about a 10. As Jill would say in her thick northern England accent, "She's just lovely, isn't she?"

And then on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have Marek. Marek speaks no English and gets mad when I ask Jill questions in English.

"Speak only in Polish!" he commands.

Dude, we're only in level 1B. How I am supposed to ask "What does this word mean in English?" in Polish and then have her answer me in Polish. It makes no sense.

I think he is anti-English. Today, he made us go around the room and say how many languages we spoke well. Half points were given if it was your native language. Tobias got 2 points, Jill got 1.5 points and Andreas got 1.5 points. Marek would only give me .5 points.

He then proudly smirked, "I know Polish, French and Italian. I have the most points! And I am the only one who speaks French!" Then he pumped his arm in the air as if to indicate "I'm the best!" I swear, you would think he was French himself. These are the kinds of games Marek plays.

And he plays by his own rules. Later, I got into an argument with him because he said that May 1 is Labor Day and no one has to work, and this is common for all countries.

"In America, this is not true," I said in Polish. "It's in September."

He refused to believe me (wouldn't I know better than him?), and made me bet a beer on it. He owes me a beer. But somehow I know he will win.

The past two days, we are learning how to say time in Polish, and it is impossible for me. First, the times are presented in military time. So say the time I am given to translate is 19:30. I am terrible at math in my head, so I have to concentrate really hard and think, What time does that mean? And so I calculate for moment and realize, okay, that means 7:30 and so the Polish word for 7 pops in my mind. But it is useless because in Polish time, you say 30 minutes to 8. So then I have to think about the word for 8 instead. And then I have to remember how to say the correct form of the words because it changes depending on the time.

As you can imagine, this takes an extremely long time for me, especially when I am put on the spot. Today Marek tortured me by making me say "from 11:35 to 13:40." After the ten minutes it took me to say that, he made me repeat it. The bastard.

This afternoon, I went with a small group to Wyspianski Museum. Stanislaw Wyspianski was kind of like the Leonardo da Vinci of Poland--a brilliant man from the 20^th century who was a painter, stained-glass designer, playwright, architect, furniture and costume designer. I loved and was inspired by his pastel drawings; he had a way of capturing expressions on people's faces in a very realistic way. The museum had his sketches and ideas on different stain-glass projects, and we made our way to the Franciscan Church to see his designs first hand which were some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.

But what really startled me was when we walked past the gift shop, I saw one of his works of art that was not featured in the gallery. It was a sketch of a young girl with shoulder-length hair, hand over mouth. This very picture hung in my childhood bedroom. When I was little, I thought this was a drawing of me. A few years ago, my sister, Annette, and I talked about this picture and she said she had always thought it was a drawing of her.

And now I know who drew it. Roksanna, our guide, said this is a very famous drawing in Poland. They make many reprints. All those years, I thought it was only special to me.

God by Wyspianski.

Beautiful colors.

I thought that was me!

There is nothing to fear but fear itself--and maybe Poland.

I didn't write yesterday. I was just plain tired.

I love it here, I really do. And I love my classes and the Germans and the whirlwind of activities and dinners and nights out. But I feel like I have been running so fast--just going, going, going--and getting very little sleep that now I feel like I have hit a brick wall and all I want to do is stop and relax.

The thing about Poland is that I cannot relax. If I were in New York City and feeling this way, I would have no problem putting on pajamas, ordering a pizza, watching TV and napping on the couch. Here, taking a nap seems forbidden. There's a voice inside my head that says, "You’re all the way in Krakow and you want to NAP?"

Yesterday, I tried to take it easy, but it is so hard to relax here. Nothing comes easy, every little thing requires thought, so I am always outside of my comfort zone. I suppose I could go to the apartment and watch television--if I could figure out how to turn it on. I have been in this apartment so two weeks now, and every few days I get inspired to push every button on the television and the two remotes and absolutely nothing happens. Yes, it is plugged in. (And I thought the washing machine fiasco was bad).

It's not just the TV. I try to make a phone call. It doesn't go through. I spend a half an hour trying repeatedly. I have to purchase contact solution. I go to a store that looks like a drug store. It has shampoo and cosmetics and shaving cream, but there is no contact solution. I decide to go to the pharmacy. They tell me that it's not sold there either. Turns out you go to the optician for contact solution and it costs $16 for a bottle. It took me hours to figure this out.

