Honey, I'm home!

My going away party, in Warsaw.

My flight back is nothing to write home about. I read, I listened to music, I picked at the lasagna, I ate the two ham sandwiches Basia prepared for me (that's right! two! always two!), I stared out the window. I kept waiting for some big revelation to take place, some clever phrase or deep feeling that would sum up this experience and satisfy me. I had no such revelations.

Usually landing into a New York City airport, in this case JFK, its neighboring terrain a grid of copper and white lights at night, I feel a sense of excitement. This time I just felt nervous as the pilot tried to navigate the plane in the gusty wind.

I navigated my way back home using public transportation: the JFK air train, Long Island railroad, New York City subway. I looked out the window into the black night at Jamaica, Queens and again tried to feel something. I just felt tired. My watch said it was 3 am, Poland time.

Penn Station was filled with more sketchy characters than usual. The cold outside have brought the homeless in. The subway came right away, and the amount of minorities on the train initially startled me. Eastern Europe is white man's land.

Finally when I got to the 72nd Street station and began walking on 71st to my home, my mood lifted and I was eager to see Dan who I knew was waiting for me. Even living here everyday, it always makes me happy to see the light on the second floor lit. It means he is home.

Dan greeted me with kisses and hugs. He is the same old Dan but with a little more hair. Christmas music was playing, and he had smartly decorated the apartment for the holidays. A string of white lights framing the window and greenery and more lights on the mantle. Stockings hung, mine already half full, but I am not allowed to look inside. And then a beautiful winter flower arrangement just for me. He also welcomed me with a completely empty refrigerator--nothing except condiments and a half bottle of water I left in there in September! He mentioned in emails that the bed sheet had a little tear, but I was not expecting it to look like Edward Scissorhands had tried to sleep in my bed.

We talked into the night until I could barely keep my eyes open anymore. This morning, Dan left for work, and I went out to get my favorite New York City breakfast: an everything bagel with cream cheese. Walking back to the apartment, the city busy and blustery, kids going to school, adults to work, I felt somewhat strange being here. It's kind of the feeling when you step inside a pool with cold water and it is uncomfortable but you know if you wait a while, it will feel better. In terms of New York City, I just stuck my toe in the water and I am not sure I want to go in yet.



First view of New York: 72nd Street Station near my home.



Dan, waiting for me midst Christmas decorations galore.



Together at last!

Someone likes me.

Little Tomek.


As I write my last post on foreign soil, little Tomek is sitting here in the computer room. I know he is here because I am in here. Somehow he is always near me. When I am sitting and watching television, so is he. When we are eating, he makes faces and gestures and is checking to see if I am noticing them. When I went upstairs to pack, he was sitting outside of my door, playing on the top of the stairs. Usually I find him looking at me curiously, but sometimes he will try to say something to me, but he speaks so fast that I can barely understand a word he says.

Oh, Tomek. He badly needs a haircut. He has constant bedhead. These hairs on the top on his head stick up an inch taller than the rest. He is constantly being yelled at by his parents. He cannot sit still, always shifting chairs, touching things he isn't supposed to, crawling around the floor under furniture. Today, his dad Roman, brother Slawek, Tomek and I drove to this lake to go on a walk, and the kid forgot his jacket. He said it was in the trunk, but it wasn't. He had to wait in the car.

Yesterday, his parents took out of his homework assignments, which was to write who Paul and Peter were. He wrote "Paul and Peter is a deli near my house. They sell good bread and gowamki." He got a bad grade, but his parents thought it was hysterical.

I thought he was 9 or 10. He is 12.

He is so endearing and funny, but I look at him and think, "You're hopeless Charlie Brown. Completely hopeless."

I am sure that the next time I will see him, he will be tall and all grown up, all the spunk and childishness gone away. Probably more like his older brother, Slawek, who tells jokes and rolls his eyes at his parents. So I am glad that I got to capture this snapshot of him. Little Tomek.


Enjoying the fire.



Slawek and Roman, on our walk. Tomek waits in the car.

Coming full circle.

For my last night in Kikol, Tomek arranged for a party just for me at Kayman's pub.

"Who is coming to your party?" my mom asked, when we phoned her. I had no idea.

My party ended up having five guests: Tomek, Ala, Kayman, his girlfriend and me. I barely said a word throughout the evening, and with Tomek chugging down beers and snorting some of Kayman's tobacco he got from Amsterdam (I never knew you could do such a thing, but it's true. Makes your eyes water apparently), I think it was more a party for him. But it was still nice anyway.

