Warning! Language!

This entry was originally written on 10/9, a couple of days after we landed in Warsaw

“The last thing I want to do is attract Fanilows in Poland” - De, as to why she will not be wearing her Barry Manilow t-shirt on the train to Gdansk.

Our first meal in Poland was a plate of pierogis. For the curious, these are not the somewhat bland filled dumplings available in the States – these were filled with at least 4 ingredients, one of these usually being pig-derived, much to the distress of De. Eventually she was able to find a plate that didn't contain too much pork (it was like the Monty Python Spam sketch) and then scraped the bacon cracklings off the top. We also tried a clear Barcz (borscht) and Zurek soup, both of which were declared delicious and nommed with great enthusiasm. Any worry we had about lard-based weight gain was quashed in the next couple of days of walking all the fuck over the place, most of which was on the Royal Route on the way to Old Town.

The thing about Warsaw is that it's not old. The Old Town – the castle, the university, the beautiful churches, the Barbican – were all flattened by Nazis in a brutal action in the beginning of the war, while the rest of the world stood by cowardly and watched as incredibly brave Poles formed a resistance . In 1939 there were 1.3 million people living in Warsaw. By the end of WWII there were fewer than 1000 living among the ruins. And ruins they were – not a single building stood after the Nazis came through. What the Germans did to this city is enough to make the Soviets come off like doting benefactors.

The paradox of the city is that while the post-war years were host to a huge rebuilding effort, part of that rebuilding included the painstaking reconstruction of the Old Town. Relying on photographs, architectural plans and even centuries old paintings by Cannaletto. The Old Town is beautiful, but maybe a little on the Colonial Williamsburg side of things. The reconstruction of the castle is impressive both inside and out, but it's a bit like touring the theme rooms at the V&A. Here's what the Throne Room looked like – but the king never sat on this throne because it was destroyed by the Nazis. This is where the King would have gotten dressed had the old building still existed. Here is an urn containing the heart of Tadeusz Kosciuszko. You'll have to ask around to find out if it's the actual urn containing the actual heart, or another cunning reproduction of same (it's the real deal), and so on. The whole Old Town is populated by the ghosts of the old within a new shell. And yet I can't get too annoyed with the same; the conscious decision by the Poles to enshrine their history while still moving forward is a noble gesture, and I wish more countries would feel that way.

This morning we had our (hopefully only) Traditional Day of Clusterfuck, wherein we found that the train station, while visible roughly catty-corner from our hotel, is damn near impossible to get to. Once reached, finding the actual entrance is also similarly impossible, due to the station being nearly entirely enshrouded in tarp for upgrades. When we finally found the entrance (after much faffing about in underground passages) we were overwhelmed by the giant unfriendliness of it all. Our guidebook suggested consulting a TI spot in the station for possible help in English, which was no longer available according to some xeroxed sheets taped to windows exhorting us to visit the TI “across the street” at the Palace of Science and Culture. Across the street again being a relative term. After finally finding the place, we were told that very few people at the train station spoke english, but to go to the ICC counter, back in the train station. I insisted in sustenance before making the final slog back into the bowels of Hades disguised as Warsaw Central Station, and we stopped at a helpful outpost of the cafe chain Coffee Heaven, which kindly patterned itself after an American coffee stand, and so I was able to order in English with little embarrassment. Which was good, because I was about to cry.

Over a large Tiger Chai and a teeth-achingly sweet peanutbutter, caramel chocolate enormity (I told you it was trying to be all American and stuff) De and I reviewed our intrepid phrase books and wrote out the Polish for “I need 4 ticket first class for Gdansk Sunday 10/10 non-smoking” (where was the plural for “ticket”? we didn't know, but sounding like a deranged 2 year old seemed to be the order of the day). We practiced our pronunciation, finished our pastries and went once more into the breach.

The ICC office was prominently in the corner of the station, and we had to take a number for service. As per usual, we were queue jumped by some old dude, but eventually took our turn, where I haltingly and hopefully asked “Czy Pani movie po Angielsku?” and was smiled and nodded at, thereby saving our helpful cashier the embarrassment of hearing her native language haltingly mangled. Tickets purchased a mere 100 meters and 2.5 hours after we set out, we made our way to a kiosk to purchase tram tickets. De had also written out the Polish and stated it at the lady in the booth, who still didn't quite understand and had to read the applicable page of De's notebook. The gist gotten, she handed over the appropriate tickets with a smile.

About which... do not believe anyone who tells you that the Poles are a dour and frowny lot, that they never smile and seem rude. We didn't notice any particular rudeness, or even curtness, and a simple “Prosze”, “Djenkuje”, “Dzien Dobry” or “Przprasham” will get you a friendly grin. The Poles know their language is tough for many and really appreciate even the most mispronounced attempt at it. I don't wonder how many people travel and take condescending smiley-ness for sincerity. The idea that we were not being smiled with, but rather smiled at – or laughed at – has crossed my mind, but if that is true, I think they get a pass just for watching our struggles.

And back to our travels – the tram was as easily used as advertised. One rather drunk young man alighted a few stops before ours and confirmed my intelligence regarding the word Dupek simply by shouting it in the middle of an inebriated half-sung tirade. We were on our way to the Warsaw Rising Museum, in part to help put the city into perspective for us. Unfortunately, we were informed by the attractive yet oddly attired (suspenders and an Abe Lincoln style chin-strap? is that what the cool kids are wearing these days?) tourist who claimed to be Brazilian but spoke with a great Estuary English accent, that today was the Free Day for museums. No sooner had he said that than we wound up in a 45 minute queue for tickets. The museum itself was fabulous and I wish I could go back. Sadly, the overcrowding made it a bit difficult to fully immerse ourselves in the museum, but this is one phenomenally put together museum, constructed with the goal of making you feel part of of the Polish Resistance. I will be reading as much as I can about the Warsaw Rising when I return home.

If I had to do it all over again? I would have maybe had a nice dinner after we landed and not done much else. On Friday, I would have visited the Warsaw Rising museum, and on Saturday, taken the tram/bus to Old Town and enjoyed the somewhat Disneyfied ambience. Tomorrow we will spend more time on a train than is strictly necessary to get to Gdansk (6 hours? Srsly?) and maybe settle in a little better this time.

Things to note:

For the love of all that is holy, if you are ever in Warsaw, you must have a Pacek at Blikeles. Delicious and cheap.

Take out more Zloty than you think you need; I withdrew 200 at a bankomat and then realized it was only $70.

Don't go to museums on free days. Everyone and their dog will be there.

Many people speak English, but not everyone does. Even the barest effort to communicate Po Polsku will be appreciated.

Polish food is only distantly related to American Polish food. Try all of it.