1 day ago
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
...you could say that they're all having a bad hair day.
Seriously, hair color ideas have taken some extreme directions around town. The blue is rarer than the carrot top, but still... And certainly the carrot top is oranger than orange.
My man Jason would make a fortune by restoring sanity to the world of hair color. If ever there was a need, I see it here, right now, immediately. Please!
Seriously, hair color ideas have taken some extreme directions around town. The blue is rarer than the carrot top, but still... And certainly the carrot top is oranger than orange.
My man Jason would make a fortune by restoring sanity to the world of hair color. If ever there was a need, I see it here, right now, immediately. Please!
(From Krakow): outing Oscar
It turns out that Oscar (who is, along with B, in Krakow right now) has an addiction. Or at least a very ingrained habit. And I share it. A dinner cannot end without a nibble on something sweet, preferably chocolate. Try adding black currants to it. Mmmmm...
But what started as an innocent candy bar carried into the room late at night, now has developed into a virtual industry, feeding his admitted craving as well as mine. Last night I was amused (astonished?) to see the size of his supplies as he brought out the stuff. Not only was there choice, but there were multiple bars, just in case some beggar (me) dug in too deeply into a certain favorite.
I'm grateful. It's always nice to have partners in crime. Ones that get to the candy stores before they close.
But what started as an innocent candy bar carried into the room late at night, now has developed into a virtual industry, feeding his admitted craving as well as mine. Last night I was amused (astonished?) to see the size of his supplies as he brought out the stuff. Not only was there choice, but there were multiple bars, just in case some beggar (me) dug in too deeply into a certain favorite.
I'm grateful. It's always nice to have partners in crime. Ones that get to the candy stores before they close.
Monday, May 23, 2005
(From Krakow): Who are they and what are they doing?
My God, isn’t it obvious? They are Krakowiaks and Krakowiankas and they are living the life of the city:
[BTW, I asked Oscar and B their impressions, now that they have spent some time in both Krakow and Warsaw, and I have to say they won my heart when they said: Krakow is precious. Warsaw is a city. Krakow was allowed to be old. Warsaw was allowed to be new. Krakow is small. Warsaw is cosmopolitan. You cannot see one without the other. You have to experience both. I am paraphrasing, but I think I got the tenor of it right. Oscar is trying desperately to blog and inhale the city all in the course of a day with the limited hours available to us. I know what that’s like. Do check out his blog. It’s a marvel, especially, but not only, given how difficult it is for all of us to hook up -- in the most innocent of ways!]
[BTW, I asked Oscar and B their impressions, now that they have spent some time in both Krakow and Warsaw, and I have to say they won my heart when they said: Krakow is precious. Warsaw is a city. Krakow was allowed to be old. Warsaw was allowed to be new. Krakow is small. Warsaw is cosmopolitan. You cannot see one without the other. You have to experience both. I am paraphrasing, but I think I got the tenor of it right. Oscar is trying desperately to blog and inhale the city all in the course of a day with the limited hours available to us. I know what that’s like. Do check out his blog. It’s a marvel, especially, but not only, given how difficult it is for all of us to hook up -- in the most innocent of ways!]
(From Krakow): if you have been to Krakow, you’ll know the answer to this:
They are everywhere. At every corner, every street. You cannot walk more than a block or two without running into them. Ubiquitous. Rain or shine. You can count on their presence.
What are they?
Answer: actually, as far as I’m concerned, there are two answers: nuns and Krakowskie obwazanki [i.e. Krakow bagels (to me, they look more like pretzels, and they're often with poppy-seeds), sold from a stand]. The penultimate? When you see a nun eating an obwazanek. Krakow, through and through.
What are they?
Answer: actually, as far as I’m concerned, there are two answers: nuns and Krakowskie obwazanki [i.e. Krakow bagels (to me, they look more like pretzels, and they're often with poppy-seeds), sold from a stand]. The penultimate? When you see a nun eating an obwazanek. Krakow, through and through.
(From Krakow): a second glance
I asked my friend Basia yesterday – “if your family, your friends, your work could be placed anywhere, would you have preferred to be located in Krakow?” [translate into American: would you choose Krakow over Warsaw to live in?]
She cannot answer. It’s a nonquestion for her. She tells me what I already know. She says “I was born in Warsaw, so that is my home, my city. I don’t know how it would be to be from elsewhere.”
I think you cannot understand this feeling of belonging unless you live in a place like this, where you would no more switch towns than families.
Driving back from the country yesterday, my friends took shortcuts through remote neighborhoods. As markers of where to go, they used homes of relatives. “And now you should turn into this street, as if you were going to Aunt Eva’s house.”
This morning I’m coming back to Krakow, with the confusion of just having been there under different circumstances. People, sights, sounds, walks, foods, everything swimming in one big caldron of events. But of this I am certain: I approach the city as a tourist. My Polishness gives me a jump-start, but I know Krakow not from its core – merely its tourist shell.
A lovely shell it is though. And its magic, so palpable just days ago as I walked its evenly spaced blocks, is still there, now with an added layer of memories, ingrained permanently, much like a tattoo would be, for those audacious enough to succumb to it all.
She cannot answer. It’s a nonquestion for her. She tells me what I already know. She says “I was born in Warsaw, so that is my home, my city. I don’t know how it would be to be from elsewhere.”
I think you cannot understand this feeling of belonging unless you live in a place like this, where you would no more switch towns than families.
Driving back from the country yesterday, my friends took shortcuts through remote neighborhoods. As markers of where to go, they used homes of relatives. “And now you should turn into this street, as if you were going to Aunt Eva’s house.”
