tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73355928816381982262024-03-19T09:20:36.911+01:00Drunk on LifeAn Iowa Girl Lost in the WorldShannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-6331915502453787892011-05-16T00:49:00.000+02:002011-05-16T00:49:20.642+02:00Getting Caught UpI haven't updated this blog in about a year, so it goes without saying that there's a lot to catch up on. In fact, that's the primary reason I haven't updated it...too much pressure to write down archival items, to go back and search my sieve-like memory in order to document everything that has happened in fascinating detail. And wow, that's just too damn much pressure. So, sorry 'bout it, but we're just going to have to do a minimal round-up and move on! <br />
<br />
Last May, I spent an amazing weekend in Krakow with Magda and Kama. I also spend about a third of my monthly paycheck, mostly on great food and about 30 mixed cocktails. Particularly the Pink Mohito at Shanti, the best Thai restaurant in Poland. Sitting in the rynek listening to drunk Scottish women hit on every man going by was also another highlight. Ah, youth. And by youth, I mean they were in their 40s.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv049YCZNmzWui1AAMIo6GrVi60-HrFxyRErD_odUomgu1WK6i6AppAedi_K5s9nqKGnL5K8Lklndt0NEhZzP3zE57GQIamNGtr27GjMmMgY3XXwx2AubgL0L2XRC6Kc6smSto21n42UM/s1600/31035_1438928496988_1346291917_1187643_5132454_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv049YCZNmzWui1AAMIo6GrVi60-HrFxyRErD_odUomgu1WK6i6AppAedi_K5s9nqKGnL5K8Lklndt0NEhZzP3zE57GQIamNGtr27GjMmMgY3XXwx2AubgL0L2XRC6Kc6smSto21n42UM/s320/31035_1438928496988_1346291917_1187643_5132454_n-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
In mid-May, I returned home for about two weeks in order to witness my cousin Catherine walk down the aisle. It was lovely seeing all of my family together (and my friends-including Adam and Jennifer-whom I hadn't seen in ages!), and the party was pretty damn kickass. I also had the chance to enjoy some of my favorite foods that I couldn't get in Poland, such as bagels, Maid-Rites, and reuban sandwiches. Mmmmm...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVOEktXFHNcmoKfsvNicT838sKylD-jqyU2PaZnJplPoafCpmJrxbn27Gi5I_9Gxj1C0Uuez-iPUZ2qopY7s_xYJWsQ9ta7wH1N0shjD_X5lijgV9m-7MP858nPyR3K08d98zuNVu6Cw/s1600/IMG_8285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVOEktXFHNcmoKfsvNicT838sKylD-jqyU2PaZnJplPoafCpmJrxbn27Gi5I_9Gxj1C0Uuez-iPUZ2qopY7s_xYJWsQ9ta7wH1N0shjD_X5lijgV9m-7MP858nPyR3K08d98zuNVu6Cw/s320/IMG_8285.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7VYhJYPhfTxR0PCCv6wiNawgrDhFzWWpOg5xRx5h-JLwsqY-qeTnEhGXtJekH9jlostNnbbXGOsyBJDRwCHyza23bkHisPMbiOvPs1v2e0WFeRztabja7w5xFffjVfNj2-4J54V1-SHU/s1600/IMG_8292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7VYhJYPhfTxR0PCCv6wiNawgrDhFzWWpOg5xRx5h-JLwsqY-qeTnEhGXtJekH9jlostNnbbXGOsyBJDRwCHyza23bkHisPMbiOvPs1v2e0WFeRztabja7w5xFffjVfNj2-4J54V1-SHU/s320/IMG_8292.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The school year ended in June, which didn't come soon enough, frankly. I think everyone was sick of school at that point. Plus, the weather started getting insanely hot and humid. I taught an independant (read: under the table) class at a local business throughout the summer, and walking home every day pretty much rendered me a moving puddle. It was not pretty. However, on the recommendation of one of those students, I found a pierogi shop right near my apartment that made the lightest and most delicious pierogi that you took home to cook. I still think of them even now. I also think about the raspberries, cherries, and strawberries that I got all summer. It was a red-smeared berry fest at my place for at least two months. I even made my first-ever batch of sour cherry preserves. Mixed into silky, thick Greek yogurt for breakfast, they were an enchantment. Less enchanting was how hot it was in my apartment. I spent large parts of every day simply sitting on my couch/bed in front of my exhausted fan, reading the "Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" series feverishly and spooning marscapone (with a touch of brown sugar & vanilla) and berries into my face. It wasn't pretty, but it also wasn't work. I was happy. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zrU1hkXKFwJWHI5fwC3bMu4ZL0Q8Wd9TVATtUaAdyIIEAwpZnEJbUKHabS4Kw9R-GVKw-rT-UEVB4Gh7NFLa9YjzaKdlfmgK3JYyA-LC-FM2Sgs428cPlDsoea_PCigWBHMqiSAYTbs/s1600/IMG_8621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zrU1hkXKFwJWHI5fwC3bMu4ZL0Q8Wd9TVATtUaAdyIIEAwpZnEJbUKHabS4Kw9R-GVKw-rT-UEVB4Gh7NFLa9YjzaKdlfmgK3JYyA-LC-FM2Sgs428cPlDsoea_PCigWBHMqiSAYTbs/s320/IMG_8621.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKSjxZTovr99sK819K268B33oD7WrKj8f_pUbhC5n5UOkOMsMRekxqUluf9A_1oHzg-GBzetDwGq6EsIc843dP-svW-frnV5epoSHo5B54NAx-BH8SXXyLWUWvlRQSts3Fd2C3f9hdyM/s1600/IMG_8625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKSjxZTovr99sK819K268B33oD7WrKj8f_pUbhC5n5UOkOMsMRekxqUluf9A_1oHzg-GBzetDwGq6EsIc843dP-svW-frnV5epoSHo5B54NAx-BH8SXXyLWUWvlRQSts3Fd2C3f9hdyM/s320/IMG_8625.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
During the summer, Georgina's cat had kittens, and I made the big decision to adopt one. She was ready to come home the week of my birthday, and she made a most excellent present to myself. Ava. Oh, she is lovely (and sleeping soundly on top of my wardrobe as I write this). Supremely cuddly and yet a little vicious with her claws...just like her mother. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0vgVaUZk8PV4lcm_5_NikwAE0ScoEYTawNEUC1xZPzgASLm0u0TYYp2z0PgTzdhtVoqRCEERwMvYHmyEBEwGDE64JLnYUKNvFAwt-s0Dn1JS-E3ake11ke-3sZmXFZbjT2SkyG6AIq8/s1600/IMG_1130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0vgVaUZk8PV4lcm_5_NikwAE0ScoEYTawNEUC1xZPzgASLm0u0TYYp2z0PgTzdhtVoqRCEERwMvYHmyEBEwGDE64JLnYUKNvFAwt-s0Dn1JS-E3ake11ke-3sZmXFZbjT2SkyG6AIq8/s320/IMG_1130.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
Right before my birthday, in mid-August, my boss called me into her office to discuss something important. I was nervous, envisioning all manner of horrible transgressions I may have unwittingly committed. But, as it turned out, she merely wanted to offer me a promotion! To be the head teacher at the branch of our school in Wroclaw. Wow. I was shocked and flattered. Terrified to uproot myself from my comfort zone in Gliwice, but eager to see what might happen for me in the big city. Well, sort of big city. Average city, really. But, bigger than Des Moines and so beautiful, with many cultural offerings and decent shopping. I was in. They also asked Magda if she wanted to move there, too. The whole staff had basically quit. No comment on that, but it basically gave me the chance to start from scratch, and that was appealing. Another great thing is that they offered a position there to my friend Daniel, with whom I had worked in Korea. It all happened *very* quickly, but it was really exciting. One day Magda and I went to Wroclaw to have a look around and see if we could live here, and the next we were sitting on a train with suitcases and a wailing cat. Once we got here, we had to spend two weeks at the school's tiny studio apartment, waiting for the one we eventually found to be ready. (That's a whole other story I can't get into, but suffice to say, we found an amazing apartment by shear luck and I am grateful every day.) Living there was a real test, but it was over soon enough, and we finally moved into our 150 year old apartment building overlooking the moat. Right in the city center, near public transport, and lovely. The inside anyway. The entry way and stairwell look and smell like they belong in a well-graffitied bomb shelter. Speaking of stairs, we're on the top floor, so there are 72 of them to climb every day. But no matter.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9cQz1SIMWOA7cTzEfGqWls6YQBgul4bkUkiBunZqtmzwJXiFupM8gZj3QycWsifdwFEgXXOiyAkWxv00F5LoRzaXMC8vhij49oHXhw5FEZgOpQ4BnW3OtX1H2krn1ACmCLeSukXRCH8/s1600/IMG_8778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9cQz1SIMWOA7cTzEfGqWls6YQBgul4bkUkiBunZqtmzwJXiFupM8gZj3QycWsifdwFEgXXOiyAkWxv00F5LoRzaXMC8vhij49oHXhw5FEZgOpQ4BnW3OtX1H2krn1ACmCLeSukXRCH8/s320/IMG_8778.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdu50ehERFz1vGUr8szcq3ynF6esiwaaKEIKMadQL0Rd7PhuRwUs4LR7yv49_wBeGPStAPnr0djKOMeTy8J6qYLaK780Jeb-lboKXu2R2nkS25G1978HsZFpUkThuwVhWEEW8CGeim5Y/s1600/IMG_8763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdu50ehERFz1vGUr8szcq3ynF6esiwaaKEIKMadQL0Rd7PhuRwUs4LR7yv49_wBeGPStAPnr0djKOMeTy8J6qYLaK780Jeb-lboKXu2R2nkS25G1978HsZFpUkThuwVhWEEW8CGeim5Y/s320/IMG_8763.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The school year started, with new teachers to get to know. It was not as social of an atmosphere as we were used to from Gliwice. On the one hand, it's sad not to go out as much with your colleagues, but on the other hand, I'm saving a lot of money from decreased consumption of beer. The school itself is in the center of town, so it's also a vintage building. Creaky wooden floors, high ceilings, crown molding details. Lots of gorgeous light, but now that summer is coming around, I can see where all that light is going to turn the school into a vintage oven. The students are nice, but not quite as eager to get to know the teachers as the ones in Gliwice. This is possibly owing to the fact that there are more than 3 things to do of an evening in Wroclaw. At any rate, we all settled in and got to the business of another school year.<br />
<br />
In October, we went back to Gliwice for Halloween. It was so much fun, and it truly felt like going home. Seeing everyone again made me want to cry with happiness! Introducing Daniel to all my friends there was fun, and he got along great with them. The pictures from that weekend were a riot and will definitely not be published here! *sigh* That was such a wonderful weekend...<br />
<br />
In November, I hosted another massive Thanksgiving party. It was a lot of work, as usual, but since it's my favorite holiday, I wasn't complaining. We had about 25 people for dinner, and everyone brought something to share. So, as you can imagine, there was a metric shit-ton of food on offer. We put everything on the terrace for storage and two days later it snowed enough to bury it all. And then proceeded to stay so cold that it didn't melt for over a month. Needless to say, we had a turkey carcass living on our terrace for a good part of the winter. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-xMoZg20-aKAU-A0cyCzuQZ5v0kmu5KNVrcOOOexIR0L2sawaBHmxyrqN-Xd5A29jr2yeua13O9nN_mWROYmfnZzYk-UUTrSyHZzasXGNRHCH3Gkiyj_5AnR1GJC4TLn8qycF9qz6sM/s1600/IMG_9256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-xMoZg20-aKAU-A0cyCzuQZ5v0kmu5KNVrcOOOexIR0L2sawaBHmxyrqN-Xd5A29jr2yeua13O9nN_mWROYmfnZzYk-UUTrSyHZzasXGNRHCH3Gkiyj_5AnR1GJC4TLn8qycF9qz6sM/s320/IMG_9256.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwleFhtbpqVLBYi2kTdDgtbUoQd24MEe00epBfS1S_pelQUwjklcWBfVbSMv5-WTb-OtUbSqlFt2X4kGT4bWnC29UEV7ZuagFNppjOoCKL33YyNyfrcERquMgfVyZEAES8I7wMJoYVUug/s1600/IMG_9243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwleFhtbpqVLBYi2kTdDgtbUoQd24MEe00epBfS1S_pelQUwjklcWBfVbSMv5-WTb-OtUbSqlFt2X4kGT4bWnC29UEV7ZuagFNppjOoCKL33YyNyfrcERquMgfVyZEAES8I7wMJoYVUug/s320/IMG_9243.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
In December, I went home for three weeks to spend the holidays with my family. It was great being back, as usual, even though I didn't have a car to drive the whole first week I was there. Three weeks was a good duration. I had enough time to see everyone, and I only started going a little crazy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigv9mMFT6WazFJBwy6ZJLfRdMDCvavyVx-LkH7t0R-JLehhth55BQjSLXMChVkfTCOY8MCwsrFj2rswxPTuvyPiqH7H2EE6_hXe-CIFWAitUwWXD2nlRax2IYBNefJr-rUTu1mGUJOmNI/s1600/IMG_0521-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigv9mMFT6WazFJBwy6ZJLfRdMDCvavyVx-LkH7t0R-JLehhth55BQjSLXMChVkfTCOY8MCwsrFj2rswxPTuvyPiqH7H2EE6_hXe-CIFWAitUwWXD2nlRax2IYBNefJr-rUTu1mGUJOmNI/s320/IMG_0521-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPU1wK15fiF-dnfOUXvFllqeFm1DNRgjwwtLTN9XLJDW5bOnxak-lFKS00WHNK1T_nkgdy8Qn6qduelg2AZ77yrkOVaZYDSF-GBE4OGk5ADo8pCPJrxaksOw0Z4vY3cEO7XXCo5xPnCU/s1600/IMG_0509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPU1wK15fiF-dnfOUXvFllqeFm1DNRgjwwtLTN9XLJDW5bOnxak-lFKS00WHNK1T_nkgdy8Qn6qduelg2AZ77yrkOVaZYDSF-GBE4OGk5ADo8pCPJrxaksOw0Z4vY3cEO7XXCo5xPnCU/s320/IMG_0509.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
After Christmas, nothing particularly interesting happened other than that my job started getting very stressful due to the owner of my school being extraordinarily inconsiderate in not hiring a sorely-needed additional teacher. Consequently, we were all over-worked and pissy about it. It was not a fun time.<br />
<br />
Oh, one great thing that happened during that time was that I bought a car. On Valentine's Day. A 20 year old Mercedes, but an automatic, which was the most important feature. It's in great shape, so I'm really hoping it'll last at least until I decide to move on to another continent.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVb-chvRmK559JY3UqZsqR3BSS9VFFqMWyET2ModyxCnZzwXnX9qt64DwP-6Ve60PZC-i36fOxs_RkQD-3cSnHgUz2Zfb7YYIwAkCZrowFYfo74NnoyXDvOikcs3u6AMvNS3EfbK7a0bU/s1600/IMG_0789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVb-chvRmK559JY3UqZsqR3BSS9VFFqMWyET2ModyxCnZzwXnX9qt64DwP-6Ve60PZC-i36fOxs_RkQD-3cSnHgUz2Zfb7YYIwAkCZrowFYfo74NnoyXDvOikcs3u6AMvNS3EfbK7a0bU/s320/IMG_0789.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
For Easter, we stayed home this year (instead of going to the mountains like last year) and made a nice dinner for each other. I cooked a traditional Easter ham and a coconut cake. Magda made potatoes and carrots, and Daniel made curry and a roasted chicken. It was tasty and a lot less annoying than spending 7 hours on public transport to get to a mountain town where all the restaurants were closed for the weekend.<br />
<br />
May 1st weekend, a year after that expensive trip to Krakow, my friend Katie came back for another visit! We decided to spend the first weekend of her trip in Prague. Prague is my favorite city in the world, so it was like a homecoming for me. For the others, it was an eye-opening experience that showcased how wonderful Europe can be. Personally, I consider Wroclaw to be like a smaller Prague, at least in terms of architecture. Kraków is really more like Prague in terms of atmosphere and diversity. So for me, walking around Wroclaw makes me happy and grateful to live in a place that's so beautiful and yet not crammed with tourists like Prague. In fact, the tourist aspect made me really annoyed, but it was still lovely to be there with my friends. Driving there was a little stressful for me, particularly the part where we got pulled over by the Czech police for not having put our road pass in the window. Thankfully, I had all the necessary documents hiding in my purse, and they let us go. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-tNe2csi2wMxkcgpOiwYUFNInOu0MYzjPT_-Vboio0mngDYrmC6hmUw0TUyresIQxkufkANWU-Ke01CqP1NHeXfi2YsvfL1g5BwEQDb0QCsvOjVj2cTpg6Qnm5teOSdLM_7q1W6VxZw/s1600/Prague+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-tNe2csi2wMxkcgpOiwYUFNInOu0MYzjPT_-Vboio0mngDYrmC6hmUw0TUyresIQxkufkANWU-Ke01CqP1NHeXfi2YsvfL1g5BwEQDb0QCsvOjVj2cTpg6Qnm5teOSdLM_7q1W6VxZw/s320/Prague+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPs3sn2UPJfBZI292H7nox8JoBlgUzdjuth2iPS0p6g8j406_Q7p9_UTGtouuzd9OfA8pMLzrAcaZQ0BFQ6D88UaEToi3Z11QNwqbRG7ddxseZDONatWcCE6z4BOQiDSWaDOXipQ3E8Y/s1600/IMG_1315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPs3sn2UPJfBZI292H7nox8JoBlgUzdjuth2iPS0p6g8j406_Q7p9_UTGtouuzd9OfA8pMLzrAcaZQ0BFQ6D88UaEToi3Z11QNwqbRG7ddxseZDONatWcCE6z4BOQiDSWaDOXipQ3E8Y/s320/IMG_1315.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_asXp8fNd5uETxnD3BHJabopwdjd8t-WQhbnOAHoJnC6RrWj3DMpBboSDj5BlNE033Lumb8DdEKGtcccxJtSR4SZKuDlGzDso5CNeUvKGBIDnI8PDPqQcSyKEgmSlJ8OyN7awyQMiRMk/s1600/IMG_1582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_asXp8fNd5uETxnD3BHJabopwdjd8t-WQhbnOAHoJnC6RrWj3DMpBboSDj5BlNE033Lumb8DdEKGtcccxJtSR4SZKuDlGzDso5CNeUvKGBIDnI8PDPqQcSyKEgmSlJ8OyN7awyQMiRMk/s320/IMG_1582.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The next weekend (last weekend, in fact), Katie and I took a day trip to Germany. I drove again, and managed not to get too lost. Katie was an excellent map reader for both trips, it must be said. We went to the border town of Gorlitz, which was pretty and quiet and very orderly. I began to see the appeal of living in Germany versus Poland. Still, we had to spend Euros, so I was happy to cross the border back into Poland within short order! The next day, Katie had to leave. Since she apparently attracts travel drama (at least when attempting to leave Poland), there was naturally a bomb threat at the airport just as we arrived there. Consequently, we got stopped in a massive traffic jam that left us parked in the middle of the street for at least 30 minutes while the building was inspected. Thankfully, the airport here is even smaller than Des Moines', so it didn't take too long. Even better, she didn't miss her flight and was soon on her way back home.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcivBNpgxUhuF9VEzazPN2N0FX0yC6wy20povc57XI7fraDKW0hkqbyhjU2iDVLvN8t1M247NBSsXSwez0KItTYF3j-NgrglLeUXEsUU8gUtwUTWEY8s-3fihvGz0Hbqg155rkvw9wbd4/s1600/IMG_1831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcivBNpgxUhuF9VEzazPN2N0FX0yC6wy20povc57XI7fraDKW0hkqbyhjU2iDVLvN8t1M247NBSsXSwez0KItTYF3j-NgrglLeUXEsUU8gUtwUTWEY8s-3fihvGz0Hbqg155rkvw9wbd4/s320/IMG_1831.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfXT_e-6H0F-xT-CrHfhW4bf3rSeZmaKk0bax-h_KQOXN6GpyovT2lTwAguI88TwQiZmKeiSBIb3s735q0OjGIZEXZQ4b9NYEgMjksHOjTMJoxZG7Rv9rBiKupeAi7jgmRHVwaAfaVr0o/s1600/IMG_1852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfXT_e-6H0F-xT-CrHfhW4bf3rSeZmaKk0bax-h_KQOXN6GpyovT2lTwAguI88TwQiZmKeiSBIb3s735q0OjGIZEXZQ4b9NYEgMjksHOjTMJoxZG7Rv9rBiKupeAi7jgmRHVwaAfaVr0o/s320/IMG_1852.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Now, there we are. All caught up! <br />
<br />
Summer is fast approaching and I'm weighing my options. Stay here for another year and the possibility of being shit on again by my boss, or try to move to Italy to finally finish my Italian citizenship application? I love this city, I love being here with my friends, I love this apartment, plus I totally heart inertia and not having to pack up all my shit and start over somewhere brand new. At least for right now. I do have notoriously itchy feet...but I might be able to powder them and stay here for now. Being settled is a delightful feeling, I must say.Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-71082039976802011282010-01-02T22:41:00.001+01:002010-04-09T22:52:21.563+02:00New Year's Festivities<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Youth is when you're allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you're forced to."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Bill Vaughn</div><br />
It has been quite some time since I felt the need to present myself at an obnoxiously busy club on New Year’s Eve, ready to get jostled by a pack of strangers and drink one glass of free “champagne” at midnight of a quality that could be used to clean floors if strictly necessary. No, those days are long past and good riddance. There is no joy in being crushed on a dance floor, sweaty and desperate to sit down thanks to your painfully sexy new shoes. New Year’s Eve is almost always more hassle than it is worth. Still, there is the <i>pressure</i>. The pressure to have plans, to be going somewhere nouveau and cool, to be doing something more exciting than sitting at home in front of the television with a bag of chips, some knockoff champagne, and your mother. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">This past New Year’s, I managed to acquire some respectably exciting plans that didn’t make me want to curl up in a ball at the very idea of them. Jazz Club Hipnoza in nearby Katowice was having a special evening, complete with jazz performances, buffet, and requisite glass of champagne. Matt, a friend and fellow teacher, plus his girlfriend (Kasia), her friends, Magda and I all planned to go. Katowice isn’t far from Gliwice, so Kasia’s dad offered to drive us there, and we decided to get a taxi for the trip back, thereby eliminating the issue of parking/walking that so often plagues nights on the town. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7flQLBQTP0wzLpQVa-c3mAflfdNY6zvgVTJzNSWc7ilbSNHpRvadhisQ2BjJbodgkXZv6GRhh4SVYUxvzrljuhugl-Q1MkI6GJtFLouFpxcK8aG9HMJ14JncWPHPgKcXB3_NRtYWre0/s1600/IMG_6835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7flQLBQTP0wzLpQVa-c3mAflfdNY6zvgVTJzNSWc7ilbSNHpRvadhisQ2BjJbodgkXZv6GRhh4SVYUxvzrljuhugl-Q1MkI6GJtFLouFpxcK8aG9HMJ14JncWPHPgKcXB3_NRtYWre0/s200/IMG_6835.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1pDrEYJNoq_on97VuEfcNTjA5QIKwdxklIpLBwtM08uvxDBOyMRmgidJSQ9Zjg1oMHRvMDRnCFvTq2sFSNkYK2V2fct1J_gvn_Mu_3wezc9F6QB-IhfMS9TV5wI2CmIQPgMRYFPwS0c/s1600/IMG_6838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1pDrEYJNoq_on97VuEfcNTjA5QIKwdxklIpLBwtM08uvxDBOyMRmgidJSQ9Zjg1oMHRvMDRnCFvTq2sFSNkYK2V2fct1J_gvn_Mu_3wezc9F6QB-IhfMS9TV5wI2CmIQPgMRYFPwS0c/s200/IMG_6838.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At Matt's house for pre-party</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnx6cejtm45eYCgB6RGn03ilAVV_qd0NAy7rerWOWoIpwVc7HPOQvlc7b-vN-0l-wP297s0tFdvENvb1wv9PruukEsVLD1LBX6EMn1AuCygQzqhHucIGZ4CzBZYnB0JrWaJqHQN7U0cI/s1600/IMG_6840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnx6cejtm45eYCgB6RGn03ilAVV_qd0NAy7rerWOWoIpwVc7HPOQvlc7b-vN-0l-wP297s0tFdvENvb1wv9PruukEsVLD1LBX6EMn1AuCygQzqhHucIGZ4CzBZYnB0JrWaJqHQN7U0cI/s320/IMG_6840.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">We were told that we should dress in a casually nice style, so I chose to wear my favorite gray wrap-around sweater with black pants. Unfortunately, upon arrival, it was apparent that most women had received a “Skimpy Black Dress” memo that had clearly passed me by. Having no skimpy black dress, or the figure to wear one, perhaps it was for the best. And anyway, there’s no use trying to look nice around Polish women dressed to the nines; it will inevitably end in failure and humiliation for a plump American girl such as myself. They are usually tall and lanky, with supermodel bodies. I have an hourglass shape, which is really more of an hour and a half, to be honest. In a room full of anorexic giraffe women, there’s no point in putting on airs. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPuhBgWO_ioeUg4kgWCf13uNYywmV5D-ccDJ0C10jdSjl-h0nSu_xSI_Hgi9hUqiGkAr9In-EzF6gqyoAX0i1GnyfLYx4G118Jw7UXzPeN4ICR-NVjrYaI_hJh6NhgCFmN5mb_k1uzz8/s1600/IMG_6850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPuhBgWO_ioeUg4kgWCf13uNYywmV5D-ccDJ0C10jdSjl-h0nSu_xSI_Hgi9hUqiGkAr9In-EzF6gqyoAX0i1GnyfLYx4G118Jw7UXzPeN4ICR-NVjrYaI_hJh6NhgCFmN5mb_k1uzz8/s320/IMG_6850.JPG" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">The jazz, itself, wasn’t entirely bad. It started off vintage and hoppin', but soon segued into modern jazz, which does nothing to inspire me and mostly sounds like elevator music. Eventually, we retreated from the main room to one down the hallway, which was filled with tables and a buffet. The food on offer was a tasty assortment of salads and pasta dishes, so we hung out in there for quite a long time. As the night wore on, we decided to get some dancing in, so we headed back to the main room once the music changed into DJ selections. They played a crazy mix of hipster favorites, from 60s to disco to punk and back again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHnuF2HucmovfZiLEfbbLFwVJ4vJHI5g9jmbB6XVBLEs6iszi6xHkQL6FiQ2IGh7ZsU8tgrRsU7AfGeXiCjvbRl7-MGCnRvQ8oIaJhaQNRqUa2NrGjsJoYTB9vPvIJnJ4elY87WMT20c/s1600/IMG_6851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHnuF2HucmovfZiLEfbbLFwVJ4vJHI5g9jmbB6XVBLEs6iszi6xHkQL6FiQ2IGh7ZsU8tgrRsU7AfGeXiCjvbRl7-MGCnRvQ8oIaJhaQNRqUa2NrGjsJoYTB9vPvIJnJ4elY87WMT20c/s320/IMG_6851.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJLyu8eqIT2f6b1VDUEn53IrYQt-_dtpzk3AjqtZulzAR5_VPgrmeYk53ef57ZX6SEX6P8yW3sLbvTWx9tpFPnmNWcOLNGjNS9A1qgl77CxORpbk3C5l3tTJMVHGw51c20RK8CEZjepA/s1600/IMG_6842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJLyu8eqIT2f6b1VDUEn53IrYQt-_dtpzk3AjqtZulzAR5_VPgrmeYk53ef57ZX6SEX6P8yW3sLbvTWx9tpFPnmNWcOLNGjNS9A1qgl77CxORpbk3C5l3tTJMVHGw51c20RK8CEZjepA/s320/IMG_6842.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Hipster really was the word of the night. Every person within 5 miles wearing black-rimmed glasses was present, including me. The purposely-ironic outfits, the smattering of English and other languages being spoken throughout the crowd…clearly, we were in a happening and painfully-hip venue. At one point, a man in the crowd pulled out a trumpet and started playing along with the music. Nice.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7F5EzVjGyAMAwsTDZELQxGsCUbwAhXGbz2j_bqjlLCXfY0Ew6ta9PMqUua3tPEdjlY-ndxDNl8yAld0rSxfGg3Zpn9uHLvQCGd2yDCypOuGmSmH-mpUW-rwvHJsyb1f4bhTw5qh4tBc/s1600/IMG_6866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7F5EzVjGyAMAwsTDZELQxGsCUbwAhXGbz2j_bqjlLCXfY0Ew6ta9PMqUua3tPEdjlY-ndxDNl8yAld0rSxfGg3Zpn9uHLvQCGd2yDCypOuGmSmH-mpUW-rwvHJsyb1f4bhTw5qh4tBc/s320/IMG_6866.JPG" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">At midnight, we drank our disgusting-but-free “champagne”, and toasted the New Year with glee. Then, casually, as though I could barely be bothered to care, I adjusted my black-rimmed glasses and got back to the very serious business of dancing the night away.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rOWfpUsQ_Fr77irtdxAWnOm_DoKBBeuSQi_IklysrgV34a8-Ki9hFL7TUfb69AER6TFCOIu-fsne4MMrD0uqIwiKx0JUj-7x7lxcm-0ShduvDJOQNUNq7V4Hdpm1kMOakXGPdBGKqMA/s1600/IMG_6855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rOWfpUsQ_Fr77irtdxAWnOm_DoKBBeuSQi_IklysrgV34a8-Ki9hFL7TUfb69AER6TFCOIu-fsne4MMrD0uqIwiKx0JUj-7x7lxcm-0ShduvDJOQNUNq7V4Hdpm1kMOakXGPdBGKqMA/s320/IMG_6855.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDbohTtUSYntadXmStt5ypL3xye8O1Ve7SPeij4rLZ1NOuq6GrLu0Zgjhs6tKWMI8skQzjh1XDMFuQrCZC8THQQmsCWepDVv7whgjP0afPtjtDuX8j4eaHKW4iGNlLhMUES2Fkh83VI_g/s1600/IMG_6864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDbohTtUSYntadXmStt5ypL3xye8O1Ve7SPeij4rLZ1NOuq6GrLu0Zgjhs6tKWMI8skQzjh1XDMFuQrCZC8THQQmsCWepDVv7whgjP0afPtjtDuX8j4eaHKW4iGNlLhMUES2Fkh83VI_g/s320/IMG_6864.JPG" /></a></div><br />
