Pre-Wedding Jitters

                                                        6/13/14 - "Pre-Wedding Jitters"

     Blogger's Note:  I forgot to finish my thought in my last post.  I began the feature with the statement that I was relegated to the balcony.  I even said I would explain why in a moment.  But, I don't think I ever did.  Let me remedy that now.
     Joanna was sick.  Sick as hell.  Like throw-up non-stop sick.  And now Roman's sick...
     Today is Amelia's first birthday (I'm not sure what it is about our family and being sick on birthdays, but I think I've discovered a pattern).  Roman just wasn't in the festive mood.  Aw, hell let me just cut to the chase...
     Listening to:  Eddie Vedder "Society"

     Joanna was horribly sick.  I sat around with little to do.  She, being my window to conversation, was bedridden; so, Roman and I entertained ourselves.  We took a walk to the train station to watch the trains come and go.  And then we came back home to stare at each other.  Without transportation or language skills, we're rather helpless.
     Late that afternoon, when Dza Dza came home, he offered to take us to Lanckorana to grab a bite to eat.  The restaurant was called Verona, and we had been there before.  They have tables on the patio outside or even on the grass.  And they have Italian-style pizzas.

     The menu claimed that the pizza dough was imported directly from Italy.  I don't know, but I really enjoyed it.  They come with a bottle of olive oil (whichever flavor you like; I chose Red Pepper).  Roman got a cheese pizza, and he was still eating on it long after Dza Dza and I had finished.

A pizza from Verona's

     On the way home, we stopped at a gas station.  I ran inside to buy a couple of bags of Lay's Papryka chips.  We don't have those back home, and I know that Joanna loves them.  I figured that she would like some after she was feeling better.
     Lay's Papryka chips were once the subject of a heated debate that Joanna and I once had.  The subject?  I told her that they tasted exactly like Lay's Bar-B-Q chips that we have in the states.  Joanna insisted that they tasted totally different.  So... we took a bag of Papryka chips back home with us and did a blind taste test.  The verdict?
     I could (just barely) taste a difference between the Bar-B-Q and the Papryka chips.  I think that our Bar-B-Q has paprika in it and, more than likely, some other spices to give it that barbecue flavor.  So, I suppose Joanna won that one, but they still didn't taste totally different.  (hey, I'm a guy.  I'm not gonna fold that easy!)

Pope John Paul II's original church

     The next day, Joanna was feeling a little better.  We ended up in Wadowice so that she and her mom could do some shopping.  Wadowice is, by the way, the birthplace of the ever-famous Joanna Madej (and the lesser famous Pope John Paul II).  The Polish are, you might suspect, absolutely crazy about their beloved former Pope.  In Wadowice, everything from posters to pictures to action figures to thimbles are engraved with his likeness.  Tourists are coming and going by the busload.
     After spending the morning watching Roman playing with some Polish children at a playground, a day of shopping finally came to a close.  I was getting grumpy, anxious to do something "grown-up".  I think maybe Joanna was, too.  We ended up making a late-afternoon drive to Krakow to a restaurant in Kazimierz.
     After walking around for a while trying to decide on one of the many restaurants (they range from absolutely amazing to meh), we decided to stick with something we knew.  So, we went to the Horai Restaurant which is a Thai/Japanese place with an incredibly large menu.  The food there is the best Asian food that I have ever eaten.  We have a couple of pretty good Thai/sushi places back home; I had never found one any better until now.  The Horai Restaurant is now (in my book) the best Asian food that I have ever had.  I could eat the sushi rice just by itself and enjoy every bite.
     We went for a stroll afterwards and had a mojito at Nova's.  Nova is a place we always end up in Kazimierz.  It has this 70's feel to it.  You can sit on the deck and watch people coming and going while sipping on one of their absolutely amazing mojitos.  I have to give it to Poland when it comes to mojitos.  They can make some damn good ones.  Maybe, it's because the mint there is so fresh, I dunno...
     The next night, Arek and Ewa invited us to their place for dinner.  When we arrived, the table was set for several people.  In the middle, an interesting grill was stationed.  Jimbo, Karolina, Ewa's brother Bartek, and his wife Helena were also coming.  Everyone was great, but I particularly liked Helena.  She spoke exceptional English, and she had a cool dog that she had trained to do flips and shake hands and sing karaoke (yes, I'm kidding about that last one).

Arek, Helena, and the grill (see the cheese tray?)

     Once everyone had arrived, the food was brought to the table.  Bite-sized portions of curry shrimp, sesame or barbecue chicken, spicy pork, mushrooms, and red onion were scattered around the grill.  Apparently, we were to use the wooden skewer that had been supplied to throw what we wanted on the grill.  Underneath the grill, a small tray could be filled with gourmet cheeses like brie and bleu cheese (and several others, I don't know my cheese that well).  Arek recommended that I sprinkle the cheese with corn, so I tried it.  After the cheese melted a little (with the corn), it was ready for consumption.  Damn, it was good.  When I had first seen the bite-sized portions, I thought that I'd never get full.  Boy, was I wrong.  Thirty minutes later, I was stuffed and feeling no pain after being treated to several different types of beer that I had never tried before.
   

Do you see the lady in the window?

     The next day would be Amelia's first birthday (boy, that went by quickly).  Everyone is (understandably) in a frenzy over Arek and Ewa's wedding.  I try to find a place out of the way as everyone is running to and fro preparing for the occasion; but, I often fail, it seems.  The pace is disconcerting, and I can't just jump in the car and go somewhere.  Joanna decided to take us to the castle ruins above Lanckorona for the day.
     We parked in the market area where I noticed a rather polite-looking, elderly lady that sat with her window open, watching the world.  If a pedestrian happened by, she would talk to them.  Sometimes, they would stop and talk for a while.  She smiled when she saw us, and I felt a pang that I couldn't speak Polish at that moment.

