Trip Notes: Gdansk

Believe it or not, in spite of the frustration of trying to find my hotel, I was elated to be on an adventure!

The street I had walked down the night before was Długi Targ (D-woogi Targ), otherwise known as The Royal Way. It starts at the Green Gate, a stunning structure inspired by the Antwerp City Hall.

The term ‘gate’ is hardly appropriate seeing as it is a fully built structure that, in its heyday, functioned as the formal residence of Poland’s kings. It was built in 1568 and, today, serves as a museum.  

In fact, there are plenty of museums along Długi Targ and Ulica Długa (Long Street) but the weather was so glorious I did not want to be indoors! Besides, I am only here for a little more than two days; gotta see as much as I can!

On the opposite end, Royal Way is capped by the Golden Gate, built in Dutch Mannerism style.

The original structure did not survive World War II but was replicated in the late 1950s. Notably, all German influence had been removed/ignored in the reconstruction – of the gate and of the city; only later was a single inscription in German replaced.

You might know that Gdansk ‘belonged’ to Germany for a substantial period of time. In those years, it was called Danzig. I get the impression, time and again, that German occupation of Poland was not necessarily welcome or wanted.

Walking the Royal Way last night, I was awed in spite of my frustration. It was plenty well lit up and decently populated; a number of people were strolling along. Now I have my chance to see it all in the daylight and it did not disappoint.

What did disappoint was my breakfast selection.

In a bakery where several others were enjoying their meal, what I had ordered looked nowhere near as appetizing as the fruit-topped waffles others were enjoying. Nevertheless, fortified with a bit of food, it was time to go walking!

While most of the tourist attractions (and pubs and restaurants) were on this main boulevard, there were  side streets to explore.

Gdansk has enough churches to put any town in the American south or southwest to shame – 10 of them in Old Town alone!

One of the more remarkable ones, St Marie’s Basilica, built during the 15^th century, is the second-largest brick church in the world.

It was close to this church that I found the Barbary lion sculptures the night before. If I had gone to the other side, maybe I would have found sculptures of lambs?  

It may sound a bit strange but, seeing as I had walked the Royal Way the night before, I opted to travel the side streets and the rest of Old Town.

The Big Mill! That sounded intriguing... Ooh, what’s that magnificent structure? Turns out, it was the armory. And the marketplace...

There is so much to see and appreciate here! I did not allot myself enough time to take it all in.

One sight I wanted to see was the Gaol Tower.

Located across from the Golden Gate, it was meant to house prisoners outside of the city walls while awaiting dispensation from His Majesty. There was a long line out the door of tourists keen to take in the torture chamber... or maybe they just wanted to buy some amber.

Gdansk is the amber capitalof Europe and the Gaol Tower houses an amber museum.

I wasn’t on a boardwalk but, after walking all morning, I wished my feet were fireproof! My skimpy breakfast long digested and my feet in agony, I figured it was time for lunch.

I can’t understand why the restaurant I picked was so empty! It was a charming place, a tad on the formal side with its white linen table cloths and candles, but the service was good and the food was reasonably priced and quite excellent.

Selection was difficult: should I have the spinach-stuffed chicken or the traditional cabbage rolls?

As good as the chicken sounded, tradition won out. Those cabbage rolls didn’t taste so different from the ones I remember eating in Germany... that could be because Gdansk was German for about 500 years!  

That lunch break was just the rest my feet needed; now it’s time to prowl some more!

I continued to wander, vaguely following the ancient city walls which took me around all that I had ambled through so far.

In my wanderings, I made sure to score some food for dinner and buy some shampoo to make up for the absent toiletries in my room.

And then, totally exhausted but completely satisfied, I headed ‘home’.

Day 2

Yesterday, on foot, we saw a lot of touristy things – granted, only superficially, namely staying outside for the most part.

Today, we ride public transportation!

Gdansk is a big city with a lot of remarkable features, not all of which are located in Old Town. For example, the shipyards where the Solidarity Uprising took place. (Take tram #8 to get there!).

You may also venture into Oliwa to see the cathedral or catch sight of another, less famous city gate.

Westerplatte, the site where the first battle of World War II took place is only about 20 minutes away by bus (#606, board at the train station). Standing by the monument, you can look out to see the Nowy Port lighthouse. 

