When asked by Uncle Joe what they wanted for Christmas, a metro or a palace, the People of Poland said, metro! So, 3 years later, in 1955, they got 400 million bricks, 3288 rooms and 42 floors worth of socio-realist Palace, modestly named after its benefactor: The Joseph Stalin Palace of Culture and Science. (The metro is still being built today…) Whether this fable is actually how it happened or not does nothing to alter the fact that this gift was one of those most unfortunate of all gifts – unwanted and ungratefully received. Always controversial, as many things in Poland are, the building, even though it's had its owners name removed, still does not fail to provoke disparate reactions amongst its co-habitants.
On the day of the ‘magnificent gift’s’ announcement, Maria Dabrowska, a witness of the time, wrote: ‘All of Warsaw will now lie prostrate at the feet of this monster.’ Today, standing as Poland’s tallest building and occupying centre stage in the nation’s capital, there are those who still see it as a hideous manifestation of Soviet repression and dominance – a perpetual reminder of Poland’s dark Communist past. But others who grew up with it often have a nostalgic and affectionate relationship to its existence, remembering happy times at rock concerts (The Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd played here once!), plays, sports events, and other fun and games held within its art-deco walls. They cannot imagine a Warsaw without it, which is just as well, seeing as it has become the city’s international symbol – Warsaw’s Eiffel Tower.
Today’s generation, not having the burden of historical memory, accepts the Palace, with its curious mix of theatres, cinemas, museums, galleries, cafes, night-clubs, restaurants, a swimming-pool, and probably a thousand other things that are yet to be discovered in its labyrinth of corridors and empty rooms, as a central element of their beloved city – a single point of stability and unchanging continuity around which the rest of Warsaw shifts and shapes itself, changes and adapts. Today, I see it as an impressive manifestation of Warsaw’s refusal to let its past dictate its future, and a stalwart determination to keep on re-building and recreating its own image. In any case, it can be seen from as far as 9 miles away, making it a useful orientation point for lost tourists and quasi-residents like myself.
Despite its usefulness, it remains the butt of many a Warsovian joke. Q: ‘Where can you find the best view of Warsaw?’ A: ‘At the top of the Palace of Culture, because then you can’t see it anymore….’ It is often referred to as ‘Pajac’ rather than ‘Palac’ – the Polish word for ‘clown’ and ‘palace’ are only one letter apart, making it a too easy target for derision. Others call it ‘Pekin’ – the Polish name for ‘Beijing’, because the Palace’s Polish acronym is PKiN. Enough said. The Poles love to mock the Palace for its communist heritage – but at the same time, it seems to have a permanent place here. Especially since it was accepted for protection under the city's list of heritage relics only a few months ago - a very controversial, as many things are in Poland, move... Many protested, but equally as many, maybe more, did not. Perhaps they have an affection for something that has witnessed and stood proud throughout so much change, as they have. Or perhaps they just find it funny that Stalin’s gift to Poland complements perfectly the other commercial skyscrapers and shopping centres that surround it – who would have thought it, eh?
Friday, April 4, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Pigeons
One way I can really tell that Poland has changed over the past 10 – 15 years, and changed in some cases for the better, is because of the pigeons. When I was about 10, I remember sitting outside the one and only McDonalds that then existed in Warsaw and probably the whole of Poland. There were always huge queues, but what I remember most is the young Roma boys who would beg with outstretched hands at your table, whilst customers hastily clutched their handbags to their chests, and, particularly, the hobbling, mangled, scraggy grey mess of mangy pigeons wobbling their way grotesquely between the plastic chairs and tables. One of these pigeons had a missing leg, most had missing feathers, and another had a terrifying mouldy growth encasing its scrawny red-raw claw, forcing it to limp around pathetically. I remember this, I suppose, because of a simultaneous feeling of fascination, horror and sympathy that grasped at my chest. I stared at It for a while, feeling as It looked; slightly sick and miserable. My appetite wasn’t completely ruined, however, as it didn’t stop me from finishing my cheeseburger and shake...
Today, pigeons of all shapes and sizes and gloss strut around the parks and pavements, gorging off leftovers sprinkled along the roadside, if not feasting from the crumbs that many an older Polish lady lovingly dotes upon these pestilent scavengers. Fat, lustrous, sleek and bright-eyed, these pigeons, with shimmering streaks of turquoise and purple adorning their plumage, are of an entirely different class to their drab, scrawny ancestors I encountered back in the mid-90s. Of course, moving away from the city centre, and the quality of pigeon shifts, beginning to deteriorate depending on what area or suburb you’ve wandered into. Overall, however, they’re doing well for themselves across the country. Maybe this is a result of the 'trickle-down' effect that economists are always banging on about... Either way, as Poland's economy has grown, the pigeons have clearly been reaping the benefits.
In Krakow, on a Sunday, armies of people, locals and tourists alike, congregate on the main square to Feed the Pigeons. In early February, Wroclaw hosted the ‘International Pigeon Breeders Show’ in celebration, and, we can only deduce, intended multiplication, of the bird. In a recent poll, 95% of pigeons said that they were 10 times happier now than they were 10 years ago, and twice as happy since Poland joined the EU in 2004, on account of the increase in diversity of pigeon feed on the market. Interestingly, none stated an intention to emigrate, being so well looked after as they are here...
Today, pigeons of all shapes and sizes and gloss strut around the parks and pavements, gorging off leftovers sprinkled along the roadside, if not feasting from the crumbs that many an older Polish lady lovingly dotes upon these pestilent scavengers. Fat, lustrous, sleek and bright-eyed, these pigeons, with shimmering streaks of turquoise and purple adorning their plumage, are of an entirely different class to their drab, scrawny ancestors I encountered back in the mid-90s. Of course, moving away from the city centre, and the quality of pigeon shifts, beginning to deteriorate depending on what area or suburb you’ve wandered into. Overall, however, they’re doing well for themselves across the country. Maybe this is a result of the 'trickle-down' effect that economists are always banging on about... Either way, as Poland's economy has grown, the pigeons have clearly been reaping the benefits.