Roman playing on the castle ruins

     I pushed Amelia in her stroller up the very steep hill until we arrived at the castle ruins.  As we were walking, a car load of teenage boys drove by us rather fast with their windows down and some loud music playing.  At the ruins, we found all five of them gathered on top of the tallest tower being rambunctiously appropriate for their age.  I was taking pictures with my cell phone, and Joanna was using her good camera.  We were in such an isolated place, and I fear I must admit that I had a silly concern that they were going to jump down, hold us at knife point, and steal our valuables.  That never happened.
     In fact, when they finally jumped down off their perch, they filed past us on the way back to their car.  I smelled the distinct aroma of marijuana as, one-by-one, they tilted their heads and politely wished us a good morning.  I had a sudden urge to file in behind them and join them to wherever else they were going next.

     After we left, we stopped, again, at Verona to eat.  I wanted Joanna to try the pizza that I had, and I knew that Roman really enjoyed the food there.  But Roman wasn't acting right.  I took him to the bathroom where he pressed his back against the wall and sat down.  Something was wrong.
     We found a table on the grass, and Roman kept laying his head down.  I grabbed a blanket out of the car and made him a place to lie down on the ground.  He had been really worried about the balloons that were decorating the patio where Amelia's afternoon party would be.  We thought that maybe he was "tripping" about that.  (He should be a party-decorator; once everything is in the right place and looking perfect, Roman doesn't want anybody to touch anything...)

Roman wasn't feeling well

     When the pizza arrived, Roman came to join us at the table.  He took the first bite of his pizza...  and threw up.  Like that Exorcist girl.  Fortunately, it was in the grass; but, we knew we had to get him home.  He must have gotten whatever it was that Joanna had.  We paid the tab, left a generous tip, and got the food to go.
     Back at the house, I carried him up the stairs to the bedroom.  We got him something to throw up in case he, again, felt the urge.  He placed it on his head and wouldn't let us remove it.  He fell asleep that way.

     Later, we set the patio for Amelia's birthday celebration.  As Ba Ba brought out a marvelous cake, two children walked up.  Kinga (18) and Miłosz (14) (Joanna's cousins) had walked two miles from their house with beautifully wrapped gifts for Roman and Amelia to join us in the celebration.  I marveled at how polite they were and wondered, to myself, how many American children would have done something like that.

Kinga and Miłosz

     Kinga is a competitive dancer and will be the one responsible for watching the children at Arek's wedding.  Keep in mind, now, that, in Europe, the legal drinking age is 18.  So, she is going to forego a night of partying in order to babysit.  And Miłosz spent time trying to cheer up sick Roman by building some rather impressive Lego contraptions.  He also helped us to get Amelia to smile for some photo opportunities.  I couldn't get over how great these kids were, and I just wanted to share that...
     And, so Amelia turned 1.  She got all kinds of gifts and a strawberry cake that I decided to share with everyone.  We sang to her both in Polish and English and gave her a slice of the terrific dessert.  She was a happy mess.
     Her big eyes took in the bright flowers and Ba Ba and Dza Dza and Roman (who actually kissed her for the occasion) and Momma and Daddy and her Polish family.  Until, at last, after the large slice of cake that she fed herself with and after all the excitement, she tuckered out.  I carried her upstairs, lay her in the bed, and placed her new doll next to her.
     Back downstairs, we all toasted a glass of champagne.  We sat and played with Lego's and talked.
     1 down.  99 to go.

   

Roman Goes to Krakow

                                                            6/10/14 - "Roman Goes to Krakow"

     Blogger's Note:  For reasons you'll discover in a moment, I'm, once again, relegated to the balcony writing.  A steady rain is pounding overhead, and I felt an irresistible urge to listen to Norah Jones and write.  I'll explain in a moment what's going on, but first I have something to say.
     I was pretty whiny the other day.  Part of the problem of using a public blog as a journal is that, if you want it to be real and honest (not just with the reader, but with yourself), then, sometimes, the line between rhetorical courage and sensible writing gets blurred.  Where does honesty end and impression begin?  I like to inflate the balloon and, then, let it loose to fly in its chaotic and impulsive way.  
     I feel like I need some damage control at this point.  Hurricane Duane rolled in and rolled out, and I'm left assessing the wisdom of my actions.  So, I'll feign character design.  For, if I, as a writer, am to establish the protagonists of this adventure, I must, of course, construct their fallibilities.  I must discern their strengths and their weaknesses if I am to orchestrate believability.  If I tried to describe everything as perfectly terrific, I think I would have a recipe for boredom.  Let's roll with that.
     Arek (who, in a future blog post that will almost certainly be titled "The Worst Day of My Life") was the one (the only one) who stood on the deck of a boat in Egypt with me on the Red Sea while I was horribly sea sick just after getting really car sick on a scuba diving adventure we had went on.  And that's just one small example.  And Jimbo?  Jimbo is my Polish translator.  Usually, Jimbo is the one that sits beside me and explains everything that is going on.  Without him
, I would be lost in most conversations (he even does a better job than Joanna most of the time).  In one of my favorite Polish memories, Jimbo, Dominika (Joanna's cousin who is also an English teacher for Polish students), and myself sat next to a second-story window at a bar in Kazimierz while a steady rain beaded and trickled the view.  We sat, drunk as fuck after everyone else had gone home in the wee hours of the morning, discussing the similarities and differences between Poland and America in a very heart-felt and realistic conversation.  I felt like a liaison, a friend, a brother.
     And one last thing, before we begin...
     Upon retrospect, I realized that this always happens our first week in Poland.  I think I go through some sort of detox when we arrive here.  Or perhaps it's culture shock.  For some reason, I'm always a little moody and sensitive the first week we come for a visit.  And then the last week, I'm trying to figure out how to stay.  I'm not sure why I never noticed that pattern before now.
     So now that we've got that out of the way, why not proceed with the exact dosage of honesty and forthrightness as I used in the last post?  That way, when I get to the parts when this vacation kicks into high gear, you won't only believe me; but, you will be here with me.
     I mean, how can we have a rainbow without a little rain?  Let's rewind now, to Sunday...
     Listening to:  Norah Jones "That's the Way that the World Goes 'Round"

     In Poland, cathedrals are always built on the highest ground.  So, in the distance, I can see atop the hill, the cathedral that must be producing the beautiful sounds of bells announcing both the beginning and the ending to the day's services.

