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Site Visit

Well, the site visit was a success. No surprises at all. I almost managed to keep the bike under wraps. Luigi took a look in my storage room after saying, “I’ve got to see this. May I?” The door was open for all of one second before he closed it and said, “Sorry! Sorry!” I assumed as long as Marcin was ignorant of the fact that all was well. Should anything happen he could rightfully and honestly say, “I didn’t know.” But as we were taking Danuta home – the final minutes! – she said, “Gary really likes riding his bike up here . . .” I could have killed her. Looking in the rearview mirror, Luigi asked, “Do you wear a helmet?” I told the truth: “Nie mam.” “Write that down!” he said to Marcin with a bit of a laugh. “The dictaphone is still on,” he replied. I asked if he’d had time to install the surveillance equipment – and the “ploy” worked, for the bike wasn’t mentioned again. Still, they now know . . . Still, nothing happened.

They both said my lesson was well done (as opposed to medium rare). What I liked best was that they said it is obvious that I enjoy teaching. Hopefully the students see that too. (I am sure many of them do.) Marcin also commented (and I concurred) that I’m very gentle with the students. “You don’t yell, but you get down with the students and talk very quietly, even whispering.” That’s what I want: I think the best (or one of) qualities a teacher can have is patience, which is exhibited by gentleness. I never want to yell at my students the way Barbara B. did on a few occasions. (I don’t even want to be openly hostile, though there is nothing wrong with anger – and showing it.)

All Saints

5:17 p.m.

I left my apartment around 4:30 and headed up to the cemetery to witness my first All Saints’ Day in Poland. I weaved my way through the maze of mud puddles that serve as my front yard and made it to the road, and suddenly it was if I was in Kraków instead of Lipnica. The street was filled with people, all leaving the cemetery as I made my way to the cemetery. I felt like the one Israelite who might have decided to turn back in the middle of the exodus. With my camera in hand and a bewildered look plastered across my face, I surely looked like a fool. But I didn’t care, for I was about to experience something I had heard about since arriving in Poland.

I made it to the graveyard and began wandering among the markers, making mental notes of all I saw. I watched families finish making a grave just so, arranging flowers and candles, speaking in whispers, then stand up, cross themselves, and walk away. I saw solitary babcias roaming about, their heads covered with the customary babcia scarf. They stopped in front of graves, hands laced together in front of them, their lips dancing as they muttered a prayer.

As I wandered about the hilltop cemetery, I was struck by a number of isolated, seemingly unconnected events. I saw a beautiful woman standing by a marker, not moving a muscle. I glanced at the grave: it indicated that the deceased died young, and only a couple of years ago. I looked at the woman’s face again and saw the immediate pain of a sudden, unexpected loss still in her eyes. It appeared that she still had not come to accept the death.

I walked on but stopped immediately when I saw a tombstone that haunted me: born, 1973. This girl was born only a few months after me, yet died years ago, I though. I shivered a bit. Maybe it was the wind; perhaps it was that I sensed my own mortality.

In one portion of the cemetery I noticed exceptionally small graves. Children, I realized as I approached. I walked among graves of infants and small children, and saw markers for children whose life was a single day. I tried to imagine what it must be like to lose a child. It certainly is something that is beyond all comprehension, for I could not begin to imagine having a child, let alone losing it.

Since I knew none of the names on the graves, I simply cast my eyes from one to another, looking more at the marker itself than anything: I saw many types in various states. Some were elaborate and ornate. Others were plain metal crosses. And I saw one simple cross of rough wood with no name. Some of the graves had settled unevenly and as a result one corner dipped farther into the earth.

And while all these observations seem only somewhat connected, I realize now that instead they all share in an intimate relationship. Just as all the people on that windy hilltop are acquainted with each other in various degrees (from intimate friends to total strangers), the people resting under the iron crosses and stone markers are acquainted with each other through the passing of life. It is life that brought everyone, whether no living or dead, together on this night, and all my various little observations were sewn into life.

One might imagine that standing in the midst of so much death would be depressing and upsetting. Instead, with the sound of hissing and popping candles and the people quietly paying their respects, it was astoundingly and beautifully peaceful. Regardless of my own doubts about God’s existence, it was a profoundly spiritual experience.

