It looks as though S.497 and H.R. 959 "Secure Travel and Counterterrorism Partnership Program Act of 2011" is "dead in the water", so to speak. These bills were meant to be the 2011 bid for Poland to finally be a part of the Visa Waiver Program.
I've had widgets tracking these two bills on my sidebar for nearly a year now.
A new bill has been introduced by U.S.Rep. Mike Quigley (IL-05) in partnership with U.S. Rep. Steve Chabot (R-OH) in the House and Senators Barbara Mikulski (D-MD) and Mark Kirk (R-IL).
The House bill is H.R.3855 - Visa Waiver Program Enhanced Security and Reform Act. Here are links to help you track it, support or oppose it and help spread the word:
Popvox Bill Tracker HR 3855
govtrack.us HR 3855
OpenCongress.org HR 3855
The Senate Bill is S.2046 - Visa Waiver Program Enhanced Security and Reform Act. Here are links to track, support and spread the word:
Popvox Bill Tracker S 2046
govtrack.us S 2046
OpenCongress.org S 2046
I thought I would also share some articles I found regarding these bills:
Appeal to Polonia from Polish American Congress
US Chamber Letter of Support
US Embassy in Warsaw
Several articles on Heritage.org
Some videos regarding the subject of Poland and the Visa Waiver Program:
And this video which the US Embassy in Warsaw shared with me on Twitter (@USEmbassyWarsaw). It's in Polish but it might give non-Polish speakers an idea of the process and certainly will for Polish speakers.
I will be replacing the Bill tracker widgets today on my sidebar to track these two new bills. I hope you do the same.
And don't forget, read the bills and let your Representative and Senator know where you stand!
Na razie...
A Mama born in Poland with "Gypsy Blood" living on the American Prairie with her daughters, two future Miss Poland and Nobel Peace prize recipients :: Food, Travel, Life...
Showing posts with label Tourism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tourism. Show all posts
14 February 2012
05 July 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland: In the Mountains With Chickens
I had been writing about my older daughter's first trip to Poland when she was 3 years old in a sequential order but have decided at this point to just write about it as the memories come back to me.
We are in the mountains of Poland visiting my Wujek's property. My Wujek, Ciocia, my middle cousin with her husband and two children, youngest cousin and her boyfriend, my Tato (Father), my daughter and myself have been spending the day enjoying the day.
All around, trees whisper in the breezes and in the meadow, the grasses bend their stalks gently rippling in the summer air.
The slopes are calling us all quietly. It's time for a spacer (pronounced Spah-tser, and meaning walk in Polish).
My Ciocia, middle cousin, her daughters, one wrapped in a baby wearing wrap safely snuggled against Mama and the other holding my daughter's hand, and myself all start the walk up the road. The road is gravel covered and winding up the mountain.
We pass an old stone structure. It is a Kiln from ages ago used by the villagers further down the slopes. There is finally a plaque in Polish about it's history. My borrowed camera batteries fail as I attempt to take photos.
Walking on, we are embraced by shadows. The hazelnut and pine trees whisper to each other about the people walking in their midst. I tell my daughter to keep her eye out for Krasnolutki and other fairy folk that live in these ancient woods. Her eyes flit left and right in excitement, hoping to find some.
The girls chatter together, one in English, the other in Polish, as they have since they met each other, the adults walking together and just enjoying each other's company and laughing that the girls can communicate together since neither speaks the others language.
The true test of this will come soon, we are to find out.
After a short walk, both start getting tired but more so my daughter. She is very used to long nature walks but the 6 hour time difference is affecting her energy constantly. We turn around to walk back down the mountain.
A bit down the trail, coming out from the cool summer shadows, the girls look down the road and see chickens from the house next door walking around as is common. They both begin to run. And keep running.
I start yelling to my daughter, "Stop running! Slow down!" but she keeps running. I start to run after her but my pregnant belly moves strangely from the motion, uncomfortably, something hard bouncing around inside and I stop running immediately. I call again, "Stop running!" The girls keep running.
Further down the road, brown and white chickens roam freely, chasing bugs in the sunlight without a care in the world. They look as though from the many bajki I read as a child and the folk art drawings my mother always treasured.
"Chickens! Get out of there! Come on (cousin), we have to stop them!" my daughter calls.
My daughter's cousin calls the same words, in Polish.
Running. Running. We start walking quickly behind, by now all of us calling for them to stop. I start envisioning chickens attacking my daughter. Not that chickens are mean, but provoked who knows how they could react to two small running assailants like our children.
Both Dziadeks to the girls, my father and Wujek, come running out onto the road, looking around and finding the girls. They are quickly snatched up and lectured on running away from their mommies and asked why they did so.
A moment later, both "Dziadek"s are laughing loudly. Even though the girls don't speak the same language, their stories completely match up. They were trying to stop the naughty chickens from going into my Wujek's yard. For the next few minutes, the girls are treated to hugs and kisses from the adults and we all discuss how amazing children are to not speak the same language yet be able to think along the same paths and communicate so well.
My Wujek then tells of the time he battled the rooster next door. While I love chickens, he does not. But then, he was awoken by this rooster for several years and it regularly enjoyed patrolling his yard and causing more grief than a rooster has the right to cause.
The two girls walk over to the overgrown fence and yell at the chickens for trying to enter my Wujek's yard, both in English and Polish. The chickens argue back. Both girls flap their arms like chickens and attempt to speak in "Chicken" to them and an argument between the chickens and the two girls occurs. The girls end with a well timed "Buck buck!" and walk away, satisfied that they had lectured the chickens about trespassing into this yard.
The girls run around trees bordering the meadow, chasing each other and pretending to be wood fairies. And the mountains look on in their ancient wisdom at us.
Related Post: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland: Coming to Poland
We are in the mountains of Poland visiting my Wujek's property. My Wujek, Ciocia, my middle cousin with her husband and two children, youngest cousin and her boyfriend, my Tato (Father), my daughter and myself have been spending the day enjoying the day.
All around, trees whisper in the breezes and in the meadow, the grasses bend their stalks gently rippling in the summer air.
The slopes are calling us all quietly. It's time for a spacer (pronounced Spah-tser, and meaning walk in Polish).
My Ciocia, middle cousin, her daughters, one wrapped in a baby wearing wrap safely snuggled against Mama and the other holding my daughter's hand, and myself all start the walk up the road. The road is gravel covered and winding up the mountain.
We pass an old stone structure. It is a Kiln from ages ago used by the villagers further down the slopes. There is finally a plaque in Polish about it's history. My borrowed camera batteries fail as I attempt to take photos.
Walking on, we are embraced by shadows. The hazelnut and pine trees whisper to each other about the people walking in their midst. I tell my daughter to keep her eye out for Krasnolutki and other fairy folk that live in these ancient woods. Her eyes flit left and right in excitement, hoping to find some.
The girls chatter together, one in English, the other in Polish, as they have since they met each other, the adults walking together and just enjoying each other's company and laughing that the girls can communicate together since neither speaks the others language.
The true test of this will come soon, we are to find out.
After a short walk, both start getting tired but more so my daughter. She is very used to long nature walks but the 6 hour time difference is affecting her energy constantly. We turn around to walk back down the mountain.
A bit down the trail, coming out from the cool summer shadows, the girls look down the road and see chickens from the house next door walking around as is common. They both begin to run. And keep running.
