POLISH HOLIDAYS
SO!
More on the Polish holiday.
I decided that I wanted to go somewhere for my birthday, so I started pricing little weekend packages. Then I realised that my birthday was the Wednesday after Easter, which meant that if I went over Easter, I'd have a four-day weekend without having to take any time off!
Yay!
The bad news was that EVERYONE had a four-day weekend, and so most places would be tourist hell. "Most places," meaning "most places people would want to travel," meaning "most sunny places."
This is how I ended up choosing Poland.
Who goes to Poland for Easter?
Well, me. But hardly anyone else.
So I booked this weekend trip, and they kept messing up my reservations. First, they booked the flight to Krakow and a hotel in Prague. Uh..? Then I got that sorted out, and the inbound flight was cancelled, etc. etc.
My final phone call to the travel agent went something like this:
Me: So you're absolutely sure that these flight vouchers will be accepted by the airlines, even though they have entirely different times and dates on them?
TA: Yes, absolutely sure. They'll just look at the confirmation number.
Me: Okay. So can you just double-check to make sure that we are now booked into the Chopin Hotel in Krakow? I was supposed to get a confirmation slip in the mail, but one hasn't arrived.
TA: No, it looks like you're booked into the Choppin' Hotel. Do you want me to...?
Me: No, no, that's fine.
hee!
The trip turned out to be really good. Most of my photos, which will be online soon, I promise, were of funny signs and menus. Favorite item off of the hotel menu: Tubes of Calmar's farce in a sweat and sour sauce. I still have no idea what this means.
So.
FRIDAY/SATURDAY:
We caught a taxi from the airport. Five minutes into the journey, the driver turned around and said, "Sprechen sie Deutsches?" and when I said no, he said, "Are you going to Auschwitz tomorrow?"
!
Five minutes in the country, and people are already speaking German to me and trying to send me to a concentration camp.
Anyway, neither of us speaks Polish. My father taught me how to say one sentence: Give me a kiss. This is not a sentence that you want to be saying to complete strangers on a daily basis. So, really, this isn't a great deal of help.
But, you know, half of the fun of being in a foreign country is trying new things; specifically, Foreign Snacks. So, for example, I went to the breakfast buffet at the hotel, and when I got to the part where there were little butter packets and things, I took four or five little packets that I didn't understand, and brought them back to the table. It was like a little Christmas. Oooo, I wonder--is it jam? Relish?
The honey was nice, but there was this one little container that had what was either some kind of pate or cat food. I ate it, and then spent the rest of my time wondering which I had eaten, and whether others were secretly mocking me. But I had a cunning plan: I would bring back a container of it, and give it to a friend of mine whose wife speaks Polish. Then, I could find out what it was.
Later, we went to the market. Everyone there had baskets full of lace, what looked like willow branches, and food items. Baskets! Why?! I didn't know. But I felt strongly that *I* needed a basket. I mean, what if I found myself in a cathedral somewhere, and everyone else got out their baskets, and suddenly I knew that you were supposed to have a basket right then, and I didn't have one?! A wicker-based faux pas of epic proportions! The world as we know it might come to an end.
So I finally found a woman who was wandering through the market and buying things with which to assemble a basket. So I followed her, and got the same things she did.
After I had the basket, branches, and lacy bits, it was time to put food items in it. I saw other people had bread rolls, so I went off to find some bread rolls. Success! There was a stall selling rolls. I went, and gestured that I wanted two. Somehow, these two small rolls came to 24 zlotys, which is somewhere in the neighborhood of $6. This seemed a bit excessive, since everything else was amazingly cheap, but I paid it, and then Michael mocked me for being a sucker. The conversation went something like this:
Michael: They're back there right now laughing at you. Stupid tourist. She spent all that money on these little rolls. Ha ha.
Me: Well, what was I supposed to do?! [thoughtful pause] You know, they're awfully heavy. I wonder if they're stuffed with something. [picks them upand smells them] You know, they kind of smell like smoked salmon.
Michael: Well, if they *are* stuffed with smoked salmon, that would certainly explain the price.