In Krakow, on a Sunday, armies of people, locals and tourists alike, congregate on the main square to Feed the Pigeons. In early February, Wroclaw hosted the ‘International Pigeon Breeders Show’ in celebration, and, we can only deduce, intended multiplication, of the bird. In a recent poll, 95% of pigeons said that they were 10 times happier now than they were 10 years ago, and twice as happy since Poland joined the EU in 2004, on account of the increase in diversity of pigeon feed on the market. Interestingly, none stated an intention to emigrate, being so well looked after as they are here...
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Suspicions and Aspirations
Suspicions and Aspirations:
When I tell people here that I’m doing an internship at WWF Poland – an ‘international environmental organisation’ (I explain), I generally get an interesting and enjoyable response. Predominantly, it is met with suspicion: a sceptical look, a hesitant semi-disbelief, an incomprehensive smile and, once, I even scored a crack about being a communist. When they find out that it is an unpaid internship, scepticism unfailingly turns to complete loss and dismay. It’s my favourite, though not very socially adept, party trick at the moment, to watch people anxiously trying to thumb their way through their mental indexes in order to file me somewhere into their idea of an orderly social ranking – failed student? (enviro)Mentalist? Socialist?! I don’t seem to quite ‘fit’ into any of the drawers of the Polish social filing cabinet that I’m told is very important to the way people interact here. My co-workers at WWF mostly concur with this reaction – their friends, they say, either lack any sense of understanding for what they do or are indifferent – it’s a job that pays the bills. Perhaps this is all because the so-called ‘third sector’, NGOs, volunteering, all these elements of a more ‘advanced’ democracy are still so new and in the developmental stages, whilst any ideas with a remotely ‘social’-ist, community-oriented approach, are most definitely something to be afraid of and run away from very fast in the opposite direction. Is it patronising of me to say that from a historical perspective I can understand this?
Young Poles are ambitious, bold, motivated, confident, hard-working – that’s why so many of them can be found over on our shores trying to make it for themselves. Opportunities are pretty slim here, though that is changing. Is it any wonder, then, that these same young Poles set their sights on living the Corporate Dream? Talking to well-educated young Poles, their aspirations are overwhelmingly set on working for multinationals: Mackenzie, Ernst & Young, PricewaterhouseCoopers, these are the Big Three. Corporations offer a stable, fast-paced, well-paid, high-flying, international working environment – opportunities in this booming market for foreign investment are flourishing. Working 14-hour days is worth it. Manifestations of super-success are of course the flashy car, the expensive designer clothes – the usual; but also the exclusive gym membership, the impressive anthology of business cards in your bulging wallet, the company car/laptop/watch/ball. Working in the non-governmental sector, the only things you are guaranteed of are a lesser salary and, I can say from my own experience, lesser prestige. It is not a very well-respected occupation. To put it bluntly, Poles aspire to the consumer lifestyle. Growing up on tales of empty shops, meat coupons, ever-lasting bread queues, and the material Nothingness of the past, why would young Poles not dream the dream we sold, and are selling, to them? (Ooops, am I being patronising again…?)
At the moment there are few or no alternatives being offered. Perhaps this culture will change as new ideas and experiences come back with Poles returning home and as the country responds to new trends and pressures? Now, though, I’m not surprised, neither am I especially critical, of the fact, that young Poles wanting Success, for themselves and for their country, are looking to the skyscrapers that surround them. The physical dominance of foreign big brand names on the Warsaw skyline (which I talked about in my last post….) makes imagining alternative models of success, and of the future, a tough task for the anomalous.
***********************************************************
After I wrote this, I was given an article in my Polish language class directly relevant to my ramblings! A recent sociological study conducted by CBOS across the entire country - the largest sociological study of its kind done in Poland - supported my observations. Discussing the results in a Polish national newspaper, Prof. Czapinski explains that Poles are the 'biggest Euro-enthusiasts' on the continent owing to the sense that joining the EU gave them the feeling that if they want something badly enough, they can get it. Self-confidence, life satisfaction, sense of independence, belief in one's own abilities and potentials all increased decisively amongst Poles after Poland entered the EU in 2004. However, what Prof. Czapinski sees as Poland's downfall, is the apparent inability and lack of desire to work together amongst Poles - a lack of a strong sense of citizenship, community identity and participation, and sense of mutual interest is, he argues, preventing the country from progressing faster, even as individuals are moving rapidly ahead. Prof. Czanpinski goes on to say that it's in the family and at schools where young Poles learn that 'it's every wo/man for himself', where working with others, seeing others as collaborators rather than competitors, is not encouraged, rather discouraged. He gives the example of motorway building - a politically-charged topic in this country - saying that, instead of realising that working together would get the job done faster, competition and conflict over who will get the contract, whose interest will be served etc, frequently ending up in court-battles lasting years, means that Poland still only has the one motorway... To sum it up, he states, that as a result, if things don't change, 'Individual Poles will get richer and develop a lot faster than Poland itself.'
We have to remember though that it's only been 20 years since Poland emerged from behind the iron curtain - is it surprising that after years of repression, pervasive fear, mistrust, individual self-protection, suspicion, and state-reliance, instilled into the people here, that remnants of this mind-set still remain? Perhaps first needs to come a certain level of individual wealth and satisfaction, then the rest will follow as people grow tired of only having one motorway....
