Poland, Three Months In

Today marks my three month anniversary in Szczecin: time to take stock of where I am and how things are going.

On the good side:

Made nice friends, have a fine apartment in a nice neighborhood, close and convenient to everything.

On the iffy side:

Maybe I’ll get to stay here, maybe my stupid arm will start working better and maybe the sun will shine again.

It shone today in a slice of blue sky, but by the time I got up to stare out the window, it (and the slice of blue) retreated behind the seemingly perennial cloud cover.

That’s the quick version; now for the extended play.

People

Indeed, I keep on meeting nice people, Luisa and Ewelina being prime examples of such.

I should tell you that, when Luisa informed me, a while back, that Polish people tend to be rather abrupt, I didn’t quite believe her, exactly because everyone had been so nice.

Now I know better.

When my recently broken arm and I were on the bus and a rather large woman sat down next to me, I tried to communicate to her that my arm was in a cast and could she please not jostle it as she had been doing.

Not on purpose, of course. She kept fiddling with her purse and shopping bag. 

I didn’t know how to say please; all I did was show her the cast with a look of supplication on my face. I didn’t understand her words but her gestures were clear: I should just move to another seat... even though I had been sitting there before she came along!

Since then, I’ve had other rude interactions: with the gate guard at the post office and with a man who refused to get out of the way so I could get off a tram. By that time, I knew how to say ‘excuse me’ but he still wouldn’t move!

In the case of the gate guard, I didn’t understand anything he said but, like the woman on the bus, his tone and body language came through crystal clear.    

Obviously, learning the language will be a priority, if only so that I can stand up for myself when I get barked at.

Language lessons

For all of the languages I can speak, I have never taken a language lesson outside of high school – and I already knew the languages they were teaching!

So taking language lessons is a first for me.

I have trained as a language teacher and taught language lessons, so I have a rough idea how such things should go... but then, not every teacher has the same methodology.

I like my language teacher: she is smart, funny, pretty and personable. I don’t particularly care for her teaching style, though.

I will admit that I am perhaps not the easiest student to teach: always full of questions, trying to find connections – root words, conjugation, declensions...

Granted, we’ve had only 3 lessons and last session was the first time she assigned homework. As we’ve done no review of material studied in the previous lessons so far – just jumped right in to new material, I hope there will be at least some review from now on.

And pronunciation! A very difficult aspect of this language, but we’ve done no role play (the conversations in the textbooks) and no drills. Mostly, I end up repeating after the CD that came with the book... I could just do that at home, by myself!

Food

There are, ahem... some er... slurp gulp... tasty things to eat here; for one, the sheer variety of breads.

I have only tried a few breads and dishes.

By no means am I an expert on Polish cuisine, but there have been forays that I delight in telling you about.

The most popular side dish is a tangy pickled cabbage that so far, has been served with every meal out that I’ve sampled. Whether it features with every meal... according to my two friends, yes, it does.

The favorite snack food is called pasztecik, a deep-fried yeast-dough snack filled with either meat or veg and served with a side of clear borscht that I have yet to sample... so much food, so little stomach!

The second-fav seems to be the Doner kebap, which I’ve sampled plenty of.

Pizza here does not seem to have the punch I am used to: crispy crust, lots of cheese... I have only sampled 2 pizzas since I’ve been here and, while the occasions were memorable, the pizza seemed a little on the frugal side compared to past pizzas I have devoured.

I’ve mostly been cooking at home, to tell the truth. With my left arm incapacitated (and being a left-hander), I really didn’t want to embarrass myself by dribbling food down my front in every restaurant across Szczecin.

Also, I am trying to stick to a German diet: big meal at lunch, light breakfast and dinner.

Here, there is a large variety of sausages – including Polska kielbasa, in case you’re interested. Recently, I discovered these amazing bacon chicken wraps...

In short, no problems with food.

And if there were, I could always head to BK, Subway, McD or KFC! NOT!!!

Bureaucracy

I find officialdom in Poland to be at least as convoluted as in China, if not more so.

I’ve already told you all about the demands for documentation at the office of foreign affairs; now I share the other ones.

My first brush with bureaucracy involved the post office; their sending me a registered letter to inform me I had to pay customs duty on the meds I had ordered.

Once that was paid, a second letter informed me that the Lidocane shipped to me through the mail was a controlled substance that needed special permission for receipt.

Lidocane? I didn’t order any Lidocane!

Come to find out, it was about my thyroid meds again; they just wrote Lidocane on the letter.

This time they were requiring a special dispensation letter from the postmaster general in Warsaw, permitting me to receive my meds through the mail.

How was I supposed to get that???

And why did they charge me 288 Zloty customs duty before assuring themselves that I had the postmaster’s blessing to receive my meds?

No, they didn’t refund the customs fee.     

My next brush with bureaucracy was at the hospital, in consultation over my broken arm.

Indeed, it needs surgery. However, because I did not yet have insurance, I would have had to pay for the operation in full, out of pocket, before even being considered for surgery.

Money was not so much the issue as getting it here is; I can only withdraw so much from my stateside bank each day.

And insurance wasn’t going to help at this point; they all have a pre-existing condition clause that wouldn’t cover my arm.

Nevertheless, armed with insurance, I went back to the hospital two weeks later, on my appointed day. They told me I had to prepay for the appointment because I had no insurance.

They charged me 80 Zloty to tell me I needed surgery and I should really make arrangements... nothing else; not so much as removing the cast or taking a new X-ray.

The arm still works but it is now deformed. I am doing therapy on it by myself. It seems to be getting better, little by little.

How is Szczecin Working Out?

I have a (heated) place to live and food to eat. I have a bit of social contact and all of the solitude I need to get my writing done.

There is no bike riding yet. For one, my busted wing needs to heal better and for two, it is a bit cold and wet.

Walking is going better now that the vertigo has subsided. It helps that I have Nordic walking poles; they lend a bit of stability.      

There are plenty of buses to ride yet, but I’ve pretty much covered historic Old Town on foot – Szczecin is not a megalopolis.

Now I just have to find the castles and a few other landmarks!

I am hungry to travel; to board a train and go exploring but, with the uncertainty of my permanent stay here, I am reluctant to spend frivolously lest I have to relocate in a few months, should my visa not be approved.

