Warsaw: a new way to look at something from the past

 Here's a game I could play: Warsaw without  --- (fill in the blank), is not Warsaw. The city has so many striking features and monuments and historic events, that were you to ask a group of Varsovians to make a list of five iconic items, that define Warsaw for them, each list would be vastly different. But I think I am correct in believing that every list would include the Palace of Culture. Warsaw would not be Warsaw without it. 

It isn't universally loved. In fact, it's like an on again off again boyfriend. You're indifferent to him, then you are pushed to love him, but you wind up hating him, and eventually you settle into a more casual "like". But heck, it is Warsaw's central point, its most photographed building, its fixture, and with a sigh of resignation -- its accepted iconic structure.

There are many stories about it, but this we know for sure: its construction started in 1952, the year before I was born. Completed in 1955, so 70 years ago. It was a "gift from Stalin," a "symbol of Soviet domination over Poland" and perhaps for this reason jokes abounded as to how to hate this tallest tower in Poland. ("Go to the top and then you don't have to see it.")

But, it grew on most of us. The performance halls within were far more beautiful than those elsewhere. The first western rock group to come to Poland during the Communist era, the Rolling Stones, performed there. There is a vast and beautiful swimming pool inside, open to the public. 

The full name of the building is the Palace of Culture and Science and indeed, science was important to the many who worked there. When I was a student of econometrics beginning in 1969, we would have to walk to it from the university to run our computer programs, because that's where the university's giant computers were housed. The square that surrounds it is vast and when Poland turned to a market economy in 1989, it first became an ugly parking lot, then equally ugly booths sprung up selling every piece of junk imaginable. It was like a bazaar of clutter. Some lobbied to tear down the whole structure and the square (after all, before the war, there were city blocs with housing units there), and start anew. But emotions calmed and in the end good sense prevailed. The building stayed and eventually was buffed up again. The stalls were cleared and this year, in celebration of its 70th birthday, a new, more inviting space opened and a new era of the Palace of Culture has been launched. (You can get a snapshot of its history here.)

You could always go to the top; it does offer the best view of the city. My childhood association with it (which I describe in my book) is, however,  awful. My paternal grandfather went with us to the top. I was afraid. To make me braver, he picked me up and dangled me over the side, 32 stories above the pavement, repeating to me "you can not be afraid." I didn't hate him for it. I suppose having just survived the war, he felt it important to create tough kids, who could survive anything. But of course, I did not toughen up over the episode and I do have now a solid fear of heights.

 

My day today belongs to Bee. I have thought for a long time now that Bee would be the perfect neighborhood friend for me back in Madison. The one you have walks and coffees on a repeat basis as needed -- meaning every few days. Of course, she would not then be Bee. She'd be a Madison person stuck in a Madison mindset, offering a Madison perspective on the world. I love her friendship, and I also love her Polishness. So we are slated to do this across an ocean, with only the occasional (now seemingly annual) visits of mine to Warsaw.

First, let's set the stage: the day is very warm. They say it'll be a high of 80f/27c, but we know that's just plain wrong. It will go higher, because the morning is already warm. And sunny. 

(was I just writing about the Palace of Culture? Here it is, from my balcony window)

Breakfast? I'm trying to stay focused on what's good but also good for me. Dark bread, oatmeal, watermelon, a small sweet roll, a soft boiled egg.

I'm done. Bee is waiting in the lobby.

I asked her to come up with a plan for the day. She does, and as always, it is perfect. We are to walk over to the Palace of Culture and take a peak at the newly constructed Museum of Modern Art (described by Time Magazine as a top place to visit in 2025) on the Plac Defilad (loosely translated as Parade Grounds, because during the Communist postwar years, this is where the parades passed through to be observed by the highest dignitaries; it was the kind of show of power and loyalty that our administration back home would very much like to replicate today). 

Our walk from the hotel takes us through Saski Park -- created for the royalty of the early 18th century.

How I love the parks of Warsaw! So many, so grand, so soothing.

And now we approach the Palace.

The Museum is closed in the morning, but we are really here for the Palace trip up to the 30th floor for the view form the top. And even before we get there, we spend a long while admiring the open space created all around the Palace. It's truly lovely!

Bee had tickets for our ride up, so we got in line for the two elevators. I suppose this could get really crowded at some point, but at 11 am on a summer Tuesday, it is very reasonable. Maybe a ten minute wait.

And now the views from the top. 

Warsaw isn't the type of city that really makes a grand impression from a summit. The city's architectural potpourri is best observed at street level. If I'd bring my grandkids here, they'd do a quick walk around and then ask to go back down, maybe to visit the spider exhibition below! [I say this facetiously as Snowdrop has a powerful case of arachnophobia.] Me, I have a rush of remembrances: of my search from up above, as a little girl, for the apartment building where we lived, then of my feet dangling over the edge (it could not happen today -- there is wire fencing all around), and of my then retreat to the back in tears. 

(view of my hotel: the short white building in the middle, with almost black looking windows, and perhaps more importantly, a view toward the Old Town with the red roof tiles)

(view of my childhood neighborhood)

 

(view of the new Museum of Modern Art -- white and rectangular but absolutely beautiful inside) 

(view of the market economy sky scrapers to the west, finally out-competing the Palace in height)

 

We go down.

Though the new museum is still closed, their cafe is open. We check it out. Just for the hell of it.