I start yelling to my daughter, "Stop running! Slow down!" but she keeps running. I start to run after her but my pregnant belly moves strangely from the motion, uncomfortably, something hard bouncing around inside and I stop running immediately. I call again, "Stop running!" The girls keep running.
Further down the road, brown and white chickens roam freely, chasing bugs in the sunlight without a care in the world. They look as though from the many bajki I read as a child and the folk art drawings my mother always treasured.
"Chickens! Get out of there! Come on (cousin), we have to stop them!" my daughter calls.
My daughter's cousin calls the same words, in Polish.
Running. Running. We start walking quickly behind, by now all of us calling for them to stop. I start envisioning chickens attacking my daughter. Not that chickens are mean, but provoked who knows how they could react to two small running assailants like our children.
Both Dziadeks to the girls, my father and Wujek, come running out onto the road, looking around and finding the girls. They are quickly snatched up and lectured on running away from their mommies and asked why they did so.
A moment later, both "Dziadek"s are laughing loudly. Even though the girls don't speak the same language, their stories completely match up. They were trying to stop the naughty chickens from going into my Wujek's yard. For the next few minutes, the girls are treated to hugs and kisses from the adults and we all discuss how amazing children are to not speak the same language yet be able to think along the same paths and communicate so well.
My Wujek then tells of the time he battled the rooster next door. While I love chickens, he does not. But then, he was awoken by this rooster for several years and it regularly enjoyed patrolling his yard and causing more grief than a rooster has the right to cause.
The two girls walk over to the overgrown fence and yell at the chickens for trying to enter my Wujek's yard, both in English and Polish. The chickens argue back. Both girls flap their arms like chickens and attempt to speak in "Chicken" to them and an argument between the chickens and the two girls occurs. The girls end with a well timed "Buck buck!" and walk away, satisfied that they had lectured the chickens about trespassing into this yard.
The girls run around trees bordering the meadow, chasing each other and pretending to be wood fairies. And the mountains look on in their ancient wisdom at us.
Related Post: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland: Coming to Poland
14 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip To Poland: Coming To Poland
The small plane came in for a landing and my daughter thought she could see her cousin on the ground (which she couldn't). We unbuckled and she told me that she couldn't wait to see Poland and her family. How she was so excited.
She grabbed her little red jacket, put on her black Maryjanes, her "Poland shoes" as she still calls them, her Care Bear who she had looking out the window with her before. Put back on the teddy bear book bag with leash, held my hand, turned to her Dziadek and said, "Dziadek, you're home!"
Turned around quickly to face the front of the plane, smiled brightly at the flight attendants, waved goodbye and proclaimed loudly in English, "My cousin is outside waiting to meet me! Isn't that cool?"
Down the steps, onto a standing shuttle, across the runway to the small airport, into a room that is the Wroclaw airport. Baggage claimed, paperwork in order, men dressed in Polish army attire whom I whispered in my daughter's ear that they were there protecting Poland, eyes wide, taking in the new surrounding.
The voices around spoke Polish everywhere. The air smelled different. Her fingers in mine, close to me but not scared.
A face was in the crowd, waving for a moment, smiling. Another and another. And I knew them and my heart leaped. I pointed them out to her, "That's your family."
"That's my family, Mommy? Really?" she whispered. And waved back, pulling against my hand to walk faster.
Embraces, kisses on cheeks, my father reunited with his brother. My cousins watching the two brothers hugging, the oldest was too young to remember my father, the others were not yet born when we left Poland so had never met him.
My daughter greeted everyone with a huge smile and hug. "You're my mommy's cousin? Wow! I never met any of her family except her Mommy and Daddy before!"
My cousins used the English they know with her and she jumped up and down, "You speak English and Polish? Wow! I don't know Polish but my Mommy does! But I want to!"
Walk outside, fresh air, the brothers lighting up cigarettes, my daughter chiding my father that they smell terrible.
A little girl in pink clutching her mommy's hand holding a large gift bag, staring. Introductions. "This is your cousin." My daughter can be overwhelming at times, wonderfully overwhelming. I can't blame the little girl for being nervous around it all. She's beautiful. I look at her, looking at every feature on her face, hoping the two girls become like sisters the way I am with my cousins.
Gifts exchanged, dolls clutched tight. Children cooed over by the adults.
Walking down the sidewalk, so different from the sidewalk back in the US, to the cars parked by gardens bursting with flowers, and off we went.
My daughter sat next to me in the van in a borrowed car seat and I asked, "So, what do you think of Poland so far?"
Arms thrown around my neck, whispered in my ear, "I love it! Thank you, Mommy! I can see why you miss it so much."
Related Posts:
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, On the Plane and in Munich
She grabbed her little red jacket, put on her black Maryjanes, her "Poland shoes" as she still calls them, her Care Bear who she had looking out the window with her before. Put back on the teddy bear book bag with leash, held my hand, turned to her Dziadek and said, "Dziadek, you're home!"
Turned around quickly to face the front of the plane, smiled brightly at the flight attendants, waved goodbye and proclaimed loudly in English, "My cousin is outside waiting to meet me! Isn't that cool?"
Down the steps, onto a standing shuttle, across the runway to the small airport, into a room that is the Wroclaw airport. Baggage claimed, paperwork in order, men dressed in Polish army attire whom I whispered in my daughter's ear that they were there protecting Poland, eyes wide, taking in the new surrounding.
The voices around spoke Polish everywhere. The air smelled different. Her fingers in mine, close to me but not scared.
A face was in the crowd, waving for a moment, smiling. Another and another. And I knew them and my heart leaped. I pointed them out to her, "That's your family."
"That's my family, Mommy? Really?" she whispered. And waved back, pulling against my hand to walk faster.
Embraces, kisses on cheeks, my father reunited with his brother. My cousins watching the two brothers hugging, the oldest was too young to remember my father, the others were not yet born when we left Poland so had never met him.
My daughter greeted everyone with a huge smile and hug. "You're my mommy's cousin? Wow! I never met any of her family except her Mommy and Daddy before!"
My cousins used the English they know with her and she jumped up and down, "You speak English and Polish? Wow! I don't know Polish but my Mommy does! But I want to!"
Walk outside, fresh air, the brothers lighting up cigarettes, my daughter chiding my father that they smell terrible.
A little girl in pink clutching her mommy's hand holding a large gift bag, staring. Introductions. "This is your cousin." My daughter can be overwhelming at times, wonderfully overwhelming. I can't blame the little girl for being nervous around it all. She's beautiful. I look at her, looking at every feature on her face, hoping the two girls become like sisters the way I am with my cousins.
Gifts exchanged, dolls clutched tight. Children cooed over by the adults.
Walking down the sidewalk, so different from the sidewalk back in the US, to the cars parked by gardens bursting with flowers, and off we went.
My daughter sat next to me in the van in a borrowed car seat and I asked, "So, what do you think of Poland so far?"
Arms thrown around my neck, whispered in my ear, "I love it! Thank you, Mommy! I can see why you miss it so much."
Related Posts:
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, On the Plane and in Munich
10 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, On the Plane and in Munich
The plane raised through the air and my older daughter grinned from the strange feeling, telling me loudly how exciting it was. She looked at the windows and all we could see were dark clouds and lightening flashing all around us. The wings of the plane were not visible.
"Mommy! Are we in the clouds?" she asked in disbelief. "Look, look, everyone! We are in the clouds! I wonder if we'll see Angels! Or God!"
When the pilot spoke over the intercom next, among the topics he discussed were that we would be experiencing turbulence for a while so it best would be to remained buckled in our chairs whenever we are not standing.
I took my daughter to the bathroom where she gushed over the small space and how strange everything was. And that she was "very unhappy" that I had a pair of disposable pull ups on her but I told her that I knew she was a big girl and that she knew how to use the potty since she was 1 1/2 but because the flight would be stressful and sometimes we might wait a long time to use a bathroom, I had them on her just in case so that if she did have an accident, nobody would know. She nodded seriously and told me that she needed "my privacy to use the bathroom, Mommy."
We hit a patch of turbulence and she squealed in the bathroom but bravely did her business, washed her hands and walked with me to our seats.
We buckled her back in, a flight attendant double checked that she was buckled, gave us an extra pillow and blanket for her and suggested that we remove her shoes. She also gave my daughter a coloring book, coloring pencils, a children's menu, and a puzzle, all of which she still has in a special box filled with her Poland souvenirs.
After a while of playing with headphones, pillows, singing, watching the television, and coloring, our meals came and she was not happy about spaghetti but I told her this was German spaghetti, it's very different, with a whisper and a wink. She tried it, hated it and ate the rest of her meal and some of mine and her Dziadek's.
Nap time came, lights were dimmed, windows closed and she stretched out, her head on her Dziadek's leg and her feet on me. She fell asleep happily but at one point, pushed her Dziadek and told him "Dziadek. You are in my space. This is my space. Where I am laying. And you are in it, I need you to move, please.," very seriously. A short quarrel interrupted while my cigarette craving father laughed and told her she was in his space and she completely disagreed. She finally settled on switching positions so that her feet were on her Dziadek. But then, later, woke up to tell him again. Frankly, the seriousness of her voice was too funny to be angry about.
And, considering the girl across the aisle from us was 5 years old, peed on her father, and started yelling for milk in her bottle in the middle of take off, I had to be proud of my little "gypsy" daughter. We ended up giving the father of the other girl a pair of Pull ups, which he accepted.
My daughter looked at me and asked in a whisper "why the big girl had pee peed on her Daddy" and I told her that flying is hard for kids and that all we can do is just try and stay calm. She smiled sleepily at me and said, "I love flying," before drifting off to sleep again.
We arrived an hour late in Munich. When we got off the plane, she told each of the crew goodbye and told them "Thank you so much! I mean, Dziekujem!" By this point, many of them knew her name and wished her a wonderful trip.
We ended up missing our connection flight by 15 minutes. But we were very happy with how Lufthansa handled it. We raced through the airport from one end to the other with a 3 year old who's "legs were
still sleeping" and who giggled uncontrollably as her Dziadek grabbed her by her teddy bear book bag and picked her up and carried her for a bit. Some people gave us dirty looks as we held onto her leash and carried her first in my arms or by the book bag by Dziadek or walking tiredly between us, but frankly, they were not in our shoes.
We made it to the next terminal 5 minutes too late. But the staff was very understanding, assuring us that they knew we could not have made it, as had the staff on the plane when we arrived. We were to take our connection flight 4 hours later. and they gave us each vouchers for 10 Euros at a restaurant in the airport. Which I mistook for 70, forgetting that in Europe they cross their "7"'s, just like I do, but I was tired and stressed.
The staff allowed us to use a telephone they had for situations just like this to our family telling them know about the flight change. Using the vouchers we were given, we found a restaurant with antlers, wooden decor, and women dressed in traditional German attire. My daughter couldn't believe she was in Germany and told the lady how pretty she looked in her outfit.
Weinerschnitzel and french fries were ordered for her and she devoured almost the entire adult sized plate, leaving the french fries because the "German chicken nugget is so good, Mommy!" My first sign that she would love the food in Poland without question.
We sat around, enjoying carrot salads, soups, frankfurters, and other foods I had grown up loving and missed terribly.
The airport had a glass ceiling with a fabric which was adjusted to either block or let in the sun and she marveled at it. She asked the waitress a lot of great questions about Germany.
In the bathroom, she asked why there was foaming antibacterial hand sanitizer in each stall. I explained how the instructions showed to use it, first you put some on a piece of toilet paper, then you wiped the seat clean, use the bathroom, then wiped it clean with the foam and toilet paper again. She asked more questions about why the bathrooms had different signs for men and women and I told her it was the international sign for that, and that in the US it was just different from the rest of the world.
She also asked why the walls were all tiled and the tiles were shaped different, and why the towel for wiping your hands dry were different. It was actually on a roll and you would wipe your hands dry, then pull and it would go to a new dry spot. There was a lot of discussion in that bathroom, more than I think I have ever had with her in a bathroom before or since. And I think that is when she realized how different it really is in America.
Finally, it was our time to catch our flight. We were put on a standing shuttle to an airplane that she said was so small, "it looks like a toy, Mommy! It's so cute!"
We went into the small airplane, where she and I again buckled in with a pillow between our bellies and the seat belt. This time, she had the window seat and watched, with her nose pressed against the glass, the beautiful countryside underneath her. When we were flying over Wroclaw, I pointed it out to her. "That's the city Mommy was born in. That's Wroclaw."
She gushed over how beautiful it was. "Mommy! It looks like a fairy tale!"
The plane landed and I turned to her and said, "Welcome to Poland, baby."
She smiled and whispered, "Poland." Then waved her arms and said, "I'm so excited, Mommy! Hey, Dziadek, we're in Poland! Where you and my Mommy are from!"
To be continued...
Related Posts:
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
"Mommy! Are we in the clouds?" she asked in disbelief. "Look, look, everyone! We are in the clouds! I wonder if we'll see Angels! Or God!"
When the pilot spoke over the intercom next, among the topics he discussed were that we would be experiencing turbulence for a while so it best would be to remained buckled in our chairs whenever we are not standing.
I took my daughter to the bathroom where she gushed over the small space and how strange everything was. And that she was "very unhappy" that I had a pair of disposable pull ups on her but I told her that I knew she was a big girl and that she knew how to use the potty since she was 1 1/2 but because the flight would be stressful and sometimes we might wait a long time to use a bathroom, I had them on her just in case so that if she did have an accident, nobody would know. She nodded seriously and told me that she needed "my privacy to use the bathroom, Mommy."
We hit a patch of turbulence and she squealed in the bathroom but bravely did her business, washed her hands and walked with me to our seats.
We buckled her back in, a flight attendant double checked that she was buckled, gave us an extra pillow and blanket for her and suggested that we remove her shoes. She also gave my daughter a coloring book, coloring pencils, a children's menu, and a puzzle, all of which she still has in a special box filled with her Poland souvenirs.
After a while of playing with headphones, pillows, singing, watching the television, and coloring, our meals came and she was not happy about spaghetti but I told her this was German spaghetti, it's very different, with a whisper and a wink. She tried it, hated it and ate the rest of her meal and some of mine and her Dziadek's.
