Poland 10: from Warsaw to London

I    Last Thoughts on Poland as I Take Off

You've picked up the running theme here: when I am in Warsaw, it's hard to forget the past. The thing is, it's not just me. Poles are stuck with carrying the burden of the country's history. Recent history at that. My parents' generation could not possibly shake off their war memories (though my mother was spared that: she lived in the US when the war broke out in Europe), memories of the political upheaval as the Soviet Union became the de facto dictator of our country's future. My own generation was stuck with that burden as well: when I was a kid, it was not unusual to come across heaps of rubble where buildings once stood. Warsaw struggled to rebuild herself from really nothing without much help from anyone. We saw that. And a crazy drama continued to unfold all through a postwar Pole's life: the revolt against authoritarianism, the pushback and strategically positioned tanks from the Soviets, then the beginning of the end, starting in 1968 when I was still in high school: the student uprising, and for all my friends who then married or had children -- the imposition of martial law (1981: the year my daughter was born in Wisconsin, never really having to grasp any of this), the fear of what would come next, the birth of Solidarity, and in 1989 the collapse of the dictatorship, but too, of at least some of the safeguards -- of guaranteed work (lousy pay, nothing to buy, but you had a job), of free social services, and the plunge into the hefty and risky world of a competitive market economy. Then, one last dig in your ribs: the threat of authoritarian rule in this century, which only this past year diminished, as a result of a brilliant turnout at Poland's democratic elections, with the return of a cautious optimism, but with a hefty bit of worry as Russia inched closer to Poland once again with its war in the Ukraine. My friends lived through all that. How can they possibly not look back, compare, worry?

And when I am here, I look back too, and I add a layer of memory,  one that perhaps could be anyone's, anywhere -- family stuff. My Warsaw years were tumultuous at home. Ultimately, my parents' marriage broke up, but in the years they were still seemingly together, there wasn't much that you'd call happy or warm. All their energies went into something other than their kids. Which, of course, made it easier for me to leave Poland, leave them, engage in a new life in New York, look forward to what I could do with it there.

I don't like to look back too much. Ed and I live about as "in the present" as you can get. Sure, I do like to look forward (he does not), but not much to my past. 

Do you see why I so rarely come to Poland? If not for a few close friends and my sister and her son, I'd probably not go back at all. It's just not me to bombard my emotions in this way. I wrote LAS -- that was my last hurrah, last plunge into the chaos of my childhood and adolescence. Sure, I'll always want to bring the kids to Warsaw, to show them where, in part, they came from. But without that connection to those I love here, would I come alone? Rarely, if ever. I adore Poland, but I don't feel the need to repeatedly shoulder all the weight of her past and my past while I lived here.

II   A Morning Meal and a Morning Walk

This morning reminded me that to that love for my "old country," I'll add a love for and delight in the hotel that was my home in Warsaw for nine days. The Puro staff is always there, always helpful, always smiling. You want blueberries, they'll get you blueberries. Used breakfast dishes are quickly removed. You ask for water in your room, suddenly a  half a dozen cans appear on your table. You click "make up room" on the tablet and go down to breakfast, you come back up and it's all done. Great staff training, great room, great location. Total winner.

(breakfast: the foods I ate)

(the foods I did not eat -- except for the herring, yesterday)

I have about a half hour before I have to leave for the airport. A perfect amount of times to once again head toward the post office, the nicer one on Plac Trzech Krzyzy (haven't learnt to say it yet? it sounds something like Platz Tshehh Kshi-zhi), to mail a card, but really to give one last hard look at the face of Warsaw.

(waiting for the light, 1)

( a flag, a dad, two kids, and a post-communist era milk bar)

 

 

(waiting for the light, 2)

 

And then it's a quick ride to the airport (when there is no traffic, it's a 20 minute cab ride!), the usual wait for ticketing, for security, the inevitable delay that always comes with a Warsaw - Paris flight (I dont know why, but it is always late coming in, and thus late going out; this time they blame a storm over Hamburg... whatever!), the two hour flight to Paris, the rush to connect to the next leg-- the on-time flight to London.

 

III    Why London?!

To London?? -- you ask. How strange to add this to an already long (for me) trip. Didn't you once write (you ask) that you weren't especially fond of London?

