I have been waiting for this for some time now-Poland on Google Street View. Google started photographing all over several major cities in Poland for the past few months to have the Street View feature available on Google Maps in time for the Euro 2012.
Check out Maps.Google.pl
Also, Google Mapa Polska
And an article on thenews.pl about Poland on Google Street View
Try typing in an address in one of the four cities featured: Warsaw, Gdansk, Poznan and Wroclaw. Let me know what you think!
Happy "walking"! I plan on "walking" around Wroclaw first with the children, retracing our last trip there and checking out other areas I've gone that the children have not yet had a chance to see. Hopefully, this will become yet another tool for me to inspire my kids to feel like Poland is also their home.
Na razie...
Edit: It looks as though you can walk around Lodz as well.
Disclaimer: I am not compensated to share this information, I just found it interesting and worth sharing with you
Related Posts:
Teaching Children About Poland (an interactive website from the government of Poland)
A History Book About Poland, pre World War I
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland
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 Travel Abroad with Children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel Abroad with Children. Show all posts
23 March 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
24 June 2011
Slimak, Slimak: Polish Children's Rhyme
My daughters love this rhyme and sign it every time they see a snail.
One of the fondest memories I have of either of them singing it is from when I took my older daughter to Poland to bury my Dziadek. At my cousin's garden, a mulch pile was covered in big fat snails. They were the snails which are regularly harvested in Poland for the French.
My cousin's daughter quickly squatted down to be close to the snails and sang:
Ślimak, ślimak wystaw rogi,
Dam ci sera na pierogi,
Jak nie sera, to kapusty,
Od kapusty będziesz tłusty
My older glanced at me and I translated for her:
Snail, Snail, show your horns,
I'll give you cheese for pierogi,
If not cheese, then cabbage,
From cabbage you'll be fat...
She promptly squatted down next to her cousin and they chanted the rhyme together again.
I turned my pregnant eyes from the snails after whispering, "You be glad I have no butter and garlic on me right now."
Another Polish Children's Nursery Rhyme About a Miscu...
Mom Photographer's Slimak post which originally inspired me
One of the fondest memories I have of either of them singing it is from when I took my older daughter to Poland to bury my Dziadek. At my cousin's garden, a mulch pile was covered in big fat snails. They were the snails which are regularly harvested in Poland for the French.
My cousin's daughter quickly squatted down to be close to the snails and sang:
Ślimak, ślimak wystaw rogi,
Dam ci sera na pierogi,
Jak nie sera, to kapusty,
Od kapusty będziesz tłusty
My older glanced at me and I translated for her:
Snail, Snail, show your horns,
I'll give you cheese for pierogi,
If not cheese, then cabbage,
From cabbage you'll be fat...
She promptly squatted down next to her cousin and they chanted the rhyme together again.
I turned my pregnant eyes from the snails after whispering, "You be glad I have no butter and garlic on me right now."
Another Polish Children's Nursery Rhyme About a Miscu...
Mom Photographer's Slimak post which originally inspired me
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
09 June 2011
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Our Departure
The day of our trip was nearing and my father had told me that he would be accompanying us from Washington, D.C. After all, this was his father and he should be there for the funeral. My relief was immense. And then, I had to begin reminding him to purchase his ticket and renew his passport quickly. My father is extremely intelligent and driven but what daughter doesn't worry and make sure her father takes care of his non-work related business.
The relief, the night before the trip when my father arrived on my doorstep to come with my older daughter and myself, was immense. The sound of my daughter's sleepy voice the next morning finding her Dziadek awake on our sofa was priceless. "Dziadek! Are you coming to Poland with me and Mommy?" And the gigantic hug she threw around his neck when he confirmed her suspicions was a moment I think my father will always hold in his memories.
A few minutes later, my house was filled with a flurry of activity. My daughter was dressed and her hair tossed into two "Kitki" (piggie tales), we adults pulled ourselves together and my husband was hugged and kissed by "his two girls", as he called us.
We pulled away in my father's car to the airport and the adventure began...
After a drive filled with my father's techno music and a million questions and giggles from the backseat by my older daughter, we arrived at the airport. My father smoked a cigarette while I put the teddy bear book bag with lease on my daughter and we all took a shuttle from the parking lot to the airport.
As we sat down, my daughter announced to the driver and everyone else on the shuttle that "we are going to Poland where my Mommy and Dziadek are from! And, guess what? I'm Polish too!" Her 3 year old eyes widened as she saw airplane after airplane take off and land on the airstrips. My father pointed out a Lufthansa plane and said "See that biiiig plane? That is the kind you will be on shortly."
Getting off the shuttle, she turned to the driver and waved, "Good bye! Thank you very much!" and the driver smiled as she closed the door.
I wondered, "Is she going to talk to everyone she sees? Is she going to be this happy on the plane? How will this work?"
The sky above us turned dark, clouds blowing in quickly and bringing a massive thunderstorm. My father smoked one more cigarette before we went inside. The wind blew our luggage down and my daughter squealed as it blew against her forcefully. Lightening flashed across the sky and I started my usual pre flight panic in my mind.
My hand nervously kept squeezing the handle of the leash, reassuring myself that she was a good listener and that I had the leash as well, in case she was fidgety. She smiled up at me, knowing that she had on a leash and the reasons why as she held my hand and watched as thousands of thousands of travelers walked through the airport.
We checked in and she noticed that the woman taking our passports had a Polish accent. "Mommy! Mommy, she's Polish, too!" I explained that the woman was German, as we were flying through Lufthansa. "Oh! Cooool!" The woman smiled at her but you could tell this was not the first time a child with an American accent and her mother had said this. Perhaps, she did not realize this was no novelty but rather my daughter becoming worldly in a way many kids are never fortunate enough to experience.
We went through security and she stayed close to me the whole time. Not out of fear, but out of an awareness I always thought she had about such situations but which we had never tested out before. She removed her shoes and handed them to the TSA worker, smiling up at her and saying "Thank you!" The TSA employees were all very patient and calm with us, smiling at her contagious joy at the entirely new experience.
I kept her informed during the whole experience in the airport about what we had to do in each section and answered all her questions and she drank up every detail. This child was a born traveler. Did she have "Gypsy Blood"? Very much so.
A mother with two children looked at my leash and commented what a great idea it was, with all the bustle of airports. I knew I had made a wise decision but it would not yet become entirely clear why.
When we arrived at our departure gate, she asked more questions and began to play with a little German boy while we parents watched on, trying rather successfully to communicate to one another about our children.
My father and I watched out the large windows as the storm raged outside. I asked him in Polish if the flight would be affected and he shrugged, trusting the pilot to know how to perform his job safely. My daughter showed no fear at the storm, after all, the angels in Heaven were holding a party!
A plane taxied over to the terminal next to ours and passengers poured out, she watched fascinated. "That is going to be like us, Mommy!" Our plane was loaded with luggage and she watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of her luggage.
When it was time to board the plane and hour and a half after schedule, we were allowed to get on earlier than other passengars as we had a child with us. She handed her ticket to the flight attendant and said, "Hi! I'm going to Poland!" The flight attendant told her, "Wow! That's so nice! I hope you have fun!" She nodded and said "Thank you! Oh, I mean, Dziekujem!"
We found our seats and she tried to help by looking at the numbers. She sat between her Dziadek and myself, smiling and looking all around, pushing buttons, and asking questions.
We buckled her in with a pillow between her stomach and her belt, her bottom completely against the back of the chair as the flight attendants double checked her twice. I was also instructed to do the same as I was at this point becoming noticeably pregnant.
I instructed my daughter to pay close attention to the flight attendants during the flight, not to jump around, cross herself and ask God for a safe flight and to behave the way I knew she could. She took a piece of candy from her Dziadek, smiled at us both and the plane took off.
We were off to Munich, Germany. Our stop on the way to Wroclaw, Poland.
And she said "Weeeeeeeeeee!"...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles:
The relief, the night before the trip when my father arrived on my doorstep to come with my older daughter and myself, was immense. The sound of my daughter's sleepy voice the next morning finding her Dziadek awake on our sofa was priceless. "Dziadek! Are you coming to Poland with me and Mommy?" And the gigantic hug she threw around his neck when he confirmed her suspicions was a moment I think my father will always hold in his memories.
A few minutes later, my house was filled with a flurry of activity. My daughter was dressed and her hair tossed into two "Kitki" (piggie tales), we adults pulled ourselves together and my husband was hugged and kissed by "his two girls", as he called us.
We pulled away in my father's car to the airport and the adventure began...
After a drive filled with my father's techno music and a million questions and giggles from the backseat by my older daughter, we arrived at the airport. My father smoked a cigarette while I put the teddy bear book bag with lease on my daughter and we all took a shuttle from the parking lot to the airport.
As we sat down, my daughter announced to the driver and everyone else on the shuttle that "we are going to Poland where my Mommy and Dziadek are from! And, guess what? I'm Polish too!" Her 3 year old eyes widened as she saw airplane after airplane take off and land on the airstrips. My father pointed out a Lufthansa plane and said "See that biiiig plane? That is the kind you will be on shortly."
Getting off the shuttle, she turned to the driver and waved, "Good bye! Thank you very much!" and the driver smiled as she closed the door.
I wondered, "Is she going to talk to everyone she sees? Is she going to be this happy on the plane? How will this work?"
The sky above us turned dark, clouds blowing in quickly and bringing a massive thunderstorm. My father smoked one more cigarette before we went inside. The wind blew our luggage down and my daughter squealed as it blew against her forcefully. Lightening flashed across the sky and I started my usual pre flight panic in my mind.
My hand nervously kept squeezing the handle of the leash, reassuring myself that she was a good listener and that I had the leash as well, in case she was fidgety. She smiled up at me, knowing that she had on a leash and the reasons why as she held my hand and watched as thousands of thousands of travelers walked through the airport.
We checked in and she noticed that the woman taking our passports had a Polish accent. "Mommy! Mommy, she's Polish, too!" I explained that the woman was German, as we were flying through Lufthansa. "Oh! Cooool!" The woman smiled at her but you could tell this was not the first time a child with an American accent and her mother had said this. Perhaps, she did not realize this was no novelty but rather my daughter becoming worldly in a way many kids are never fortunate enough to experience.
We went through security and she stayed close to me the whole time. Not out of fear, but out of an awareness I always thought she had about such situations but which we had never tested out before. She removed her shoes and handed them to the TSA worker, smiling up at her and saying "Thank you!" The TSA employees were all very patient and calm with us, smiling at her contagious joy at the entirely new experience.
I kept her informed during the whole experience in the airport about what we had to do in each section and answered all her questions and she drank up every detail. This child was a born traveler. Did she have "Gypsy Blood"? Very much so.
A mother with two children looked at my leash and commented what a great idea it was, with all the bustle of airports. I knew I had made a wise decision but it would not yet become entirely clear why.
When we arrived at our departure gate, she asked more questions and began to play with a little German boy while we parents watched on, trying rather successfully to communicate to one another about our children.
My father and I watched out the large windows as the storm raged outside. I asked him in Polish if the flight would be affected and he shrugged, trusting the pilot to know how to perform his job safely. My daughter showed no fear at the storm, after all, the angels in Heaven were holding a party!
A plane taxied over to the terminal next to ours and passengers poured out, she watched fascinated. "That is going to be like us, Mommy!" Our plane was loaded with luggage and she watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of her luggage.
When it was time to board the plane and hour and a half after schedule, we were allowed to get on earlier than other passengars as we had a child with us. She handed her ticket to the flight attendant and said, "Hi! I'm going to Poland!" The flight attendant told her, "Wow! That's so nice! I hope you have fun!" She nodded and said "Thank you! Oh, I mean, Dziekujem!"
We found our seats and she tried to help by looking at the numbers. She sat between her Dziadek and myself, smiling and looking all around, pushing buttons, and asking questions.
We buckled her in with a pillow between her stomach and her belt, her bottom completely against the back of the chair as the flight attendants double checked her twice. I was also instructed to do the same as I was at this point becoming noticeably pregnant.
I instructed my daughter to pay close attention to the flight attendants during the flight, not to jump around, cross herself and ask God for a safe flight and to behave the way I knew she could. She took a piece of candy from her Dziadek, smiled at us both and the plane took off.
We were off to Munich, Germany. Our stop on the way to Wroclaw, Poland.
And she said "Weeeeeeeeeee!"...
To Be Continued...
Related Articles:
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, The Planning
My Older Daughter's First Trip to Poland, Wordless Wednesday
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
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