So anyway, we eventually went back to the hotel, and I realised that, well, it was the day before Easter, uh, duh, that would be why people had BASKETS. I then read up on it and found out that people bring the baskets to be blessed by the priest--the market is outside the front doors of a large cathedral. Mystery solved!
Curiosity was now killing me, so I broke open one of the bread rolls. Which turned out not to be bread at all, but a large-ish smoked cheese. I had just bought two somewhat large smoked cheeses. Michael, of course, nearly soiled himself laughing. He seemed to think that nobody else on the planet could ever possibly buy cheese thinking it was bread. This was most uncharitable of him, as I would bet this sort of thing happens to people ALLTHE TIME.
SUNDAY:
On Easter, the entire country of Poland shuts down. We eventually decidedto go to the Jewish neighborhood, reasoning that things there wouldn't close on Easter. We were right. I won't write anything about that, because it was rather emotional. Suffice it to say that there were over 60,000 Jewish people in Krakow prior to WWII, and now there are maybe 150.
At any rate, you know how they say that your odds of dying in the taxi on the way to the airport are higher than being killed in a plane crash? I never really believed that until I went to Poland. This is as much as needs to be said about my return to the airport the next morning. Also, at 6 am, you cannot find a cup of coffee in Krakow to save your life. You can, however, purchase vodka in large quantities. This is Poland.
The pilot almost crashed the plane into another plane on the way back, but other than that, things were all right, and I made it home in one piece.
The next morning at work, I gave the pate and/or catfood to the aforementioned coworker.
Later that evening, I received a text message:
Glen: Were you aware that that stuff you gave me in the little pot was pate made from baby chicks?
Me: ACK! ACK! Are you serious?!
Glen: Yes, that cute little chick pic on it wasn't just a logo.
I told this story to my sister on the telephone, and said, "I am so horrified! Who eats baby chicks, for heaven's sake?!" to which she replied,"Uh, evidently, YOU do."
So that was my birthday weekend. On the actual day, Michael threw me asurprise party, and, among other things, adopted the pygmy hippos at the zoo for me. (Because they have been showing pictures of baby hippos in the news and I keep saying that I wish *I* had a baby hippo.)
Not so bad, I must say.
SO!
More on the Polish holiday.
I decided that I wanted to go somewhere for my birthday, so I started pricing little weekend packages. Then I realised that my birthday was the Wednesday after Easter, which meant that if I went over Easter, I'd have a four-day weekend without having to take any time off!
Yay!
The bad news was that EVERYONE had a four-day weekend, and so most places would be tourist hell. "Most places," meaning "most places people would want to travel," meaning "most sunny places."
This is how I ended up choosing Poland.
Who goes to Poland for Easter?
Well, me. But hardly anyone else.
So I booked this weekend trip, and they kept messing up my reservations. First, they booked the flight to Krakow and a hotel in Prague. Uh..? Then I got that sorted out, and the inbound flight was cancelled, etc. etc.
My final phone call to the travel agent went something like this:
Me: So you're absolutely sure that these flight vouchers will be accepted by the airlines, even though they have entirely different times and dates on them?
TA: Yes, absolutely sure. They'll just look at the confirmation number.
Me: Okay. So can you just double-check to make sure that we are now booked into the Chopin Hotel in Krakow? I was supposed to get a confirmation slip in the mail, but one hasn't arrived.
TA: No, it looks like you're booked into the Choppin' Hotel. Do you want me to...?
Me: No, no, that's fine.
hee!
The trip turned out to be really good. Most of my photos, which will be online soon, I promise, were of funny signs and menus. Favorite item off of the hotel menu: Tubes of Calmar's farce in a sweat and sour sauce. I still have no idea what this means.
So.
FRIDAY/SATURDAY:
We caught a taxi from the airport. Five minutes into the journey, the driver turned around and said, "Sprechen sie Deutsches?" and when I said no, he said, "Are you going to Auschwitz tomorrow?"
!
Five minutes in the country, and people are already speaking German to me and trying to send me to a concentration camp.
Anyway, neither of us speaks Polish. My father taught me how to say one sentence: Give me a kiss. This is not a sentence that you want to be saying to complete strangers on a daily basis. So, really, this isn't a great deal of help.
