Two Days in Warsaw

I woke to a quiet house the next morning. The poured concrete stairs made for a silent journey down to the living room. I was uploading photos for probably about an hour before David’s mother came down and greeted me. "You are not tired?" "Not as tired as everyone else, I guess." It was then that I remembered the discussion Dan and I had about the "food clock". To make a long story short, Dan had heard about a technique for overcoming jet lag that involved not eating for 8 hours before you were supposed to wake up in the new time zone. Then, when it is time to wake up in the new time zone, you are supposed eat breakfast to fool your body into thinking it is a new day. This technique may have worked, had Dan not slept for 12 hours. A few hours after I woke up, David and Bess came down the stairs. Dan joined us after about another hour or so and made some comment about the time that indicated clearly he had confused the short hand and the long hand of clock. However, Dan had showered while Bess and David had not. David was debating whether or not to shower when he remembered that the plan was to visit his grandmother. "We are visiting my grandmother, Bess. So you could shower, but my grandmother’s love is not contingent upon being showered." It was then that Dan interjected, "In that case, can I unshower?" It was about noon, and David’s mom was fixing us breakfast. It felt like vacation.
After breakfast, David indicated that we might be going to the opera that night, so, if we felt so inclined, we could change our clothes so that we didn’t feel out of place. I changed into my shirt and pants, but Dan declined, saying that "David and I can sit at the back of the theater." David was in a t-shirt, but took this opportunity to throw on his jacket and ask Dan not to lump him in with those of us wearing "badminton shirts". It wasn’t until later in the day that I found out David had not worn this jacket for about a year following a comment I had made about how it made him look like a first year medical student. He revealed this information after I unwittingly made the same comment, unleashing a purported flood of self-consciousness on his part. I do apologize, David.
We drove into the heart of Warsaw to the old city. The traffic was dense, but the weather was beautiful and I almost forgot that we were idling, bumper-to-bumper, in a country where gas is 8 dollars per gallon. The old city is a quaint tourist trap. Carriage rides, children performing on accordions, acres of patio covered with restaurant tables shaded by umbrellas. We passed a statue of a mermaid (the mythical founder of Warsaw) and made for the post office. Dan had to return his copy of "Contract Killers" he was borrowing from Netflix, lest he be charged a $20 fee. It had to arrive in Massachusetts in the next four days to avoid the fine. David estimated that it would arrive in about 3 or 4 weeks, if at all.
On the way to David’s grandmother’s house, we stopped by a shop so that David could get some flowers. The unhappy woman who sold David the flowers had a sign in her shop that read "Commodity serves the vendor". Unsure of the message, I asked David what it meant. By reading the Polish text, he was able to determine that, in fact, it meant that "Vendor serves the commodity". In other words, "Don’t serve yourself".
We passed the schools that David’s father attended while growing up. Not long after we had arrived at his grandmother’s building. We walked up the stairs to her apartment where she has lived since the building was built. My expectations were blown away. She was as warm and welcoming as anyone I’ve met. She and her husband were the first tenants, and now she continues to live there alone after the passing of her husband. She was anxious to try her English out on us, and her choice of topic was telling. She interrupted a discussion to ask, "Are you an optimist?" She asked us all before adding, "Good, because I am." She attends English classes at a local continuing education program where the students enjoy poking fun at each other during the oral presentations.
The five of us sat crowded around her table and enjoyed the food she had prepared. The topic of conversation came to her experiences during the war. She had been sent for forced labor in Germany. She made a follow up comment in Polish. One of David’s best qualities as a translator is his liberal use of commentary. "Now she gets to ride the bus for free, because of all that [forced labor]. So that seems worth it." She asked us what we thought of the food. Dan suggested that some Americans might have salted the potatoes more. David translated his comment and his grandmother looked down at Dan’s empty plate. "She says that it is going to be hard to salt the potatoes in this stage of the digestive cycle."
We said goodbye to David’s family and went back into the streets of Warsaw. We wandered through a park and played in a fountain. We saw Marie Curie’s museum, dedicated to one of the most famous women scientist of all time, regardless of nationality. We ended the night at a deserted pizzeria, being serenaded by street musicians.