When I tell people here that I’m doing an internship at WWF Poland – an ‘international environmental organisation’ (I explain), I generally get an interesting and enjoyable response. Predominantly, it is met with suspicion: a sceptical look, a hesitant semi-disbelief, an incomprehensive smile and, once, I even scored a crack about being a communist. When they find out that it is an unpaid internship, scepticism unfailingly turns to complete loss and dismay. It’s my favourite, though not very socially adept, party trick at the moment, to watch people anxiously trying to thumb their way through their mental indexes in order to file me somewhere into their idea of an orderly social ranking – failed student? (enviro)Mentalist? Socialist?! I don’t seem to quite ‘fit’ into any of the drawers of the Polish social filing cabinet that I’m told is very important to the way people interact here. My co-workers at WWF mostly concur with this reaction – their friends, they say, either lack any sense of understanding for what they do or are indifferent – it’s a job that pays the bills. Perhaps this is all because the so-called ‘third sector’, NGOs, volunteering, all these elements of a more ‘advanced’ democracy are still so new and in the developmental stages, whilst any ideas with a remotely ‘social’-ist, community-oriented approach, are most definitely something to be afraid of and run away from very fast in the opposite direction. Is it patronising of me to say that from a historical perspective I can understand this?
Young Poles are ambitious, bold, motivated, confident, hard-working – that’s why so many of them can be found over on our shores trying to make it for themselves. Opportunities are pretty slim here, though that is changing. Is it any wonder, then, that these same young Poles set their sights on living the Corporate Dream? Talking to well-educated young Poles, their aspirations are overwhelmingly set on working for multinationals: Mackenzie, Ernst & Young, PricewaterhouseCoopers, these are the Big Three. Corporations offer a stable, fast-paced, well-paid, high-flying, international working environment – opportunities in this booming market for foreign investment are flourishing. Working 14-hour days is worth it. Manifestations of super-success are of course the flashy car, the expensive designer clothes – the usual; but also the exclusive gym membership, the impressive anthology of business cards in your bulging wallet, the company car/laptop/watch/ball. Working in the non-governmental sector, the only things you are guaranteed of are a lesser salary and, I can say from my own experience, lesser prestige. It is not a very well-respected occupation. To put it bluntly, Poles aspire to the consumer lifestyle. Growing up on tales of empty shops, meat coupons, ever-lasting bread queues, and the material Nothingness of the past, why would young Poles not dream the dream we sold, and are selling, to them? (Ooops, am I being patronising again…?)
At the moment there are few or no alternatives being offered. Perhaps this culture will change as new ideas and experiences come back with Poles returning home and as the country responds to new trends and pressures? Now, though, I’m not surprised, neither am I especially critical, of the fact, that young Poles wanting Success, for themselves and for their country, are looking to the skyscrapers that surround them. The physical dominance of foreign big brand names on the Warsaw skyline (which I talked about in my last post….) makes imagining alternative models of success, and of the future, a tough task for the anomalous.
***********************************************************
After I wrote this, I was given an article in my Polish language class directly relevant to my ramblings! A recent sociological study conducted by CBOS across the entire country - the largest sociological study of its kind done in Poland - supported my observations. Discussing the results in a Polish national newspaper, Prof. Czapinski explains that Poles are the 'biggest Euro-enthusiasts' on the continent owing to the sense that joining the EU gave them the feeling that if they want something badly enough, they can get it. Self-confidence, life satisfaction, sense of independence, belief in one's own abilities and potentials all increased decisively amongst Poles after Poland entered the EU in 2004. However, what Prof. Czapinski sees as Poland's downfall, is the apparent inability and lack of desire to work together amongst Poles - a lack of a strong sense of citizenship, community identity and participation, and sense of mutual interest is, he argues, preventing the country from progressing faster, even as individuals are moving rapidly ahead. Prof. Czanpinski goes on to say that it's in the family and at schools where young Poles learn that 'it's every wo/man for himself', where working with others, seeing others as collaborators rather than competitors, is not encouraged, rather discouraged. He gives the example of motorway building - a politically-charged topic in this country - saying that, instead of realising that working together would get the job done faster, competition and conflict over who will get the contract, whose interest will be served etc, frequently ending up in court-battles lasting years, means that Poland still only has the one motorway... To sum it up, he states, that as a result, if things don't change, 'Individual Poles will get richer and develop a lot faster than Poland itself.'
We have to remember though that it's only been 20 years since Poland emerged from behind the iron curtain - is it surprising that after years of repression, pervasive fear, mistrust, individual self-protection, suspicion, and state-reliance, instilled into the people here, that remnants of this mind-set still remain? Perhaps first needs to come a certain level of individual wealth and satisfaction, then the rest will follow as people grow tired of only having one motorway....
Monday, February 25, 2008
The 'city without a centre'
The renowned Polish journalist, Seweryn Blumsztajn, recalls his first visit to Warsaw as a 5-year old in the spring of 1951: ‘We arrived with my parents at the Central Station. We piled into a horse-drawn carriage (there were no taxis in those days) and drove through a sea of ruins and barracks. My parents asked me how did I like the city? I replied that in the pictures at elementary school it had seemed more beautiful.’ 50 years later, and driving by the Palace of Culture in the centre of the city, a jumble of box-shops, car parks and other vacant concrete spaces, he is reminded once more of his first impression of Warsaw – an impression of ‘chaos and ugliness’. How can it be, he asks, that at the very heart of the capital city, there is a giant hole? A vast nothingness? ‘A centre with no centre’.
When I step out into the crude urban maze of Warsaw city centre, I can’t help but have similar feelings. Structured around a huge roundabout where buses, trams, taxis, cars, and vans wrangle their way through the honking, heaving traffic to their respective destinations, I am struck by the sense that the centre of Warsaw is a space of permanent migration – a space everyone is moving through, past, via, away from, even under – the underground pedestrian highway constantly ticking with the clock-wise movement of hurried feet on their way to somewhere. The ‘centre’ isn’t a place people seem to want to be, belying the very significance of a ‘centre’ – rather it’s a transitory throughway to other, better places. It is the heart of the city only in that it pumps life away from itself in irregular, patient spasms (like the one-line Metro serving the entire metropolis). It reminds me of the mechanism of a giant magnet but on the negative end, repelling iron filings with a force that cannot be resisted. Everyone seems to be in a hurry to leave the centre. At night, it is left stranded, empty, abandoned almost. Shut down after a hard days’ work. This city sleeps.