</div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-38850646358459620362009-12-30T20:02:00.238+01:002010-04-10T00:24:47.739+02:00Yuletide Musings<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><i>"<b>Christmas </b>- that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance - a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;">Augusta E. Rundel</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">This past Christmas was only my second one away from home, and really only the second Christmas which was substantially different from those of my youth. It is something truly special to have had more or less the exact same holiday experience for 30 years. For some, this might be stifling, but I always took comfort in the sameness. It was always so reassuring to know that my family's traditions were intact. I know that some people choose to avoid family madness around the holidays, but I embrace it. That I have consciously chosen not to return home these past two years has made me deeply sad, and were choices mostly born out of inadequate funds rather than desire to strike a purposely different path from my most cherished loved ones. Those who are able to celebrate with loving families, and yet choose not to...I frankly don't understand that decision. For one so far away from her family, and without means to return home, it just seems so wasteful. Of time, of history, of love, of tradition. Of really good food, at the very least!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">My Christmas this year was spent with a fellow teacher, Magda, and her family at their lovely home in the Polish countryside. They were incredibly gracious and made my Christmas a memorable and happy experience. But before we could get to the warmth and comfort of their homestead, we first had to endure 5 hours of wretched Polish public transportation. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejS3k15lcpOGY1kMK-LPPtputrf7sKZND4UQH0o6tZa-lhWb6v-s0GOqtjeuwmqGAtwHp6Abj2HKS5bfrFEXhSJEyrx77z9nVDcUq4-Sqv7-nUXNknNk_uxcXmOXtFwJQo688oMTE_nE/s1600/IMG_6538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejS3k15lcpOGY1kMK-LPPtputrf7sKZND4UQH0o6tZa-lhWb6v-s0GOqtjeuwmqGAtwHp6Abj2HKS5bfrFEXhSJEyrx77z9nVDcUq4-Sqv7-nUXNknNk_uxcXmOXtFwJQo688oMTE_nE/s320/IMG_6538.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">As ever in Poland, all bus journeys are a torture, and this was no exception. It started with a steady drizzle and having to elbow our way ahead of a pack of snarling grandmas. I, being a semi-pro at elbowing old ladies, quickly got to the front of the line, acquired a ticket from the driver, and went to claim two seats near the front of the bus. Oh, what a mistake! No sooner were Magda and I ensconced in our row (across the aisle from one another, with our voluminous bags occupying the seats next to each of us) but two old women started shouting at us, waving fingers in our faces and chastising us loudly. Magda, who speaks Polish, told me that these women apparently had reservations for the very seats I had chosen (natch), and they were telling us to basically get the hell to the back of the bus where we belonged. I was more than happy to move, but the bus was quite full at this point, including the aisle, with people trying to get on and get situated. Unless we suddenly managed to sprout wings and fly over everyone's heads, we couldn't go more than one foot up the aisle towards the back. This didn't stop the old women from <i>pushing us</i> and doing some more shouting. Well, I never! If I could have spoken Polish, I would have told them to go get fucked. Magda, evermore polite than I, simply told them, "Sorry, but we can't move!" while they continued to <i>harumph</i> in our general direction. Eventually, we got to the back of the bus and squeezed ourselves and our bags into two seats. I have never been so happy to get off a bus in my life.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Once we were at Magda's house, things rapidly improved. Her mother, Grace, was a thoroughly charming woman. She was busy preparing food for the onslaught of the many meals to be had over the weekend. There were piles of fresh meat, steaming pots of soup, and veggies to be chopped as far as the eye could see. And the homemade currant wine! Ooooh, that's a happy memory, and it quite inspired me to make some of my own during the next berry season.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHVT-FV0MEdeRWA2T7h8LyENIrfp-RdpQP1fgMI7Knhw0udFk1tuwsUHJyyQb2x8htxqjIkenrwCZW4AH6boot8tIL3V5NBWM2Aq4zkIfmVtVoDqpY8bw45uU3I_V-k8vr6G11BrUB90/s1600/IMG_6541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHVT-FV0MEdeRWA2T7h8LyENIrfp-RdpQP1fgMI7Knhw0udFk1tuwsUHJyyQb2x8htxqjIkenrwCZW4AH6boot8tIL3V5NBWM2Aq4zkIfmVtVoDqpY8bw45uU3I_V-k8vr6G11BrUB90/s200/IMG_6541.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUzme6pUuZv6jNYU8Ly-8Ym2p5spm5ooP_W3y8icqSmOwf76_tK17uARItvZf-QafsaliCsi1LHtWRFvVFCBs1Xv04DqOY9OhOwoA-SX5fh_VbptkTf2IGf439-djAgL8RRLwei07w4k/s1600/IMG_6552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUzme6pUuZv6jNYU8Ly-8Ym2p5spm5ooP_W3y8icqSmOwf76_tK17uARItvZf-QafsaliCsi1LHtWRFvVFCBs1Xv04DqOY9OhOwoA-SX5fh_VbptkTf2IGf439-djAgL8RRLwei07w4k/s200/IMG_6552.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwaSdo5ULx_RESSsgJlT4voKvcGrPW5XQs5UAOzSJtuwi2V_uhJuFOuvqjcJQnZVER_3KPrS4dCRZJjT4kj-V5uiX3c8Hg5Bd0yXP3Ijd4tnWo2temdti2bzBU3hyCv9FwjW5e9fRTu7U/s1600/IMG_6558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwaSdo5ULx_RESSsgJlT4voKvcGrPW5XQs5UAOzSJtuwi2V_uhJuFOuvqjcJQnZVER_3KPrS4dCRZJjT4kj-V5uiX3c8Hg5Bd0yXP3Ijd4tnWo2temdti2bzBU3hyCv9FwjW5e9fRTu7U/s320/IMG_6558.JPG" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Magda and I were put to work more or less immediately and quite happily. <i>Chop chop chop</i>, into the night! Magda's mom is also a whiz at preserving things, so we were able to feast on spiced pears and plums from the last harvest. (They have a farm, with a proper root cellar that's filled with jars of delicious goodies and baskets of fresh eggs.) Speaking of the root cellar, I could never go down the steps (backwards, please!) without feeling like I was going to tumble down or crack my head on the midget-low ceiling, but Magda's grandpa fairly bounded up and down them, despite having the use of only one arm. A true wonder.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRJxkM0RkhxbA-7cmQxCnuOxfua2knWqTk3koN1UZ3-TccHb4bPXGJcqkFWEfWo7Cw3qqGg8GA7YuE0gPQzwunIkxVv7s2XyS9ekR3Rp4h6I6reqOXseguvv5Wn5w1uW101kQiB3aYjM/s1600/IMG_6562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRJxkM0RkhxbA-7cmQxCnuOxfua2knWqTk3koN1UZ3-TccHb4bPXGJcqkFWEfWo7Cw3qqGg8GA7YuE0gPQzwunIkxVv7s2XyS9ekR3Rp4h6I6reqOXseguvv5Wn5w1uW101kQiB3aYjM/s200/IMG_6562.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">The first real night of cooking, we helped to make Greek Fish (which is white fish, covered in layers of sautéed veggies and then baked) and Polish-style cheesecake (which is softer and less dense than American-style). We also knitted a bit with grandma and drank half a jug of the homemade wine.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EZ_37wKJexlEECqg_zeNmTegkVsSoPVswK2mzHeOXeM1l9l6c6O2d_y5Dj2bHqjUZzNJxex1RM3FjQaSv6YNUWzxGzP22ZETRjPaASk9JtKDEs0YuD_K-6sGhKRb6uyGNdJmhIevDKA/s1600/IMG_6565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EZ_37wKJexlEECqg_zeNmTegkVsSoPVswK2mzHeOXeM1l9l6c6O2d_y5Dj2bHqjUZzNJxex1RM3FjQaSv6YNUWzxGzP22ZETRjPaASk9JtKDEs0YuD_K-6sGhKRb6uyGNdJmhIevDKA/s200/IMG_6565.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QS9QGwX-aiY16Uk_t4vkimYwNdY9GUN41eDMdPZSqyoN2rlB5VErK1MTrbjH9IHQaaBre-rwW5E1O9HqKG_6zm7lQ1IWH6yJ7pXoAt782UgyNxUOFh7KuGX_bEnxECKUSzbzLKP0IWg/s1600/IMG_6572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QS9QGwX-aiY16Uk_t4vkimYwNdY9GUN41eDMdPZSqyoN2rlB5VErK1MTrbjH9IHQaaBre-rwW5E1O9HqKG_6zm7lQ1IWH6yJ7pXoAt782UgyNxUOFh7KuGX_bEnxECKUSzbzLKP0IWg/s200/IMG_6572.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuhj6COV56fVC_JzFgiksW_Zg1LHh6C7lppBOKfvtctBnhBD_O3_Ul4nmObOf3Cw91xX2Gb-6CohbQ8cLovRI6NEqd0e1-8tE1YUVtc6l-C7EpL5Cni75PGzfmRczCR_CckW2N9YOyv0/s1600/IMG_6573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuhj6COV56fVC_JzFgiksW_Zg1LHh6C7lppBOKfvtctBnhBD_O3_Ul4nmObOf3Cw91xX2Gb-6CohbQ8cLovRI6NEqd0e1-8tE1YUVtc6l-C7EpL5Cni75PGzfmRczCR_CckW2N9YOyv0/s320/IMG_6573.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">For Christmas Eve, we enjoyed this delicious food, along with mushroom soup, carp (super-traditional Polish Christmas dish, either loved or loathed by the natives), something akin to a veggie-packed American potato salad, mushroom/cabbage pierogi, a cabbage/bean dish, and borscht with mushroom dumplings. Wow, it was all so great! I particularly loved the borscht, which I discovered I could eat by the gallon.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0NudYD78-xOgbJBpwRyAPgh0OP6ptwmmgw1h-MChyNzWsBZl110thVbK7_KcEn7GacmOjy7kD10By5FZK0mTorpHFlb3c2sedByfXXd_Qzh0wnsOPHlb1Hh7VeoHSKEubzuhR1rVK0w/s1600/IMG_6626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0NudYD78-xOgbJBpwRyAPgh0OP6ptwmmgw1h-MChyNzWsBZl110thVbK7_KcEn7GacmOjy7kD10By5FZK0mTorpHFlb3c2sedByfXXd_Qzh0wnsOPHlb1Hh7VeoHSKEubzuhR1rVK0w/s200/IMG_6626.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdlpEcnG79_yPoRCfewRV4Jl8F7xjJyT_EvI5phZks_golLu_Bl-LfKX2Bqi13O2bJ5yUACs27gr7Z53ykPgH-bWRViGhqdLRsqGsml8V58SjfpKNLkftEghtD2aX7fgkXkNl0b2fxb0/s1600/IMG_6629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdlpEcnG79_yPoRCfewRV4Jl8F7xjJyT_EvI5phZks_golLu_Bl-LfKX2Bqi13O2bJ5yUACs27gr7Z53ykPgH-bWRViGhqdLRsqGsml8V58SjfpKNLkftEghtD2aX7fgkXkNl0b2fxb0/s320/IMG_6629.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJfn9_0MsPMGGxTvT9hUUfpZr8chuZQFPgqUZDgGwXqCUMKTs5UuYamfvg2zuFzuHyAmIyTJfglzHIQ26280nsh8Gs4KYF8jyG62DglgijNBjFF3L5tOjgeQgwKpySif099gcCwXxcs9U/s1600/IMG_6642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJfn9_0MsPMGGxTvT9hUUfpZr8chuZQFPgqUZDgGwXqCUMKTs5UuYamfvg2zuFzuHyAmIyTJfglzHIQ26280nsh8Gs4KYF8jyG62DglgijNBjFF3L5tOjgeQgwKpySif099gcCwXxcs9U/s320/IMG_6642.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzDNnMJbbrebSH4RJwAunhc1myxTUPkl_uZBUnYGZbHKwERObih2UeUuH_T3MhhFve7iYvlHLjDzCRjsPsdn6hNN4Je2xllsivFkDKbBvo8SCOoSZLjkeskqTpATiad3gOcthr81vWxQ/s1600/IMG_6632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzDNnMJbbrebSH4RJwAunhc1myxTUPkl_uZBUnYGZbHKwERObih2UeUuH_T3MhhFve7iYvlHLjDzCRjsPsdn6hNN4Je2xllsivFkDKbBvo8SCOoSZLjkeskqTpATiad3gOcthr81vWxQ/s200/IMG_6632.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-deN4VgIYjdAxY6lDtuLc1qC0ha6ydI-f84SiFXR-KTKJeSLBNfXAd3XEUJNUO33b1aoeTjOuu62JOKl-6GsLKJVdINMpqKkkzBzRqDb2GYVFM5MdefMo44IenwLNMOeEpiU946oqprU/s1600/IMG_6637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-deN4VgIYjdAxY6lDtuLc1qC0ha6ydI-f84SiFXR-KTKJeSLBNfXAd3XEUJNUO33b1aoeTjOuu62JOKl-6GsLKJVdINMpqKkkzBzRqDb2GYVFM5MdefMo44IenwLNMOeEpiU946oqprU/s320/IMG_6637.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">A new tradition for me was the breaking of bits of Eucharist Host with each other, and individually wishing each other good things for the new year. Quite cool. Also cool was when some random boys showed up at the front door, dressed in scary masks and odd outfits. They were apparently telling some story, after which they sang a bit. Polish Christmas carolers, evidently! </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVV-jrHtHwc-b3CRXNcCyP4S9nKTF4GbdPjgvhOkigISnJpdpCJzVeAYaiP3FxPDBeb-sCHHSShX2qTeT5avBQmVOaG4fNIJ2Nae5B8GSKFFDqlCMzMczLdLUs_khPQzo_k4JyFXxIZBE/s1600/IMG_6606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVV-jrHtHwc-b3CRXNcCyP4S9nKTF4GbdPjgvhOkigISnJpdpCJzVeAYaiP3FxPDBeb-sCHHSShX2qTeT5avBQmVOaG4fNIJ2Nae5B8GSKFFDqlCMzMczLdLUs_khPQzo_k4JyFXxIZBE/s320/IMG_6606.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9K5Ankoak8UGj8yoLo7j4vlQ2F6GdhFLu7_fa3lTQFLzvxgyVC-kOxoceNkhCP5r19LWJXemmrpzL76QVH2eL_ppeApmLzAw_mXqlFa8C1Ynl7O7up5PG9jqXNFUiu7T7KLw1unMz3U/s1600/IMG_6648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9K5Ankoak8UGj8yoLo7j4vlQ2F6GdhFLu7_fa3lTQFLzvxgyVC-kOxoceNkhCP5r19LWJXemmrpzL76QVH2eL_ppeApmLzAw_mXqlFa8C1Ynl7O7up5PG9jqXNFUiu7T7KLw1unMz3U/s200/IMG_6648.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcJ-XIEAfzVbZhpR7r1vogr5CnsRkFKKAKaQVSulMBAPuB1jNL5r9dCn37NwvRItNftiJaAR6bh0SoBGei4G0ajmh759iDqodc3eOVaHCPLHkm7fLcrvPjJqcYOElf8GUkdOsN8Yt1hM/s1600/IMG_6655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcJ-XIEAfzVbZhpR7r1vogr5CnsRkFKKAKaQVSulMBAPuB1jNL5r9dCn37NwvRItNftiJaAR6bh0SoBGei4G0ajmh759iDqodc3eOVaHCPLHkm7fLcrvPjJqcYOElf8GUkdOsN8Yt1hM/s200/IMG_6655.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">After dinner, we naturally had to attend Midnight Mass. I have never been in such a ridiculously frigid church. I could see my breath. Other than that, it wasn't too different from American Catholic Masses, although there were 19 alter boys. Seriously. And they were all wearing different styles of flowy, poofy capes/gowns. I mean, with all the sex scandal problems the church has these days, putting an old man on an alter surrounded by 19 teenage boys in mini-dresses might not be the best image to send folks home with. Just sayin'. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oK-_9HLDeXW467nZ-6UAKu5gHEHPKR8J0j8D1dFqmXbhClmN47bYlLBgW4kopErdLXa7TrjOEOUdo1s8dGscf7B6K9GMiUKtrd5Wo-rCr4G47_IxKOuaO6s36LnqUrRLIaVpuDvCjY4/s1600/IMG_6659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oK-_9HLDeXW467nZ-6UAKu5gHEHPKR8J0j8D1dFqmXbhClmN47bYlLBgW4kopErdLXa7TrjOEOUdo1s8dGscf7B6K9GMiUKtrd5Wo-rCr4G47_IxKOuaO6s36LnqUrRLIaVpuDvCjY4/s200/IMG_6659.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Once done with church, I introduced Magda to my family's post-Midnight Mass custom of making breakfast. I cooked up some shredded hashed browns, which had apparently never been seen in that house before, so even grandma and grandpa had to give them a try. I think they'll be passing in future years, however. Too bizarre for them. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC0JPWfK1D1E4QMXqaSlWFcfdfUzH-04u0zva1VHQvLyaku-_m6PAKSnPtk8xrDYVKKyj4mMzNeuKPAjYIPCsbXlmyHkhCrvDdViaEZrI1XceOmUvgcVWPLxC_qqH111DhyCJxnIYtzg/s1600/IMG_6617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC0JPWfK1D1E4QMXqaSlWFcfdfUzH-04u0zva1VHQvLyaku-_m6PAKSnPtk8xrDYVKKyj4mMzNeuKPAjYIPCsbXlmyHkhCrvDdViaEZrI1XceOmUvgcVWPLxC_qqH111DhyCJxnIYtzg/s320/IMG_6617.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">It's worth noting here that Magda's grandparents must have thought I was an incredibly odd person, based on my food preferences (if nothing else). For starters, like most Americans, I prefer very cold beverages. Why this should be a trait particular to Americans, I don't know. Post-War electronic appliance boom? Cold beverages a symbol of easily-attainable wealth? It's an interesting subject, and it inevitably comes up every time I ask for ice outside of the States. Europeans seem to be suspicious of cold drinks, and can usually only be pressed to provide a maximum of two ice cubes at a time, no matter how much you beg. But Grace has a giant refrigerator with an <b>*ice dispenser*</b>, so if you think I was going to pass that opportunity up, then you are absolutely out of your mind. The consequence, however, was that the grandparents looked at me like I was an alien with three heads most of the time. Grace, having lived in South Africa and the US, was quite understanding. She was also understanding of my desire to eat potatoes with the skins on, another moment that earned me stares of shock and horror from the grandparents and Grace's friend who had come 'round at feeding time. In Poland, Grace kindly pointed out, the eating of potato skins is something mostly reserved for pigs. Literally. <i>sigh</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Christmas Day was spent with Magda's uncle and his family, and was mostly a feast combined with endurance drinking. I held my own, proudly. The English was flying fast and loose, since her uncle works for the UN. It was quite amusing. Some girl carolers also showed up, with much better costumes and song numbers than the boys, naturally. The day passed with a bit of drama, a lot of booze, and much fun.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qZp4ChD39iwKPd7gs1H5HTMeXrzpgHmsIoIVNXvy4u4kmUrjSSoqnt4lc1KUDvkioqBVza1jOwnVnxrbA5mGoAafxkloXrVyrVN1eo4Tp3x3DsoMz9AsCATbyN-vHE7hvzJkxJTmElY/s1600/IMG_6666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qZp4ChD39iwKPd7gs1H5HTMeXrzpgHmsIoIVNXvy4u4kmUrjSSoqnt4lc1KUDvkioqBVza1jOwnVnxrbA5mGoAafxkloXrVyrVN1eo4Tp3x3DsoMz9AsCATbyN-vHE7hvzJkxJTmElY/s320/IMG_6666.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMg963rPDF47u6fzye_8zBHlunz7eAT3UIgzW7Zgy-yeqBoxRUTA34rEgmz34GsHT-yRk6AZWwI3RJ_agGuF8LiRS3nje3YN74ELCT5pwUJjr2jBhvCw6VPo8UhNHWa0IO3PEOmfE_F8/s1600/IMG_6664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMg963rPDF47u6fzye_8zBHlunz7eAT3UIgzW7Zgy-yeqBoxRUTA34rEgmz34GsHT-yRk6AZWwI3RJ_agGuF8LiRS3nje3YN74ELCT5pwUJjr2jBhvCw6VPo8UhNHWa0IO3PEOmfE_F8/s200/IMG_6664.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFYVI9AKcGYRFcRIwBhxN7zBLTmyr4JPbwUBqwHlKzSA5SsYncNAOcaCaX0_bmMQDYDaEEjnk65jN2D3SM89jwvSPZA5oSqUxXgYTrImOKGQSQ0Gp_k-QI289wUxUb_fR8Ciwm-KiUuA/s1600/IMG_6671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFYVI9AKcGYRFcRIwBhxN7zBLTmyr4JPbwUBqwHlKzSA5SsYncNAOcaCaX0_bmMQDYDaEEjnk65jN2D3SM89jwvSPZA5oSqUxXgYTrImOKGQSQ0Gp_k-QI289wUxUb_fR8Ciwm-KiUuA/s200/IMG_6671.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4NHm_qoIe-CzOa2dVjiRFKJ6wSw6L6XDjVBBx-127fA94kVDGN8vpaJmU7KfC_wWc_pRkQJoMCQROhDOyRenHqRSUx4Kl7pf86MjE6fiNTWN0pYhFf32d7o0_XTCB9Pl50BE9zmoZoEE/s1600/IMG_6661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4NHm_qoIe-CzOa2dVjiRFKJ6wSw6L6XDjVBBx-127fA94kVDGN8vpaJmU7KfC_wWc_pRkQJoMCQROhDOyRenHqRSUx4Kl7pf86MjE6fiNTWN0pYhFf32d7o0_XTCB9Pl50BE9zmoZoEE/s320/IMG_6661.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQowMevH3YuVznoxFWOTldBtJCBfALYYV2D0AZWM3gNTx8DU2RD2qvkEtuDjDswwZdQwxafYPuSMKeGzVO-sRtN4Nf3-UnIhStd2Z9yZ04tg4tmm5kosgdM7ZmGr8SEKLAgmnsqZmMZRQ/s1600/IMG_6677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQowMevH3YuVznoxFWOTldBtJCBfALYYV2D0AZWM3gNTx8DU2RD2qvkEtuDjDswwZdQwxafYPuSMKeGzVO-sRtN4Nf3-UnIhStd2Z9yZ04tg4tmm5kosgdM7ZmGr8SEKLAgmnsqZmMZRQ/s200/IMG_6677.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">All too soon, it was time to leave behind the comforts of Grace's gorgeous house and generous hospitality (not to mention the enormous TV with English cable channels). The bus ride home was uncomfortable, but uneventful. After many days of pure Polish food, we decided to stop at the McDonald's in Katowice before getting on the train back to Gliwice. I hadn't been to a Mickey D's since coming to Poland, but WOW. It was the single nicest McDonald's I have ever seen in my life. It was <i>luxurious</i>, and I know that sounds ludicrous, but it's true. They had big, flat screen TVs hanging on the walls, dark wood, chrome, pay bathrooms. And the food was the freshest I've ever enjoyed at a fast food joint. Unbelievable. (I've since been to the one in Gliwice, and it is nearly as nice. Why don't these exist in America??)</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXRwgmIP89EGDMbIsZrDU2YXHFO71UavMvx-KDUQLLVXbAUtbhpnqXRbJ_FZQp5FvNdVzHRvXqXcrTziJpSGBRK4XgJki6UFrRwxYtR7WtILT39THZASQp3KUxy0UmP7NKbRxy6CGpYM/s1600/IMG_6678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXRwgmIP89EGDMbIsZrDU2YXHFO71UavMvx-KDUQLLVXbAUtbhpnqXRbJ_FZQp5FvNdVzHRvXqXcrTziJpSGBRK4XgJki6UFrRwxYtR7WtILT39THZASQp3KUxy0UmP7NKbRxy6CGpYM/s200/IMG_6678.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T_2uuUsD6GOv9TIIKv5Q4xNMfzSl_5E-1E_Iqm8XrVgzdHcnU-eXckcX6EjkssBCtGY7Em9vmYE8labiU2U5ekwiNPpp-ybxScTMEHnLdIXP63Keqpa8Uo1Rt8u8xScZhD7PZarup_0/s1600/IMG_6685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T_2uuUsD6GOv9TIIKv5Q4xNMfzSl_5E-1E_Iqm8XrVgzdHcnU-eXckcX6EjkssBCtGY7Em9vmYE8labiU2U5ekwiNPpp-ybxScTMEHnLdIXP63Keqpa8Uo1Rt8u8xScZhD7PZarup_0/s200/IMG_6685.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">I had an amazing Christmas, so thank you again to Magda and her family! </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XtSj841q57cdwwN-LH8ocRm6_0o_skdIkGkXPO0ts6YDOk0XoCDZtd4C6c8-_yVBAPSpNT7vK6C8UBaoPFSi0LsRQWFJnADRFBe9Pk4xQddMMVk3mJt_NEBnU_8sPUopcCZJRBOU-00/s1600/IMG_6585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XtSj841q57cdwwN-LH8ocRm6_0o_skdIkGkXPO0ts6YDOk0XoCDZtd4C6c8-_yVBAPSpNT7vK6C8UBaoPFSi0LsRQWFJnADRFBe9Pk4xQddMMVk3mJt_NEBnU_8sPUopcCZJRBOU-00/s320/IMG_6585.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CWOY_Llya9vmCdC5jUmpSymJFDlLV3cVtftZysBqXcf2GFwTcWtkdVtFK8EcpxFwh-QqL-eCgxHzdT5zeXgI01CVFSpHh5rddZwpUgrJC4_Kbr_7BDf0ureOY9Mt3OY9mMs2aVbQ-So/s1600/IMG_6593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CWOY_Llya9vmCdC5jUmpSymJFDlLV3cVtftZysBqXcf2GFwTcWtkdVtFK8EcpxFwh-QqL-eCgxHzdT5zeXgI01CVFSpHh5rddZwpUgrJC4_Kbr_7BDf0ureOY9Mt3OY9mMs2aVbQ-So/s320/IMG_6593.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLH_CinQgEOjSYmupjxXuqmb9w9E99jTT5TXVNHxz2eTWRUPv1RQkQFjzAkWBtveWaIM2u72gwODPgld__iC00yN57fWTdG9cq4Fb_GnhBpcOa1V3y2oE6-cArVHNw4HFmd-65xY5UMg/s1600/IMG_6598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLH_CinQgEOjSYmupjxXuqmb9w9E99jTT5TXVNHxz2eTWRUPv1RQkQFjzAkWBtveWaIM2u72gwODPgld__iC00yN57fWTdG9cq4Fb_GnhBpcOa1V3y2oE6-cArVHNw4HFmd-65xY5UMg/s320/IMG_6598.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGD-tXkZfYTZo89S13SvB__oAlmYfwAcXzCLrv4ES7S9fyyTWxz6hOQwOvqJNbJe93WgGZwgB8TF9HVVwUrvgCttlRE0Jbt36I3pzfYgohBK_881Fb9rBbVcLVflII89KFoLdAyrvtY-w/s1600/IMG_6611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGD-tXkZfYTZo89S13SvB__oAlmYfwAcXzCLrv4ES7S9fyyTWxz6hOQwOvqJNbJe93WgGZwgB8TF9HVVwUrvgCttlRE0Jbt36I3pzfYgohBK_881Fb9rBbVcLVflII89KFoLdAyrvtY-w/s320/IMG_6611.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCofyoHpQxrtGr7DlilZrbDzWJe_FsGEfSfSY6l7z4F5HA4qTKJOFhjF-wsqTfAEsd_9ZV7zYpDH5lfjw7AtdQIzJKezkloo7nyZuAT5eflrLzTzy-RD7FlNw2T1-GfVnSVFgDW7demM/s1600/IMG_6651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCofyoHpQxrtGr7DlilZrbDzWJe_FsGEfSfSY6l7z4F5HA4qTKJOFhjF-wsqTfAEsd_9ZV7zYpDH5lfjw7AtdQIzJKezkloo7nyZuAT5eflrLzTzy-RD7FlNw2T1-GfVnSVFgDW7demM/s320/IMG_6651.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-76899563538135522122009-11-26T12:57:00.000+01:002010-04-04T01:27:08.526+02:00Kraków, Redux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="sqq">“You can always tell a Midwestern couple in Europe because they will be standing in the middle of a busy intersection looking at a wind-blown map and arguing over which way is west. European cities, with their wandering streets and undisciplined alleys, drive Midwesterners practically insane.”</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="sqq">Bill Bryson</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="sqq">Bill Bryson might be right about most Midwesterners, but not me. I'm fairly certain that 90% of my mother's family would spend a maximum of 10 minutes </span><span class="sqq">squinting at a map, gesticulating broadly, </span><span class="sqq">and arguing passionately about which street leads to the Colosseum before eventually flagging the nearest taxi and calling it a day. I, on the other hand, find the narrow, twisting streets of European cities to be mostly irresistible and charming. Unless I'm lost and in a hurry, in which case I tend to curse them aloud in the manner of a crazy person. Even then, though, it's hard to argue against the loveliness of cobblestones and the immense variety of life and shopping to be found in a European back alley. Do you need a cobbler? A viola? Half of a calf's head? It's right there, waiting to be "discovered" by you, the naïve tourist. Never mind that the locals have been getting their calf heads there for 100 years.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="sqq"><br />
</span></div>Kraków is exactly the kind of European city in which I would dearly love to live. It's fully stocked with wandering streets, Baroque architecture, parks peopled with wrought iron benches and lampposts along fine gravel pathways, and enough excellent restaurants to keep me occupied for a considerable length of time. I envy the people who rush across the <a href="http://popmusicology.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/krakow_rynek_01.jpg"><i>rynek </i></a>every night on their way home, taking the rows of elegant buildings for granted as the facades soften to pastels in the twilight. <br />
<br />
While my friend Katie was visiting, we naturally decided to venture to the city. I had been there once before, with Alice, but we hadn't done anything touristy whatsoever. Being French, Alice had seen her share of castles and cathedrals, so we mainly focused on shopping and wandering aimlessly. Katie, on the other hand, had never seen a castle in her life. Our mission was clear: tourist day!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCbpxUQ6Z2fBG_38uuWIwU9tIkWsOFrzFOeI4uSK27wsYd2Sc5cpAzLUSXeWuI2en0UMtdjWNKDJVpd0pK716eSfuDqJmo-Q9FED7xX-zUIhsBQLeLNDfk-TOVN4VUNi8vI8DjPWBhkE/s1600-h/IMG_6318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCbpxUQ6Z2fBG_38uuWIwU9tIkWsOFrzFOeI4uSK27wsYd2Sc5cpAzLUSXeWuI2en0UMtdjWNKDJVpd0pK716eSfuDqJmo-Q9FED7xX-zUIhsBQLeLNDfk-TOVN4VUNi8vI8DjPWBhkE/s320/IMG_6318.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhALgTyOa9CNoQXGZ29lwtSUwwB_En337wKx2rMLGxZzNhu2yzTsqjgHwOAkkhip4A_Mw6fx0ThHJo4Rrzi8gEYRtgMdoRL7OWCSHr8Iikr5Yv6YA-at_R3C3md6WaR_0rW3QJPDl4gsXc/s1600-h/IMG_6319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhALgTyOa9CNoQXGZ29lwtSUwwB_En337wKx2rMLGxZzNhu2yzTsqjgHwOAkkhip4A_Mw6fx0ThHJo4Rrzi8gEYRtgMdoRL7OWCSHr8Iikr5Yv6YA-at_R3C3md6WaR_0rW3QJPDl4gsXc/s320/IMG_6319.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I have to say that my favorite part of bringing a newbie to Kraków is seeing their face light up when we walk into the square outside the train station. It is so lovely, and it's not even the nicest one in town. Katie and I lingered, taking photos amidst all the travelers and shoppers rushing around us. She had been in Gliwice for some time at that point, but this was really the "Welcome to Europe" moment.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbTXxgHML3wkU9lcaWwZyxRbfhUDzHA_RyxjAfaQtO2o85Pu0Rt77KPi98UzRtnn5o_8LQR6oFEdGJCW9r1pFM6l61G4yu-yLLmgRYItfxm51iW6sKRyzlIahcnNnDAe_PwnQyOLUjmo/s1600-h/IMG_6327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbTXxgHML3wkU9lcaWwZyxRbfhUDzHA_RyxjAfaQtO2o85Pu0Rt77KPi98UzRtnn5o_8LQR6oFEdGJCW9r1pFM6l61G4yu-yLLmgRYItfxm51iW6sKRyzlIahcnNnDAe_PwnQyOLUjmo/s320/IMG_6327.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
After capturing those first moments on film, we headed for the nearest tram stop, keen to get on to the Wawel Castle and accompanying cathedral. I love the trams in Kraków. Some clanky and ramshackle, others sleek and new. And always going where you need them. So, we hopped aboard and were quickly at the foot of the castle.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFCYAoHnEyWVB-2pT9nCxyOsudBY0ULOR8fSNHx2PqIjZPcZIrIakhKeh7vwuKHt0Ed2Efn7GOkcq5DQKdT9QEgTQw0di6Ib25CnfwYPs5c-8_PxRRvGY57HajtEnYcTGM3Pjz3zvqAs/s1600-h/IMG_6332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFCYAoHnEyWVB-2pT9nCxyOsudBY0ULOR8fSNHx2PqIjZPcZIrIakhKeh7vwuKHt0Ed2Efn7GOkcq5DQKdT9QEgTQw0di6Ib25CnfwYPs5c-8_PxRRvGY57HajtEnYcTGM3Pjz3zvqAs/s320/IMG_6332.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
As castles go, it doesn't look too intimidating or grand. It perches there casually, a bit top-heavy, on a hill overlooking the river. It doesn't make your heart beat faster, doesn't make you want to invade it. It just exists in a bit of a time warp, not quite removed from the city, but not exactly a part of it the way ancient Roman buildings are inseparable from everyday Roman life. <br />
<br />
We hiked up the path to the castle and took in the view from the ramparts. I had heard rumors of dragons in the area, but sadly, none were out and about during our visit. The castle grounds were lovely and the day was fresh, perfect for a stroll towards the cathedral, where we indulged in guided audio tour headsets to maximize our experience. There was a lot of history and art in such an average-sized building, so our time and money were quite well spent. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5T87PgI7X71036TBju6fGRe-X_dr80S1V0vyDicK0GmyXNJcz7WF0RfgUvDIimXcCuolM42EWp5gP1yehaR-xCVtWwpbgONAvOtFp9s9stw7uTZBd0RyTGQQjDtFyKnHvvGwdZFSOmE/s1600-h/IMG_6343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5T87PgI7X71036TBju6fGRe-X_dr80S1V0vyDicK0GmyXNJcz7WF0RfgUvDIimXcCuolM42EWp5gP1yehaR-xCVtWwpbgONAvOtFp9s9stw7uTZBd0RyTGQQjDtFyKnHvvGwdZFSOmE/s320/IMG_6343.JPG" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAf5POEFc_CYhGmvts9PKkxhRNtzcokkCt7EzjlCzXwVIkpUrTJZzkIThsQu_FBBUGSLPOhHHnN-zKoBDLipgey1faaqn7FCPI8OTzfg-cPwegBO0btiKCKw3yaBuUntsVzEA5S0w0fo/s1600-h/IMG_6344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAf5POEFc_CYhGmvts9PKkxhRNtzcokkCt7EzjlCzXwVIkpUrTJZzkIThsQu_FBBUGSLPOhHHnN-zKoBDLipgey1faaqn7FCPI8OTzfg-cPwegBO0btiKCKw3yaBuUntsVzEA5S0w0fo/s320/IMG_6344.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