When I first got there I wanted to pull out my camera and immediately begin snapping pictures. Yet there was a sacred and profound peace enveloping everything, and I felt it would be decidedly inappropriate to turn people’s quiet moment of communion with the past into a photo opp for me.

Still, when I found myself sufficiently secluded, I would take a shot or two. As the sun set and the sky darkened, it became easier to move about inconspicuously (and the hilltop became more beautiful), so I took more and more photos.

More impressions: There were many graves for two people, obviously a husband and a wife. And there were quite a few of these that were occupied by only one person. How must that feel to visit the grave of your husband or wife and see beside it the space reserved for you? “If these people wanted,” I mused, “They could come and dance on their own graves.”

The ground was muddy and stuck in clumps to my shoes. I literally took part of the experience home with me.

It was amazing how much light a thousand candles can put off. The hill glowed and the two trees in the center of the cemetery reflected the light. I remember that the intensity of a light is measured in something called candlepower. This was true candle power.

I understand what my parents used to say when we went to funerals: “It’s not for the dead, but for the living.” Such is the case for graveyards, too. Being surrounded as I was by death, I was reminded that though I too will eventually die, right now I am alive. Right now I can still feel the wind and cold drizzle and worry about the candles’ safety in such elements. Right no I can slosh around in the mud, wandering among the graves. Right now I can feel the heat put off by so many candles. So this must by why (at least partially) we fence off areas of the earth to put the bodies of friends and family into the ground and mark the spot with a bit of granite, wood, or iron.

It is also a link to one’s own past. That is part of the reason I felt like such a tourist: I was not intimately connected with anyone buried there. And yet I could tell that the woman standing beside the grave of the 18-year-old wasn’t in the moment. She had soared back through time and was with that boy even though her body remained in the present. Cemeteries then are time machines.

9:36 p.m.
I just returned form the cemetery. Ela had said that there would be a lot of people there around 8:00. So I headed up there around half past, and she was right: many, many people there.

As I entered the graveyard, I heard a voice projected by a loudspeaker. Most people were turned toward the large cross that towers above all else. (It must be twenty to twenty-five feet hall.) The priest would say something, then everyone would reply in chant. At one point there was a kind of call and answer between the men and the women. Soon after that the priest said something and during the pause which followed, everyone moved in closer to the central cross. There was what I assumed to be a sermon. Then the chanting resumed. The women kept beginning their portion with (if I can remember the Polish), “Swieta Maria, matka Bozu . . . or “Holy Mary, Mother of God.” There was a bit more singing, then the crowd broke and filed (like in a pilgrimage) back down the hill.

I saw several of my students there. Rafał was lighting a candle behind me when I first arrived. I saw Magda (IIA) shortly after that. She asked me, “Why are you here?” followed by, “Do you know what this is?” After explaining that everyone was praying to the dead (or for the dead, that they might get into heaven; I’m not sure what she meant), she moved on with Agnieszka. I saw several of my primary school students too. And, not too surprisingly, Beata was there too. “Czesc Gary!” she said as she strode past me.

Right before I reached the road I heard someone call out my name. It was Marion. He and I talked briefly. I told him that it was the first time I’d seen such a thing. He told me that it had been a much smaller crowd last year. After a slight pause, he indicated that he had to return to the church and we parted company.

Now for some thoughts about the experience: first, I felt a little strange as I remained silent while everyone prayed and chanted. Of course I couldn’t very likely have joined them. Still I did feel a little out of place at times. It was also strange how many different entities they were praying to. It seems that they (Catholics) pray to almost everyone – saints, Mary, angels – everyone but God. Of course when the final prayer concluded, I was the only one not making a sign of the cross on my chest.

Standing there I marveled at the two-fold power represented by such a gathering. First there was the power of common belief that brought all those people together on this cold, rainy night. Second, there was the potential power of all those people acting together, working toward one goal. While there is no common ideology between tonight’s events and what happened in Germany sixty years ago, I couldn’t help but think that what happened in Nazi Germany exhibited both kinds of power as well. Nazis and lynch mobs are examples of what happens when such forces combine and produce evil; tonight’s sense of community was an example of what happens when such forces combine and produce good.

And there was a strong communal feeling at tonight’s gathering. It had a strange effect on me, for I was able to see briefly into the non-school, private lives of my students. For example, as I watched Rafał light a candle, place it on a grave, and stand silently and respectfully, I saw not the sometimes-arrogant, sometimes-disruptive kid from IIB. Instead I saw a young man quietly paying his respects (cliché?) to a presumed family member. Everyone gathered tonight not as students and teachers, shop owners and customers, but as people, as residents of a small village in southern Poland.

(It is raining heavily now. I wonder how many of the candles will die. There were many with covers, probably provided for such an event.)

Tonight provided a perfect example of the power of tradition in the Catholic Church. There were so many things done in the name of Christianity that were completely extra-Biblical. The declaration of the saints, the prayers to Mary, the crosses and the crossing of themselves, the whole celebration itself – all these things (and more, I’m sure) are done and expected in the effort to be a good Christian. And yet not a single one of those things has any Biblical precedence.

I didn’t see Robin or any of the folks from the Haven tonight. I hope they came down to see tonight’s celebration. It would be a shame to be in Poland on All Saints’ Day and not go to a graveyard to see all the candles.

I accomplished nothing today. I was going to devote some time to serious study of Polish. Yet I did nothing. Of course I did experience a truly wondrous afternoon and evening. Perhaps that makes up for it

I’m going to return one last time . . . until next year anyway.

Morning Thoughts

Another new month in Poland. Five months ago I was getting up, the beginning of the first day of this whole adventure. As I lay in bed this morning, far from that bed back home, I realized the first sensation I felt that morning was the usual frustration of having to get out of bed still tired: “Why can’t I just go back to sleep?” Yet that morning it was so different because by going back to sleep I could have escaped (or at least forgotten about) the anxiety that gripped me like a vice as I realized, “The day has finally arrived . . .”

Of course then there was the hellish ride to the airport. I remember two things about that trip: First, I ate sausage biscuits and had a huge glass of milk, realizing it was probably the last time I’d have such a combination. Second, I remember that we took the van, and as might be expected, it started “acting up.” I honestly didn’t care whether it broke down. Perhaps I even secretly wished it would. Other than that, I really don’t remember anything about that trip.

I was in a daze at the airport. Standing in line to check my bags, I just stood there in a numb haze. I didn’t know what to say. What does one say to the three most important people in his life in the waning moments before such a drastic and complete separation? So I just stood there, inching my bags forward.

It’s such a strange thing to be thinking of those painful, wretched moments now, when they are so far away. I am for the most part content now. It was a storm to be weathered, that’s all.

One thing I’ve been thinking of lately is how difficult it will be to leave this place. I am already so attached to many of my students; after teaching them for two years, it will be a hellish time when I say goodbye. I can understand why leaving PC is more difficult than leaving home. When you leave home for the PC, there is a virtual certainty of eventual return; when I leave LW there will be no guarantee that I’ll ever come back. I knew I’d see my parents and Chhavi again at some point; when I leave here I might never again see these people whom I now see on a daily basis.

Saturday Routine

I made a trip to Nowy Targ today: rewarding and disappointing at the same time. I was going to see a movie, but I didn’t know how I would get back to Lipnica from Jabłonka (little did I know there was a bus that would have done the trick). Charles wasn’t in town. He went to Zakopane with Sue R. and the Tippets. (That is virtual confirmation that it was Kevin that tried to call.) Yet while I was alone all day and unable to see a movie, it was a good day: I bought a lot of food. I even found broccoli. (I made Ramen noodles with broccoli and some mushrooms – not bad at all.) I got some cappucino, too. It’ll be like being back and Radom, except Piotr won’t knock on the door, “Excuse me . . .”

So it’s another Saturday night and I am wondering whether I should go to the disco or not. It would be good to get out, yet the prospect of encountering my students in a social setting doesn’t thrill me. (There’s a good argument for a drinking age, no?) To be sure, I do not want to encourage anything along those lines. I have decided for the most part that I will stay here unless someone comes and invites me. Even then I don’t know that I would go.

I was thinking about money (of all things, huh?) last night. Money, in theory, is merely proof that one has contributed to society in some way, and therefore s/he is deserving something in return. Theft and unearned, “old” family money shoots this theory full of wholes in reality, though. Still, it is the basis of capitalism: You only deserve bread if you’ve helped someone in some manner. I would explore this some more, but money is of very little interest ot me.

Riding and Hiking

Seven lessons, a bike ride to the top of Lipnica, then a hike up Babia – any wonder I’m tired? I am actually well beyond that. I was mentally exhausted before I left for Babia; now I’m just a little numb all over. I’m even having trouble putting the day in order.

Classes went fine today. It was a huge day, but I survived. Around March I will be hating Tuesdays with a totally overwhelming passion. I even managed to make it through IIB. I think they really dislike me by this time. Such is life – I’ve only got to deal with them twice a week.

The trip up Babia was exhausting but well worth the effort. There were about four different terrains on the way up. First, a well-logged and rather sparse pine forest. Then we followed a creek for a while, and it really had an Abbram’s Fall feel. Then it just headed straight up the mountain, like going to Skagg’s Gap. Finally, the forest broke to low shrubs with occasional pine trees no more than twenty feet tall. We didn’t make it to the top, though. We probably had another twenty to thirty minutes to get there. Next time, maybe.

Closing thoughts: From a couple of vantage points I could see the Tatra Mountains in the distance. They jut up from the plains like the Rockies: suddenly and almost unexpectedly. They are not smooth and pristine (like Babia) – they are ragged and haphazard, with sharp peaks. A mist/haze obscured the view a little bit, but Roy said it was about as clear as he’d ever seen it. It was a magnificent site.

Hours and Worries

More rain–two days of good weather are history. This morning I saw the grey sky and thought, “Good, back to normal.” After all, who wants sun? Who needs a bright day? This is just another new things I must get used to, I guess.

I had a word with the headmistress of the primary school. I went in with the intention of dropping my hours in classes V and VI. As might be expected, things got a little more grey than I was hoping for. Here is the situation: The Minister of Education requires eight hours of English in classes V-VIII. Because of the current situation, the Ministry has said that only four will do for now. I took those hours but now am having second thoughts, particularly about V and VI (see 16 September entry). So I talked to Pani Dyrektor about this and here is a summary of the outcome:

Those two hours (V & VI) would have to be picked up by someone, namely Danuta. It is not acceptable for VII and VIII to have English and V and VI not to have it. So if I drop those hours and Danuta doesn’t pick them up, the whole English program would have to be dropped and replaced with Russian. Never mind that there is no one here to teach Russian; rules are rules.

Now Danuta cannot possibly pick up those hours: She’s already teaching five more than she agreed to. With her studies it is impossible. Danuta assures me, though, that Frank will insist that she take those two hours. And if she refuses she could be fired.

That would make for an interesting situation. Instead of needing one teacher they would need two; instead of lacking two hours, they would lack twenty-five. Additionally, if Danuta left I would have to change sites because I must have a counterpart teacher–Dierdre already had to change sites because of a similar problem. So they would have to find three English teachers and they would lack forty-seven hours of English.

I made the decision to continue on the current plan until December. I didn’t want to drop this whole load on them at once, so I’m giving them time to intensify their search for a teacher. (Considering that my light still isn’t fixed, I doubt they’ll meet with much success.)

I hate the way this is turning into a power struggle. If I unload the preceding bomb (and that’s really what it is) on Frank, I risk angering him, for it has the feel of (maybe genuinely is) a power play. I don’t want to anger him so early–I need all the friends I can get at this point.

What I am afraid of is that once these four hours (only two really–I’ll continue with VII and VIII) are covered, the hunt for a teacher will not be as much of a priority. This is only a temporary fix; those lacking two hours should serve to stoke their efforts, to increase the sense of urgency. “Well, we do have Gary and ____ covering those four hours now . . .”

This whole thing is turning into a nightmare. I fear that once I drop these two hours Danuta will be pressured to take these to hours, and she will cave to the demands. “Can’t you live with this? Can’t you solve this problem instead of running away from it? Isn’t that part of the reason I joined PC to begin with?” I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll survive–we’ll survive. It’s just the method of survival seems so vague–cloudy, like the typical sky here.

Going Out?

The workers who have been doing mysterious things to our building have now made it to the front. This means one can stand on the scaffolding and look into my bathroom. It is a disconcerting thing to say the very least. I’ve hung my two towels on the clothes line in the hopes of providing some privacy.

I am scheduled to go out for a beer with Roy tonight. I kind of doubt anything will come of it, but we’ll see. If he doesn’t come, will I manage to go by myself? Or am I too big a coward?