The day finally arrived when I would be boading my Vueling (formerly Clickair) flight to Warszawa, and I was beside myself with excitement. I worried in the weeks beforehand as I was not looking forward to the trip at all - not dreading it, but not looking forward to it. But that was just because of the stress of moving, work, and the fact that I had not-very-conveniently decided, on a whim, to visit a friend in Valencia the weekend beforehand, leaving zero time to pack. Packing was a major logistical issue, mainly because all my stuff was still in piles of boxes, and I had no idea which ones contained clothes. Much like making dinner out of three unlabeled cans at the back of your kitchen cupboard, I packed my suitcase with whatever clothes I found first, threw in a couple of toiletries and extra socks, and away I went. Unfortunately, it was at this late stage I realised that I had no idea in which of the myriad boxes I had put the battery charger for the camera; a disaster for me but a blessing for you as now you only have to put up with the 20 or so pictures I will post for your amusement, and not the 4000 some people come back from holiday with (you know who you are).
On Saturday morning I turned off all the lights, took one last look around my new apartment, put the double lock on the door, and made my way down the four flights of stairs. Running out of the door, I ran through my mental checklist: Passport? Check. Plane tickets? Check. House keys, phone and wallet? Check. Very expensive Eurail ticket essential for my train travel in Poland? On kitchen counter. Damn. Up four fights of stairs, double lock off the door, grab the ticket, and mad rush to the waiting taxi. Finally on the plane with my trusty rucksack, I messaged Gosia to let her know I was on my way, and settled back to enjoy the flight. I had only brought two books, which for me is a ridiculously small amount for a two week holiday, but I consoled myself with the fact that they were each at least 300 pages. First up on the list: Men Who Hate Women, by Steig Larsson.
We touched down at Warszawa and I got the same feeling I always get in new country: what a pity that the first sight I have of this probably beautiful place is the stinking airport. But I got excited when I looked up to see "Citi Handlowy" and the angular face of the security guard. Everything already felt quite decidedly Polish, a breath of fresh air coming from homogenised Western Europe. Taxi to the hostel, I love złotys! It only cost me thirty of them to get from the airport to central Warszawa which is less than €10. Unfortunately, I was running super late to meet Gosia at the Warsaw Rising Museum (Muzeum Powstania Warszawskiego), so I dumped my bag at the hostel, asked the reception chick for directions, she drew me a little map, and I sped out the door. Although I hate to be late and keep people waiting, I came to an abrupt stop and stared in amazement when I spotted this little gem out of the corner of my eye:
It was a sign, literally and figuratively. While signalling the entrance of John Lennon street, it simultaneously indicated to me that Poland was most definitely going to agree with me. And I with it.
All we are saying is...
Rushing on to the Warsaw Rising museum with my total lack of geographic ability, I managed to go in completely the wrong direction for about fifteen minutes before I realised and turned back to the hostel. Finding a cab turned out to be tricky, but doable, and I finally found Gosia waiting paitiently for me at the museum door. Lucky I have my Latin blood to blame for my lateness; but in this sense I am very Australian and hate being anything but totally punctual. Gosia took me through the museum, which I had suggested we visit, but unfortunately the ambience didn't suit my mood at all. I was freshly arrived in a new city, at the beginning of my holidays, bursting with happiness, vigor and enthusiasm for exploration. The museum was very interesting but also dark and depressing, hilighting the futility of war and the enormous lengths some people will go to to give another set of people a hard time for no good reason. I saw video footage of a truck just running right over a man and crushing him, like a drink can, without even slowing. Disgusting.
It was a relief to get out into the open air and sunshine, and Gosia and I took a walk and had a good long talk, which was exactly what I was in the mood for. By chance, we walked by the mint, which I had to take a picture of, having visited the mint in Melbourne many times as a girl and remembering how strange it felt to be surrounded by so much money.
Apparently a 40m2 flat in Warsaw will start around €70,000, which sounds reasonable to me having dealt with astronomical house prices in Dublin and Barcelona, but for your average Polish person I imagine that is quite a lot of money indeed. Gosia took me to a restaurant serving "typical Polish" food, and I ate some kind of potato pancake with a meat filling. Can't remember the Polish name, but it was very tasty and satisfying. Also on the table was a long tall glass of Warka, one of the many Polish beers I was to taste over the course of my trip, with fruit syrup in it (I think it was strawberry). The Poles love to put syrup in their beer. It's not my style, but I'll try anything once. Another Pole-ism: drinking beer out of straws. Never seen that before, but Gosia assures me it's very common. Weird.
Next up, a visit to the Old Town, which we got to walking down Nowy Świat (New World) street. This is the upmarket part of Warszawa apparently, and I did indeed see many well dressed people drinking overpriced coffee. Walking down the street, I was irritated by the roar of helicopters overhead, but didn't attach any importance to their presence until we arrived at the Plac Zamkowy (Castle Square). I was busy admiring the Royal Castle when suddenly hundreds of little pieces of cardboard began floating towards the ground. Gosia and I were surpised to see grown men and women rush about like children, eyes to the sky, as the wind took their prize one way, then another, down into their waiting hands. I finally managed to capture one and we eagerly pored over it to find out what on earth was going on. Each card had a poem on it - it was an initiative by a Warszawa museum, titled "Rain of Poems". I breathed an enormous sigh of happiness. I can't think of another country where people would get so excited about poetry that a rain of poems would cause such a commotion. Since I was expecting some kind of crass marketing ploy, I was elated to find that this stunt was being pulled to celebrate literature, not consumerism. Poland just went up about a thousand points in my estimation.