After the cathedral, we attempted to get into the castle, but the guards turned us away for not having the appropriate tickets. In the end, it turned out to be extortionately expensive, so I, being a vetern of castle-viewing, left Katie on her own to visit one of the set of rooms (all priced separately, absurdly enough!) and repaired to an outdoor cafe on the grounds where I could write postcards and admire the castle from afar. For free. I mailed the postcards from the little post office right there at the castle--and as an interesting side note--they took over two months to arrive in the States. Not that I knew it at the time, of course! Such are the benefits of updating this blog so far in arrears.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHeyd1Fox3HrOQMlAaokZTdOMfoLtsLhkhIjlaO4pJSO_yoBbzZrAtEJVBXUTDVvckh-ioWpdSfAjh26CQQS-jMT9MPGlbkzzLWU_hDTDqWQKTSM8XuOm4LN4TRvNoMfcOidK2wB-WEk/s1600-h/IMG_6348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHeyd1Fox3HrOQMlAaokZTdOMfoLtsLhkhIjlaO4pJSO_yoBbzZrAtEJVBXUTDVvckh-ioWpdSfAjh26CQQS-jMT9MPGlbkzzLWU_hDTDqWQKTSM8XuOm4LN4TRvNoMfcOidK2wB-WEk/s320/IMG_6348.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DjNDw4ITKLB-bNKKdx_ZLzdGaWmpf07JkTiiCFTIiILFcZNGnBALJn6ad8LcnT3uxHXY54rovZLZLx0-IBm5TDBegBMk0CmTjgslF2t-cniRNt5Xg-uo_6c2b5GlEO6-cjGYR770V8k/s1600-h/IMG_6352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DjNDw4ITKLB-bNKKdx_ZLzdGaWmpf07JkTiiCFTIiILFcZNGnBALJn6ad8LcnT3uxHXY54rovZLZLx0-IBm5TDBegBMk0CmTjgslF2t-cniRNt5Xg-uo_6c2b5GlEO6-cjGYR770V8k/s320/IMG_6352.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6W-FvIry8ETHm6_FjYUZRD2TfA0_kDfvIERdcWzUxoHGmohRolF32AJuDIGpFJ1ooYNeaAXjmIzDRH1wgtud5Im6MIZ5Gsf7Ado555GsNCp8YcWSDXVaYby2QvoEnBb2UoZlYOYJl_4/s1600-h/IMG_6369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6W-FvIry8ETHm6_FjYUZRD2TfA0_kDfvIERdcWzUxoHGmohRolF32AJuDIGpFJ1ooYNeaAXjmIzDRH1wgtud5Im6MIZ5Gsf7Ado555GsNCp8YcWSDXVaYby2QvoEnBb2UoZlYOYJl_4/s320/IMG_6369.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiEvseX2oWVbAU6PpSqszdRFeA1sbG-C7eJVvSMbDArNhkBNFajXRtnYvgJYoTpV2Q2Eu8PazjDFF1Vfa_6xAkOEyg3glH2gM-mlJI427DhD1EUof27F_zvsCt4giiT5X-LlcAG8qn-A/s1600-h/IMG_6354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiEvseX2oWVbAU6PpSqszdRFeA1sbG-C7eJVvSMbDArNhkBNFajXRtnYvgJYoTpV2Q2Eu8PazjDFF1Vfa_6xAkOEyg3glH2gM-mlJI427DhD1EUof27F_zvsCt4giiT5X-LlcAG8qn-A/s320/IMG_6354.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibe1vd04eMncKkKgCapvovLzlydibYTu-XqF8aFc5hY10ZzSHQ8wkRagzzxboWCcmmFaBdqFEo7eMD2uCzUPkvh39C6-LO_KWSiJVcfkTqHoOqMQJBoR6hsuwWspGZjwWwl69GSSsZIfM/s1600-h/IMG_6376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibe1vd04eMncKkKgCapvovLzlydibYTu-XqF8aFc5hY10ZzSHQ8wkRagzzxboWCcmmFaBdqFEo7eMD2uCzUPkvh39C6-LO_KWSiJVcfkTqHoOqMQJBoR6hsuwWspGZjwWwl69GSSsZIfM/s320/IMG_6376.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lTgPKw0GFKrxnHzw_PbYOC4DOOBv6MyJxyduWbxn8-PPL60eDmOfT8ilHStIxGvxdlEzpU_9CtRl9oRhHsdvA6rsi8-frEZ7uiC2oYCoWFamAqxgcaRjdDaTxxSuStMdjEtHMBBrRgQ/s1600-h/IMG_6380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lTgPKw0GFKrxnHzw_PbYOC4DOOBv6MyJxyduWbxn8-PPL60eDmOfT8ilHStIxGvxdlEzpU_9CtRl9oRhHsdvA6rsi8-frEZ7uiC2oYCoWFamAqxgcaRjdDaTxxSuStMdjEtHMBBrRgQ/s320/IMG_6380.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The rest of our afternoon was spent making our way to and around the rynek. We stopped in the Hard Rock shop so that Katie could buy her boyfriend a t-shirt, and I wrangled a restaurant recommendation from the clerk. He directed us to an Italian place where the food was gorgeous and so delicious. The waiter was even happy to practice his English on us. Thank you Hard Rock guy! A bit of shopping at the mall near the train station followed, and so ended our lovely tourist day in the big city.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANvVEh61jpeaW-FpYOHDR0eDhLn6zNtTzL-Vuhcu5xR0ejKGaWGeZqhXjWmTAiipD3gJxuyDG75bPoxO7DYUEHwlUBasRVMAFp4ZElbCDFN5youlj1rAnomLYxOBjjot9EdbTN5F08Ew/s1600-h/IMG_6385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANvVEh61jpeaW-FpYOHDR0eDhLn6zNtTzL-Vuhcu5xR0ejKGaWGeZqhXjWmTAiipD3gJxuyDG75bPoxO7DYUEHwlUBasRVMAFp4ZElbCDFN5youlj1rAnomLYxOBjjot9EdbTN5F08Ew/s320/IMG_6385.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtrZQQa6nFcxsvwh5wJD7L933-RD30vT301H-Z6hCwGisFo_ZUkWSz5gCkEpxZL2rILjyK15_31HqTKW33B1o0QSb7KvJI2FlE2gFle8hlAaGaowVtzC6h7Fsxp4rgkygLZEdmM0LdTQ/s1600-h/IMG_6382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtrZQQa6nFcxsvwh5wJD7L933-RD30vT301H-Z6hCwGisFo_ZUkWSz5gCkEpxZL2rILjyK15_31HqTKW33B1o0QSb7KvJI2FlE2gFle8hlAaGaowVtzC6h7Fsxp4rgkygLZEdmM0LdTQ/s320/IMG_6382.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhmZwR3GQWQLT_MzjfWmtSYVUYOEyfWXVtP6vHINgQx41a59QkNFSogGtbCw6089YAQqkx-g1lSgcSXdil1R7_AwmeQU4jfgVz_CE6E_vBqzmXHGfECoqs3EeptQTBNSleBkmw2tNb6E/s1600-h/IMG_6386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhmZwR3GQWQLT_MzjfWmtSYVUYOEyfWXVtP6vHINgQx41a59QkNFSogGtbCw6089YAQqkx-g1lSgcSXdil1R7_AwmeQU4jfgVz_CE6E_vBqzmXHGfECoqs3EeptQTBNSleBkmw2tNb6E/s320/IMG_6386.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJ5d0vlj1iCrcGZm8CxQMQl2F0G3_HjX4qEOq_uI7gQ0ibIOJU2Hqs47KvCZOO7MF5XPFO5meGcxWo8vwRRhO0Kg-oS6QrV4HVgAYmilCJR2MISo-bV5t-iEDt9tGTmWfCEVYysuNHNE/s1600-h/IMG_6387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJ5d0vlj1iCrcGZm8CxQMQl2F0G3_HjX4qEOq_uI7gQ0ibIOJU2Hqs47KvCZOO7MF5XPFO5meGcxWo8vwRRhO0Kg-oS6QrV4HVgAYmilCJR2MISo-bV5t-iEDt9tGTmWfCEVYysuNHNE/s320/IMG_6387.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KyYfKPyJu0Tj8ekZCqyJRK2fFC5V8b5DK5jFcoZm6SBZY8iHqBna3wIBnZcLl4Wy3M8bk79SADOUAnWLTW72b-3CNU3kbOuEOZXr-3v9e1-oTUh2hpiEc4OA6BYklPfSaA__bQlWtlk/s1600-h/IMG_6395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KyYfKPyJu0Tj8ekZCqyJRK2fFC5V8b5DK5jFcoZm6SBZY8iHqBna3wIBnZcLl4Wy3M8bk79SADOUAnWLTW72b-3CNU3kbOuEOZXr-3v9e1-oTUh2hpiEc4OA6BYklPfSaA__bQlWtlk/s320/IMG_6395.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEX4QOCystlL82em-DrfuAkmqy_nrmYOCccUnCWfPgYWX02bWxs8t_JSCk_E7vvMndDJLmPRCQpcdHfubczLteJmpDyQwp1JVafa-dZgguRDP8ebW15PcqKBNmGbazWZQVkkX_PXzL74/s1600-h/IMG_6405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEX4QOCystlL82em-DrfuAkmqy_nrmYOCccUnCWfPgYWX02bWxs8t_JSCk_E7vvMndDJLmPRCQpcdHfubczLteJmpDyQwp1JVafa-dZgguRDP8ebW15PcqKBNmGbazWZQVkkX_PXzL74/s320/IMG_6405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY58DgH1bNQJRVa3U34VhhrCFPU80p8GDmw3jmBLUg45Y-ccQK-O95FFGdI2hALdKynzV2RNGKEw929C64Iqmp9j4WIrSrm8N9anqIQJKUyJ678IrNUyzDxGohg38Kr5bHANGL-gJttak/s1600-h/IMG_6408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY58DgH1bNQJRVa3U34VhhrCFPU80p8GDmw3jmBLUg45Y-ccQK-O95FFGdI2hALdKynzV2RNGKEw929C64Iqmp9j4WIrSrm8N9anqIQJKUyJ678IrNUyzDxGohg38Kr5bHANGL-gJttak/s320/IMG_6408.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWBbgYUavhyphenhyphene1_u07T5iac6_ZsZT0YFsZQqXciJaZ6iFN3dLhO-KeEf_zHoPYc9dKtWpaUfWL0QocMzGYg56FDLugigmL1c4R6Lz0HI0C2N2J8S5ZZpcTYVHp-LvrjERuKgfb1cmcBw8/s1600-h/IMG_6409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWBbgYUavhyphenhyphene1_u07T5iac6_ZsZT0YFsZQqXciJaZ6iFN3dLhO-KeEf_zHoPYc9dKtWpaUfWL0QocMzGYg56FDLugigmL1c4R6Lz0HI0C2N2J8S5ZZpcTYVHp-LvrjERuKgfb1cmcBw8/s320/IMG_6409.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUGKbJPJj9ABoC-OH0Ab7T1MiYHI0zgbHpDX0nZJJeyoCwLIKc_fzs2i7LDDQpei7x3Lx3FMiUFxlEOFexOY16m4P2BlvvQXK1mQ7jX1AQazRdzkepiq3A0TiVT1ndJ8Y4P3MuYLiomA/s1600-h/IMG_6415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUGKbJPJj9ABoC-OH0Ab7T1MiYHI0zgbHpDX0nZJJeyoCwLIKc_fzs2i7LDDQpei7x3Lx3FMiUFxlEOFexOY16m4P2BlvvQXK1mQ7jX1AQazRdzkepiq3A0TiVT1ndJ8Y4P3MuYLiomA/s200/IMG_6415.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYvYt2JYeKTQY_Tuaw6QZBciP04mL_H92z3cuCPEXk9GQqbTOnRsxbw2yAR2K45bMH8NQvTn37UwtTP-fWYKOVMI0c8X4L0_Si_QfA-7hJBUobCSmnXhxgcXW80sk91ce7hcAh1lN6qg/s1600-h/IMG_6416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYvYt2JYeKTQY_Tuaw6QZBciP04mL_H92z3cuCPEXk9GQqbTOnRsxbw2yAR2K45bMH8NQvTn37UwtTP-fWYKOVMI0c8X4L0_Si_QfA-7hJBUobCSmnXhxgcXW80sk91ce7hcAh1lN6qg/s200/IMG_6416.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
I'm really happy I got to introduce Katie to her first "real" European city, and I can't wait to see her again over here! We're already planning a "Soup Tour, 2011". I, for one, can't wait!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-31530721760688133972009-11-24T23:44:00.000+01:002010-04-04T01:27:57.187+02:00Arbeit Macht Frei<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"We know that a man can read Goethe or Rilke in the evening, that he can play Bach and Schubert, and go to his day's work at Auschwitz in the morning."</span><br />
George Steiner<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">The sun should never shine on a place like Auschwitz. There is simply no call for it; it would be insulting to the memory of the 1.1 million people who were murdered there. It is fitting then that last Tuesday, when Katie and I ventured to the Polish town of Oświęcim in search of the Nazi concentration camp, that the day was gray, rainy, and miserable in all regards.<br />
<br />
The journey to Auschwitz was long and taxing, involving many linguistic missteps and rude Polish citizens who refused to help out a couple of confused foreigners. The fact that it started raining as soon as we began our journey didn't help matters or my mood. But eventually, we found the right combination of trains and buses, and were dropped off at the entrance to the camp/museum.<br />
<br />
Walking up the long driveway towards the visitor's center, before actually entering the camp, you feel a solemnity overtake you. This is no place for joking or kidding around. It was a bit of a jolt, then, to see teenagers running around and posing for pictures outside near a random food stand. But, I guess everyone is an asshole when they're a teenager.<br />
<br />
Once inside, we checked the map to see which direction to head off in. We were running late thanks to the public transport shennanigans, so our time there was limited, eventually prohibiting us from going to the nearby Birkenau camp.<br />
<br />
The first thing you see upon leaving the visitor's center is the entrance to the camp. It's a wrought iron gate, with the motto "Arbeit Macht Frei" inscribed above. "Work Makes One Free". You cannot look at it without shuddering and wishing you could be doing anything else other than standing there at that moment. It is impossible to not to put yourself in the shoes of those who didn't stand in front of the gate of their own volition, who had very little chance of ever walking back out the gate as a free person. It's humbling. It's appalling. And you haven't even walked through it yet. Once inside, there's a sign stating that an orchestra of prisoners was made to play just inside the gate as other prisoners walked through it after a day of working outside the camp. Disgusting.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKvKPX5mqM3uke5biGuwJyIMiTFneCtEmeyKguvQdjV2ZaLE4w1v4bpAWh8feOJbH3rWKi3M81nRyWYJB8Cvi2mlScQ1Bj3E4Q0Rn3d_GXtfDyEeR8OqVCTo2tJMf5p724_GH2yHkt1c/s1600/IMG_0657.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409684638240122210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKvKPX5mqM3uke5biGuwJyIMiTFneCtEmeyKguvQdjV2ZaLE4w1v4bpAWh8feOJbH3rWKi3M81nRyWYJB8Cvi2mlScQ1Bj3E4Q0Rn3d_GXtfDyEeR8OqVCTo2tJMf5p724_GH2yHkt1c/s320/IMG_0657.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 279px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 373px;" /></a><br />
I was surprised to see that the bunkhouses where prisoners were kept were actually solid brick buildings. I'm not sure what I imagined, but something more ramshackle and less well-preserved, I suppose. The buildings are now all two stories, but they weren't all so originally. The prisoners were used to build them by hand, of course, and there are photographs showing the torturous work.<br />
<br />
For the beginning of our visit, we went into one of the bunkhouses which featured an exhibition on the involvement of Poland in World War II, and the treatment of the Poles by the Germans. I honestly had no idea that Germany was so intent on simply exterminating the Polish people at large. They systematically destroyed their cities, their education system, their culture, their food sources, their morale, and their way of life. Still, the Polish people persevered and very few ever collaborated with the enemy. The Germans marched off groups of teachers and students to concentration camps; underground schools at every level of education popped up. People were killed in mass public executions, advertised afterward on posters as a warning; citizens still fought and rebelled in cities all across the nation. Warsaw was absolutely leveled, something not done to any other major city during the war; citizens used trams as blockades to attempt to protect themselves and the city. From start to finish, the Germans attempted to destroy the Polish state and the Polish people. Thankfully, they did not succeed.<br />
<br />
The pictures in this exhibit were shocking. A German soldier casually holding a gun to a woman's head, ready to shoot her as she clung to her baby. Men lined up against street walls, waiting their turn to be executed like the men laying beside them on the ground. Children starved into skeletons and then murdered in the streets. Everywhere the most disgusting examples of inhumanity, and all of it so well-recorded by the efficient Germans that it's amazing to me how some lunatics claim it never happened. One thing is clear after looking at all of the German documentation of their own atrocities: they were proud of what they did and never doubted for a moment that they would be victorious.<br />
<br />
Thanks, perhaps, to the time of year and the day of the week, Katie and I had this enormous exhibit almost entirely to ourselves. It was so quiet, we could hear the constant thrumming of electricity through the lights as we walked along the hallways, looking at pictures and reading all of the signs. Eyes welling up at the worst pictures and descriptions. <span style="font-style: italic;">Hummm-hummm-hummm.</span> It was unnerving. The only room in which there was a total absence of sound was the one in which prisoner uniforms were displayed, hung up on headless dummies, in rows as though they were walking together as a troop of soldiers. The pictures in the room showed some of the resistance fighters and detailed how they were all killed. It was freezing cold, even though we were both wearing heavy coats.<br />
<br />
In fact, the whole of the Auschwitz camp was absolutely freezing. Every building gave me shivers...I couldn't stop the hairs going up on the back of my neck. The worst building, other than the gas chamber/crematorium, was the prison within the prison. We went down into the basement, where the special torture cells were kept. In this area, there were several types of cells used to punish misbehaving prisoners. Standing cells, tiny squares where four men were put at once, overnight, so that none of them could sit down. Starvation cells, where prisoners were given no food or water until they eventually died. Dark cells, where there was only one tiny window and a solid door; prisoners there would eventually use up all the oxygen in the room and suffocate to death. I walked up to one of the doors to look through the peephole, and I instantly jumped back as my nose touched the wood and I could smell it, rotten and musty. I imagined an SS officer looking through that same peephole with a sense of satisfaction, and I wanted to vomit.<br />
<br />
Back outside, we walked around for a bit, seeing the execution yard/wall, where prisoners were executed en masse. We stopped in the exhibit for French victims, which had a recording playing of a train arriving at the camp that echoed through the whole building and made my skin crawl. There was a room there that had every wall lined with pictures of children who were shipped off to Auschwitz. It even had each child's address and everything, right down to the<span style="font-style: italic;"> arrondissement</span>.<br />
<br />
Eventually, as closing time was near, we made our way towards the gas chamber and crematorium. At first, we didn't see it, as it's built into the side of a small hill. But, as we came around the side, we saw the entrance. Again, we had it entirely to ourselves, which was good because I started crying almost as soon as we went in. The sense of dread and death and desperation is almost palpable...you can feel the terror just hanging in the air. It is one thing to have seen this place represented in movies and documentaries; it is another thing entirely to be standing where so many people were purposely gassed and burned. Generally such a thing is unimaginable, but there is nothing unimaginable about it when you're standing right there where it happened, looking directly into the ovens.<br />
<br />
Why go to Auschwitz? Why put oneself through the nauseating experience of accepting the reality of this place and what happened here?<br />
<br />
To bear witness to history. To say, <span style="font-style: italic;">this happened, and I'm here to add my voice to the millions who are outraged.</span> To make sure it never happens again.<br />
<br />
I'm not sorry I went to Auschwitz; I wish I had been able to see all of the exhibits there and at Birkenau. I'm sure I'll go back at some point...but not anytime soon. I don't think I could bear it.</div></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-15844944432569369032009-11-22T23:38:00.000+01:002010-04-04T01:28:46.900+02:00Thanksgiving Gluttony<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"The funny thing about Tha</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">nksgiving</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">, or any huge meal, is that you spend 12 hours shopping for it and then chopping and cooking and braising and blanching. Then it takes 20 minutes to eat it and everybody sort of sits around in a food coma, and then it takes four hours to clean it up.</span>" </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;">Ted Allen</span></div><br />
Thanksgiving has come and gone, as has my most recent guest, Katie. Katie and I worked at the library together in college and have been friends ever since. She had never been to Europe, so I was really excited when she said that she wanted to come here for her first-ever visit. I regarded it as both a tremendous opportunity and responsibility to introduce her to the place I love, even though I wouldn't normally pick Poland as a traditional starting point for European adventures. Still, she was keen to come, and didn't mind that Poland was to be her introduction to European life instead of, say, Paris.<br />
<br />
Almost immediately after her arrival, I hosted an early Thanksgiving blowout feast. I invited everyone from work, 16 of whom came. Everyone was charged with bringing a dish and beverage of their choosing. There were lots of great Polish food items, and some other random dishes, as well. I was charged with cooking the traditional Thanksgiving goodies.<br />
<br />
So, I went for an apple cider-glazed 22 pound (10 kilo) turkey, with a big pan of traditional stuffing (no oysters, sausage, or cornbread for me!), 10 pounds of mashed potatoes, apple cider gravy, soft pull-apart rolls, and two pumpkin pies with homemade whipped cream. A lot of work, but Katie helped me prepare as much as possible the night before and throughout the day on Saturday, including sawing off the neck of the turkey. (I find it's nice to keep an experienced surgeon on hand at this time of year.) Really, everything got done on time, except the damned turkey, which delayed the stuffing (only room for one giant thing at a time in my small oven) and the gravy. But, since everyone had brought something to eat, no one was sitting around twiddling their thumbs and starving. Thankfully!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOchynezSLPJEY0zyQSJDDOvyvlthq5HQPMBBHRQBkHMq-9LuKAGEBXZ-yfKMJjBvWrwmiefx3L-r3cpMu9gWTJFPkFfzllyrhVi2ZOP7w8dW7-14Hu-z0GQoqJ-d9QNo2ZeIB6-PrTo/s1600/IMG_6223.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409689728053638002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOchynezSLPJEY0zyQSJDDOvyvlthq5HQPMBBHRQBkHMq-9LuKAGEBXZ-yfKMJjBvWrwmiefx3L-r3cpMu9gWTJFPkFfzllyrhVi2ZOP7w8dW7-14Hu-z0GQoqJ-d9QNo2ZeIB6-PrTo/s200/IMG_6223.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCy4iZJZ4qJmAoyjY1FQaZ9JGqKWaYDb1SjPt0bGz45TzYRwb22FQm0PFRUPJzD2btmcPRZD7S5QV4JNTY-S3L2vuMNPkhPbUrm-1_lyRR3CrmFGUJYeWJqST5_xvS6Szmuaza5JBIGE/s1600/IMG_6232.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409689737492844594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCy4iZJZ4qJmAoyjY1FQaZ9JGqKWaYDb1SjPt0bGz45TzYRwb22FQm0PFRUPJzD2btmcPRZD7S5QV4JNTY-S3L2vuMNPkhPbUrm-1_lyRR3CrmFGUJYeWJqST5_xvS6Szmuaza5JBIGE/s200/IMG_6232.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mnTDLlacauuNQLwoK6UaCmbeHeWV4P1TfVmNq-XZbJVi2_4go_1rnzSjVUNX2I23VN3Oi7eI2oLkNJ2SeqJAaHFoK3IHhnb-UF0j29aqV5ZsxIPxLZ-lX-hsQ0omwXrkFDoplrY-OKU/s1600/IMG_0632.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409693448267976482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mnTDLlacauuNQLwoK6UaCmbeHeWV4P1TfVmNq-XZbJVi2_4go_1rnzSjVUNX2I23VN3Oi7eI2oLkNJ2SeqJAaHFoK3IHhnb-UF0j29aqV5ZsxIPxLZ-lX-hsQ0omwXrkFDoplrY-OKU/s200/IMG_0632.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVVWSc3_IWAPYs_QgXPoJazM2uf7rVSOiXue-M9nyaT8HKP7d6eLzlKx7cjQ66QHuOWi_EBB_1zPcKWwWU3XDYFugmIqb9LZQBuPhxzvo0SPPOkbPK_RNOKpd8CqNZqDBshHseBZKRb4/s1600/IMG_6243.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409689740902159634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVVWSc3_IWAPYs_QgXPoJazM2uf7rVSOiXue-M9nyaT8HKP7d6eLzlKx7cjQ66QHuOWi_EBB_1zPcKWwWU3XDYFugmIqb9LZQBuPhxzvo0SPPOkbPK_RNOKpd8CqNZqDBshHseBZKRb4/s200/IMG_6243.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Uppu6EAegVQb3J0Hhivnibgi6ri6y3S4mpRawyZIG539Hb2csznSrEioHS6tIOVNJiDX9PbxiDiQTfPNyjekpGw-N_T7UfeeTpeI1nqVKCOLKwuohMa6HXzpJLZLEKUinE3iofu5d7Y/s1600/IMG_6245.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409689744482024546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Uppu6EAegVQb3J0Hhivnibgi6ri6y3S4mpRawyZIG539Hb2csznSrEioHS6tIOVNJiDX9PbxiDiQTfPNyjekpGw-N_T7UfeeTpeI1nqVKCOLKwuohMa6HXzpJLZLEKUinE3iofu5d7Y/s200/IMG_6245.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsRUKmk31WePIr9KnBR2Vv5i-n1am97TVUluvCiv6TxCVeSaQ8Rn75Fb5fapfDQictSm3LwLwH25Tjv1jBqqpqwSgWR1sWkiL4s_n3pMSFrn9L1heiCCwTLTpTHfktTkXLJFskdFJEGo/s1600/IMG_6253.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409690621042580226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsRUKmk31WePIr9KnBR2Vv5i-n1am97TVUluvCiv6TxCVeSaQ8Rn75Fb5fapfDQictSm3LwLwH25Tjv1jBqqpqwSgWR1sWkiL4s_n3pMSFrn9L1heiCCwTLTpTHfktTkXLJFskdFJEGo/s200/IMG_6253.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_Bq3dK1pRXTrvU7xxT7S-1Bv5-r4rbXRqt0icNwpB4z8W9VyDeL3WfQFugK6C-vkTdQ3S5I15lgKO1WedE3MDozjCtyjpYdfIkHTQCNlEWiMibXrBHXSNjGTfN_w5tbvSROHnAi8ZH0/s1600/IMG_6256.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409690625764711602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_Bq3dK1pRXTrvU7xxT7S-1Bv5-r4rbXRqt0icNwpB4z8W9VyDeL3WfQFugK6C-vkTdQ3S5I15lgKO1WedE3MDozjCtyjpYdfIkHTQCNlEWiMibXrBHXSNjGTfN_w5tbvSROHnAi8ZH0/s200/IMG_6256.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-OCZkXeGJnNMONqIYHZbtLd0fC1yyHavkXq9uvgNgl7V5WHELP0-jSbPOEhYtCMaU6InnLEt4dWjBytQ2kLFysTxwv9JUaNHTaC2DRbYPrCnZ-Te1oEZpkX0B9yqZmSYItCa5TkR73Q/s1600/IMG_6268.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409690629968117810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-OCZkXeGJnNMONqIYHZbtLd0fC1yyHavkXq9uvgNgl7V5WHELP0-jSbPOEhYtCMaU6InnLEt4dWjBytQ2kLFysTxwv9JUaNHTaC2DRbYPrCnZ-Te1oEZpkX0B9yqZmSYItCa5TkR73Q/s200/IMG_6268.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1d7_O_ytujovM5ZDPmsxXyPiezgvGLBVor0OI6WY1pLJG9Vl_O0dAtjWIEA0AslxG_WJsvY-xTQePeZ8n0xnpWDm13H1ioIfC-Rm6X7gFnfzWuzYX2cTgID5kaGiMcvYbUCVFPfFhfM/s1600/IMG_6275.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409690634303390818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1d7_O_ytujovM5ZDPmsxXyPiezgvGLBVor0OI6WY1pLJG9Vl_O0dAtjWIEA0AslxG_WJsvY-xTQePeZ8n0xnpWDm13H1ioIfC-Rm6X7gFnfzWuzYX2cTgID5kaGiMcvYbUCVFPfFhfM/s200/IMG_6275.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuEghTwi9P-iB63EOLg0FxjDjXDT3xIR9eC_n9JdKwCfdmFL6fxddg40U96Lh6DeROCoreVREb6EtB4CCksBZSUtTjmwcC5R61_FYez5mwjJZA22-b3RVOPRH0NxyJ5ejcaEkOksiacA/s1600/IMG_6288.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409691343466199762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuEghTwi9P-iB63EOLg0FxjDjXDT3xIR9eC_n9JdKwCfdmFL6fxddg40U96Lh6DeROCoreVREb6EtB4CCksBZSUtTjmwcC5R61_FYez5mwjJZA22-b3RVOPRH0NxyJ5ejcaEkOksiacA/s200/IMG_6288.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a></div>I sweated it out in the kitchen, getting things ready at the last moment, but Katie was really good about bringing me bits of food to eat and helping to clean as we went along. I feel it was as successful as it could have possibly been under the circumstances! Instead of brining the turkey, as I normally would, I opted to salt it overnight (as recommended by Cook's Illustrated for those who don't have the space or inclination to brine). It worked a treat, and the turkey was incredibly moist.<br />
<br />
My friends hung out until about 1am, listening to music and drinking a bit too much. Having lots of fun, to be sure. It was a great party, and I'm so glad I took the time to share the spirit of Thanksgiving with all my new friends.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-4gh1FrwJFHTCHcx87fq3BGjRQtnAHiddn2HSSlVzyX7LarZhqmO91zdE43Ev_g7zsyiB9gA0HFsIeX3HTRcxoM3Ph4LQ7vRz8oXL3TKhGdII5kTrit3DE9wrNLlYDQcANUTjtvhXfg/s1600/IMG_6257.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409690624378781170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-4gh1FrwJFHTCHcx87fq3BGjRQtnAHiddn2HSSlVzyX7LarZhqmO91zdE43Ev_g7zsyiB9gA0HFsIeX3HTRcxoM3Ph4LQ7vRz8oXL3TKhGdII5kTrit3DE9wrNLlYDQcANUTjtvhXfg/s200/IMG_6257.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLg8-2uJJHGQAOnFreDZb-AIY5LlOFdy3aRcGBoNhnNBFO0vOOIW5DhND1eerH7cnJf3iL2AlxmL1CggpcioZ1lMfp7O1SaDimjx1v-zqIKx0tGpUidEx-kcxpSxBS76vvIZzdS2bWUkI/s1600/IMG_6281.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409691333594309474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLg8-2uJJHGQAOnFreDZb-AIY5LlOFdy3aRcGBoNhnNBFO0vOOIW5DhND1eerH7cnJf3iL2AlxmL1CggpcioZ1lMfp7O1SaDimjx1v-zqIKx0tGpUidEx-kcxpSxBS76vvIZzdS2bWUkI/s200/IMG_6281.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0rDdjfAEMFE0LnLwZkm2EzwarkQmEG55V649bkB3BFApDbWWSeAU9i5jubYTP7kXhIJSfuupk3r64eSU1zo2DeXO7uoDkE3giI4QG32QeW-psHq_iWeYWBRh2aG1955Fcrts_B07j30/s1600/IMG_6277.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409692178777715874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0rDdjfAEMFE0LnLwZkm2EzwarkQmEG55V649bkB3BFApDbWWSeAU9i5jubYTP7kXhIJSfuupk3r64eSU1zo2DeXO7uoDkE3giI4QG32QeW-psHq_iWeYWBRh2aG1955Fcrts_B07j30/s200/IMG_6277.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDF74H1hdEd4GZLCw14JrqbMb9m95WvnFBfhYl1_Cz5PPMkMiB3H8TS1tQai98PsxL2sZuSugBQhzXVaez0JcWhS8Nn5-t_yUikM4Q1R7hYcx_HNAlaxaTouZ30mvC0J1r9U6inydkXE/s1600/IMG_6290.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409691342527173074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDF74H1hdEd4GZLCw14JrqbMb9m95WvnFBfhYl1_Cz5PPMkMiB3H8TS1tQai98PsxL2sZuSugBQhzXVaez0JcWhS8Nn5-t_yUikM4Q1R7hYcx_HNAlaxaTouZ30mvC0J1r9U6inydkXE/s200/IMG_6290.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_kJ23hFA8mJbrBFHGEuhy3IkXOYN_llqAmXHvqk8z8lV22mSzyCxtBzy-cQjAkbvKzWoqvm5fO0N55myowJAvYX4TnVVBFGrchzttxW5rEZFH6Cvq4h-sdtX-RdMBTeM1h1MRQEHbCg/s1600/IMG_6282.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409691339501962290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_kJ23hFA8mJbrBFHGEuhy3IkXOYN_llqAmXHvqk8z8lV22mSzyCxtBzy-cQjAkbvKzWoqvm5fO0N55myowJAvYX4TnVVBFGrchzttxW5rEZFH6Cvq4h-sdtX-RdMBTeM1h1MRQEHbCg/s200/IMG_6282.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 200px; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn7uqxDrMEeB3xVHprZzqJxdBJFi06aC19hfzHJJaONBswdLpCxICJl3fGB5v1tyBJ8Nl6bcR_ZChHBhk5MBFV1UG5jZfaCzcZX84yu7LjMBrbzR0NLpwSNRmXTpHVoln0KyXZi1Z_6TU/s1600/IMG_6291.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409692160077981682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn7uqxDrMEeB3xVHprZzqJxdBJFi06aC19hfzHJJaONBswdLpCxICJl3fGB5v1tyBJ8Nl6bcR_ZChHBhk5MBFV1UG5jZfaCzcZX84yu7LjMBrbzR0NLpwSNRmXTpHVoln0KyXZi1Z_6TU/s200/IMG_6291.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 200px; width: 150px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_uxllQscW7rzHgKKfjpAbMkJjRV3oy0IwN9wVrad-RWYgDv4UP84wIJXwYLYFJq5xqZmk9KPinc8dvWca-WyZHBWgdBMzjREvg41PCrpbBxfuYT4qrRUe2M4qQ-JX8uXj7PyUT7Mo1g/s1600/IMG_6278.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409691331936227394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_uxllQscW7rzHgKKfjpAbMkJjRV3oy0IwN9wVrad-RWYgDv4UP84wIJXwYLYFJq5xqZmk9KPinc8dvWca-WyZHBWgdBMzjREvg41PCrpbBxfuYT4qrRUe2M4qQ-JX8uXj7PyUT7Mo1g/s200/IMG_6278.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 200px; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjanaTfEoFvOprNWV5a7oAcDibYkbGp6L1xpgpsmww6bHASxTDOljpCR0v4YanguIorg9-cY8t3ZS3yIvK2THAqwVfWMG6l1A4IvP1ifwq3HB1-7Iiv2yAMemU90ol9WQ-LgTqRIWdubk/s1600/IMG_6294.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409692161935460002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjanaTfEoFvOprNWV5a7oAcDibYkbGp6L1xpgpsmww6bHASxTDOljpCR0v4YanguIorg9-cY8t3ZS3yIvK2THAqwVfWMG6l1A4IvP1ifwq3HB1-7Iiv2yAMemU90ol9WQ-LgTqRIWdubk/s200/IMG_6294.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpQlRfDzFxxtR1bV14Q8HCPriutabc8E3SOuPy8q4_coP6JQzDQdc0y_8Gu1JyMfBJY_0cO5hizL7bJFSvmMty9uksJRaG9ZoiK8Q-rtRNpQofBIigRzDsOY3nslTziY0JvK_qjQapag/s1600/IMG_6301.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409692172707282546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpQlRfDzFxxtR1bV14Q8HCPriutabc8E3SOuPy8q4_coP6JQzDQdc0y_8Gu1JyMfBJY_0cO5hizL7bJFSvmMty9uksJRaG9ZoiK8Q-rtRNpQofBIigRzDsOY3nslTziY0JvK_qjQapag/s200/IMG_6301.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a></div>I also have to say a special word of thanks to Katie, who came to Poland with an entire suitcase filled with goodies for me. Three enormous cans of pumpkin, for a start! Not to mention chips, sugar, and spices that I couldn't find here. Jeans, a Barefoot Contessa cookbook, and on and on. What an amazing woman! So, thank you again for your incredible generosity and kindness, Katie!<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGn88Cdfk_E2YhJRJk_xneS_BAXshLDOgfraLlsdNf7stNqlNEPVfneca0D8AaoUFS3ZXdFwMRo4wH0LAOJM7CX0voYElu0kuqvRSdaxUZLSH4WM6SWeuPTb-DsQ5WwE682iTYlxN-z6o/s1600/IMG_6297.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409692168848337826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGn88Cdfk_E2YhJRJk_xneS_BAXshLDOgfraLlsdNf7stNqlNEPVfneca0D8AaoUFS3ZXdFwMRo4wH0LAOJM7CX0voYElu0kuqvRSdaxUZLSH4WM6SWeuPTb-DsQ5WwE682iTYlxN-z6o/s200/IMG_6297.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a></div><br />
The day after the early Thanksgiving party, we mostly just laid around my apartment, bloated and exhausted--as is traditional to the Thanksgiving celebration.<br />
<br />
This year, I'm thankful for many things, but especially for the friends in my life. You make the world an amazing place to be!<br />
<br />
