English, English, English — English everywhere. That’s the most shocking thing for me of late. I can eavesdrop without effort. In fact, I found myself eavesdropping in the airports even when I didn’t want to. I ducked into a newsagents at Newark airport and almost lost control of my bladder, so many English books I saw. Flipping through stations on the TV (strange enough to have a television), I didn’t have to decide, “Okay, is the English underneath the monotone dubbing loud and clear enough that I can understand it, or should I not even try.” (An old habit I never quite lost. In Poland, there’s one man reading the translated text with the original language in the background. When I first arrived, I tried desperately to hear the English underneath, and I never lost the habit once I could understand the Polish monotone.) English, English, everywhere. Except when I hear Spanish.
I’m in food heaven too. So much food I haven’t eaten in so long, and so much food that Kinga has never eaten.
- Humus — Ripped the tub open in the parking lot and took two fingers-full there.
- Shrimp — I cooked shrimp with garlic and cilantro our first evening here. When we bought the cilantro, I just buried my face in its greeny goodness and inhaled deeply, walking around supermarket afterwards with a chlorophyll buzz and a grin.
- Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia — Unable to eat the whole tub, but we made a dent.
- French roast coffee from freshly ground beans, with the leftovers chilled in the afternoon for iced coffee
- Select, highly processed junk food, which I rarely eat, but from time to time is amazing (read: Pringles).
And there’s so much waiting…we’re going to be positively zepplinish if we’re not careful.
The trip back was relatively painless, though long. We left Krakow somewhat late because of the chaotic situation in the immigration area. Three officers checking passports for two international flights. Really smart.
Our connecting flight out of Newark got canceled, so our mad dash from one end of the airport to the other (slight exaggeration, but…) was for naught. But in the process, we encountered a very nice immigration officer who, hearing that we were trying to make a connecting flight that was due to leave within the hour, made sure Kinga was the first of many to hand in her visa papers and getting fingerprinted (thank you Patriot Act). As I waited outside, he came back several times to tell me how things were progressing, for at the beginning, no one was processing them — they were all sitting in a room, staring at each other. “I’m going to try to see if I can’t get her first in line,” he explained, “Though I can’t promise anything.” I can’t imagine, honestly, a Polish immigration officer doing that.
