The hostel was a hovel. Nothing matched how it had been advertised / the photos they put up online. For starters, the 3-bed arrangement with one bed on a mezzanine with private kitchen and bath in a spacious room turned out to be a bunk bed contraption with barely three inches between the third…
Category: Personal Anecdotes
It is my firm belief that in order to get a proper picture, we have to seek out as many opposing views as possible, and contrast the personal with the official information being put out. Anecdotal evidence is just that, personal and not substantiated by scientific research, but it helps us connect with something we might otherwise miss. Which is also a huge reason behind my preference of asking people instead of just googling. Things come up in those conversations that would otherwise be missed.So read, enjoy and take what works from the pieces featured here.
More Tales from the Polish Relatives: wujek Marian
The person who did stay in my mind, for a long time, was ciocia Basia’s husband, wujek Marian. Wujek Marian had married into the family (obviously) and when I first met him at the age of eleven I was scared of his dog. As an aside, before I discovered that I’m somewhat of a dog…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: ciocia Basia
If I held off writing about her it’s (mainly) because she is the one I interacted with the least. She was my mother’s first sister (the third-born) and my mother hated her guts. My mementoes of her were admittedly vague. Apparently we’d first met when I was two and she joined forces with me and…
The People Watcher Observes a Couple
This particular Nero we are at is an island in a not too busy mall. It’s also the northernmost mall, a concept reflected in its name. Most people are there to take a much needed break from shopping (one of the reasons I loved malls as a child was because of the hustle and bustle…
An Acquaintance Revisited – the Avon Lady Ignores My Existence because I’m not Racist
We ran into the Avon Lady earlier, coming home singing and goofing around despite the cold, and then noticed that someone was at the front door. And since there aren’t that many people in the building (and none that would really be out this late), we cursed under our breaths and walked in with our…
On the Power of Saying Yes – Epiphany Rock
I’m not a big church goer, preferring my own interpretation of things, but there’s a beautiful chapel right behind where I live when I happen to hang out in Poland, and an even more beautiful church, so when I was invited to the carol singing for Epiphany, I decided why not. The original plan was…
NYE in the Village
The village hits different when you come for a visit, and when it’s on your own terms. Or when you jump at the suggestion to just step away and take some quiet time in a village so remote even local Poles tend to mispronounce it. Normally villages aren’t my thing, especially not on big days,…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: ciocia Magda part I
Ciocia* Magda was my mom’s youngest sister, and I met her (perhaps) properly when I was seven. At least that’s when I remember her properly. Family history says she stayed with us for two years but I can’t say if being seven was the start, the end or fell somewhere in between. I remember a…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: wujek Zbyszek part II
I realized that he was more typical of the average, well educated Polish male than atypical: acutely aware of his status and how it affected others in full knowledge of the fact that the woman they’d chosen to bear their children would count her blessings of having landed such a fine specimen of a man, keep her mouth firmly shut and do the best to raise and maintain a family unit lest the neighbors, church and assorted acquaintances, relatives and friends get a chance to list all her shortcomings (and by extension also those of her family), a feat that would happen anyway, regardless of how perfect she aimed to be.
Imposed Standards of Beauty
As I came to understand it, beauty in Poland was both a currency and a commodity, and that belief was reinforced pretty much on the daily, in subtle and more hidden ways. It was easier to deal with coming from the Polish women and girls outside the confines of home, because they could be waved away with the excuse that this is just how they were – and as I learned the older I got – not everyone had to be your friend, no matter how seemingly glamorous they were or appeared to be.
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