Roman and I

     Dza Dza and Ba Ba told us that they wanted to treat us to lunch; and, of course, we were happy to oblige.  They drove just a few miles down the road to what, they told us, was a new restaurant.  The courtyard was speckled with these gazebos that had tables surrounded by circular benches.  We found one, and I immediately felt comfortable.  A nearby playground kept Roman entertained, but Amelia was more interested in the bread they had brought for us to munch on.
     The waitress gave us about five minutes to read over the menu before she returned.  She stood there with pad and pencil in hand.  I ordered a Tyskie (one of Poland's mainstream beers) and went back to researching the menu that had English subtext.  The waitress waited.
   
 "This may take me a minute," I explained to Joanna.
     "It's ok.  She'll wait," my wife responded.
     I felt frustrated.  I wanted to read this thing thoroughly and choose something I'd never had before that I might like.  I didn't want to be rushed.
     "Can you please ask her to come back in five minutes?" I pleaded with my wife to translate my desire.
     "This is common in Poland," Joanna explained.  "She'll wait until you're ready so that she doesn't have to come back."
     "Please," I insisted.
     Joanna asked the waitress to come back.  By her expression, she didn't like the request.  Joanna confessed that she, too, didn't much care for this practice.
     I studied the menu and decided to try some of the more unusual items.  When the waitress returned, I was ready to order.  I got tripe soup (tripe is cow stomach for those that don't know) and fried rainbow trout.
     The tripe soup ended up tasting, basically, like chicken noodle soup.  The rainbow trout arrived (head and all) with the bones still inside.  Joanna's mother showed me how to remove the entire skeleton in one fell swoop.  It was rather tasty.
     Eating at a restaurant in Poland (perhaps all of Europe) is an event.  In America, generally, we sit down, order our food, eat, pay, and leave.  In Poland, people relax.  I would say that the average meal time is about three hours.  After the main course, everyone converses over a glass (or a bottle of wine); and, eventually, desserts are ordered.  I always wondered why I felt like I was rushing Joanna's parents while they were visiting us in America.  Now, I understand.
     After the delightful meal, we drove to a new petting zoo that was nearby.  For basically a dollar per person, we saw all kinds of indigenous animals including reindeer, beavers, roosters (that looked different to me because their legs were covered in feathers), ponies, colorful birds, and more.  Roman really enjoyed this detour.

Tripe Soup

     At last, we headed to Lanckorona.  Lanckorona is a very small village that sits under the ruins of an ancient castle (in fact, many of the houses and buildings were constructed using the stones from that very castle).  Charming restaurants with a scenic overlook attract travelers and locals as well.  Imagine Gatlinburg if it were squished into about 5 city blocks and you can pretty much imagine Lanckorona.  It is beautiful.
     We ate at Arka, which just happened to be the same place that Roman's after-baptism dinner had been.  We found a place underneath a canopy of grape vines where the sun light trickled onto people's faces creating impossibly happy expressions.
     Roman found some Polish children about his age to play with.  He kept offering to put his Go! Cardinals! hat on their heads, and they weren't sure what he was doing (actually, we weren't either).  I became concerned about the language barrier.  One of the children's parents kept lecturing to her child in Polish, and I didn't know what it was about.  Joanna eventually told me that she didn't want them to be so loud, because this was a restaurant after all.  I proceeded to encourage Roman to "tone it down", but not with too much conviction.  They were, after all, playing a good distance from the tables; and, they were laughing.  Who could be bothered by that?
   
     The next day, Joanna and I finally made it to Krakow.  Ba Ba was home alone, and she was worried about how Roman might take staying there alone with her while Joanna and I weren't there.  He hasn't been handling the change very well (unlike Amelia, who is just crazy about her Polish grandparents), and he can throw a pretty decent sized tantrum if we leave without him (we're working on that, and he's starting to improve).
     We loaded up the truck and moved to Cracovia (well, for the day anyhow...)

St Mary's Basilica

     In Krakow, we brought the stroller.  Even though Roman is 4, we would be walking a lot.  We decided the trek would just be easier with the stroller if he started to get tired.
     The first thing we saw is my favorite Krakow landmark:  St Mary's Basilica.  From the windows in the tallest tower, at the top of every hour of every day of every year, the heynal is played with a trumpet.  It is played in all four directions.  A distinctive end happens mid-tune as the trumpet cuts off each time.  Legend claims that the first person to play the heynal (or hey, now! as I call it) was killed by an arrow that pierced his throat.  The tune has been played the same way since then.  (Also, legend claims that the pigeons were once the knights of Poland, turned to pigeons by an evil witch; whoever hurts a pigeon from the marketplace is doomed to a life of bad luck).

Pod Wawelem

     First we went to Pod Wawelem (which translates to under Wawel).  Wawel is the majestic castle that overlooks the marketplace in Krakow (the Sigismund Bell is located in one of Wawel's bell towers.  You're supposed to rub it for good luck.  I decided I'd stomp on a pigeon and then rub the bell to see what happens).  Pod Wawelem is my favorite Polish restaurant that sits just under the magnificent stronghold.  For a very friendly price, you get a gigantic portion of food and a meal that is punctuated by their trademark shot of cherry vodka that one cannot refuse.
     I had some Hungarian pork that had this rather spicy, chili sauce which stayed with me for the remainder of the day.  Joanna had the beef tartare (which is very good there).
     Afterwards, we planned on taking Roman through the lair of Smok the dragon who lives under Wawel.  Smok actually means dragon in Polish; so, you might say, its name is Dragon the dragon.

