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Ride and Visit

Tuesday 26 July 2022

The forecast called for rain by lunchtime, so the Boy and I decided to get a morning ride in before the predicted afternoon of rain. We headed out toward the area of the village known as "Wild," but we came back along tractor tracts and dirt roads through fields.

One of the oddities of riding in rural Poland is the "Warning: Cows with Square Udders Ahead" sign. It has also given rise to a new danger for E as a cyclist: the unexpected blobs of cow blessings on the road.

Along the way back, we discovered yet more abandoned houses, but different in a significant way: these are not unfinished houses that the owners abandoned to move to the States. These are lived-in, likely-loved houses that have simply outlived their usefulness. To renovate them makes little sense to the owners: they're too small, and to renovate them would cost more than just building a new house.

In the afternoon, once it was raining and rather cold, we headed over to the aunties' house for name day celebrations. In loving yet typical Polish fashion, the aunties served a virtual meal even though Babcia had begged them not to. It wasn't a formal meal. It was just enough snacks and cakes to make a meal.

Changes and Endings

Monday 25 July 2022

There was a shortcut through an empty field by a neighbor's house that was worn down with years of use. The Girl used it heading to her first day at Polish school nine years ago.

First Day at (Polish) School

One of the first changes we'd noticed was that the shortcut is no more.

More and more people drive more and more. Fewer people walk. Just like fewer and fewer people have anything resembling a farm.

"The Polish village is dying," Babcia insists. "It survived the Partitions, the wars, Communism -- but capitalism killed it." When she says this, I want to argue that it's more complicated than that, but I never do. What's the point?

This afternoon, we decided to go for a bike ride to Lipnica Wielka, my home for seven years. Along the way, we passed a monument to slain Soviet soldiers who died fighting the Germans in 1945 as the Soviets pushed the Germans back. The front shifted, as it always does, but from Christmas 1944 to Easter 1945, it ran right through this area.

There's a monument to the men who died here, presumably at a mass grave based on the inscription.

While the Russians were certainly not heroes in the strictest sense (they were raping in mass numbers as they went along, particularly when they crossed into Germany), they were freeing the Poles from a greater immediate threat. Or were they? Didn't they just replace one type of totalitarian rule with another? Was it really that much of a change? The Germans had Auschwitz; the Soviets had the Gulag Archipelago.

Things changed, but they didn't.

When we reached Centrum, I decided we should go look at dom nauczyciela one more time. I knew how it would look -- just as it had always looked.

It was scheduled for demolition, but I knew that would take weeks. Months. Maybe even a year. When it comes to construction, nothing moves fast in Poland.

As we approached, though, I saw that the road to dom nauczyciela had been partially blocked off.

And soon, I heard the machinery. And I knew. I knew that although nothing in construction moves fast in Poland, destruction can come with unexpected rapidity.

There it was, my home for three years, three of the most amazing years of my youth, being carted away, load by load, in a dump truck.

It's silly to feel sentimental about a building, to exaggerate the importance of a relatively routine action. "Things move on," K suggested in a text.

The building was ugly -- there was no denying that. It's not like it had all the charm of a solution to a problem in which only functionality played any role at all. The strange roof that cascaded and became part of the side of the building suggests at least a half-hearted attempt to make the building original, in some sense beautiful. But like so many things built when communism and socialist realism ruled behind the Iron Curtain, the attempt at some kind of architectural uniqueness only highlighted everything wrong with the ideas ruling the country. The building was, in a word, ugly.

In addition, it was likely horridly inefficient at keeping the heat in. When the mayor's assistant (who later went on to become the mayor himself) moved into the apartment beside mine on the first floor, he added insulation to the outside of the building to help with the frigid winter nights. The water for the heaters circulated in a clockwise motion from the lower left corner where the boiler was located. I got the hot water first, and as a result, my apartment was almost always oppressively hot when it was in the minus twenties outside. But by the time the water got to the mayor's assistant's apartment, it had cooled considerably, hence the insulation.

So K was right: it was time for the poorly insulated, ugly building to come down. But that reality doesn't change the stab I felt as I watched workers clean up what was left of the building.

Oddly enough, just a few meters from my former home as one heads to the back of the school

is a home that has never changed in appearance since I arrived in 1996, a home that has never been inhabited.

The owners moved to America and quite possibly have even passed away by now. Their children, fully integrated Americans with no desire to return to a small village in southern Poland, a village that one only drives to and never through, own property that they likely never see.

The ride itself -- the before and after the discovery -- was fantastic:

a 25 km ride that the Boy handled like a pro.