It's true -- I'm not fond of it. Big city, interesting history, good museums. Expensive hotels, expensive food, a feeling of being stuck in the past or catapulted into a fast paced future, allowing too much wealth to set boundaries as to who can really live in or outside the city center. I don't even much like the parks. They feel urban. Like Central Park in New York. 

So why London? Well, I'm not really here for London. I'm here for an outing I want to do tomorrow, which I'll tell you about tomorrow. Tonight, my sole goal is to get my hotel -- the Knightsbridge, because I know the area -- it's fairly central, yet also fairly quiet -- and to eat dinner and to get some sleep.

The plan goes sort of haywire when Air France manages to not load my suitcase at the Paris airport. Oh it will arrive later tonight, but the delivery service is done for the day, so expect it tomorrow afternoon. After I will have already left London.

This sounds a lot more dramatic than it is. As luck would have it, I packed a separate bag with things that I need for England and I have that bag with me. There is nothing in the suitcase with the exception of a jar of cream that I absolutely need for the remaining days of the trip.

However.

Air France had plenty of time to load my suitcase and as a serious AF frequent flyer, I supposedly get all their perks and privileges, including priority luggage service. Whatever that means. I am sufficiently miffed at them that I intend to go shopping at Harrods Department Store tomorrow morning for a new outfit and new cosmetics and send them the bill. Which they will pay, because it's happened before and they're good that way.

In the meantime, I cab to my hotel. I could have taken the train but this would have really complicated my arrival time. This way I listened to the non stop chatter of the cab driver (it was rush hour so it took a full hour), who was somewhere between Borris Johnson and Trump in his political leanings, but I blame this on his overall disinterest in the fate of our country, to the point that for the life of him, he could not place Wisconsin on the map, thinking it to be just a few miles up north from New York City, and he hadn't a clue about Harris and only his manners probably prevented him from commenting on her gender or race. Though perhaps the English aren't as batty about stuff like that as some of the people back home. Still, I regard him as highly suspect since he admitted that he'd only been to Scotland once -- just to Glasgow of all urban and thus uninteresting places (sorry, I do like Glasgow but gee, if you live in England shouldn't you go a bit further out into the countryside?).

The hotel is very nice -- it's the cheapest from the very good and reliable Firmdale collection. It tries not to be too old fashioned (they all try not to be too old fashioned), still, after the modern ethos of the Puro, it feels charmingly enough old fashioned. But so discreet is it, that when the cab drove up, I asked -- are you sure this is it? I could not find any sign announcing its presence.

 

(my room: simple but large)

(my view)

I got upgraded to a Junior Suite -- who knows why. I haven't luggage to unpack and I'm not here even 24 hours, but there you have it. I can sit on a couch for a few minutes tonight to soak in the extra comfort.

I booked dinner at Elystan Street. You have no idea how hard it was to find a place that would be moderately priced, not too far from where I'm staying, with interesting food. You, who love the British food scene will protest: London is great for eating out! Say what you may, I always have problems here. Not wanting stodgy, formal, old world, expensive, I spend hours searching for something that will fit my parameters. Hours!

My impressions? Well, often when I eat in England I think -- they're getting the ingredients right at least, but I'm not convinced they've got the flavors right. They're just a little bit heavy. The sauces take charge rather than enhance. Elystan Street had a great write up. I think it had or has a Michelin star. People like it. But of the three dishes I tried (ravioli with seafood, a girolle and pea tart, and white peaches with red fruits and bits of meringue -- which sounded like it was made for me! -- none would I order again. Too, the restaurant is in Chelsea (17 mins from my hotel) and the diners were all of a kind. Like maybe you'd find on the upper east side of Manhattan. The staff was fabulous, the aperitif was fabulous, the setting was fabulous, the table they gave me was the best in the room. But either I ordered poorly, or I wasn't hungry enough (two AF flights meant I had TWO lunches today! Forty minute flight from Paris to London,  and they give you a lunch!), or perhaps I have just outgrown heavily sauced foods.                                                                                                                                

Walking back at night, I also had second thoughts about staying in this neighborhood again. Long long ago, when I'd come here as a young adult, it seemed awesome. British. Close to the park (such as it is), close to Harrods (for those Food Halls). Now it seems glitzy and trashy both at the same time. Garbage on the streets kind of thing. Harrods attracts tourism from the Arab states in the summer (because it's so hot in the countries from where they hail right now) and so the wealth is here, but at the same time, London just seems beat up. 

