Konnichiwa!
Cześć!
Welcome to Poland!
The capital of Poland is Warsaw, which used to be lovely, but went downhill after the Nazis “inadvertently” dropped several thousand bombs on the city. In response, the Soviets painstakingly rebuilt it in exact detail, but using concrete. Everything is concrete–buildings, statues, streets, grass, pigeons. Their only concern is that the Mongolian Crouching Concrete Termite will develop a taste for pączki.
I spent nearly a month in Krakow, the cultural capital of Poland. Although it still retains some of its original architecture, my dorm was made from concrete. Its builders had set it apart, however, by painting green and yellow stripes around the outside. Most people would look at this and think, “Wow, that’s really ugly,” and they’d be right.
The main attraction in Krakow is the Rynek, where you can buy handmade chess sets, amber jewelry, McDonald’s, books you can’t read because they’re in Polish, clothes, make-up, airline tickets, and kebab. Carriage rides are available for 100zł (about $30). There’s a lovely old church where some trumpeter got an arrow in the throat in the thirteenth century. And on weekends, in keeping with traditional Polish culture, break dancers perform in the Rynek’s main square.
Food in Poland isn’t the greatest in the world. It’s heavily dominated by cabbage, lard, and pork, which is fine if you hate your heart and taste buds. Perhaps it’s the translation, but the “beef stew” at Dom Studencki Piastowska turned out to be pork, cabbage, and sauce in a bowl. To be fair, I often confuse pork and beef; “Hello, Mr. Butcher. I need two pounds of Blargenwurst for my beef stew, please.” This may be why kebabs are so popular.
To supplement their depressing fare, Poles have mastered the art of the dessert. Not far from my dorm, a little old lady (there are, like, a billion little old ladies in Poland; according to the CIA World Fact Book, little old ladies make up 80% of Poland’s population) and her daughter ran a bakery the other students and I frequented daily. Their baked goods were so delicious that I continued buying cookies and pastries even after I saw some flies in the non-refrigerated cases. The dorm’s desserts included profiteroles, glazed fruit tarts, and liquor-filled ice-cream topped with an alcohol-soaked cube of sugar on fire. Also, I’d like to report that the fire damage was minimal and that section of the cafeteria is nearly in working order again.
Poland is, perhaps, the nicest country on Earth, with high standards of politeness. On trains and buses, it’s expected that young, healthy people will give up their seats to the elderly, the handicapped, and pregnant women. If you don’t give up your seat, you’re taken outside and beaten with a stick.
On my trip from Krakow to the airport in Warsaw (the airport is exactly like what you would expect a Soviet airport to look like), I rode alone on the train–just me, my fifty pound suitcase, and a Polish vocabulary that consisted of “frytki” (French fry), “do widzenia” (goodbye), and “upał” (heat wave). Unfortunately, without a translator, I couldn’t read my train ticket. Or the train station signs. Or ask the conductor for help. And considering that the train stopped at about forty different stations, the odds were not in my favor to guess. Fortunately, a Polish man entered my compartment halfway through the ride.
Polish Man spoke about as much English as I spoke Polish, but I handed him my train and airplane tickets anyway. He studied them carefully and nodded, then pointed to himself–he had the same destination. When it came time to disembark, Polish Man led us off the train and helped me lug my suitcase from the exit to the platform. Then he walked me out of the station, carried my suitcase up a long flight of stairs, and guided me to the bus stop, where a bus would take me to the airport. Finally, he handed me off to a Polish-Australian (Polian? Austrolish?) college student who could see me the rest of the way. Polish Man was sorry he couldn’t help more, but he had to go in the opposite direction. “Upał frytki do widzenia,” I said to my hero. And I meant every word of it.
Perhaps because of their generous and kind natures, Poles are universally liked, except by the Russians, Prussians, Germans, Austrians, British, and Japanese.
The British, I think, don’t dislike Poland as a whole. The main gripe seems to be that well-over half a million Polish citizens have entered Great Britain since 2004 in search of jobs. This would be fine if there were well-over half a million jobs available, but sadly, Santa retired as Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1998. As for Japan, they simply hate Poland on principle.
The story with Russia, Prussia, Germany, and Austria, however, goes back quite a ways:
Once upon a time, Poland was its own country with its own king and Olympic teams and United Nations representative. Then, in 1772, inspired by the growing independence movement in the America, Austria, Prussia, and Russia took a third of Poland’s land. Eighteen years later, Prussia began grabbing more territory, which forced Russia to annex anything that didn’t already belong to them. In 1795, the three powers finished divvying up the remaining cities. “Boy,” Prussia said afterwards, “that was fun. If I ever join up all the little crap duchies and principalities and rename myself Germany, then lose a world war and raise an insane vegetarian painter to power, I hope I can conquer Poland all over again.” Russia nodded, but everybody knew that, if given half a chance, it would stomp all over Prussia and take Poland for itself.
One of the motivating factors for the conquests might have been Poland’s natural beauty. The Tatra Mountains are remarkably beautiful, despite the fact that most of them are in Slovakia. Gubałówka, where I spent the day, is about 3700-feet high, which is about 3700-feet higher than any other mountain I’d ever seen before. (Michigan is a relatively flat state because we spent the last ice-age under a giant glacier, just like we spent the ice-age before that. If Canada would stop oozing glaciers, this wouldn’t be a problem.) Inspired by Gubałówka’s majesty, a friend and I took a little airport-type train to the top and admired the view. Now, I cannot stress too greatly that, if you took the train up the mountain, you should probably take the train down the mountain. It is very steep. There are a lot of trees. You will probably not be too impressed by the sheep farm at the end of the journey.
The Tatra Mountains run through the town of Zakopane, which benefits economically from the many tourists who are stupid enough to walk down Gubałówka. Zakopane offers such sights as an old church, an old house, another old church, a tiny natural museum, and stalls where you can buy waffles topped with just about anything you want. By far, however, Zakopane’s main attraction is the bazaar-like market where you can buy leather goods, wooden goods, sheep pelts, and oscypek-smoked sheep’s milk cheese, often in the shape of an ear of corn. Corn-on-the-cob shaped cheese was definitely the highlight of the trip.
So that’s Poland. It has mountains, food, a history. Its people are friendly. There’s cheese shaped like corn on the cob. Really, you can’t go wrong visiting this East European paradise. I suggest you bring your own toilet paper.