The fire-breathing Smok

     For a small fee of about a dollar per person, you can go down this really long, winding staircase that exits into the cave where Smok "lives".  When you finally exit the cave that rests below Wawel and next to the Vistula River, a large dragon sculpture actually, periodically, breathes fire.  Our custom is to wait until we see a breath of fire before we continue.  Roman was absolutely amazed!
     Next, we grabbed some gelato (which I think may have originated in Italy).  It is Europe's version of ice cream.  I would describe it somewhat like sherbet; but, what I love about it is the flavors.  The flavors are so bold, and they range anywhere from "Chocolate Chili" to "Snickers Rum".  I love gelato.  I really do.      No, you don't understand.  I really do.
     We made our way to a water fountain that's just off the beaten path that we found the last time we were there.  Children jump right in as water jets surprise them with impromptu drenchings.
     Roman played with children that didn't quite understand him.  Sometimes, this language barrier made me nervous.  I saw some kids trying to tell Roman to quit splashing them, but he didn't understand what they were saying.  I had to lecture him.  Joanna was much less nervous about the situation (ain't she always?), so I decided to make a run for some cold drinks (even though cold in Europe actually just means slightly-less-than-room-temperature) and let Joanna take the child-disciplining reins.
     I came back with a couple bottles of water, a Powerade, and a Black.  What's a Black?  Well, advertised all over Poland's billboards is Mike Tyson's Black.  It's an energy drink akin to Red Bull.  I decided I should try it.  I thought it was funny that Mike Tyson has a popular drink in a foreign country when it's unheard of (as far as I know) in his country of origin.
     It tasted like every energy drink ever.
     When I returned, a bride and groom were getting their wedding pictures taken by a professional photographer.  They were sitting on the edge of the water fountain in tux and gown where Roman decided it would be fun to splash them.  I, feeling as though I was moving in slow-motion, moved to save their clothes and hair from my son's merciless play.  I made it just time.  For the remainder of the photo shoot, Roman took a vested interest in photo-bombing them (and I'm not joking).  I'm pretty certain that he will, eventually, be that kid recurring in the family-photo album of some Polish couple's future.
   
     -- If you haven't already, please like Parenting with Lightsabers here.
   
   
   

A Bad Night in Krakow

                                                             6/7/14 - "A Bad Night in Krakow"

     Blogger's Note:  As in America, Polish weddings also include the "last night out" rites that bachelors and bachelorettes regularly practice before the "Big Day".  Many (actually most) of these festivities must remain classified.
     As Ewa and her friends (including my wife) went out to celebrate one last HURRAH!, the boys (myself, Jimbo, and Arek) decided to enjoy ourselves.  What follows is an account of the first night, and then the men's night that followed.
     And don't forget to "like" Parenting with Lightsabers here if you'd like to follow our Polish adventures.
     Listening to:

     For the first time since we had arrived in Poland, we were about to leave Roman and Amelia with Ba Ba and Dza Dza.  Joanna was going out with the girls for a bit of bachelorette entertainment.  I was going to hang with Arek (her brother) and Tomasz (who I will henceforth call Jimbo as that is what everyone calls him).  I would be spending the night at Arek's, so I had my bags packed for two nights.  The next night would be the bachelor celebration, so I was prepared for that as well.
     Once everything was sitting on the patio ready to be loaded into the car, Roman approached me.
     "Ok, buddy.  We're leaving you with Ba Ba and Dza Dza tonight.  You're going to have lots of fun.  Dza Dza is putting up a swimming pool for you; there's a sand box for you to play in; and, later, they're going to take you to the playground down the road," I explained to him.  "I'll see you again tomorrow.  I love you."
     His lips puckered.  Suddenly, I realized that this wasn't going to be as easy as I had initially hoped.  The only people that he stayed with regularly was myself, Joanna, or Fickles (my mother).  He wasn't familiar with his Polish grandparents yet.  Would they understand his English?  He understood Polish, but he wasn't in the practice of speaking it.  Who would feed him?  Where would he sleep?  What if he had an issue?  Who would wipe his ass?
     Roman is 4.  He has almost crested the ass-wiping hill; he wants to do it himself.  But Joanna and I always insist on inspection and usually a final swipe (yeah, I know, that's gross).  Lately, he wants to do everything himself.  "Roman try!  Roman try!" he'll insist.  We usually let him.  He'll retrieve the milk jug from the refrigerator, remove the cap, and pour himself a cup (I can't recall a single accident he's had yet).  He wants to remove his own shoes (which he does just fine).  He wants to put his shoes on (he'll get them mostly, but usually he needs them to be fitted a little better afterwards).  He doesn't like to ask for help from his parents or even Fickles... much less the Polish grandparents that he's still trying to get warmed to.
     In a perfect flip of what I thought would happen, Amelia was as content as could be.  She is usually the one that is nervous around new people.  She was just chilling in her little Baby World.
     Roman was the problem.  He jumped in my lap with teary eyes.  He didn't say anything, but I reassured him with words that I knew he understood:  tomorrow, moment, see you soon.  I think "tomorrow" was the word that really hurt him.  Maybe he was hoping that we were just going up the road and back, but he knew that "tomorrow" meant after the night's sleep.  But, I chose to be honest with him.  Already, my mind was beginning to panic when I thought of how it might go when he learned we were going to be gone for a week on Mommy and Daddy's vacation (which, by the way, we still haven't decided upon a destination).
     Dza Dza grabbed the kiddie pool that would need to be erected and began to distract our son with the process of putting it together.  Roman's interest began to grow as he saw the splashing, happy kids on the box playing in a way that he hoped to be soon.
     Joanna and I kissed him one final time and made a run for it.  I was heart-broken.  Hopefully, he would grow closer to his Polish family during our absence.
     Joanna drove her father's Suzuki jeep from Kalwaria to Krakow where her brother lived.  She went inside to say hello before she left me to join her friend Magda before the night out.
     We didn't stay long.  Arek informed me that he had plans to go to the shooting range with Jimbo, and I'd be going.  We were just waiting for Jimbo's limo.

Jimbo's limo

     I was rather nervous.  I'm not too keen on guns.  I'm all about gun rights back home, but I have no interest in owning any myself.  I had a 12 gauge shotgun as a child, and I usually tried to find excuses not to shoot it.  I just didn't like it.  I have a lot of friends that are really into guns, and I'm a little bothered by the fact that they'll be reading this.  I absolutely support their right to own guns.  They're just not for me.