The other factor I can’t shake that creates this feeling of a ‘centre with no centre’ is the globalised façade of the EveryWhere. It seems ironic that in the place where stands the ‘Palace of Culture and Science’, there is a gaping lack of culture, and a gaping lack of a logistical science to the composition. There are cinemas, museums, theatres, yes, but this could be Anywhere. Looking up on the crossroads of the main arteries of Al. Jerozlimskie and Ul. Marszalkowska, all around grey Soviet-style blocks and glass-fronted monoliths compete for the sky. Giant billboards, some of the largest in Europe, and certainly the most numerous of any European capital, plaster the upholstery, often blocking out the light for the unlucky inhabitants behind. Neon lights flash their splashy texts. The corporate logo screams, gasping for air atop the skyscrapers. Sony, Olympus, Bosch, Novotel, Samsung, LG, Indesit, Konica, Era, Peugeot, Nokia, JVC – I’ve just taken you on a 360° panoramic trip around the city skyline, standing in just one spot. Glassy, multi-storeyed shopping centres occupy centre-stage, wowing consumers with extravagant contemporary architecture that distracts the eye, momentarily, from the scruffy scaffolds that surround. The city centre is ‘brandalised’; a vast vortex of consumed space, where ‘place’ – that point we know, we love, we identify with – has seemingly not been recovered here since 1945. This is a centre of buildings, concrete, adverts and logos – not of people. If this is just an inevitable part of 21st Century urban reality, nowhere is it more visible than here – a city entirely remodelled over the past 20 years. Hungry for capitol, has Poland sacrificed its capital?
In a beautifully academic moment, I sometimes think of Warsaw Centre as a symbol of Poland’s as yet unclear identity, direction, self-image, as well as its apparent love affair with the West. An unknown unclear destiny awaits both Poland and the centre of Warsaw… Does the emerging identity being forged right in the heart of the nation’s capital reflect the kind of future Poland wants? If so, what kind of future is this? What kind of identity? In a recent promotional video to try and gain the title of ‘European Capital of Culture’ for 2016, Warsaw cashes in on this idea of uncertainty, but by presenting itself as a capital that is constantly changing, adapting, growing - a capital ‘reborn by culture’. Warsaw is still being reborn, it is true. What finally happens at its centre is yet to be seen – and yet to be decided. Poland’s future manifests itself here: Cosmopolitan? Or banally modern? Artistic? Or brash? Green? Or devastatingly unsustainable? Diverse? Or monolithically consumer-oriented? Progressive? Or reactionary? Reborn by careless corporate cash? Or ‘reborn by culture’? Warsaw centre – you decide!
To venture outside of the centre is to discover the pulse and true cultural gems of the city. Warsaw has to be discovered – this is true. Speaking to many of my Polish acquaintances, it seems Warsaw is a city that takes time to uncover. A city that reveals itself slowly, discretely, shyly. You have to put in some effort! I’m learning this – slowly, but surely, a love affair is starting…
When I step out into the crude urban maze of Warsaw city centre, I can’t help but have similar feelings. Structured around a huge roundabout where buses, trams, taxis, cars, and vans wrangle their way through the honking, heaving traffic to their respective destinations, I am struck by the sense that the centre of Warsaw is a space of permanent migration – a space everyone is moving through, past, via, away from, even under – the underground pedestrian highway constantly ticking with the clock-wise movement of hurried feet on their way to somewhere. The ‘centre’ isn’t a place people seem to want to be, belying the very significance of a ‘centre’ – rather it’s a transitory throughway to other, better places. It is the heart of the city only in that it pumps life away from itself in irregular, patient spasms (like the one-line Metro serving the entire metropolis). It reminds me of the mechanism of a giant magnet but on the negative end, repelling iron filings with a force that cannot be resisted. Everyone seems to be in a hurry to leave the centre. At night, it is left stranded, empty, abandoned almost. Shut down after a hard days’ work. This city sleeps.
The other factor I can’t shake that creates this feeling of a ‘centre with no centre’ is the globalised façade of the EveryWhere. It seems ironic that in the place where stands the ‘Palace of Culture and Science’, there is a gaping lack of culture, and a gaping lack of a logistical science to the composition. There are cinemas, museums, theatres, yes, but this could be Anywhere. Looking up on the crossroads of the main arteries of Al. Jerozlimskie and Ul. Marszalkowska, all around grey Soviet-style blocks and glass-fronted monoliths compete for the sky. Giant billboards, some of the largest in Europe, and certainly the most numerous of any European capital, plaster the upholstery, often blocking out the light for the unlucky inhabitants behind. Neon lights flash their splashy texts. The corporate logo screams, gasping for air atop the skyscrapers. Sony, Olympus, Bosch, Novotel, Samsung, LG, Indesit, Konica, Era, Peugeot, Nokia, JVC – I’ve just taken you on a 360° panoramic trip around the city skyline, standing in just one spot. Glassy, multi-storeyed shopping centres occupy centre-stage, wowing consumers with extravagant contemporary architecture that distracts the eye, momentarily, from the scruffy scaffolds that surround. The city centre is ‘brandalised’; a vast vortex of consumed space, where ‘place’ – that point we know, we love, we identify with – has seemingly not been recovered here since 1945. This is a centre of buildings, concrete, adverts and logos – not of people. If this is just an inevitable part of 21st Century urban reality, nowhere is it more visible than here – a city entirely remodelled over the past 20 years. Hungry for capitol, has Poland sacrificed its capital?
