matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

Gdzie byłeś?

Tuesday 14 January 1997

I had a wonderful afternoon. To begin with, I repeated my performance in IIB. I walked out feeling that I had taught them a little, and I left (most importantly) with my sanity.

It was glorious and so very sunny this afternoon, so I took my camera and a roll of twenty-four and went for a walk, talking all twenty-four pictures in the process. I took a shot of chickens that I can’t wait to see, as well as one of a little boy struggling to sky.

I encountered Adam M. from VI as I was heading home. Gdzie byłeś? he asked, and I noticed that he had used the familiar voice. That I noticed was a little surprising. And once I realized it, I didn’t know what to do. “Pan” is more appropriate in the classroom, but I am pleased that he felt comfortable enough with me to use the familiar form. I knew he wasn’t testing me to see my reaction (like someone from II might); he probably did it without thinking.

The other day–yesterday, I guess–Danuta made an interesting request. “Make them take off their coats in IIB,” she asked.

I asked her why.

“Because it looks stupid!” she replied, as if that was the obvious answer.

I told her, “Look, I don’t care if they look stupid or not.”

“Well, you’re responsible for how the class and classroom look, and if the director comes in and sees it like that, he’ll talk to you about it.”

It is just that kind of arbitrary exercise of power (abuse, rather than exercise) that pisses kids off, and rightfully so. I don’t care what the kids look like; it’s not my concern as long as it’s not disrupting the class.

“They don’t think about the lesson when they have their coats on,” she contended, as if taking their coats off would be a magic switch that gets their minds on the lesson. if they’re thinking about going home with their coats on, they’ll be thinking about going home while not wearing their coats. It’s a trivial matter, and it is only disruptive if you let it be.

This is another illustration of the fact that Danuta wants only their undivided attention. She is never going to get it, and neither is any other teacher. The only thing she can do is accept that and work within that limitation. No teacher ever has the attention of the whole class; Danuta is just really sensitive concerning IIB

24

Monday 13 January 1997

First Birthday in Poland

People have been giving me birthday presents all day. First, IA gave me a stuffed mouse, some cologne, and a rose. Then IB gave me a hug stuffed elephant and a generous bunch of flowers. Danuta gave me a wonderful box of candy and a hug. Kinga came over with a plant, some chocolate, and a bag of potato chips. When it was all said and done, I was left bewildered that so many took the time out of their day to be so generous.

I hope I can remember this when I get down on this whole thing. It shows that I am making a difference, or at least I choose to view it as such. They at least like me . . . and that goes a long way in making learning a more enjoyable process.

The phone adventures continue: I have to pay 400 zł by Wednesday if I want my phone turned on. This is ridiculous. No one ever said a single word about this. What is so ridiculous is that this money is payment in advance for telephone use. So I don’t even have a working phone and yet I have a 400 zł phone bill. I don’t have the money, and I won’t have it for a while. It’s glupi.

C told me the nature of Mark Ahlseen’s response: “You are confusing economics and ethics.” This is a ridiculous and in fact impossible categorization. One cannot say that ethics and science or ethics and economics are different categories. Ethics is present in all aspects of life, and to deny this is silly.

In defense of my position, I offer the following example: Hitler is a business man with a belief that Jews are ruining his business. He forms an organization–no, this is not what I want to say. I’ll try again.

Suppose that Hitler had incorporated the Nazi party. Now its only responsibility (according to Ahlseen’s line of thinking) is to make money. Determining that the Jews are a liability to this one responsibility, Nazi Inc. decides to take active measures to increase its shareholders’ profits by eliminating Jews. But we cannot make a moral judgment because this would be mixing business and ethics.

Now this is a ridiculous and far-fetched example, but no doubt you made a moral judgment concerning this. In this exceptional case, as it is so very far-fetched, you mixed ethics and economics. My point is simple: How do you know when an example/situation is too far fetched. How do you decide when it is a–oh, this isn’t working either.

The point I shall try to make is simple: One cannot compartmentalize life so simply. To try to remove all ethical consideration from something, to say, “This is economics, not ethics,” is to run a great risk. This renders abortion immune to moral consideration because it is a matter of medicine, not ethics. The linguist who wants to see where language comes from by isolating infants from human contact to see if they develop their own language is free from moral judgment because this is a matter of linguistics, not ethics. The biologist who wants to experiment on fertilized human eggs can do so with no thought [to] whether it is right or wrong because, after all, it’s a matter of reproductive biology, not ethics.