More stories from Katie's visit to follow...Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-75268792299992683852009-11-16T22:51:00.014+01:002009-11-16T23:24:19.506+01:00From Here to Kraków<span style="font-size:100%;">I’m happy to report that I have had my very first visitor, the estimable Alice (of French extraction).<span style=""> </span>She arrived October 29 in Katowice, which meant that I had to go and collect her.<span style=""> </span>This was to be my first time using the train here, as well as my first time taking the airport shuttle from the Katowice train station.<span style=""> </span>As we will see, one would prove significantly more difficult than the other.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />Prior to leaving, I used the internet and one of the Polish secretaries to draw up an exact itinerary for the day’s adventure.<span style=""> </span>Train times and shuttle times, both coming and going.<span style=""> </span>Key words translated into Polish.<span style=""> </span>I felt confident and keen to get out on the tracks, as well as excited to see Alice for the first time since I left France.<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Come the big day, I was, naturally, running late to catch my train to Katowice.<span style=""> </span>I also left my sheet of key Polish words on my dining room table, along with my Polish dictionary.<span style=""> </span>My rudimentary explanation of “train station” to the taxi driver seemed to work, until he started going in the wrong direction, wasting precious seconds.<span style=""> </span>I got to the train station with about 2 minutes to spare, ready to make a running leap onto the train if need be.<span style=""> </span>Thankfully, the train was still humming in place, and I was spared the humiliation of a failed jump and messy death.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Unfortunately, I was not spared the humiliation of needing to buy my ticket from the train conductor. <span style=""> </span>No electronic pre-purchased tickets available here, sadly, and I was too late to buy one at the station.<span style=""> </span>I had plenty of money, but no small bills because it just didn’t occur to me that it would be a problem.<span style=""> </span>All I had was a 50 złoty note ($18) to pay for a 9 złoty ($3.25) ticket.<span style=""> </span>Of course, the guy didn’t have adequate change and kept questioning me in increasingly colorful Polish.<span style=""> </span>Just when I thought I was going to be hoisted from the train at the next stop, he started shouting something in Polish to all the other passengers.<span style=""> </span>Fortunately, he was asking if anyone could break a 50, and one of the teenage girls was able to help out.<span style=""> </span>Whew! Crisis averted, but my status as a foreigner was revealed, and I hate that.<span style=""> </span>When I use public transport abroad, I keep my mouth shut and try to blend in.<span style=""> </span>Having the conductor shout, “Can anyone break a 50 for this ignorant foreigner?!” doesn’t really line up with that goal.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The rest of the train ride was uneventful, and soon I was at the station in Katowice.<span style=""> </span>I had heard that the station would be thoroughly wretched, and it didn’t disappoint.<span style=""> </span>Imagine a bomb shelter coated in graffiti and soaked in the urine of thousands.<span style=""> </span>Once I scouted out the airport shuttle pickup location, I retreated back into the building to kill 30 minutes until the next bus.<span style=""> </span>Starving and cold, I decided to order my favorite Polish soup from a dismal-looking food stand.<span style=""> </span>After I placed my order, the woman looked at me in surprise, but quickly retrieved a frozen bowl of żurek from her dorm-sized fridge to warm up.<span style=""> </span>I was dubious, but honestly, it was the best I have yet had here.<span style=""> </span>I love this soup…it’s made from a base of fermented rye flour, so it’s a bit tangy.<span style=""> </span>Plus, it’s got potatoes and kielbasa in it, which lends a lovely smoky flavor. It occasionally comes with half of a hard-boiled egg in it, which is vomitous.<span style=""> </span>Thankfully, this one was egg-free and lusciously thick, as well.<span style=""> </span>Pure yum.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So, I ate up and scurried out to the shuttle bus as soon as it arrived.<span style=""> </span>The man, despite being charged with the constant transport of foreigners to the airport, spoke no more than 5 words of English.<span style=""> </span>I already knew from the shuttle’s webpage that the price was 25 złoty for a roundtrip ticket, so I thought I was good to go.<span style=""> </span>He said the price in Polish, which I only recognized as containing the number 2.<span style=""> </span>So, I started to take money out of my wallet, and he said OK once I got to 20 złoty.<span style=""> </span>Uh, what?<span style=""> </span>I asked for a ticket (to have for the return journey) and he basically said he couldn’t give me a ticket.<span style=""> </span>At this point, my tourist bullshit detector was going off, but I paid him the money and got on the bus anyway.<span style=""> </span>Then, using his remaining 3 words of English, he attempted to tell me that the bus would not be leaving for another 25 minutes, 25 minutes later than stated on their official website.<span style=""> </span>I was really wishing at that point that I knew the Polish for “What the fuck??”<span style=""> </span>I wasn’t worried about getting there on time since I had deliberately chosen an early time in case things didn’t work out as planned; I was, however, worried for the return journey because we had a very tight window in which to make our train back to Gliwice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I was pissed and felt like I was getting ripped off in the bargain, so I phoned school to have one of the Polish secretaries speak to the guy.<span style=""> </span>I explained what was going on and then handed the phone to Mr. Driver.<span style=""> </span>He seemed very confused, and soon started getting pissy.<span style=""> </span>We had to pass the phone back and forth a few times, and each time, he got madder and madder.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, he printed me out a receipt for my payment, but made me pay him 5 złoty more.<span style=""> </span>He refused to budge on the return ticket thing, so I ended up having to pay 25 złoty each way.<span style=""> </span>Assholes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Anyway, I got to the airport with plenty of time to spare.<span style=""> </span>Alice’s flight arrived a bit early, so we were able to catch an early shuttle bus back to the train station.<span style=""> </span>It was really nice to get caught up on the journey home.<span style=""> </span>Once </span><span style="font-size:100%;">back in Gliwice, we went back to my place to put our faces on, then it was out to my favorite bar, 4 art, to have drinks and dinner with Magda and Georgina.<span style=""> </span>Good times!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSaOxO4Oyj6mpogoO0syoLWVZnw6OrHiKr37LE4BNnsZ4lySSlvJPTsMVMmj4wvHnkRbNf0a5yHCuShk7aYM6hfSJ1xp0w1tsS9_zC260i7qX89TdBGBprPM2GljIpR69obEe5nElkXQ/s1600/IMG_5953.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSaOxO4Oyj6mpogoO0syoLWVZnw6OrHiKr37LE4BNnsZ4lySSlvJPTsMVMmj4wvHnkRbNf0a5yHCuShk7aYM6hfSJ1xp0w1tsS9_zC260i7qX89TdBGBprPM2GljIpR69obEe5nElkXQ/s200/IMG_5953.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404816585113988802" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The next day it was off to Kraków, a city I had been dying to see ever since I knew I’d be coming to Poland.<span style=""> </span>Oh, it was lovely…so lovely.<span style=""> </span>Its architecture is similar to Prague, which happens to be my favorite city in the world.<span style=""> </span>There was also a great vibe in the city, such positive energy.<span style=""> </span>Since Gliwice could hardly be described as vibrant, it was nice to be in a place that practically thrummed with culture and history.<span style=""> </span>We took our time walking around the city, heading slowly but surely towards the rynek (town square). Eventually, we went to a Georgian restaurant for lunch, where I had a traditional Georgian cheese pie and Alice had a chicken kebab. It was a cozy spot to rest for awhile out of the cold, and the food wasn't bad, either!<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjssBQ0UC40lsYGWYOsFPboKy0IetpaxHrmLXPjAdZt2s_pat2pbpEy3UUhuXL3g_PgK5Agqlprmr2HwnYaYagkf1cHYuJN0h2yCnfuW_g3Z-ZfqvEu7ttQkEDhe51c1aREgCwV7BqlB2g/s1600/IMG_5955.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjssBQ0UC40lsYGWYOsFPboKy0IetpaxHrmLXPjAdZt2s_pat2pbpEy3UUhuXL3g_PgK5Agqlprmr2HwnYaYagkf1cHYuJN0h2yCnfuW_g3Z-ZfqvEu7ttQkEDhe51c1aREgCwV7BqlB2g/s200/IMG_5955.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404816585576924034" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIuHVVnsMPixbeK4RCQ9eVO3oVbxf2WAL3tl79P4gk3x2ZEHSX1QCycyqvcVBmvA5idIsOSNVYZZST7yMcEkBJvtua8dAxEu8yfb0AVjWUEq5ksZLwvVvs4Oj8X0fo2sxI9eS4xn4gMQ/s1600/IMG_5956.JPG"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIuHVVnsMPixbeK4RCQ9eVO3oVbxf2WAL3tl79P4gk3x2ZEHSX1QCycyqvcVBmvA5idIsOSNVYZZST7yMcEkBJvtua8dAxEu8yfb0AVjWUEq5ksZLwvVvs4Oj8X0fo2sxI9eS4xn4gMQ/s200/IMG_5956.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404816588767791762" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgt4aTPifh6ZaOD_dK9po79W7YvEM3gAmbYc4zzlSEF1sgYGJO3TMNvbi65x2qJwwsd1CkIUYklYaTiTuLnNW333jldGobzUVMJBrBIQ4RfMw_SmlI4yMO_2d1IJ_LfnI1V1DS_vjjH8M/s1600/IMG_5966.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgt4aTPifh6ZaOD_dK9po79W7YvEM3gAmbYc4zzlSEF1sgYGJO3TMNvbi65x2qJwwsd1CkIUYklYaTiTuLnNW333jldGobzUVMJBrBIQ4RfMw_SmlI4yMO_2d1IJ_LfnI1V1DS_vjjH8M/s200/IMG_5966.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404816596062013170" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5H2WY6UjlYfXa5QSRcwP1pB_nzFvj88ktO1ce8b53cWsSGECN5P7RwuyCvjo1bclZEbiYGi3ad8SrpxYdXmWwVyt2FkALibcGEj0jwr-UidLKKPAHePQSLufTXUFuwPZ7VtmLTy7TFSo/s1600/IMG_5962.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5H2WY6UjlYfXa5QSRcwP1pB_nzFvj88ktO1ce8b53cWsSGECN5P7RwuyCvjo1bclZEbiYGi3ad8SrpxYdXmWwVyt2FkALibcGEj0jwr-UidLKKPAHePQSLufTXUFuwPZ7VtmLTy7TFSo/s200/IMG_5962.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404816596104090434" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVmlJnQm42u3zjSmGpTh0lVD_R39HSBBgH32UOKFnBb9QidYOMVAD1Shv4NdGOqd-gmWKID7YEi5SMqoHlYKMqvHo7TZQ5R6oDLp3m2uzhADQd-7jIDgsvudM6Pg1x36547h91dlOgT8/s1600/IMG_6018.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVmlJnQm42u3zjSmGpTh0lVD_R39HSBBgH32UOKFnBb9QidYOMVAD1Shv4NdGOqd-gmWKID7YEi5SMqoHlYKMqvHo7TZQ5R6oDLp3m2uzhADQd-7jIDgsvudM6Pg1x36547h91dlOgT8/s200/IMG_6018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404818315665293042" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmfbEGrfC_IYBN3fToChQ6Js5gjNboTsTww_VOOm2NWcp4wF1YlH-AlxgJQp_ctojKPjXrcw9e86YG0C2IenO5Kh4PJoSuCPNpyAsl6jW_OfpA_Qs0ciUt4OPJeuj-0MydhzSq3yFzeo/s1600/IMG_5996.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmfbEGrfC_IYBN3fToChQ6Js5gjNboTsTww_VOOm2NWcp4wF1YlH-AlxgJQp_ctojKPjXrcw9e86YG0C2IenO5Kh4PJoSuCPNpyAsl6jW_OfpA_Qs0ciUt4OPJeuj-0MydhzSq3yFzeo/s200/IMG_5996.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404822929558531298" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhANwdtwVbQLE0tzHKQFZiAsKyfwskWr_PS1m4-BfUutk-ow1Yyrw8nNE7uHazLlx1-a7MfkktUHksikDVMEaF_BICrvycpq72FyXwuNdQ0X3Zz4xWPvGUNVPmr5z0u1m4KPCvnXpSJqs/s1600/IMG_5982.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhANwdtwVbQLE0tzHKQFZiAsKyfwskWr_PS1m4-BfUutk-ow1Yyrw8nNE7uHazLlx1-a7MfkktUHksikDVMEaF_BICrvycpq72FyXwuNdQ0X3Zz4xWPvGUNVPmr5z0u1m4KPCvnXpSJqs/s200/IMG_5982.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404822918052243714" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGJ1PrEoYMFJyfcwu7CcIVvOPEecpsuh1bfvreRc6-cVRjjOWEIcxKq3yOaqC_v3wQdSISVuSRScxLoY9ekP_d0iA0eauDr_nuZid7Q7MzRtotGnbXyznz9_uXzrQCbdkIQaw8pDJ24M/s1600/IMG_5988.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGJ1PrEoYMFJyfcwu7CcIVvOPEecpsuh1bfvreRc6-cVRjjOWEIcxKq3yOaqC_v3wQdSISVuSRScxLoY9ekP_d0iA0eauDr_nuZid7Q7MzRtotGnbXyznz9_uXzrQCbdkIQaw8pDJ24M/s200/IMG_5988.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404822921017722850" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRXTRThhP8sUylVjFhI2JFmH3vhq5GgO03YJ3MlyV6nPoB1qbAHwyE6-5Lr4j-j7TN1xX7lbx7KvO2Gktja2qQzdq9UEY2Y4G_oIUxnq0f8i-YNZGxCJAFP9ribg2pVSS9VNv9CyixAY/s1600/IMG_5993.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRXTRThhP8sUylVjFhI2JFmH3vhq5GgO03YJ3MlyV6nPoB1qbAHwyE6-5Lr4j-j7TN1xX7lbx7KvO2Gktja2qQzdq9UEY2Y4G_oIUxnq0f8i-YNZGxCJAFP9ribg2pVSS9VNv9CyixAY/s200/IMG_5993.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404822926927647554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Mostly, our t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">rip was spent just getting to know the place. Everywhere you go, the city invites you to take her picture.<span style=""> </span>Picturesque around each twisting street, with colorful fa</span><span style="font-size:100%;">cades, leafy parks, and cobblestone streets, Kraków is genuinely lovely.<span style=""> </span>I wanted to snap my fingers and live there instantly.<span style=""> </span>I especially wanted to live there after visiting Massolit Books, an English language bookstore.<span style=""> </span>What heaven!<span style=""> </span>The warm beverages and homemade cakes, the decent selection of Bill Bryson books, what more does a girl need?<span style=""> </span>I could have spent hours just loitering in the wandering rooms of floor-to-ceiling books.<span style=""> </span>You would never guess from the outside that the small storefront hides a veritable maze of English treasures.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1UquHca4Pd3u3TnSebG1JlU_y1pdl8OZZ0v8Ge0STXC_1UPVHJboiuLuIEO41518BgkM6dz4yJxXhVEncxtn3b7ogv_Jrsllsrr9P5LHUdQf1K_iU8igmLlHbTZ89kFuZmklMDkexOk/s1600/IMG_6024.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1UquHca4Pd3u3TnSebG1JlU_y1pdl8OZZ0v8Ge0STXC_1UPVHJboiuLuIEO41518BgkM6dz4yJxXhVEncxtn3b7ogv_Jrsllsrr9P5LHUdQf1K_iU8igmLlHbTZ89kFuZmklMDkexOk/s200/IMG_6024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404818321054876450" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoezTTqG8TBIXXSsuRGHdh64F_ar4fjGeAK2yNnjNcqZL0yi9W0f54Tw-kaKczCnWwCw3bwo5E1YgpY6WO1aPw6Xzd3R-J7g6pF9CueTuhxcy7xUT_960sSUs_-mIosEasxuQ9oFgtPU/s1600/IMG_6006.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoezTTqG8TBIXXSsuRGHdh64F_ar4fjGeAK2yNnjNcqZL0yi9W0f54Tw-kaKczCnWwCw3bwo5E1YgpY6WO1aPw6Xzd3R-J7g6pF9CueTuhxcy7xUT_960sSUs_-mIosEasxuQ9oFgtPU/s200/IMG_6006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404818322311338066" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqjvaHf9eNIv7L8tvTlY8wrGmWx8EsezVaR5CNhmdijg3meZsq74T9Ur9mcrOCAY1EsukMGxGcFAdGJLZVg2esyRUXqD-Qq8VCFOGt1St3UkXqAstgajgaTV4EN1xuNX42XF8bGGW3Jw/s1600/IMG_5997.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqjvaHf9eNIv7L8tvTlY8wrGmWx8EsezVaR5CNhmdijg3meZsq74T9Ur9mcrOCAY1EsukMGxGcFAdGJLZVg2esyRUXqD-Qq8VCFOGt1St3UkXqAstgajgaTV4EN1xuNX42XF8bGGW3Jw/s200/IMG_5997.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404823781805993698" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoe9IUKweFceQtnKyiUMc2UDoSHvqE60NnSrS7L5gEKSJn24gNlprrPScvVgNOqW7gBZdvoTWFZ_dL4LbuICjFUAjx_LqmEZkBViTTSrmY3p7r2EnYGzfz6wCbLThcKWH8RMqluV-ToA/s1600/IMG_6038.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoe9IUKweFceQtnKyiUMc2UDoSHvqE60NnSrS7L5gEKSJn24gNlprrPScvVgNOqW7gBZdvoTWFZ_dL4LbuICjFUAjx_LqmEZkBViTTSrmY3p7r2EnYGzfz6wCbLThcKWH8RMqluV-ToA/s200/IMG_6038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404818323740790018" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wdV2gv8tpSWhUiqnD0SNmM1tW2ce1O9KbQDgagbQJh1TzJQtdFulmN2tbK1UaPkAfsit2SQmrzZOcVwyGwyn8xymagh8OuTw582yqNQGWEbgTSA4lhFDcuP_n5TShHEomUKgTl_ZQ8Q/s1600/IMG_5965.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wdV2gv8tpSWhUiqnD0SNmM1tW2ce1O9KbQDgagbQJh1TzJQtdFulmN2tbK1UaPkAfsit2SQmrzZOcVwyGwyn8xymagh8OuTw582yqNQGWEbgTSA4lhFDcuP_n5TShHEomUKgTl_ZQ8Q/s200/IMG_5965.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404823786166709826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxa9rx1ytz4Vko4AY5hYZxNGD3bHaJUq7Oz5pA4oOdxSRLpuSxHcJ_BkW7SK83WmIgZbtWHhSYevLhNrZGO72dldl8d_qGXi4OJtbDAZr6K_ornHwbAWiPIojUq2JgUd7IrEhppZna40/s1600/IMG_6008.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxa9rx1ytz4Vko4AY5hYZxNGD3bHaJUq7Oz5pA4oOdxSRLpuSxHcJ_BkW7SK83WmIgZbtWHhSYevLhNrZGO72dldl8d_qGXi4OJtbDAZr6K_ornHwbAWiPIojUq2JgUd7IrEhppZna40/s200/IMG_6008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404823786813294722" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0p0GS8z3pyfs7KjNrVQA56DlC8bzXvwcnyDU0k3iHFHj5gnczcwkhxlyoVr86Zevmv8vmO5Ny8DDVW7ge4QiWZ6CaS7lafZ9XpnZmD8iUKhu8sGo-yY9m1h_o8R4ztZ0V_1B1kZEGeo/s1600/DSC00884.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0p0GS8z3pyfs7KjNrVQA56DlC8bzXvwcnyDU0k3iHFHj5gnczcwkhxlyoVr86Zevmv8vmO5Ny8DDVW7ge4QiWZ6CaS7lafZ9XpnZmD8iUKhu8sGo-yY9m1h_o8R4ztZ0V_1B1kZEGeo/s200/DSC00884.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404824609634348834" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMdsMhNUIK7768vxooQMYuLndhtc0Qan3iLpZ_8Qh6hDovULV63qdUb3n-N8SOcdJK1E-mBT_BgGjTyZFtqMijv_MXR9fOkmc7ZAfW4WKKKDBY7DQFHRga33nCmv4S2qiWewa2zQixDg/s1600/IMG_6043.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMdsMhNUIK7768vxooQMYuLndhtc0Qan3iLpZ_8Qh6hDovULV63qdUb3n-N8SOcdJK1E-mBT_BgGjTyZFtqMijv_MXR9fOkmc7ZAfW4WKKKDBY7DQFHRga33nCmv4S2qiWewa2zQixDg/s200/IMG_6043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404823789706419314" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIuc0TqVIW2bFaAaE41M4OjUmL2bcHq1LFtPO4xorwdUJaspIQ3BrGcouGAIbkCpXZp1Ap5ADphp75uhaTSmECm1H0a0Zvz2XNKX98gAJId8hsYJwYqx7zEbbF8-V5aH1AajFLdrBcYo/s1600/IMG_6044.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIuc0TqVIW2bFaAaE41M4OjUmL2bcHq1LFtPO4xorwdUJaspIQ3BrGcouGAIbkCpXZp1Ap5ADphp75uhaTSmECm1H0a0Zvz2XNKX98gAJId8hsYJwYqx7zEbbF8-V5aH1AajFLdrBcYo/s200/IMG_6044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404823792819912642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uw2Dfek4eU5zVSgKM53h9YYrZ3i0eXZ8mojevaKzbk24jh7-JchRvY5ZX3LpWrQ8VDnlPUc_0TtEa_BiBh5YhfDszNKpWlGblGcRRozR_KJLE775AOFfV1gcxVkttVs69-NPX-peFuQ/s1600/IMG_6045.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uw2Dfek4eU5zVSgKM53h9YYrZ3i0eXZ8mojevaKzbk24jh7-JchRvY5ZX3LpWrQ8VDnlPUc_0TtEa_BiBh5YhfDszNKpWlGblGcRRozR_KJLE775AOFfV1gcxVkttVs69-NPX-peFuQ/s200/IMG_6045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404824595730779554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYETaV68elizg5JVEqV_EXOtVc7OJAKjY1i4lZPL7YuYlrnDQ0QTRs2UvK-Ec2HXuvCxS43O2qNreidU4Of3y9Vbky-E4pJlMSgWRW38cP6M8_94kM3FQDC-8tZUbq3LZIxeRBXFG3ik/s1600/IMG_6047.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYETaV68elizg5JVEqV_EXOtVc7OJAKjY1i4lZPL7YuYlrnDQ0QTRs2UvK-Ec2HXuvCxS43O2qNreidU4Of3y9Vbky-E4pJlMSgWRW38cP6M8_94kM3FQDC-8tZUbq3LZIxeRBXFG3ik/s200/IMG_6047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404824594269656210" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ptQvG3Dd1IKA4jIJxDDUTNG2SN7DgvamLpAOuIeTRQ8EDNFmdmu0mIcgInGHmvJOa2h8pYI2wn13xTE9ELNSfVZBufHtR99dltsaYJbVvnx7Do_WZZVZkJB_RlmAcSmK5BTynjIKeuU/s1600/IMG_6057.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ptQvG3Dd1IKA4jIJxDDUTNG2SN7DgvamLpAOuIeTRQ8EDNFmdmu0mIcgInGHmvJOa2h8pYI2wn13xTE9ELNSfVZBufHtR99dltsaYJbVvnx7Do_WZZVZkJB_RlmAcSmK5BTynjIKeuU/s200/IMG_6057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404824602184271410" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQM1LvXws2nCSldhC_9zP4G_UzM8oZ8u6MwgyzS9PN5fcCC252MKMhW1_ItFrMJ2hzgRIwtGXPGMjNSppfhssnPtM5IfXq0R-hyffNZrocmWI9wGYyh-tEWhWrvqRXlpuNe5JFBTLPFd4/s1600/IMG_6062.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQM1LvXws2nCSldhC_9zP4G_UzM8oZ8u6MwgyzS9PN5fcCC252MKMhW1_ItFrMJ2hzgRIwtGXPGMjNSppfhssnPtM5IfXq0R-hyffNZrocmWI9wGYyh-tEWhWrvqRXlpuNe5JFBTLPFd4/s200/IMG_6062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404824604792965586" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">After hunkering down in a back room for an hour or so, Alice and I headed back in the direction of the train station.<span style=""> </span>Once there, we did some browsing in the enormous attached shopping center.<span style=""> </span>I was looking for a new purse, but the only ones on offer were suitcase-sized fringed numbers beamed in from 1987, so I declined to make a purchase.<span style=""> </span>I did, however, strike gold in the pantyhose/tights store.<span style=""> </span>Patterned tights seem to be a national obsession here, so I was keen to find a pair of my own.<span style=""> </span>But, since most Polish women look more like anorexic giraffes than actual human beings, I was doubtful that I would be able to find a pair of tights in anything resembling my size.<span style=""> </span>The saleswoman, not wanting to lose a sale, assured me that she had something which would be more than adequate.<span style=""> </span>To demonstrate, she grabbed a pair of tights from a low drawer and pulled them out of the package.<span style=""> </span>In loud English, she said, “SEE!” as she put both hands in the panty section and stretched them out as far as they would go.<span style=""> </span>“BIG!”<span style=""> </span>Well, I couldn’t disagree with her; they did seem suitably voluminous.<span style=""> </span>So, I bought a brown pair to go with a couple of my skirts.<span style=""> </span>Happily, once I got home and did some creative wiggling, they mostly fit.<span style=""> </span>If I go back, I’ll make sure to buy the extortionately expensive patterned pair she tried to sell me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">By this time, my never-ending headcold was coming on full force, so it was time to go home.<span style=""> </span>The train back was warm and cozy, much better than the drafty, Communist-era train on the way there.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Saturday was Halloween.<span style=""> </span>In the morning, Alice and I helped out at the little kids’ Halloween party at school.<span style=""> </span>Some of the kids went all out with their costumes and looked great.<span style=""> </span>None looked better, though, than a student of mine named Viktor.<span style=""> </span>Viktor is a total nut muffin.<span style=""> </span>Just lunatic in every way.<span style=""> </span>I don’t particularly enjoy this trait as his teacher, but it served him well on Halloween.<span style=""> </span>In the midst of all the other kids dressed up as witches and vampires, here comes Viktor down the hallway, wrapped head-to-toe in gauze bandages.<span style=""> </span>What a mummy!<span style=""> </span>I have never seen such a skinny kid!<span style=""> </span>He could barely move, but he looked great.<span style=""> </span>Not so great later, though, as the bandages started to unravel and he was left wearing little but his tiny blue underpants.<span style=""> </span>I took a bunch of pictures that day, but somehow managed to miss him, damn it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlGThg_wPe1943pistLH9dhYdicngRkUufbr6eusJDcwIxH06HcAnQgpYmxvRQUDgXOvkMXdRh6iRnr3kKcRTSK32sO4lYsWpSsAXeW42i_jGQgbk4ETaX4sLa_cE4h967TSTyQxMMGk/s1600/IMG_6108.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlGThg_wPe1943pistLH9dhYdicngRkUufbr6eusJDcwIxH06HcAnQgpYmxvRQUDgXOvkMXdRh6iRnr3kKcRTSK32sO4lYsWpSsAXeW42i_jGQgbk4ETaX4sLa_cE4h967TSTyQxMMGk/s200/IMG_6108.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404827379723446242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0cbVppHTE7ZyYrA_5MrFCnBvIPINtM0qdoAa4JcDpkyn0ptzi0lKtDqMHUJFRYcMdD9LoAB6IP6eJ4iItLVsX6Ku00n2zwLnIaVguFsfxgNrd-vLTodqGQqAtTZ_6MoEWegTHcyxeYU8/s1600/IMG_6109.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0cbVppHTE7ZyYrA_5MrFCnBvIPINtM0qdoAa4JcDpkyn0ptzi0lKtDqMHUJFRYcMdD9LoAB6IP6eJ4iItLVsX6Ku00n2zwLnIaVguFsfxgNrd-vLTodqGQqAtTZ_6MoEWegTHcyxeYU8/s200/IMG_6109.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404827383582542882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJojuUR_d30DRgG5d_sJ-kyWY8TPoYqfPiveLaRTva_QhiMjQwE8cem5bKKGr2HO1kudrnUV914r56ZCYCjNftqHXnr69k0Kz1qw092GvIUBWgzVFK0MtDFgN9VEWjWGGvhyWFMcfeBYI/s1600/IMG_6111.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJojuUR_d30DRgG5d_sJ-kyWY8TPoYqfPiveLaRTva_QhiMjQwE8cem5bKKGr2HO1kudrnUV914r56ZCYCjNftqHXnr69k0Kz1qw092GvIUBWgzVFK0MtDFgN9VEWjWGGvhyWFMcfeBYI/s200/IMG_6111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404827386835204418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2mhs3nNRtkBmxUeSy3s8td2qy-PuYEBvBcql6iRntGbpcGDlYxm8-yA3kfwUMnEeVGDoXm0-oJ2035QG7iXTiAhZhn0S46ZOE9ph67W0r5u-DWdc7uxbMvuO_VJ68gAqMM1QMX7fYuyk/s1600/IMG_6122.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2mhs3nNRtkBmxUeSy3s8td2qy-PuYEBvBcql6iRntGbpcGDlYxm8-yA3kfwUMnEeVGDoXm0-oJ2035QG7iXTiAhZhn0S46ZOE9ph67W0r5u-DWdc7uxbMvuO_VJ68gAqMM1QMX7fYuyk/s200/IMG_6122.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404827391704340658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizT_5Z9puMet02XbyW5UMudCJMwN6djrSAznjCCAhupuK7iD-3U4UWbiYFiyOOfgZEaT-3SRUIVc-Kyt0jTiGMD5HxX9JXe7hcaYE8T2GN1c2v1J-12BtndHrC5pExYL3U2Ax0ljbsptE/s1600/IMG_6126.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizT_5Z9puMet02XbyW5UMudCJMwN6djrSAznjCCAhupuK7iD-3U4UWbiYFiyOOfgZEaT-3SRUIVc-Kyt0jTiGMD5HxX9JXe7hcaYE8T2GN1c2v1J-12BtndHrC5pExYL3U2Ax0ljbsptE/s200/IMG_6126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404827397602812898" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">In the evening, the teachers indulged in a Halloween Pub Club at NOT.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t really have a costume, so I just dressed in a nice outfit, teased my hair up a bit, and put on a little too much makeup.<span style=""> </span>Alice didn’t have a costume, either, so she decided to go as a man.<span style=""> </span>We spent an amusing hour or so trying to get her pot belly just right, after which she oiled down her hair and drew on a pencil-thin mustache.<span style=""> </span>Magda came over for dinner before hitting the club (my first-ever attempt at chicken piccata-yum!).<span style=""> </span>She was going as a *really* desperate housewife, so she was mostly naked.<span style=""> </span>We made a classy threesome.<span style=""> </span>So classy, in fact, that we decided to take a taxi instead of show ourselves to the world by walking to the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The night was pretty crazy.<span style=""> </span>Some of my fellow teachers got very creative with their costumes, although I think Matt took the cake with his transvestite lumberjack zombie outfit.<span style=""> </span>It was hilarious.<span style=""> </span>I had a great time, as ever.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4N2I1InKkXGT4hWv2tud9PVQN7R_VBbO7QeYm678YJZ86g20vaxM4k3LHhxHbuv-hzJdhqYd8KL_xOS2FXfqIfDGHgjcxSM_WlwBT1mk4WeqPEa8f7PE3KphpI4JMBoz1f0UpV5CjZs/s1600/IMG_6149.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4N2I1InKkXGT4hWv2tud9PVQN7R_VBbO7QeYm678YJZ86g20vaxM4k3LHhxHbuv-hzJdhqYd8KL_xOS2FXfqIfDGHgjcxSM_WlwBT1mk4WeqPEa8f7PE3KphpI4JMBoz1f0UpV5CjZs/s200/IMG_6149.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404828329003901554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgghqh2bEQWniHPosHn0d6a7Ws7_iTaIVwNuaA9oA_x0tHjFzuKK1aSifaJhrZ3Jmr6daPFQNY96rwMy4XVY4ojg4vE7gs2LmP034jCUb685KUTKTMgJ9VXVKMoFvHNFhfpgpnGlPZgSc/s1600/IMG_6151.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgghqh2bEQWniHPosHn0d6a7Ws7_iTaIVwNuaA9oA_x0tHjFzuKK1aSifaJhrZ3Jmr6daPFQNY96rwMy4XVY4ojg4vE7gs2LmP034jCUb685KUTKTMgJ9VXVKMoFvHNFhfpgpnGlPZgSc/s200/IMG_6151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404828334634645314" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Sunday, we were supposed to go to Auschwitz, but I was feeling too ill.<span style=""> </span>Plus, it was All Saints’ Day, which is an enormous holiday here.<span style=""> </span>So, rather than deal with bizarre public transport changes, we just stayed home and relaxed.<span style=""> </span>Monday was a full day of work for me, so Alice hung out at school in the teacher’s lounge.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GYxwFT6PPPZdDPj-kRumrFLSdhnlnIdNe9cDIkkNuz2uAtMjOHeG_BJP5aOLoOvBaCqmy1A9J2-GhfE87r_X9cnVwJi9zd3FA-kVD1Z7gYrMsNn39_Fym164kF4EpuDolV6g7_Lu2TM/s1600/IMG_6191.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GYxwFT6PPPZdDPj-kRumrFLSdhnlnIdNe9cDIkkNuz2uAtMjOHeG_BJP5aOLoOvBaCqmy1A9J2-GhfE87r_X9cnVwJi9zd3FA-kVD1Z7gYrMsNn39_Fym164kF4EpuDolV6g7_Lu2TM/s200/IMG_6191.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404829937010761938" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Tuesday, I took Alice to the train station in Katowice </span><span style="font-size:100%;">to catch the shuttle to the airport.<span style=""> </span>We each got a bowl of the amazing żurek and ate it, steaming, while standing in the freezing cold next to the shuttle bus.<span style=""> </span>Her driver was much nicer than mine had been, although the bus did still leave 25 minutes late.<span style=""> </span>With sadness, I waved goodbye to her as the bus drove away.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The days have sped by, and now it’s almost Thanksgiving.<span style=""> </span>My friend Katie, from the States, will be arriving on Thursday.<span style=""> </span>I’ll be hosting a gargantuan Thanksgiving feast next Saturday, the 21<sup>st</sup>.