Adventures In A Trabant

(this was the last full day of our trip to Poland - 10/18/10)

There were definitely a few times I imagined the headline in the Daily Herald:

Local Woman Killed in Trabant Accident In Former Soviet Bloc Country - Member of Communist Party Was Driver

Like any of my former classmates would have been surprised. I had been called a Commie in High School the moment I espoused a mildly liberal view. To be fair, I don't think any of my peers actually knew what a Communist was - they just knew it was Bad! Like, anti-Reagan bad. It became ridiculous - a joke, almost - until I participated in a show called "Peace Child" with several Russian exchange students between my junior and senior year of high school. They brought souvenirs and postcards and were a revelation after all the US propaganda I had been exposed to. Did you know that Russians didn't all secretly desire to be Americans? That the government and the people were separate? Senior year I decorated my locker in red, with pictures, matroishka dolls, postcards and hammers & sickles everywhere. If I was going to get called a Commie, I may as well steal their fabulous icons. (*)

The last Monday we were in Poland we took a tour with a group called the Crazy Guides. Catering to American and English-speaking tourists, they have a fleet of Trabis in which they take their guests on a tour of Nova Huta and boast of having a Genuine Member of the Communist Party on staff. Built as the housing community for a new steelworks, Stalin planned Nova Huta ("New Steelworks) as a middle finger to the intellectual and religious bourgeoisie in nearby Krakow. The steelworks, hundreds of miles from the nearest mine, were a heavy polluter whose effects you can still see in the layer of grime covering the gorgeous turn of the century buildings in Krakow.

Originally only TR and I were going to take this tour - having spent all of our pre-college lives with the specter of Communism and Mutually Assured Destruction hanging over our heads, the break-up of the Soviet Union was a shock to us. TR remembers the Berlin Wall coming down. She wearily told her mother "I don't know what the big deal is - they'll just put it back up again." As scary as Those People were made to us, it was inconceivable that Communism would just go away. What we learned later is that it collapsed under the weight of its own corruption - the dictatorially paranoid government never even paying lip-service to the ideology of Socialism. In hindsight, it seemed they were never a threat. Well, there were still those nukes of course... but how much our own ramping up of anti-Communist hysteria fueled the Soviet's own propaganda and fear-mongering?

Eventually, TR's sister, who had studied in post-Soviet Russia for a time, expressed a desire to join us, and their mother reluctantly gave in. Two cars came to meet us at our hotel and TR and I decided to split up. The two of us are rather substantial in size, while her mother and sister are not. Seeing the Trabants for the first time, we worried that two lard-asses in one Trabi might actually crush the thing. TR and her mom followed a young blonde lady who looked an awful lot like my former cello teacher and her sister L and I shared a car with a shorter dude closer to my height who was never without a cigarette during the entire tour.

I wouldn't call it comfortable, but it certainly wasn't any worse than '73 VW Beetle. Except of course for the times we had to pull over so our driver could pop the hood and fix something. And the sparks coming from the ignition everytime he started the car were alarming. And that time where I thought some dude on a bus was smiling and checking me out when he was actually pointing and laughing at the car. And the dude with the broke-down rusted out hooptie of a Ford Festiva who glowered several times at us. Dude, the Trabant would be a step up for you, dipshit. L and I joked a bit on our way to Nowa Huta. We were getting a little defensive of the car, but also, somewhat fearful of our lives. Polish drivers are reputed to be the worst in the EU. I'm not sure about that (they were certainly more courteous than your average LA driver) but there is something about sitting in the back of the automotive equivalent of a Spam can being driven by a taciturn chain-smoker to make you rethink your position on praying the Rosary in public.

Stopped for gas - note the hood's up.