Ethics is not an isolated science which only Dr. Rohr has any knowledge about. While Dr. Moyer might have a highly elevated knowledge of biology when compared to the average King student, Dr. Rohr on a practical level is just the same as everyone concerning ethics. He knows a great deal about the theory of ethics, but not any more about the practice of ethics. Okay, this hit a wall too.

Ethics is not a science in the same way economics or biology is. While not everyone can understand or carry out complex microbiological experiments or analyze the insurance market in Austria to make predictions for the next year, everyone practices ethics. This is because ethics is simply the process of deciding what is right and wrong. Ethical theories, whether prescriptive or descriptive, are simply attempts to define clearly this process.

We make ethical decisions all the time. Some are minor (“Do I flip that guy off for cutting me off?”); some are major (“Should I have this abortion?”) but we are making them daily. In fact, I would argue that when we act we have already decided (except in moments of irrational haste) that our action is right, thereby engaging in an ethical consideration. When the businessman decides to build a factory in Guatamal, he as already decided it is morally acceptable. (He might not have given it much conscious thought, but it is a moral decision. when we act, we do so under the assumption that we are in the right. To do otherwise is literally unconsciously.

I am tired of this. When the time comes, I will respond . . .

While not everyone is a microbiologist, we are all ethical philosophers on a daily basis.

“Corporations’ only responsibility is to make money.” This premise operates under the faulty assumption that corporations are autonomous entities, which they are not. They are groups of people operating with a common goal, and therefore they can be held accountable for their decisions and actions. If not, it’s a good thing that Stalin, Hitler, and Karadzic were leaders of political parties instead of [corporate executive officers].

My response will run something like that. I anticipate his argument to consist of those two pointless: ethics and economics are two different things, and corporations only have to make money. So I must show that it is impossible to remove the thread of ethics rom live, and that corporations . . .

People have responsibilities (moral obligations), corporations don’t. If people and corporations are the same thing, then corporations do not have moral obligations. but this must mean corporations are not people . . .

Oh, give it a rest for now . . .

Thoughts on the Seasons

Friday 10 January 1997

It is now the middle of winter, and though we have already passed the winter solstice and the days are growing, the bulk of winter lies before us. Spring is at least three months away.

One thing about winter that I have noticed here is the relative lack of natural sounds. The snow makes no sound as it piles up. (It is amusing to imagine what it would sound like if flakes made metallic sounds, like jingling keys, when they hit each other. Winter would be cacophony.) Of course there is the squeak and crunch of snow as one plods along, but even that is man-made. Nature seems to take a symphonic rest during winter. It is undoubtedly resting for the upcoming program: rain and birds in the spring and summer, and rustling leaves in the [autumn]. There is the trickle of melted snow forming streams and ponds, and the moan and creak of the ice layer the stream as it begins to flow again. Late summer will bring fabulous thunderstorms (Mam nadziela) that will keep me up at night. (And perhaps I’ll be able to capture it on film this time.)

In the meantime, all I can do is appreciate the quiet beauty of winter. And it is spectacular. In Bristol snow never stays on the ground for longer than ten days (which would be exceptionally long). There might be spots of snow in heavily shaded areas, but not the continual blanket of Lipnica. The temperature is consistently below zero, so old snow remains as a foundation for the occasional flurries. Yet despite the amount of snow on the ground, it really hasn’t snowed that frequently. The bulk of the snow now on the ground is from two heavy snow falls, and it hasn’t done much more than flurry since then.

Change in Plans

Tuesday 07 January 1997

I had the most successful and least stressful lesson with IIB today. I introduced present continuous and basically took no nonsense from them. I lectured in an even, slow voice, writing things on the board and asking no questions. Instead of involving the students in the presentation (i.e. asking questions that lead them to “discover” the point I’m trying to make), I told them, “This is the present continuous tense. This is how we form it. This is when we use it. This is how it differs from present simple . . .” I gave them a worksheet, basically saying, “Screw student-to-student interactive practice.” They do not handle even the slightest freedom well, so I held the reins the whole forty-five minutes. And the damnedest thing happened: They asked questions; they put forth a little bit of effort. I was shocked. Never again will I treat IIB like I do the other classes. Authoritarian, discipline-based teaching is the only thing that works. I am almost looking forward to next week’s lesson to see if it words again . . .

