Skip to main content

Groundhog Day ... in Poland

Warsaw.

Today was just above freezing and a light rain fell much of the day. But we ventured out anyway and did a little exploring -- of the buses, the subway system, and the mall.

The 141 bus goes along Chelmska street in the direction of the children's school. We got off a few stops before the school right next to a huge section of garden allotments. These were set off by a fence and each allotment had its own fence, some with sheds and others with cottages that made me wonder if anyone actually lives there. We walked to the subway station and took the metro up to a huge new indoor mall near the Gdansk metro stop -- and right there, too, there were new luxury apartment buildings going up, and another set of garden allotments.

When Lewis Mumford talked about the "layered history" of the city, he might very well have had Warsaw in mind. The mix of 18th century French-influenced mansions, country cottages, Soviet monumental blocks, and luxury highrises is really something.

Steve has noticed the self-deprecatory comments of some of the people we've met. Piotr at the university Office of Foreign Students and Visitors, said "Warsaw isn't the most beautiful city in Europe." But so far I am loving it.

Among other things, the people we have interacted with have been incredibly sweet. We had our banker in stitches with our usual routine (she noticed, as all bankers do, that our birthdays are only 2 days apart, so I made my usual joke: "I always wanted to marry an older man," etc.). We exchanged money and the money-counting machine jammed, and only 45 minutes later did Steve notice we'd been shortchanged by 2000 zloty. We went back and made ourselves understood, and the cashier counted her drawer and was genuinely apologetic, truly very sorry that she had made an error. And finally today, as we were looking for the fabulous Magiel Cafe (quite near our house, but a bit hidden, so we missed it at first), the wine shop guy who spoke very little English came out to point us the way, and the waiter was adorable, explaining every vegetable and sauce and preparation on their lovely "slow food" menu.


Note that this restaurant was once a laundry -- hence the Mangle Cafe. I'll be back.

So far so good. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cringeworthy? Really??

It's so sad. I've gotten my first reaction to my new book. Well, second reaction. My sweet husband was brought to tears reading the introduction (possibly because he remembered just how many drafts of each section of the book, and of all the sections left on the cutting room floor, that he had read, and read, and read before). But now I've heard from a potential reader that his Russian friend-in-exile (and more importantly that friend's teenage son) think the title is кринжовый. Ouch. That hurts. Why do we need Russian literature? Do we? My Polish friend wrote to encourage me when she saw my linked in post about the publication and assured me that SHE and all her friends still love Russian literature ... even and despite the fact that Russians sometimes misbehave. (Some Russians more than others, and sometimes not just misbehaving--the world's reaction to the murder of Alexey Navalny in prison is noteworthy and important. We need to hold those responsible in contem...

Personal Sanctions. Second Reactions

On Thursday I fled Denver in the face of what was promising to be an epic snowstorm. (My AirBnB host, who grew up in Michigan, advised that Denver is quick to hit the panic button, but I didn't dare stick around to find out. I needed to be home before Monday!) In the plane, waiting for de-icing, I checked my e-mail and learned that I had been added to a so-called "stop-list" of U.S. citizens who are being personally sanctioned for our attitudes toward the Russian government and its internal and foreign affairs. It's not often that you end up on a list with the head of Lockheed Martin--certainly nothing I ever expected. But then, I also had never thought of myself as a Russophobe, and now that's the label that has been affixed to me by the Russian Federation. I had just been upgraded to first class--apparently not a lot of people were fleeing Denver that morning!--so I did what any Russophobe would do: I ordered a vodka from the flight attendant. An American vodka,...

RIP Randy Nolde

In everyone's life there is a teacher who motivated her to try harder, strive for more, reach beyond. Or in my case, a teacher who teased, goaded, poked, pried, laughed, lampooned, and somehow created an atmosphere where I was ready to work my tail off to make him proud. Randy Nolde, we will miss you. Mr. Nolde was my Russian teacher in high school. I first got to know him as a younger person -- the Russian Club Banquet was quite the event in my home town, and my grandmother used to take us regularly even before my sister enrolled in Russian language class. Every year, the high school cafeteria underwent a magical metamorphosis. Huge murals of scenes from Russia -- fantastic, colorful onion-domed churches, and young peasants reaping wheat, and Armenian maidens with long braids and colorful costumes -- hung all around the edges of the room. On the menu: chicken Kiev made by the cafeteria ladies, supplemented with cafeteria salad, but also khachapuri  and piroshki  made b...