Nap time came, lights were dimmed, windows closed and she stretched out, her head on her Dziadek's leg and her feet on me. She fell asleep happily but at one point, pushed her Dziadek and told him "Dziadek. You are in my space. This is my space. Where I am laying. And you are in it, I need you to move, please.," very seriously. A short quarrel interrupted while my cigarette craving father laughed and told her she was in his space and she completely disagreed. She finally settled on switching positions so that her feet were on her Dziadek. But then, later, woke up to tell him again. Frankly, the seriousness of her voice was too funny to be angry about.
And, considering the girl across the aisle from us was 5 years old, peed on her father, and started yelling for milk in her bottle in the middle of take off, I had to be proud of my little "gypsy" daughter. We ended up giving the father of the other girl a pair of Pull ups, which he accepted.
My daughter looked at me and asked in a whisper "why the big girl had pee peed on her Daddy" and I told her that flying is hard for kids and that all we can do is just try and stay calm. She smiled sleepily at me and said, "I love flying," before drifting off to sleep again.
We arrived an hour late in Munich. When we got off the plane, she told each of the crew goodbye and told them "Thank you so much! I mean, Dziekujem!" By this point, many of them knew her name and wished her a wonderful trip.
We ended up missing our connection flight by 15 minutes. But we were very happy with how Lufthansa handled it. We raced through the airport from one end to the other with a 3 year old who's "legs were
still sleeping" and who giggled uncontrollably as her Dziadek grabbed her by her teddy bear book bag and picked her up and carried her for a bit. Some people gave us dirty looks as we held onto her leash and carried her first in my arms or by the book bag by Dziadek or walking tiredly between us, but frankly, they were not in our shoes.
We made it to the next terminal 5 minutes too late. But the staff was very understanding, assuring us that they knew we could not have made it, as had the staff on the plane when we arrived. We were to take our connection flight 4 hours later. and they gave us each vouchers for 10 Euros at a restaurant in the airport. Which I mistook for 70, forgetting that in Europe they cross their "7"'s, just like I do, but I was tired and stressed.
The staff allowed us to use a telephone they had for situations just like this to our family telling them know about the flight change. Using the vouchers we were given, we found a restaurant with antlers, wooden decor, and women dressed in traditional German attire. My daughter couldn't believe she was in Germany and told the lady how pretty she looked in her outfit.
Weinerschnitzel and french fries were ordered for her and she devoured almost the entire adult sized plate, leaving the french fries because the "German chicken nugget is so good, Mommy!" My first sign that she would love the food in Poland without question.
We sat around, enjoying carrot salads, soups, frankfurters, and other foods I had grown up loving and missed terribly.
The airport had a glass ceiling with a fabric which was adjusted to either block or let in the sun and she marveled at it. She asked the waitress a lot of great questions about Germany.
In the bathroom, she asked why there was foaming antibacterial hand sanitizer in each stall. I explained how the instructions showed to use it, first you put some on a piece of toilet paper, then you wiped the seat clean, use the bathroom, then wiped it clean with the foam and toilet paper again. She asked more questions about why the bathrooms had different signs for men and women and I told her it was the international sign for that, and that in the US it was just different from the rest of the world.
She also asked why the walls were all tiled and the tiles were shaped different, and why the towel for wiping your hands dry were different. It was actually on a roll and you would wipe your hands dry, then pull and it would go to a new dry spot. There was a lot of discussion in that bathroom, more than I think I have ever had with her in a bathroom before or since. And I think that is when she realized how different it really is in America.
Finally, it was our time to catch our flight. We were put on a standing shuttle to an airplane that she said was so small, "it looks like a toy, Mommy! It's so cute!"
We went into the small airplane, where she and I again buckled in with a pillow between our bellies and the seat belt. This time, she had the window seat and watched, with her nose pressed against the glass, the beautiful countryside underneath her. When we were flying over Wroclaw, I pointed it out to her. "That's the city Mommy was born in. That's Wroclaw."
She gushed over how beautiful it was. "Mommy! It looks like a fairy tale!"
The plane landed and I turned to her and said, "Welcome to Poland, baby."
She smiled and whispered, "Poland." Then waved her arms and said, "I'm so excited, Mommy! Hey, Dziadek, we're in Poland! Where you and my Mommy are from!"
To be continued...
Related Posts:
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
08 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
The picture with the first word my older daughter ever read besides her name...
The picture she points to, beaming with pride when people ask if we are Polish, "Yes, my Mommy is! See? I'm Polish, TOO!"...
The picture a friend bought in a yard sale for 50 cents many years ago, thinking of me, which was a bit torn and which my now husband framed in a cheap IKEA frame and hung on our wall...
The picture which which dominates and dictates our house and decor...
The picture she would point to when people would ask where she was getting ready to go, "Where my Mommy was born! POLAND! See? P-O-L-A-N-D! Poland! She's from (looks at me quickly) Wroclaw (with an adorable attempt to roll her "R" and her "V" sounds coming out as "F"'s.)."...
Where we were about to fly to, alone together, to bury my Dziadek...
The pictures on each side represent various "legends" from Poland, the people dressed in traditional regional costume, the card from my cousin which originally held a Wigilia wafer so that we could break it together and be closer to them in spirit during Christmas...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
The picture she points to, beaming with pride when people ask if we are Polish, "Yes, my Mommy is! See? I'm Polish, TOO!"...
The picture a friend bought in a yard sale for 50 cents many years ago, thinking of me, which was a bit torn and which my now husband framed in a cheap IKEA frame and hung on our wall...
The picture which which dominates and dictates our house and decor...
The picture she would point to when people would ask where she was getting ready to go, "Where my Mommy was born! POLAND! See? P-O-L-A-N-D! Poland! She's from (looks at me quickly) Wroclaw (with an adorable attempt to roll her "R" and her "V" sounds coming out as "F"'s.)."...
Where we were about to fly to, alone together, to bury my Dziadek...
The pictures on each side represent various "legends" from Poland, the people dressed in traditional regional costume, the card from my cousin which originally held a Wigilia wafer so that we could break it together and be closer to them in spirit during Christmas...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
07 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My older daughter was then 3 years old when my Dziadek passed away from a heart attack. I was pregnant with my second daughter and was just out of my first trimester. It was time to visit Poland and take her on her first trip to the place her mother always talked about.
Time to visit my birth country.
And time to bury a family member.
My husband had to work and couldn't take a vacation. Also, because we were buying tickets last minute, along with having to file for her first passport ever, we were in a time crunch and had to pay an exorbitant amount for our tickets and expedite the passport.
For her passport, I braided her hair into two plaits, which she proclaimed made her look like a "little Polish girl" as she smiled in the mirror and looked at her reflection. This was not the first time I had styled her hair this way.
At the post office, she was so proud strolling in to be getting a passport, that she announced to everyone present "My mommy's Dziadek died so I need a passport please so we can go to POLAND!" She stayed perfectly still as the woman took her photo. The first photo, she looked last second in my direction, pride on her face and my heart burst. The woman gave me the photo to keep since "her expression was so precious" but had to be looking straight ahead for the passport.
When we left the post office, every employee at the front desk had by then heard her story and was waving goodbye to us and wishing her luck. She waved goodbye to everyone and skipped to the car, holding my hand.
This moment was precious and I needed it as I was mourning the loss of my Dziadek.
I went through my maternity clothes and saw yellows, flowers, pinks and decidedly not-for-a-funeral clothing. This also required a trip to the maternity store to snatch up whatever blacks I could find.