In a beautifully academic moment, I sometimes think of Warsaw Centre as a symbol of Poland’s as yet unclear identity, direction, self-image, as well as its apparent love affair with the West. An unknown unclear destiny awaits both Poland and the centre of Warsaw… Does the emerging identity being forged right in the heart of the nation’s capital reflect the kind of future Poland wants? If so, what kind of future is this? What kind of identity? In a recent promotional video to try and gain the title of ‘European Capital of Culture’ for 2016, Warsaw cashes in on this idea of uncertainty, but by presenting itself as a capital that is constantly changing, adapting, growing - a capital ‘reborn by culture’. Warsaw is still being reborn, it is true. What finally happens at its centre is yet to be seen – and yet to be decided. Poland’s future manifests itself here: Cosmopolitan? Or banally modern? Artistic? Or brash? Green? Or devastatingly unsustainable? Diverse? Or monolithically consumer-oriented? Progressive? Or reactionary? Reborn by careless corporate cash? Or ‘reborn by culture’? Warsaw centre – you decide!
To venture outside of the centre is to discover the pulse and true cultural gems of the city. Warsaw has to be discovered – this is true. Speaking to many of my Polish acquaintances, it seems Warsaw is a city that takes time to uncover. A city that reveals itself slowly, discretely, shyly. You have to put in some effort! I’m learning this – slowly, but surely, a love affair is starting…
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Home sweet home
Ul. Nowogrodzka 48 m. 24
Warszawa
00-695
Polska
This is my address. (By the way, I accept postcards/letters/packages/parcels/presents…) I’m lucky enough to be living in a pre-war building slap in the centre of Warsaw. The tenament block, or ‘kamienica’ (stone house), as it is called, is over 100 years old. If you’ve seen that devastating pan-shot in The Pianist of the complete demolition zone that was post-war Warsaw, then this is a pretty impressive feat. You can see in the peeling walls, bullet-holed exterior, and the flaking wooden doors that constantly signal the coming and going of people with a creak and a bang, that this place has survived a turbulent history.
Up 52 steep winding and very dusty stone steps you reach number 24 – actually my Grandma’s flat, but currently inhabited by me as she whiles away the winter in more temperate climes back in Cambridge. (Although because of global warming etc, the winters here are really no longer very severe – the snow doesn’t even settle – I feel at home!) My Grandma is 90 and usually lives here alone. The fact that she pioneers her way up and down those stairs on a daily basis, not to mention cooks, cleans, and shops all for herself with no help, thank you very much!, is a pretty intimidating example for me to live up to in my older years.
She’s not the only old chip on the block though. Below lives Mrs. Janicka – frail, ill and very cautious. On the top floor is Mrs. Sophie (as she is known) – a little stooped, a little toothless, and a little crazy… She has a mild form of alzheimers, and is forever walking up, and down, and up, and down, those stairs, ringing on people’s doorbells and forgetting where she lives. If you are unfortunate enough, (cruel isn’t it), to actually open the door to her, she will somehow shuffle her way in, demand in a pleading tone that you come and sleep in her apartment (she has a spare couple of beds), and then ask you who you are… If you are unfortunate enough to be at home and not let her in, she will ring and ring and rrrrrriiiiinnnnggg that doorbell until finally she confuses herself into believing she must have got the wrong door after all… I can’t quite bring myself to follow my grandma’s example by shouting ‘There’s no-one home – so Bugger OFF!’ Yet.
A little divergence into the past: After the war, (My Grandma’s stories always begin like this: for her generation in Poland, time is divided into the great swathe of history that is ‘Before the War’, the 6 years of ‘During the war’, and the decade or so ‘After the war’. For my Mum’s generation, it was ‘before Communism’, ‘during Communism’ and ‘after Communism’ – now it’s just a seeming constant striving rapidly forward into a more promising future… Or perhaps ‘Before EU’, ‘After EU’..?)
Anyway, after the war… the apartments here were divided by the state between various families. These buildings, despite their exclusive central location, typically house some of the poorest members of Warsaw society. Up until the age of 15, my Mum and Grandma lived in the 15m by 6m space that is now the bedroom. They had a wood-fuelled oven, and in order to use the bathroom or kitchen they had to walk through the adjacent room – now the living room – where another family lived. My Gran was sharp enough to acquire the whole place once they left – and now I get to have this beautiful, old-style flat to myself. Such high-ceilinged, wooden-floored sanctuaries are hard to come by now – Soviet-style blocks, modern atrocities, and Barratt-esque homes dominate in the suburbs and new developments.
However, what these edifices lack in aesthetics they may well make up for in functional adaptation to the 21st Century. True I have candelabras and great acoustics, but I don’t have a bathroom. Or a fridge. Or a washing-machine… I don’t have central heating either – or, the heating is centralised – just in communist-style; in some man’s basement caretaker-flat on the other side of the court. But for this, I’m always toasty.. Let me explain about the bathroom – this always shocks many a Westerner to my amusement. There is a bath, just no room – its simply in a curtained-off corner of the kitchen – which also acts as the entrance. An electric boiler hangs above. ‘Wow - old-school’, my young Polish friends coo in that secure modern delight on discovering quaint antiquities. ‘Wow – thank god it works’ – is what I say every morning when I shower.
Let me also explain about the fridge. There is a fridge – it just doesn’t work. It’s one of those old Russian socio-realist hummers – a great slab of nuclear proletariat creation. So, yeah, it doesn’t work. Perhaps it died in 1989. Inside you’ll find my Grandma’s slippers, a pot, a hairbrush, and some ribbons… Instead, I keep all my perishables on the window-sill – where it’s ‘cold as hell!’ as my Gran says. I’m amazed at how well this works – why do we need a fridge again? Perhaps I’ll rethink come spring/summer... For now, bitter winds are keeping my milk nicely chilled.