 

 

Bee then takes me to the edge of the former Jewish district. Again, to remind you, before the war, the city was one-third Jewish. World War II basically erased that population and most of those who survived, moved away. The number of Warsaw Jews dropped from 300 000 before the War to 2 000 today.

We sit down at a lovely outdoor table of the Cafe Menora. It's on the newly improved Próżna Street -- a pretty block of white buildings, with coffee shops and eateries that reflect the style of this neighborhood from before the war.

 

 

 

 

 

I order a Chocolate Raspberry Babka slice, she has a lemon croissant and then a Chalka bread to take home.

It is the most perfect moment to sit back, to talk once more.

Out of the blue, I ask her -- if you had to be born in another country (and thus likely live there), where would it be? I've been thinking about this lately, because for myself -- I have no good answer. My life in Poland was reasonably good because though I was born poor, my father's diplomatic ties to the west gave us advantages that most others did not have. Too, I went to a great and very competitive high school, I had exquisite friends. But Poland was hugely impoverished after the war and the Soviets made sure to  keep levels of investment from the outside low. And before the war? Poverty was rampant. I can't say then that being dropped by a stork onto the streets of Warsaw would have been my first choice! Chances of landing as well as I did would not have been high. As for America? Well it's the same -- were I to be in a situation of privilege, without the encumbrance of poverty, race, and any other number of markers, then yes -- my life there would have been and indeed has been awfully good, and for many decades I loved the freedom and diversity of my American environment.  So which country, without regard to status or wealth? A Scandinavian one? France? Where? I dont have an obvious answer except to say that I loved Poland when I lived here and I love the country I moved to as a young adult and continued to live in to this day. And there you have it.

From the cafe, we walk to the nearby Hala Mirowska. I wanted to see a Polish market once again and I think this one is one of the best. Perhaps the best.

You'd think that all northern European farmers markets would be the same. The growing season is similar, the fruits and veggies mature and ripen at the same pace. So why is it that I view a Polish market to be so unique that I could recognize it anywhere? Here, let me show you a few stalls of what I regard as absolutely essential Polish foods. I'll list them in red.

 

gooseberries -- red and white, red currants, chanterelles, wild blueberries, hanging garlic 

 

 

sunflowers, cabbage 

 

 

 fraises de bois

 

 

pickling cucumbers, wild blueberries, dill, radishes, chanterelles, Porcini mushrooms, raspberries 

 

 

sour cherries 

 

 

more mushrooms more cucumbers, potatoes 

 

 

(Bee joins the line) 

 

 

very many potatoes, plums 

 

 

I buy some wild blueberries. (The big cultivated ones they dont call blueberries at all. They're "American Bilberries." Weird but true.)

And raspberries. All Polish, all delicious.

[Walking back, I pass one of the many signs commemorating an anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising during World War II. As long as I am alive, I will have with me memories of a destroyed city. I'm not surprised that Poles of my generation cannot let go of that period. Trauma stays with you and Poland was most definitely traumatized. The younger generations? These commemorative banners are probably wallpaper to them.] 

 

 

 

Bee and I part now. I take my fruits back to the hotel, I log in and catch up on email and Ocean, and then I set out again. I'm meeting Bee at the tram stop. I asked her to try with me a relatively new vegan restaurant on the other side of the river: Peaches Gastro Girls. Run by two women, with a mostly female staff. Concentrating on Polish fruits and veggies, prepared in a clever and innovative way. [I read about it in the Fare book on Warsaw. My daughter pointed me to the text and I've found it totally absorbing -- an account of the ever changing food and shop scene in Warsaw.]

Warsaw for me is never without memories and I have that strange tightness within me as we ride through the old "West-East Tunnel",  then cross the river, and swing past the train station from which I would travel to my grandparents' home in the deep Polish countryside. 

We get off a couple of stops later.  

Peaches is in Praga, which is the part of Warsaw that was least destroyed during the war. The Germans concentrated on the left bank -- the heart of the city. And since during the Warsaw Uprising (when the city was so totally destroyed) the bridges across the river were knocked down, the Germans continued to focus on the central district, on the west bank of the river. This means that Praga retains some of its prewar architecture, though in the past, Praga was the poorest part of Warsaw and that too is only slowly changing.

As we get off and walk the couple of blocks to Peaches, we pass buildings that you would not see these days on the other side of the river.

They remind me of the Warsaw I knew as a child. Scarred structures, terrible courtyards. 

Of course, this is bound to change. Already there are plenty of new building and refreshed facades on old building  and yet, that past remains visible. I feel like a five year old child, walking with my mother, looking at the dank entrance ways, clutching her hand tightly because they looked dark and scary.

But the Peaches Restaurant is an entirely different story. It's an open kitchen, and perhaps you'd call the interiors "very modest,"  but it has a lovely courtyard, and of course the evening is perfect for outside dining.

 (our waiter is being taught how to open a bubbly wine bottLe. Non-alcoholic, French, and very good for once!)

 

And the food is fabulous! Probably the best vegan food I have ever eaten (and they are right, you dont think of it as vegan, it's just good food exquisitely prepared. Mushrooms, dumplings and a cucumber and peach salad. 

Totally remarkable.

We dont order dessert because Bee has baked a cake and purchased some fruits. We go to her house and her husband joins us for a very warm an lovely and comfortable celebration of friendship.

(so good!)

 

 

Tomorrow will bring more gaiety and celebration. Tonight? Could I bargain for a decent night of sleep? Anyone in charge of that? I'd be very grateful!

with so much love...