<span style=""> </span>We’re talking a 22 pound turkey, people…with stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and the works.<span style=""> </span>Almost every single teacher from school will be there, about 15 at last count.<span style=""> </span>Where will they all fit??<span style=""> </span>Anyway, I’m looking forward to the challenge.<span style=""><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-size:12pt;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Details to follow!</span></span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-21610983864862728672009-10-17T02:08:00.018+02:002009-10-28T11:50:48.338+01:00I Love the Nightlife<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia, bookman old style, palatino linotype, book antiqua, palatino, trebuchet ms, helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, avante garde, century gothic, comic sans ms, times, times new roman, serif;">"I'll stick with gin. Champagne is just ginger ale that knows somebody." </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia, bookman old style, palatino linotype, book antiqua, palatino, trebuchet ms, helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, avante garde, century gothic, comic sans ms, times, times new roman, serif;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">~</span><span style="text-decoration: none; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">M*A*S*H</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, Hawkeye, "Ceasefire," 1973<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;">Lest you think I've been sitting on my hind-end, doing nothing but working and tidying my apartment, let me tell you a bit about my social exploits here in Gliwice. Fair warning, Grandma!<br /><br />It must first be said that I really shouldn't be drinking. I suspect it makes my pancreas act all sorts of crazy (which is quite a long story that I shan't be going into here). I had grand plans, when I first arrived in Gliwice, that I would go out with any new friends I might make and just not drink booze. A tonic water with lime for me, please. Ah yes...those were simpler days, days before I had actually met the motley and alcohol-soaked crew of folks with whom I so enjoy working.<br /><br />Never forget that teachers have an appetite for alcohol which rivals even that of priests. People who teach small children are especially voracious drinkers; I suspect it's to quiet the voices, to drown out the haunting tune of the "Hello Mickey" song and to try to forget that they dance around like a retarded Barney for a living. If there's anything that could drive a person to drink, it's being shut up in a room with a bunch of 6 year-olds all day.<br /><br />So, in light of the fact that I work with both children's teachers and people from England, it was really inevitable that I would end up drinking on the regular. Not that I get drunk often, because I only usually have a couple beers in a sitting.<br /><br />Notable exceptions include the first "Pub Club" organized (and paid for) by my school. Yeah...free drinks. I drank 2 dark beers before realizing that they were 8% alcohol. After standing up and nearly falling over, I drank 2 more dark beers because they were 8% alcohol. Had an absolutely spiffing time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQ5DZXWa5CZOE_Uab55GOnta7tWHuni19UqKPoYmS6XeYdagLq4d7MogNOoCa8CBf6q8SgUjyHTVOIA5lr2ElnzNQCaELQx7_rL8AVBU1DTBRNsz5Gn-pbBVIf_H91KLwP7yY7CBCClo/s1600-h/7328_293604745108_640430108_9004263_1103599_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQ5DZXWa5CZOE_Uab55GOnta7tWHuni19UqKPoYmS6XeYdagLq4d7MogNOoCa8CBf6q8SgUjyHTVOIA5lr2ElnzNQCaELQx7_rL8AVBU1DTBRNsz5Gn-pbBVIf_H91KLwP7yY7CBCClo/s200/7328_293604745108_640430108_9004263_1103599_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599435372346450" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The second exception was at the joint birthday celebration for Chris (fellow American teacher) and Iza (office secretary extraordinaire). This was held in the same venue as the Pub Club, a pool hall/bar called NOT. I drank mostly vodka that night. Bad vodka. It was loads of fun, but I was shit at pool. I was even drunk enough to try my hand at foosball for the first time, but I lost spectacularly. Polish women are vicious foosball players...don't say I didn't warn you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqwK_NMeuNAt-e0ExlNsd5GRDOrA861T-z788FQezHJ6hwlSUic3lMYJExWt21w_3CGbSrt05uZXVvPBA0nhljd0ucmvGbrFEhzZ6kP8dUBzfWLrHqUfX-fhce4gk7HRcUNehcqv96YU/s1600-h/7328_302161295108_640430108_9110109_6822271_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqwK_NMeuNAt-e0ExlNsd5GRDOrA861T-z788FQezHJ6hwlSUic3lMYJExWt21w_3CGbSrt05uZXVvPBA0nhljd0ucmvGbrFEhzZ6kP8dUBzfWLrHqUfX-fhce4gk7HRcUNehcqv96YU/s200/7328_302161295108_640430108_9110109_6822271_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599436309969874" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOYhkH3ifZs0zoIe_sf5ZJobtyon5fccoNjHfOhOE4gBXVF9-HpSBjWCz6lbFetC1BqqKxTcrOBuOtwvaFBVD6lsTI3fPb7cqi1dNq0xkmJKvedTYQ68-XTuGAyf1DprRpL-oIqfDDGc/s1600-h/7328_302161385108_640430108_9110121_2850217_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOYhkH3ifZs0zoIe_sf5ZJobtyon5fccoNjHfOhOE4gBXVF9-HpSBjWCz6lbFetC1BqqKxTcrOBuOtwvaFBVD6lsTI3fPb7cqi1dNq0xkmJKvedTYQ68-XTuGAyf1DprRpL-oIqfDDGc/s200/7328_302161385108_640430108_9110121_2850217_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599437075752370" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_Nu7WvGgqI-DQeRiQnuwKeUxweSUd8CTeBzwTMw-K4IbD6N9vs3bYAUfuuz0W7s0WjSbCNI2QkJYPXC31YU6WwGl7OqZjo3vUh2bszWbOFexzcL4kmTIu_4InupL9Y38z2VC9tPlDow/s1600-h/7328_302161435108_640430108_9110129_24775_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_Nu7WvGgqI-DQeRiQnuwKeUxweSUd8CTeBzwTMw-K4IbD6N9vs3bYAUfuuz0W7s0WjSbCNI2QkJYPXC31YU6WwGl7OqZjo3vUh2bszWbOFexzcL4kmTIu_4InupL9Y38z2VC9tPlDow/s200/7328_302161435108_640430108_9110129_24775_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599442886254274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Other than organized parties and Pub Club, I mostly just go out for drinks with a few teachers at a time. There are some rather excellent bars around here, of the candlelit and cozy variety. Huge on atmosphere, with lots of dark wood and brick, and excellent music. My favorite bar is called "4 art". It's a music/piano bar, but they only have live music on a sporadic and expensive basis. The first night I went there, the stereo was playing all American oldies. I hadn't heard Elvis' "It's Now or Never" in ages, but it is an amazing mood-setting tune. They were also playing Ella Fitzgerald and Shirley Bassey, even "Son of a Preacher Man", which happens to be my all-time favorite oldies song. That bar made an amazing first impression, and it hasn't disappointed yet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD020coMio7FKtKzJ0X_29oOwHeIqfTOY2CbHi_uk1grOL-UbXHesidgBxeC5M3dIL4wy4XOvmdlYKFVLAsR8XwlxN4mObTqY3T1Pb25M68hjTKuyFWdXjlGJp72l0yf47kY1Ma7QnI-g/s1600-h/7328_293604740108_640430108_9004262_4384310_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD020coMio7FKtKzJ0X_29oOwHeIqfTOY2CbHi_uk1grOL-UbXHesidgBxeC5M3dIL4wy4XOvmdlYKFVLAsR8XwlxN4mObTqY3T1Pb25M68hjTKuyFWdXjlGJp72l0yf47kY1Ma7QnI-g/s200/7328_293604740108_640430108_9004262_4384310_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599430153351042" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2B6RamYjJSUQtBW74tJPYOLikPsv6cpKSmifiTYYJHVUmMPTBXZndqY_xGeB1UXIJfygPS4qyqzXW4WhaGU7I4L9EzahPZuXvbPky2__VOz7wCuGI7EGSE8qaWhLeSA32MxipL4iuK1E/s1600-h/7328_293604755108_640430108_9004265_582090_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2B6RamYjJSUQtBW74tJPYOLikPsv6cpKSmifiTYYJHVUmMPTBXZndqY_xGeB1UXIJfygPS4qyqzXW4WhaGU7I4L9EzahPZuXvbPky2__VOz7wCuGI7EGSE8qaWhLeSA32MxipL4iuK1E/s200/7328_293604755108_640430108_9004265_582090_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397600967821530786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was at 4 art that I had my first taste of real Polish vodka, specifically "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C5%BBubr%C3%B3wka">Żubrówka"<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a>. This is a special vodka that's made from rye and flavored with an extract of grass grown where bison graze. Check out the link for more info. In any event, its flavor is a bit like mild cinnamon. They mix it with apple juice, and the result is like drinking a glass of apple pie. Freaking delicious. A side effect of Żubrówka and apple juice is that you can drink about 10 glasses without realizing how much alcohol you've consumed, so it's best to enjoy it in moderation.<br /><br />Another cool bar is Gramophon. Similarly candlelit and cozy, it's an awesome place to share a few expensive beers and eat some tasty international food. The scalloped potatoes we ate there last time were really quite good (despite having kielbasa in them).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3SA6r7LSL9HozHkhYcEAUvglP-CWbxxe1gBxxSWLNQQUo91l24BFgtiUtdmoavQIdjVk4vCUD_eBjTilirmN_c_raTm_Ealy3wY-I-sqinDiqu6Lwqsef51hxvRWPYiKqHNrjG9VQU4/s1600-h/7920_309731520108_640430108_9222675_5582065_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3SA6r7LSL9HozHkhYcEAUvglP-CWbxxe1gBxxSWLNQQUo91l24BFgtiUtdmoavQIdjVk4vCUD_eBjTilirmN_c_raTm_Ealy3wY-I-sqinDiqu6Lwqsef51hxvRWPYiKqHNrjG9VQU4/s200/7920_309731520108_640430108_9222675_5582065_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599722747113634" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhD6xdG0CZ66WA0e5j9qFOJTHrUra4xnt_5znCB8e6tLTusLR_7vkrGg0iZOD12A0_GN2PKiWZUoiRf6NSBXspKiCAp4MCwh1of9udoO0yjhM8Rl5y0eoR7IeL3-G18yF8FLfn4lyb2E/s1600-h/7920_309731530108_640430108_9222676_6847527_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhD6xdG0CZ66WA0e5j9qFOJTHrUra4xnt_5znCB8e6tLTusLR_7vkrGg0iZOD12A0_GN2PKiWZUoiRf6NSBXspKiCAp4MCwh1of9udoO0yjhM8Rl5y0eoR7IeL3-G18yF8FLfn4lyb2E/s200/7920_309731530108_640430108_9222676_6847527_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599728109974962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A new, alcohol-free, find is a tiny coffee shop that I was introduced to by my Italian friend, Guisy (Jo). She took me and Magda there for coffee and cake a couple weekends ago, and it was really quaint. I think there were about 5 tables, total. I got the cappuccino because Jo said it was the best in town (and she's Italian, so I'll take her word on that). Magda got the hot chocolate with cinnamon, but ended up not drinking most of it because it was more like a thick chocolate sauce than a drink. You could just about have stood a spoon up in it. The cup was approximately the size of a thimble, but even that was too much for Magda's taste (and it was fairly bitter, as well). I helped out a bit, but without milk to wash it down, I was soon defeated.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWTuizlq7vmN6Zn3Sezv2mIBO_ZuIq6Ku6pD-PItSms2gmk6isipjZ_yI3zqJJbFK8j5AtKQ0JFL7ndRaZ0yp6FmHkPBq_W0X2DeJQZwfLnZWFSrzqG23c3_vh1LsX_BW0Wmzo36WV4Y/s1600-h/7920_309731605108_640430108_9222683_807769_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWTuizlq7vmN6Zn3Sezv2mIBO_ZuIq6Ku6pD-PItSms2gmk6isipjZ_yI3zqJJbFK8j5AtKQ0JFL7ndRaZ0yp6FmHkPBq_W0X2DeJQZwfLnZWFSrzqG23c3_vh1LsX_BW0Wmzo36WV4Y/s200/7920_309731605108_640430108_9222683_807769_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599733781280610" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTMfc3WlnqzplMdIFWN0QqBDztzxgrPRsQSp1Cvc03phaFfl0iwiz9I_AwYvRNCs57Kvs8R0g3btbLFEhgh0G1f2sMvjiQ8Wy79or3Vto4fHOEEhyphenhyphenaGH9uSCwhO6q6FkloKyxSmRBjYk/s1600-h/7920_309731640108_640430108_9222686_1680710_n.jpg"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTMfc3WlnqzplMdIFWN0QqBDztzxgrPRsQSp1Cvc03phaFfl0iwiz9I_AwYvRNCs57Kvs8R0g3btbLFEhgh0G1f2sMvjiQ8Wy79or3Vto4fHOEEhyphenhyphenaGH9uSCwhO6q6FkloKyxSmRBjYk/s200/7920_309731640108_640430108_9222686_1680710_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599873039842530" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsEpTVgx9dVaVF9tVWPMgzroTRyx3uMkEibix4RoVAxHkJ2N1phM-GsSbHsUh0BnutoIp55bjL2FZ9_nn6QXC4nICxlUORk7H5EHWdDGsmnZOqMkbvaa5Ba_42EuOywfuXp2ku1HirR9A/s1600-h/7920_309731580108_640430108_9222681_3248116_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsEpTVgx9dVaVF9tVWPMgzroTRyx3uMkEibix4RoVAxHkJ2N1phM-GsSbHsUh0BnutoIp55bjL2FZ9_nn6QXC4nICxlUORk7H5EHWdDGsmnZOqMkbvaa5Ba_42EuOywfuXp2ku1HirR9A/s200/7920_309731580108_640430108_9222681_3248116_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599732515243570" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Ic4qfDX1NNthSfIBspp6089P5kXXjwaD4HoUfxlx6LcCvMvhCNZts-sWI4ZOH3AJd3g5L0qY_lMU1a60EHuEbtsps4CB129LTbTkSGTalPV6KyVTs0CTZFbbG2O6m6dVr_70J7S76J4/s1600-h/7920_309731555108_640430108_9222679_6205816_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Ic4qfDX1NNthSfIBspp6089P5kXXjwaD4HoUfxlx6LcCvMvhCNZts-sWI4ZOH3AJd3g5L0qY_lMU1a60EHuEbtsps4CB129LTbTkSGTalPV6KyVTs0CTZFbbG2O6m6dVr_70J7S76J4/s200/7920_309731555108_640430108_9222679_6205816_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599728732811090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Last week, Magda, Jo, and I went to hear some live blues music at a local bar. Smoking isn't yet banned here (and smoke-eaters seem to be nonexistent), so we were fairly choking the whole time. Still, the music was better than I expected. The first group did a damn fine cover of "Kansas City". Throughout the night, an obnoxiously drunk old man in a Xerox cap kept trying to mess with the band, walking up close to them (no stage) and even trying to touch their instruments. But the real low point of the evening was when a 70 year old man tried to hit on me in Polish. He was wearing a jaunty kerchief around his neck, but a girl has to draw the line somewhere.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwplPJ4E_gz3prBScQagm-2DVfeaJ4qqm91rFmrxyjXoE1roMmzso8smUExnUdkLQyAgOnUMgWgnTPvdHNuZKPBGM2C8TzwxYOsqzAlExmRo_XNMq2bm4e-dZlpjH2ouojwlGWv9bThYw/s1600-h/9516_314053035108_640430108_9284108_1209072_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwplPJ4E_gz3prBScQagm-2DVfeaJ4qqm91rFmrxyjXoE1roMmzso8smUExnUdkLQyAgOnUMgWgnTPvdHNuZKPBGM2C8TzwxYOsqzAlExmRo_XNMq2bm4e-dZlpjH2ouojwlGWv9bThYw/s200/9516_314053035108_640430108_9284108_1209072_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397599875723112690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I suppose that just about covers my boozy exploits on this side of the Atlantic. More to follow, I'm sure. This coming weekend is Halloween, and the school is having another Pub Club at NOT. No free drinks this time, but there will be a costume contest, and the winner gets about a $10 bar tab. Here, that would buy you at least 3 beers. Not too shabby. I still haven't decided on my costume. I'm thinking of using face paint from the kids' party in the afternoon to paint my face like a cat. Then, I'll dress nicely and buy some kind of whip to carry with me. What will I be? A kitten with a whip, obviously. :-) Not that anybody will understand, but it's a fairly simple costume, and I just can't be bothered to craft something more elaborate. No costume shops in Poland!<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia, bookman old style, palatino linotype, book antiqua, palatino, trebuchet ms, helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, avante garde, century gothic, comic sans ms, times, times new roman, serif;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span></span></div></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-91231866120679857412009-10-15T16:52:00.005+02:002009-10-15T17:30:55.788+02:00Winter Wonderland WTF?<span style="font-style: italic;">"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><span> George Eliot</span></span><br /><br /></div>Autumn is my favorite season, so when it only lasts three and a half weeks, I get a bit cranky. Personally, I think that snow before Halloween should just be illegal. Where are the golden and russet leaves crunching underfoot? The homey whiff of woodsmoke in the air? Cheeks glowing red from the pleasant bite of the wind at a high school football game and the crappy concession stand hot chocolate throughout? And let's not even talk about the Norman Rockwell escapades to apple orchards and pumpkin patches, sipping hot spiced cider before taking a hay ride with your family. These things were as traditional to the Midwestern autumns of my youth as State Fair corn dogs were to the summers.<br /><br />Yesterday, it started snowing here in Gliwice. Sleet, at first, eventually shifting into fat flakes by nightfall. I've been told that this will be it...nothing but winter from this day forward. I refuse to give in; surely, there's a bit of autumn left in this place. Just melt this snow and give me a couple more weeks of air that's crisp instead of frigid, bright blue sky mornings instead of dishwater gray clouds, and let me wear a scarf because it's cute instead of needing to wind it around my head to keep my face from freezing off.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBH3hj2R1g7aMoxBWEyBDMOJ4N5Kt9CPT1vVF0KaiIS4jxF24MNg45wun44EX5dnZCe1kEJn_wIXotTSqaIIVA4zaM2GhijtDlU2hZJxM0APavh5BQahG-lQaE83WbfiLSd0u7yq3wM00/s1600-h/IMG_5851.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBH3hj2R1g7aMoxBWEyBDMOJ4N5Kt9CPT1vVF0KaiIS4jxF24MNg45wun44EX5dnZCe1kEJn_wIXotTSqaIIVA4zaM2GhijtDlU2hZJxM0APavh5BQahG-lQaE83WbfiLSd0u7yq3wM00/s200/IMG_5851.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392848733073840050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyCs2OuzyDVs78sa9Jh1GG5jAevORs-4rBiX4zhjh3R9vpK5KFXvD00c1KiOc_yMWzxXHY4DWF8rKV3GGWedLVAAdt7RA2yvLFnVmdmMSJZyuB_UzuXKEgQ11VA5EX8-dlebcdGI05gU/s1600-h/IMG_5850.JPG"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyCs2OuzyDVs78sa9Jh1GG5jAevORs-4rBiX4zhjh3R9vpK5KFXvD00c1KiOc_yMWzxXHY4DWF8rKV3GGWedLVAAdt7RA2yvLFnVmdmMSJZyuB_UzuXKEgQ11VA5EX8-dlebcdGI05gU/s200/IMG_5850.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392848725295004130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Two more weeks of fall is not too much to ask when it's only October 15th. Just sayin'...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter."</span><br /><span>Carol Bishop Hipps</span></span><br /><br /><br /></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-45352535488688347992009-10-15T16:12:00.005+02:002009-10-15T16:50:35.446+02:00Happy Teachers' Day!Yesterday, through the ceaseless sleet and bone-chilling gusts of wind, there shone a ray of simple happiness. Teachers' Day. Yes, they take a day here to honor teachers with presents, flowers, and songs. The secretaries bought us cookies and candies, while the students bashfully presented roses. We even had one duet of "Happy Teachers' Day" (sung to the tune of Happy Birthday, of course). Smiles abounded. Even on the face of yours truly, despite having to teach my babies.<br /><br />In fact, one of said babies brought me a rose! Out of all of my students, it was the least likely one, in fact, who shyly handed me a red rose just before class. <br /><br />Joanna. The first day I met her, I was just observing the class as part of my training. She refused to come in from the hallway; her father had to beg and plead with her, eventually giving up and just dragging her inside. The teacher, Ania, told me that she was always like that. I thought, oh great...so, I'll get to deal with her every week once I start teaching. Nice.<br /><br />Once I took over the class, Joanna would be brought into the classroom by her mother, but not need to be dragged. She still wouldn't talk during class, but I did notice her following along. I could tell that she was learning colors and numbers along with the rest of them, even if she wouldn't answer any of my questions.<br /><br />Then, last week--a breakthrough. She actually talked in class. And not just to me, but to another girl, too. I could have jumped up and down. Her mother had occasionally asked me if she was participating, so when I told her that Joanna had finally spoken up, she was ecstatic. So, perhaps I did really earn my rose. Regardless, it was very nice to be included, even though I'm so new to all of the kids here.<br /><br />Happy Teachers' Day to all teachers, especially those of us sweating it out in the trenches!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBqyL65Ve2OMArCHGdHEvrc-zuYAKQ6Ox5dGb7lutBVVdt8ETP9GYafxFSdzqMvEdPaLkTLeHYbGhZLyepoYAqK9sLFuZTTOFn9cLrihAAFni8k4-CF_p7uKNVo-90XKC3cBFqAb5GNY/s1600-h/IMG_5836.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBqyL65Ve2OMArCHGdHEvrc-zuYAKQ6Ox5dGb7lutBVVdt8ETP9GYafxFSdzqMvEdPaLkTLeHYbGhZLyepoYAqK9sLFuZTTOFn9cLrihAAFni8k4-CF_p7uKNVo-90XKC3cBFqAb5GNY/s200/IMG_5836.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392838642020706946" border="0" /></a>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-18089785023922358072009-10-10T15:10:00.013+02:002009-10-11T16:41:31.491+02:00Work: The Curse of the Drinking Classes<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Early to bed and early to rise probably indicates unskilled labor." </span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">John Ciardi</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">When I first decided to come to Poland, I resolved to find a job which would allow me to develop my skills as a teacher. My previous teaching gigs were all of a slightly odd nature, nothing too typical. In Seoul, I taught at a combination school/camp, where kids came for a week at a time and classes were experiential. So, for example, I would spend a week working in the "Bank" or "Talk Show" classrooms, teaching the kids all the vocab needed to make a bank deposit or accuse someone of being their baby daddy. Fun, but not real teaching. In France, I was contracted to work 12 hours each week, but only averaged about 8. I taught masters-level university students, and my job was to be a native accent that they could listen to when the urge struck them. During my 6 month contract, I was treated to 6 weeks of vacation. It barely qualified as real work, and I thoroughly enjoyed the break from reality.<br /><br />Since I'd like to make teaching my career, I figured I'd best get on the stick and acquire some real teaching practice. Hence, my decision to find a normal, 9-5 teaching job in Poland. Um, yeah. The job I finally found isn't exactly normal, and it certainly isn't 9-5, but I will be getting lots of practice. Let me tell you a bit about it...<br /><br />I will refrain from using the actual name of the school (since I will likely want to bitch about them at some point in the future), but it's one of several in a popular chain located throughout southern Poland. It uses a specific teaching style known as the Avalon Direct Method. In short, this requires trained teachers, such as myself, to forget everything they've learned about the popular and effective communicative method (student-centered) and switch back into a teacher-focused, lecture type style. I have my doubts as to the effectiveness of this method, but teachers who have been here awhile say that it is successful. I think it will take a significant time for me to come around to this opinion, but I'm willing to be open-minded.<br /><br />Basically, for my adult classes, I have to stand at the front of the room and ask students questions from the coursebook they're following (there are 4 levels of coursebooks). Each lesson is 80 minutes, usually with a 5 minute break in the middle. For the first 40 minutes, I ask them questions that they have covered in previous classes. Students usually end up reviewing each question about 4-5 times. I ask the questions randomly, so students have to listen constantly in case they're called on to answer. An example: "Where is the most exciting place you have ever traveled to?" Answer: "The most exciting place I have ever traveled to is Lithuania." The students practice target vocab and grammar by imitating the structure they hear in the question.<br /><br />Some of the questions are really ridiculous, though. "Is it good to be alive?" is one of my favs, along with, "Do you have anything expensive in your bag?" Whenever I ask something like that, I make sure to add, "Because I want to steal it later." Always gets a laugh. There are lots of questions that I consider invasive or too personal, like "How much was your last phone bill?" "Have you gotten a raise recently?" and ones on religion and other somewhat taboo topics.<br /><br />The second 40 minutes is typically spent doing new work, which involves actual teaching. Although, again, it's teacher-centered. So, I have to just talk them through things like new vocabulary and grammar structures instead of giving them tasks to do in order to learn the material. Then I ask them the new questions that go with the new work. It can get a bit tedious, as I'm sure you're imagining. I've found that it's significantly more enjoyable if the group I'm teaching has good chemistry. If they are easy to laugh or to make fun of themselves, and there's a good vibe in the room, then it makes my job a lot more fun. If they all sit there stony-faced and bitter...well, it makes for an excruciating 80 minutes, let me tell you.<br /><br />We constantly rotate groups, so I never teach the same group twice in a week. Working hours vary enormously. I can have a lesson at 7:15am (the taxi to the company where the lesson is held leaves at 6:55, which means I have to be conscious at <span style="font-weight: bold;">5:45</span> in order to throw on some clothes and make it to school on time) and then not have another until 6:20pm. Days like that are fairly rare, though. Usually, I have at least one lesson in the early afternoon, at 3:20. Still, it is possible to have to work until 9pm. Split shifts are an undeniably annoying aspect of this job.<br /><br />In direct contrast to my adult lessons, I also teach children. Thankfully, their curriculum and the expected teaching methods to be used with them are much more communicative and student-centered. This still doesn't mean that every class is a treat, unfortunately.<br /><br />I have two groups that I refer to as "my babies." They are 6 or 7 years old, and each group has about 8 kids on a good day. I dread these classes as much as one can possibly dread 40 minutes of anything. I am simply not a lover of small children, it must be said. There is nothing in my history or personality which indicates a desire to sing the "Hello, hello!" song while dancing around like a retarded Barney. Every time I walk into that classroom, I feel like a giant fraud, like one of the students is going to call me on my shit and say, "Who the hell do you think you are, clapping like an idiot like that? If your friends could only see you now, they would never stop mocking you. Ever." I need students that I can take out for a drink, not students that are only a few years off the tit.<br /><br />Other than the babies, I also have a group of 12 year olds. I actually enjoy teaching them, even though they occasionally get on my nerves with their constant urge to chatter and annoyingly pubescent attitudes. I often feel like a real teacher when I have them, so that's good for both my resume and self-esteem.<br /><br />I've only been observed once since starting to teach, and it was, naturally, one of my baby classes. I have each group for 40 minutes, and they're back-to-back. I was going to be observed for only the second half, so I figured that the first lesson would be like a run-through. Oh no, not to be. First, only about half of the kids showed up, and the ones who did come didn't feel like getting out of their damn chairs that day. There is no sadder sight to see than a 32 year old woman dancing alone to the "Hello, hello!" song, let me tell you. The rest of the lesson was like pulling teeth, but the lesson plan did last until the very end of class. Unlike the lesson for which I was observed, where the kids were hyperactive and the lesson plan was finished with 15 minutes left to go. 15 minutes is an <span style="font-style: italic;">eternity </span>with kids this young, especially when one is being observed! So, we ended up playing a couple games with flashcards and the realia I had brought with me to class (basically hide and go seek with the glue stick and pencil case). It was a torture, and I was sweating buckets of frustration and embarrassment by the end. I won't get my feedback until Monday morning, so I guess we'll see how much I'm to be punished.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaaGS5PnOrB_ddlQyX6KrwH0uZz2heUtojXFqXpcA6s8mFLBvb3Ref5oZG7yHAm9mHL8Trv5sFCwzaMkCIeZh5OT-0DLlMyzWVxvk8RIBdJznUtaBxaKnktbEUbv73TAkmJ4xoRd_bQ0/s1600-h/IMG_5686.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaaGS5PnOrB_ddlQyX6KrwH0uZz2heUtojXFqXpcA6s8mFLBvb3Ref5oZG7yHAm9mHL8Trv5sFCwzaMkCIeZh5OT-0DLlMyzWVxvk8RIBdJznUtaBxaKnktbEUbv73TAkmJ4xoRd_bQ0/s200/IMG_5686.