I’ll admit I am not filled with wide-eyed wonder at the prospect of uncovering this country’s every secret like I was in China but I am privileged to live here... however long the stay may be.

All in all, I quite like it!

It’s Christmas in Poland!

This title is a rip off of John Prine’s song Christmas in Prison, a melancholic tale of a man who, through his wrongdoings, has ended up at the Big House and is describing the scene:

It was Christmas in prison and the food was real good!

We had turkey and pistols, carved out of wood...

He goes on to describe how much he loves and misses his lady and dreams of her every night.

I never did get how Dolly Parton’s Hard Candy Christmas, a song that has nothing to do with Christmas, has become a Christmas carol simply because of the word Christmas in the title, whereas John Prine’s tender, remorseful ballad, which is all about the myriad of emotions one tends to feel at Christmas gets virtually no airplay anytime of the year but especially not during Christmas.

Maybe she just had better representation...

But maybe... since, these days in America, radio stations start playing Christmas carols on Thanksgiving, they could squeeze that John Prine ditty in?

In any case...

It’s Christmas in Poland and the food is real good... 

That’s the topic for today.

I’ve not been here long enough or had much social interaction through which to learn Christmas traditions in Poland, so I will mostly have to resort to cultural anecdotes I’ve read to tell you all about Christmas doings here.

Entertainment

In the States, there are staple Christmas movies, from the classics – Wonderful Life/Miracle/Christmas Story, to the new-fangleds: Elf, the Santa Clause franchise and, of course, The Grinch!

And then, you have the Christmas Miracle Romance fodder...

In Poland, Home Alone is THE Christmas movie tradition.

One year, the TV stations planned on airing a different film for the holiday and met with such resistance from the general public that nobody ever tried to change it again.

Curiously enough, it appears that all foreign media, television shows as well as movies, are voiced over    by a single person with a deep, baritone voice.

He reads every character’s lines, both male and female, with no inflection. I find it a bit disturbing.

Furthermore, the original soundtrack is not muted so, even through his prattling, one can still hear the original characters shouting, sobbing or laughing.

No, he doesn’t laugh, either. I find that a bit disturbing too.

Singing

I’ve not heard anyone going about, singing any Christmas carols. I don’t even know if Poland has their own Christmas carols but, when I was out shopping for Luisa and Ewelina’s gifts, I heard George Michael’s Last Christmas over and over.

Just like in China, where Jingle Bells became the song of their season and blared from November till Lunar New Year...

Which is really ironic because Jingle Bells was never meant to be a Christmas carol; it was originally written in celebration of Thanksgiving!

House shoes

Here as in other countries I’ve lived in, the urbane host will offer any visitors house shoes with the intent that 1. the guests should feel at home, and 2. the guests will not soil the carpet with their (muddy, dirty or wet) shoes. 

A favorite gag gift in Poland is giving someone a pair of house shoes as a gift. I have no idea why.

Discovering that tidbit made me cringe because I had just gifted Ewelina a very cozy pair of house shoes during our gift exchange last week! At the time, I did not know this culture means them facetiously when gift wrapped.

Fortunately, I gifted Luisa candles. Those are not considered gag gifts anywhere in the world, I think.

Sharing the Christmas Wafer

Food is an integral part of the holiday celebration here, much as it is elsewhere in the world. However, after a day of cooking, just as the first stars are visible (or thought to be there, behind the cloud cover), the nuclear family gathers ‘round and, prior to gorging on the 12 dishes the table is groaning under, they share The Wafer.

Whilst partaking of it, all family members wish each other rains of blessings.

Why 12 dishes?

One for each apostle. Poland is a very religious country so they weave their beliefs into their holiday meals and celebrations.

Christmas eve will see the devout heading to church for Midnight Mass... after which more food is consumed.

The holiday lasts 3 days: one for nuclear family, one for extended family and one for distant relatives and friends so well thought of they may as well be family.

For me, it is quite an adjustment, coming from China, where nothing (stores, banks or post offices) closes, not even for their high holiday, to being here, where not so much as a convenience store will do any business for these three days.

Perhaps in bigger cities, but not something I found here: a Christmas market.

European Christmas markets are a sight to behold: food and goodies, music and cheer; artisan-crafted gifts for anyone you might not have found the right trinket for and glasses of warm mulled wine can be had for just a few coins.

Although the streets have pretty lighting; snowflakes and trees, there doesn’t seem to be an overabundance of decoration or expression of Christmas. And no Christmas market.

Dang, I was really looking forward to visiting the Christmas market, too!

Decorating the Tree

I read, on some trivia website not directly about Poland that Polish people decorate their Christmas trees with spiders: supposedly, they bring good luck.

However, this matter is in debate.

None of my few Polish contacts have affirmed that this is in fact the case, nor have I seen any spider decorations in any of the shop windows or ornament arrays for sale. Furthermore, all of the cultural information websites I haunt have said anything about it.

However, there is a Legend of the Christmas Spider, which quite niftily explains the origins of tinsel!

It’s Christmas in Poland and Christmas in many parts of the world.

Now you know a little bit about celebrations over here, and you have my best wishes for happiness, health and peace, to you and yours, this Christmas season.

Oh, and don’t forget to have a listen to that John Prine song!

   

Luisa and Ewelina

Well aware that I’ve been peppering my writings with these names – and not much else about them, I conclude it is high time to assure you that they are very real people; not figments of my imagination or fictional characters in this ongoing narrative.

Setting the Stage

For some people, it’s a new car: while waiting for loan approval, they buy all sorts of automobile accessories – seat covers, floor mats; maybe a vanity license plate or even fuzzy dice.

Does anyone even buy fuzzy dice anymore?

For others, a new home is the cause of their spending spree: new curtains, linens, dishes...

In either case, their major purchase occupies their every waking thought.

For me, it’s new adventures.

In the year leading up to my relocation, I dreamed, planned and educated myself on living in Poland, scouring websites for every bit of information I could find:

·         Careers in Poland is a treasure trove of information about living and working in Poland

·         Numbeo permits a cost of living estimate for just about any city you could think of

◦  This site also provides a by-city quality of life index and crime statistics!