At the shooting range

     In Poland, civilians are not allowed to have guns.  Period.  Policemen, military personnel, and specifically approved people are the chosen few.  For the price of 100PLN (złoty), we would be shooting 10 rounds on 3 handguns (a Glock 17, a Sig Sauer P6, a CZ 75) an AK47, and a shotgun.  Umm... yay.
     We took turns, and the instructor began to criticize how I would start off very well and end very poorly.  That's because, I should have told him, I actually tried on the first round.  Every shot thereafter was just a way to empty the clip as quickly as possible.  I wanted to be done with this "excursion".
     When we left, we made our way to Kazimierz (the Jewish district of Krakow, once the Ghetto, that is now the trendy, restaurant/bar/art scene).  We stopped for some Belgium fries (with habanero sauce) before finding a sidewalk table at a new restaurant they wanted to show me.  The building didn't even exist the last time I was here.  It had a restaurant on ground level and a bowling alley with a bar below us.  Jimbo recommended we try the bread with lard here.
     Smearing lard on bread is a popular snack in Poland.  I'll admit that I don't much care for it.  But, at this particular restaurant, the lard was flavored with apple and chilies and garnished with radish sprouts and a smashed black olive spread.  I really enjoyed it.
     We drank several beers before deciding to relocate to our favorite bar.  Omerta's is a small pub in Krakow that has grown every time I return for a visit.  They have every Polish beer (microbrewed or otherwise) in existence.  Each beer has a specific type of glass that is supposed to be used; and, if that particular glass isn't available because it's being used by another patron, they won't sell you that beer until it is.  The bar is themed after the Godfather movies (in fact, I believe that Omerta means revenge in Italian).
     So, we sat there and drank the night away.  Arek recommended a particular beer called Atak Chmielu which means 'Attack of the Hops'.  I very much liked it; it reminded me very much of Schlafly's Dry Hopped APA.  I looked at the description where it was described as an American IPA (isn't that funny?).
     At last, we left where I headed to get a zapiekanka, arguably Poland's most popular snack.  It's basically a French bread pizza, but it's soooo good.  I had one that had beef, chicken, spinach, corn, mushrooms, fried onions, tomatoes, and mayo on it.  It was one of the best I'd ever had, and I couldn't finish the whole thing.  For 10PLN (basically three dollars) I had a meal I couldn't finish.
     At last, we found a taxi and called it a night.  At home, we finished the night watching the Empire Strikes Back.  Truly, a great night.

     The next night would be the bachelor's night.  Arek had presented Joanna and I with tickets to see the monster trucks that would be performing in Krakow that night.  I don't much care for monster trucks; I can hear them from my house in Paducah at Carson Park.  But I didn't want to be rude.  Joanna, Arek, Ewa, Jimbo, his expecting wife Karolina, and I met at the stadium.
     The show was loud, and I passed the time by entertaining Joanna.  "Here they come again, Jim.  Bigfoot is going to go around the track and smash a car.  Every one prepare yourselves.  He is about to come around the track again... to smash a car.  And here comes another truck.  Look Jim, he smashed a car!"
     We had four tickets together.  Jimbo, Karolina, Joanna, and I sat together.  Arek and Ewa were below.  Twenty minutes into the show, Jimbo and Karolina excused themselves to go to the restroom.  Joanna and I waited for them to return.  They never did.
     Just before intermission, we decided to try and find them.  On the fairgrounds, we found Jimbo, Karolina, Arek, and Ewa sitting a picnic table.  I felt a pang of anger and jealousy that they had escaped Monster-Truck-Madness without telling us.
     We left shortly thereafter.

     That night, Arek and I were ready to go out for the big night out.  Jimbo had called a cab, and we made our way back to Kazimierz.  When I exited the cab, ten Polish guys were gathered around a table staring at me.  Arek and Jimbo had gone inside to get a couple of extra chairs.
     We gathered around the table and drank the beers we had ordered.
     At last, Jimbo revealed where we would be going.  We followed him to a club where we were given cards by the bouncer outside.  We walked up some steps where we handed these cards to another bouncer; at last, we were granted access.
     Jimbo escorted us to a private room.  He was the host, so he began to talk to the crew.  No one spoke English, or, if they did, they didn't to me.  I was in a room filled with rambunctious and eager Polish men.  I claimed a corner of the couch and waited for something to happen.
     A waitress came in and took our orders.  I got a Heineken.  Bottles of vodka with shot glasses and Pepsi chasers were distributed to our tables.  And I sat there.
     Arek, the star of the show, was being entertained (as he should have been) by all of the guests.  Jimbo was playing the host.  He was coming and going.
     I sat there, with nobody talking to the American fool, thinking, 'why didn't Jimbo introduce me to anyone?  my beer is empty; how do I get another?  I don't like vodka, but should I drink it to be polite?'
     Arek seemed to notice my discomfort and ordered me to come and sit by him.  I did; but, not long after, he was encouraged to leave the room to somewhere else.  I know not where.  Jimbo, too, was gone.  I sat there listening to Polish being spoken all around me, right through me.  I was invisible.
     I suppose I could have tried to converse; most Poles speak some level of English.  But I no longer wanted to.  So, I started stewing...
     For fun, if you would have asked me to describe the worst possible vacation, I would probably say:
     I'd go shoot guns.
     Then, I'd go to a Monster Truck show.
     Then, I'd got to a private room filled with a group of foreign, horny men eager to get drunk or get laid, and I wouldn't be able to understand a word they were saying.
     With Jimbo and Arek out of the room, I had an option.
     So...
     I took it.
     I stood...  and I walked out.
     Into the busy streets of Kazimierz, where the streets were filled with people.  I walked and walked, considering where I might go.  So, I called Joanna.  Angrily, I tried to describe where I was and told her that she needed to come and get me.
     I was angry mostly at myself.  I should have stayed to celebrate my brother-in-law's bachelorhood.  But, as I sat there unsociable, I realized that my invitation hadn't meant to be accepted.  I didn't belong there.  I wanted to go home.
     Feeling like a fucking pussy, I made my way through streets that were only vaguely familiar.  When Joanna finally answered the phone, I yelled at her.  "Guns???  Monster Trucks???  People I don't know???  When does my fucking vacation begin???  When do I get to do something I want to do???  Come and get me right now and take me back to Kalwaria.  The buck stops here!!!"
      And, yes, I know I was being a stupid asshole.  But, I was frustrated.  And stressed.  And scared.  And alone.  And these weren't feelings a person should have when they're on the only vacation they get once every two years.
     I wanted the vacation that I had been dreaming of.  Filled with quiet, quaint European restaurants and Italian wine and pigeon-filled marketplaces.  Where had that dream gone?  I didn't know, but I wanted to find it.
     Joanna and Ewa came to pick me up.  I described where I was as follows:  do you remember that Jewish restaurant where we ate with Magda?  Do you remember that place that had amazing zapiekankas?  Do you remember that bar where John threw up?
     And, finally, they found me.
     Ewa, as polite as ever, seemed to be very understanding.  She didn't say much, but she was very polite to me considering the circumstances.   I felt a sudden pride that she would be my future sister-in-law.  And I felt shame.  I should have just stuck it out.  This was my wife's brother after all.  This was his bachelor party.  This wasn't about me.
     And I felt apprehension.  All of the people I had seen that night, I would be seeing again at Arek and Ewa's wedding.  How would I act around them?
     Once again, Duane had probably fucked up.
     But I knew something at that moment.  Despite Jimbo, despite Arek, and Ewa, and Joanna, and her parents, or anybody that might read this.  I knew that I was on vacation.  The last few months at work had mentally and spiritually wore me down.  I had been counting on this get-away as a way to refuel my soul.  And I was going to... with or without anyone else's help.
     As we quietly drove from Krakow to Kalwaria, I vowed to myself that, henceforth, I would be the master of my own fate.  I would have the vacation that I had dreamed of.  I would speak up.
     I have still to face Arek and Jimbo.  I'm not sure how they feel about me right now.  I hope they're not too angry.
     And, part of me thinks that I will care as much as they did.  When they forgot to introduce me to anybody that we were with that night.  When they left me alone with strangers that wouldn't speak to me.
     I care dearly for my brother-in-law and his friend (Amelia's future godfather).  And I don't really care how they feel about me right now.  Or how anyone reading this might feel about me right now.  I feel what I feel.  And I have come to a revelation...
     It's not too late to have the vacation that I had been imagining.
   