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391349256064737426" border="0" /></a>But, before you start thinking that I must hate my job, I have to say that I really don't. Mostly, I don't hate it because I work with some really excellent people. My fellow teachers and the staff are all my age or younger, from England, America, South Africa, and Poland. It makes for a great working atmosphere, and I do really love just hanging out with them, either at work or some pub (as we seem to do quite a lot, actually).<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6zfRqS3IBzBfBl29nRETkaCzcX0VAX8cRujS5UGw4nwFW7I1PIi87MZEeSGHrwRi0O017T6chUIS-WM1eYfi5rVW2KZXIch0YjsHsaKI4UgkZSKB2Kq3RkcQQNp8u9cnacRdZqVvJJU/s1600-h/IMG_5809.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6zfRqS3IBzBfBl29nRETkaCzcX0VAX8cRujS5UGw4nwFW7I1PIi87MZEeSGHrwRi0O017T6chUIS-WM1eYfi5rVW2KZXIch0YjsHsaKI4UgkZSKB2Kq3RkcQQNp8u9cnacRdZqVvJJU/s200/IMG_5809.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391349612910166434" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbQcweCfpP5JREKZfvCsdDz0wc8RjBVQWw7nDCo50exY6E-RgxGclkMRMK2YjJv4aMhGAOhdBZQ-hWaOj-FrK0a7hA8LxAHb2fB8oX2IpvdcfO94yG5ICTBnsD9K7DohMd2Oo_iuROBs/s1600-h/IMG_5710.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbQcweCfpP5JREKZfvCsdDz0wc8RjBVQWw7nDCo50exY6E-RgxGclkMRMK2YjJv4aMhGAOhdBZQ-hWaOj-FrK0a7hA8LxAHb2fB8oX2IpvdcfO94yG5ICTBnsD9K7DohMd2Oo_iuROBs/s200/IMG_5710.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391350435742544098" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoAx8wBLj22tenpPJ6tMpueTFQrbKm6q5DRb17Z-WtAgGOElU6WciMbu9pEAY2uDcksecZFGNJxsaWpAw1o4vOG8-3WOpQTdKPExdQqAXdCExMkYyOUe0QAuDNab6e7GQSj57XhL9vek/s1600-h/IMG_5689.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoAx8wBLj22tenpPJ6tMpueTFQrbKm6q5DRb17Z-WtAgGOElU6WciMbu9pEAY2uDcksecZFGNJxsaWpAw1o4vOG8-3WOpQTdKPExdQqAXdCExMkYyOUe0QAuDNab6e7GQSj57XhL9vek/s200/IMG_5689.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391350442757912082" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmfFgoP9DpPxvRi8RfSzhg6IeVDa5GEQMr7_XVgV5pgM5599nkxtasUHL0GMxJLme1X550JjBiZVr5vHOXzTfq6M_4h6Ybjt0keM38frqDJM3mIpERdn8cpSBxEesAXUkO_0efLJ1Nts/s1600-h/IMG_5819.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 139px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmfFgoP9DpPxvRi8RfSzhg6IeVDa5GEQMr7_XVgV5pgM5599nkxtasUHL0GMxJLme1X550JjBiZVr5vHOXzTfq6M_4h6Ybjt0keM38frqDJM3mIpERdn8cpSBxEesAXUkO_0efLJ1Nts/s200/IMG_5819.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391352454448224178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I feel positive about my job, overall. I'm sure I'll get the hang of the kids' stuff one of these days. But if I ever turn into someone who actually <span style="font-weight: bold;">enjoys </span>dancing around like a retarded Barney...please, <span style="font-style: italic;">just shoot me.</span><br /></div></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-62568704919381499452009-09-26T18:09:00.013+02:002009-09-26T19:04:52.290+02:00Home Sweet Poland<span style="font-style: italic;">"Ever since my first trip to Europe. . .my profound desire for home, for the profoundly beautiful nest, the kitchen garden, the friends gathered at my table, for the candlelit baths, and the objects arranged and the books in order, and most of all the sense of *this is my place* -- all that has been at the mercy of an equal force, the desire to shut the</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> door, turn the key, and go."</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~Frances Mayes, "A Year in the World"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Frankly, it's as though Frances Mayes was channeling my heart at the moment she wrote that passage. I couldn't possibly have written a better summary of how torn I feel between wanting to create an ideal home, surrounded by those I know and love best, and quenching my urge to immerse myself in a totally foreign culture. Finally, I feel I'm old enough to try combining the two. Poland might not be my dream destination, but for the time being, it's my home. For once, I'm going to settle in.<br /><br />My apartment in Gliwice isn't as gorgeous as "The Flat", a turn-of-the-century apartment I rented last year in Des Moines. Well, nothing is ever going to live up to the splendor of that apartment, so it's worthless to compare the two. Still, I suppose it is worth mentioning because that apartment was essentially my ideal. Vintage, lots of decorative details like crown molding and built-ins, hardwood floors, and a maid's quarters. Wrought iron elevator. Nice. Here, my apartment is large, but not as sprawling. It has hardwood floors in the bedroom, tile in all other rooms. No decorative anything, but the windows are enormous and let in tons of light. I feel cheerful when I walk in the door, and that counts for <span style="font-style: italic;">a lot.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEPqf0RSmgVKEzyMXVYZeGHLOgKdKut_tNdfw4Ku_-Ke8Q-v32RYw0i8JwLLbtpnJs4Pa2w0OjrzIVgNmXt35ResA-23-D5yyWSMEwa2J6pXWs1F8ebiOfIvtrFPpBQSxrl6Tpn0bUiU/s1600-h/IMG_5693.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEPqf0RSmgVKEzyMXVYZeGHLOgKdKut_tNdfw4Ku_-Ke8Q-v32RYw0i8JwLLbtpnJs4Pa2w0OjrzIVgNmXt35ResA-23-D5yyWSMEwa2J6pXWs1F8ebiOfIvtrFPpBQSxrl6Tpn0bUiU/s200/IMG_5693.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385819534440140530" border="0" /></a>My first day in Gliwice, the owner of my school brought me here, and I had the privilege of meeting my landlord and lady. They are <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sHb40Ph0F2Rjxh7rIeughEBEOXELrN_VlPHzrsp6WIP66DxPcuEcIWT2Y-iX8Tcm4Vce6sl1ImNoU-VSki1OsfTJ7QvNCGBZlYxgxbZPMrTgL0ldzPuZRXHpk_wDXIdYoIrx_jmbOqo/s1600-h/IMG_5692.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sHb40Ph0F2Rjxh7rIeughEBEOXELrN_VlPHzrsp6WIP66DxPcuEcIWT2Y-iX8Tcm4Vce6sl1ImNoU-VSki1OsfTJ7QvNCGBZlYxgxbZPMrTgL0ldzPuZRXHpk_wDXIdYoIrx_jmbOqo/s200/IMG_5692.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385819522464588834" border="0" /></a>an elderly Polish couple who speak about 10 words of English between them. She kept calling me "Madame". But it was clear, through the interpretation of my boss, that they are very friendly and quite concerned that I should like the flat and enjoy my time here. Apparently, the previous teacher who lived here ended up treating them rather shabbily, so I am starting from a bit of a deficit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XaXUMEOX36CF69V7ziuSnNNsmSxWGbr7mm28SetI5LG0rBvDtPNd3_pBnTVEN8WzHAg5XDcgmoJRjetcPp_8yh7-bJawo8sIZ_jOU8dlwBgQp4AG-pByl1R-Z7IA16mSxiFPbuCiodI/s1600-h/IMG_5650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XaXUMEOX36CF69V7ziuSnNNsmSxWGbr7mm28SetI5LG0rBvDtPNd3_pBnTVEN8WzHAg5XDcgmoJRjetcPp_8yh7-bJawo8sIZ_jOU8dlwBgQp4AG-pByl1R-Z7IA16mSxiFPbuCiodI/s200/IMG_5650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385819549544818530" border="0" /></a>That day, the introductions and explanations seemed to go on forever, and if you'll recall, I hadn't slept all the way to Poland. All I wanted to do was pass out face first on the nearest piece of furniture, but they just kept talking endlessly with my boss. There was a lot of information to take on board about how things in the apartment worked, such as how to not kill myself by taking a bath with the bathroom door closed (natural gas-powered water heater in the bathroom). After awhile, I was unable to keep smiling and acting thankful, so they got the hint that it was time to leave. But not before Kasia (landlady) made me a cup of instant fruity tea. <span style="font-style: italic;">sigh</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKtLscVCDRFHngDLUnzND7bXsqhawFvY5g9lB9OkbsOEnRk8a_BeZytTwehLbEE28so4vktFvckLyk_r7MIEeplRDCZZv_AYb7Ji07d-qlHSgIRUMvBTAK_NAMWfgNq62JS4GKJ_9LxU/s1600-h/IMG_5672.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKtLscVCDRFHngDLUnzND7bXsqhawFvY5g9lB9OkbsOEnRk8a_BeZytTwehLbEE28so4vktFvckLyk_r7MIEeplRDCZZv_AYb7Ji07d-qlHSgIRUMvBTAK_NAMWfgNq62JS4GKJ_9LxU/s200/IMG_5672.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385821141011980658" border="0" /></a>In my bedroom, there are actually two twin beds. I have them pushed together to make one bed. I almost fell over when Kasia showed me the bed that first day. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9_JJ0NelW4qKnwBROKjiQVpx8GxLss_FJ8MxFKed95dZzNgS5C0XazKRy9-7cJkgwbiHeapBl4nfbaeDW8YG7mV4PaRCxOOKZaiBdHF3jba_-pvsgowaVmXpK9cmW0fs-mIHmXrRQG4/s1600-h/IMG_5674.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9_JJ0NelW4qKnwBROKjiQVpx8GxLss_FJ8MxFKed95dZzNgS5C0XazKRy9-7cJkgwbiHeapBl4nfbaeDW8YG7mV4PaRCxOOKZaiBdHF3jba_-pvsgowaVmXpK9cmW0fs-mIHmXrRQG4/s200/IMG_5674.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385821141734439698" border="0" /></a>The comforter cover and pillowcase on my bed are <span style="font-weight: bold;">*Alf*</span>. Yes, Alf, that alien rascal from the 1990s (80s?) tv show! And, even better, it's covered in Alf cartoons where Alf is speaking in <span style="font-style: italic;">German</span>. If you had told me that, as a grown woman, I would sleep with Alf bedding, I would have laughed in your face.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPP0mYMlTlwwPQE0vTrXi2Hgf9kZ0ltGIWMVYXrlIFbGXtQOQOhJdPdRgKnavxTHtpNFVnypQMM-MF2KE2HcaJMSj-Dlpm22gLea-JO0RIr7QdfOb5FeVD-XAbxv-UdAaPbQduJopNaI/s1600-h/IMG_5658.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPP0mYMlTlwwPQE0vTrXi2Hgf9kZ0ltGIWMVYXrlIFbGXtQOQOhJdPdRgKnavxTHtpNFVnypQMM-MF2KE2HcaJMSj-Dlpm22gLea-JO0RIr7QdfOb5FeVD-XAbxv-UdAaPbQduJopNaI/s200/IMG_5658.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385819535452165298" border="0" /></a>The furniture in the living room is even more out-dated. It's clearly leftover from a buying spree, circa 1975. Green. Shag. On the furniture. Yeah, I don't generally favor carpeting on my chairs and couch, so I took those covers off as soon as I woke up the day after I arrived. Everything is still green, but significantly less itchy. The couch isn't that bad to look at, but it's about as comfortable as a rocky outcrop. I'm going to buy a couple cute pillows for it and call it a day. The two armchairs will require throws of some variety. The previous tenant had two cats that scratched the hell out of them, as well.<br /><br />Naturally, the curtains in the living room are of the white lace variety that seem to be hanging from every window between here and Poitiers. They make me ill. It's illogical, but I detest them, and have for ages. That I now have them in my home is vomitous, but I'll make do. In fact, my major complaint, as an owner of these wretched things, is that they don't actually block anything out! Sun comes in, great. The people who are always leaning out their windows across the street to ogle everyone, not so great. These curtains have certainly cut down on any naked midnight trips to the fridge I might have been planning.<br /><br />In my bedroom, there are some more 1970s holdouts for curtains. I wouldn't mind the green, gold, and brown pattern so much if it weren't printed on what looks like very loosely woven burlap. Again, they let in light and the neighbors, although to a lesser extent than the living room curtains.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jr7yhDA5EcqBMdocFQY74bp_bcw4CwPwxzmUONPHjypMjY8DgnQGjo6spRaaOVeI-GwM7m62pWyUhbkKGKsCAxVdohZ1i9zfQcoJo6rrmAr4rmb4XtUC8U7DDMIbZnG0g69jTr29xew/s1600-h/IMG_5702.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jr7yhDA5EcqBMdocFQY74bp_bcw4CwPwxzmUONPHjypMjY8DgnQGjo6spRaaOVeI-GwM7m62pWyUhbkKGKsCAxVdohZ1i9zfQcoJo6rrmAr4rmb4XtUC8U7DDMIbZnG0g69jTr29xew/s200/IMG_5702.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385821147692606530" border="0" /></a>I have a balcony just off my bedroom where I can hang up laundry. Did I mention I have a new<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTx_kVc7CbNKrwviJc322Lkk5TpphUwQIbnxP75mZFF5BWrVrK3j8rzXwk5PVZZIa7NGzxU-JSipRAI4aO2mdWgoWLUD-B0ptKwMWGMrDCpZ6QbF4be1YMQwghY3t20DtJFgoIjtpXYY/s1600-h/IMG_5653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTx_kVc7CbNKrwviJc322Lkk5TpphUwQIbnxP75mZFF5BWrVrK3j8rzXwk5PVZZIa7NGzxU-JSipRAI4aO2mdWgoWLUD-B0ptKwMWGMrDCpZ6QbF4be1YMQwghY3t20DtJFgoIjtpXYY/s200/IMG_5653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385821130988249842" border="0" /></a> washing machine in my bathroom? It works a treat, and in only 30 minutes (Poitiers washing machine took about 90 minutes). There are lots of wooden furniture pieces around here, so there's a semi-lived in feel, even if they are a bit mismatched. I have a brand new, stainless steel stove. Gas stovetop, electric oven. With a rotisserie, oh yes.<br /><br /><br /><br />I have a table, no small luxury <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjy10_kL-KAUnSGo_yJD4fdCyNXk9J39BJS8dtUgOHA4ny9yktM1ppjxPS4Eoac5T-YaLycs_j0QTGdCzrGOgJrTz5zARc9YRjgGwnc1NHZcGabjaPzPZhwJoDhgUTpdRst_e3XSp584/s1600-h/IMG_5662.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjy10_kL-KAUnSGo_yJD4fdCyNXk9J39BJS8dtUgOHA4ny9yktM1ppjxPS4Eoac5T-YaLycs_j0QTGdCzrGOgJrTz5zARc9YRjgGwnc1NHZcGabjaPzPZhwJoDhgUTpdRst_e3XSp584/s200/IMG_5662.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385819543989099970" border="0" /></a>after living in France for 9 months without one. In fact, I actually have two. One in the dining room/living room and one in my kitchen nook. I also have a full-sized fridge and freezer, also no small luxury.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Overall, I'm extremely happy with this apartment, and I intend to fill it up and decorate it so that it truly reflects me and not the swinging 70s bachelor who apparently decorated it. Once I get paid, a trip to the Ikea down the road will definitely be in order.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bC08_KVB9kXJ-Nbn5Ba6xDcNqktd2YlQAFyaszIuxeXlMFMRXlviKY5_1YtX1HfYEEjvcBZn2pNjTYuwDTtkJ-4SilHEtEOxqibqnAE69s_9lf_0flEOPJz7kAeIxMrJKhheogrtJQM/s1600-h/IMG_5669.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bC08_KVB9kXJ-Nbn5Ba6xDcNqktd2YlQAFyaszIuxeXlMFMRXlviKY5_1YtX1HfYEEjvcBZn2pNjTYuwDTtkJ-4SilHEtEOxqibqnAE69s_9lf_0flEOPJz7kAeIxMrJKhheogrtJQM/s200/IMG_5669.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385821154556213218" border="0" /></a>I'll leave it at that for today. Details on work to follow!<br /></div></div>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-42783229285529484552009-09-23T21:12:00.016+02:002009-09-29T17:21:07.763+02:00On the Road AgainAfter a summer of waiting and wondering, I have finally arrived in my new home. <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Poland</span>. Gliwice, to be exact. Wondering how to pronounce it? Yeah, so was I until I got here. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><br /><br />Repeat after me: "Glee-VEE-tsa". </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtAR90r9Mq7OU0ULTW4LAHRHg8aUnbxlJ_htT1dv-kWogARrW3of0_OkitCQnRQhk3TpKJYuwVBKh38LPU0EUdip5loLxg4oXOnQA7rsQWaLW60DL-8Ni47x3_U5bspQkJKp-IshLwpE/s1600-h/krakow_square.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385481916561266242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtAR90r9Mq7OU0ULTW4LAHRHg8aUnbxlJ_htT1dv-kWogARrW3of0_OkitCQnRQhk3TpKJYuwVBKh38LPU0EUdip5loLxg4oXOnQA7rsQWaLW60DL-8Ni47x3_U5bspQkJKp-IshLwpE/s200/krakow_square.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdzAzKevyns-F1XRkcfqQ6g_HC4lsNY7BsTTeish9O5E7tPdVNzxwrZtSFY9XOCB3WNi8GEvFapTWK4qL11_uejplsi3LvZ1DzRCiSwn-96zw2k43ozdgXBXGvU809iqEIM73nDjSZO4/s1600-h/Gliwice_12_10_2008+032_ShiftN.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385481926801555858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 161px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdzAzKevyns-F1XRkcfqQ6g_HC4lsNY7BsTTeish9O5E7tPdVNzxwrZtSFY9XOCB3WNi8GEvFapTWK4qL11_uejplsi3LvZ1DzRCiSwn-96zw2k43ozdgXBXGvU809iqEIM73nDjSZO4/s200/Gliwice_12_10_2008+032_ShiftN.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm feeling a little irked right now because I wrote out a whole list of topics for this first Polish blog, only to leave the list, along with key school notes, on a shelf near the butcher's counter at my local supermarket. So, I guess I'll just improvise, and we'll see how we go!<br /><br />My journey began with a long and boring drive to Chicago with my mother. Don't ever let anyone tell you that driving across Nebraska is more boring than a trip through Illinois. They are either a liar or so easily amused that you really shouldn't trust anything they say. It was a misery.<br /><br />After our long drive, we had the privilege of spending the night at the nicest hotel I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEFHUlAhQzmPjMMcTAJsX6VSg2Y7P9-Sxq8NSkXq2ae05foOMV_pcleKohxGuelgjUYgP3YfmybKe9Hwm6LA4ELaKzHC3ZiIqR5I-u0ZidVFV8EVG63Tu1y1YhzJ93y-SnaPkhNI6olCw/s1600-h/IMG_5648.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385482249137220882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEFHUlAhQzmPjMMcTAJsX6VSg2Y7P9-Sxq8NSkXq2ae05foOMV_pcleKohxGuelgjUYgP3YfmybKe9Hwm6LA4ELaKzHC3ZiIqR5I-u0ZidVFV8EVG63Tu1y1YhzJ93y-SnaPkhNI6olCw/s200/IMG_5648.JPG" border="0" /></a>have enjoyed outside of a Ritz-Carlton. It was the Hyatt Regency Airport, in case you're in need of a place to stay in the Chicagoland area. The beds were out of this world comfortable and luxurious. It was a wonderful send-off, and a reminder that I was likely to be spending the next year sleeping on a bed of criminally minimal luxury.<br /><br />Once at the airport, I was humiliated at the check-in desk when one of my bags turned out to be a whole 2 pounds over the limit. I was told to remove 2 pounds or else receive a vicious flogging. Alright, they didn't mention a flogging, but the over-the-limit fee was $150, which is pretty damned close to a flogging...especially for a measly 2 pounds. So, I opened up my suitcase in full view of a long and winding line of annoyed people, looking for something that was both heavy and unimportant. Not a likely combination, really. In the end, I was able to wedge my curling iron and flat iron into my carry-on bag, leaving the suitcase only 1 pound over the limit. The woman grudgingly accepted it, mollified perhaps by my willingness to show all my belongings to the world in order to avoid a $150 fee.<br /><br />Sweaty and demeaned, I made my way to my flight. And then proceeded to sleep not one single second of its 8 1/2 hour duration. Classic. Even more classic was that my second flight, from Munich to Krakow, was leaving from a gate approximately a mile and a half from my arrival gate. After a refreshing jog through the airport in order to make the boarding call, I was thrilled to discover that the ticket agent had assigned me to a middle seat. So, on a plane the size of my Ford Focus, I had to squeeze myself in between two businessmen, neither of whom looked overwhelmingly happy to see the sweaty fat girl stopping at their aisle. I attempted to use meditation and sheer will to reduce my girth by half, but trying not to breathe for two hours is really a little much. I have never been so glad to get off a plane in my life.<br /><br />Once in Krakow, I was met by the director of studies from my school. She drove me to Gliwice, where we went immediately to the school. I looked like warmed up ass, and I had to meet my colleagues. Fantastic. In any event, I really only ended up meeting a few people, so all was not lost. The secretaries were so very nice. They had even bought me a little welcome package of groceries to stock my apartment until I could figure out how to go shopping for myself.<br /><br />After getting keys and a brief orientation, the co-owner of the school drove me to my apartment. I was really keeping my fingers crossed that it was going to be a nice place since I had heard about it in emails from one of the secretaries before I arrived, but hadn't seen any pictures. In the end, it turned out to be a <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">great </span>apartment. The location is quite near to school (a 20 minute stroll), and it's in a nice neighborhood on a quiet street. There are a few grocery stores nearby, including a convenience store on my corner that's open until 11pm (a concept that was literally non-existent in Poitiers). A highly-recommended bakery is at the corner, as well. Bakeries seem to be everywhere here, actually. There must be at least 5 between my apartment and school, but probably more.<br /><br />At this point, I could write about 10 more pages of stuff about getting settled in here, but it's almost my bedtime. 10pm. Yikes, how the hell did that happen? It's almost like I'm an adult or something...<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">geez</span>. Anyway, I'm sorry to cut this short, but a girl needs her sleep!<br /><br />In my next post, look for detailed info about my apartment, and my first days at work. Hopefully, I'll have that up quite soon.<br /><br />Take care everyone!Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-67911725637327243112009-08-09T21:13:00.033+02:002009-08-19T08:49:27.116+02:00Modest AccomplishmentsHere follows a list of the things I dreamed about doing while in France, which I have now accomplished upon returning home:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#1 Eat real Mexican food</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRKdhF8-qrOWCL1GaHggrmxeaHP1_dB1a23XNs-iY21w_nAvmCX6HEdTutO2GuklWlZzE0vgSsjf26-3JuWj0TlU56haDtL-E0Th_tONEdbTMOEpkX7144iRCaCSjppz5QOEbMbVxjTk/s1600-h/IMG_5034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRKdhF8-qrOWCL1GaHggrmxeaHP1_dB1a23XNs-iY21w_nAvmCX6HEdTutO2GuklWlZzE0vgSsjf26-3JuWj0TlU56haDtL-E0Th_tONEdbTMOEpkX7144iRCaCSjppz5QOEbMbVxjTk/s200/IMG_5034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368044979371447650" border="0" /></a>I arranged to be consuming Mexican food<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtFf10obOuPx-qcoRawwFnZ_X5ZiAKYDHOMcAECozmkGLmRHmPt3_MgMV-Cp1jSZKrWMPL8XSGlZ7_BN9tcKdsHlezbbae_C-ZTBF6lTC5Ey7omdWlhhBLBfuXr2mCvvWnXU9cQ7cFN4/s1600-h/IMG_5045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtFf10obOuPx-qcoRawwFnZ_X5ZiAKYDHOMcAECozmkGLmRHmPt3_MgMV-Cp1jSZKrWMPL8XSGlZ7_BN9tcKdsHlezbbae_C-ZTBF6lTC5Ey7omdWlhhBLBfuXr2mCvvWnXU9cQ7cFN4/s200/IMG_5045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368045291863985410" border="0" /></a> as soon as I walked off the plane, more or less. My family met my mother and I at El Aguila Real about an hour and a half after my plane landed. Oh the enchilada goodness...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#2 Eat a reuben sandwich from The General Store</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHiVDzze5DMxKZDB83IeQuzp52lKNizjyEWL6hs5Rpe4_mAiPhPi5bGXMIUq3PNZN_DbPUrzR50jCmFxax37ealga-8UsWL7aBJ-umbsmqiyrvYsTCM8E6DTu9hc0G7w-QTvQBui_9Co/s1600-h/IMG_5056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHiVDzze5DMxKZDB83IeQuzp52lKNizjyEWL6hs5Rpe4_mAiPhPi5bGXMIUq3PNZN_DbPUrzR50jCmFxax37ealga-8UsWL7aBJ-umbsmqiyrvYsTCM8E6DTu9hc0G7w-QTvQBui_9Co/s200/IMG_5056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368046555201739298" border="0" /></a>My favorite reuben sandwich in the history of all sandwiches is made by the lovely folks at The General Store Eatery in <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOn9FJbwxJgn5GQ81AIjEQtr1jPIPV4UJOuq3ix1jLMAb36GVEkQ-RsG6OcS5Xld-xYVHQaie4hoqVcDHo0p7GULe9-3gkw_4DF69fcMbjFWwWV3O9lHQwiq6ZA_gIrbkw0qBCyoZEUQ/s1600-h/IMG_5057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOn9FJbwxJgn5GQ81AIjEQtr1jPIPV4UJOuq3ix1jLMAb36GVEkQ-RsG6OcS5Xld-xYVHQaie4hoqVcDHo0p7GULe9-3gkw_4DF69fcMbjFWwWV3O9lHQwiq6ZA_gIrbkw0qBCyoZEUQ/s200/IMG_5057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368046856636135666" border="0" /></a>Valley Junction. Since I could never find corned beef in Poitiers, I couldn't even begin to make a substitute for this. I had been jonesing for quite some time. It's steamed instead of grilled, as well. Also difficult to imitate. Amazing! This goal was accomplished on Day 2.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#3 Get a pedicure</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM4XYOLX97MM7sQEUPGgq0t1p1y-ZfGpSTf_YPCZ2ea8yXyYtOPoZMGNElxfbZPVlpXMeawByL7RSrs5Ol8PgEf8qy0Wxlem7BGvTPy2dZIWiEtWfPQt1rco8OZpy4pkQryKqxU1UQXY/s1600-h/IMG_5060.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM4XYOLX97MM7sQEUPGgq0t1p1y-ZfGpSTf_YPCZ2ea8yXyYtOPoZMGNElxfbZPVlpXMeawByL7RSrs5Ol8PgEf8qy0Wxlem7BGvTPy2dZIWiEtWfPQt1rco8OZpy4pkQryKqxU1UQXY/s200/IMG_5060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368047743638666754" border="0" /></a>I went 9 months without a pedicure, and while some people might be saying "Who gives a shit?", for those who usually have a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUGTFqQfA1oqTvFo7W4FsyIGLaAHKdaztDXYA46yOMRLR3FOucFocTXyQA9xLqjImpVavDi06pRtnB6BmnhygILhAjXyxAWjKHhV6gXJMoVm3bfP3nAUja2is0MCMp4Wjhry20LDQuxU/s1600-h/IMG_5063.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUGTFqQfA1oqTvFo7W4FsyIGLaAHKdaztDXYA46yOMRLR3FOucFocTXyQA9xLqjImpVavDi06pRtnB6BmnhygILhAjXyxAWjKHhV6gXJMoVm3bfP3nAUja2is0MCMp4Wjhry20LDQuxU/s200/IMG_5063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368048089590946082" border="0" /></a>pedicure once every month (or every other month, even), 9 months is a LONG TIME. My feet were looking more like hooves by the time I got home. So, on Day 2, immediately after reuben consumption, it was off to the nail salon.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#4 Eat a Maid-Rite</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpl8_j3nh4qtVmzfP5fdWVW3NqU86PHWS6qqrBwnMXn-Fn0KxYtsvYXXGJTZHB2Ct-Kv4NTT96l0dfJ03kHbk3b2BbNBp1KKNuPSMkLF3dfZJO87O7D7TR49t1JzkI4N4o26OIfhq-ZVY/s1600-h/IMG_5071.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpl8_j3nh4qtVmzfP5fdWVW3NqU86PHWS6qqrBwnMXn-Fn0KxYtsvYXXGJTZHB2Ct-Kv4NTT96l0dfJ03kHbk3b2BbNBp1KKNuPSMkLF3dfZJO87O7D7TR49t1JzkI4N4o26OIfhq-ZVY/s200/IMG_5071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368049436085186674" border="0" /></a>If you're not from Iowa, you've likely never heard of this tasty treat. It's also called a "loose meat sandwich", which does not sound at all appealing. Basically, it's very finely ground beef on a bun, topped with mustard, onion, and pickle. Ketchup is blasphemous (but I get it anyway). You can get cheese, too, but that's gross. Maid-Rite started in Iowa, but you can find them in a couple different states now, too. Soft and delicately flavored, they are divine.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#5 Bake something--ANYTHING</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCRqMjjv0RLq9kl9rdRBwarmRpxUBc9fZD1S6A60ZFRYKKarOP_VgpIQyCSq7lesrVw5g4d1Wz3aC3ePL1J4nlhksTPRWYrpG0iZ9m0rV4krXK3RkKnHMvOnjotDzZxBt2mo8bNNDRZo/s1600-h/IMG_5169.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCRqMjjv0RLq9kl9rdRBwarmRpxUBc9fZD1S6A60ZFRYKKarOP_VgpIQyCSq7lesrVw5g4d1Wz3aC3ePL1J4nlhksTPRWYrpG0iZ9m0rV4krXK3RkKnHMvOnjotDzZxBt2mo8bNNDRZo/s200/IMG_5169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368050553700313074" border="0" /></a>I didn't have a real oven while in France, so I was desperate to make a baked good of some variety. Baking is a true love of mine, so being without an oven was a special kind of torture for me. I had also been obsessing over a blueberry pie recipe that I saw on the Cook's Illustrated website. In fact, I would conservatively estimate that I watched the video for making that pie about 20 times. Since I arrived in the US just before the 4th of July, I was able to finally make it about a week after returning home. Sweet success!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#6 Get my hair cut</span><br /><br />Oh my hair was a wild <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2TNsZ0ePuqEkI0MBbCKNeVRfi5KDcE8R9HmgfC95J2wH3YooiNbPT_QKnNXvRivmfvBhUaZ423kz57wW5Q1trCHoPUPnB2hIZFHXaZMC3fA0ljKnsPDFaYoVHAZxfa7IbP7wJ-giZsk/s1600-h/newhaircut.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2TNsZ0ePuqEkI0MBbCKNeVRfi5KDcE8R9HmgfC95J2wH3YooiNbPT_QKnNXvRivmfvBhUaZ423kz57wW5Q1trCHoPUPnB2hIZFHXaZMC3fA0ljKnsPDFaYoVHAZxfa7IbP7wJ-giZsk/s200/newhaircut.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368051329705559362" border="0" /></a>mane by the time I returned home. In fact, I didn't get it cut once in the 9 months I was gone. Why? Who the hells knows...I mean, I was in France, not Korea. At any rate, I was very pleased to have some of it shorn off on Day 3.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#7 Hang out with my friends</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwC5icDjWM1603-VhedOD6hICNrWTVUP-ZLiuYy9kNV6bqxVrQ6P3E-x8FxO-PRDUDZ0mni6iQmdSNcmbDP1S94XiR2-8VXN3qcnL1t9S2cV7VpRg_y-3GZvYUYa5CwUdTEUiEDzfucE/s1600-h/IMG_5183.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwC5icDjWM1603-VhedOD6hICNrWTVUP-ZLiuYy9kNV6bqxVrQ6P3E-x8FxO-PRDUDZ0mni6iQmdSNcmbDP1S94XiR2-8VXN3qcnL1t9S2cV7VpRg_y-3GZvYUYa5CwUdTEUiEDzfucE/s200/IMG_5183.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368052825347419890" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglit_Ssc4nGgpuOFnFKAh8dCVmO8gfKxH4V4GNc2ydWyFzlia2C-4gwHtyfBDpKyRragXZzYu4viwtWm1lXV3bRrw9aP3-S6GnPbpGVn0_fxk0cqBphEbKP5nht4BCA3DUlmeDdHRHf9g/s1600-h/IMG_5186.