Strange things with my camera: At first I couldn’t get the shutter to open. I finally figured out that I wasn’t advancing the film properly. Then the real mystery struck: My light meter is no longer working. I am hoping that it is just that the batteries are dead. If not, I”ll spend a lot of money learning how to set the f-stop and shutter speed in various conditions. I should be in Nowy [Targ] Friday, so I’ll hunt down a couple of new batteries.

Marion was in dom nauczyciela blessing people’s houses. He stopped by my place but didn’t come in; even after I asked “Co robisz?” he didn’t offer to sprinkle water around my place. He probably knows (from Danuta) that I am not a Catholic . . .

First Polish Wedding

Sunday 05 January 1997

The dinner was infinite. Every two hours or so they brought out another course. And there were snacks on the tables at all times. We had cutlet for the main course followed later by meat and rice; the egg-roll-type things were served with barszcz; cold cuts stayed on the table all evening, too. And of course there was vodka. The seventy some odd bottles R made certainly did not go to waste.

There was a most interesting traditional dance. E began waltzing with R, then someone would approach them, clap, and cut in. Whenever someone was done dancing with E, he/she/they (often couples danced with E, making a strange circle) headed over to where R was. After dropping money into a hat held by some lady, the shook R’s hand and took a shot which R had poured.

During the dance the band would often stop playing and whoever was dancing with E would make up a verse, often belting it out while another sang the slightly out of tune harmony so common to this area. One lady must have taken six or more verses.

After this was completed, the crowd grabbed E and R and tossed them up and down. R had quite a frightful expression the entire time. It looked like a blast to me, but R solemnly informed me, “It’s dangerous! I could have smashed my head on the floor or the ceiling!”

Joe and I went out for a walk this morning to take some pictures. He did a lot this weekend to help me with my new camera. I feel much more confident in my picture-taking ability now.

First SLR

Saturday 04 January 1997

I went to Nowy yesterday on the 9:18 bus and got home at almost 10:00 last night because I made a spur of the moment trip to Zakopane with Charles and James. It was a most rewarding day. I always enjoy time with James, and Charles is Charles.

The ride to Nowy Targ was a pain in the ass. The bus was really late getting to centrum and the driver was anxious to get back on schedule. As a result, he was a bit testy. He shoved me from the door so that others could squeeze in. It pissed me off, for he was treating everyone with a complete lack of respect. I didn’t buy a ticket because I didn’t want to have to deal with him. When we got to N.T. I went ahead and paid even though I could have just walked on out. He commented on my honesty, I think.

At the Zakopane market I bought a Zenit--the more expensive model. I am really pleased with it so far. It has a light meter built in, unlike the other one I was looking at. I like the added security it provides. Since I paid 400 zl for it, though, I was unable to get the zoom lens. I’ll get it some other time.

So today is Roy’s big day. I’ve got a couple of PC X’s staying with me, and it will make for a busy weekend, to be sure. And of course I am a bit excited for myself because it will be my very first Polish wedding. It promises to be at the very least somewhat surreal.

The phone is dead again . . .

End of Break

Thursday 02 January 1997

I can’t deny that in some ways I have been dreading today. The return to a normal schedule after a long break is often difficult. After being able to wallow in bed for as long as I want and having no appointments to keep, it is now a bit trying to return to the “normal life” This is especially true when I realize that after a month we have another break. (This last half of the school year is going to zoom by . . .)

Yet I am excited, too. I have some new resources and I feel that I have a much more realistic approach to teaching now. I know what to expect out of myself and my students. But the most significant change is that I know my students. This in itself is the cause of some of my excitement. I look forward to seeing most of my students again. There are some that I don’t know well, and hence I am ambivalent. Yet many of my students--I am just anxious to see them again.

New Year’s 1997

Wednesday 01 January 1997

Wigilia 1996

Tuesday 24 December 1996

Polish Thanksgiving

Thursday 28 November 1996

Site Visit

Tuesday 05 November 1996

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

Friday 01 November 1996

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

Friday 01 November 1996

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

Saturday 05 October 1996

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

Tuesday 01 October 1996

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.