We took a walk in the Warszawa Old Town (Stare Miasto), which is one of the squillion UNESCO World Heritage Sites of which the country can boast. Unfortunately it was night time and I didn't really absorb fully how lovely it is. In any case, the situation was improved by ice-cream, then we took the tram home, where I fell gratefully into bed.
On Saturday morning I turned off all the lights, took one last look around my new apartment, put the double lock on the door, and made my way down the four flights of stairs. Running out of the door, I ran through my mental checklist: Passport? Check. Plane tickets? Check. House keys, phone and wallet? Check. Very expensive Eurail ticket essential for my train travel in Poland? On kitchen counter. Damn. Up four fights of stairs, double lock off the door, grab the ticket, and mad rush to the waiting taxi. Finally on the plane with my trusty rucksack, I messaged Gosia to let her know I was on my way, and settled back to enjoy the flight. I had only brought two books, which for me is a ridiculously small amount for a two week holiday, but I consoled myself with the fact that they were each at least 300 pages. First up on the list: Men Who Hate Women, by Steig Larsson.
We touched down at Warszawa and I got the same feeling I always get in new country: what a pity that the first sight I have of this probably beautiful place is the stinking airport. But I got excited when I looked up to see "Citi Handlowy" and the angular face of the security guard. Everything already felt quite decidedly Polish, a breath of fresh air coming from homogenised Western Europe. Taxi to the hostel, I love złotys! It only cost me thirty of them to get from the airport to central Warszawa which is less than €10. Unfortunately, I was running super late to meet Gosia at the Warsaw Rising Museum (Muzeum Powstania Warszawskiego), so I dumped my bag at the hostel, asked the reception chick for directions, she drew me a little map, and I sped out the door. Although I hate to be late and keep people waiting, I came to an abrupt stop and stared in amazement when I spotted this little gem out of the corner of my eye:
It was a sign, literally and figuratively. While signalling the entrance of John Lennon street, it simultaneously indicated to me that Poland was most definitely going to agree with me. And I with it.
All we are saying is...
Rushing on to the Warsaw Rising museum with my total lack of geographic ability, I managed to go in completely the wrong direction for about fifteen minutes before I realised and turned back to the hostel. Finding a cab turned out to be tricky, but doable, and I finally found Gosia waiting paitiently for me at the museum door. Lucky I have my Latin blood to blame for my lateness; but in this sense I am very Australian and hate being anything but totally punctual. Gosia took me through the museum, which I had suggested we visit, but unfortunately the ambience didn't suit my mood at all. I was freshly arrived in a new city, at the beginning of my holidays, bursting with happiness, vigor and enthusiasm for exploration. The museum was very interesting but also dark and depressing, hilighting the futility of war and the enormous lengths some people will go to to give another set of people a hard time for no good reason. I saw video footage of a truck just running right over a man and crushing him, like a drink can, without even slowing. Disgusting.
It was a relief to get out into the open air and sunshine, and Gosia and I took a walk and had a good long talk, which was exactly what I was in the mood for. By chance, we walked by the mint, which I had to take a picture of, having visited the mint in Melbourne many times as a girl and remembering how strange it felt to be surrounded by so much money.
Apparently a 40m2 flat in Warsaw will start around €70,000, which sounds reasonable to me having dealt with astronomical house prices in Dublin and Barcelona, but for your average Polish person I imagine that is quite a lot of money indeed. Gosia took me to a restaurant serving "typical Polish" food, and I ate some kind of potato pancake with a meat filling. Can't remember the Polish name, but it was very tasty and satisfying. Also on the table was a long tall glass of Warka, one of the many Polish beers I was to taste over the course of my trip, with fruit syrup in it (I think it was strawberry). The Poles love to put syrup in their beer. It's not my style, but I'll try anything once. Another Pole-ism: drinking beer out of straws. Never seen that before, but Gosia assures me it's very common. Weird.
Next up, a visit to the Old Town, which we got to walking down Nowy Świat (New World) street. This is the upmarket part of Warszawa apparently, and I did indeed see many well dressed people drinking overpriced coffee. Walking down the street, I was irritated by the roar of helicopters overhead, but didn't attach any importance to their presence until we arrived at the Plac Zamkowy (Castle Square). I was busy admiring the Royal Castle when suddenly hundreds of little pieces of cardboard began floating towards the ground. Gosia and I were surpised to see grown men and women rush about like children, eyes to the sky, as the wind took their prize one way, then another, down into their waiting hands. I finally managed to capture one and we eagerly pored over it to find out what on earth was going on. Each card had a poem on it - it was an initiative by a Warszawa museum, titled "Rain of Poems". I breathed an enormous sigh of happiness. I can't think of another country where people would get so excited about poetry that a rain of poems would cause such a commotion. Since I was expecting some kind of crass marketing ploy, I was elated to find that this stunt was being pulled to celebrate literature, not consumerism. Poland just went up about a thousand points in my estimation.
We took a walk in the Warszawa Old Town (Stare Miasto), which is one of the squillion UNESCO World Heritage Sites of which the country can boast. Unfortunately it was night time and I didn't really absorb fully how lovely it is. In any case, the situation was improved by ice-cream, then we took the tram home, where I fell gratefully into bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment