Matching Tracksuits

Month: May 2005

Three Random June Thoughts

Tuesday 31 May 2005

One

June is finally here — the month of our return. After four years in Poland, I’m moving back to America. After twenty-some years in Poland, Kinga is moving to America. Big transitions for both of us.

“You’re more European now,” she said last night, not commenting though on what I’m more European than. I suppose than I was. She mentioned the almost cliche change some Muslim men exhibit when, after marriage and returning home with their new wife, they suddenly revert to ultra Islam and become a new person — much to the bride’s dismay. I suppose that’s what she meant — more European than American, and her concern was about me becoming a fast-food bubba.

Two

In the process of packing, I found the old photos I’d taken before coming to Poland the first time, almost ten years ago now.

They were intended to be spare identification photos, though I doubt they’d suffice. Looking at them, I’m shocked at how much I’ve changed and how little I’ve realized that. I look in the mirror every day, after all, and so the changes — receding hairline, more mature eyes, lack of the scars of adolescence — slipped by me. I imagine that’s how it’ll be with Kinga as time passes. “What will she look like when she’s forty?” I ask myself, knowing the answer will still be “beautiful.” But it’s hard to imagine the marks time will make, and now I see it’s doubtful I’ll even notice until I look at our wedding album.

Three

Back to America. I haven’t been to the States in three years — too-busy summers and a lack of money will do that to you. “Reverse culture shock” is something you hear about from time to time, and I’m wondering if it’s hovering there, a few weeks in the future. When I went back for the first time in 1998, after two years in Poland, the difference was profound. The quality of roads was something I’d totally forgotten about, so used to bumping along I’d become. The ability to understand almost everyone around me without trying felt almost like a dirty secret. “Do they realize I understand everything they’re saying?”

But most shocking was the choice — fifty-seven varieties of everything. The entire row of paper products (paper towels, napkins, etc.) at Super Wal-Mart literally stopped me mid-stride. Channel after channel on the television, all in English. Restaurants for every conceivable palate and wallet.

And so I know the feeling of “My oh my” that awaits Kinga.

Complain

Monday 30 May 2005

It seems all I do is complain about Poland lately. But the truth is, I’m not the only one.

Many people here feel that the country is in bad shape, due primarily to corruption, and only getting worse.

There are so many wonderful things about this country — it’s a shame that the most visible thing for me and many is the negative.

Health Care in Poland

Monday 30 May 2005

is a joke.

To begin with, there’s no private insurance to speak of because its’ too expensive. Insurance in general is expensive here. Almost no one here has his car insured against theft. Considering the fact that an inexpensive new car would cost me twenty months’ of my salary, that’s ridiculous.

There is free public health care for everyone, but that’s only in theory. In practice, a lack of physicians and a lack of motivation (i.e., low salary) on the part of practicing physicians mean long waits for appointments (a matter of months sometimes) and ineffective services.

When you visit a doctor in a public clinic in Poland, you probably won’t be asked many questions. The doctor will get his pittance no matter how well he serves you, so he’d just as soon send you on your way so he can get through the multitude of patients he has for the day. A cursory glance, a question or two, and then whip out the prescription pad.

Not only that, but supplies are non-existent. You have to go buy your own anti-toxin, for example, if you step on a nail. If you’re coming in for an extended stay in the hospital (i.e., to give birth), you have bring your own toilet paper. And so on.

So public health care is dismal. If you want to get better, you go to a private clinic — and pay.

Personal case in point: I had throat problems a couple of years ago. Several visits to laryngologist working at the public hospital produced few results. One visit to a private laryngologist all but solved the problem. The difference: she didn’t just jot down a prescription after a cursory glance at my throat. She performed a detailed examination, with lots of questions, then provided not just a prescription, but a regimen for throat care.

The problem is pay — or lack thereof. Doctors are flooding out of Poland, mainly to Scandinavia.

The Shot

Sunday 29 May 2005

Kinga stepped on a rusty nail Saturday. Never mind how — that’s a story in and of itself.

This is not the story of the rusty nail, but of getting the tetanus shot.

We went to the local health clinic, only to find that they didn’t have any anti-toxin for tetanus shots. “You’ll have to go to Nowy Targ,” which is about thirty minutes away.