On the morning of June 25th, it was decision time in Poland. Dan and I had decided that the next day we would be departing for somewhere on our own. We had two suggestions from David: north or south. To the south was Krakow, the most popular tourist destination, and to the North was Gdansk, which is on the Baltic Sea. I was leaning towards Krakow, but when Dan found out that there was a place called Hel that could be reached by ferry from Gdansk, the decision was made. Based on a series of bad jokes that were subsequently made about "going to Hel" and "taking the ferry to Hel" and "being in Hel" and "hot as Hel" and so on and so forth, I suspect that Dan’s basis for this decision was something less than entirely sound, but I have to admit that it was a great decision. Alas, that is story is for another day.
David’s mother drove us in towards Warsaw to a Summer Palace of some former Polish royalty. We walked around the grounds and then went inside to view the family’s collection of art and artifacts. Taking pictures inside the building was forbidden, but I couldn’t resist snapping a few of the sleeping guard. The place was just filled with paintings of famous old Polish people, most of which displeased Bess because she said they were painted too perfectly. Eventually we found some that were "frumpy" enough for her liking, but not before I got in trouble for trying to walk the wrong way through a completely empty exhibit of writing utensils. I made the mistake of stepping into the exhibit past the elderly guard on duty. I stood there for a moment and glanced around as the tension began to build. I knew that I didn’t want to see the rest of the exhibit and, I think, so did she. I glanced over my shoulder. It felt like slow motion. She was there, watching, waiting. I turned back around and without looking at her took one step towards the door. That’s when it happened. Polish remonstrations rained down on me like Mumbai monsoon. I ran for the exit, not another museum visitor in sight, past the 18th century pens and pencils back to the group, back to safety.
From the Summer Palace we went to the Palace of Culture and Science. Specifically, we visited the engineering museum. Inside were descriptions of electrolytic cells, various types of engines, typesetting machines, mining techniques and the food chain. It was actually quite entertaining, despite how it sounds. We were still in the museum as it was closing, and if it weren’t for the guards escorting us to the exit, I would have had my picture taken with the Marie Curie statue that we passed on the way out.
Across the street from the Palace of Culture and Science is a large mall. We went in with the intent of buying Dan sunglasses. Anyone who has gone sunglasses shopping with Dan knows that finding the right pair is no simple feat. Unless you are in a gas station somewhere along the interstate in the Midwest, you are unlikely to be successful. We saw many pairs, but they all cost more than a meal at Applebee’s and were therefore disqualified. Defeat was accepted and we moved onto a more manageable task: finding something to eat. Five or six escalators above the ground floor is a food court, much like you might find anywhere in the United States. I went for Yaki Soba; Dan got something Polish.
The last stop of the night was the Opera, where "The Magic Flute" was playing. We took the subway to get there. We arrived on the scene on time and underdressed. David bought tickets as Dan, Bess and I stood in the corner, carefully avoiding eye contact lest anyone try speaking Polish to us. I tried and failed to buy a program (this was not uncommon for me in Poland, as the ATM regularly dispensed bills that were too large for anyone to cash). Without a program, I had to do my best to discern the plot from my knowledge of German (i.e. none) and what I could see on stage. As far as I can tell, it is about a guy who befriends a court jester. He has a lot of problems with various demons, who tend to come in threes, and gods. All he really wants is to be with his sweetheart, but first he has to fight his way past a choir of head-trauma patients dressed in matching gunny sacks. In the end everything turns out fine; even the jester finds love with a character who, for most of the show, was wearing a Cousin-It-from-the-Addams-family costume.
Following the opera, we walked to the Jewish theater to catch a ride with Raymond, David’s mother’s boyfriend, who was working a sold out show of "The Fiddler on the Roof". For reasons that still aren’t very clear, Raymond offered to let Dan drive home. The only reason that fits with my experience during the ride home is that the vehicle was in such bad condition that Raymond was sick of making the 20 kilometer drive himself. Left to its own devices, the vehicle made a constant and sharp left turn. Alas, an alignment may have cost more than the vehicle was actually worth. Before we departed, Raymond put some soothing Buddhist chanting music on the radio, presumably to distract the passengers from the imminent danger. David explained Polish traffic laws to Dan as we went, such as "There are no stop signs, only yield signs." Some cars in Poland run on natural gas, which may sound nice but Bess and I agreed that the tank in the trunk looked more like a small bomb than a solution to our oil addiction. It was more or less smooth sailing after we went through the roundabout and passed the sign indicating how many traffic deaths had occurred during the last year at that spot.
Back at home, Dan gave Raymond a half hour presentation on Future Truck as David translated. Raymond decided to reciprocate by putting on a rock concert in a bedroom on the second floor. Little did we know that Raymond is the real life Guitar Hero. In my opinion, anyone with that much talent should be performing regularly, but as far as I can tell he plays mostly by himself along with audio tracks on his computer. He played everything from Polish rock to classical music. My personal favorite was his rendition of Pink Floyd.

Map: Google Map
Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mehrschafer/

Dan has started trying to caption our photos. It is going to take some time. Also, I will not be held responsible for his spelling.