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.

The king and queen of Poland.

First there was the Jagiellonian dynasty. Now there's a new king and queen in Poland. Maxim and Martina are visiting their grand-parents Jurek and Basia this summer from the United States. They may be little, but they clearly rule the household (and have taken the country by storm).



King Maxim...the biker...


...the mushroom picker (which we ate for dinner!)...


...the card shark (with Malgosia, Jacub's wife).


Queen Martina...the eater...


...the drinker...


...the ham.

A Brave New World

As Weather.com predicted, Warsaw greeted me cold and rainy. Our family friends, Jurek and Basia, live in the outskirts of town, so I am staying with them for my first few days, along with my mom and my stepfather, who have already been in town for weeks for their son Jacub's wedding. Day one consisted of a long nap, leisurely meals of freshly-made pierogi and ham (what else), playing cards and watching polish Shrek 2.

On day two it was decided that I was going to explore Warsaw on my own. The plan was that Jurek would drive me to Jacub and his new wife's apartment in Warsaw and then I would take public transportation into Stare Miasto, the Old Town.

Preparing for my journey was like planning for the Battle of Iwo Jima. Maps were unfolded. Reading glasses taken out. Strategies debated. Pens were drawn.

Basia decided that the best way for me to go was the tram. In rapid-fire Polish, she told me everything there was to know about the Polish tram system. I was to take the tram near Jacub's apartment, stamp my ticket and then ride for 30 minutes until the tram went under the tunnel. This was told to me again in English by my mom and everything was repeated several times in both languages. I was given a list of every tram and bus that would take me back to Jacub's apartment. "Don't worry about me," I said, "I live in New York City. I get trains."

I was handed a cell phone with no less than four numbers of people to contact in case of an emergency. I had to practice using the phone in front of everyone to show them I could find the numbers of the four people. My mother stuffed 250 zloty in my hand (close to $100 cash).

"I don't know what you are going to do if you need more money," she fretted. What was she thinking I was going to do for four hours? Or for the rest of this trip, for that matter?

Jurek and I drove to the apartment and met Jacub, who then took out his own map.

"I think you should take the bus." He took out markers and started to color-code my route: the bus ride in blue, attractions in green. Everything was explained again. Routes were debated. I was given a second list of tram and bus numbers.

I went to the bathroom and I am not sure what happened, but there must have been some serious deliberation between father and son.

"You're taking the tram," Jacub told me, defeated. I took his colorful map just in case.

As Jurek and I walked to the tram station, he asked, "where is your money? your passport?"

"My book bag." Not a good answer. I tried to explain again that I lived in New York City and that I knew about pickpockets and crazy people and I would be careful. Jurek looked unconvinced.

"Maybe you should wear it so the bag is in the front." I nodded absentmindedly.

When the tram neared the station, I was eager to run along on my way, and so I reached out to hug Jurek good-bye.

"Wait," he said, and knocked on the door of the tram driver. Then he said something to the driver in Polish to the effect of "this girl…something, something…no idea what she's doing…something, something…stop after the tunnel." Suddenly the big hotshot city girl in me felt like nothing more than a mortified TOURIST. Everyone stared at me while I stepped on the tram and slinked into my seat.

"Sit in the front seat," Jurek yelled, "so the driver can see you." The door closed. I didn't move my seat.

I made it to Stare Miasto. It was impossible not to. The scenery for the entire ride was filled drab, communist-style grey and beige buildings and all of a sudden the Technicolor Old Town showed up like I was in The Wizard of Oz. There was also that sign on the road with the big arrow that said Stare Miasto.

And when I was finished walking around, I called Jacub.

"Take the bus back," he said.

And so I did, following the blue line the whole way. I made it okay, of course, my big city confidence returning back to me. I spent 33 zloty for the day and pocketed the rest.


Me and the tram.



Stare Miasto alleyway.



Monument to the Warsaw Uprising



Can't get better than this. My first dinner in Poland.