   

   

Flying to Poland

                                                       6/5/14 - "Flying to Poland"

     Blogger's Note:  I had some trouble getting set up.  Before arriving, I had this idea that I would set up shop on Joanna's parents' patio.  It's a scenic setting with an overhang, colorful flowers, picturesque European decorum, and vines that creep through rafters.  Unfortunately, that wasn't possible.  The WIFI signal couldn't reach that far.  Why do I need a WIFI signal just to write?  Well, I like being "connected" while I'm writing...
     Pandora radio plays some independent folk music, pictures are easily uploaded, social media is just a click away, and on and on...
     So I was relegated to the balcony where the signal was reachable.  Isn't that just horrible?  I must write from atop a perch where I am looking at the mountains being kissed by mist, villages roosting on hillsides, and steep rooftops are shingled with charming slates.  I am alone and surrounded at the same time; I could not be happier.  Pandora radio is apparently not available in Poland, but I discovered something called Grooveshark.  It's fairly similar, and I think I prefer Pandora.  But it's not bad, and I'm hearing songs in the folk genre that I've never heard before.  That's a good thing.
     We are in Poland for our fifth time.  Amelia's first visit; Roman's second.  I thought I'd describe the trek if only because I have a strong desire to write, and I've been missing my passion for writing lately.  A 26 hour journey is as good a reason to post something as anything...
     Listening to:  Billie Holiday "I'll Be Seeing You"