Eventually we made it to a milk bar in Nova Huta, where I enjoyed a lovely hot chocolate while TR's guide was joined by another and they told us the story of Nova Huta, of Communism in Poland. Soviet pictures translated, tricks of propaganda revealed, stories about parents meeting in a food line, tales of the young, pre-pope Karol Wojtyla. It was fascinating and personal, and not really something that could be fully comprehended by reading a book about the time. They took us around the town which was no more horrifying than lots of Western cities (and to be honest, I didn't find the Socialist Realism architecture all that icky - I'll take that any day over some of the useless Frank Gehry monstrosities that have been popping up around here. I have no taste.) That the Poles were greatly mistreated and oppressed by the Soviets is a matter of public record, but you don't comprehend the slow-acting depression of the whole thing unless you visit. Nova Huta was the site of my second Ugly American incident - they had shown us pictures of a shop taken in the 50's, and then took us to the actual shop, in which absolutely nothing had been changed. It was lovely, but lovelier still was a reverse-painted glass icon that was Just The Thing I had been looking for to give to a friend. So yeah, I delayed the Communist tour with my blatant American Capitalistic desire to buy religious iconography. I felt like a big dork, but the icon was unique. (**)

Naturally, they renamed Lenin Square shortly after breaking away from the Soviet Union -



After the tour of the city center, we got back into our respective Trabis and drove over to the actual steelworks, and then to the first new Church allowed by Communism - built because they couldn't keep Catholics from gathering for mass in public places. Karol Wojtyla was also responsible for this and it became clearer to me why the Poles were so glad to have him, why they were extremely proud when he became Pope. For centuries as the Polish state was conquered, occupied, partitioned and absorbed into other countries, they could call themselves Catholic when identifying themselves as Polish was forbidden. They weren't always supported by Rome, but they had Catholic traditions unique to Poland. Despite the fact that I found the church to be remarkably ugly in that way I find many modern churches, I was touched by the message of it; the outer walls of the Arka Pana are covered in tens of thousands of small stones, each one sent by a Pole to help build the church.

Here's our driver checking out something malfunctiony outside the Steelworks -

That was our last stop on the trip. Instead of driving us to our hotel as previously discussed, our guide dropped us off near the main square of Krakow. L and I took another moment to be alarmed - we were supposed to meet TR and their mom at the hotel! The guide turned off the car and said, "No hotel. Tour is done. You get out now." We asked if our friends would be meeting us. "They come. You can go now." Our guide spoke about as much English as we did Polish, but he agreed to stay until TR and her mom got there, which they did an agonizing 10 minutes or so later. So I guess we got the more authentic ride, with the actual member of the Communist Party.



(*) My senior year of high school I protested our involvement with the first Gulf War by wearing the yellow sash that had been part of my Peace Child costume. Heard "Commie" and "Hippie" all day in the halls. A month later a "Yellow Ribbon" day was held at school. Every last jack-bag who had called me a commie was wearing their own precious yellow ribbon now that it was OK to do so.
(**) Also, it never made it to my friend - it's on my bookcase right now. I always buy neat stuff for other people when I travel but never anything for myself.

Castles & Icons

( this trip was taken on 10/17/10 )

We were a little concerned when Zibi pulled over to the side of the road and instructed us to get out. We had already passed the stairway entrance a few minutes before, but he insisted that a quick, easy wander through the woods would be a much more picturesque introduction to Pieskowa Skala. As he drove off, TR reminded us without being asked that we hadn't paid his fee yet, so surely he would be waiting down at the car park for us, and not have abandoned us an hour from Krakow, essentially in the middle of nowhere.




The trail was fairly clearly marked and I have to admit it was a gorgeous walk. I don't normally miss the fall colors living in L.A.. I've pretty much seen them all my life, and to my mind, the riot of fuchsia, violet, lavender, coral, tangerine, yellow, pink, and every possible shade of green from the gentle tinge of magnolia to the deep waxy evergreen of the frangipani leaves of a Southern California spring more than makes up for the warm colors of everyone else's autumn. But I did find myself more than once on this trip quite happy that we had visited just when the leaves were changing. Poland's autumn is something to behold. The walk was appreciated, and actually much easier on TR's cruddy ankle than the steps would have been. After about 20 minutes strolling through the forest the castle suddenly appeared.