·         Rent Flat Poland provides real estate listings in select cities

·         Poland unraveled presents socio-cultural aspects of life in this country

·         Of course, Superprof has Polish tutors to help your language learning get off on the right foot!

When I first started speculating on Szczecin (among other reasons, because Numbeo indicated the cost of living was so low!), naturally, an apartment search was the first order of the day.

Rent Flat turned out some pretty cute and very affordable apartments.

Good! Check that off the list!

Just like new car buyers who cruise past the car lot while waiting for financing arrangements or new homeowners returning again and again to their prospective neighborhood prior to their closing date, in idle moments, I kept loading that apartment page, checking what was available for rent and picturing myself there.

And then, one day, there were no listings for Szczecin! Other cities, sure... just not the one I was planning to live in.

The great part of this type of lifestyle is flexibility. If there is no place to live in the city of my choice, then I should simply choose another city, right?

Except for the fact that I have a direct flight into Szczecin...

OK, plan B: search for apartments specifically in Szczecin – and that’s how I ran across . Everbest Realty

With just days left stateside and not quite believing my luck, I emailed ‘them’ my arrival date and what I was looking for.

‘They’ answered!

Admittedly, the response was rather abrupt, but then, I had read somewhere that Polish business culture is rather brusque.

I answered Ewelina’s questions in my reply, and then boarded the plane to Poland.

By then I could replace ‘they’ with an actual name because she had accidently sent me an email (in Polish) meant for another client. She urged me to pay no attention to it... as though I could have understood it!

She also urged me not to come to Poland until she’d found me suitable quarters... too late; here I am!

First Meeting

On my first morning here, making use of the hotel’s WIFI, I located a T-Mobile store (purely brand familiarity at play, I assure you!), and then searched for the realty office.

I was pleasantly surprised to find them both with walking distance of my temporary quarters.

I was not pleasantly surprised to not find the T-Mobile store but I did get to meet the very nice Alina, a representative of Orange telecommunications mentioned in a previous blog.  

I was also not happy to have located Everbest only to find the door locked and the lights off. But then, that gave me a chance to eat one of the best Doner Kebaps ever!

For those not in the know: a Doner is shaved meat (beef, chicken or, traditionally, lamb) tucked inside a  crusty pita type of flatbread, topped with lettuce and minced onions and a savory yogurt sauce.

As a teenager in Berlin, a Donerr was my favorite treat!

Here, they taste slightly different but this particular one was sublime – and large I could hardly finish it.

Groaning with a full gut, I went back to Everbest and, lo and behold: someone was there!

When I entered the office, a  brown-eyed pixie with lustruous long hair peered over the loft railing at me. I introduced myself and recalled our email conversation.

Now beaming, her full mouth smiling wide, she came downstairs, ushered me in and introduced me to Luisa – truly a woman to be in awe of.

Where Ewelina is gamin-cute and bubbly – but a total professional, Luisa is drop-dead gorgeous: slim, relatively tall, with long hair and eyes that eat up her face; eyes outlined by mile-long, flawless lashes.

Me: large, bumbling, awkward... these two beauties could have made me feel uncomfortable but, through their charm and grace, I immediately felt a part of them. Indeed, it wasn’t long before we were laughing together.   

Here they are, blowing kisses...

 

Building a Friendship

I admit to a touch of unintentional arrogance at showing up in their office with the imperative of finding an apartment in the five days I had temporary lodgings already paid for. After all, I had no idea what formalities apartment rental in Poland entailed.

Turns out that realtors for both parties must be in agreement to lease but, before agreement could be finalized, there must be a prospective renter screening and checking with landlords to verify that the renter is suitable.

Without considering my fault at all, Luisa and Ewelina jumped through hoops: combing their listings, calling landlords and even other agents to see if they might have a suitable property available.

Through their efforts, in short order, I was settled in my pok, eaten up with remorse.

I had no idea whether such quick leasing was the norm or due to my gentle yet firm pressuring but I thought some sort of recompense was due.

A thank you text was sent; it included an offer for dinner. Whether I would cook it or we would meet out – or even if there would be such an event would be their choice.

And so, a friendship was born.

Getting to Know You...

Our first outing was to a pizza joint, and we were minus Ewelina – because she leads a busy life; not because she didn’t want to be there.

Luisa and I talked for hours: about men and relationships, traveling and life in general. I was shocked to discover she is the same age as my daughter! In appearance, attitude and demeanor, she seems 10 years younger.

Ewelina joined us on the next outing. She is not as confident as she could be with regard to her English skills so Luisa sat between us, interpreting.

I got to pick the next restaurant where we spent our third evening together again chattering and laughing. I was pleased to note that Little Ewelina, as I think of her, is growing more confident in her language skills.

She is ‘Little’ because she is the youngest of our group and also the smallest, not because of any immaturity or lack of intellectual development.

In fact, I am quite impressed to know that Luisa holds a Masters’ degree in Economics and Ewelina trained as a lawyer: clearly, these two are not fluffy, flighty women!  

And they are so warmhearted and generous, with their knowledge and with their time!

Through them, I was able to get health insurance and find a clinic to address any health concerns I may have.

When the foreign affairs office plagued me with their demands for documentation, they helped me secure it.

And, on our last outing, they were sure to remind me to buy extra food because all stores would be closed for three days for Christmas.

We also exchanged Christmas gifts! Below you can see one of my fav pics of us on the coffee mug they gifted me.  

It has been and continues to be my pleasure to get to know Dear Luisa and Little Ewelina (‘dear’ is capitalized in the same sense that ‘little’ is).

In spite of the broken arm that continues to trouble me and deep concern for my dear ones stateside who have their own health battles, Ewelina and Luisa continue to enrich this living adventure.

How lucky I am to know them!

We’re Off to Waly Chrobrego!

This title should be sung to the tune of We’re Off to See the Wizard!, and for pretty much the same reason.

In the classic Oz tale, The Wizard purportedly grants every heart’s desire and Dorothy’s wish to go home.

I am looking for a place to call home and, in today’s culture of nationalistic fervor, am finding it an exercise in frustration to unravel all of the red tape surrounding the protocol for obtaining permission to live here beyond the 90-day visa free stay that any American passport holder is entitled to.