     We left Kentucky in our minivan at about 6 am.  Although our flight wasn't scheduled to leave until 5:30pm and the drive to O'Hare International Airport in Chicago is only about six hours, we knew that the potential for delays caused by Roman's or Amelia's tantrums could be time-constraining.  Fortunately, the drive went without incident.  We stopped just north of Effingham, IL at a rest area that had a playground and let them run around for about twenty minutes.  Amelia slept much of the way, and I took advantage of every second that she was asleep to gain some distance on Chicago.
     I've always felt that the trip to Chicago is broken down into quarters.  The first segment being Mt. Vernon, the middle is Effingham, and the third quarter is Champagne.  I'm just writing that because I wonder if anyone else sees it that way...
     We arrived in Chicago around 1:30pm, which was earlier than we expected so we had some time to kill.  We decided to eat at Giordano's (our favorite pizza place in the Chicago area).  There's a chain of them in that area, and they're not too hard to find.  They have this Chicago-style, stuffed pizza that takes a little while to cook but it's well worth the wait.  We highly recommend it if you haven't tried it.
     We ate on the nice, outdoor patio, and I ordered a beer.  Even though we weren't in Poland yet, I felt like my vacation had already started.  We relaxed and let the kids play in a little corner where no one else was being disturbed.
     Finally, we left and headed to the Marriott nearby.  Why there?  Well, that's normally where we park our car.  The fee was about $225 for the month, and they shuttle you to and from the airport.  The price seems to go up about $20 every two years, but it's still cheaper to drive and park than to fly out of Paducah for the added price of 3 tickets (a child under 2 is free, so Amelia doesn't cost anything).
     We transported 4 giant, luggage pieces, a stroller carrying young Amelia, a laptop case, a diaper bag, a giant Joanna purse, and a backpack-toting four year-old to and through O'Hare's International Airport.  As soon as we walked in, chaos ensued.
     Lufthansa apparently had 4 flights booked to leave within an hour of one another.  A line that ran for miles greeted us.  An older lady wearing a Lufthansa uniform immediately got my blood pressure up (I later grew to like her, but let's keep this story in order, shall we?).
     "Where are you going?" she yelled at me above the noise.
     "Dusseldorf, Germany," I replied feeling pressured to give a response.  I had almost said "Krakow, Poland", but that would be our final destination.  I have flown enough to learn airline-speak.
     "You're late!  That flight leaves in an hour, and we have a lot of people to get through here," she lectured me.
     "Ummm, we're two and a half hours early, and that's why..." I countered.
     "Oh, you're on the second flight to Dusseldorf?" she yelled at me.
     "Yes," I answered.
     "Well, then you're early!!!!"  she again lectured, appearing content that she had produced a reason to scold me.
     "Yes, and this long line is the reason why.  Now, which line should we get in," I addressed her with an increased heart rate and a desire to tell her, "You're fucking with a Kentucky boy, bitch!  Ima find me a Pabst Blue Ribbon can o' beer to chuck at your bitch ass!"  But I refrained...
     When we at last got into the correct line, we noticed that it wasn't moving much at all.  Apparently, the folks destined for Munich, Germany had priority; so, they let them go first.  I was ok with that as long as we made it on time.  The long wait manufactured a couple of restless children that had nothing to do.  Roman began to swing on the line dividers, which was just not a good idea.  I scolded him and tried to keep him occupied with conversation.  He did pretty well considering...
     "Where you from?"  The lone, elderly lady in front of me spoke to Roman.
     He shyly ran behind Joanna to escape dialogue.  I addressed her with a smile, "we're from Kentucky, heading to see their Polish grandparents."
     "Oh, wow.  That's cool."  She smiled.
     She would turn around and face the direction the line was moving and occasionally face me with further discussion when the standing proved to be too monotonous.
     "So, where you from?"  I asked her.
     "North of Milwaukee, in Wisconsin," she proudly replied.  I've learned that a person is proud of where they're from no matter where it might be.  Not that I wouldn't be proud to be from Wisconsin, but I just recently noticed that.  I mean, I'm representing Kentucky:  home of fried chicken to the rest of the world.  And I'm rather proud of that.  When someone asks me where I'm from a have this dilemma to decide how to respond.  I was raised in Southern Illinois, but I was born and I've lived most of my life in Western Kentucky.  If I respond Illinois, everyone immediately thinks Chicago.  And I've always been of a mind that Southern Illinois doesn't really belong to the rest of Illinois and Western Kentucky doesn't really belong to the rest of Kentucky.  They should be combined and perhaps called Illinucky.  Perhaps I'll respond with Illinucky one day and when they say, "where's that?" I'll just roll my eyes and ignore them as if that was the dumbest question that I had ever heard.
     "Where you headed?" I asked her.
     "Germany.  My father is receiving alternative medicine for cancer there," she told me, smiling.
     "Oh, I'm sorry..." I sympathized.
     "Oh, it's ok.  It's working.  He's responded very well.  They're just doing a couple of final treatments to get the last of it."
     "Oh, wow.  Cool.  I've always thought that alternative medicine is probably the way to go.  Not enough money to be made for the health industry though..."  I speculated, more to fill the silence than because I had any strong convictions or superlative knowledge on the subject.
     "Well, it's not cheap," she explained with a friendly correction.  "Just this treatment was $23,000 dollars."
     "Wow, well, I'm very glad it's working," I said.  The revelation sparked a lot of thought in my head.  I mean, $23,000 dollars is a lot of money, but the health of a loved one is rather priceless, isn't it?  I really liked this lady.
     "Do they get along well?" she asked me, talking about Roman and Amelia.
     "It's ok, but they constantly vie for attention.  I think they're a little jealous of one another," I confessed.
     "How far apart are they?" she asked.
     "Three years, just like my brother and I were."
     "Yeah, three years does that.  If they're close together, they're more like teammates.  If they're far apart, then they don't really contend with one another.  I was the eldest of nine children.  I had to babysit all of them at twelve-years-old while my parents worked, and this was before cell phones.  If I had a problem, I had to improvise..."
     I marveled at the idea and found that I really liked this lady.  She was easy to talk to, and she knew things.  We passed the time by in such a fashion.
     "Where do you think you're going?" the mean, Lufthansa lady was yelling at some man.
     "I going to Dusseldorf.  We wait too long.  We go to front of line," a large, German individual told the lady.
     "Oh, no you don't.  Get to the back of the line, buddy.  Everyone else is doing the same thing.  We have four flights going out about the same time.  Sorry about your luck..."  I began to think that a lady with such a strong personality should have a signature maneuver.  Perhaps she could jump off the counter and perform a "Lufthansa Lady Lariat" on her opponent.
     The man flexed his muscles... and then proceeded to the back of the line.  I began to pay attention to her interactions with customers.
     "You.. get in that line!  Sir... the baggage doesn't belong there.  Pick it up and get it out of the way!  Ma'am..  cover your mouth when you sneeze, there's children here!"  And on and on she went...
     "Oh my.  If I were to do that at my job, I'd be flogged," I confessed to Mrs. Wisconsin.  "I work at a riverboat casino, and they are very serious about customer service."
     "Oh, yeah.  For a casino, I can see the need for good customer service.  But here?  I couldn't imagine how chaotic it would be if she wasn't here..."
     So, I began to watch Lufthansa Lady in a new light.  And I began to see how awesome she was.  "Sir, get your finger out of your nose, you can pick it later.  Buddy, that luggage is too big for carry-on.  This flight's full.  Figure something else out.  Lady, next time you fly Lufthansa, take a bath, would ya?"
     She again noticed us.  "You've got two kids and you've been standing in that line for an hour!  What's wrong with you!  Come over here!  You can go next..."
     I felt a little uncomfortable getting to cut in line.  The people in front of me were looking at me.  "Just go," Mrs. Wisconsin encouraged as she noticed my hesitation.  "If they had to wrestle with two kids, they would understand."