Pieskowa Skala still stands, and houses a small museum with rooms organized by period, from medieval through the 20th century. For a few zloty we were able to tour the museum, although we did have to put on overshoes to protect the floors. This greatly pleased the two museum professionals on the trip. It being somewhat out of the way, the castle lacked as much English language interpretation, both in the employees and some of the captions (alas, most of the info on the castle itself) but it was well worth it. The pictures cannot due justice to the breathtaking views, but I'll post one anyway.



As promised, Zibi was waiting for us at the carpark at the base of the hill the castle was standing on. The short walk we took to get to the castle sure did beat the hell out of climbing those stairs.

The next place he took us was about 45 minutes away. It was another castle on the Eagles Nest trail, but this one a ruin (actually, Pieskowa Skala is the only one that remains more or less intact). This one is the largest ruin, according to some random dude in the parking lot, in all of Europe. Zibi felt perhaps that it was the largest in Poland, or maybe just the largest that the random dude had personally seen. Nonetheless, it was pretty impressive.



Ogronodiecz is so bignormous it is difficult to fit it into one picture. As with most castles on the Eagles Nest trail, this one was built to take advantage of the natural limestone formations, so it seems to be piles upon piles of brick growing out of organic matter. It was deeply cool, if somewhat tough to get around in. On our way back we stopped at a tent with two older folks grilling cheese. This was the famous oscypek, a delicious sheep's cheese made only by around a hundred farms in the Tatra mountains. We all had some and almost immediately went back for seconds.

I'm definitely glad we stopped at Mirow Skala, but feel that perhaps the kielbasa I ordered at the pub across the way in my questionable at best Polish might be more noteworthy than Mirow Skala itself.



It was a smaller ruin, but fenced off. TR and I stayed at the base and took a few pictures before we were off to a wooden church - which we were alas not destined to see. Even our highly experienced and intrepid driver got lost a few times before we gave him permission to just continue on to the monastery of Jasna Gora, which houses the famous Czarna Madonna, Poland's national icon.

It was a Sunday and there was a mass going on in the chapel non-stop (in fact, this is why there are no pics of Jasna Gora - it's disrespectful in the extreme to take pictures of a someone's holy place while it is actively in use). We stood at the back, near the entrance. Actually, we knelt. As someone used to padded kneelers traveling with people not used to any kind of kneeling, we were not best prepared for this. Looking around an seeing elderly folks kneeling on stone, not to mention the wall full of the crutches and canes, walkers and slings of those pilgrims who had been healed through the intercession of the Madonna, we decided that staying on our feet was not an option (hooray, shame!).

After a respectable amount of time spent bruising our knee-caps, we stood and got a better look at the icon, albeit from a bit far. TR and I rose right after the Sanctus and visited a building across the way, which housed a small collection of artifacts the monastery had collected over the years, including much John Paul II stuff. We stopped at the inevitable gift shop (the nice one, not the ones near the parking lot, with the paintings on velvet) and picked up a few souvenirs for folks back home. We ran into TR's mom and sis, who asked if we had gotten close and told us all you have to do is go around the sides and walk right past it. TR and I gave it one more shot - after all, we had traveled all the way to Poland, hired a driver, wandered all over... we might as well get a better view of the Black Madonna. By the time we got back, they were deep into the Rosary, so we didn't get as close as her sis and mom, but I did see it pretty close up. It was, uh, very nice, I guess, blackened from a combination of incompetent past conservation and years of candle smoke and incense buildup and torn from a random attack hundreds of years ago, Our Lady has a different mantle for every occasion. She's kind of like a super-holy Polly Pocket.