Sunday in the Village

Sunday 24 July 2022

Uneventful Saturday

Saturday 23 July 2022

Nowy Targ Walkabout

Friday 22 July 2022

Final Wood, More Rides

Wednesday 20 July 2022

First, breakfast -- that old Polish favorite, salceson. It's one of the things along with flaczki and tartare that I look forward to having while in Poland. (I've had tartare, and now I can check salceson off the list. Still looking for that bowl of flaczki.) Headcheese (I love that name) is available in the States, but I never buy it. It's a Polish thing for me.

It is, I suppose, an acquired taste: the consistency is a little odd, alternatingly gelatinous and firm, but the flavor is quite pleasant.

After breakfast, we headed off to the jarmark. It's Wednesday in Jablonka -- there's only one place to go!

The Boy still has money that's burning a hole in his cliche, so we stopped at every single knife monger (is that even a term?) for him to look at the available wares. His concern was simple: he wanted something that he could use in scouts, but most of the knives were switchblade-esque: they didn't look like the old switchblades you'd see in West Side Story, but they did have spring-loaded blades that flipped out at the press of a button.

"I'd better do some research before I buy one," he wisely decided. (The verdict, as we predicted: such knives are not acceptable for scouting events.)

After we got home, the Boy and I decided to go for a bike ride. After a few kilometers, the Boy turned back. I continued.

More Details

It was the same ride as yesterday until the point at which I turned right instead of left. The route I'd mapped out earlier would drop me down toward Chyzne before turning back up toward Jablonka. However, I didn't count on one thing:

Over a kilometer of deep, thick mud. Virtually impassible mud. I spent a good bit of the middle of the ride with one foot up on the only-slightly-muddy bank pushing myself along or, when the mud to got six or more inches deep, simply walking in the less muddy part and dragging the bike beside me.

After lunch (pierogi z borówkami), Z, a Georgian who rents from Babcia, and I finished up the wood. Even Babcia said we were done -- there were no lurking piles that I had not noticed.

Listening to Babcia and Z communicate was a lesson in the value of hand gestures: he speaks a bit of Russian and almost no Polish; she speaks Russian fluently and no Georgian. Their conversations reminded me of Dziadek and Papa talking: I got the feeling neither was really responding fully to the other.

As for me, I used Google Translate to talk with him. I showed Babica and suggested she could use her tablet the same way, but her response was predictable.

Finally, the Boy and I took one more bike ride in the evening, this time through the fields between Jablonka and the two Lipnicas.

The sun was setting so we had to make our ride short. Of course, on the way home, we had to take a spin through his favorite riding location: the empty jarmark.

At the far end were long-abandoned stalls that had seen neither seller or buyer in years. It's a testament to the changes in Poland: the jarmark is shrinking, probably because of the availability of items in Poland and, truth be told, the comparative lack of quality of many things sold in the jarmark, especially clothing items.

Wooden Bikes

Tuesday 19 July 2022

Day two of the wood adventure. Today, we focused on cutting the pieces that were too long to fit in Babcia's furnace. That meant using an enormous and old homemade table saw to cut the pieces. The blade must have been 14 inches in diameter, with just under half the blade above the table and no way to adjust it. It was, in a word, a nerve-wracking experience. But we got it all done. And there awaits yet another pile, Babcia explained

In the afternoon, we focused on finally getting our bikes ready for a first ride. I had to put the new tire on my back tire having finished the front wheel and tire yesterday. The Boy pumped up the tires of his borrowed bike and we were ready to head out.

It's been a long time since we've ridden; it's been five years since we've ridden here. So many changes in the meantime.

Once the Boy tired and I took him back, I headed out for one of my favorite rides in Jablonka: a 15-kilometer circle through fields and forest.

Wood

Monday 18 July 2022

Today the Boy and I set out to tackle a basic but important project: sorting and storing all the wood Babcia had delivered in April. It's largely to serve as kindling for coal-fed fires in the winter months, but during the short time that it's not necessary to heat the whole house, the word heats the water.

Our job was to move and store the wood. And make a friend along the way:

We had an enormous pile with no before picture for comparison. All we have are pictures of all the various little corners we stored the wood.

And what with my little helper?

Orawskie Lato

Sunday 17 July 2022

Today was an annual festival here in Jablonka -- the thirtieth year in a row. That means they began having the festival just a few years before I first arrived. When we're in Poland, we usually get at least to drop in on this festival.

This year, I saw several former students from those early days. Except for one, I didn't recognize any of them immediately. I had to ask their name. When a bearded man in his mid-thirties approaches you, you'll be forgiven if you don't recognize him as the former student you last saw at age eighteen.