     When at last we got our boarding passes, we were told that the luggage system was down.  I knew then that losing our luggage would be a potential problem.  We made our way to the security checkpoint.
     They had a new system where one-by-one people stood in this booth with their arms raised and getting scanned.  I felt a pang of anger at the suppression of freedom being displayed.  A TSA agent waved us over to the metal detector.  Since we had two children, they let us go the easy way through.
     We examined our tickets to discover that we were all separated on every flight.  Joanna would have Amelia; Roman and I would sit beside one another.
     We made our way to the gate that our longest leg of the journey would be departing from.  We didn't wait long though.
     Once everyone had found their seats, the pilot addressed us on the intercom.  "Ladies and gentlemen, the conveyor system for the luggage isn't working right now.  Our sister flight to Dusseldorf leaves one hour behind us; they will bring the luggage that didn't make it."
     Fuck.  I just knew that our luggage wasn't going to make it.  Especially since our flight from Dusseldorf to Frankfurt left just one hour after we arrived.
     The nine-hour flight from Chicago to Dusseldorf went unusually well.  Roman was absolutely terrific.  He watched, ironically enough, Pixar's Planes while I watched Her (which, by the way, was a great movie that I really enjoyed).  People around us and the stewardesses constantly marveled over my son.  I proudly kept my arm around him and entertained him by coloring and giving him cookies (we don't normally let him have junk food, but on a trip around the world, we make exceptions).  For the remainder of the flight, he would sometimes shrug and say, "ok, let's go home now" as if turning around and going home was just a matter of opening the door.  Joanna and I would respond with "don't you want to go see Ba Ba and Dza Dza?" to which I could physically see his resolve.  He would steel himself, and the action warmed my heart to the point that I thought I might be the weirdo crying on the plane.  He actually gave me determination to keep going.  I can't print how proud I was of him.  He spoke with his Polish grandparents everyday on Skype, and he was anxious to see them, to touch them.
     Joanna sat on the front row of the Economy class where she got a bassinet for Amelia.  Fortunately, our daughter slept most of the way.  I must pause here to praise Lufthansa.  If you ever find yourself traveling with children, I can assure you there is only one way to go.  No other airline comes even close to their standards for the comfort of your children.  I dread the flight home with United Airlines which is just notoriously the opposite.
     In Dusseldorf, we got off the plane in a hurry to catch the next flight.  Such a hurry, in fact that I quickly realized that I had forgotten Roman's favorite cap (his Go! Cardinals! hat as he calls it -- and no, I didn't tell him to call it that...)  We had to wait for everyone to exit, so I could go back on and retrieve it.  After I had it in hand, we made it to a long line at customs.  Another American couple waited just behind us.  Anxious, as we were to catch the next flight, we shared our angst through conversation.  It turned out that he, too, was from Wisconsin and he was headed to New Delhi, India to visit his son.  I found that I very much liked learning about the traveling reasons from my fellow Americans.  He was a Brewers fan, so we talked about baseball and forgot that we were in line.
     "Next," the German customs officer scolded me when I had forgotten I was next.
     We made it on our flight from Dusseldorf to Frankfurt partially because there had been a thirty minute delay.  Again, we had to situate our seats because we had all been separated.  Fortunately we found some people that would swap with us.  Roman and I sat together.  Joanna held Amelia.
     On this leg of the journey, Roman had a window seat (during the first leg, we sat in the middle aisle).  Roman absolutely loved watching the world from his window.  The clouds, the outlined fields, and the toy-like towns traveled underneath us for his viewing pleasure.
     In Frankfurt, we had grown very travel weary.  We were nodding off as we boarded the plane.  We found our places.  This time, Roman, Joanna, and Amelia all sat together; and, I had a window seat in the middle of the aircraft.  Not long after sitting down, I rested my head against the window and fell asleep.
     "Excuse me, sir.  Excuse me."  I woke up.  Some girl using broken English was trying to get my attention.  "Would you like to sit with your family?"
     Still sleep-delirious, I was trying to get a fix on what was going on.  "Sir, would you like to sit with your family.  I can swap with you."
     "Whatever is most convenient," I replied.  Actually, I was more eager to get back to sleep, but I didn't say as much.
     "I swap with you," the girl told me more than offered.  The other passengers got up, so that I could get out.  I made my way back to where the rest of my family was sitting in the very last row.  "What happened?" I asked my wife.  "Did you ask her to swap with me?"
     "No," Joanna clarified.  "She sat down beside us, saw me with two children, and started begging people to swap with her.  I finally told her to swap with you and that you were sitting in 15F."
     I tried to go back asleep, but I couldn't.
     We sat there waiting for the plane to take off.  We waited and waited and..
     "May I have your attention please," the pilot spoke over the intercom.  "We are having a technical difficulty.  We are sorry, but we will need to relocate to another plane."
     We sighed.  At last, they had us file off the plane, onto a bus, and to a different plane.  We boarded and waited some more.  When we at last took off, two hours had passed since we had boarded.
     Finally, the last leg of our journey began.  Roman fell asleep; Joanna and I did our best to stay awake for this last leg.  Amelia was cranky.
     One hour later we arrived at our final destination:  Krakow, Poland.
     We always laugh when we exit the plane in Krakow.  The airport there is medium-sized, certainly not large.  When we step off the plane, the airport is just 50 yards away, easily in walking distance.  But, we have to board a bus that takes us that last 50 yards.  I suppose there's laws about pedestrians on the tarmac, but it's still funny.
     When, at last, we stepped off the short ride, we waited inside at the conveyor system for our luggage to arrive.  Not long after the luggage began to appear, a Polish announcement came across the P.A.  The only thing I could discern was "Edwards".  Joanna grimaced.  "Watch Roman and Amelia," she said as she walked to the office door that read "Lost Luggage".
     We were the last people standing when Joanna finally returned.  "You know how the conveyor system was down in Chicago?  Well, our luggage was lost.  They found it in Germany.  It will arrive tonight, and they will deliver it to my parents' house tomorrow."
     I began to mentally inventory everything of value that was in my luggage:  my wedding tux, my music, all my good clothes, my underwear, my old-boy-plays-a harmonica, my medicine.  I began feeling some anxiety.
     "Don't worry," Joanna assured me.  "It happens all the time.".
     At last, we stepped out the door.  Joanna's parents, Roman and Krystyna, greeted us with hugs and gifts.  Roman hid behind my leg for a moment.  "Roman, who is that?" I asked him.  He paused.  He peeked out.  "Ba Ba and Dza Dza," he answered.
     He, in an act that I never would have thought possible for such a shy boy, walked to them and hugged them.  I had to laugh lest I cry.
     Joanna, Roman, and Amelia rode to Kalwaria with the grandparents.  I climbed in the car with Joanna's brother Arek.  We talked about Star Wars, bike riding, traveling, weddings, and vodka on the thirty minute drive.
     At the Madej villa, roladki wolowe, ogorki kiszone domowej roboty, cwikla, and kluski slaskie was served.  Basically, a nice sausage held together by a toothpick with shredded potatoes, carrots, and onions
in the center was served with potato dumplings, homemade pickles, and a delicious gravy.  At 6pm local time, I had finished eating.  I had been hungry (I can't stand airplane food, and we didn't have any Euro's for some German snacks), and the food was just amazing so I had stuffed myself to the brim.
     My eyes grew heavy, and I knew that fighting sleep was no longer possible.  I had wanted to stay awake to around 9pm so that I could get my sleep on the new cycle right off the bat, but that wasn't possible.  I lay down in our usual bed and fell into a Polish coma.
     Our adventure would begin tomorrow...

     
     -- Don't forget to "like" Parenting with Lightsabers here.