When we walked home from the pub, Tomek pointed out the stars which shone almost as bright and brilliant as they did that evening in Lake Tahoe where I had my moment of What am I doing with my life? I looked up and tried to be introspective, considering how much my life has changed since that moment, but then Tomek interrupted me by pointing out the North Star and babbling about other constellations that I could not understand.

This morning when Tomek and Ala dropped me off at the station, I thought Ala would burst into tears. I, too, have grown quite accustomed to them this past week, with their twice-daily ham enriched meals, watching "Jaka to melodia?" (Name that song) and Ala's "serial" (soap opera) on television, speaking to all of their family members on Skype on a daily basis and playing Suduku with Ala on the computer.


One of the Polish serials I watched this week.


"Are you sure one sandwich is enough for you?" Ala asked, as I made myself a ham sandwich for the road. It was a three-hour journey after a big breakfast. I was sure.

I was sad to go but I did breath a sigh of relief when I boarded the train. It was the first time I have been alone in a week.

I met Jurek at the bus station, and from there, we went to his home, the place I started this trip. When I arrived, it was a disaster area. Construction workers were installing cabinets and there was non-stop hammering, the smell of paint, men yelling, Jurek and Basia running around, acting stressed. I felt completely in the way. Of course they fed me, and we spoke a little about my trip, but for most of the day, I was off on my own. I took a long nap, read my book, watched Polish tv, frantically looking for Jaka to melodia? with no luck. Home-sickness washed over me, which was slightly relieved by the visit of Jurek's brother, wife and two sons. Tomek, the youngest son, kept looking at me with interest (Who is this strange American person?) while the eldest son was baffled that I put milk in my tea.

"I never knew you could do that!" he said, stunned.

I wanted to buy a cd of Polish Christmas music and Jurek's brother picked two up for me, and when we played it, I nearly started crying listening the familiar music, almost hearing my grandmother singing along in the background like she used to.

Can you tell I am ready to go home?



Slowek, Roman, Tomek and Ola.



Jurek, me, Tomek, Slawek, Roman and Basia. The leaf in front of Jurek's face was intentional.



New cabinets.

Blast from the past.

Tomek and Ala took me to Sierpc, an outdoor museum of an old Polish villiage. Think of it as Colonial Polandburg. Tomek suggested that I show these pictures to Dan and tell him that this is how modern-day Poland looks like.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, the sky was blue, the sun was shining. It was a lovely day to spend outside. Afterwards, we went to the house where my grandfather was born. Here are some pictures of the day:



One of the old homes. "Tell Dan this is our house," Tomek said.


Where ever we go, Tomek always walks ahead.


My favorite shot of the day: The wind mill.



What pretty teeth you have!



Grandfather's old house.


In addition to a big shopping bag filled with presents, I am also bringing home some family treasure. Wojtek has found some old family documents in the attic of Tomek and Hania's father's home. They are in enclosed in a box of chocolates, which in itself is interesting because it looks like something you would buy in an antique store, and inside are some documents and photographs of my grandfather and grandmother. I cannot really tell what all of them are, but there is one of my grandmother's identification cards from the 1930's that shows her looking younger than I have ever seen her, and another picture of my grandfather where he looks just like my Uncle Kaz. There is some document about my grandfather being a prisoner of war and some other things. It should be fun exploring it with my mom and my family when I come back home to the States.



Treasure chest of old stuff.

Lastly, given that this is the last week of my trip, it has been a marathon session of Polish Ham. I am talking the real thing, not the blog. I have eaten ham every day in the last week, usually twice a day, for breakfast and for dinner. Any notion that I might have lost weight on this trip have been lost. My pants actually felt snug today. It's good food, but I cannot wait to go home to cereal and fruits and the gym.

The firecracker.

The cemetary in Lipno.


I have two very vivid memories of Ania, my mom's childhood friend.

One, is being a teenager, answering the phone, and hearing from the receivor someone scream on the top of their lungs: POLSKA! Meaning, Ania from Poland is calling! Get mom, really quick!