So far, I have not been homesick. Sure, I miss Dan, my friends, my family, and I have been craving scrambled eggs. But on days like this, I do miss that absolute comfort of being home, of being by myself, of knowing that the drug store with my $10 bottle of contact solution is right down the street. There I don't have to worry about the little things. Here, everything is an adventure. Sometimes it is exhilarating, sometimes it absolutely sucks.

The last two days I have also felt a little down in the dumps because the Germans are leaving and through them, I do find some comfort. Yesterday, we took exams (I got a 90%) and today we had a good-bye party. It seems strange that I will return next week for a second session while all the rest of my friends will return to their normal lives.

I am sure the new group of students that start on Monday will be wonderful in their own way, and I have to remind myself that this trip is all about meeting new people. Soon, I won't even have the classes to depend on for making friends.

People have told me that I am "brave" for doing a trip like this and back in the States, it was hard for me to understand why they said this. But now I know. I feel afraid all the time. I am scared to be without company. I am scared to ask the cashier a question. I am scared to get lost. I am scared what's going to happen today, tomorrow, two weeks from now, when I get back home.

But what I am discovering is that despite all this discomfort and this fear of the unknown, I just keep going. And there is no place I would rather be. So far, everything has worked out for the absolute best.

"The inner circle" on our last night out together.



Kristina and me speaking Polish.


Kristina and Philip presenting Agnieszka, one of our teachers, with flowers as thanks.


Class portrait. Back Row: Leon, Kristina, Philip. Front Row: Our teachers Agnieszka and Jusytina, Jill, me and Manuel.

This one is dedicated to the one I love.

Danimal

Polish Ham is the production, and I am the star, but all of this would be impossible if it were not for my behind-the-scenes crew--my boyfriend Dan. When I initially came up with the idea to take this trip, he was the first one to encourage me to go for it and follow my dreams. And now, through emails, instant messenger and Skype, he is the one I turn to whenever I feel happy or sad, excited or overwhelmed--always there to support me all the way. I may be traveling alone, but he is always by my side.

Today is Dan's birthday, and while I cannot be in New York with him to celebrate, I have decided to share a Polish Ham ode to Dan to tell you all what he means to me--and to toast a great 28 years and many more.

Dan.
Mam chopaka. On ma na imię Dan. Dzisiaj on ma dwadziescia osiem lat. On jest Amerykaninem. On jest z California ale teraz mieszka w Nowy Yorku.

Dan jest wysokiem i przyslojnym męzczyzną. On interesuje sie sportem i muzyką.

Moj chopak lubi cytać ksiązki. On tez lubi spotykać się z kolegami. Na śniadanie, on lubi jalko i ziemniaky. On nie pije mleko. Nazywa sie "fun-pig."

Ja kocham go.

My love needs no translation, but here it goes:

Dan.
I have a boyfriend. His name is Dan. Today he is 28 years old. He is American. He is from Calfornia but now he lives in New York.

Dan is a tall and handsome man. He is interested in sports and music.

My boyfriend likes to read books. He also likes going out with his friends. For breakfast, he likes eggs and potatoes. He doesn't drink milk. He is called "Fun Pig."

I love him.

Happy birthday, Dan!

Also a birthday shout-out to Katie, who is both ladna i wesola (pretty and funny) herself.

Americanski Hamburger

All the McGoodies.

It was bound to happen. After a day spent musing about my grandparents, my heritage and what it means to be Polish, I ended up eating dinner last night at 1 in the morning at McDonald's.

Really, I blame Philip.

Around 8 'o clock, I joined some of the Germans--Kristina, Line and Philip--at a cozy bar near the Maly Rynek called Po Lewej Stronje for one drink. The first session of classes end on Friday, which means that all of the Germans and the majority of students are leaving on Saturday. (I am staying for a second session of classes). Over drinks, we talked about a possible "going away" party on Friday night. But then Philip announced that he was leaving for Warsaw that evening and won't be there. A going away party without Philip is like a polish ham sandwich without the bread.

With that piece of information, I think that we came to conclusion that the time to celebrate was right there and then, and so the drinks kept coming, the conversation continued and all of a sudden it was way past midnight and all of us were more than tipsy.

