Tuesday, January 24, 2006
We care a lot... [sic]
With the temperature so low the streets are strangely empty of people as everyone seeks to stay in out of the cold. Even the bus drivers have started, grudgingly, to use the heaters on the buses and, on our local express, there is a note - in big letters - informing the dear passengers that, due to the extremely cold weather and in force until the 29 January, the bus will stop at any stop, not just the ones at which it normally slides to a halt. This claim is accompanied by a little asterisk on the page which directs your gaze to a footnote where, in even smaller letters, it explains about the exceptions to this information. So we discover that the bus won’t stop if: the stop is a regular one served by another route; the stop is too close to one where the bus would normally stop; the stop is before a left turn; or the stop is at the end of the line. Quite who would get on at the end of the line is beyond me, but it seems as reasonable as any of the other exceptions. So this show of a new, caring attitude by ZTM isn’t quite as caring as we’re led to believe.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Troche zimno...
I think I am finally beginning to tire of the winter. Yesterday was the coldest day in January with a high temperature of minus 20 degrees. That's almost thirty degrees difference between here and England and all of a sudden, ten degrees above freezing sounds positively tropical. Even the news that the weather will 'warm up' to a maximum of minus nine is greeted with enthusiasm. With the increase in temperature comes the promise of more snow and, as yet, I'm not fed up of that. I still get that excited might-get-a-day-off-school feeling in the morning when I look out of the window to see the street covered in snow and the cars going slowly round the corner sideways. It's a very childlike happiness, the sight of a fresh fall of clean, white snow, but it's one I think I will never tire of. Perhaps a remnant of living for so long in a country where the promise of snow is always greater than the reality.
I am, however, getting fed up of layering. Today I had to be at work, as usual for a Monday, at 7.30am. I get up at 6am and have, usually, plenty of time for a shower and coffee before venturing out to get the bus. The last couple of weeks though, have seen me nearly miss the bus on several occasions. This is all due to layering. An essential, and time consuming, part of the day. First the normal underwear, then the thermal: long johns and a long-sleeved top. Over this goes jeans and a t-shirt. Then a thin wool jumper, and a hoody. Boots, down jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. Then once I'm outside I put the hood up. I haven't owned a coat with a hood on since I was a kid and absolutely no-one put their hoods up then in case everyone else thought you were a big girl's blouse or something. Now I don't give a shiney sh*te. If I'm warm I don't care what I look like. I mean, everyone else is all bundled up. Everyone else's hair looks like mice have been nesting in it, everyone else's nose is redder than a baboon's bum, so who is looking at me? Dokładnie. No-one.
Over the weekend it snowed again, but it was the thin, powdery, annoying snow that stings your face and gets in your eyes and through the tiniest gap in your clothes. It must have snowed all of Friday night and it continued all day Saturday until after it went dark. Relentless, covering everything with a light film of white. Occasionally a flake would rest on a scarf or hat, a perfect six-pointed star, small and delicate, not melting because it was too cold and sharp enough to be able to study it carefully for some minutes. A thing that is beautiful, but so small and fragile at the same time. Together with others it can, and does, wreak havoc. In the hospital car park five snow-ploughs chased each other round and round before heading off in convoy towards the bridge where, on Friday morning, a speed-freak youngster doing over 100kph crashed his car into a bus shelter full of passengers, killing five of them and injuring several more. His car bounced over the parapet and down onto the road beneath but he walked away unhurt. The police said that he hit the people at the bus shelter so hard some of them flew through the air to land over thirty metres away, in the middle of a busy highway.
On Sunday the sun came out and the temperature dropped. Over the last couple of weeks the river has slowly been getting more and more clogged with ice. Small round floes, many of which carried a solitary seagull, or a host of cormorants, their wings held out to dry in the weak January sun, floated silently along the Vistula heading for Gdansk and the Baltic where they would try to congregate into a mass of wannabe icebergs. When the lumps hit the supports of the bridge, they made quiet slushing sounds that were like cold breaths in the crisp air. Overhead the traffic continued to thunder across the bridge, but down by the water, all waquiet. The only people there were me and a lonely fisherman, sitting on the ice hoping to catch a frozen fillet. That was last week. This week the ice has solidified and now the river is, on its surface at least, one solid mass of ice. The seagulls have gone now; their little boats are no longer viable means of transport. A group of Fieldfare, looking confused, could be seen trying to get a drink from the tiniest of holes that remained on the surface. They, too, will fly away soon, to Germany or somewhere further west, where the ground isn't solid and there is at least some sort of food.