Two, is visiting Ania in Poland, at her home in Lipno. Lipno is my mother's hometown, the place where my grandparents lived during World War II, and seven years ago when we visited was my mother's first visit in over 20 years. It was an emotional trip. Ania, the fiery red-head, talked up a storm and served my mom, stepfather, and me more food than ever imaginable. I just remember sitting around the dining room table filled with every Polish food known to man, feeling so full I could die, listening to my parents talk to Ania, her husband Marek, and Ania's parents. I especially took a liking to Jan, Ania's father, who would pretend to be our waiter and make little jokes that even I, with my limited language skills, could understand.

What a difference seven years can make.

Ania's father passed away in March. Her mother is still alive, but striken with Alzhemier's and now cannot walk. Ania's husband has had two strokes and also has cancer. Ania is handling everything herself. When she opened the door, I barely recognized her. She was dressed in all black. She is no longer a red-head and moves with the world's weight on her shoulders.

But she was thrilled to see me. "Iwona, my little Iwona, my sweet, precious little Iwona," she cooed, hugging me tightly.

"I am not so little anymore!" I said.

"You are always little to me!" she said. I said hello to Marek and mother, the living room which we had previously sat seven years ago eating non-stop, has turned into a hospice. The two sat in seats facing the television but in different parts of the room. The dining room table is now pushed to the side of the room and covered with medications and blankets. Nurses, which Ania has hired, milled around, fluffing pillows, fixing food, making conversation.

"Why don't we go to the cemetary first," Ania suggested. Going to the cemetary is very important to Polish people. Ania says that she goes once a week, and it is common that people go on the weekends. (When we were in Gdansk, Ala even stopped to visit her brother). Ania goes not only to visit her relatives, but also to care for my family's graves. Walking into a Polish cemetary is amazing for an American, because it is a sight you would never see in the States. Nearly every grave is covered in (mostly fake) flowers and candles. My mother recently purchased a new tombstone for our family, including my grandfather who is buried here, and so I saw it for the first time. We cleaned it off and lit some candles. Seeing all the flowers on the other graves, I wanted to get something for our family, but there wasn't much of a selection, so I bought these cheesy plastic holiday flowers that I would never purchase in the States. (It's the thought that counts, right? I am sure Grandpa and co. understands.)


Flowers galore.

Ania had arranged for me to get a tour of Lipno in English, however, the tour guide bailed and so we had our tour in Polish instead. However, I am not sure who the tour guide was: the guy who walked around with us or Ania who spoke the whole time. Being outside of the home, her old firecracker self came back, and she rambled on nonstop. I could probably understand about 15% of what she said to me. The guy showed me old pictures of the streets were walking on and sometimes I was surprised to see that the old pictures looked nicer than the rundown town I saw today. We passed by the building where my grandfather used to work, the same one I saw seven years ago, and I was dismayed that they had modernized it by painting it an ugly shade of lime green. It looked horrible.



Where my grandfather worked.


We went back to the house, where Ania and I ate alone in the kitchen. She had prepared a delicious meal of mushroom soup (with Polish forest mushrooms, of course) and then a meal that she is convinced my great grand-mother might have made: baked potato pancakes and chicken with gravy.

We looked through a ton of photo albums together, and it seemed to me that all the pictures were of the foursome: Ania, her husband and her parents, and I realized how hard Ania's life must be right now. And before while I might have laughed over her loud voice and non-stop chatter, now I really admire her for her strength and devotion to her family and mine. My deepest hope is that when she is left alone without her foursome (hopefully not soon), that she will continue to live long and well, still remaining her firecracker self.



Ania and her husband Marek.



Me and Ania's mother (my grandma's good friend).

The castle.

Malbork Castle, the largest Gothic castle in Europe.


Today, Tomek and Ala took me to Malbork Castle. The weather was not ideal. It was very grey and rainy. This happens a lot in the winter. (But in the summer...)

Since no one (except me, apparently) in their right mind would visit Poland at this time of year, Ala and I received our own private tour of the castle, by a guide who only spoke Polish. I read the English guidebook beforehand so I could maybe follow about 30 percent of what she said. The rest of the time, I thought about how I will continue my language studies in the States, and if it is possible if I will ever be fluent.

We drove back to Kikol after the tour, and with no ham sandwiches (all food was left at Ala's family in Gdansk), and no restaurants around, something happened. Hunger. And boy, did it feel amazing. My hosts were frantic, but I enjoyed the ache in my stomach. We finally came upon a roadside cafe that was just outside another old castle, where we had the Polish fast-food: breaded pork and potatoes. It hit the spot.

