Sometimes a town hits you and it’s not always necessarily the town’s fault. Your personal energy was off on that day or everyone else was acting out / enough people were acting out to make you feel the world is against you. Misunderstandings abound and nothing seems to work out. That’s just how it goes, you suck it up, shrug it off and move on. 

But sometimes it’s blatantly obvious a town doesn’t want you around. You feel it in the air when you pick up on people staring at you as you walk down the street holding hands with your sister. In a country where daughters and mothers walk hand in hand it’s ironic how people stare when two women do the same. I’ve always been physical with my friends and people I love, but living in Finland I’ve really developed a need for hugging and physical touch. Thankfully I have a few friends who understand my predicament, and since they’re also physical we hug, kiss, touch and hold hands all day everyday when we meet up. My sister in particular falls into this category, and since we don’t live in the same country at the moment we tend to make up for lost time whenever we see each other.

I thought it was that at first, people frowning on public displays of closeness. It’s true that PDAs are not as popular as in other places, so if a small child tends to look away when smiled at more than in other places where the child and the parent will smile back and open expressions of happiness are greeted with frowns more than with responding smiles it perhaps stands to reason that being overly touchy with a person of the same sex will be friends upon as well. But as my sister pointed out, “we weren’t even linking arms or holding hands when we walked in.” 

Instead the server asked us if we’d pay by card or in cash almost the minute she brought out our warm apple pies. Reason being, as she said, her colleague had printed out the check by mistake and had run it through as a card payment. Weird but ok. We were going to pay by card anyway and people make mistakes. Except that this wasn’t the only weird thing. One of our Americanos lungo was . . . well, longer than the other. And when we asked for tap water, the shot glasses our server brought us worked on the same principle, just a little bit less than the other in both cases. Weird, but whatever. Both times it was my sister who got less. My sister is younger and can blend into most Caucasian environments easier than myself. We were dressed normally, nothing out of the ordinary, just weird.

Still, we shrugged it off. Until we were asked if there was anything else and presented with the check maybe five minutes after our pies arrived. Other guests were left to eat in peace and pay at their leisure, and two ladies who seemed to be related too only had two drinks. And another thing my sister pointed out that hadn’t made an impression on us until we’d added up all the other facts as well. The server had taken both menus away the minute we placed our order. Again, it was just something that happened that was just a little amiss. Not enough that would really raise any flags on its own but when taken as part of a whole, it made sense. These people didn’t like us, they didn’t want us around and they were not shy about showing their attitudes towards us.

Thing is, I’ve seen that behavior. I was at the receiving end of it and it was also meted out around me. In Germany, America, Hungary, Britain and Poland. That subtle way of giving just a little something worse to a person you don’t like because they’re deemed an outsider. And causing discontent between the same group because it’s fun to watch people fight. I read about it and witnessed it but this was the first time in my life I had someone with me who was on my side and was watching it unfold with me. Or rather, this was the first time it was validated so clearly, witnessed and tracked in minute detail as it unfolded. 

The coffee and pie were excellent, as was the vanilla ice cream and cream. The grounds gorgeous, the restaurant itself entertaining in patrons and style. But something was off about the place despite the server’s super friendly style. They didn’t tolerate people like us, whatever it was that bothered them. I’ve had beyond shitty service in Poland, but that was connected to the delivery. Filling one glass up just slightly more than the other – twice – was exactly the kind of petty bullshit that makes no sense and implies a desire to mess with you for no reason other than they don’t like your face, in the most literal classic sense. For the record, we both speak Polish and my sister especially is a native. They did not screw us over either. They just wanted us out, providing we left them our money. 

Nałęczów is pretty much built around the park that spells the town’s lifeline with its spas and baths and mineral waters. It’s a beautiful resort where you can literally feel yourself breathe better as you hit the area around the park. 

Here’s where the earlier part of this post comes in. When the town is just . . . well weird without deliberately working for that status. As though the fae were in silent protest of their environment being disturbed and only a few chosen ones can hear it but most people feel it. Perhaps it was the rain pouring down, or the pond being drained, or no gemstone stand in the park. People had always stared, and since people mount all kinds of displays of self-aggrandizing when they are scared, those whose health is at stake show their acts of bravado in different ways. Some throw a crappy comment your way when you do something out of the perceived norm, like using the end part of the grass as a balance beam. Others hold on even tighter to their values as they fear death’s (possible) approach. And yet others turn things on their head by asking the female doctor if she’s not scared of him as she cycles past in the park. 