It was a long drive home, and Poland's not real big on the "highways" thing, so it got dark and we all tried not to fall asleep. We paid the driver our 700 zloty (which was about $250 for a day of driving and tour-guiding) plus a bit of tip and eventually were forced to have our last meal of the weekend at the Hard Rock Cafe (have I ranted about the "reservations" idiocy that Krakow indulges in?) which was much less sucktastic than it could have been.

A small footnote from our travels that Sunday... in the month that we've been home TR's ankle seems to finally be making some progress. She's been able to walk without the cane and occasionally wear actual, grown-up shoes. We have two theories: #1, that she spent most of our Poland trip pounding the crap out of her ankle tendons and muscles and that the pain she had was the result of nerves mis-firing rather than any warning of injury. Through this abuse, her muscles became stronger and are now available to assist in locomotion. #2 - well, the Czarna Madonna is no stranger to miracles.

Om nom nom nom

It's not all kielbasa and pierogi. Well, OK, it's a lot of that. But what we know in America as "polish food" is some seriously watered down bland greasy stuff that is related to actual Polish Food like a Big Mac is to a nice Filet Mignon.

Take kielbasa - that's just the word for "sausage". I had a couple of kielbasa's in Poland and they were delicious and flavorful. You wouldn't think that the words "subtle" and "garlic" could appear in a sentence together, but the sausages I had in poland were both subtle and garlicky. Unlike US sausages, I did not run into any of those un-chewable mystery particles that have marred many a sausage dinner for me. Very pleased!

Pierogis also deviate from what I remember as sort of slimy, potato-filled packets of blandness. All pierogis I ate contained at least three ingredients in the filling - a meat, a grain and a vegetable. They were of course topped by bacon, and quite possibly sauteed in lard. I cannot say. But they were delicious. The pierogis filled with only potato and bland cheese were referred to as "Russian Pierogis" and I never tried them. For all I know they were also delicious, but I went with the ones guaranteed to have flavor.

The seafood... dear god, the seafood!!! I have never had such a collection of simply seasoned but delicious fish in my whole life. Every menu contained a huge seafood choice, and especially in Gdansk, much of it was fresh.

Cheese - I can't forget the Oscypek, a super-yummy cheese produced only in the Tatras in southern Poland by about 120 farms. It is unpasteurized so our government, who have no problem letting us eat domestic eggs produced in nauseatingly filthy environments, will not let us import this. I had my first taste outside the ruins of Ogroniediecz at a booth with two older people selling either full sized cheeses, or little mini ones they were grilling on an electric grill. I was immediately hooked. It is a smoked, slightly salty cheese that squeaks when you eat it. It's also delicious with a little cranberry preserve, and normally I am against eating fruit stuff with my cheese. I hear that there are delis in Chicago that somehow get ahold of these little footballs of amazingness. I suppose this is just another reason to get me to visit my relatives in the midwest.

Sweets and Candy - every time I travel abroad I note the differences between how England/Ireland/Germany/etc does sweet stuff compared to the US. With Poland I was unable to do that too much. I think most of our sweet stuff is directly related to that in Poland - the Pacek (plural Packi) is like a super-sweet artisanal Krispy Kreme, the chocolate leans toward milk rather than dark. My sweet consumption felt less exotic in Poland. Two places I would travel to Poland just to eat - A. Blikeles for a fresh Pacek and Wedel for their scrumptiously decadent drinking chocolate. I will also be begging folks in Chicago to send me Polska Krowki candies - which are like caramels but with the consistency of fudge.

About eating... here are some things to note when going out to eat in Poland:

Soda fountains are rare. Ice is rarer. Mostly when you order soda you will be served an adorable 8oz bottle of soda with a glass on the side. Order a water and you may get a 12 oz bottle (make sure you ask for "niegazowana" if you don't like fizzy water). This takes some getting used to and makes the American feel a bit piggy when ordering more. Luckily the exchange rate is so favorable that this does not make much of a dent in your pocketbook.