For the first time, I did not fall asleep the ride home, and instead I watched the ride home on the small two lane roads, looking out to the vast dreary plains.

When I came home, Ala and I looked through her jewelry box, and she gave me a necklace and ring from her collection. It was so sweet. I have been very dilligent about not accumulating a lot of things on this trip, but in the five days I have been in Poland, I now have a bag full of stuff, including a framed picture of Gdansk, a Metallica road sign, chocolates for me, my mom and Dan, among many other little trinkets. They have so little and yet they feel so compelled to give and give and give. It is very nice and endearing, but where am I going to put all this stuff? No wonder these Polish people always travel with such big bags.

"It's so much nicer here in the summer..."

Tomek, in cap, in Sopot.

The insanity continues...

Yoki slept me with again. He was escorted out of my bed several times by his owners but always managed to come back. He doesn't love me. He loves my bed.

This morning, Hania created an elaborate Polish breakfast just for me: an entire plateful of Polish Ham, three fresh croissants, a plate of rolls, a plate of deviled eggs, each with a spoonful of mayonaise on top, some kind of mayonaise salad, tomatos with onions, pickles, yogurt...it goes on and on.

I eat and I realize she is just watching me.

"You're not eating?" I asked her. She showed me an empty carton of yogurt.

"I ate already," she said. And I am expected to eat all this? I was already full from last night. I did the best I could and felt my stomach grow some more.

Hania's breakfast.

My breakfast.

I was waiting for Tomek and Ala to pick me up for our trip to Gdansk today.

"Do you want me to make for you a sandwich for the road?" Hania asked.

"Sure," I said. All Polish people make ham sandwiches for the road. (Even my mom does at home). I have noticed that sometimes they make two, in case you are facing death by starvation or something like that. But I was really unprepared for the snack Hania gave me. It was about six sandwiches, a bunch of apples, a big bottle of water and four cartons of yogurt (I made the mistake of mentioning that I like the yogurt here, so they have been force-feeding it to me. Only I don't have the heart to tell them that I like yogurt with museli--not just out of the carton--because that would require another unneccessary trip to the store to get cereal when they definitely do not need more food!). The snack could barely fit in a shopping bag.

"That is all for me?" I squeaked.

"And for Tomek and Ala," she said. But of course they made their own ham sandwiches for the road. The amount of ham sandwiches we had in our car trunk for three people was just plain insanity.

Tomek and Ala drove me three hours to Gdansk. Everytime I sit in their car, I fall asleep like a baby. I slept the whole way. They must think I am a very tired person. I fell asleep when we drove to Torun a few days ago, too. It is very strange since I cannot communicate well with them so I wonder what their perception of me must be. Do they think I am boring? Because I feel boring. I say the same things over and over because those are the words I know how to say. And sometimes if I cannot find the right word, I have to improvise and offer a half-truth, which is not as interesting as the full-truth.

This evening, for example, we are staying with Ala's sister-in-law, and she asked me why I did not go to Italy on this trip. I tried to explain that I did not want to do Western Europe on this trip and want to explore Italy at a different time, but when that proved too difficult to explain, I just told her I have been there before, which is completely true, but not what I wanted to communicate at all.

Other times I tell a joke and it just falls flat on its face. They do not understand or they think I am talking about something else and answer a completely different way. The conversation shifts in a way I did not intend it to. Usually I just go with it.

No matter where I have gone since the last week of October (Austria, Germany, Netherlands, etc), people have been telling me "It's so much nicer here in the summer. You should come in the summer." I cannot tell you how sick I am to hear this phrase. Because I am here now, and I don't care about how it is in the summer. And most of the time, I can say, yeah, this place is probably nice in the summer, but I still like it now. If the city is interesting enough, it withstands the weather.

My Polish family tells me this phrase "It's so much nicer here in the summer" about five times a day, and I try not to show my annoyance (because I can't really explain to them in Polish why this phrase annoys me) and so through clenched teeth, I politely say, "Yes, I know." I noticed that when I go sight-seeing with my family, whether it is Wojtek in Torun or Tomek and Ala in Gdansk, we just walk around and they do not have much to say about the place. Sometimes they point out a sight, and tell me the name, but they don't really try to explain so much in Polish. Instead, once in a while they ask, "Do you like it here?" And I say, "Yes, I like it." And then they shrug their shoulders and say, "It's so much nicer here in the summer," going on to talk about the nice weather and all the people and the cafes on the street and everything that is not there now.