Can I say I do not wear black? Others can wear it. But I have learned something about myself as I have gotten older. I don't look quite "right" in black. Maybe it's the color against my medium blonde hair. Maybe it's the fact that I don't exactly ooze black clad martini sipping designer handbag socialite but instead seem more natural in "bohemian peasant" style clothing. Maybe it's because I don't style my hair. It is straight and if you try to do anything with it, it doesn't seem to want to cooperate. So, I keep it clean, brushed and parted straight. So, black does not go well with my "aura", if you will.
But for a funeral, what do you wear? Black, of course.
This was June and the only clothing on the racks were for overheated pregnant moms who were sweating even in air conditioning in June. In Poland, the week I went? It was cold.
After spending money for funeral appropriate maternity clothing, we had to pack my daughter's bag. Her obsession at the time was Disney Princess t-shirts, the color purple and bright sparkles. Again, not funeral attire. In Poland, and I would imagine in the US as well, you especially do not wear purple to a funeral.
Of course, children her age are exempt from having to wear black head to toe. But still. Sparkles and Princesses don't fly. Another trip to the store and we bought her a navy blue skirt, 2 pair of Capri chinos in black and brown, 4 peasant style shirts in brown, navy blue, black and white, a red button coat which screamed "adorable girl from Europe", black Maryjane's to match Mama, and a navy blue long sleeve shirt. Just in case. Thank goodness I thought of the just in case.
Toys were purchased for my cousin's children which I couldn't wait to give to them. My daughter kept pulling them out and staring at the Sleeping Beauty doll asking about her cousins' names and any details I could give them. She couldn't wait to meet them.
The trip total cost us over $3,000 for the two of us with all expenses.
I started panicking between all the rushed planning that I had not taught my daughter Polish. She knew a few safety words in Polish and how to express love and affection and a song. How was this going to work? How was she going to play with my cousin's children?
In the meantime, my daughter was telling everyone she saw, even strangers, that she was going to visit "the country my Mommy is from! POLAND!" with such squeaks of joy, I couldn't understand it.
I stressed that there would be no macaroni and cheese, no chicken nuggets and french fries, nothing she was used to on a daily basis. And that she would eat whatever people gave her because it would be rude otherwise. Eye widened at this information, she would nod and say "Yes, Mommy."
In my stomach, butterflies were turning while the baby was beginning her first signs of movement inside me.
A teddy bear book bag with leash was purchased. I received strange and often disapproving looks as we carried it to the register and purchased it. Look, stare, and judge however people wanted to, I was going to be a pregnant Mama on my own with my child travelling from Washington, D.C.'s Dulles airport to Munich, Germany to Wroclaw, Poland. To bury my Dziadek.
It turned out, there was nothing to worry about....
To be continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
Time to visit my birth country.
And time to bury a family member.
My husband had to work and couldn't take a vacation. Also, because we were buying tickets last minute, along with having to file for her first passport ever, we were in a time crunch and had to pay an exorbitant amount for our tickets and expedite the passport.
For her passport, I braided her hair into two plaits, which she proclaimed made her look like a "little Polish girl" as she smiled in the mirror and looked at her reflection. This was not the first time I had styled her hair this way.
At the post office, she was so proud strolling in to be getting a passport, that she announced to everyone present "My mommy's Dziadek died so I need a passport please so we can go to POLAND!" She stayed perfectly still as the woman took her photo. The first photo, she looked last second in my direction, pride on her face and my heart burst. The woman gave me the photo to keep since "her expression was so precious" but had to be looking straight ahead for the passport.
When we left the post office, every employee at the front desk had by then heard her story and was waving goodbye to us and wishing her luck. She waved goodbye to everyone and skipped to the car, holding my hand.
This moment was precious and I needed it as I was mourning the loss of my Dziadek.
I went through my maternity clothes and saw yellows, flowers, pinks and decidedly not-for-a-funeral clothing. This also required a trip to the maternity store to snatch up whatever blacks I could find.
Can I say I do not wear black? Others can wear it. But I have learned something about myself as I have gotten older. I don't look quite "right" in black. Maybe it's the color against my medium blonde hair. Maybe it's the fact that I don't exactly ooze black clad martini sipping designer handbag socialite but instead seem more natural in "bohemian peasant" style clothing. Maybe it's because I don't style my hair. It is straight and if you try to do anything with it, it doesn't seem to want to cooperate. So, I keep it clean, brushed and parted straight. So, black does not go well with my "aura", if you will.
But for a funeral, what do you wear? Black, of course.
This was June and the only clothing on the racks were for overheated pregnant moms who were sweating even in air conditioning in June. In Poland, the week I went? It was cold.
After spending money for funeral appropriate maternity clothing, we had to pack my daughter's bag. Her obsession at the time was Disney Princess t-shirts, the color purple and bright sparkles. Again, not funeral attire. In Poland, and I would imagine in the US as well, you especially do not wear purple to a funeral.
Of course, children her age are exempt from having to wear black head to toe. But still. Sparkles and Princesses don't fly. Another trip to the store and we bought her a navy blue skirt, 2 pair of Capri chinos in black and brown, 4 peasant style shirts in brown, navy blue, black and white, a red button coat which screamed "adorable girl from Europe", black Maryjane's to match Mama, and a navy blue long sleeve shirt. Just in case. Thank goodness I thought of the just in case.
Toys were purchased for my cousin's children which I couldn't wait to give to them. My daughter kept pulling them out and staring at the Sleeping Beauty doll asking about her cousins' names and any details I could give them. She couldn't wait to meet them.
The trip total cost us over $3,000 for the two of us with all expenses.
I started panicking between all the rushed planning that I had not taught my daughter Polish. She knew a few safety words in Polish and how to express love and affection and a song. How was this going to work? How was she going to play with my cousin's children?
In the meantime, my daughter was telling everyone she saw, even strangers, that she was going to visit "the country my Mommy is from! POLAND!" with such squeaks of joy, I couldn't understand it.
I stressed that there would be no macaroni and cheese, no chicken nuggets and french fries, nothing she was used to on a daily basis. And that she would eat whatever people gave her because it would be rude otherwise. Eye widened at this information, she would nod and say "Yes, Mommy."
In my stomach, butterflies were turning while the baby was beginning her first signs of movement inside me.
A teddy bear book bag with leash was purchased. I received strange and often disapproving looks as we carried it to the register and purchased it. Look, stare, and judge however people wanted to, I was going to be a pregnant Mama on my own with my child travelling from Washington, D.C.'s Dulles airport to Munich, Germany to Wroclaw, Poland. To bury my Dziadek.
It turned out, there was nothing to worry about....
To be continued...
Related Articles: My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
29 May 2011
"Warsaw Hearts New York" But Does America Heart Warsaw?
I really have never read an article before and decided to write about it until today. Actually, the article itself I had no issues with. It was short, informative, and accurate. Decent reporting. I am referring to the article by Fox News (shared by a friend) called Warsaw Hearts New York; Poles Hope for Visa Waiver to Shop Fifth Avenue.
What was called to my attention and which frankly disturbed me was the comments. Such as:
OK, there is just so much wrong in this statement and I am going to conclude that it stems from a lack of education and an upbringing filled with racism and NO interest in facts. But, I'll try to tackle it with class.
First, the US was founded on "foreigners". You, sir, are a Xenophobe.