As a bonus, that bus will take you past those historic (and now defunct) shipyards where the Solidarity movement began.

If getting to the lighthouse is your goal, take tram #3 and get off at Latania Morska station.

One monument I genuinely wanted to tour but didn’t get the chance to is the Wisłoujscie Fortress, a 700 year old round structure that was the city’s first line of defense, situated as it is at the mouth of the Vistula river.  

I think I will have to come back to Gdansk during the summer months, when all of these attractions are open. For now, it is time to head back to my temporary quarters, have some dinner and hit the hay.

Tomorrow, we’ll be Szczecin-bound!

Polish Trains v. China Trains

Only one beggar assailed me at the train station, as opposed to the flock of mendicants I was subjected to in China.

Again in Gdansk: no security whatsoever to get into the train station or on the platforms. (I rather like that!)

This station is undergoing renovations. There was a canopy overhead but no electronic displays indicating the train number or destination.

My train was due out of track #2 but both sides of the platform were labeled #2! I cursed myself for not paying enough attention when the train pulled in 2 days ago; I might have thus known which side of the platform to stand on.

There were announcements; all in Polish. Traveling in China was made easier by all announcements made in both Mandarin and in English...

My train was due out at 12:05; right on schedule a train glided into the station. There was no train number on the locomotive or on the cars. However, there was a laminated sign on one of the car doors that said ‘Szczecin’.

I asked a conductor leaning out the window if that was the train bound for Szczecin. He muttered something guttural and vaguely gestured to the other side of the platform.

The announcements overhead, barely audible, out of antique speakers and above the noise. I managed to understand “Szczecin” and “15”. Would the train be 15 minutes late or will it come at 12:15? Or 1500 – 3pm?

AND WHICH TRAIN???

All of the other people on the platform were getting a bit antsy, too. A few of them lit cigarettes in spite of all of the ‘no smoking’ signs plastered everywhere. Nobody did anything about it; in China they would have been reprimanded.   

Of course, all’s well that ends well. When the train finally pulled in, I put all of my experience on Chinese trains to work in getting aboard as quickly as possible and finding my assigned seat.

This train was much more populated than the one to Gdansk so I had to arrange myself in such a way that the woman next to me, who constantly twitched, would stop hitting my deformed (and sometimes still painful) left arm.

Other than that, it was a restful journey home.

Footnotes:

Gdansk is still plastered with posters of the mayor who was recently slain. Seeing them everywhere made the visit somewhat mournful.

Graffiti: while I am all for self-expression, the graffiti in Gdansk made me consider the boundaries of that philosophy. It’s not pretty or artistic and doesn’t seem to contain any message; it appears to be just wanton vandalism!

True, there is graffiti in Szczecin, too. But it doesn’t seem as prolific as in Gdansk.

   

What Happened Last Week?

Last week started like any other week: a great chat with my dear friends.

There was one small difference between this chat and other times we’d met on our weekly video call: I could barely contain my excitement.

After weeks of planning, dreaming, and scheming, I had finally bought a train ticket!

Yes, it was to Gdansk. I’ve written enough about hoping to go there, haven’t I?

Actually, I had bought 2 train tickets. I had to come back! I also made a hotel reservation for what was touted to be a fine establishment in the heart of Gdansk Old Town – where, presumably, all of the touristy sites would be found.

Besides confiding in my dear ones stateside, I told not a soul about this trip. For one, because not everybody gets excited about vagabonding and, for two, I was really afraid of jinxing this voyage.

Remember: it had to be put off four times already! 

This time, the oracles lined up auspiciously:

1.      I had wrapped up my Superprof assignment and had a bit of a break before the next one came along.

2.      The weather was on a warming trend in spite of western Europe and the states getting pounded with snow and cold!

3.      There was nothing else going on – certainly nothing as dramatic as an assassination or a busted water pipe!

Quietly, I spent Monday cleaning house and doing laundry. On Tuesday, I attended my language class.

Wednesday morning, I packed and headed to the train station! Finally, I so long to hear that ‘All Aboard!’

That line is from a 1940s song called Sentimental Journey. The second verse of this song describes me perfectly!

At the appointed time, I made my way to the train station, feeling only a bit overwhelmed. I knew nothing about boarding procedures!

You might think that a strange reason to feel anxiety but I assure you it is quite legitimate.