We stumbled out of the bar. Kristina and Line were ready for dancing, but Philip and I wanted to eat. And Philip had one place in mind: McDonald's.

"No, not there," Kristina groaned. Perhaps inspired by the bar where we spent the evening (On the Left Side), we had some political discussions, so I was not surprised to learn that Kristina was a bit anti-McDonald's. But Philip insisted.

"Fine, we'll go!" she said, "but you will have to suffer the consequences!"

She didn't order anything. Line got a tea. Philip got some kind of burger sandwich, and I got my usual hamburger, fries and small Sprite.

Later, I think Kristina felt a little bad for giving us a hard time, but I admired her spirit and attitude. It would be no fun if people didn't have opinions. And I certainly didn't let it spoil my meal.

Philip eats, as Kristina looks on.



Line and Kristina at the "left" bar.

Coming Home.

My mom in Krakow, circa 1960's.


Me in Krakow, 2007.

Yesterday over a pierogi dinner, Philip asked me what it felt to be in Poland, my "homeland." The question stumped me. Here in Poland, I am a foreigner. My home is in America. But I cannot deny that this country stirs something deep inside of me.

On the plane in Dublin going to Warsaw, I remember watching the people board, immediately recognizing the Polish faces. There are faces that are round and flushed, some which are long and gaunt, but all with the same haunted eyes, the look that unspeakably says that "I am Polish." When I got off the plane, I said to my mother that if she told me that all the people on board were related to me, I would believe her. I recognize a familiarity in each and every one of them.

Yesterday I walked through Cloth Hall, which is in the center of the Rynek and is a marketplace where they sell souvenirs. Walking from stand to stand felt like walking through an attic filled with items from my past. There were the dolls dressed in traditional Polish costume. My grandmother actually sewed me one of these costumes to wear. The rows and rows of brown boxes, which I remember using to hold my change when I was a little girl. The fine crystal etched with flowers and abstract shapes that still sit in my mother's cabinet. The lacy curtains and doily place mats that decorated my childhood home. These items are not at all American, but they occupy a big part of my memories, my life, my identity--in the United States.

Before I left for my trip to Poland, my mother told me a story about my grandfather. During the second World War, he was a prisoner in Germany. He was forced to work on a farm, but luckily the owner of the work camp was kind. So he managed okay, but he was heartsick for his homeland and his family.

After the war, he returned to Poland. My grandmother, an American citizen who had moved to Poland as a child, had the opportunity to go back to United States and take the family along with her. Most of her family, including her mother and brothers, opted to go. But my grandfather insisted they stay. He loved Poland, had missed it so much when he in Germany, that he never wanted to leave again.

And so they stayed, and soon the country turned communist under the Soviet rule, and they did not have the option to leave for a long time.

My grandfather was true to his word and never left Poland. Even when my grandmother and mother came to the United States in the 1960s, he stayed. Finally, he agreed to come visit, but he died before he ever made it.

I never knew my grandfather, and quite honestly, do not know much about him. But hearing this story drew a sketch in my mind--albeit a small one--of the type of man he was. He sounds a bit stubborn, but also loyal and sentimental, someone who I can identify with, which makes him feel like a real person to me, not just some name I hear in conversation, a portrait in a photo album.

I am in the country that my grandfather adored. I will never have the chance to ask him why it meant so much to him--what is it about the Polish land, the people, the culture that he pined for as a prisoner, that made him so determined never to leave. The answer to that I have to discover on my own. The more I learn, the more I feel at home.

Things from my Polish-American past: Polish dolls...



brown boxes...



crystal glassware...


decorative plates.

Lazy Sundays and other thoughts

Sunday in Krakow, I was a waste of space. Waking up at 12 noon, I tried to study my Polish only to fall asleep again. Finally around 6 pm, I wiggled out of my pajamas and decided to head out to civilization to get something to eat. I was actually craving (seriously now) a polish ham sandwich, topped with cheese and a juicy tomato. I considered how I would ask for the ham at the deli. They don't have pounds here so do I order by grams? I wasn't sure, but then I discovered I didn't need to know yet. The market was closed, as was every single shop in my neighborhood.