Second, they don't all drain the system. They keep the system going. Again, country founded on "foreigners".
Third, maybe there are some that do. I won't argue that. But most don't. My father worked over 80 hour work weeks when I was young just to barely feed us and we never went for assistance. I would say, perhaps the issue of the system being abused should be taken up with the crackheads, drug addicts, parents who don't care for their children, gang members and criminals. Now, I've never met a "foreigner" who was any of those things. Just saying.
Fourth, the Polish tourists and others coming here to visit are doing it legally. Perhaps you have an issue with another group of "foreigners" who you feel are coming over illegally. But what you are unaware of, is that people from Poland must take a plane to fly over to the USA and without doing it legally, they can't do that. There's no sneaking over. It's called the Airport. You know, TSA and Customs and Border Protection.
Fifth, your grammar and spelling are atrocious.
I am going to sum this one up with "Apparently, VERY apparently, you have never travelled anywhere on a plane before and certainly never to another country. Enjoy your trip to Walmart." Yes, I went there. I am very repulsed right now.
I can't even tackle this one without spending all day explaining tourism, VAT, duty, global economy, a breakdown of economic growth by country, and so on. I will just say, go get an actual education. I see you know how to use the Internet a little bit to get some facts (hence why you had to comment twice, the second time with a bit of facts), but you still have no clue. And, again, I notice the grammar and spelling really could use some working on.
Also, we former Easter Bloc country citizens are not communists. Again, know your history. After our populations were devastated by the Nazis in WWII and also by the Soviets during their "liberation" (but it's not considered a war crime because the treaty signed by good ol' Uncle Sam and England with Russia), we were handed over as consolation prizes to the USSR to with what they pleased. And they did exactly that. 25 years later, Poland's economy was the LEAST affected by the world economic crisis and in fact had positive growth.
I find it shameful that while I live in the US (coming over LEGALLY, thank you very much) on my wedding day, none of my family from Poland could be here. Not one. Because they couldn't afford to pay for the visas and wait the long period to see if maybe MAYBE nice America would let them come to see me be married.
Poland is the strongest support of America with Afghanistan and Iraqi conflicts. There is a lot going on mutually between the two countries which BENEFIT the USA.
Poland and her people are NOT your issues with illegal immigrants. Trust me. You have an open border just south of you and are not able to monitor it and if you find someone who is here illegally from you-know-where it is discrimination. Open your eyes.
Since Poland is not a threat but rather an ally of the USA, there is no reason for the Visas. Trust me, my family in Poland does NOT want to come here to live. It's too expensive and there is nothing to do but work and come home and sit around the house or spend money. The lifestyle over there is much easier for travel, entertainment, family, etc. They just want to come over and pump their money into our economy by being tourists.
Trust me, they DON'T want to live here. Poland has a really good thing going on right now. So, take your racism and narrow mindedness and go yell at a tree for being a tree instead. Or hey, I have an idea, get educated and learn who is taking advantage of your welfare programs here or who is staying illegally and get rid of them instead. You know, the people you actually have a problem with but you can't figure out who to blame because of your racism.
But then, why should I be surprised at some bigoted comments? After all, I have heard it all my life. Even from my own in-laws, who are grandchildren of immigrants and making comments about how "foreigners" are ruining this country. No, the thing that will ruin this country will be racism and a lack of proper education and global perspective.
If this doesn't make things clearer, I suggest listening to a country song by Brad Paisley called "American Saturday Night". It's about as American as you can get.
My last comment on this is that I love this country. I mean, I live here. So, let me share with you what the Statue of Liberty reads:
What was called to my attention and which frankly disturbed me was the comments. Such as:
 | chunkyscratch  16 hours ago |
OK, there is just so much wrong in this statement and I am going to conclude that it stems from a lack of education and an upbringing filled with racism and NO interest in facts. But, I'll try to tackle it with class.
First, the US was founded on "foreigners". You, sir, are a Xenophobe.
Second, they don't all drain the system. They keep the system going. Again, country founded on "foreigners".
Third, maybe there are some that do. I won't argue that. But most don't. My father worked over 80 hour work weeks when I was young just to barely feed us and we never went for assistance. I would say, perhaps the issue of the system being abused should be taken up with the crackheads, drug addicts, parents who don't care for their children, gang members and criminals. Now, I've never met a "foreigner" who was any of those things. Just saying.
Fourth, the Polish tourists and others coming here to visit are doing it legally. Perhaps you have an issue with another group of "foreigners" who you feel are coming over illegally. But what you are unaware of, is that people from Poland must take a plane to fly over to the USA and without doing it legally, they can't do that. There's no sneaking over. It's called the Airport. You know, TSA and Customs and Border Protection.
Fifth, your grammar and spelling are atrocious.
I am going to sum this one up with "Apparently, VERY apparently, you have never travelled anywhere on a plane before and certainly never to another country. Enjoy your trip to Walmart." Yes, I went there. I am very repulsed right now.
I can't even tackle this one without spending all day explaining tourism, VAT, duty, global economy, a breakdown of economic growth by country, and so on. I will just say, go get an actual education. I see you know how to use the Internet a little bit to get some facts (hence why you had to comment twice, the second time with a bit of facts), but you still have no clue. And, again, I notice the grammar and spelling really could use some working on.
I'm really surprised at some of the comments on this story. Before you comment, please know your facts. The Euro is destined to fail without the "Former Eastern Bloc" countries finally taking up that currency, in fact, that is a huge controversy in Europe right now. Those who know want Poland and other countries to finally start using the Euro.
Also, we former Easter Bloc country citizens are not communists. Again, know your history. After our populations were devastated by the Nazis in WWII and also by the Soviets during their "liberation" (but it's not considered a war crime because the treaty signed by good ol' Uncle Sam and England with Russia), we were handed over as consolation prizes to the USSR to with what they pleased. And they did exactly that. 25 years later, Poland's economy was the LEAST affected by the world economic crisis and in fact had positive growth.
I find it shameful that while I live in the US (coming over LEGALLY, thank you very much) on my wedding day, none of my family from Poland could be here. Not one. Because they couldn't afford to pay for the visas and wait the long period to see if maybe MAYBE nice America would let them come to see me be married.
Poland is the strongest support of America with Afghanistan and Iraqi conflicts. There is a lot going on mutually between the two countries which BENEFIT the USA.
Poland and her people are NOT your issues with illegal immigrants. Trust me. You have an open border just south of you and are not able to monitor it and if you find someone who is here illegally from you-know-where it is discrimination. Open your eyes.
Since Poland is not a threat but rather an ally of the USA, there is no reason for the Visas. Trust me, my family in Poland does NOT want to come here to live. It's too expensive and there is nothing to do but work and come home and sit around the house or spend money. The lifestyle over there is much easier for travel, entertainment, family, etc. They just want to come over and pump their money into our economy by being tourists.
Trust me, they DON'T want to live here. Poland has a really good thing going on right now. So, take your racism and narrow mindedness and go yell at a tree for being a tree instead. Or hey, I have an idea, get educated and learn who is taking advantage of your welfare programs here or who is staying illegally and get rid of them instead. You know, the people you actually have a problem with but you can't figure out who to blame because of your racism.
But then, why should I be surprised at some bigoted comments? After all, I have heard it all my life. Even from my own in-laws, who are grandchildren of immigrants and making comments about how "foreigners" are ruining this country. No, the thing that will ruin this country will be racism and a lack of proper education and global perspective.