To see the river was incredible, the widest stretch of water I have ever seen: solid, frozen and white. We had taken a bus there and walked across the bridge, then a tram and bus back to the flat. It took us less than an hour but by the time we returned we'd both had enough. How do people live in places where it is minus 20 or 30 for weeks at a time?
Today is just as cold and the prognosis for tomorrow is for the same but with more snow forecast on Wednesday. To experience this long, cold winter has long been a dream, to live through the snow and ice, the buses with their inside windows frozen - despite the heater being on - and to layer-up against the cold. Now it's becoming a chore, the hats and gloves and scarves every time you want to go out anywhere, even to the bin. When spring comes, as come it must, it will be a joyous occasion, to welcome the new growth, to see the green poking through the snow, to avoid being crushed by snow sliding off roofs, to feel the warm breeze and to know that on that breeze is the prospect of another summer in Warsaw.
I am, however, getting fed up of layering. Today I had to be at work, as usual for a Monday, at 7.30am. I get up at 6am and have, usually, plenty of time for a shower and coffee before venturing out to get the bus. The last couple of weeks though, have seen me nearly miss the bus on several occasions. This is all due to layering. An essential, and time consuming, part of the day. First the normal underwear, then the thermal: long johns and a long-sleeved top. Over this goes jeans and a t-shirt. Then a thin wool jumper, and a hoody. Boots, down jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. Then once I'm outside I put the hood up. I haven't owned a coat with a hood on since I was a kid and absolutely no-one put their hoods up then in case everyone else thought you were a big girl's blouse or something. Now I don't give a shiney sh*te. If I'm warm I don't care what I look like. I mean, everyone else is all bundled up. Everyone else's hair looks like mice have been nesting in it, everyone else's nose is redder than a baboon's bum, so who is looking at me? Dokładnie. No-one.
Over the weekend it snowed again, but it was the thin, powdery, annoying snow that stings your face and gets in your eyes and through the tiniest gap in your clothes. It must have snowed all of Friday night and it continued all day Saturday until after it went dark. Relentless, covering everything with a light film of white. Occasionally a flake would rest on a scarf or hat, a perfect six-pointed star, small and delicate, not melting because it was too cold and sharp enough to be able to study it carefully for some minutes. A thing that is beautiful, but so small and fragile at the same time. Together with others it can, and does, wreak havoc. In the hospital car park five snow-ploughs chased each other round and round before heading off in convoy towards the bridge where, on Friday morning, a speed-freak youngster doing over 100kph crashed his car into a bus shelter full of passengers, killing five of them and injuring several more. His car bounced over the parapet and down onto the road beneath but he walked away unhurt. The police said that he hit the people at the bus shelter so hard some of them flew through the air to land over thirty metres away, in the middle of a busy highway.
On Sunday the sun came out and the temperature dropped. Over the last couple of weeks the river has slowly been getting more and more clogged with ice. Small round floes, many of which carried a solitary seagull, or a host of cormorants, their wings held out to dry in the weak January sun, floated silently along the Vistula heading for Gdansk and the Baltic where they would try to congregate into a mass of wannabe icebergs. When the lumps hit the supports of the bridge, they made quiet slushing sounds that were like cold breaths in the crisp air. Overhead the traffic continued to thunder across the bridge, but down by the water, all waquiet. The only people there were me and a lonely fisherman, sitting on the ice hoping to catch a frozen fillet. That was last week. This week the ice has solidified and now the river is, on its surface at least, one solid mass of ice. The seagulls have gone now; their little boats are no longer viable means of transport. A group of Fieldfare, looking confused, could be seen trying to get a drink from the tiniest of holes that remained on the surface. They, too, will fly away soon, to Germany or somewhere further west, where the ground isn't solid and there is at least some sort of food.
To see the river was incredible, the widest stretch of water I have ever seen: solid, frozen and white. We had taken a bus there and walked across the bridge, then a tram and bus back to the flat. It took us less than an hour but by the time we returned we'd both had enough. How do people live in places where it is minus 20 or 30 for weeks at a time?
Today is just as cold and the prognosis for tomorrow is for the same but with more snow forecast on Wednesday. To experience this long, cold winter has long been a dream, to live through the snow and ice, the buses with their inside windows frozen - despite the heater being on - and to layer-up against the cold. Now it's becoming a chore, the hats and gloves and scarves every time you want to go out anywhere, even to the bin. When spring comes, as come it must, it will be a joyous occasion, to welcome the new growth, to see the green poking through the snow, to avoid being crushed by snow sliding off roofs, to feel the warm breeze and to know that on that breeze is the prospect of another summer in Warsaw.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
It's cold out there...