Walking down the street, the only places open were the liquor stores and smoky bars filled with old men. I had to walk all the way to the main square to find a bite to eat--which ended up being a cardboard-tasting personal pizza and a Spite.

Something to consider when visiting Krakow: Places are closed on Sunday.

Here are some other observations that I have made:

Money:
Polish money is called zloty. The banknotes come in denominations of 200, 100, 50, 20 and 10, and then there are coins for 5, 2, 1. There are a bunch of smaller coins that don't mean anything to me. These little boogers are called groszy and I think there are 100 groszy in 1 zloty but mainly, they just take space in my wallet and confuse me.

According to xe.com, 1 zloty is equivalent to .37 US dollar, so to figure out how much things cost, I divide everything by three and add a few more dollars. Most things are cheap. Today I spent 17,5 zolty (a little over $6) on lunch, which included a big plate with 6 different foods/salads and an apple juice.

What is annoying about Polish money is that they never have change here. Last night, when I tried to purchase my cardboard pizza and soda, which cost 12.5 zolty, the counter girl's eyes nearly popped out of her head when I gave her a 50 bill.

"Do you have change?" is the most common phrase you hear from every vendor in Krakow. They want the zloty coins, not the bills. And usually I don't have change--because every vendor asks for it--and so they sigh and reluctantly hand over the change, acting as if they are giving away the very last coins in their register. That's if they have it. One of my cab drivers took a lower fee because he didn't have change for one of my bigger bills. Even though he was getting paid less than he should have, even HE didn't want the booger groszy.

Does anyone know? Where are all the coins in Krakow?

Polish money.


My lunch today. Not too shabby for $6.

Kebab:
I don't know what I was expecting food-wise in Krakow (maybe a pierogi stand here or there). I would never associate a kebab with Polish people, and yet, they are all over the place, sometimes four restaurants on one street.

Gerda, who is from Denmark but lives in Belgium, told me that the kebab is the fast food of Europe. They're everywhere, not only Krakow. The Germans say that Polish kebabs taste like crap compared to theirs. I had one the other day and thought it quite tasty. I like it. It's filling, fast and cheap--but not very Polish.


One of the many Kebab shops.

Wine:
If I am going to drink alcohol, I like to drink wine. I have come to the wrong place. All wine is imported in Poland, so most people drink beer or vodka drinks or some other kind of hard alcohol because wine can be expensive and it is not always very good.

When ordering wine here, you only get asked if you want red or white. Some places might even ask you if you would like a sweet wine or a dry wine, but that is as much differentiation as you are going to get. If the price is decent, I will usually take the plunge and see what I get.

Streets:
Okay, I have finally figured out one of the reasons why I keep getting lost. The streets change names! Take my street in New York City, 71^st Street, which runs along the entire island of Manhattan. As long as you stay on this street, you know you are on 71^st Street, might it be east or west.

Here in Krakow, you might be walking on ul. Krowoderska and think you are still on ul. Krowoderska the whole time. But then you cross a boulevard and suddenly the street changes its name to ul. Mazowiecka. It's the same street! But two different names! So now I realize the times when I got lost because I was coming from a different direction looking for ul. Krowoderska but walked past ul. Mazowiecka because I didn't realize it was the same thing.

I have even witnessed intersections of two roads which are actually four different roads. At this corner, all the streets change names at once, just like that! For no reason but to confuse people like me! And I still can't pronounce any of them!

Easy.


Hard.


Impossible.

Street performers:
Being from New York, I am used to the average street performer. We have the energetic group of break dancers, the man who plays the electronic flute in the sweltering 42^nd Street station for the 1,2, 3 lines, the Mariachi band on the subway.

In Krakow, "the statue" is quite popular. These people are decked out in one metallic color, standing on a box very still, and will only move when you give them change. In the evening, I have seen jugglers performing with sticks of fire, which always draws a crowd. I enjoy the people who play the accordion because where else but Poland do you know people who can play the accordion? My all time favorites are those who play the accordion in the traditional Polish costume. These are usually older men and they always look kind of bored. I like to imagine them getting ready for work, shaving their faces, brushing their teeth and then dressing in their red, black and white costumes. I wonder if they wear their costumes while they eat or watch tv. Now that is something I would drop change for. Well, at the very least, some groszy.

My favorites: the traditional performers.