If this doesn't make things clearer, I suggest listening to a country song by Brad Paisley called "American Saturday Night". It's about as American as you can get.
My last comment on this is that I love this country. I mean, I live here. So, let me share with you what the Statue of Liberty reads:
"...Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Happy Memorial Day to you and may God Bless America and the other countries of the world. Because America is the commingling of all the countries and cultures of the world.
Writers Edit: I found this article after writing the above and find it very interesting. The Polish Tiger "With its newfound economic and political clout, Poland is increasingly leaving the United States out in the cold."
28 January 2011
A Souvenir From Poland
I don't normally like souvenirs. But then, most of the time, they are cheaply made and not able to be used in daily life without making you or your home look like a commercial. But, I have picked up some very usable and unusual souvenirs in my travels through Poland.
Can you guess what this is?
Yes, it's a mushroom. By now, I think you have gotten the fact that we Poles love mushrooms. But, can you tell better now?
Hmmm, I'll give you a hint if you haven't figured it out yet...
I know, I fell in love with it also when I saw it.
But how to get one for yourself?
I guess you will have to visit Poland now, won't you?
Can you guess what this is?
Yes, it's a mushroom. By now, I think you have gotten the fact that we Poles love mushrooms. But, can you tell better now?
Hmmm, I'll give you a hint if you haven't figured it out yet...
I know, I fell in love with it also when I saw it.
But how to get one for yourself?
I guess you will have to visit Poland now, won't you?
10 January 2011
Our Honeymoon Daytrip in Warsaw-Warszawa
Photo by Mike McHolm
On our honeymoon, my husband and I flew from the US to Warsaw. From Warsaw, we planned to drive to my hometown. But first, we all walked a bit through Warsaw after leaving the airport.
I will be very honest right now. When I thought of Warsaw prior to this trip, I thought of a city which frankly left me puzzled and a bit angry. Yes, angry. You see, Warsaw is Poland's current capital, prior to Warsaw the capital was magical Krakow and before that it was the legendary "birthplace" of Poland and later, the site where Poland and her country became irrevokably Catholic, Gniezno (literally, meaning "The Nest", as in an eagle's nest).
By comparison, Warsaw is new. New buildings, roads, everything. It's all steel, concrete, metal, glass. At least, that was all I ever saw going from the airport to the car and driving straight out in the afternoon, jet lagged and not interested in exploring. I just couldn't understand why the Polish people would want their capital to be so, capitalistic, in appearance. Sure the buildings are beautiful in their modern architecture but I'm personally not "into" modern architecture but rather, prefer historic.
Photo by Adam Fagen
But, when you consider it's history, you get a sense of the bigger picture. For 200 years, Poland was occupied by Austria, Prussia and Russia, then thrust into the middle, literally, of the Great War as the three nations battled over their borders and territories, between one another and against the Allies. Following that, only briefly was Poland given back what was rightly Poland's, before the Nazis marched in. World War II saw Warsaw being ripped apart, with 80% of it's buildings destroyed. After the War, Poland was handed over to Soviet Russia and the Soviets did what they wanted with rebuilding Poland. That included the metal, glass, and concrete. Because that was what Socialist Realism and Communist Architecture is, after all.
But, apparently, I owe Warsaw an apology, because...
We peeled back the top layer of Warsaw and found it's heart. Warsaw can be for lovers. It's romantic. It's filled with amazing and inspiring history and architecture. It is also filled with sad, profoundly sad history and monuments.
I can tell you about the various sights in no particular order simply because I was so taken by surprise by Warsaw that it was a fantastic blur, with my memory recalling it all but not in chronological order.
We stopped to look at the King Zygmunt III Waza Column (Kolumna Zygmunta III Wazy) and my Wujek explained it's history to us, with my translation lacking dates because I am terrible at Polish numbers and months, no matter how hard I try.
Photo by Alan Light
Inside the Warsaw Royal Palace, we wandered from room to room, my Wujek and cousins telling us about the history around us, myself feeling like I should know all of it as well as they do, but I don't. We came upon a group of elementary school students who were on a school field trip and were sittng on the floor in a magnificent room listening to their teacher. They were saying the names of the various kings and rulers of Poland as the teacher held up pictures of them. I looked at my husband and whispered "I can't tell you all of the U.S. Presidents, can you?" He shook his head.
He was particularly fascinated, while walking through the museum, by a suit of armor worn by the famous Hussari (pronounced Hoo-Sahr-ih, in English Hussars). To this day, that was one of his favorite highlights of his trip. I believe he may actually one day get a tattoo of their wings on his back, which would be fantastic.
We walked around to a church where Pope John Paul II had prayed.
Through a doorway in what was the defensive wall of Old Warsaw, we strolled hand in hand and I translated as best I could (after all, I am terrible with translating dates), his eyes changed their perspective. He saw that Poland was full of beauty, culture, history, amazing things to see and absorb. And, I hope, he started to understand who I am, where I come from, and why this was so important to me that we made this trip.
We walked around the Barbican, or Barbakan, which is a gatehouse of red brick dating from the 16th century and which separates the Old Town from the New Town. At the time, some maintenance was being performed on it and what I believe was the moat area around it. He commented that it looked like out of a movie, which I can understand, it does have a feel of "Robin Hood" or other end of the Medieval Era buildings about it.
Photo by Iwona Erskine-Kellie
After walking through a gateway with sections of Warsaw's 14th century defensive walls visible, which to me is one of the thrilling charms of Poland, the constant peek-a-boo with history, we browsed through an antique store charmingly tucked into a corner and filled with items which could easily have been up to two centuries old.
Overlooking several residential buildings on a light stone terrace,we stopped for a time to absorb one of many views while my cousin tossed a bit of bread to some bickering and well-fed sparrows and we discussed the drive to my hometown.
We stopped to pay quiet homage to the famous statue A Boy Insurgent, and I thought about how my grandfather must have suffered mentally to have lived through World War II as a young boy in Poland. I didn't have the words to say to my husband but I could only think "What lucky times we live in now to know that our future children in, hopefully, not suffer so much as those poor children did then". I guess that's a part of being Polish, going about your daily existence and, here and there, being reminded of sadder times.
My Wujek told my husband that the symbol of Warsaw was a mermaid, which confused him as we were "not by the water". However, my Wujek pointed out the River Vistula, or Wisla, and said "Yes, we are, that river goes to the Baltic Sea and there is a legend about this mermaid. Some say her sister went to Copenhagen while she swam to Gdansk and eventually up the Wisla to what was then the village of Warsaw. She was eventually captured by a greedy merchant but set free by Wars (the mermaid's name being Sawa) and vowed to always protect the village from harm. Another legend, a prince was directed to a hut on the Wisla by the mermaid, where she blessed the area and vowed to protect it, and from there the city of Warsaw began. Either way, she is said to protect Warsaw forever." I love that story. We saw the symbol of the mermaid all over Warsaw in our travels.
Photo by s3k
As we drove through Warsaw to leave, he commented that Warsaw to him in many areas seemed very similar to New York, in the style of the buildings, the dress and manner of it's people all looking as though they had important business to attend to, it's traffic, and general feeling. It is how I felt about Warsaw until that day trip.