They announced earlier on the radio that it is minus eight outside. It’s not hard to believe, looking out of the window. For several weeks now the sun has been hidden above the cloud, its presence felt rather than seen. Over the last weekend, however, it made a very welcome appearance. On Saturday when we got up, the whole of the world outside was bright and clear, the light sparkling off the snow that fell just after Christmas and still lies in deep piles all along the sides of paths and roads. But with the brightness comes the cold. Deep blue skies are devoid of the cloud that insulates the earth and we watch the weather forecasters point to lows of minus fifteen and – how droll – highs of minus two. On the bus this morning the ice formed sparkling patterns on the inside of the windows and the places to hold on to – the metal bars – were difficult to keep hold of as they were so cold, even through gloves. Hold on you must as the driver still refuses to slow down or have any regard for his passengers, they’re just a nuisance that keeps him from reading the paper.
As we crossed the river I looked out of the window and was amazed at what I saw. Dotted across the water’s surface like strange, white lily-pads, small floes of ice drifted along with the current. Many carried a lazy seagull, hitching a ride further down the river. On one bank, the ice had formed into the river itself, a vast sheet populated by confused-looking cormorants and some lost ducks. The cormorants drying their wings in the weak morning sunlight; the ducks doing their usual busy swimming around. I was told the river wouldn’t freeze over because of the pollution in it, but it was hard to believe this morning, looking at the surface almost covered with the little blobs of white-tinged ice. I don’t want it to go much colder, I’m already wearing almost every piece of clothing I own, but I would like to see the river frozen over. I have to decide which I want more – warmth or novelty. I can’t decide.
Last weekend, in the trees near to the flat, a flock of two hundred Waxwings spent an hour, chattering and preening, resting from the cold. I’ve never seen one before and to see a whole flock of them completely covering a tree was amazing. They much be on their way to warmer places, as there’s nowhere to get food here. People do hang out bacon rind and bread, but the pigeons bully their way into getting most of it.
We took down our Christmas tree on Sunday. Rather than feeling sad that it had gone, our first Christmas tree together and the first in which I’ve taken an active part in its putting up and dismantling, I am positive in the feeling that this year will be good. The first of many spent with someone I really want to be with and who treats me like I really matter. More snow is forecast for the next week and as we trudged round the Old Town on Sunday, searching for a restaurant to hold the ‘wesele’, we realised how empty the city is in the winter. Many of the cafes take in their seats, leaving the ice and snow from the rooves free to crash down on a poorly-cordoned off footpath. Huge piles of ice now sit by every bus stop, the product of piling up snow after each successive fall. Some pavements are free of it, but many are still like glass, the ice and snow packed hard and worn smooth by hundreds of booted feet.
So the new year begins and I look forward to it. I always wanted to experience the cold of an eastern winter, to be freezing for weeks until one day there’s a breath of warm wind and the grass starts to grow again, the daffodils poking above the soil, announcing the start of another season. This year I get my wish, and by March I am pretty sure I will be welcoming the warmer air with open arms and, in stark contrast to now, an open coat!
As we crossed the river I looked out of the window and was amazed at what I saw. Dotted across the water’s surface like strange, white lily-pads, small floes of ice drifted along with the current. Many carried a lazy seagull, hitching a ride further down the river. On one bank, the ice had formed into the river itself, a vast sheet populated by confused-looking cormorants and some lost ducks. The cormorants drying their wings in the weak morning sunlight; the ducks doing their usual busy swimming around. I was told the river wouldn’t freeze over because of the pollution in it, but it was hard to believe this morning, looking at the surface almost covered with the little blobs of white-tinged ice. I don’t want it to go much colder, I’m already wearing almost every piece of clothing I own, but I would like to see the river frozen over. I have to decide which I want more – warmth or novelty. I can’t decide.
Last weekend, in the trees near to the flat, a flock of two hundred Waxwings spent an hour, chattering and preening, resting from the cold. I’ve never seen one before and to see a whole flock of them completely covering a tree was amazing. They much be on their way to warmer places, as there’s nowhere to get food here. People do hang out bacon rind and bread, but the pigeons bully their way into getting most of it.
We took down our Christmas tree on Sunday. Rather than feeling sad that it had gone, our first Christmas tree together and the first in which I’ve taken an active part in its putting up and dismantling, I am positive in the feeling that this year will be good. The first of many spent with someone I really want to be with and who treats me like I really matter. More snow is forecast for the next week and as we trudged round the Old Town on Sunday, searching for a restaurant to hold the ‘wesele’, we realised how empty the city is in the winter. Many of the cafes take in their seats, leaving the ice and snow from the rooves free to crash down on a poorly-cordoned off footpath. Huge piles of ice now sit by every bus stop, the product of piling up snow after each successive fall. Some pavements are free of it, but many are still like glass, the ice and snow packed hard and worn smooth by hundreds of booted feet.