Low carbon living (out of default) is also finding me rolling up my sleeves and having to hand-wash all my clothes… I’m beginning to see exactly how the invention of the washing-machine played a central role in the emancipation of women. Soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, rubbing, squeezing, rinsing, squeezing, rinsing, squ.. ok, you’ve got the idea – it takes forever! Drying is a whole other technical phase in itself. It goes on. On the plus side, I’m working up some nice washer-woman muscles. A lot of people have those around here, actually… Maybe I’ll soon be able to pummel out a good loaf of bread?
Those of you who are starting to worry that I’m living in some pre-industrial cave – calm yourselves. There is hot water, heating and even plumbing! Oh, and about 100m from where I live, there are 2 shopping centres, 3 multi-plex cinemas, copious bars, clubs, and cafes, at least 2 pizza huts, 3 KFCs and 4 McDonalds and a 24-hour internet café... Not to mention a brothel right opposite. Sometimes I do love coming home to my archaic little haven of tranquility. :)
To see photos of where I'm living go here: http://irmaallen.tumblr.com/
Warszawa
00-695
Polska
This is my address. (By the way, I accept postcards/letters/packages/parcels/presents…) I’m lucky enough to be living in a pre-war building slap in the centre of Warsaw. The tenament block, or ‘kamienica’ (stone house), as it is called, is over 100 years old. If you’ve seen that devastating pan-shot in The Pianist of the complete demolition zone that was post-war Warsaw, then this is a pretty impressive feat. You can see in the peeling walls, bullet-holed exterior, and the flaking wooden doors that constantly signal the coming and going of people with a creak and a bang, that this place has survived a turbulent history.
Up 52 steep winding and very dusty stone steps you reach number 24 – actually my Grandma’s flat, but currently inhabited by me as she whiles away the winter in more temperate climes back in Cambridge. (Although because of global warming etc, the winters here are really no longer very severe – the snow doesn’t even settle – I feel at home!) My Grandma is 90 and usually lives here alone. The fact that she pioneers her way up and down those stairs on a daily basis, not to mention cooks, cleans, and shops all for herself with no help, thank you very much!, is a pretty intimidating example for me to live up to in my older years.
She’s not the only old chip on the block though. Below lives Mrs. Janicka – frail, ill and very cautious. On the top floor is Mrs. Sophie (as she is known) – a little stooped, a little toothless, and a little crazy… She has a mild form of alzheimers, and is forever walking up, and down, and up, and down, those stairs, ringing on people’s doorbells and forgetting where she lives. If you are unfortunate enough, (cruel isn’t it), to actually open the door to her, she will somehow shuffle her way in, demand in a pleading tone that you come and sleep in her apartment (she has a spare couple of beds), and then ask you who you are… If you are unfortunate enough to be at home and not let her in, she will ring and ring and rrrrrriiiiinnnnggg that doorbell until finally she confuses herself into believing she must have got the wrong door after all… I can’t quite bring myself to follow my grandma’s example by shouting ‘There’s no-one home – so Bugger OFF!’ Yet.
A little divergence into the past: After the war, (My Grandma’s stories always begin like this: for her generation in Poland, time is divided into the great swathe of history that is ‘Before the War’, the 6 years of ‘During the war’, and the decade or so ‘After the war’. For my Mum’s generation, it was ‘before Communism’, ‘during Communism’ and ‘after Communism’ – now it’s just a seeming constant striving rapidly forward into a more promising future… Or perhaps ‘Before EU’, ‘After EU’..?)
Anyway, after the war… the apartments here were divided by the state between various families. These buildings, despite their exclusive central location, typically house some of the poorest members of Warsaw society. Up until the age of 15, my Mum and Grandma lived in the 15m by 6m space that is now the bedroom. They had a wood-fuelled oven, and in order to use the bathroom or kitchen they had to walk through the adjacent room – now the living room – where another family lived. My Gran was sharp enough to acquire the whole place once they left – and now I get to have this beautiful, old-style flat to myself. Such high-ceilinged, wooden-floored sanctuaries are hard to come by now – Soviet-style blocks, modern atrocities, and Barratt-esque homes dominate in the suburbs and new developments.
However, what these edifices lack in aesthetics they may well make up for in functional adaptation to the 21st Century. True I have candelabras and great acoustics, but I don’t have a bathroom. Or a fridge. Or a washing-machine… I don’t have central heating either – or, the heating is centralised – just in communist-style; in some man’s basement caretaker-flat on the other side of the court. But for this, I’m always toasty.. Let me explain about the bathroom – this always shocks many a Westerner to my amusement. There is a bath, just no room – its simply in a curtained-off corner of the kitchen – which also acts as the entrance. An electric boiler hangs above. ‘Wow - old-school’, my young Polish friends coo in that secure modern delight on discovering quaint antiquities. ‘Wow – thank god it works’ – is what I say every morning when I shower.
Let me also explain about the fridge. There is a fridge – it just doesn’t work. It’s one of those old Russian socio-realist hummers – a great slab of nuclear proletariat creation. So, yeah, it doesn’t work. Perhaps it died in 1989. Inside you’ll find my Grandma’s slippers, a pot, a hairbrush, and some ribbons… Instead, I keep all my perishables on the window-sill – where it’s ‘cold as hell!’ as my Gran says. I’m amazed at how well this works – why do we need a fridge again? Perhaps I’ll rethink come spring/summer... For now, bitter winds are keeping my milk nicely chilled.
Low carbon living (out of default) is also finding me rolling up my sleeves and having to hand-wash all my clothes… I’m beginning to see exactly how the invention of the washing-machine played a central role in the emancipation of women. Soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, rubbing, squeezing, rinsing, squeezing, rinsing, squ.. ok, you’ve got the idea – it takes forever! Drying is a whole other technical phase in itself. It goes on. On the plus side, I’m working up some nice washer-woman muscles. A lot of people have those around here, actually… Maybe I’ll soon be able to pummel out a good loaf of bread?