In China, one must show ticket and passport to gain access to the train station and boarding area, and you must have your bag and body scanned. I had packed coffee – my morning essential, and a lunch cooler with sandwiches.

Would bringing food onto Polish trains be allowed? Would my coffee be Gasp! confiscated???

In America, what trains are available generally have no security checkpoints but, should you travel by plane, you must undergo all manner of security checks, including removing shoes and carrying no liquids past security.

In Poland as in Germany, train stations have absolutely no security whatsoever. One does not even have to enter the train station to access the tracks!

However, as my ticket did not list which track number my train would board at, I had to enter the station to check the marquee. That gave me the chance to cast an eye about.

It is smaller than most Chinese stations but has the usual: fast food restaurants, convenience stores and, believe it or not, a florist!

Not knowing what to expect (security? A stampede – like in China?) I had gotten there early. Turns out, with nothing more to do than wait, I flitted between the open track and the station.

Finally, the train arrived! Now a mad scramble to get on board but nothing like I experienced in China.

Car 10, seat 55 – my ticket gave no indication that the train cars would be broken down into cabins containing 8 seats each. Unlike in China where all 118 seats the car contained were arranged in what one would consider an open seating area.  

There was no shouting of ‘All Aboard!’ either; only a whistle blast and the slamming of the doors.

After lurching out of the station, the conductor came by to verify tickets. After scanning everyone’s, he slid the door to our cabin shut. There we were, four strangers, enclosed and gliding down the rails together.

Nothing like the madness of Chinese trains ensued; we all sat quietly, properly and, were there any conversation, it was muted. Even phones were quiet!

I was a bit concerned about protocol: is it permitted to eat in these cabins?

After a few hours, hungry, I broke out my sandwich and chips. Chomping away, nobody so much as gave me a dirty look so I guessed eating is permitted, provided it is done discreetly. 

The sun was just going down as the train pulled in to Gdansk. Seated by the window, I did not know where to look first! Old building, abandoned rail cars and lots... LOTS of graffiti.

Coming out of the train station, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a call from the hotel manager: had I arrived yet? How long till I get to the hotel? There was an 8pm deadline on checking in; should I miss that, I would be charged an extra 100 Zloty.

It being not quite 7, I was fully confident that I could make the 20 minute walk to the hotel.

And I did... in about 2 hours!

First fail: I was told to board either tram #3 or #8 and exit at Akademy Muziska. I boarded the #3, which took me out of town.

I found that odd because the hotel was supposed to be in the heart of Old Town. Maybe I just rode it in the wrong direction...

Going back the other way, we passed a sign pointing to Old Town and promptly headed back out of town! Time for another phone call to the hotel...

This kindly clerk told me I was on the wrong tram; I should have taken the #8. They should have not said to take either #3 or #8!

On #3 and once again heading into town, I got off at the station near the sign that pointed to Old Town. How hard could it be to find my hotel, it being (supposedly) in the heart of it?

Stopping at the map at the start of Long Street, the very avenue that defines Old Town, I searched in vain for Barbary Street, where my hotel was.

Reasoning that Old Town cannot be that big – the map certainly reflected that idea, I could surely find the hotel. So I walked.

And walked and walked, seeing no street signs whatsoever. Probably because I looked so lost, a heavily bearded fellow approached: “What are you looking for?”

I showed him my hotel printout: Blue Mandarin Hotel on Barbary Street.

“Why don’t you use google maps?” Unfortunately, my phone doesn’t work that way unless it is on a WIFI network.

He dug out his phone, typed in the address and pointed me in the right direction. I walked on.

Stumbling across a street with 4 sculptures of Barbary lions, I thought that must herald that I have found Barary Street! Walking that street, I realized that lions, Barbary or otherwise, do not indicate arrival at the Blue Mandarin hotel – and I wasn’t on Barbary Street.

Would I have accepted blue Mandarin speakers as an indication that I was on the right track???

Now totally frustrated, I asked several people where Barbary Street might be. A pair of young women knew; they were able to direct me without whipping out their phones.

Turns out, Barbary Street is not in the heart of Old Town; it is clean on the other side of Old Town and one must cross two bridges to get there!

Furthermore, the hotel was advertised as being in a charming old building with a wonderful view of the city; it was actually a brand new building located in a construction zone and the only view I had from my attic room was of construction cranes.

Clearly, this outfit was not going to get a good review from me.