Gee, I'm really not a fan of this city am I.... Maybe I should find a place in trendy SoHo next time. Or I could mix with the academic set over by the Russell Square and the British Museum! I'll say this much: London feels diverse! And maybe a little edgy (as I watch three masked guys cavort on bikes, looking for a pocket to pick or a smart phone to snatch.)  And full of energy. And life, and even at the late hour.

(waiting, but only for so long, for the light)

For now, I'm happy with my pleasant and small and quiet and slightly but not entirely old fashioned hotel. 

And now it's late and I am feeling like the ground underneath my feet has shifted, as if there'd been a tectonic movement of plates, putting me elsewhere in this world, far away from Warsaw, far away from my past, so that I can settle again into what is now, here before me. Who knows, maybe in the morning, London will seem fabulous. I am keeping an open mind!

Poland 9: one last day

Perhaps you read this and think -- ah, the returning person has all the friendship privileges without the bumps. She reaps the rewards just by crossing the ocean to be wined and dined!

Well yeah, I do. But the dynamic here is much more complicated. When I left Poland (in 1972), I did so at the peak of disengagement with my family and at the peak of engagement with these guys. They were my family. My parents were crisis ridden, my own love life was a mess, I hated my chosen field of study (econometrics). And yet they stuck by me. Perhaps unknowingly -- because they themselves were full of youthful exuberance and excitement and their talents amassed them great successes despite the fact that they were born and raised in so called communist Poland -- they lifted me to be a better person, one who would continue to seek adventure and excitement and excellence wherever I wound up. When the three guys -- the core of the original Group -- came to visit me in New York when I had just moved there in the early 70s, it was like a seal on our friendship. Not being great letter writers, and our lives moving as they did in different directions, we didn't always keep our communications alive (not until Bee came along!). But I always knew that in Poland, in that traditional Polish way, they were there, ready to resume that conversation. 

It's of course different to be returning as a person in her 70s. How will we track each other's lives as travel becomes more difficult? Will it be a ten people Group in theory only? Honestly, I cannot answer that. As a person who settled on a life away from everyone, I understand that what happens next is a complete mystery for me, for all of us. I'm not for them in the everyday way and they can do even less with and for me, as ultimately my world is only a little familiar to them. I'm the outlier with my quirky Americanisms (and there are many...)! I have no expectations that all will be seamless and beautiful. One day at a time, people! One day at a time!

*     *     * 

Breakfast! Now is the time to at least nibble on some of the Polish essentials. Like herring, for instance. (I always have my yogurt with blueberries and the kitchen here is benevolently tolerant of this request. Here she comes, get out the blueberries!)

It's warm, but there are wasps eager to share my honeyed cheese on black bread. I resort to wasp swapping, remembering all the time wasps that menaced our meals in Gniazdowo, where I lived with my grandparents when I was little.

*     *     *     

It's my last day in Warsaw and I put aside a good chunk of it for my sister. She comes to Warsaw, we walk to the park. You know me and parks: if a city has a beautiful one, I'll love that city. (Think Paris, Jardin Luxembourg.) Otherwise -- forget it, it's a lost cause.

(On the way to the parks, the square: Plac Trzech Krzyzy -- bet you cant pronounce that!)

 

 

The first of the parks: Ujazdowski. We picked chestnuts here as kids...

And fed the ducks and swans...

Next along the same avenue -- we come to the big one: Park Lazienki.

(A group of Polish seniors out for a walk...)

(the park's lake...)

(Oh! The red squirrels we fed!)

(the Chopin we listened to on these benches...)

Our high school is close by. It's like a magnet for me now: when I was a teen, that high school was my world. Everyone who counted in my everyday, was right there, coming in, going out. Ha! These girls, standing there now, what do they know about life!

My sister and I walk back, toward the hotel again.

*    *    *

Once my sister takes off to catch her train back to the countryside, I take stock. Lunch. Where to? Well, there's this Pierogarnia near the university. (A pierogarnia is a place that specializes in a Polish favorite: pierogi. Stuffed dumplings.) It's called Syrena Irena (translate: Mermaid Irene, except in Polish -- it rhymes). I head there. Past the university.