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglit_Ssc4nGgpuOFnFKAh8dCVmO8gfKxH4V4GNc2ydWyFzlia2C-4gwHtyfBDpKyRragXZzYu4viwtWm1lXV3bRrw9aP3-S6GnPbpGVn0_fxk0cqBphEbKP5nht4BCA3DUlmeDdHRHf9g/s200/IMG_5186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368053198135010434" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlMU4gcqjimhstb7ND4HK5iRGGFdW9mcUCqc7EsTeTqjBgxlyDpqd_6oNvC4NR7rpY363Z6eORMR9xgynbpoK4jR9gO2-Zw1BQTzCnaH149wOGFFD8qdAuchyKkLDeRq9UvYpVwb7-4E/s1600-h/IMG_5192.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlMU4gcqjimhstb7ND4HK5iRGGFdW9mcUCqc7EsTeTqjBgxlyDpqd_6oNvC4NR7rpY363Z6eORMR9xgynbpoK4jR9gO2-Zw1BQTzCnaH149wOGFFD8qdAuchyKkLDeRq9UvYpVwb7-4E/s200/IMG_5192.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368053837931425074" border="0" /></a>Derek hosted a Welcome Home Shannon Bulgogi BBQ, and it was a cozy good time. Just the wa<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04N4hdlI1UxaxkXXWrouH0jxFqIw-Ol-nxp4KXkmZ8y7ncmvQC4V5nvXu1_f_hazL_rcq8hhjzFOTxeI_CZM_VKHbj8RrTz6OtZ8wfO7l_dSZ2tuk6FthnL5OliwdP1YH7RcpHGJYF0k/s1600-h/IMG_5191.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04N4hdlI1UxaxkXXWrouH0jxFqIw-Ol-nxp4KXkmZ8y7ncmvQC4V5nvXu1_f_hazL_rcq8hhjzFOTxeI_CZM_VKHbj8RrTz6OtZ8wfO7l_dSZ2tuk6FthnL5OliwdP1YH7RcpHGJYF0k/s200/IMG_5191.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368053629938882466" border="0" /></a>y I like it. I really missed hanging out with peo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgef7GwVvywlENV-k2ZBrHmI5ZgG3ZcXtarIEr8JlHVpXWjxEozqHHlGHMHZ3FCWIFVmUh5ZuSVV6345gWP5z9ybYRx0w-ALqNGgZcoEZZHHw3pddNWNJLnewBkwc1kTWTzyaw4aWAUCL8/s1600-h/IMG_5187.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgef7GwVvywlENV-k2ZBrHmI5ZgG3ZcXtarIEr8JlHVpXWjxEozqHHlGHMHZ3FCWIFVmUh5ZuSVV6345gWP5z9ybYRx0w-ALqNGgZcoEZZHHw3pddNWNJLnewBkwc1kTWTzyaw4aWAUCL8/s200/IMG_5187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368053415604404786" border="0" /></a>ple who know me of old.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#8 Eat my grandma's spaghetti and meatballs</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRz6ckRebp6m45NTNYjwKcbTFIR-cvt9Ko-FT0fy4KBmqkXJznYJzIIqFoNSqXsyd43akFqxoMuIjU0EbY1BFAy9RjmLMBFGUlY_9S9vNt99G1yw6R_tf4uGaFmXheg1Xv_9bngdZgBQ/s1600-h/IMG_5306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRz6ckRebp6m45NTNYjwKcbTFIR-cvt9Ko-FT0fy4KBmqkXJznYJzIIqFoNSqXsyd43akFqxoMuIjU0EbY1BFAy9RjmLMBFGUlY_9S9vNt99G1yw6R_tf4uGaFmXheg1Xv_9bngdZgBQ/s200/IMG_5306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368055382043683730" border="0" /></a>The smell of my grandma's spaghetti and meatballs cooking is the scent that permeates more of my childhood memories than any other. I can make it on my own, but it's never quite the same as hers. I tried to make it in France once, but the meatballs refused to stick together and became more of a "meatball crumble". Not exactly the effect I was hoping to achieve.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#9 Road trip to eat at Farmer's Kitchen and to get the best cream horns in the world</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEvC5RoUS_XfnFqXp8XsGBZjupQU7W_CIzCu5VKA3PbOWN1TgTm3-LLZkaP7iRe2gKPPPIn48cOK6aTJ7GntiVlLy9kWFtCf0hIzO9N5-xqq-a9seSAmV6Du0slxPYfGi8758Ry6nhHM/s1600-h/IMG_5202.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEvC5RoUS_XfnFqXp8XsGBZjupQU7W_CIzCu5VKA3PbOWN1TgTm3-LLZkaP7iRe2gKPPPIn48cOK6aTJ7GntiVlLy9kWFtCf0hIzO9N5-xqq-a9seSAmV6Du0slxPYfGi8758Ry6nhHM/s200/IMG_5202.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368057081387354706" border="0" /></a>I read about Farmer's Kitchen while in France, as this supposedly amazing hole-in-the-wall place where the food is all made from scratch with local ingredients. This is somewhat hard to come by in Iowa (with a few notable exceptions in Des Moines). Also, I was dying to have a cream horn pastry from this tiny shop in a little nothing town, known only for its antique shopping (which is how I found the bakery in the first place).<br /><br />So, my mother and I drove about an hour and half to get to these <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9h_UIlhtT3ThBoTvk1SsI_BUBxfvTu3q-VRfz85M5N4doLdqi_EfIWD_1Dw0OtcbCWTPb3sQ76Uw_cAP7p6Xd2Qwbcu-goDsNgiCwXtzaZCV4QTfbOZmeAdCDqAmUXNtM-xOoD_F5uM/s1600-h/IMG_5206.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9h_UIlhtT3ThBoTvk1SsI_BUBxfvTu3q-VRfz85M5N4doLdqi_EfIWD_1Dw0OtcbCWTPb3sQ76Uw_cAP7p6Xd2Qwbcu-goDsNgiCwXtzaZCV4QTfbOZmeAdCDqAmUXNtM-xOoD_F5uM/s200/IMG_5206.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368057686440806530" border="0" /></a>towns (right next to each other, as luck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzupQvZQr1Ht4BzFulGXTfNDC65DFeeIE6M-mGPq2MEoy49xIX_lnTvXe86Vz-4b8VU9O2V-2PL6AlKn5drvSilKCpB-JZDoL8pc72YfrJwgKwNSCyKMl4-9SlprBmA4y0UxrX5UbVCMs/s1600-h/IMG_5217.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzupQvZQr1Ht4BzFulGXTfNDC65DFeeIE6M-mGPq2MEoy49xIX_lnTvXe86Vz-4b8VU9O2V-2PL6AlKn5drvSilKCpB-JZDoL8pc72YfrJwgKwNSCyKMl4-9SlprBmA4y0UxrX5UbVCMs/s200/IMG_5217.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368058120975528930" border="0" /></a> would have it). The Farmer's Kitchen was just as amazing as promised. I had their famous hot beef sandwich with a cup of their award-winning chili to start and a slab of chocolate peanut butter pie to finish. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf0jTVMsLMK4HFsFeWFedJLEwDzbuwe6ZwBECR9LiaL63CLwsOohXxuQjqO-UntBj8hccxhSZVh4tPjo_KBK_ABzwgW3nq2Dx0EVrj-29dWvM85pdXl9oJltWaPqgGNPoCtdXlsvyMWY/s1600-h/IMG_5226.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf0jTVMsLMK4HFsFeWFedJLEwDzbuwe6ZwBECR9LiaL63CLwsOohXxuQjqO-UntBj8hccxhSZVh4tPjo_KBK_ABzwgW3nq2Dx0EVrj-29dWvM85pdXl9oJltWaPqgGNPoCtdXlsvyMWY/s200/IMG_5226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368058412384186130" border="0" /></a> Not that I actually finished the pie. It weighed about 3 pounds and contained more sugar than 4 humans should consume in one day. I took home more than half of it, and never even finished it in the end. What a waste...it was so good.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjYhDPBBSHhKM8vAh74GMWQUNijQ1KDrBjn6hFq8B3uQAO7O9KpSjjXYW6q4K9waeL3Ydn4P4HO3c-6-W-tp0e_Tfwmq30luVrXZebHuf05mKdlmuK1-_6aR7_GzEOiNADgkqB7ltSPs/s1600-h/IMG_5256.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjYhDPBBSHhKM8vAh74GMWQUNijQ1KDrBjn6hFq8B3uQAO7O9KpSjjXYW6q4K9waeL3Ydn4P4HO3c-6-W-tp0e_Tfwmq30luVrXZebHuf05mKdlmuK1-_6aR7_GzEOiNADgkqB7ltSPs/s200/IMG_5256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368058783557859922" border="0" /></a>The cream horns were amazing, as ever. Good thing we pre-ordered some because they were all sold out by the time we got there. Another pure sugar treat, but this time light as air. Yum.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">#10 Go to the farmer's market</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmNHezfdAUGqkn_0PsUvC0ddxh-F5ppbTjFkt7jU6HjHiuzTstvUc04BsiPaiTixoUhWZ0KP74I35GepvV8IxiM9aje6RA4_QvMgyveKM9KZ8ttDLnTDvRh2L4yjbTyNEaZbZWW0Ft7I/s1600-h/IMG_5275.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmNHezfdAUGqkn_0PsUvC0ddxh-F5ppbTjFkt7jU6HjHiuzTstvUc04BsiPaiTixoUhWZ0KP74I35GepvV8IxiM9aje6RA4_QvMgyveKM9KZ8ttDLnTDvRh2L4yjbTyNEaZbZWW0Ft7I/s200/IMG_5275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368061289032635666" border="0" /></a>The farmer's market in Poitiers was pretty beast, but I love the markets here. For starters, we have a farmer's market somewhere in the metro area on almost every day of the week, and several of those are in the evening. This is perfect for working folks and lazy people--like me--who don't fancy getting up with the roosters in order to buy tomatoes. I haven't yet been to the enormous <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXUQ0zY4MGOjleegAk709qj0vcnEBpoyRbyEGhNlAu67PWQ7nIAmy6J9yAmlAFEXjay5L2AhhvqTfsytJ966iMs-n5MPXxQyKxx4-5JDC1v39kUq7TT63Gad3g5mFGaVtzPbxd3JfOKU/s1600-h/IMG_5284.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXUQ0zY4MGOjleegAk709qj0vcnEBpoyRbyEGhNlAu67PWQ7nIAmy6J9yAmlAFEXjay5L2AhhvqTfsytJ966iMs-n5MPXxQyKxx4-5JDC1v39kUq7TT63Gad3g5mFGaVtzPbxd3JfOKU/s200/IMG_5284.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368061616007541858" border="0" /></a>downtown market on Saturday morning, but I have been to the Thursday evening market in Valley Junction. It's just as nice, but less chaotic. Also, it has my favorite random market treat, a vegetable cutlet from the Indian lady's booth. It's always my first stop.Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-24909497350961951432009-07-28T05:36:00.021+02:002009-08-19T08:49:57.033+02:00The Too Rapid Passage of TimeWell, it's been a little over a month since I arrived in Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Moines</span></span></span>, yet it feels as though I just got off that United flight from Paris only yesterday. I've been filling my days mostly with the comforting things that I missed while in France. Satellite TV, favorite foods, driving too fast on the freeway with my stereo blasting, spending time with friends and family...but not necessarily in that order.<br /><br />The weekend in Paris was a great send-off. I had been really sweating it out that last week in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Poitiers</span></span></span>, getting ready to vacate my apartment, making arrangements to get rid of all my shit, meeting up with friends one last time. Frantic would be an apt description. Also sweaty.<br /><br />Eventually, Friday rolled around and it was time to check out with my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">realtor</span>, Sylvie. She was so great with helping me to secure the apartment, and she was equally great on that final day. Sad to see her go. And sad to walk out of that apartment for the last time. I looked over my shoulder at the little river, the blank walls, the tiny kitchenette. For a moment, I felt the pang of what it meant to give this place up. The dreams left behind there. But then I remembered that I'd be on a plane back home in three days, seeing my family, eating real Mexican food...and the thought cheered me immensely.<br /><br />After leaving my apartment, I headed straight to Alice's apartment, relatively unencumbered by crap to carry. Thankfully, I had moved my two behemoth suitcases to her place earlier in the day. Or rather, I had alternately pushed and pulled them up her hill, in constant danger of either being flattened by them or dragged to a messy end.<br /><br />That evening, we went to a concert of centuries-old classical music, held in a small chapel near the cathedral. Two cello-like instruments and a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">harpsichord</span>. I'm not the biggest fan of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">harpsichord</span>, but it was actually quite lovely. A sweet end to my time in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Poitiers</span></span></span>.<br /><br />We barely got any sleep that night. Alice went to a second classical concert just outside of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Poitiers</span></span></span>, so she didn't get back until around 11pm (and the sound at the concert was distorted and too soft, so that was shitty for her since she was so excited to hear this particular artist). Then we had to be up around 5:30am in order to get ready to catch the bus to the train station. Breakfast featured a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for each of us. By the way, I have <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">never</span> seen a non-American scarf up a PB&J sandwich so quickly in my life. Nice work, Alice!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And so, to Paris.</span><br /><br />It's no secret that I'm not a particular fan of the City of Lights. It's a bit too mad for me. Frenetic, really. I'm certainly too provincial for Parisian standards, but as I said to Alice at one point, there are so many <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">hideous</span> tourists there, I don't stand out in too mortifying a manner.<br /><br />I really had no specific plans for the weekend, other than that I wanted to go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Poilâne</span>, the world-famous bakery so highly recommended by the likes of chef Ina <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Garten</span> (of <span style="font-style: italic;">Barefoot <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Contessa</span></span> fame). Beyond that, I was open to suggestion--up to a point. I had no intention of hiking around the city, getting blisters and detesting every moment. In the end, Alice and I kept it pretty low key. We were staying at the apartment of my Danish friend, Birgitte, who had very generously loaned it to me while she was gone that weekend. So, while we were happy to stay in and play cards and just chat, there were a few activities out in Paris that were on our list.<br /><br />First thing on Saturday, we met up with her brother at the train station on his way to Belgium. We only enjoyed a brief visit, but it was nice to meet this elusive brother, especially since he's as big of a "West Wing" fan as Alice and I! After meeting Giles, we navigated the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Métro</span> to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Poilâne</span>. I have a tremendous hatred of the Paris <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Métro</span>, but that day it was actually nice to us. Not too many steps, no hiking through a stadium's worth of tunnels to get to our train, fairly short waiting times. My best experience with that bitch yet.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Poilâne</span> was overflowing with a lunchtime crowd, their tiny dining room spilling would-be <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqrxXOgbfw7_ggJBUneOyR43BX0jJcaGj7gAXVKBKNzj0gM2GqWxd-KT3Nvndj1I6G8uE891xS6vCCsqq3EYjpGnkdNaDWXahEv_n_NT5VEyKukFmBR9Bjf8BKZGHC4m1Z9mJ1cOFeVY/s1600-h/IMG_4933.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqrxXOgbfw7_ggJBUneOyR43BX0jJcaGj7gAXVKBKNzj0gM2GqWxd-KT3Nvndj1I6G8uE891xS6vCCsqq3EYjpGnkdNaDWXahEv_n_NT5VEyKukFmBR9Bjf8BKZGHC4m1Z9mJ1cOFeVY/s200/IMG_4933.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368040097110966050" border="0" /></a>customers out into the street. We waited cheerfully in line behind them, killing time by studying the menu posted in the window. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Poilâne's café</span> specializes in "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">tartine</span>", which is a toasted, thin slice of their famous sourdough bread co<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU6j8sKD4pY7l8f-mXMNefzIQs65z5N8VoU1ep4oe5xTJHq0ONXnebayPs1uO3vLndZxIQA86l6-9I8XWlawaH6wJTeS8b0ULbna2wNocq0M6sOeFo8iW53SqOmABqcDXOzo7ZvelCr0/s1600-h/IMG_4924.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkU6j8sKD4pY7l8f-mXMNefzIQs65z5N8VoU1ep4oe5xTJHq0ONXnebayPs1uO3vLndZxIQA86l6-9I8XWlawaH6wJTeS8b0ULbna2wNocq0M6sOeFo8iW53SqOmABqcDXOzo7ZvelCr0/s200/IMG_4924.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368039868948959538" border="0" /></a>vered in a modest array of toppings. I ended up ordering the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">tartine</span> with roasted tomato sauce, goat cheese, and basil. It was also lightly broiled in order to melt the cheese. Pure heaven. Alice got hers with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">guacomole</span> and shrimp. Not so heavenly for a non-seafood person such as myself, but it did look like a work of art.<br /><br />On Sunday was the real highlight of the trip: The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Musée</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">d'Orsay</span>. As a fan of the Impressionists, I had been wanting to go there for quite some time; but it was actually Alice who had the idea to go that day. The Louvre gets all the fame, but if you like Impressionism, the best stuff is honestly at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">d'Orsay</span>.<br /><br />As we came up out of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Métro</span>, we could see the entrance line winding around in front of the building, and I definitely had a moment of "Fuck this." But, we had come all that way, and I really did want to go in, so we <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">sweated</span> it out in line. As luck would have it, we were right be<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLD_Da1TpY44JmNMP55zFBXlK0OsgeqgvAASyXTMeiYxUGGUtXL8yjf7cAXDl0KCxx5wvCiIKFfF3voA1zkOTmLJdoDUUx8-4L1QQRlhFiegmEKSXUQ4xJ6-nS71SxNiZ0UTmOJgwXlSA/s1600-h/IMG_4953.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLD_Da1TpY44JmNMP55zFBXlK0OsgeqgvAASyXTMeiYxUGGUtXL8yjf7cAXDl0KCxx5wvCiIKFfF3voA1zkOTmLJdoDUUx8-4L1QQRlhFiegmEKSXUQ4xJ6-nS71SxNiZ0UTmOJgwXlSA/s200/IMG_4953.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368040976762881074" border="0" /></a>hind an older American couple from Phoenix. <span style="font-style: italic;">[I know they were from Phoenix because, as is the way with most Americans, we got to chatting rather quickly. That is definitely something I love about my fellow countrymen; we are usually friendly and tend to open up quickly, even to strangers. And, in most circumstances, we can call each other by our first names more or less immediately, not always a given in other parts of the world (even France). I really love how Americans can be so unreserved...it makes me rather proud, I must say. It can have its downsides, but for the most part, it's a positive aspect of our nature.] </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMmtPDh9N_h0rxYdokZMZ4cwAcbVr7XQJ7asBpCjWwAnS6Tbo9Rri_4hyphenhyphen3Sjs-HBcN5Jen3Q_U44tsBqP5ij15Hi_OPYFIvqo_PqWSS0Owf6CYhyphenhyphentLSyf5SRwTqGvIhCpVApkzmfMngvY/s1600-h/IMG_4959.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMmtPDh9N_h0rxYdokZMZ4cwAcbVr7XQJ7asBpCjWwAnS6Tbo9Rri_4hyphenhyphen3Sjs-HBcN5Jen3Q_U44tsBqP5ij15Hi_OPYFIvqo_PqWSS0Owf6CYhyphenhyphentLSyf5SRwTqGvIhCpVApkzmfMngvY/s200/IMG_4959.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368041149991996690" border="0" /></a>After waiting in line for only about 20 minutes, we were in the door and ready to sit at the feet of the masters. Well, I was. Alice isn't so much a fan of Impressionism, so she accompanied me to all of the gallery rooms, but was not particularly engaged in seeing the actual art (also, she had been there before). For me, it was a surreal experience to walk down a <span style="font-style: italic;">hallway</span>--not even an actual gallery--and see one of my absolute favorite Monet pieces ("<span class="caption"><em>Poppies, Near <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Argenteuil</span></em></span>") just hanging there as if it were in my grandma's living room. I mean, I had a <span style="font-weight: bold;">poster</span> of it in my room in Seoul. It was my poster come to life...unbelievable! It immediately reduced me to a yammering tourist. "Do you see that?? It's Monet! I had that as a poster!! Holy shit!"<br /><br />It just got better from <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfz-v9lQykFhyphenhyphenaG2Dsq-nQDS3dYAf-WCQfeEF_4J0_3R72GTAbD1PxSlWVCNvdXt6NVx1zI-gPlvklvBM7EphyphenhyphenAapgAMR8gO59yKP47wXmz-aglvyOc0oW7Cu1_bCUeullRVTSKzQYB0/s1600-h/IMG_4974.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfz-v9lQykFhyphenhyphenaG2Dsq-nQDS3dYAf-WCQfeEF_4J0_3R72GTAbD1PxSlWVCNvdXt6NVx1zI-gPlvklvBM7EphyphenhyphenAapgAMR8gO59yKP47wXmz-aglvyOc0oW7Cu1_bCUeullRVTSKzQYB0/s200/IMG_4974.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368041468274378274" border="0" /></a>there, if that's even possible. We kept walking past masterpiece after masterpiece; it simply never ended. In one room, I turned a corner and was suddenly face to face with Whistler's Mother. In another, I saw a small semi-circle gathered around a painting; as I got closer, I could see it was Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Gogh's</span> "Starry Night". Other than Monet's Poppies, that was my favorite painting of the day. No poster could ever do it justice. It was enchanting, pure brilliance. I could have stood there and stared at it for an immeasurable length of time. It was luminescent and instantly drew one in. I have perhaps never seen such a perfect definition of "work of art."<br /><br />After <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">ooing</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">aahing</span> my way through the museum, it was time to complete the final errand of <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LP7De_u-gTLyuo3k0k5hI11Ss8sLc9Oqtuj45ElLvrTTTURXq2qRxUhfkdR7wX7d08t1SRzZ318KMmSD48i41CKsnT33vWCWTreB9sHwyJ6XzT_GvjJCrJJwPNO7ZtXr4raM4mNMTYg/s1600-h/IMG_5015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LP7De_u-gTLyuo3k0k5hI11Ss8sLc9Oqtuj45ElLvrTTTURXq2qRxUhfkdR7wX7d08t1SRzZ318KMmSD48i41CKsnT33vWCWTreB9sHwyJ6XzT_GvjJCrJJwPNO7ZtXr4raM4mNMTYg/s200/IMG_5015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368042015106191314" border="0" /></a>the day. My Uncle Pete had made me promise to have my picture taken drinking an aperitif at a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">café</span> on the Left Bank. I think he was imagining a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">café</span> overlooking the river, but none really exist. So, once Alic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HYXhycMzf3GoEAmLvlvuAdo06UCQNjiV4FKm-y70l8gkfP92E5urY5oE8I6emtO2ouluq6MYjQizgNEkM7dcqYoyCAErzcjTtK65_Q3GPIqVAVwINiiTVJif4SrwZhW-Y1-O4gtGSFU/s1600-h/IMG_5019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HYXhycMzf3GoEAmLvlvuAdo06UCQNjiV4FKm-y70l8gkfP92E5urY5oE8I6emtO2ouluq6MYjQizgNEkM7dcqYoyCAErzcjTtK65_Q3GPIqVAVwINiiTVJif4SrwZhW-Y1-O4gtGSFU/s200/IMG_5019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368042151301896530" border="0" /></a>e and I left the museum (itself a former train station located on the Left Bank), I posed for a picture by the Seine river, and then we walked for awhile until we saw an acceptable <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">café</span> in which to have an aperitif (and lunch). Lunch wasn't too bad, and I got the required photo. Mission accomplished!<br /><br />Since we had mostly hiked around all day, I volunteered to pay for a taxi back to the apartment. Naturally, we ended up getting stuck behind a massive cycling race. Still, it was cool to drive right next to the Eiffel Tour and the Arc <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Triomphe</span>. We were soon back in the apartment, where we played some more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Nertz</span> and talked until it was time for Alice's train home and a teary farewell.<br /><br />The next morning, I was up at the crack of dawn to catch the shuttle I had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">pre</span>-arranged to take me to the airport. There I was, sitting on my suitcase outside of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Birgitte's</span> apartment...waiting. And no one was showing up. Of course. Luckily for me, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Birgitte</span> had come home late the night before, and was also up that morning to go to work. So, when she came outside and saw that I was still sitting there, getting increasingly nervous, she called the company for me. Turns out that they had no idea where the driver was, and that I would be reimbursed for my ticket. But in the meantime, how was I going to get to the damn airport?? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Birgitte</span> called for a taxi, which meant that I'd have to pay about 40 Euros to get to the airport (as opposed to just 28 with the shuttle). But, as goes the story of my life, once the driver got there, he said he couldn't take me all the way to the airport. Instead, he said he had to meet his daughter in 30 minutes, so he could only take me to a taxi stand. Naturally. He didn't charge me for the trip to the taxi stand, thankfully, and I was soon into another taxi and on my way to the airport. What sweet relief.<br /><br />At the airport, I was terrified of my bags being over the limit (fee: 150 Euros per bag for being over), but they both just barely squeaked in under the line. I hadn't been able to check in online the night before, and had thus been relegated to a middle seat. As a big girl, that was never going to work for me (or my seatmates), so I had to pay 60 Euros extra to upgrade to an aisle seat in Economy Plus. Totally worth it for the extra legroom, I must say.<br /><br />I almost died carrying my backpack around with me that day. Good thing they never<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSmyl7WUy0tC-heEV-sFfryocJK6B4ic604UEfagdO2qvsIb8ITR8alZiyLyr2OzYAP3nX_LOdIqMrES4p7cdRtgQu4N-MA0ne7m41X6zK6DO1n_cnFQho0NpgNY1LoDVlwKdY75xFgk/s1600-h/IMG_4766.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSmyl7WUy0tC-heEV-sFfryocJK6B4ic604UEfagdO2qvsIb8ITR8alZiyLyr2OzYAP3nX_LOdIqMrES4p7cdRtgQu4N-MA0ne7m41X6zK6DO1n_cnFQho0NpgNY1LoDVlwKdY75xFgk/s200/IMG_4766.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368043482742519602" border="0" /></a> weigh your carry-on baggage, because my backpack must have weighed an easy 40 pounds. I had 5 pounds of French raw milk butter in there with me, for starters! Plus tons of shit that I was afraid would put my suitcases over the limit. By the time I made the plane transfer in Chicago and then at home in Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Moines</span>, my shoulders were stippled with broken blood vessels from carrying the weight of that damned bag. Never again. Oh, and one favorite moment from the airport in Chicago: I wanted to call home, but didn't have a working cell phone. So, I tried to use a payphone with some of the quarters I had left over from when I came to France. Except the payphones wouldn't except money! I would have had to use a phone card or credit card! These weren't even fancy new payphones where you could put the card right into the machine. Oh no, these were straight out of the 80s. And still, wouldn't take actual money. I had to call collect and then have my mother call the phone back. Ridiculous.<br /><br />But, I was soon home in Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Moines</span> and happy to see my family and friends. Being away from home for so long makes me appreciate them even more. Although...as the summer is wearing on, so is my patience for family life. I'm looking forward to the move to Poland, even though I know I'll miss them all again as soon as I'm on the plane. Just one of the paradoxes of living a life so far from your loved ones...Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-83770114327316071242009-07-10T18:53:00.001+02:002015-02-27T21:27:00.108+01:00Sultry Iowa DaysSo, I've been home for almost two weeks, and time has been passing in alternating waves of snail and lightning speed. My family welcomed me with open arms and a list of shit they needed done. Apparently, my mother doesn't trust herself to change the lightbulb in the hallway, and so has been living with it dark for god knows how many weeks/months. *sigh* So, I've been used and abused by her and my grandma for doing odds & ends jobs...but nothing too back-breaking. The weather, although gorgeous when I first arrived, has segued into cool mornings and sultry days. With my mother's stubborn approach to running the air conditioning, I'm having flashbacks to my time in aircon-free, sweaty France. Ugh.<br />
<br />
Another thing that's been driving me to the brink of alcoholism is my mother's incessant need to know where I'm going and what I'm doing and who was that who just called me and was that my email notification that just went off and on and on and on. I'm finding it extremely difficult to abandon my usual freedom to the demands of my snoopy mother. Which is not to say that I think I should abandon it; on the contrary, I'm fighting it tooth and nail. And while I hate being subject to the Mom Inquisition, I also hate feeling like I'm ready to snap at any moment. I just want my peace and quiet and autonomy back.<br />
<br />
On a more positive note, I've really enjoyed hanging out with my friends. Derek had a "Welcome Back Shannon" dinner, for which he made his famous bulgogi (Korean BBQ). I've really missed hanging out with all of those guys, so it was a real treat to be able to interact with them personally, as opposed to just on Facebook.<br />
<br />
My weekend looks to be fairly interesting, with a cookout tomorrow (making my new favorite tomato dish, Tomato Crumble [recipe from a cookbook I got at a chateau near Saintes]) and an outing to a special dance club in the evening. Sunday will be a movie with my dad, grandma's spaghetti dinner, and then another movie with dad.<br />
<br />