Once in my room, after 9pm and hungry as a horse, I had no choice but to eat one of my sandwiches – there was nowhere around that I could buy any cooked food.

Once the hungries were appeased, I cast about the room and found that the description on the website was also inaccurate.

·         Kitchenette? No, it had a microwave, a kettle and a kitchen  sink.

◦  It also had a highfalutin coffee maker with 4 coffee pods; nothing else. Thank goodness I brought my own coffee!

·         The advertised complimentary toiletries consisted of a bar of soap. Nothing else.

·         The WIFI connection was damnably slow: I could connect but not access any web pages.

·         The shower only worked in ‘eco’ mode; I had to wash in trickling water.

·         No curtains on the windows: I would be up with the chickens every day.

Oh, well, at least the bed was heavenly even if the duvet was too short – I could either cover my shoulders or my feet but not both.

Time to get some sleep! Tomorrow, we’re going to explore...  

      

  

The Polish Hair Cut

For years, I’ve been cutting my own hair. Doing so is not an act of bravery but of necessity.

You see, because I am so big and tall with exceedingly thin, curly hair, it is imperative that I maintain a flattering hairstyle: too long and my hair lays on my head like a dead thing. Too short and the curl is gone: overwhelmingly, I get called ‘Sir’.

I’ve been known to be called ‘sir’ even with longer hair, especially when I used to wear it pulled back.

However, I am anatomically incorrect for that designator and I really don’t see how anyone could miss that fact, seeing as my exaggerated height puts my mammary region just about eye level to most. Or maybe they are just considering my height...

But I digress...  

These days I find a just-above-the-shoulder cut frames my face nicely and gives my hair enough bounce that I have no need to feel there is something dead on my head. And, over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at snipping and layering my tresses... until I broke my arm.

I probably am still decent at cutting my own hair; it’s just my left arm prevents me from proving it.

The arm is more or less healed now but the elbow remains impacted. I have only about 80% usage of my left limb; 85% on a good day. Most recently, I’ve worked it so much that I can now touch my head with it but I still can’t position the arm as necessary for effective cutting.

That is to say: I don’t trust my arm to function adequately for the length of time it would take to cut my hair and I have no desire to walk around half-shorn until my arm is ready for another go at cutting around my head.

That leaves me no choice but to visit a styling salon. Fortunately, there is one in the shopping center close to my house.

I had been there before, about a month after I moved here, when my arm was freshly broken and I could only say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ in Polish.

These days, I can say so much more but I don’t know how to say ‘I need a haircut, please.’.

Of course, I know ‘please’ (proszę – sounds like pro-sheu), and ‘hair’ is włosy (foo-oh-suh) – picked that one up from my shampoo bottle. But ‘cut’... hmmm...

I recently bought a Polish-English dictionary. Translators are all fine and well but, seeing as I am taking Polish language courses, I’ve reverted to my childhood study method: looking up words in the dictionary.

Occasionally, also reading the dictionary.

I always told my students in China that relying on Internet translators can get you in trouble because they translate word for word rather than meaning and nuance, which is often more correct. Besides that, oftentimes, online translators do not actually render a correct translation!

Furthermore, the act of searching in a dictionary reinforces neural pathways, helping you learn more and retain better.  

By the way, I did tell you I am taking language courses, right?

Nearly ready to go on today’s outing, I sit with my dictionary.

Dzień dobry, musim obiąć włosy. D-gen dobrie, moosim obi-onch foo-oh-suh.

“Hello, I need a haircut.”

Dobze. D-ohb-zhe

“Very well.”

I was directed to a stylist’s chair. By sheer coincidence, said stylist was wearing her hair in a Chinese topknot; the coincidence being that I was getting my haircut on Lunar New Year.

I know it’s kind of silly to build a sense of kinship on a hairstyle, but then, a hairstyle is the cause and extent of our relationship.

Too bad I didn’t have the words to talk with her about Chinese New Year and the historic topknot hair style!

However, I had painstakingly researched and written down the correct words to express my styling needs:

Proszę pokroić dwa centymetrów. Pro-sheu po-kroi-ch dva cen-tuh-meh-tr-oof

“Please trim two centimeters.”

She burst out laughing! At my carefully researched phrasing! And I had no idea why!!!

I asked her if she spoke English or German. I wanted to know what I had done so wrong as to merit a freshet of laughter, delightful as it was.