I have to admit that here they are right. Gdansk, Sopot and Gdynia, the places we visited today, probably are much nicer in the summer. But these are towns by the sea, and so you lose something when it becomes cold. Walking along the beach, looking at boats, seeing the water, doesn't feel so special when you are freezing your ass off. However, despite this fact, I did like the towns very much and if I were to come to Poland again (in the summer, of course) I would like to go to these destinations and see for myself.

At breakfast this morning, Hania asked me, "When are you coming back?"

I haven't even left yet. People! I know it's cold! Let me enjoy it while I am here!

Ala and me.


Houses in Gdansk.

There was someone in my bed last night.

Yoki.

Considering the fact that Yoki the dog barked at me every time I moved an inch yesterday, it was strange to find that he slept in my bed the entire evening. I was sleeping in my hosts' Wojtek and Hania's bed, and that is Yoki's bed, too. I guess the dog cares more about the bed than who is sleeping in it. With my nerves, he was actually a great comfort. Even though he woke me up at 6 am from the slurping sounds of him licking his paws over and over.

I did not really realize that I was sleeping in their bed until they told me. I have finally found an apartment in Europe that is smaller than mine. Hania and Wojtek usually sleep in the fold-out bed in the living room. Their teenage son sleeps in the bedroom. They played musical beds last night to accommodate me. I think Hania slept in the kitchen, the poor woman. Polish hospitality has no end.

Today Wojtek took me on a tour of Torun, which basically consisted of walking around the city rather briskly for a few hours. We spoke little to each other, and I began to feel incredibly home sick. There was Polish Christmas music coming from one of the buildings and it just made me think about Christmas at home. I thought about Dan, my friends and family. I fretted about our apartment and my job.

It's strange. I am missing home, but home won't be the same when I get back.

Wojtek and me.

Torun's Town Hall.

The land of constant eating.

With the whole Ala situation, I was cool as a cucumber yesterday. But as soon as the lights went out and I was alone in my bed, I found myself confronted with anxiety. This happens to me sometimes, especially if something especially stressful happens to me. I feel very nervous as if I am about to give a presentation or something and I am hyper aware of the rhythm of my heartbeat. Irrational thoughts flood my brain. I know that it is just nervous energy manifesting in my body, and I calmed myself down with deep breaths until I fell asleep.

I woke up this morning to find that I was not the only one who was nervous. Tomek did not sleep all night. Even though I did not feel scared at the moment, the anxiety made me realize how the whole incident shook me up.

But as we were dealing with the aftershock, Ala said she felt like nothing happened and she said she was feeling just fine. Her daughter Luzia and her son Marciek came to visit. Six-year-old Marciek just wanted to watch cartoons, but he took a liking to me, and I enjoyed when he tried speaking to me and called me ciocia in such a serious voice.


Luzia, Marciek and me.

To give you an idea of how small a town Kikol is, where Tomek and Ala live, when Tomek, Luzia and I walked to the bus station (that is right, walked), they said hello to everyone who passed us by not because they were being nice, but because they knew everyone. I thought that was neat.

From there, I took the two hour trip to Bydgoszcz to visit Tomek's sister, Hania, her husband Wojtek and son Michal. Hania and Wojtek are the nicest people, and they are obsessed with their dog. This dog is king of the apartment and he knows it. He will not stop barking at me, but his owners ohh and ahh over every movement he makes.

I was not the least bit hungry when I arrived (Ala had packed me lunch for the bus), but I sat down for the obligatory big Polish lunch. There were only three people there, but there was enough food for ten, including chicken, pork, a multitude of salads and cake. I was requested to try everything at the table, sometimes twice. By the end of the meal, I had in front of me a water, a glass of wine, and a beer.

Every time Wojtek or Hania would address me, they would say my name. Wojtek, especially, started every sentence with, "Ivona, please tell me this one thing..." and he would ask a question like, "In New York City, what is the difference between uptown and downtown?" I would do my best to answer the questions in Polish. While most people praised my Polish, and these two did as well, sometimes Wojtek could not help but burst into laughter by my response. He spoke a little English himself and I told him that I would start laughing at him when he made a mistake. I didn't.