For one, the website detailing how a foreigner goes about legitimizing his/her stay here was exceedingly hard to find.

And then, once it was found, it emphasized that all documents must be filled out in Polish – and here, I was once again confronted with the fact that translation software has a way to go before being completely accurate.

I am very fortunate in that I have someone to advocate for me and would strongly advise anyone seeking residence in Poland to do the same.

The first time we went to the office of foreign affairs, located on Wały Chrobrego, we were dismayed to discover that 1. one must take a number to wait one’s turn and 2. all of the numbers for that day had already been given out. 

We were there at 8AM; you can imagine how early one must show up in order to get a number and surely must realize that, once a number had been secured, the possibility of a day-long wait was not out of the question.

Suddenly, the vending machines in the lobby made a lot of sense.

Disappointed to have gotten up and out so early for nothing, we nevertheless inquired what would be required of us on the day that we would secure one of those coveted numbers. We were told a properly filled out application and all supporting documentation should ensure success at having one’s application accepted for review.

We note here that no one is granted a visa on the spot; candidates are conditionally approved pending a criminal background check from Interpol and verification of all support documentation.

Said documentation posed a problem because nowhere is it indicated exactly which documents are required – or, more specifically, which ones will inch you closer to approval.

And the application packet, all 38 pages of it, also raised issues.

Being self-employed and honest as the day is long, to the question Foreigners Means of Subsistence While in Poland I responded (in my best Google Translate) that I am self-employed.

As for my marital status... as a longtime divorcee, I reasoned I could label myself as single – again, I was wrong!

Both of those issues came to light when we returned to that magnificent building and actually managed to snag a number!

The clerk reviewing my application packet averred that my chances for approval would be so much better if I billed myself as a student and enrolled in a language school (and included a copy of my school contract to substantiate that claim).

She further advised that I need to include my most recent bank statement and photocopy every single page in my passport that held any kind of travel stamp.

She also chastised me for omitting the time I came through Warsaw airport, in transit, on my way to Germany on my application – yes, there is a line where supplicants must write in the exact dates they have previously visited Poland.

I’ve never visited Poland; I only changed airplanes here!

Wait a minute; I’m getting ahead of myself: there is the issue of the money order to talk about.

On our second visit to the foreign affairs office – we’d yet to see or speak with anyone official, we intended to pay the application fee first thing, because the application demanded attachment of that remittal.

So, we queued up at the cashier’s window, where we were informed that they don’t accept those payments. The cashier directed us to the nearest post office, instructing us to buy a money order from them. 

Now the quandary: should I pay the higher price for a visa plus work permit or pay the lower price for the residence visa without a work permit?

We had intended to ask the cashier, thinking s/he surely must know bur now, that’s not an option!

I reasoned: err on the side of caution and pay the higher price. After all, I am working, even if I am self-employed.

My representative filled everything out and, by this time fairly fed up with things, we opted to mail the application packet in.

That turned out to be the wrong choice.

An hour after leaving the post office I was urged to return there and retrieve the registered letter we had just consigned to their care.

Apparently, the same standards do not apply here as they do in the states: there are no laws here regarding the sanctity of the mail – once you give the USPS your letter they will see it delivered. Here, you can ‘buy’ your mail back from the post office for a small fee!   

A small fee that I gladly paid because, as my advocate explained, she had contacted the foreign affairs office and managed to arrange a preliminary interview, scheduled for next week!

Naturally, we wanted everything to be perfect so we met over the weekend, to go over the application and supporting documentation.

That is how we managed, on this third trip to that office, to walk in with confidence: we KNEW everything would be in order!

That is when the officer recommended I sign up for language lessons, provide bank statements, photocopy every single stamped page in my passport, get a refund on the more expensive money order and buy one for the lower visa fee... 

And she’ll see us again the following week.

At the outset of this venture, I had bought a printer. Although there is a print shop right around the corner from my pok, I have neither the language skills nor the patience to continuously run there every time I need something printed or scanned.

I have printed out that 38-page application four times, along with my Polish bank statement, American bank statement, Paypal statement (to show how much money I had coming in this month) and even my Thrift Savings Plan statement... they wanted to know about my financial situation, right?

I also scanned and printed 15 pages of my passport including the data page, my birth certificate, my rental agreement and my health insurance contract.

Could you imagine handing all of that to your local Kinko’s clerk for him/her to print out?

Once again, on a chilly Monday morning, heading to Wały Chrobrego, and again the depletion of my now very thick file.

All of my carefully collected and painstakingly curated documents, scattered on her desk. As she chats with my advocate in Polish, pointing out problem areas – still!, she starts entering my particulars into her computer.

Soon, the fingerprint scanner lights up, indicating I should present my index fingers for imaging.

Now she is gluing one of the four required passport photos to the first page of my application.

I had included my parents’ last names on the form; it should only have been their first names. She scribbles through my error and requests I initial those marks. A couple more mistakes get the same treatment and I legitimize those corrections with my initials.

The whole time, she is talking and talking, typing and typing.

And then, she gets up, unlocks a massive cabinet and returns to her desk with the largest stamper I have ever seen. It makes quite a noise as, centered over a blank page in my passport, its printhead guarantees my legal status here, pending the Interpol green light.

Finally getting that stamp should have been a cause for celebration but we’re putting that off until the foreign affairs office is finally satisfied that I’ve met my burden of proof in establishing my authenticity.

Among the new requirements: proof that my landlady actually owns the apartment I am renting, official confirmation of my account from the bank and a copy of the bank draft indicating I have actually paid for the first month of language lessons.

I cannot imagine how anyone makes it through this system unaided, whether they speak Polish or not.

Remember: I have an advocate who is Polish and still, it took us several tries to get things right.

What strikes me about those onerous requirements is that most of them should, by all rights, fall to the government official who will eventually certify my application.

After all, how is any random citizen, let alone a foreigner, to navigate bureaucracy in order to verify their landlord’s property ownership? What if I were renting from a management company???

My advocate explained: so poorly compensated are government workers that they tend to quit in droves, leaving those offices chronically understaffed – meaning that they cannot run all of the required checks. That leaves us hapless supplicants to bear that almost impossible to meet burden.