(this building once housed the Department of Econometrics, my hated field of study)

The pierogi restaurant is an informal place -- you put in your order then sit and wait for it. It's such a warm day, so brilliantly beautiful, that I actually enjoy the wait, the view toward Copernicus in front of the Polish Academy of Sciences. And the pierogi? I ordered the cabbage and dill ones, noting that the traditional russian ones on the menu (potato and cheese) were now called "Ukrainian." Oh, and yummy green beans as a side dish, because, as you know, I love me my veggies!

Coffee? From a local cafe on Nowy Swiat. Where they also sell jagodzianki -- the yeasty blueberry rolls. In season briefly. Now, when I am here. Of course I buy it!

Here's something only I would do: I'm leaving tomorrow. I have a bouquet of flowers in my room but nine days is a long time and they are basically wilted. I pass a flower stand. For this one day, one night, is it worth to pick up a bouquet of fragrant carnations?

 

Of course it is.

*     *     *

A handful of my friends stop by the hotel in the evening for a last drink together.  Upstairs on the hotel terrace. We're a group of five today.

The artist among them has sketched a Mazovian country scene for me to take home. They encourage me to write more about Poland, to put books together. I am incredibly touched by their support and kind words.

And then they're gone, and the visiting part of the trip is behind me.

 

*     *     *

I go out for a walk. To mail a letter, but really to look one last time at the Warsaw I left behind. 

(A shop mirror reflection: you may see it as a pic of me, I see in it the apartment building behind me and think: those windows, those balconies, those shops below -- so Polish!)

Again I stare at the faces of young people. Friends, couples in love, dating, talking, making a date.

This is the age when I left. It was a different Poland of course, and I wonder now if I would have felt differently about leaving had I been able to die my hair pink and wear clothes that would have given off that sense of freedom in spirit and expression. 

I keep thinking about bringing my young families here and I will do it someday, I know I will, but here's the thing: they'll be amused, curious, perhaps a little interested, but they -- the grandkids especially -- will never ever feel Polish. It will be them looking at my world and they will be kind about it ,because they are so very kind, but it will feel foreign. Like visiting Paris only different. They wont look at these young faces on the street and see themselves in them.

And then I come back to the hotel room, eat a salad and some kohlrabi. in my room...

 (I really love my hotel here...)

 

... and I put on a song that Bee gave me a very long time ago that always brings back all of Poland for me, and sit down and cry.

 

 

with so much love...

Poland 8: Gdańsk

I've learned a lot about myself, my generation, my shifting perspective during this trip. I'd say it was the most "educational" of those I've taken recently. It's a rare privilege to get this closeup peak into your past, for an extended set of days. You could say -- well, Nina, had you stayed, like your friends, your sister, your nephew stayed, you would have had this window into your past constantly open for a lifetime of insights and introspection. But the thing is, when you are here, you don't see a lot that's before your eyes. I'm helped by my distance from it all. (I've always been helped by my constant movement between Poland and the U.S.. I could not have written Like a Swallow in the way I did, had I not stepped back from it all and considered Poland and my life there while sitting on the farmette porch.)

I thrive on change, even that which seems disruptive and harsh. Maybe we all do, no?

*     *     *

History would have it that many people living outside of Poland know about the Polish city of Gdańsk. At a little over half a million, it's only the sixth largest city here. But its economic worth has been significant: a town that's over 1000 years old, it is the principal seaport, and Poland's shipbuilding hub. It's also the world center for amber trade. Perhaps you've heard of it by its German name, Danzig? Under Prussian rule, it was populated by Germans. After World War I, Germany ceded much of its territories back to Poland. However, the German presence in the then Danzig was problematic: displacing these people would have been troublesome. The compromise? Danzig between the wars was a free city, giving Poland access to the Sea, while at the same time allowing the Germans to remain there. Did you know that? Maybe what you do know about Gdańsk (once Danzig) is that here, in the Gdańsk Shipyard, the Polish Solidarity movement was born. Solidarity was, of course, the democratic anti-authoritarian social movement that ultimately lead to the toppling of the communist government in Poland. 

A heck of a lot of history and that's only the last 100 years! 