This morning I’m coming back to Krakow, with the confusion of just having been there under different circumstances. People, sights, sounds, walks, foods, everything swimming in one big caldron of events. But of this I am certain: I approach the city as a tourist. My Polishness gives me a jump-start, but I know Krakow not from its core – merely its tourist shell.
A lovely shell it is though. And its magic, so palpable just days ago as I walked its evenly spaced blocks, is still there, now with an added layer of memories, ingrained permanently, much like a tattoo would be, for those audacious enough to succumb to it all.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
(From Warsaw): dejeuner sur l’herbe
It’s kind of unfair to use French in my title for this day. I am in Poland after all. I have no great desire to be in France right now. In fact, I have no great desire to be in France at all in this period of time. But I have always had this image that in France, in the summer especially, family and friends congregate outside on Sundays and linger over a dinner that lasts somewhere to the tune of ten hours.
I have no reason to believe that this is solely a French thing, but you can’t fight images readily and besides, French painters have appropriated this title for monumentally significant canvases and so I feel okay stepping on French toes and appropriating it for my own Polish Sunday in the country.
While Oscar and B made their way to Krakow for an early glimpse of the city, I spent the day with old friends in their country home outside Warsaw.
It was another one of those brightest of bright days. The sun shone, the flies buzzed and Basia, Tomek and their daughter Ania served food while Marcin, Wanda and I ate. And ate. And ate. In the midst of this we took a stroll, in much the same way I imagine turn-of-the-century French men and women took walks through fields, with the men throwing jackets over damp spots so that women would not muddy their footware.
Marcin and Tomek did not throw jackets, but nonetheless they were gallant and kind and the whole day reminded me again that I do well with friends when I see them. Distance makes me distrustful and edgy. Proximity creates the warmth and comfort that allow me to close my eyes and exhale.
I have no reason to believe that this is solely a French thing, but you can’t fight images readily and besides, French painters have appropriated this title for monumentally significant canvases and so I feel okay stepping on French toes and appropriating it for my own Polish Sunday in the country.
While Oscar and B made their way to Krakow for an early glimpse of the city, I spent the day with old friends in their country home outside Warsaw.
It was another one of those brightest of bright days. The sun shone, the flies buzzed and Basia, Tomek and their daughter Ania served food while Marcin, Wanda and I ate. And ate. And ate. In the midst of this we took a stroll, in much the same way I imagine turn-of-the-century French men and women took walks through fields, with the men throwing jackets over damp spots so that women would not muddy their footware.
Marcin and Tomek did not throw jackets, but nonetheless they were gallant and kind and the whole day reminded me again that I do well with friends when I see them. Distance makes me distrustful and edgy. Proximity creates the warmth and comfort that allow me to close my eyes and exhale.
(From Warsaw): where Oscar and B experience Poland from within
My traveling companions are fantastic listeners! I am so indulged that I will probably never say another word about my past once I return to Madison. The other day, as we walked past the slummy Warsaw apartment building that used to be my childhood home, I thought about how much easier it is to confront certain realities about then and now when you are in the company of caring people.
Oscar and B push for the detail. They are contemplative travelers, taking detours and long pauses, creating mental chronicles and written texts, precious documents from these amazing bright sunny days.
On a walk past the University of Warsaw they ask if we can wander around campus some and as I open doors for them to buildings and auditoriums that were once my stomping ground some 35 years ago, I am reminded of how little has changed: not only do the rooms look the same, but I feel the same within them. It’s deeply disturbing to know that adolescent angst never quite resolves itself, but instead comes back again and again to remind you how small and imperfect you are in the scheme of things.
Oscar and B push for the detail. They are contemplative travelers, taking detours and long pauses, creating mental chronicles and written texts, precious documents from these amazing bright sunny days.
On a walk past the University of Warsaw they ask if we can wander around campus some and as I open doors for them to buildings and auditoriums that were once my stomping ground some 35 years ago, I am reminded of how little has changed: not only do the rooms look the same, but I feel the same within them. It’s deeply disturbing to know that adolescent angst never quite resolves itself, but instead comes back again and again to remind you how small and imperfect you are in the scheme of things.
On this bright bright Saturday afternoon, we take a local train to the village where my grandparents once lived. The train is packed and the 90 minute ride is like a scene out of a slow-paced movie, where the plot becomes less central and the essence lies in the cinematography.
The sun is relentlessly pushing its way in. Women and children are returning to their villages with purchases made that morning in the city. Others, the town dwellers, are escaping for an afternoon in the country. A child stares at us as we talk quietly in English. Everyone is aware of us, but also of their fellow travelers.
Oscar marvels at the fellowship that exists among these people. People in adverse circumstances, looking out for each other. “In this together” rather than “everyone for him or herself.” People squeeze to make room for a child. They get up and assist a woman who is feeling faint, placing her in a more favorable spot. Others open windows to help create a breeze for her. It is like that here.
The sun is relentlessly pushing its way in. Women and children are returning to their villages with purchases made that morning in the city. Others, the town dwellers, are escaping for an afternoon in the country. A child stares at us as we talk quietly in English. Everyone is aware of us, but also of their fellow travelers.
Oscar marvels at the fellowship that exists among these people. People in adverse circumstances, looking out for each other. “In this together” rather than “everyone for him or herself.” People squeeze to make room for a child. They get up and assist a woman who is feeling faint, placing her in a more favorable spot. Others open windows to help create a breeze for her. It is like that here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