I was very fortunate to be able to meet mine because I had a lot of help. Now i’ve got to wait 5-6 months for the disposition of my case... but for now, I am legal in Poland!

A Whole Heap o’ Happenings

Now that I am back in discovery mode – seeing new sights and doing new things, I ty to keep our blog current by writing at least one post every week. That entails me doing/discovering something new on a regular basis which, to me, is manna from the heavens.

On the other hand...

Sometimes there is simply no apt way for me to describe something without resorting to another language to do so. Apparently, this phenomenon is not at all uncommon; the BBC routinely features articles on the topic.

Ich bin nicht belastbar (ish bin nish-t buh-lahst-bah) is a phrase in German that essentially means ‘I am not one to be taxed’, meaning that I don’t necessarily function well when over-burdened.

That is not quite the correct meaning but then, that is the whole point of this thesis, isn’t it?

In a sense, that is why I walked away from the high-pressure world of middle management and sailed off to China. And, when things started to get intense there – I was the only foreign teacher for 3 years, compelled to teach every oral English class as well as attend every function and activity, again I was eager to decamp.

Of course, that’s not the only reason, or even the main reason. And it’s not even that I am lazy and resented the workload.

The main reason I left was the increasing pressure and restrictions placed on foreigners which were tantamount to legalized discrimination.

So now I find myself in Poland, where I look like everyone else and the only way anyone would know I am a foreigner is if they speak to me expecting an answer. Here I have a perfect set-up to fly under the radar; to not be overly taxed, as it were.

I do my writing for Superprof, I do a little shopping, I take long walks and I ride trams: exactly the low-key life that I crave.

However, last week was more like a revolving door of happenings; so much so that each instance was considered blog-worthy but, before I could gather my thoughts and commit them to print, something else was happening!

Ich bin nicht belastbar: I can either experience things or write about them, but I can’t do both at the same time.

Last week saw a stew of events; this week sees their narration. Ready? 

Sunday

Poland celebrates 100 years of independence. The entire city is bedecked with flags and people seem to walk taller, reveling in their country’s centenary.

Happy 100^th birthday, Poland!

Monday

Over here, people tend to shop for just a couple of days at a time; that is why stores tend to be so crowded on Friday evenings and, presumably on Saturday – I wouldn’t know about that because I have yet to venture out on Saturday mornings while the shops are still open.

They close around mid-day on Saturday and are closed all day on Sunday so, if you plan on having a nice Sunday dinner, you’d best get to shopping for it early.

Having depleted my weekend stores, I had my shopping list ready and thank goodness for my new shopping cart! I won’t have to carry everything; just wheel it home!

My first clue that there would be no shopping today was the lack of people milling about in front of the shopping center. My second clue was the extinguished lights and my third clue was the security gates, locked firmly in place.

Too bad I hadn’t thought to check my new home’s national holiday schedule!

If I had done so, I would have known that, although the centennial celebration was on Sunday, it was officially observed on Monday. As it was, I essentially took my new shopping cart for a walk.

I joked as I walked: maybe I’ll take my toaster walking next time...

Tuesday

Evelina, Luisa and I had plans to meet for dinner. Their goal is to introduce me to all the hip, happening places around town; a plan I am completely on board with.

Soon, I will write an entire entry about these two wonderful women and how they go above and beyond to help me get established.

For now we must counter Evelina’s dismay at my swollen hand and limp arm. She insisted I should see a doctor and I agreed. And then, she found me a doctor and both of my companions declared they would meet me at that office, bright and early the next morning.

We also agreed I would help them improve their English in weekly lessons while they would teach me Polish.

Wednesday

One X-ray and one consultation later, I discovered my elbow is so severely impacted that I will need surgery to straighten it out. There is also a fracture of the radius that will need to be reset and stabilized.

That is not the best news I could have gotten...

My two young friends having had to leave before I saw the doctor were now blowing up my phone, eager for the official diagnosis. When I told them, their immediate concern was my lack of health insurance.  

Arriving at their office with my order to report to the hospital in hand, I found them calling every contact they had, trying to find a way to score me some insurance.

See what I mean about going above and beyond?

Incidentally, while we were at the clinic, I made the observation that everything – signs, posters, ect. are all written only in Polish.

Generally, I agree with this principle: if one wishes to live in Poland, they should learn the language. However, some concession should be made to tourists and new arrivals, don’t you think?

I have to say I find this ‘Polish only’ stance rather unusual seeing as every other country I have been to puts up signs in the native language and in English. At least in English, and sometime a host of other languages.

Nevertheless, everywhere I’ve been so far, including the foreign affairs office where one should apply for a residency permit, there is absolutely no other language to read save Polish.

Thursday

It’s up early (again!) and off to the hospital. I am anticipating getting frowned upon because of my lack of language ability and the fact that I did not show up yesterday, as ordered. Nothing of the sort happened: everybody was helpful and kind, and the doctor screening my case even spoke very good English!

Unfortunately, while the clinic visit the day before was affordable, the surgery is... also affordable, if I were allowed to make payments. However, they wanted the entire fee up front and I simply could not get my hands on that much all at once.

We temporized: he made a plaster splint to keep my arm at 90 degrees and I promised to return for a follow-up appointment in 2 weeks, when I would presumably have insurance to cover the surgery.

As I was leaving the hospital, Luisa texted me the address of an insurance agent who is prepared to write me a policy!

Fortunately, the bus connections all worked out and, as a bonus, I got to ride a bus line I had never ridden before – it goes all the way out in the country!

When I finally made it home I realized that, instead of taking my toaster for a walk, I had taken my pajamas and toiletries – everything I thought I would need for a hospital stay.

Oh, well... next time, the toaster!

Friday

Time for the weekend shopping, and I wanted to buy a printer: between the English lesson worksheets and my residence application, I certainly have use for one!

Also, I have received another post office summons. It looks different than the last one; not quite so official. As I am in fact expecting a package, I trotted off eagerly, pulling my shopping cart behind me.

This outing left me twice-disappointed. The printer I bought required a printer cable that needed to be bought separately and the postal notification was once again a registered letter from the post office.

All went well in scoring food, though...