Fun times ahead. Also, need to update on here about my last days/nights in France. Coming soon. :-)Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-60016760908857352192009-07-01T05:54:00.002+02:002009-07-01T05:56:22.212+02:00Changes abound...So! I'm officially back in Des Moines. Lots to share about my last days in Poitiers, my last weekend in Paris, the trip home, and my re-entry into midwest living. But, too much jet lag at this particular moment to concentrate on writing it all! More to follow soon...Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-51031580625600862352009-06-22T01:23:00.006+02:002009-06-22T02:04:48.468+02:00Fête de la MusiqueEvery June 21st, France has the good sense to celebrate the art of song with a day dedicated to music. This year, the 21st happened to fall on a balmy Sunday, so the streets were thronged with revelers.<br /><br />The general idea is that various music acts perform at random locations throughout the city. There are large displays in the major gathering spaces and small ensembles dotting the streets. One is at leisure to wander as one may, enjoying different performances and then moving on at will.<br /><br />As all of my friends were either out of town or holed up in preparation for the mos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__SXNBDI6o5fNDqy7tpW0go7NsLoustVmJBG6WhMot82g8dolblE70RZy8lcpy3UdN2sx8iX7RhTxehSIaYcKhqs_RLSOLCVeq4xuWmGkUWYVVmxk1ZuPrnJKTd-K9ltwHmp-h7zPkzU/s1600-h/IMG_4774.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 105px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__SXNBDI6o5fNDqy7tpW0go7NsLoustVmJBG6WhMot82g8dolblE70RZy8lcpy3UdN2sx8iX7RhTxehSIaYcKhqs_RLSOLCVeq4xuWmGkUWYVVmxk1ZuPrnJKTd-K9ltwHmp-h7zPkzU/s200/IMG_4774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349934829967654546" border="0" /></a>t important exam of their lives, I was on my own for this year's fête. I decided to start off with the 4:30pm acrobatic performance (accompanied by a wailing ensemble of various orchestra instruments) at the Hôtel de Ville. I got a seat at a sidewalk café and settled in for <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVP6uDC9pvpbK7NDQrFqkft-WeA1FJCd027ma0zbmWXq4n0HemkSTrNEcy2bkmHcmZm3sxb9B5-bdivgLdafq5dQPWWwPZBWRA4MPqb8EgPKLUfKLJ6gKTUIXr5nom6vCJOZfPF3Clew/s1600-h/IMG_4772.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVP6uDC9pvpbK7NDQrFqkft-WeA1FJCd027ma0zbmWXq4n0HemkSTrNEcy2bkmHcmZm3sxb9B5-bdivgLdafq5dQPWWwPZBWRA4MPqb8EgPKLUfKLJ6gKTUIXr5nom6vCJOZfPF3Clew/s200/IMG_4772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349934215836876050" border="0" /></a>some people watching--and the people did not disappoint. I saw a woman in the most ballooning pair of parachute pants I ever care to witness, as well as stilt-walkers and an 80 year old lady who looked as if she were dressed up as Marilyn Monroe for Halloween but was clearly just in her normal attire (curly blond wig included). Heavens.<br /><br />Eventually, the performance started and was more or less over in the same breath. After much preparation of microphones and tightropes and the French version of "testing, testing, 1,2,3", the entire show consisted of one man doing some tightrope walking. It was interesting, and certainly admirable, but not astounding. Many people, including yours truly, were videotaping the 10 minute experience on their various pieces of electronica...and I couldn't help but think that we were all imagining how much cooler it would be if we managed to be shooting at the exact moment his foot made an unfortunate slip. <span style="font-style: italic;">sigh </span>Better luck next year, I guess.<br /><br />After all that excitement, I decided to walk around a bit in the general direction of my apartment. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisvr1GEJAKRq10lBod8iSuwKVwO2fcgpRB-GFHhyphenhyphenXrnC5Ax1G9PeHnlI8kGT19S3WIPE7OcVTbvihhW-0k7HFdBR-fy8n7NevclF4slTxYuiMWBJVWmNqkjavxtCmDtgclabAp0O7IMRM/s1600-h/IMG_4798.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisvr1GEJAKRq10lBod8iSuwKVwO2fcgpRB-GFHhyphenhyphenXrnC5Ax1G9PeHnlI8kGT19S3WIPE7OcVTbvihhW-0k7HFdBR-fy8n7NevclF4slTxYuiMWBJVWmNqkjavxtCmDtgclabAp0O7IMRM/s200/IMG_4798.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349935797787259762" border="0" /></a> I was happy witness to a grunge band, a jazz ensemble tooting out "When the Saints Go Marching In", and an emo singer wailing mournfully, with <span style="font-style: italic;">Notre Dame la Grande</span> as his backdrop. The larger shows weren't going to be starting for a couple hours, and I hadn't eaten dinner, so I hightailed it home at that point. Pausing to be a shameless tourist with my camera as I went, happy to have an excuse to get last minute pictures of this city I have come to truly love.<br /><br />I got home and made some dinner (packaged mushroom ravioli and a salad). Unfortunately, I got sick almost immediately afterward (damned food poisoning) and ended up staying home the rest of the night. I could hear reveling in the distance, so I really regret not being able to go to the concert by the cathedral that I had planned to attend. Perhaps next lifetime...<br /><br />Also accomplished today--the submission of my signed contract to the school in Poland. Plus, I've been doing more research on Gliwice, and everyone seems to have great things to say about it. And I found out that they have both a TESCO and a Géant, so I should be able to get most of the "foreign" ingredients I require...a major factor in my day-to-day cooking happiness.<br /><br />Things are looking up!Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-25180616744357701702009-06-20T19:04:00.008+02:002009-09-27T13:43:47.184+02:00Gainful EmploymentAfter searching for months, turning over every stone, and existing in a state of continual disappointment, I have--at last--secured a job. Is it my dream job? No. Is it in my dream location? Hardly. Will it provide me with cheap and easy access to Europe while paying me a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">livable</span> wage? Yes. Well...just.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >Poland</span>.<br /><br />The name doesn't exactly call up a flickering reel of winsome images and a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">rollicking</span> good time. In my mind, Poland is most quickly associated with war. And <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">pierogies</span>. And bad jokes. Still, Poland is one of a bare handful of European countries still happy to employ the occasional American. I feel profoundly lucky to have been granted an extension of my European life, through whichever channel it has come.<br /><br />Tomorrow afternoon, I will submit the signed contract and required accompanying documents that will bind me, for 9 months, to an English-only school in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gliwice"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Gliwice</span></a>. That's the name of my future home, and I admit that I'm not quite sure how to pronounce it. I think it's like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Gli</span>-vits-uh. Maybe. At any rate, it seems nice...rather like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Poitiers</span> in size and scope. Probably not as appealing, but still medieval and charming in its way. I've combed through the relevant online forums at <a href="http://forums.eslcafe.com/job/viewforum.php?f=19&sid=2650d81573f571097ec65514f57a20b8">eslcafe.com</a> and most people have good things to say about it. And about the school (although there is considerable debate over the teaching methods they use...more on that once I actually have to start using them myself!).<br /><br />So, I've notified my family, and they all seem to be taking it pretty well. My grandmother, infamous for her crazy, anti-travel comments, came up with real gem. As if I could ever doubt that she would. Upon hearing that my newest adventure will be taking place in Poland, she said, "Poland! Why do you want to go there? What if they try to keep you there because they think you're a spy??" Classic. Almost as good as when I told her I was in the running for an island job in Mexico. For that one, the first words out of her mouth were, "An island! They're going to want you to go swimming in the ocean and a shark could bite off your leg!!" I would <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">never </span>have thought of that scenario if I had purposely sat for five hours trying to conjure up horrible things that might befall me in Mexico. And it was the very first thing that sprang to her mind. I'm telling you people, that woman exists in a whole other-<span style="font-style: italic;">terrifying</span>-dimension.<br /><br />But god love her, she only wants what's best for me. Which, to her mind, would include moving back to Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Moines</span> (preferably right next door to her) and never leaving again, ever. My grandmother's dream job for me begins and ends with a cubicle at Wells Fargo. No thanks. I have lived the life of a cubicle dweller in Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Moines</span>. I don't feel the need to repeat the experience.<br /><br />So, onwards and upwards! In one week's time, I'll be heading to Paris to spend the weekend there before catching my flight to Des Moines on Monday morning. But, I have a lot of shit to do here before I can even start dreaming of being home.<br /><br />The most important thing is that I now know my next step...and that is such an <span style="font-style: italic;">ungodly </span>relief!Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-32395786895210484632009-06-15T19:05:00.011+02:002009-08-19T08:52:05.541+02:00American BrunchYesterday morning, I had the pleasure of making an American brunch for one of the Indian girls I've come to know here in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Poitiers</span>. The idea was first put forth by a mutual friend, a fellow Iowa lady, in fact. Whether or not one can truly make an American brunch in France is a point to be debated, but we certainly did the best we could.<br /><br />Yours truly made hashed browns (cubed, not shredded, with onion and parsley) and cream biscuits. The hashed browns turned out beautifully, if I do say so myself (and without a picture), but the biscuits were definitely on the squat and dense side. I like to blame the differences between American and French flour whenever something like this happens...or possibly <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzK1ZjVKZU1XkTl0c7RBGt5DjzuYunS23wR5k4dH4A2LEPQyIcxo4DR2yd32e8Qk6kzOtWhREeI04gBQtUzDOH2pyGrvbJY5HtdnfglUwr_xW5VKKn3e2gy-dKJS2OvSi2QAReiPRg9Q/s1600-h/IMG_4660.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 117px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzK1ZjVKZU1XkTl0c7RBGt5DjzuYunS23wR5k4dH4A2LEPQyIcxo4DR2yd32e8Qk6kzOtWhREeI04gBQtUzDOH2pyGrvbJY5HtdnfglUwr_xW5VKKn3e2gy-dKJS2OvSi2QAReiPRg9Q/s200/IMG_4660.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347604736157826386" border="0" /></a>the baking powder. Or the humidity. Some force other than myself was clearly responsible for those leaden biscuits! Actually, they weren't all that bad...just not as light and fluffy as they are when I make them back in the States. Still, since the Indian girl had no previous experience with biscuits, she thought they were great. And did I mention that I made homemade apricot jam to go with them? That definitely helped wash them down, in my opinion.<br /><br />After we scarfed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PWNqnAjqP-0LMDEiTJTIVovOnp2iARgyHiEIjILjstWHlfwFsV8vheGRoPpVl4WHmIS5lgVs4DAgReK0eX1RPLpTM6d_65TWwpifLnkZJNr44LRgtAWj34EG3rf7-kVYg5jrHPZsg-I/s1600-h/IMG_4693.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PWNqnAjqP-0LMDEiTJTIVovOnp2iARgyHiEIjILjstWHlfwFsV8vheGRoPpVl4WHmIS5lgVs4DAgReK0eX1RPLpTM6d_65TWwpifLnkZJNr44LRgtAWj34EG3rf7-kVYg5jrHPZsg-I/s200/IMG_4693.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347605974890803794" border="0" /></a> down my hashed browns and biscuits, it was time for the other ladies to make their contribution: pancakes. Of course, these were the Iowa girl's suggestion. The Indian girl had never made them before, so it was a bonus for her to both make and eat them. They did a great job, and the pancakes were very fluffy (different baking powder, aha!). I haven't had American style pancakes since coming to France, so just the smell of these was heaven. We also had real maple syrup to top them off. The little pancake shown in the picture<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS63TvtniD_21AVBQDht10jJQfBU1E1LtWJir9k9soak9EzFIDZsad6jsW3d3Jy2lYUaV3_8jF5N5pMjoJuIcjMD9wxyDFNwpuxhDUncbAwCNpmZWGVT-sGY-ctr8O2PoryJCHpdFtT6k/s1600-h/IMG_4696.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS63TvtniD_21AVBQDht10jJQfBU1E1LtWJir9k9soak9EzFIDZsad6jsW3d3Jy2lYUaV3_8jF5N5pMjoJuIcjMD9wxyDFNwpuxhDUncbAwCNpmZWGVT-sGY-ctr8O2PoryJCHpdFtT6k/s200/IMG_4696.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347606267905443458" border="0" /></a> even had corn in it. (Can you tell that two of us are from Iowa?) For drinks, we had milk and grape juice, but the juice was just a little...odd. Dark violet rather than blackish purple. Certainly, it didn't hold a candle to the punch-in-the-mouth, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">intoxicatingly</span> tart-velvet experience of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Welch's</span> grape juice. Gotta love those Concord grapes.<br /><br />Aside from the blasphemous <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">absence</span> of bacon (the other two ladies are vegetarians-but you can't get real American bacon here, anyway), and some would say eggs (I don't like them, myself), I think we did a damn good job of showing off some of the finer points of a traditional American morning feast. It made me feel nostalgic for home, which is good, since I'm going back there in exactly two weeks.<br /><br />And you can bet I'll be trying those biscuits again once I get home, this time with the right flour!Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-32944785137960643522009-06-10T14:53:00.002+02:002009-06-10T15:06:38.195+02:00One of those Jane Austen days...<span style="font-style: italic;">"...it was a quick succession of busy nothings till the carriage came to the door..."</span> ~Mansfield Park<br /><br />Sometimes it seems as though I spend my life doing exactly that: killing time while waiting for something better or more interesting or more valid to come along. I call it "treading water". I've done it with jobs, with school, with love interests. And although it has sometimes paid off in the end (going to Korea after languishing in a call center job for 9 months, moving to France after spending a year in Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Moines</span> at another call center job), I can't seem to get myself into a frame of mind where I am moving perpetually forward toward a goal which satisfies me. <br /><br />Right now, for example, I'm busy applying for teaching jobs in Europe. And busy getting rejected either on the grounds of not having EU working papers or enough experience. This has been an almost overwhelmingly dispiriting process, but I struggle on because the only real alternatives I can see are either finding another shit job in Des <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Moines</span> or going back to Korea. There are schooling options in there, too, I guess. But I really don't need any more school loans! So, staring down the reality of Korea, I must continue hoping that some job in Europe will come through.<br /><br />And yet, I don't really want to teach. That goal does not satisfy me for the long term. I want to write. Travel writing, obviously. I have enough material (as cataloged on this website) that I could put together a book proposal, or even just some magazine article proposals. But I don't. Fear of success? Hard work? Rejection? Probably all three. Although, I do feel much closer these days to actually making progress on the writing front. Just collecting all of my stuff together in this blog has helped me feel more prepared to take on the challenge of chasing my dream job. <br /><br />I suppose I'm feeling a bit on the melancholy side today because it's raining. Again. Pissing down rain all day. Naturally, I have plans for tonight, so all I can hope at this point is that the rain will move on sometime in the next 4.5 hours. I hate walking in the rain, and I don't have a car. Perfect combo. I can't even be a lazy bum and cancel because it's a special Indian dinner for which I pre-registered and must pay 12€. Anyway, fingers crossed that the rain lets up long enough for me to find my way to the Indian girl's apartment...<br /><br />Even as I write this, I see rays of sunshine poking out of the clouds, so hope springs eternal!Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-14368340327042137672009-06-08T19:17:00.003+02:002009-06-08T19:39:39.316+02:00Veni, vidi,viciWow, today I actually left my apartment and got some shit done! This isn't always the case, sadly. In an unemployed state, I tend to stay home and be a lazy bum as opposed to using my abundant free time to accomplish goals and develop new hobbies. No gardening and book clubs for me...more like sleeping 15 hours a day and watching reruns of Law & Order.<br /><br />Still, I had no choice but to leave my apartment today as my rent was slightly past due. Mind you, it's the last rent I'll ever pay here, so I could give a fuck if it's three days late. Luckily for me, it stopped raining by mid-afternoon, so I actually felt chipper as I stepped out into the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Poitiers</span> sunshine and headed into town. <br /><br />I almost enjoy paying rent as it gives me a chance to chat with my real estate agent, Sylvie, who helped me tremendously when I first arrived here. She was equally sweet today. Rent paid and final check-out appointment set up, I stopped at one of my favorite bakeries to get a loaf of bread for dinner (and a <span style="font-style: italic;">pain <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">au</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">chocolat</span></span> for a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pre</span>-dinner treat). I never feel more French than when I'm walking around in the late afternoon with a baguette in hand like everyone else here. It always makes me smile. I also stopped at the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">tabac</span></span> to buy an envelope and stamp so that I could mail a bill while I was in town. I was just getting all kinds of shit done.<br /><br />Once I got back home, I decided to really kick it up a notch and investigate my options for canceling my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">internet</span> and electricity. As luck would have it, I'll be able to do both of those online. Thank god. I thought for sure I'd have to phone in (let's not lie--have one of my friends call for me because my French is shit, particularly my phone French) and calling customer service lines here is always costly. It is, no kidding, about .30 euro cents/minute. That's almost .50 cents US. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">WTF</span>?? Anyway, it appears there will be no need to submit myself to mugging by telephone.<br /><br />Needless to say, I've just been kicking ass and taking names today. In fact, I think I'll finish up by making a <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Tomato Crumble </span>for dinner. I found the recipe in a little cookbook I bought at a château a couple weeks ago. Only good recipe in the whole damn book, but I'm glad I got it. I would never have thought to do a savory crumble, but this one is amazing. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Yum yum yum...</span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-67047665938802993282009-06-07T01:47:00.010+02:002009-06-07T02:44:57.924+02:00Snow DaySo, in addition to being a currently unemployed ESL teacher, I'm also a part-time grad student. I'm doing an online master's in curriculum design and ESL, and I have a little less than a year to go. I suck at making myself do the work. There are a million other bullshit things I'd rather be doing than writing a paper about the transferability of curriculum or horizontal articulation issues. Christ. Do you really expect me to waste my time on this drivel?? Days of Our Lives is on!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Ok, I'd like it to be known that I categorically deny watching any Days of Our Lives episodes since about 1998.]</span><br /><br />Anyway, tonight I have a paper I'm supposed to be writing. I have no job, I do mostly nothing but computer shit all day...why didn't I do this paper like a week in advance? I have no earthly idea. But, I think it all comes down to the theory of the "snow day".<br /><br />Remember those? I grew up in Iowa, so we had plenty. Snow days were like gifts from god, and hopefully delivered on a big test day. It was always such a glorious experience... Waking up in the pre-dawn, exhausted and already defeated just by having to be <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzcy4YFXdd2StyKqiOk6Xx5SuIaD6S4w_w17FPpXbtwCwEmpK6C7byoC_E1Z8szQQY3Q-Tm0rWilzIuqrTDWD4GiqRaelvSA6LF35xtO616rqG5ZdqZkIAcgMCvTuKob_Am36Y9eimZY/s1600-h/snow2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzcy4YFXdd2StyKqiOk6Xx5SuIaD6S4w_w17FPpXbtwCwEmpK6C7byoC_E1Z8szQQY3Q-Tm0rWilzIuqrTDWD4GiqRaelvSA6LF35xtO616rqG5ZdqZkIAcgMCvTuKob_Am36Y9eimZY/s200/snow2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344379140890874258" border="0" /></a>awake at such an ungodly, sunless hour in the dead of winter. Then, gradually hearing the morning news playing on the living room TV, my mom watching to see if we would have to struggle to school that day. (She was a teacher, so her excitement for snow days almost rivaled that of me and my brother.) Eventually, I would sit up and peek out my window to inspect the carnage and then join my mom in the living room. Waiting, waiting, waiting as the alphabetical list of closed or delayed schools scrolled along the bottom of the screen. Then, a whoop of joy when my school's name finally appeared!<br /><br />Of course, by this time, we were all awake enough to be hungry. So, my mom would make us some breakfast (a rarity, as we usually ate at my grandma's while my mom headed to school early). She might even make us hot chocolate, from scratch, if we promised to be quiet and let her go back to bed for awhile.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3h1uAIC1XPoQV1NXP-wsY8P-eT8Fu0P20JLuH-Esoj_2rjAFPKIGY8EarAryu0fQypj0b-XRKuZANrv8ZCMaZQdcvvm4gLh3Ic4EIKBK5w8VwbhlzX_lt9VmeSpjmzm4v2dHyCzjbdo/s1600-h/IMG_0309.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3h1uAIC1XPoQV1NXP-wsY8P-eT8Fu0P20JLuH-Esoj_2rjAFPKIGY8EarAryu0fQypj0b-XRKuZANrv8ZCMaZQdcvvm4gLh3Ic4EIKBK5w8VwbhlzX_lt9VmeSpjmzm4v2dHyCzjbdo/s200/IMG_0309.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344378862876535490" border="0" /></a>Eventually, around noon, we would usually walk to a nearby diner for lunch. What shitty, greasy food. But the fun of tromping through knee-high snow, in the middle of the street no less, was too much of an adventure to miss out on. And we were young enough to enjoy the pleasure of hanging out with our mom in the middle of the day on a random winter Tuesday.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I miss those times now.</span><br /><br />But getting back to my theory of the "snow day" factor, the bottom line is that there is no greater pleasure than being told one need not do what one was anticipating must be done. You had a big test today? Forget about it, it's a snow day! Therefore, when I'm in a situation (such as having to write an annoying paper) in which I can create an excuse for myself as to why I can put the required action off, even for a short period of time...well, then it's like having a snow day! It's such a relief to not have to do what I was dreading, it actually becomes quite an addictive feeling.<br /><br />Sadly, I have mastered the art of the snow day, as evidenced by my shocking lack of personal motivation in my studies. Even as I write this, I'm considering just going to bed and waking up early to write my paper in order to turn it in by 9. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />*sigh*</span>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-31650174014263562072009-06-04T20:49:00.000+02:002009-06-05T13:50:53.287+02:00Brand spanking newI am a blogging failure. I love to write, I'm good at it, and yet I cannot seem to keep at it for more than a couple months at a time. I don't know why that should be, honestly. I think it must be something to do with the fact that I subconsciously demand perfection in my writing these days. Well, not perfection, exactly, but I just have a more heightened consciousness that writing is how I enter the world. Therefore, my brain shouts out that my writing should be a pure and true reflection of me, and it had better damn well be type-o free. Of course, no one is perfect, but my innate Virgo tendency toward perfection keeps me from just writing whatever comes out of my brain on a daily basis. <span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">I don't like being judged</span>.</span> And yet it's impossible to show one's writing to the world and not be judged. I manage the pain; I don't relish it as others do. I like to take my time, craft lovely turns of phrase, and proofread everything about a dozen times until I'm sure that my writing can be criticized as little as possible. Not exactly conducive to producing reams of material.<br /><br />Still, I am always thinking about what I'd like to write. I experience a situation and immediately think of how I could describe it to my friends or family. I've had the enormous privilege of living and working in France for the past 8 months, and so many truly magical moments have passed by me, never captured in writing. Since I tend to have a memory like a sieve, I think it's best if I sucked up my embarrassment at not being able to hold down a steady blog, and just tried to keep writing for the sake of memorializing my own history.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No promises. No pressure.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">No perfection required.</span><br /><br />In fact, as of right now, I've told no one about this blog. Not my best friend, not my mom. And I think I'll keep it that way for awhile. I'd like to get my blog legs under me before I let everyone in on the secret. If you've stumbled across this blog somehow...welcome. I don't regret your being here, not at all. You might even be witness to a miracle. The miracle of me writing here on a regular basis, and not quitting in two months' time. Feel free to send me comments if you like, but please be gentle!Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335592881638198226.post-12311559886334671042009-05-20T18:56:00.002+02:002009-08-19T08:53:44.440+02:00France Pictures--Alice's HouseI recently took a trip to the home of my French friend, Alice. Here are some pics:<br /><br /><table style="width: 194px;"><tbody><tr><td style="background: transparent url(http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/transparent_album_background.gif) no-repeat scroll left center; height: 194px; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="center"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/iowapompette/AliceSHouse02?authkey=Gv1sRgCP3n6qzfvZXr-QE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_VjU5_Glde-I/Sik9qCCJF6E/AAAAAAAAAdQ/wsQAjpi99Dg/s160-c/AliceSHouse02.jpg" style="margin: 1px 0pt 0pt 4px;" height="160" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="text-align: center; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/iowapompette/AliceSHouse02?authkey=Gv1sRgCP3n6qzfvZXr-QE&feat=embedwebsite" style="color: rgb(77, 77, 77); font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">Alice's House</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table style="width: 194px;"><tbody><tr><td style="background: transparent url(http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/transparent_album_background.gif) no-repeat scroll left center; height: 194px; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="center"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/iowapompette/AliceSHousePart2?authkey=Gv1sRgCJXHovuRheX1lAE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_VjU5_Glde-I/Sik9I22vohE/AAAAAAAAAWo/L2AA-fqGUf8/s160-c/AliceSHousePart2.jpg" style="margin: 1px 0pt 0pt 4px;" height="160" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="text-align: center; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/iowapompette/AliceSHousePart2?authkey=Gv1sRgCJXHovuRheX1lAE&feat=embedwebsite" style="color: rgb(77, 77, 77); font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">Alice's House, part 2</a></td></tr></tbody></table>Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05506605766649815144noreply@blogger.com0