Eating Out is a Thing here. One does not do it for a quick bite - it is meant to be time spent with friends and as such, it is really hard to get the check. There are not waiters hovering, trying to encourage you out the door so someone else can have the table. The downside of this is that as a tourist, sometimes you don't want to have a slow, civilized meal that is the focal point of your evening. Thank god we didn't have theatre tickets in Poland like we do in London, so we had nowhere in particular to be in the evening. Still, having the kitchenette in our Krakow hotel was a godsend a couple of days.

While they are absolute Pros at using garlic, the concept of "Spicy" to most Poles is much cooler than Americans are used to. For instance, with one dinner TR was presented with a few sauces on the side, one of which was labelled "Diablo". Turns out this was pretty much ketchup that a bell pepper had been waved over. Yummy, but hardly devilish.

Lessons From Poland

(originally written 10/27/10 - we visited the Schindler Museum and Kazimierz on 10/15/10)

Oskar Schindler was a jerk. He joined the Nazi party early on and spurred by his own sense of opportunism and the extremely low cost of employing Jews, took over a factory in Krakow that had been confiscated from Jews. He had a criminal record before the war, including a death sentence. He was a serial philanderer who left his wife penniless in Argentina some years after the war as he fled back to Germany with one of his mistresses. His post-war businesses all failed and he died penniless. He also saved hundreds of lives.

We visited the Schindler Museum, which is installed in that same factory in Krakow, on a drizzly Friday morning. Our impeccable timing had us arriving mere moments after another bus had disgorged a mass of tourists onto the site.* Luckily, the ticket buying process was the only irritating factor of the visit. The museum has timed admission, so we waited about half an hour before entering and rarely felt crowded once we were in.

This museum is not an Artifacts-In-Cases kind of museum, but neither is it a pull-the-lever, push-the-button dumbed-down Imaginarium of a place. It's multi-media and immersive and includes lots of interviews with survivors of the Nazi occupation of Krakow. There are films and various news reel footage, pictures, and yes, artifacts (chess pieces made out of bread by prisoners; a "human leather" wallet) all contextualized chronologically. It was blessedly bi-lingual, the result of much American money helping to fund the museum. It's also brand new. The museum wisely does not just cover Schindler's factory, it includes the lives of Krakow Jews and Gentiles, the Ghetto and Krakow itself. The small rebellions of the Krakowians - tram operators giving away tickets or "forgetting" to take payments, the wealthy business owner greeting the young women and elderly men being forced by Nazis to shovel snow and ice with hot wine and kindness, the gentile children sent with extra food to toss out the windows when their tram went through the ghetto - and greater risks such as food smuggling (almost entirely taken up by women, and punishable by death) illuminate the hardships Poles suffered through during WWII while they waited in vain for some help from their "allies".

I did not take the popular daytrip from Krakow to Auschwitz. I have seen a concentration camp. Confronted with such inhumanity it's easy to become overwhelmed and unable to process the absolute horrors. When you visit a concentration camp and turn around you see homes, towns, markets, many of them built long before 1940, and you are reminded of the old saw (which is actually a quote from a movie, and not from some notable historical personage) that all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. With all due props to the Corrie Ten Booms and Miep Gies's of the world, experiencing this museum was a wake-up call that good can triumph so long as the flawed jack-asses of the world do something.

* the great, heaping irony of our trip was that the rudest, pushiest people anywhere seemed to be the Germans. I German woman shoved me and then nearly knocked TR - who was walking with a cane - over in the Auschwitz room at the Schindler museum. For shame!

Even More Language

(originally written on 10/13)

You know how I said Saturday in Warsaw was a clusterfuck? I was just tempting fate. Today was a clusterfuck from top to bottom.