Those of you who are starting to worry that I’m living in some pre-industrial cave – calm yourselves. There is hot water, heating and even plumbing! Oh, and about 100m from where I live, there are 2 shopping centres, 3 multi-plex cinemas, copious bars, clubs, and cafes, at least 2 pizza huts, 3 KFCs and 4 McDonalds and a 24-hour internet café... Not to mention a brothel right opposite. Sometimes I do love coming home to my archaic little haven of tranquility. :)
To see photos of where I'm living go here: http://irmaallen.tumblr.com/
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Note on blog name
What do you call your blog? There are actually whole websites devoted to this one particular dilemma! At the moment, I quite like the name: 'Polyglot' -[n. or adj. POLY-glot] 'Someone who is able to speak, write, or read two or more languages.' Obviously, I'm not quite there yet, which is why I've changed the noun/adjective into a present continuous verb... (Sorry, grammar is fast becoming a staple diet in my daily life. But don't worry, cos I belong to the facebook group 'Good grammar is Hot'. So I'm still cool...)
Not only does polyglot mean a many-tongued (literally) person, but also means 'a mixture or confusion of languages'. I don't intend for my blog to be confusing, but I like the idea of it containing a 'mixture of languages' - i.e. speaking on many levels about many different things from a fusion of Anglo-Polish as well as idiosyncratic perspectives... There, that's my liberal interpretation of the word. O, and did I forget to mention the double entendre here? 'Pol-yglotting' - learning Pol-ish - get it? Very clever, mais non? ;)
Apparently, though, there's also a list of the top 10 words used for a blog name, which therefore are hit the most through searches.. (So I've heard....) Originally, 'blog', 'life', 'journal' , 'world', 'thoughts', 'daily' are 6 of them... So, I may well change my blog name in the future purely in the name of unabashed self-promotion :)
Not only does polyglot mean a many-tongued (literally) person, but also means 'a mixture or confusion of languages'. I don't intend for my blog to be confusing, but I like the idea of it containing a 'mixture of languages' - i.e. speaking on many levels about many different things from a fusion of Anglo-Polish as well as idiosyncratic perspectives... There, that's my liberal interpretation of the word. O, and did I forget to mention the double entendre here? 'Pol-yglotting' - learning Pol-ish - get it? Very clever, mais non? ;)
Apparently, though, there's also a list of the top 10 words used for a blog name, which therefore are hit the most through searches.. (So I've heard....) Originally, 'blog', 'life', 'journal' , 'world', 'thoughts', 'daily' are 6 of them... So, I may well change my blog name in the future purely in the name of unabashed self-promotion :)
Going Slow
[Friend #1]: ‘How are you getting there?’
[Me]: ‘By bus.’
[Friend #2]: ‘Aren’t your parents going to take you to the airport?’
[Friend #1]: ‘No, I meant to Poland, not to the airport – what airline are you flying with?’
[Me]: ‘No, er… I’m going by bus – to Poland.’
[Friend #1]: ...Long Pause... ‘Oh. Why?’
[Friend #2] ‘Is that even possible?’
[Friend #1]: ‘How long does that take? Are you mad?’
[Friend #2]: ‘How much does it cost? What’s wrong with you?! It’s not because of your 'environmental beliefs’ is it?’
And roughly so went the conversation with a couple of my friends about a week before departure time. Only, I was going to be leaving by a very different departure lounge to the one they had so clearly imagined. I was catching the Euroline service from London – Warsaw, via Dover, Calais, Holland, Belgium and Germany. In spite of my friends’ consternation, and with perhaps an inkling of self-doubt as to my sanity, being so frequently questioned as it had been those last few days, I was actually quite excited! A chance to pause, reflect, think, dream, mull-over, contemplate and plan before I arrived at my destination a full 24 hours, maybe more, later. I was definitely going to need a window seat. I needn’t have worried; the bus was less than half full.
Not very surprising, you might think? Actually, I was pretty surprised that there were any others like me, stupid enough, sorry, ‘adventurous’ enough, to choose such a mode of transportation. Why the hell bus it? Hell being the supposed defining word…
Money was nothing to do with it; a one-way ticket had probably cost me more than a return flight to Morocco, let alone to Poland… I decided I must be travelling with a bunch of aviophobes, having recently met more of these than I realised were out there. (Perhaps they could form a powerful anti-aviation support network. Something to tap into…?)
But then I realised that this assumption of mine about my fellow passengers presumed something. Something that was similarly presumed by friends, family and acquaintances: that, of COURSE I was going to fly to Poland! How else does one get from A to quite a distant B? Such assumptions are two sides of the same rather persuasive coin – that the idea of flying has so monopolised our imaginations to the point where it no longer becomes a choice among choices, but the only way to travel. So, the only people who don’t travel this way are either a) crazy, like my good friend #1 feared, b) puritans, like my even better friend #2 surmised or c) whimpish, like I myself deduced….
However, I would like to point out that, on this occasion at least, neither a, b, nor c applied to me. Low CO2 was a bonus – true, when I’m in the mood, I like to keep my eco-image as shiny as possible ;) But it wasn’t the main reason I chose to go slow. There’s just something so much more relaxing, time-expanding, psychologically soothing, even meditative, about travelling overland – measuring out the miles as they exist on the ground, sensing the graphic changes in road surface beneath you, seeing the gradual changes in landscape and culture and people as you drive through it all instead of flying over and above it. Allowing yourself the space and time to prepare yourself mentally and physically to a new place, as well as making sense of that place within a geographical, ecological and architectural context, is so valuable and important to arriving invigorated, inspired and excited. You have just driven thousands of miles, you are a little tired, yes, you probably haven’t slept as comfortably as you would have liked to, but you have arrived – at last! You have not been teleported via a giant metal tank, stepping out into generic Airport 2 before you have had time to swallow your imitation sandwich having left prototype Airport 1, a voice-over thanking you for ‘choosing’ easyjet….