He also saw his first Eastern bloc residential buildings. To him, it seemed very different from what someone would expect in an ancient country like Poland. To be honest, they do as well to me, however, they are a part of Polish history, beautiful or not.
We drove past Warsaw's Palace of Culture and Science. I pointed it out to my husband and my Wujek stated that many called it "Stalin's Penis". I have to laugh at the name, because some don't like to use that word for it, but if you understood at the time how people felt about Stalin, Communism, and it's affect on Poland, it was a true example of Polish humor regarding Communism at the time.
I do caution you, it isn't as common but occasionally a Pole will ask a foreigner what they think of the Palace of Culture and Science. Some Poles think it's beautiful or a symbol of Polish history, like it or not, others hate it. Your best answer is to say something like "I'm not sure what to make of it" or "It's different" or something like that. You can't go wrong with vague and polite.
Photo by Huzhead
When we left Warsaw, I was so thankful to my Wujek and cousins for allowing me to see that city through different eyes than ever before. Without their knowledge of the sights, I would never have explored Warsaw to find out what it truly was. I suppose now, Warsaw seems a tremendously appropriate representation of what it is to be Polish. After all, it is known as the "Phoenix City" for it's remarkable recovery, and to me, that is a great way to describe Polish people.
If you enjoyed this, please feel free to read about My Husband's First Polish meal.
Also, please check out our trip Mushroom Picking in the Polish Mountains.
And the funny story about my husband's experience at a well known restaurant in Poland.
The photos used in this post are not my own as all of our pictures of Warsaw include myself, my husband, Wujek and cousins, and I don't have permission by them to share their pictures.
04 January 2011
A Love Letter to My Home Town, Wroclaw
From poland.gov.pl , Fot. Mariusz Cieszewski / www.fotcom.biz
Kochani Wroclaw,
Once again, I saw a picture of you and missed you today. In fact, I see you everything I turn on my computer, your picture is on my desktop and my Facebook. Maybe it's to make up for the missing time away from you, I'm not sure.
True, you are not as famous as your European cousins, Paris, London, Rome, Vienna, and the rest of them. But I've never been much for celebrities.
I would rather have your charm be true to what you always have been, ancient, colorful, melodic in the same way that a Polonaise or a Mazurka is, that odd beat so dignified and so in tune with the hearts of Poles like no other.
From poland.gov.pl , Fot. Mariusz Cieszewski / www.fotcom.biz
I know perhaps you don't feel very special compared to your famous cousins, but you have a bread named after you, Wroclawski Chleb. And in fact, many Americans enjoy it under another name, light rye bread, not knowing the true name or the city it honors. You have smoked cheese also honoring you which my husband craves to this day over 7 years later. I know no higher honor that a person can give than name food after you.
You are where my father was raised, where my family is buried, my ancestral home. You were the matchmaker, introducing my mother and father, and under your romantic influence, they fell in love, married and had me.
 |
From poland.gov.pl , Fot. Mariusz Cieszewski / http://www.fotcom.biz/ |
The rhythm and sounds of your cobblestone streets rocked me to sleep as a baby in my pram as my mother took me on my daily walks through the winding paths of your riverside parks.
When I think of Poland, I think of you. When I think of what I lost by being torn away from you because of Communism and oppression of human rights, it pains me because I lost the ability to call you truly mine.
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Photo courtesy of Michal Strzepek at http://enjoywroclaw.wordpress.com/ |
Instead, when I walk your streets every chance I get, I am a stranger to you. I am that woman who dresses, moves and sounds American no matter how hard she fights it, yet her eyes are Polish in every possible way.
Every turn, I have to discover and rediscover you. And you tease me. What I think I know may or may not be changed when I return. I understand, you have been busy shaking off the dusty industrial gray coat that Communism laid on your shoulders, and before that, the two World Wars. And you have emerged beautifully, like a phoenix from the ashes.
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| My personal photo of my daughter enjoying the Rynek and Fountain |
The first time I laid eyes on you when I returned, you were shaking off that coat. Your Rynek was in the beginnings of it's changes. Now, you are bright and vibrant, like a maiden in summer. But, thankfully, Capitalism and it's stifling neon signs, tacky knick-knacks, and generic flavorless unimaginative restaurant chains have not yet cast their spell on you.
You are where I took my husband for our honeymoon. We could have gone anywhere. I brought him to you, so that you could each meet one another, and hopefully, get along for my sake. Did you know he got a tattoo because you inspired him so much?
You are where I ran to with giddy delight, pregnant for the first time and excited to attend my cousin's wedding (and closing my eyes, pretending it was each of my cousins' weddings since I could not attend them all). You showed me what a real Polish wedding was, and I was envious.
You are where I brought my older daughter when I was again pregnant. I was happy to see you again, yes, but please don't be upset that I didn't seem to enjoy you. You know I was there to bury my Dziadek.
Yet, you were sweet enough to entrance my father again on that trip, knowing it was his first trip back after we left so many years ago and that he was almost afraid to see what had changed. Did I tell you he might retire there with you? His ancestral home?
You also wove your spell on my older daughter, who had begun a love affair with American childrens food (macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, chocolate milk, fish sticks, pizza, and the occasional broccoli loaded with cheese) and who I was concerned might not enjoy your company.
Her love affair with Poland began the moment she looked down from that airplane and saw you sprawled around the Odra River, your red roofs, green parks, and white statues creeping outward from your origin, the Via Reggia and the Amber Road and Ostrow Tumski.
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| My personal photo of my husband at Ostrow Tumski |
It deepened when she met her family, ate Zupa Ogurkowa with real Ruskie Pierogi, visited your zoo, and napped from jetlag by the fountains at Hala Ludowa. She chased a grey and black crow while I rested during a stroll in your Szczytnicki Park.
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| Photo courtesy of Michal Strzepek at http://enjoywroclaw.wordpress.com/ |
She discovered your Krasnolutki and has been searching for them ever since.
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| Photo courtesy of Michal Strzepek at http://enjoywroclaw.wordpress.com/ |
Our last night with you, her goodbyes were teary as she ate mixed Pierogi (mushroom and sauerkraut, Ruskie, meat) seated outside in a restaurant, watching fire jugglers perform at your Rynek. She ended up falling so deeply in love with you and my family, that when the time came and we had to leave you, her "hair wanted to stay" with you. And conveniently, the rest of her wanted to stay as well.
I miss you. I can't wait to see you again this year.
I know eventually I will be coming to see you for sad business again. After all, time passes, generations age, and loved ones have to be told farewell, sometimes for the last time.
But let's not dwell on that. After all, I have to come back. You stole my heart the day I was born. You are in my blood.
If you would like to look at some beautiful pictures of my beloved Wroclaw, also known as Breslau, please check out http://www.flickr.com/photos/polandmfa/sets/72157624491409362/show/ These pictures, and so much more, can be found on http://en.poland.gov.pl/ as well as at http://enjoywroclaw.wordpress.com/ which was kind enough to allow me to use some of their pictures and which has kindly allowed me to post this article on their site. I hope it inspires you to visit Poland, perhaps even my beloved Wroclaw...
I have to give credit where credit is due. I was inspired to write this after reading Honest Mum's Love Letter to London. Check out her post here: http://honestmum.com/?p=342 Enjoy! And I hope you feel inspired to write a love letter to a particular town that has shaped your life!
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