Gdansk and Krakow are at opposite ends of the country. To travel between them you can either take a sleeper train or fly to warsaw, change planes, and fly to krakow. We chose the flying. First off we wound up way early at Walesa airport and had to futz around there for extra time. When we changed planes we had to go through security again (why? we went directly from security to the plane to security - where would we have acquired something dangerous?) and I got a rather personal grope from a Polish TSA lady. Then our Warsaw to Krakow flight was over an hour late. When they finally let us board, we walked through the chute directly onto a tarmac where a bus was waiting for us. I appreciate them not making me run through the airport for a changed gate, but I'm pretty sure the bus driver took the scenic route and then chose a plane at random. When we boarded we found De had been reassigned because some doofus had waited at the wrong gate and missed his (on time) flight to Krakow. Lucky me, I got to sit next to the broad shouldered long legged dude who, while he has no control over the size of his limbs, certainly could have sat without jabbing me with his knee, folded his tabloid style paper in half like every other civilized person, or at the very least not leaned into me whilst he read it. After hanging into the aisle I got up and moved to where De was sitting, which had an empty seat next to it, only to discover the one man who failed to get the memo a couple of decades ago that it was permissable for a European Male to wear deodorant.

When we finally landed, we were exhausted, cranky and hungry as anything and were therefore perhaps not in the best frame of mind to be dropped off at a kind of grotty looking building on a somewhat graffiti-ed block, nor were we prepared for the sheer awfulness of the building lobby and front stairs. Not tackiness, but dark, ill-repaired stairwells.

We were a bit shell-shocked when the receptionist went through city info, recommended restaurants, gave us other helpful info. De's mom and sis had opted for the sleeper the previous evening and had therefore checked in and wandered the city for a couple of hours. She went to apologize to them, but they were not at all displeased with the hotel. After a satisfyingly beige meal (chicken breast with garlic sauce, gnocchi with gorgonzola) we came back and think it might be OK. For one thing, the room and closet are huge. For another, the tv does get a couple of english language channels. We have the run of the nice, modern kitchen, and if my laptop goes out, I am welcome to use either computer here. The only problems we have are these - our bathroom door is some sort of hip, with-it frosted glass, that's really not frosted enough. If either of us has to use the facilities, the other has to turn around because YOU CAN TOTALLY SEE PEOPLE PEEING!!OMG!1eleventy!1 and you know, we're just not that close to eachother. The other issue is that the room keys are master keys for any room on this floor (there are four - we have two). If we are they only guests this week it won't matter, but I really don't like the idea that random strangers could get into the room. At any rate, there's a safe.

I'll probably post my thoughts on Gdansk tomorrow, and some pictures as well. For now, I'm going to brush my teeth, turn off this show on siege engines, and go to bed.

I'm So Confused!

(originally written on 10/11)

Hanging in Gdansk now and wishing we had left Warsaw one day earlier. This is a beautiful town with lots of stuff for me to see and do. Unfortunately, all the museums are closed on Mondays. As such, we have decided to skip Malbok (heresy!!!) and catch it on our next trip to Poland. (no date yet, but I'm sure we'll get back here at some point). There's a great cheesy trip via "pirate ship" or "galleon" - actually regular metal hulled modern ships with set dressing on the top to make them look like tall ships - to Westerplatte that we think we might do today. Westerplatte, for those of you with History education courtesy of the US public schools, is where the first shots of WWII were fired.

Love the hotel, love the location, but not best pleased with the "our credit card machine isn't working" excuse once again. We have to pay cash for our Cracow stay, which is going to be close to $700 for each of us, and we are running into withdrawal limits. We might have chosen a different, less charming and historical hotel had we known they were going to pull that BS.

I am unable to get the internet in my room to work so I'm typing this at an internet cafe. Naturally they have the OS working in Polish and it's underlining pretty much everything I type. Didn't realize I was such a poor speller. I will be checking my bank account on a machine where I am better able to tell how to dump the cache. Sadly, that means no new pictures will be posted for the next couple of days.

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.