Another customer, in for a trim herself, averred she  spoke German and proceeded to explain:

‘Pokroić’ represents the act of slicing, as in bread or cheese or meat. Hair does not get ‘pokroić’-ed, no matter what my dictionary says.

My dictionary told me that that word meant ‘trim’, as in ‘hair’!

Now I am mad at my dictionary. In fact, I have already noticed its limitations; there are plenty of English words that I’ve tried to look up only to find them not listed.

Still, I figured the words that are listed should be correct... no? 

That gaffe set the tone for one of the most profound exercises of trust I have experienced since I’ve been here: putting my head, my hair... indeed my very appearance in the hands of a complete stranger whom I could not communicate with. 

Incidentally, the reason I started cutting my hair all those years ago was because hair stylists always cut my hair too short – maybe they too thought I should look more masculine in spite of my mammaries?

But the episode that clinched it was after I had burnt my eyes while welding. Forced to keep my eyes shut while the stylist snipped away, when she finished I put my sunglasses back on to find I had only about two inches of hair left, all around my head!

At least the crying jag brought on by that shearing made my burning eyes feel better, if only temporarily.

Wouldn’t you develop a deep sense of mistrust at anyone who wanted to approach your head with scissors after such a disastrous outcome?

The most remarkable aspect of today’s event was the use of paper towels to dry the hair after its wash, rather than a terrycloth towel.

Those disposable serviettes were then further used around my neck, before the apron was donned, to prevent hair snippets from invading my collar.

Once the hair was lightened of its two centimeters, she indicated a blow dryer; I nodded assent. She then rubbed a light goop on my head and proceeded to style, finishing off with another fragrant blast of spray.  

Truly, it looked and felt great. I was quite pleased with the result and dug into my coin purse to deposit a generous tip into her piggy bank.

No kidding, there was a white ceramic pig sporting crimson lipstick and a silver crown at her station!

Now adorned with a flattering hair style, I strode through the mall, head held high, on my way to discover another segment of this city’s historic walk.

As it is thoughtfully marked out by a red line on select sidewalks, it is rather easy to apportion the sights without having to carry and mark a map, and without having to take all the sights in in one day.

The satisfaction of how my hair felt as it moved with my walk lasted exactly as long as it took for me to exit the shopping center.

As soon as my super-fine hair encountered the ambient air’s humidity – 78% to be exact, the curls wilted and the light spray that smelled so good turned my hair into a sticky mess. By the time I got home, it was laying on my head like a dead thing.

Oh, well! 

 

The Huge Oh, Shawn!

Hear ye, all Shawns and Seans; indeed every Shaun of any spelling: the topic of this article is not an expression of massive disappointment in you or anyone bearing a name similar to yours.

Rather, it is an exposé of the ginormous French retail outlet Auchan which is pronounced the same way as the phrase above.   

And here I thought Auchan was a German retailer because that name also breaks down to German words ‘auch’ and ‘an’, meaning ‘also on’! - perhaps intended to mean ‘also on sale...?’

Auchan was founded in 1961 by Gérard Mulliez in his hometown of Roubaix in France. He modeled his department store concept on successful retailers’ concerns he prowled while on a sojourn in the U.S.

Mr Mulliez is a very interesting character. He comes from a retail background – more of boutique type selling than the general sales one experiences in a big box outlet. Still, one could see where he might have gotten the idea of becoming a retail giant.

Nevertheless, he was poor at academics and even failed his baccalaureate; France’s high school leaving exam. Maybe his modestly successful father despaired over him? He spent a year in England, playing rugby and learning the language.

At some point he crossed the pond, visited the Big Apple and the giant retail stores there, returning home well before he turned 30. He opened his first department store when he was just 29 years old. 

Ok, interesting... but what does Shawn have to do with it all?

Mr Mulliez’s native province, where his hometown is located, is called Haut-Champs, meaning High Fields. That is the phonetic equivalent of Oh Shawn.

Are all Shawns now breathing a sigh of relief? May I go on about Auchan now that you know how it is pronounced and why it is pronounced specifically that way?    

Today, Auchan is an international retail group with stores scattered all over Europe and Asia. They did have a presence in the Americas at the turn of the millennium but soon withdrew; they couldn’t compete with Walmart!