Maybe the gemstones and fae did their thing while they were symbiotically linked. Or maybe it was just a stupid coincidence (that had to have happened) but in our search for the gemstones (the stand we were looking for also had beautiful and unique jewelry made from natural materials) we came across a patisserie (Wedel is to Poland as pretty much any known Swiss brand is to Switzerland) and behind that a beautiful palm filled atrium, which charged a pittance for an entry fee and gave out disposable cups to sample the mineral water coming out of the taps that had been mounted there.

Which ok, most places that claim sustainability only tick (at best) one of the four categories and conservative places usually give way less of a damn than those bleating from the rooftops how sustainable they are. Because they tend to leave it up to  God (not realizing that maybe just maybe God is actually speaking to them through experts and various campaigns). Not ideal but maybe we’re getting there. In typical small town convenience store fashion, the counter selling – or rather providing – cups also made it’s money selling brochures on key places around the area and assorted knick knacks like funny name plates and magnets. 

Among which was the same thing that had pissed me off over a decade ago when I first saw it on my godmother’s wall in Gdynia before seeing it everywhere else, in shops at Christmas fairs and in souvenir shops in Gdańsk where they alternately exonerated and lamented the Nazi presence of the Germans after they marched on Poland. My godmother said it was a painting to bring money into the house, which was pretty much the last conversation we had since I stopped talking to her after that “explanation.” Her son, who had always been someone I was close to, once told me that he did believe the Jews had killed Jesus but that they shouldn’t have to be held accountable for that or punished now. 

I asked the girl at the checkout what the reasoning behind these magnets was. I asked it nicely, much nicer than when I first discovered the paintings nearly two decades ago and asked the woman selling them – at a Christmas fair no less – if she wasn’t ashamed at selling these atrocities. The woman’s reply back then was that she didn’t see anything wrong with them, she had Jewish friends who saw nothing wrong with these pictures. My protests that there really wasn’t much that they could say, even if they wanted to, were drowned out before they could be uttered when my mother openly sided with the woman. 

The sales girl replied with a “yes” when I asked her if the idea behind those magnets was to depict a Jew “because Jews have money.” She even added a drop of wisdom she had heard, adding that “I even heard you’re supposed to hang them upside down,” implied – but only obvious to those deeply familiar with the typical vernacular concerning Jews – is the notion that this is to ensure all the money falls from the Jew’s money into your house. For the record, my godmother had not hung hers upside down. 

The girl was not phased by the fact that I found this bothersome. She was just there to sell and make some money over the summer. Her boss – a man my age, so definitely Gen X – had heard the exchange but said nothing. After all, we were only two females who appeared too woke, one looking extremely Jewish, the other able to pass but still associating with The Enemy. What did our opinion matter when we would be gone in a few minutes making room for a whole new barrage of tourists and paying guests willing to drop their vacation / allotted spa money on various gifts and trinkets to bring back home. And they were not bothered by any of what a liberal mindset would perceive as demeaning and wrong.

The magnets were beautifully made in terms of composition of color. We found another version of them at a gemstone shop on the other side of the street from the park. Which is another problem at hand, we like to package our evils up neatly labeled good and bad, with the bad being really stupid and ugly and the good practically reflecting the light of the angels like a halo. But it’s not like that. Reality is not like that. Objectively speaking, the people with toxic views can still make engaging things. Their movies are fun, their writing is stimulating and their music carries you away. And their restaurants make great food. But the packaging is deceptive, because the message – although smelling of roses – is toxic. 

But what makes it even worse is something my sister pointed out to me. “I don’t even think it’s hatred. It’s just something that they’ve been told so many times that they just believe it. Which is (almost) worse. “

Taking a Sephardic song when describing an Ashkenazi concept might seem a bit weird, but the cliche of songs crossing boundaries becomes pretty obvious in this context. First off, I love her voice and I will do a whole other post on Yasmin Levy in the future (which is how I discovered her mother in the first place). But also, the lyrics are pretty spot on when it comes to Poland. Because while the country very often feels like an older (albeit very toxic) sibling, close biological family can just as easily break your heart.