Famous Gdańsk people: Fahrenheit was born here, Lech Walesa is of course from here, Copernicus worked here for a while.

*     *     *

This morning, breakfast was hurried. And the same. It's easier that way.

 

I am to meet Bee and her husband at the Central Station for an 8:25 train to Gdańsk.

(in the elevator, going down)

(walking to the Central Station)

The train is modern and speedy! 340 kilometers (210 miles), two and a half hours. No stops. Great views of rural Poland. Positively bucolic.

 

*     *     * 

Because it is my last day with Bee, I pay attention to her as my friend. I worry a lot about our meetups going forward. Increasingly, in old age, I would like to be there for her more in the every day stuff that hits you as you get even more senior! She is four months older than me, so I expect we will grow older at the same speed, but what if we don't? 

The question will always be there for me: when will be my next visit here? It's always so complicated to step into my Warsaw life that I can't just buy a ticket and fly over. I have to be ready for all that assails me when I step out onto the streets of Warsaw. 

*     *     * 

Gdańsk. It's a brilliant summer day once again. Somewhat cooler up here, at the northern edge of Poland, but still, the sunshine is stunning! There is, of course a lot to see here, but let's start with the basics. 

You know how Minneapolis is forever linked to St Paul and together they form the Twin Cities? Gdańsk is forever linked to Sopot, immediately to its left (or northwest) and after that to Gdynia (further along the coast, also to the northwest). But Gdańsk has been around ever since there were fishing colonies here in the 7th century. Sopot was established hundreds of years later -- as a spa town, and it remains that today. Gdynia was built at the will of the Polish government in the 1920s as a port city of Poland. A Tri-city was born. (Sopot was then part of the free city of Danzig, but a Polish corridor was built through it so that Poland could have a direct link to Gdynia in the years it was separated from Gdańsk. Polish history is very complicated!)

Bee and her husband know Gdańsk fairly well and so they are my guides today. Superb guides I might add. The city, to me, is a total surprise. I was last here in the 1960s. Once, and for maybe one day. Do you know how it looked then? Here's a picture of Gdańsk from 1960. 

 

 

If you think it's rather drab, you have to understand that just fifteen years earlier it was one heap of rubble. 

Gdańsk today is glorious. Some would argue that it is Poland's prettiest city. I can see it! The architectural style here is uniquely different: you'll think these buildings were modeled after those in Amsterdam, but I'm told that it's actually the other way around. Gdańsk was once wealthy and it introduced this house style before the Netherlands picked it up. Okay, let's take a look at what's there (and please understand, it's a tough city to photograph. It's summer. Lots of visitors. Narrow spaces, tall buildings. I'm just hoping to give you an idea.)

(Neptune is the symbol of Gdańsk, much like the mermaid is the symbol of Warsaw.)

We look at amber: Poland is the world's largest producer of it and Gdańsk is the epicenter of it all.

Mostly, we just walk.

(What my grandkids would like in the city of Gdańsk...)

 

 

 (a city of water and towers...)

 

 

(The fairly recent museum of World War II, closed today, but fascinating even from just the outside)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 (colorful!)

 

 

We eat lunch at a restaurant called Manna 68. It's vegan, and it is excellent. I ordered botwinka again (my sister had made it for me earlier -- it's cold beet soup) and I mused about the specific Polish palate. No way could I talk my American family or Ed into this dish! Maybe two out of the ten of them would possibly like it. The ones with the Nordic tastes for food. The rest? Maybe not.

Gdańsk has lots of gothic style churches. All made of the red brick so common to this region. We visited three but for me, one especially stands out. It's not that I find it especially attractive, it's just... unusual. It's this one:

... and it has an alter made of amber. And they keep adding more amber pieces to it, so that it looks like one big amber mess.

We buy Krowki at the market! My grandkids know all about these: "Little Cows." (Fudge like candies.)

 

(Like Amsterdam!)

(They love paper maps way more than google maps)

(the little mill)

*.    *.   *.   

We leave Gdańsk at 6:30 and I'm back at the hotel by 9:30. It's immensely sad to say goodbye to Bee (and her husband -- my oldest friend from the Group!), but we are travelers and Zoomers and I'm sure I'll see her again in one place or another soon. One can hope...

 

 

 

with so much love...