But, you know, half of the fun of being in a foreign country is trying new things; specifically, Foreign Snacks. So, for example, I went to the breakfast buffet at the hotel, and when I got to the part where there were little butter packets and things, I took four or five little packets that I didn't understand, and brought them back to the table. It was like a little Christmas. Oooo, I wonder--is it jam? Relish?
The honey was nice, but there was this one little container that had what was either some kind of pate or cat food. I ate it, and then spent the rest of my time wondering which I had eaten, and whether others were secretly mocking me. But I had a cunning plan: I would bring back a container of it, and give it to a friend of mine whose wife speaks Polish. Then, I could find out what it was.
Later, we went to the market. Everyone there had baskets full of lace, what looked like willow branches, and food items. Baskets! Why?! I didn't know. But I felt strongly that *I* needed a basket. I mean, what if I found myself in a cathedral somewhere, and everyone else got out their baskets, and suddenly I knew that you were supposed to have a basket right then, and I didn't have one?! A wicker-based faux pas of epic proportions! The world as we know it might come to an end.
So I finally found a woman who was wandering through the market and buying things with which to assemble a basket. So I followed her, and got the same things she did.
After I had the basket, branches, and lacy bits, it was time to put food items in it. I saw other people had bread rolls, so I went off to find some bread rolls. Success! There was a stall selling rolls. I went, and gestured that I wanted two. Somehow, these two small rolls came to 24 zlotys, which is somewhere in the neighborhood of $6. This seemed a bit excessive, since everything else was amazingly cheap, but I paid it, and then Michael mocked me for being a sucker. The conversation went something like this:
Michael: They're back there right now laughing at you. Stupid tourist. She spent all that money on these little rolls. Ha ha.
Me: Well, what was I supposed to do?! [thoughtful pause] You know, they're awfully heavy. I wonder if they're stuffed with something. [picks them upand smells them] You know, they kind of smell like smoked salmon.
Michael: Well, if they *are* stuffed with smoked salmon, that would certainly explain the price.
So anyway, we eventually went back to the hotel, and I realised that, well, it was the day before Easter, uh, duh, that would be why people had BASKETS. I then read up on it and found out that people bring the baskets to be blessed by the priest--the market is outside the front doors of a large cathedral. Mystery solved!
Curiosity was now killing me, so I broke open one of the bread rolls. Which turned out not to be bread at all, but a large-ish smoked cheese. I had just bought two somewhat large smoked cheeses. Michael, of course, nearly soiled himself laughing. He seemed to think that nobody else on the planet could ever possibly buy cheese thinking it was bread. This was most uncharitable of him, as I would bet this sort of thing happens to people ALLTHE TIME.
SUNDAY:
On Easter, the entire country of Poland shuts down. We eventually decidedto go to the Jewish neighborhood, reasoning that things there wouldn't close on Easter. We were right. I won't write anything about that, because it was rather emotional. Suffice it to say that there were over 60,000 Jewish people in Krakow prior to WWII, and now there are maybe 150.
At any rate, you know how they say that your odds of dying in the taxi on the way to the airport are higher than being killed in a plane crash? I never really believed that until I went to Poland. This is as much as needs to be said about my return to the airport the next morning. Also, at 6 am, you cannot find a cup of coffee in Krakow to save your life. You can, however, purchase vodka in large quantities. This is Poland.
The pilot almost crashed the plane into another plane on the way back, but other than that, things were all right, and I made it home in one piece.
The next morning at work, I gave the pate and/or catfood to the aforementioned coworker.
Later that evening, I received a text message:
Glen: Were you aware that that stuff you gave me in the little pot was pate made from baby chicks?
Me: ACK! ACK! Are you serious?!
Glen: Yes, that cute little chick pic on it wasn't just a logo.
I told this story to my sister on the telephone, and said, "I am so horrified! Who eats baby chicks, for heaven's sake?!" to which she replied,"Uh, evidently, YOU do."
So that was my birthday weekend. On the actual day, Michael threw me asurprise party, and, among other things, adopted the pygmy hippos at the zoo for me. (Because they have been showing pictures of baby hippos in the news and I keep saying that I wish *I* had a baby hippo.)
Not so bad, I must say.
posted by Simone @ 9:22 AM
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