We looked through piles and piles of old family photographs, most of them Hania would flick aside and say, "I don't know who these people are..." I did collect a nice one of me, my grandma, my brother, my Uncle Kaz and Aunt Yvonne in front of my house in New Jersey. Then they gave me a book of Polish scenic pictures (these relatives keep giving me presents and I have no idea how I will carry them all home!)

Wojtek then took me on a tour of Bydgoszcz. There was not much to see, but it was okay. He lamented, as everyone else I have met has lamented in the last two months, "Why did you come now? Come in the summer! There is more to see." But with my nervous energy, the walk in the evening felt very nice, and then we stopped for drinks where he invited me to eat some more, but I just had a drink. I knew his wife was at home cooking up something and I was completely full already.

I asked him to explain Polish hospitality and why there is so much food.

"In Poland," he said, "the guest is everything. It's tradition. And I really like it." And when we went home to have supper, he purposely made me try every single thing at the table once again. Everything is special, he explained, from the special ham to the special egg salad to the special pickles. I think he was being funny. He has a good sense of humor.

They asked me how often I see my mom, and I said I visited her a lot, like once a month. They were shocked. Something I noticed about this family is that they talk to each other constantly. Hania and Tomek are on the phone every minute, and if they are not talking to each other, they are on Skype, speaking with Tomek's daughter in Canada or someone else. We even had our own little Skype session with Uncle Kaz and Chris in California. It made me wonder if I should be in better touch with my family.

With that thought, I go to sleep now, content but a little nervous still, and with a belly full of Polish food--and I am sure, more where that came from tomorrow.


Hania with her true love.


Wojtek and his son Michal.


Me with a statue in a Santa Hat, in Bydgoszcz.

The Big Scare.

The hospital waiting room.

Sitting cozy in the train station in Berlin at noon, I never would expect that 24 hours later, I would be sitting in a plastic chair in a hospital waiting room in Torun, Poland.

It all happened so quickly. I was walking with my cousin Tomek and his wife Ala, up a flight of steps outside in the city. When Ala reached the top, I saw her heels buckle a little. I thought that something got stuck on her heel. It was raining and she had worn high heels by accident. She called for her husband, then walked down some steps where I saw her stumble and then crumble to the floor. When I ran over, she was lying on the ground, blood and foam coming from her mouth, eyes blankly looking ahead. She was making weird gurgling noises. It looked like she was having a heart attack. Someone on the street called the ambulance from their cell phone, while Tomek tried to help her and I held the umbrella over them. He lifted her head, and blood rolled down her face from her forehead, where she must have hit herself when she fell. It was completely surreal--was she going to make it?--and yet I felt calm and Tomek was acting calm. The girl who called the ambulance was a mess. Finally, Ala seemed to come to, she was able to sit up, even stand, but she could not remember her name or who we were or where we were. Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance came and whisked her away. Tomek and I, in silence, went in the car and followed her there. And that is how I ended up in the hospital waiting room thinking, "How did everything change so fast?"

It was all non-eventful at first. Boarding the train at Berlin on the Warsaw Express, I noticed immediately that the attractiveness level of the passengers downgraded, the language turned shrill, the bags and luggage were enormous. Oh yes, I was back with my people. I was going back to Poland.

I was sitting in a train car filled with Poles who smirked when the German conductor tried to speak Polish over the loudspeaker (even to me her accent sounded funny). Moments later, I get a phone call from Ania, my mother's childhood friend, from Lipno, Poland. "Welcome to Poland!" she screeched on the phone. I had to leave the train car to speak with her. No way was I going to speak broken Polish in front of this crowd. I could not hear her at all and yelled Polish nonsense into the phone but by the time I arrived to my destination, everyone in Poland (and my mother in America) knew that I had spoken to her and all about my great Polish speaking skills.

I met Tomek and Ala at the train station. I have only met Tomek once, seven years ago, when I came to Poland for the first time. This was my first time meeting his wife. Neither of them speak any English and so I dove in and tried to speak, only to find it incredibly hard and frustrating. I couldn't communicate anything. That is what two months of not speaking Polish does to you.

"You speak so well!" they said, but it was very hard for me to really say what I meant and tiring to follow their words, especially when they said "Do you know what we are saying?" and I never knew. With such limited speaking skills, I had to size them up in a different way. Tomek seems a friendly, joking sort. While Ala is very attractive and went out of her way to make me feel comfortable. She made us a delicious Polish supper, including the requisite plate of Polish ham, cooked ham wrapped in bacon, and potatoes in a yummy cheese. They made me eat and eat. No wasn't ever the right answer to "do you want more?" She also made a terrific cheesecake.