We got to the hospital in Nowy Targ, got Kinga registered, and waited. Within a few moments, someone took Kinga back to some room. In the meantime, I wandered about the waiting room, reading this and that. There was an article in the local paper, enlarged to the point of exaggeration, which reported that the Nowy Targ hospital had been ranked in the top 100 in Poland — number 69 to be exact. I scanned the article — boring — and then sat back down.

Kinga emerged a few minutes later rubbing her arm and holding a slip of paper.

“That was fast,” I thought. “Kudos to the NT hospital for fast service.”

“We have to go to the pharmacy,” she said.

“What for?” I asked.

“They don’t have anti-toxin either. I have to buy it myself.”

Survival Mode

Tuesday 24 May 2005

And out of the blue yesterday, a tolerable lesson with The Class. What makes them tick? I have no idea. Such a strange group of kids. Monday was living hell; yesterday was survivable, even decent. But still, the same old folks were up to the same old game – gap speaking activity turned into a copy-your-partner’s-worksheet activity. And of course the usual suspects didn’t come to class with anymaterials whatsoever, then use that as an excuse to sit and draw all lesson.

I’ve finally realized with that class that I simply can’t make them learn, and so I concentrate now on the five to seven students (depending on their moods) who want to learn, with the four hardest-working students (and therefore, best behaved) at the front of the room. I talk to them, and glance at the others from time to time, in case someone there gives a crap. Most of them don’t, it seems.

The other day, I all but told them this. I said that I really didn’t care whether they care anymore, and that I’m going to put all my attention on those who in turn pay attention. “Tak jest,” said the best student – a young man who has, I believe, one B (a 4 in the Polish system) this semester.

I worry this might be self-defeating in the long run, and not a very good classroom management method. Still, I’ve got about three weeks of school left, and I’m just in survival mode with them now.

Babia Gora

Thursday 19 May 2005

Kinga and I decided one of the last things we wanted to do before leaving for the States was to take a trip around the most prominent geographical feature of this area: Babia Góra, roughly translated “Lady’s Mountain.”

The Views

Babia known as “Królowej Beskidów” (“Queen of the Beskidy”), and is the highest mountain (1,724.6 meters above sea level – 5,658.4 feet) in the Beskidy mountain range, which is in turn seen as a part of the Carpathian Mountains (Wikipedia: Babia Góra||Beskidy).

Babia is an odd mountain, in that it looks radically different from different locations.

I see it daily from the south, and it’s a claim, motherly looking mountain that looks peaceful and wise. From the north, though, it’s almost violent looking and feels more like the Tatra range further to the south.

North face of Babia

Living in Lipnica so long, I’ve been to Babia many times, though due to a persistent knee injury, I’ve never made it to the top.

Our route took us around the eastern edge of Babia to Zawoja, then north to Sucha Beskidzka.

Nie wiem jak to siÄ™ stało, że jeszcze nie objechaliÅ›my Babiej dookoła. Już trzeci sezon jeździmy, mieszkamy u stóp Babiej i jak do tej pory nie wpadliÅ›y na to. Być może dlatego, że te drogi sÄ… nam znane, zbyt oczywiste. Ale okazuje siÄ™, że druga strona Babiej Góry to istny raj dla nas i gdybyÅ›my zostawali dlużej to na pewno wybralibyÅ›my siÄ™ jeszcze raz nieco innÄ… drogÄ…. Z Zawoii jest kilka ciekawych skrótów w kierunku Koszarowej i JeleÅ›ni. MyÅ›my pojechali przez SuchÄ…, chcieliÅ›y zobaczyć zamek. Od momentu jak zaczÄ™liÅ›y robić modernizacjÄ™ ewidencji w Raciborzu to co jakiÅ› czas tamtÄ™ty przejeżdżałam i miałam ochotÄ™ zobaczyć co też oni tam majÄ… za zamek w tej Suchej.

A Babia od Zawoi wyglÄ…da inaczej, rzeczywiÅ›cie groźniej, szczególnie teraz jak jeszcze leży na niej Å›nieg. Widok od Orawy jest dla mnie bardzo uspakajajÄ…cy, taka nasza Babia siedzi sobie i obejmuje OrawÄ™ od Lipnicy WIelkiej aż po ZubrzycÄ™.

-ation

Thursday 19 May 2005

I did a lesson on word formation with a group of juniors today. We worked on turning nouns to adjectives (i.e., beauty to beautify) verbs to nouns (i.e., improve to improvement), and then I stunned them with the news that they were going to learn more than a thousand new words during the lesson.

It’s an easy lingustic trick, really. Words that end in “-ation” in English usually are virtually identical in Polish, only with an “-acja” (pronounced “aat-see-ya”) suffix, or a variation.

  • “revolution” is “rewolucja”
  • “inflation” is “inflacja”
  • “distribution” is “dystrybucja”

I don’t think I need to elaborate on what word young Rafał blurted out in class…

The Balance?

Tuesday 17 May 2005

At Google’s news site, the top two headlines currently:

  • Newsweek Retracts Koran Desecration Story
  • Soldier Is Found Guilty in Abu Ghraib Abuse

Nice balance.

Tatical Nuclear Theater Ticket Stike

Thursday 12 May 2005

In Moscow, Putin angered Poland. How? By failing to mention Poland’s tragic victimhood in the Second World War. Poles were infuriated. But the president of the republic said nothing — he was a perfect politician.

In cafes and bars, plans for a strategic nuclear strike were drawn up and then abandoned with the realization that Poland doesn’t have nukes. The thought of using the forty-eight F-16 fighters in a mass attack was also abandoned because, well, they haven’t been delivered yet, and the fighter is rather ill-suited for bombing runs.

In the end, Poles did what they could – the one voice of protest and ill-will Poles could manage: they gave back their theater tickets. In Warsaw, a Russian dance troupe was scheduled to perform. Virtually all the tickets were returned.

Counter-strike, thought Putin. Now, instead of coming to Poland for a ceremony celebrating the end of the Second World War, he’s sending the a henchman.

Russia’s actions are widely seen here as a gigantic, Slavic middle finger extended in Poland’s general direction. I’ve wondered what the Russian interpretation of all this is, but since I don’t know Russian, I’m left imagining. The old master-and-servant mentality? Colony and colonizer? I don’t know.

Covering

Wednesday 11 May 2005

I’ve been working on my cover letter for my teaching resume. I haven’t written a cover letter in five years or so — it’s rusty, to say the least.

In a cover letter, you’re selling yourself. Hire me! Here’s why!

I’ve felt comfortable being a salesman. I once spent a summer trying to sell cutlery door-to-door. Vacuum cleaners would probably be an easier sale, but certainly knives are easier to sell than encyclopedias or religion.

Selling anything door-to-door is a hassle. It’s an intrusion.

I was a waiter for a few months in 1996. A customer offered me a job selling mobile homes because I’d convinced him to buy a dessert. I twisted his arm and shoved his face into a pile of whipped cream — that’s how I did it. I’m not sure such a tactic would work with mobile homes.

Never did find out if I’d have had to sell the tires to go on the roof as well.

Still, being a waiter is easier than selling religion or vacuums door-to-door. The customer comes to you. The customer says, “Sell me something! Take my money!” Door-to-door means, “Excuse me. I’d like to take up your time now — I know you’re probably busy, but screw that — and sell you something. Why, you’ve probably already got knives, a vacuum, and a faith, but mine’s better.”

Two girls once came to my door to sell me religion. It was in Boston, July 2002, when I’d gone back to spend the summer in the States. I’d been trying unsuccessfully to sell myself, but I couldn’t do it — I was still unemployed. It was hot and humid, and I just didn’t feel like dealing with Mormons at that hour in that heat (the apartment didn’t have air conditioning) and without a second cup of coffee. And really — who could have more coffee when it’s so hot? Sweat dripping off your nose into the French roast isn’t appealing. So I told the girls I wasn’t interested, even though I was. No, I didn’t want to convert, but a game of dogma-chess is always fun. Well, they were Mormons — dogma-tic-tac-toe.

So here I am, trying to sell myself without making it look like I’m trying to sell myself, even though every administrator who reads my cover letter is shopping for a teacher and knows that I’m trying to sell myself.

