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.
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.
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...)
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).
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.
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.
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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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.
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