"Does your mom make cheesecake?" she said me. My mom is actually known for her cheesecake and I wanted to say that yes, she does, but it is different because the cheese in her cake is very heavy and yours is very light. I did not know how to say that, so I just told Ala that hers was better. It is not the total truth, but she seemed really happy about that answer. Sorry mom! It was good cheesecake though.

I had also mentioned to my mom a few days ago that I had a harmless cough, and so they handed me an entire bag filled with five different kinds of medicine.

"I'm not sick!" I said. They are not sure whether to believe me or not.

The two of them took me to a bar down the street, where we met a man and owner of the bar named Kayman who was built like a football player and had a foot-long beard that he tied in two braids. He sat and had a beer with us, sitting backwards in a chair, and he would pull his braids, his chin coming along with it, to have them hang over the chair back. He spoke so fast that I did not understand him otherwise, so watching this maneover was fascinating. I couldn't figure out if this person was related to us or not. I left thinking no. His bar was very cold, only a stove heater to warm the place, and it was decorated in a sixties theme, but there was also a very cool road sign that said "ul. Metallica." (ul., short for ulica, means road in Polish).

"My brother would love that!" I told him, Metallica being Pete's favorite band. I was going to take a picture, but then he went over to it, took it down and gave it to me, and I was completely surprised.


Happy Birthday, Pete!

I came home exhausted, but Tomek and Ala fought over my attention, showing me pictures and things that they thought would interest me. They had come up with their own "program" for me for the next week, and we planned to spend all day Friday in the city of Torun. This morning, everything seemed to be going to plan, but then ten minutes into my tour, everything changed.

The Polish hospital was like every other hospital that I have ever been in. Sterile looking and depressing as anything. Sitting near the emergency room door, I watched people coming. There was the guy who hurt his back, the old man with hands like limp roses against his chest, sad grandmas and grandpas looking minutes away from their deathbed.

Tomek was nervous and kept pacing and around and calling people on the phone. Then we found out that Ala was fully conscious and fine and we had to wait for the results of her tests. She came out to the waiting room.

"Why don't you take Yvonne to Torun as I wait for the results?" I couldn't believe that she suggested that. And that Tomek seemed to be considering. He said no because his jacket was completely bloody and he did not want to walk around like that. I breathed a sigh of relief. But then he insisted on taking me out to eat. And so we went to a mall, where they played Christmas music that seemed horribly cheerful considering the mood, and he bought me a pizza. He did not eat any, which only made me feel worse. We sat in silence, the only thing he said to me was "I don't know what is going to happen with the program now." They were worried about me, when they had bigger issues at hand. I tried to communicate that I did not care about the program but my words were not articulate.

We went back and found Ala in the waiting room, still waiting.

"I am upset you did not get to see Torun," Ala said.

"Don't worry about it," I said, "I just want you to be healthy." Finally the right words came out. She started to cry. I hugged her. We had to wait a few more hours, but the tests came out okay and the doctors let her leave. This might be wrong in translation, however, from what I understand, she has some heart problems and has a device in her heart and it did not work for a few seconds because of the weather or something and the blood did not get to her brain which is why that all happened. They advised her to see her regular doctor but said it probably would not happen again.

We drove back home and had a small dinner and watched tv. Ala seemed completely fine that made the whole thing feel even more surreal. She has no memory of what happened and so we repeated the story to her over and over, and Tomek finally revealed how scared he really was.

They still want to go on with my travel program. I am only concerned with Ala's health and am content to forget it or go off on my own. I even had my mom over the phone try to talk some sense into them, but they did not listen. We will see what happens.

When it comes to Polish hospitality, the guest is never the boss.


Ala, at the bar.


Kayman and Tomek.


What I saw of Torun.

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.

Making Prazone.

At Piotrek and Paulina's party, we made Prazone, a traditional Polish dish. Here is how it went down:


Justyna cut up chicken legs.



Tomak sliced potatoes.



In a big plastic tub, they combined the potatoes, onions, carrots and kielbasa.



Piotrek added the spices.



The chicken and potato mix were alternately layered in a big pot lined in foil.



The pot is placed over an open flame, where everything cooks for two hours.



And voila! Polish party food.