But really, there exists a greater choice, dear consumer, not just between BA or Lot (ehem, that’s Polish Airlines to you). Having cycled to Geneva last summer, hitch-hiked to Morocco, eurostarred it to Paris, and, yes, bussed it to Poland, it’s a shame such luscious alternatives are not advertised as loudly by most, if not any, travel agents. But they do exist. Of course, they are not for everyone, and are not even always the most appropriate option – who am I to tell you to get on your bike? But, as long as we can still imagine a world without airports, runways, jumbo jets, or 747s, then that’s a step, admittedly not a long-haul flight, in the right direction. As long as we know the alternatives, then flying can take its place as a choice amongst a genuine selection…
Meanwhile, back on the bus, friend #3, who is supposed to be meeting me at the bus terminal in Warsaw, calls: ‘Which airport are you arriving at again…..?’
* * * * * * *
For slow travel info visit: http://www.loco2.co.uk/ or http://www.seat61.com/ :)
Food for thought (Keeping our decisions Conscious): http://www.planestupid.com/ and http://www.marklynas.org/2007/8/28/heathrow-the-most-important-protest-of-our-time
[Me]: ‘By bus.’
[Friend #2]: ‘Aren’t your parents going to take you to the airport?’
[Friend #1]: ‘No, I meant to Poland, not to the airport – what airline are you flying with?’
[Me]: ‘No, er… I’m going by bus – to Poland.’
[Friend #1]: ...Long Pause... ‘Oh. Why?’
[Friend #2] ‘Is that even possible?’
[Friend #1]: ‘How long does that take? Are you mad?’
[Friend #2]: ‘How much does it cost? What’s wrong with you?! It’s not because of your 'environmental beliefs’ is it?’
And roughly so went the conversation with a couple of my friends about a week before departure time. Only, I was going to be leaving by a very different departure lounge to the one they had so clearly imagined. I was catching the Euroline service from London – Warsaw, via Dover, Calais, Holland, Belgium and Germany. In spite of my friends’ consternation, and with perhaps an inkling of self-doubt as to my sanity, being so frequently questioned as it had been those last few days, I was actually quite excited! A chance to pause, reflect, think, dream, mull-over, contemplate and plan before I arrived at my destination a full 24 hours, maybe more, later. I was definitely going to need a window seat. I needn’t have worried; the bus was less than half full.
Not very surprising, you might think? Actually, I was pretty surprised that there were any others like me, stupid enough, sorry, ‘adventurous’ enough, to choose such a mode of transportation. Why the hell bus it? Hell being the supposed defining word…
Money was nothing to do with it; a one-way ticket had probably cost me more than a return flight to Morocco, let alone to Poland… I decided I must be travelling with a bunch of aviophobes, having recently met more of these than I realised were out there. (Perhaps they could form a powerful anti-aviation support network. Something to tap into…?)
But then I realised that this assumption of mine about my fellow passengers presumed something. Something that was similarly presumed by friends, family and acquaintances: that, of COURSE I was going to fly to Poland! How else does one get from A to quite a distant B? Such assumptions are two sides of the same rather persuasive coin – that the idea of flying has so monopolised our imaginations to the point where it no longer becomes a choice among choices, but the only way to travel. So, the only people who don’t travel this way are either a) crazy, like my good friend #1 feared, b) puritans, like my even better friend #2 surmised or c) whimpish, like I myself deduced….
However, I would like to point out that, on this occasion at least, neither a, b, nor c applied to me. Low CO2 was a bonus – true, when I’m in the mood, I like to keep my eco-image as shiny as possible ;) But it wasn’t the main reason I chose to go slow. There’s just something so much more relaxing, time-expanding, psychologically soothing, even meditative, about travelling overland – measuring out the miles as they exist on the ground, sensing the graphic changes in road surface beneath you, seeing the gradual changes in landscape and culture and people as you drive through it all instead of flying over and above it. Allowing yourself the space and time to prepare yourself mentally and physically to a new place, as well as making sense of that place within a geographical, ecological and architectural context, is so valuable and important to arriving invigorated, inspired and excited. You have just driven thousands of miles, you are a little tired, yes, you probably haven’t slept as comfortably as you would have liked to, but you have arrived – at last! You have not been teleported via a giant metal tank, stepping out into generic Airport 2 before you have had time to swallow your imitation sandwich having left prototype Airport 1, a voice-over thanking you for ‘choosing’ easyjet….
But really, there exists a greater choice, dear consumer, not just between BA or Lot (ehem, that’s Polish Airlines to you). Having cycled to Geneva last summer, hitch-hiked to Morocco, eurostarred it to Paris, and, yes, bussed it to Poland, it’s a shame such luscious alternatives are not advertised as loudly by most, if not any, travel agents. But they do exist. Of course, they are not for everyone, and are not even always the most appropriate option – who am I to tell you to get on your bike? But, as long as we can still imagine a world without airports, runways, jumbo jets, or 747s, then that’s a step, admittedly not a long-haul flight, in the right direction. As long as we know the alternatives, then flying can take its place as a choice amongst a genuine selection…
Meanwhile, back on the bus, friend #3, who is supposed to be meeting me at the bus terminal in Warsaw, calls: ‘Which airport are you arriving at again…..?’
* * * * * * *
For slow travel info visit: http://www.loco2.co.uk/ or http://www.seat61.com/ :)
Food for thought (Keeping our decisions Conscious): http://www.planestupid.com/ and http://www.marklynas.org/2007/8/28/heathrow-the-most-important-protest-of-our-time
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)