Resolving that I could do nothing about either the lack of cable or post office wranglings until Monday, I found a nice movie to watch and tried to de-stress from this action-packed week.  

Saturday and Sunday brought a nice beef stew and catching up on my Superprof writing; something that desperately needed to be done.

Was this an action-packed week or what?

The Scary Week

I tried to approach this living adventure with as few preconceived notions as possible.

Notions about the people, the culture, the politics and mechanics of how a society and its bureaucracy function.

Having already been caught short due to something I had read or heard prior to landing in China only to find that the opposite of what I had misinformed myself was true, I did my best to not read too much into the dire warnings about Polish people and Polish bureaucracy.

In fact, right off the bat, after only a few days here I found that Poles are neither rude nor taciturn, as online forums report; in general they seem to enjoy a smile and a wave as much as Americans do... not that I walk around, grinning maniacally and flitting my fingers all the time.

There have been several times, at the bus stop, on a tram or in a shop that people just start talking with me...

I have no idea what they’re saying but I can state, with some veracity, that they are not asking me where I come from or if I would teach them English, as happened so maddeningly often in China.

I think that, here, the phenomenon of total strangers talking to me is due to the fact that I look like everyone else, so it would be feasible that I would also speak the language.

So... people talking to you and apparently accepting you: that’s... scary?

No, we haven’t got to the scary parts yet. I just wanted to illustrate that I made an effort to not believe everything I read about Polish people and my experiences so far have validated that point.

So, how are you? How was your Halloween – see many ghouls? Or, in other parts of the world: did you spend a portion of time with your ancestors on All Saints Day? 

Here, it was a quiet weekend; a lot of writing, a bit of walking and a couple of movies.

I was really looking forward to Monday because I had gotten a notice in the mail that there was a parcel waiting for me at the post office; a parcel I was eagerly anticipating!

It was my prescription refill. If you take maintenance medications and start running low, you too would tend to hover around the mailbox... right?

And so it was, that bright Monday morning, notification in hand, I sauntered into the post office – which actually resembles a small shop with its magazines, books, toys and snacks on display.

The impression was reinforced by it being located in a shopping mall, but the poczta (Polish word for post) it was, because the signs pointing to it said so. 

My turn at the counter yielded... not the anticipated meds refill but a registered letter that I had to show my passport to claim – it’s ok; I had anticipated needing identification and, for that reason, had brought it along.

Who could have sent me a registered letter?

Well, the post office did – and I am not being facetious in saying that.

Apparently unsatisfied with the customs declaration attached to the parcel, they wanted me to prove how much I had paid for those goods in order to levy the proper customs duty.

Of course, I didn’t know any of that when, overcome by curiosity, I opened the letter immediately after leaving the post office.

All I saw was a formal letter that looked very much like an official summons, complete with case number and stamped several times in conspicuous places, apparently in an effort to maximize its official appearance.

I couldn’t read much of it. Dni means day and there were two instances of it: 7 dni and 14 dni...

In my mind they turned into ‘you have 7 days to turn yourself in for your 14 days of detention.’

There were a couple more words I could pick out but...

This is it! Barely here a month and already in trouble with the law! Now they won’t grant me a visa; in fact, based on this summons, they’re getting ready to throw me out of the country...

And how am I going to pull my suitcase with my arm still busted up???

It was a valiant fight, keeping panic at bay, and imagine the wellspring of patience I had to tap into in order to type that entire letter into a translator to find out what it’s actually saying? 

Much relief ensued after discovering that I only needed to email, fax or present my purchase receipt so they can verify the proper customs duty to be paid.

I chose to email it. No way was I going to present in person!

That was scare #1.

Before moving on to scare #2, let me give you an update on my arm; the one I busted up a couple of weeks back.

It is doing better. I now have limited use of it, but there will be some time before it is 100%. To wit, I am typing this one-handed.

Because small manual tasks requiring the use of two hands are now unreasonably difficult, I’ve taken steps to make things a bit easier, such as putting bus fare and phone in my right coat pocket so I don’t have to grapple with my purse’s zipper.

Or, if I’m going shopping, I’ll slide my card in that pocket for the simple reason that, if I can’t grapple with my purse’s zippers, fumbling with the wallet would be completely out of the question!    

This evening, after being hard at work all day, I decided to walk a bit, just to the corner store, to pick up a few things before the weekend shutdown.

Stores here generally close on Saturday afternoon and don’t reopen until Monday morning. That’s one preconceived notion that has been borne out.

Tonight, I would wear my parka. The light wind breaker I wore on my last venture out would not do in this chilly, foggy weather, so clean out the right pocket. Oh, yeah, and grab some...

WAIT... WHERE’S MY BANK CARD???*

The last time I had used it was when I bought my microwave, a couple of days ago. I had also bought a shopping cart to pull it home and up the stairs with and, as is now my habit, stuffed everything – bank card, sales receipt and the money I had pulled out of the ATM, into my coat pocket.

And then, the memory: coming back into the store hoping the cashier overseeing the self-checkouts had a pair of scissors (to cut the wire ties the wheel assemblies were attached to the frame of my new cart with), and she gestured toward the main service desk...

She must have thought I had returned to ask about my card that I didn’t even know was missing yet.

Instant change of destination for tonight’s walk, but no departure before typing a vital phrase into my phone’s translator.

And then, hotfoot it over to Carrefour! Finally, it is my turn at the crowded service desk and I hold out my phone, its desperate message plainly visible: ‘I left my bank card here 2 dni ago.’

This helpful clerk called the manager, who went through the log and, after verifying my identity, hurried to the back of the store to retrieve my card...

… and all’s well that ends well, and even better than if I had tried to reclaim my card on the day I lost it because I would not have had my passport with me. (I made sure I had it tonight!)

All of this just goes to prove that you cannot believe everything you read online.

From my experience, Polish people are no more rude than any other population; in fact, my dealings with people here so far have been overwhelmingly positive.

As for the dire warnings about rigid bureaucracy and other intolerance?

I’ve yet to see any evidence of such. Of course, so far my dealings have been only peripheral: opening a bank account, finding a place to live and other steps one must take in establishing oneself.   

Next week, when I start the residence permit application, I may sing a different tune.

But for now, I am just glad that this scary week is over!