Slovakian

Tuesday 10 May 2005

Kinga and I recently took a three-day bike trip to Slovakia.Getting to Liptovsky Mikulas required riding over the Tatra Mountains. We could have gone around the western tip of them, but we decided that, having gone that way to Budapest, we’d rather see some different views.
And that we did. The weather was mercifully cloudy, but a bit windy at times, making the trip over the mountain (according to roadsides, a 12% grade) all the more difficult. Why is it that the wind is always a headwind when you really need a tailwind?
Wyjechaslimy z Jabłonki o dziewiÄ…tej rano. Pierwszy odcinek do Podbiela przez OrawÄ™ nie sprawił nam żadnych trudnoÅ›ci. Ale od zakrÄ™tu na Zuberec droga zaczyna siÄ™ piąć w górÄ™, najpierw nieznacznie ale na każdy kilometr trzeba było coraz ciężej pracować. 2 – 3 km za Zubercem zaczyna siÄ™ przeprawa przez Tatry Zachodnie – Rohacze. WiedzieliÅ›my, że czeka nas przeprawa przez góry ale nie zdawaliÅ›my sobie do koÅ„ca sprawy jak kiepska jest jeszcze nasza kondycja w tym sezonie. PrzebrnÄ™liÅ›my przez te Rohacze, wjechaliÅ›my na wysokość ponad 1100 m.n.p.m. ale to był koszmar. Niby tylko 7 km w górÄ™ ale spadek terenu ok 14%. Bardzo czÄ™sto siÄ™ zatrzymywaliÅ›my żeby odpocząć, usprawiedliwialiÅ›my siÄ™ piÄ™knymi widokami i Å›mialiÅ›my siÄ™ z braku kondycji. Ale muszÄ™ przyznać, że widoki sÄ… wspaniałe na tej trasie – polecam wszystkim rowerzystom. Za każdym zakrÄ™tem odsłania siÄ™ coÅ› innego. Najpierw obserwowaliÅ›my pozostawione w dole wioski, później widzieliÅ›my już tyko góry, coraz wyższe, coraz bardziej skaliste aż wreszcie najwyższe szczyty Rohaczy jeszcze oczywiÅ›cie zaÅ›nieżone. Jak wyjechaliÅ›my wreszcie na przełÄ™cz zobaczyliÅ›my już Niskie Tatry i LiptowskÄ… MarÄ™ – cel naszej podróży. Teraz czekała na nas wspaniała nagroda – około 7-8 km bez najmniejszego wysiłku, przynajmniej wysiłku nóg, bo okrutnie bolały mnie rÄ™ce od hamowania. Nie dało siÄ™ jechać zbyt szybko po tych serpentynach.
Of course, we saw some magnificent views.

Movin’

Monday 9 May 2005

In less than fifty days, Kinga and I are moving.

It’s not a cross-town move, probably the worst, because you are reasonably sure you can do it all yourself with a little help from a few friends. And so you rent a truck and put all your possessions in it and drive across town and unload it and then do it again.

And again. The what-to-ditch filter is not so incredibly fine, and you end up ditching precious little, and regretting it when it’s ten at night and you started before seven and you’re still not done.

It’s not a cross-country move. I’ve done that too. Well, sort of. My parents did half the work, because I was moving back from Poland to Boston. They brought most of my stuff up from Virginia, and so I guess they did the hard part.

No, Kinga and I are doing a trans-oceanic move. A continental move, which is both easier and more difficult than a cross-town move. What gets left behind is a much larger pile than what comes along.

Of course all the furniture stays.

Of course all the artwork should go, but – and here’s where it’s more difficult than a cross-town move – the possibility of damage necessitates tough decisions. We have two amazing glass paintings, one of which will stay due to its size of about thirty-six by twenty-four inches.

Of course most of the clothes go. But trans-oceanic moves also force you to clean out your closet. I’ve already ditched one pair of shoes. It was on a recent three-day bike trip to Slovakia. Instead of hauling the old, worn-out things back to Poland, I left them in the hostel, much to Kinga’s delight. Like many wives, she doesn’t appreciate old, comfortable shoes

Books occupy a curious place in the move – they’ll be packed up, but not all sent. Once we get a decent place to live, we’ll have them sent. Until then, most of them are staying in Poland.

Then there’s the question of computers, cameras, and other fragile electronics. And bikes – we have three.

Decisions, decisions.

Perhaps the most difficult part of it is the fact that a cross-state move awaits. My folks have been collecting furniture for us the last few months, so we’ll have to rent a truck, pack it up, and…