Szczecin is home to several Auchan outlets; indeed the one right by Everbest Realty where I rented my apartment from was the first grocery store I perused when I got here.

It is large by Polish store standards and boasts wide aisles and a varied product selection all while maintaining Polish shoppers’ expectations: deli-type meats and cheese counters, an onsite butcher and, naturally, entire aisles dedicated to chocolate and sweets.

A major downside to that downtown Auchan is that it is always so crowded! It anchors the Galaxy shopping mall...

Wait a minute... why am I talking about grocery stores... again???

The wind is bitterly cold now, and snow has started to fall. Deprived of a bike to ride – and wouldn’t ride in these conditions anyway!, short of joining a gym, walking around indoor spaces is about as good an exercise regimen I can have right now.

Apparently, many Poles feel the same way as they too can be seen ambling around the various shopping centers in town. 

Mind you, when the sun is shining and the wind not quite so brisk, we all toddle around outside...

In light of the fact that the weather, most days, is abysmal, I am always scoping for new places to walk around in.

Sidestep

You might know from my China days that I believe one of the best ways to learn a city is to ride public transportation.

I now have all of the tram routes in Szczecin down pat and have graduated to buses.

This exercise proved a bit difficult as standard Polish informational websites in any language other than Polish are lacking and the city’s Wikiroutes page was woefully incomplete.

By sheer happenstance one day, I stumbled upon the official Szczecin transportation website and, eclipsing my frustration at again finding it all in Polish – what’s a foreigner to understand about getting around if they don’t understand the language??? – clicked on the English button at the top right of the page. 

There opened a treasure trove of information all in PDF files: maps, schedules; even alerts and fares!

Since then, I’ve been giddily riding the longest bus routes, some that go even beyond the city limits and into neighboring towns.

It was on one of those jaunts that I spied the huge Auchan, in the middle of nowhere and not a bus stop close to it... at least, not for the bus I was currently riding.

Later, at home, combing the transportation website I found which bus terminates at Auchan and marveled at the fact that it stops very close to my house! I vowed to make that huge Auchan my next outing.

Provided the schedule cooperated.

Indeed I was disappointed to find that bus only runs once every hour and, not caring to wait at the bus stop that long (I had just missed it!), that bit of exploration got put off. Again and again...

Until yesterday!

Finishing my breakfast I realised that, if I got a wriggle on, I might just make that bus. Wriggle I did and made it to the stop... a minute after its scheduled departure, according to my clock.

Well, dang! But the tram is right there and I could always go to the Auchan downtown; the one I am already familiar with.

On the other hand...

There was a bus cresting the horizon; why not see which one it is before settling for the Auchan downtown?

Lo and behold, it was the wrong bus. But then, right behind it came the right bus; the one that comes only once per hour!

Thus I made my way to the huge Auchan. That adjective is no exaggeration.

Upon entering the complex – it is actually also a mall with several satellite stores and a food court, the hypermarket itself astounds. Standing by the first aisle, the dairy cases, the distance to the other end of the store is underscored by no fewer than 50 checkout lines; there are even self-checkout kiosks.

What couldn’t one find there? Clothes, shoes, books and stationery; notions and bedding and furniture and electronics and toys and food and dishes and kitchenware and...

It took me more than one hour to walk the place, marvelling over and over: this place is HUGE!!!

I will close this article with a single picture to sum it all up.

You might have wanted to see the long chocolates aisle or the aisle dedicated to bulk sales – those uniquely Polish store features that I had previously mentioned. This Auchan had an entire aisle for bulk goods instead of just an endcap!

Instead, I offer you a snapshot of the gardening aisle. Just one aisle, completely full of seed packets.

“Oh, sure!” You might say. “Walmart and Home Depot also have gardening departments where you can buy seeds.”

True: on a spinning rack or a hanging wall rack you could find a limited selection of seeds. Perhaps, at a farmer’s CO-OP, a more ample variety.

But this is in a department store...

Don’t you think that this picture indicates just how huge this store is???

Afterthoughts:

Now that I am acquainted with the huge Auchan I find my local supermarket, Carrefour (also a French brand) sorely lacking.

Fortunately, I bought oven cleaner and Thai sweet chili sauce at the huge Auchan; those products and many others I’ve been hunting don’t seem to be available locally.

I can see now that I will have to make my way there more often.

Oh, Shawn!