* I have 2 bank cards: one for the account I opened here and one for my stateside account, where the bulk of my money is. It was that card that I had inadvertently left at the store, hence the massive panic!  

The Dull Girl

Ever since I started this freelance writing gig, I envisioned a schedule for myself: a gentle wake up consisting of taking in the morning news while sipping coffee, and then research and writing, finishing up somewhere around 3 or 4 in the afternoon.

Then, I would go for a bike ride, shopping or, in the case of my present circumstances – setting up in a new town, exploring.

That would be followed by a nice dinner, perhaps some visual entertainment – a movie or TV show... and then go to bed and do it all again the next day.

Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Idyllic, even.

I was living in China at the time my partnership with Superprof started. I had classes to lead, students to coach... no time for morning news and the day certainly did not end at 3 or 4 PM.

There was coffee, though.

I squeezed my writing assignments in between classes and on weekends, having already explored Wuhan in depth. I did take bike rides, and, how I miss them!

Arriving stateside did not permit implementation of my schedule either: there was always something to do and, toward the end of my sojourn there, someone to avoid: that kept me at the computer every day.

And then, I came here, seriously behind on my assigned writing and, in spite of my elation at this new lease on life, I was compelled to stay on the computer, nearly completely foregoing the urge to explore and discover.

Nearly...

Until that fateful day, 2 weeks ago, when a combination of momentary inattention and unmaintained sidewalk conspired to bring me down, quite literally, to the ground.

Since then, virtually all I’ve done is sit in my room with my arm propped up, and work.

Every few hours, I’d shuttle between the kitchen an my main room for food (I figure I don’t have to mention the bathroom breaks... do I?).

On those occasions that food ran scarce, I’d brave the stairs and the treacherous sidewalks to the store, and then come right back home.

Of course, it is the sidewalk’s fault that I am injured; blaming myself is just too scary!

You know what else is scary? Looking down a flight of stairs when you have vertigo.

In fact, were I to assign blame on myself for my fall, it would be for this current bout of vertigo that somehow just won’t leave me.

These days, I go down the stairs backwards. My left arm being incapacitated and the bannister being on that side, being beset by vertigo, I have no choice but to scrabble down in the only way I am guaranteed to have a handhold, right?

I’m just glad none of my neighbors have seen me crab down the stairs...

The long and the short of it is that, soon enough, it hit me that I was doing nothing but sit at the computer and work, spending all of my time indoors.

To my horror I realized I had become the dull girl; she of the “All work and no play” variety. And with a whole, brand new city out there to explore!

That simply will not do.

I had finally gotten caught up on my Superprof articles and, while it’s true that my new assignment came in at the start of the month, I reason that I am entitled to a day off, even if the prospect of falling down the stairs or on the sidewalk totally freaks me out.

I’m going to have to do something about that...

But not today!

Today, I am riding trams – that way I don’t have to worry about tripping and falling. And then, I will treat myself to a meal out, take care of some business, do a little shopping and then, head home.

C’mon! Let’s go ’sploring!

Szczecin, or Stettin in its former incarnation is the capital and biggest city of the West Pomeranian Vovoidship – a fancy name for ‘county’.   

Its recorded history goes back to the 8^th Century, when Duke Barnim the Great was awarded the land and built himself a castle. From that time on, this poor city changed hands so many times – because of invasions and land grabs, because of treaties and negotiations...

The first aspect of this city that any eager traveler would notice is the stunning architecture and convoluted street layout.

Indeed, city green spaces and roundabouts abound, as do narrow, cobbled alleys, shooting off at different angles from main roads. Soaring façades with sculpted window frames peer down on it all.  

If the city is reminiscent of more famous European villes such as Paris, there is a good reason: the same person designed both cities!

George-Eugene Haussmann, a lawyer and politician by trade, was appointed – initially only to connect the Louvre to the Hotel de Ville, by Napoleon III. So impressed with Sir Haussmann’s work was he that he then tasked this visionary, who was neither architect nor civil engineer, to ‘redo’ the entire city.

Mr Haussmann later fell upon heavy criticism for the expense and lavishness of his work.

All was well as long as the Emperor was giving orders but when Napoleon decided his legislative body should have a measure of power, there was no quieting the clamour over the money spent rebuilding the city.

The visionary was disgraced and forced to resign. He then came to Szczecin and, in about a year, wielded such influence that the city became the new drawing board for his urban vision.

And what an appealing vision it is!

Incidentally, his work was not confined to Europe. His efforts also inspired the City Beautiful movement in the States.

Riding trams around and through the city is the perfect way to take all of this in. Slow and clattery, some of these conveyances are more than 40 years old, yet they rumble sturdily on.

Szczecin has 12 tram lines, some of which run parallel routes, at least for a time. Most terminate in remote city regions; I found the newest hospital at the far end of Line 3, in a district called Las Aronskis.

I also found the train station!

In most Chinese and European cities I’ve visited and even in the States, train stations are an integral part of city center. Which is odd because there isn’t much passenger train traffic in the States!

Here, the train station is off to one side, fronting the river.     

I’d been hearing trains rumble by and my pok is close to a railway bridge but, for the life of me, I could not find that station... until today!

Suddenly, I saw all of my travel dreams come true: boarding a train for who knows where – Gdansk, Poznan, Wroclaw and other exotic-sounding destinations.

My pack on my back, my boots on my feet... my vertigo (hopefully) vanquished.  

This dull girl has instantly polished up, the bright future of discovery wiping away layers of despondent grime.

Now I just need to figure out how to buy a train ticket.

Order Up!

Today, you will be treated to a joyous tale of success in a quest for food.

No, please don’t shake your head in bewilderment and check past articles for a firm assertion that I have proven I can shop here; this is a completely separate quest. A more... urgent one.

Well, you can read past articles if you’d like...

Oh, and also: I will make use of a narrative device* that will permit me to express the depth of my feeling at every point in this event without pouring more profanity into cyberspace – where there is plenty of it without adding my two pounds worth.

Don’t worry about which device; you’ll recognise it when you see it.

Any more questions? Off we go, then...

It was a gorgeous fall day. A crisp wind teased the golden leaves, lively in their last throes, as they skipped across the pavement.

The sky was such an intense blue you wanted to reach your hand up just to touch its perfection...

Living on the 5^th floor as I do, I was quite nearly able to!

I’d been hard at work on my assignment, pounding out two articles per day for the last couple of days and was quite in the mood to join the leaves; to go out and dance in the sunshine.

So that’s what I did.

It only took a few moments to save my work and shut down the computer, and then change into something suitable for the pursuit. Soon, the wind was tossing my curls about as playfully as the leaves.

Yeah, there really was a bit of wind, so I decided to ride a tram around. The 10 came along and I paid my fare, settling into my seat to watch leaves dance around without me.

Wouldn’t you know it? Instead of running its usual route, that tram was heading to the depot for service!

Maintenance depots are generally not high on anyone’s list of things to see when exploring a new town but I still considered it a score, especially because I had to take a different tram line back into town. 

And so the afternoon went, all in fun but with an eye on the clock – there was a chat in the offing and I wasn’t going to miss it!

Close to chat time I rode home but, realising I still had at least an hour and a half... hey! Wonder what’s down here!

I’d not yet fully explored all of the streets in my neighborhood, you see, so, as I went in this new direction, I was quite pleased to find a Netto grocery store and wondered if they were open on Sundays...

Between wonderment, curiosity and the half-dead leaves carpeting the sidewalk, I just didn’t see that chunk missing out of that giant pave stone. My ankle twisted and down I went. 

Monkey throwing feces!

Not gracefully or gently, but with a giant wrenching of my left elbow – that’s the arm that first tried to break my fall and, when it gave out, my right hand, followed a second later by my right knee.

MONKEY THROWING FECES! MONKEY THROWING FECES!!!AN ENTIRE TROOP OF MONKEYS THROWING FECES!!!

I assure you that what came out of my mouth was not that mild.

Fortunately, I was saved from further polluting the environment with my foul words by a kind passerby who asked me why I was sitting on the ground, with my glasses over here and my bag over there.

I know that’s what she asked because, when I told her I spoke no Polish, she repeated herself in English. She also asked what happened and if she should call an ambulance for me.

Therein lies the true feces-throwing beast: as yet, I’d not purchased health insurance. In fact, that was to be my mission this week, but fat chance if I was going to wander into town in my current condition!

And no way was I going to incur a massive emergency room bill on my 3^rd week here!

Not that I’m being foolhardy.

In fact, let me say right now that if you are in need of medical attention, don’t wait to seek it out.

It just so happens I have a bit of experience with my left elbow taking a whacking from when I bashed my head open in China. I know what a bone bruise feels like, as opposed to a bone break. This was definitely bruised.

Any desire to further explore the neighborhood vanished. Once I felt steady enough I walked home, cradling my elbow and mewling pitifully.

And mentally reviewing what I had in my first aid kit.

I wasn’t even thinking about climbing 5 flights of stairs and somehow made it all the way up with no trouble.

An air cast, bought for my broken leg, but with a slight modification, could work to splint my arm. An elbow brace... forget it! Arm is far too swollen now.

Tylenol. Lots of it. Yes, good take some right now

Wet a pair of socks and throw them in the freezer: poor man’s ice wrap.

INTERIM

We had a lovely chat! It has been raining a lot in Texas...

BACK TO STORY

With both of my arms in muted agony thanks to the tylenol, I had to think about what food stores I had. I couldn’t keep popping pain killers on an empty stomach.

That is when I discovered my right hand had possibly suffered more damage than my left elbow.

I have pretty bad arthritis in my right hand and only keep it at bay by minimizing intake of caffeine and wheat – my two triggers. That doesn’t mean the hand isn’t a bit painful and deformed... and landing on it rendered it completely useless.

Monkey throwing feces!

Besides the fact that I make my living through finger dexterity – in reckoning my situation, I figured I could type reasonably fast with just one hand, but how was I going to prepare food? Change clothes? Do anything with two useless hands???

Oh, so many feces-throwing monkeys!

Fortunately, I also had a bottle of Nyquil in my meds stash. A few ham and cheese roll-ups, a slug of Nyquil, and... sit up all night because I hurt too bad to lay down.

The drowsing felt great but my hands were still useless the next morning; you should have seen me try to fix breakfast!

And I couldn’t keep eating just cold cuts and cheese...

Suddenly, inspiration hit!

When cleaning up after the previous tenants, I thought to save a few of their left-behind take out menus, should I ever wanna not have to brave the stairs.

Of course, there is the off-chance that I misinterpreted those menus – there might not be any food delivery or, if there was, the restaurant workers in question might not understand anything but their native language!

And so, it came to be, on that fateful day of no hands, that I pecked at my phone’s translator for the Polish word for ‘delivery’ and found it on that menu, next to the phone number one should call in such times that pizza delivery is needed.

Thus emboldened, I pecked 8 digits in, awash with relief and gratitude for that unknown man’s language skills, and placed my order. He further reassured me by promising my pizza and beverage would be here in 30 minutes.

That was only the second time in 8 years that I have ordered a pizza, and the other time, the ordering was done online.

I guess you could say i’m getting all kinds of living experiences, here!

When the door bell chimed, I inched my way out of my seat – getting out of low-slung furniture with no hands is no fun unless you’re much smaller than I am, and I buzzed him in, and then waited for the ponderous footfalls that would signify the imminent arrival of pizza.

It was the most mediocre pizza I have ever had: no sauce to speak of, hardly any cheese and only a handful of pineapple and ham.

Still, it was hot, it was food...it was delivered!

And I can always embellish the rest of it with extra ham and cheese.

Now for the good news: my right hand is nearly back to normal, I am working my left arm gently – it is going to take that one a bit longer to heal.

But the best part is that, this event having spurred me into looking more closely at my health insurance options, I discovered I can register as self-employed with the National Health Service instead of paying higher ‘foreigner’ premiums through a commercial enterprise!

There is always a silver lining...

* Please know I bear simians no ill will, nor do I have any intention to shame or demean them in invoking them in this manner.

That expression was born from a childhood trip to the zoo where I distinctly recall seeing monkeys engaged in that very act.

I feel the visual serves very well to depict the chaos and panic and anger that was trying to wrest control of my mind at the time of the event.