So the new year begins and I look forward to it. I always wanted to experience the cold of an eastern winter, to be freezing for weeks until one day there’s a breath of warm wind and the grass starts to grow again, the daffodils poking above the soil, announcing the start of another season. This year I get my wish, and by March I am pretty sure I will be welcoming the warmer air with open arms and, in stark contrast to now, an open coat!
Friday, January 06, 2006
My Polish is terrible!
Moje Święta w Polsce były bardzo różnie niż w Anglii.
W tym roku zostałem u rodzina moja narzeczona na trzy dnia w Katowicach.
W Anglii, pierwszy dzień Świąt jest dzień specjalnego. Mamy duża kolacja i dajemy prezenty. W Polsce wszystko zdarza się w Wigilia.
Najpierw przełamaliśmy się opłatkiem i życzyliśmy każdy zdrowie albo szczęście albo łatwy droga do mówienie po polsku, i potem usiedliśmy do kolacji.
Zaczęliśmy od barszcz czerwony domowe, który był nalewany na pierogi z kapustą i grzybami. Potem mieliśmy inną zupę tym razem zrobiona w grzybowi.
Jako dania główne mieliśmy karp. W Anglii nigdy nie mamy ryby, zawsze kurczak albo indyk. W Polsce, kolacja jest bez mięsa. Na stolik był też kompot zrobiony z moreli i śliwek.
Pierwszy i drugi dzień Świąt spędziłem relaksujący albo wyprowadzając psy na spacer do lasu, który był piękny w śnieg.
Wróciliśmy do Warszawy na drugi dzień z mnóstwem jedzenie, które wystarczyło dodatkowe trzy dni.
Spędziłem miło czas. Myślę, że w przyszłym roku Święta będą lepsze.
Bardzo dziękuje dla pomoc mój anioł ;-)
W tym roku zostałem u rodzina moja narzeczona na trzy dnia w Katowicach.
W Anglii, pierwszy dzień Świąt jest dzień specjalnego. Mamy duża kolacja i dajemy prezenty. W Polsce wszystko zdarza się w Wigilia.
Najpierw przełamaliśmy się opłatkiem i życzyliśmy każdy zdrowie albo szczęście albo łatwy droga do mówienie po polsku, i potem usiedliśmy do kolacji.
Zaczęliśmy od barszcz czerwony domowe, który był nalewany na pierogi z kapustą i grzybami. Potem mieliśmy inną zupę tym razem zrobiona w grzybowi.
Jako dania główne mieliśmy karp. W Anglii nigdy nie mamy ryby, zawsze kurczak albo indyk. W Polsce, kolacja jest bez mięsa. Na stolik był też kompot zrobiony z moreli i śliwek.
Pierwszy i drugi dzień Świąt spędziłem relaksujący albo wyprowadzając psy na spacer do lasu, który był piękny w śnieg.
Wróciliśmy do Warszawy na drugi dzień z mnóstwem jedzenie, które wystarczyło dodatkowe trzy dni.
Spędziłem miło czas. Myślę, że w przyszłym roku Święta będą lepsze.
Bardzo dziękuje dla pomoc mój anioł ;-)
Monday, January 02, 2006
Post Christmas blues...
It's the second of January and it's back to the grind. After a whole week off it was a real chore to crawl out of bed this morning. But manage it we did. Eventually.
I spent Christmas in Katowice with my soon-to-be adopted family, and it was a very different experience from the English one. For a start, everything happens on Christmas Eve: dinner and presents. The other two days are spent eating and chilling out. The emphasis is on the dinner and the family and the presents are tokens for others, not the focus.
To begin the celebrations, everyone takes some wafer, the kind you get in church and, offering it to others, you break a piece off each and at the same time wish people good luck, happiness, peace and, in my case, an easy road to speaking Polish. It seemed very formal after the relaxed pubbing of England, but was a sign of how much less commercial everything is here. I mean, people were still carrying Christmas trees home on the day before, so there's no rush to get a tree up at the beginning of December. This year, on a vist to England, I saw my first fully decorated tree in a Westaughton pub on the second of September, on the way into the beer garden with a pint of shandy. It made me wonder what the 'feast' of Christmas is about when for some it starts four months early.
So what about the food? All I can say is I've never had a CHristmas dinner like it and am extremely grateful to those who cooked it. Well, we started with barszcz made from scratch with several pounds of beetroot and almost as much butter. This was poured over pierogi (parcels of pastry containing mushrooms and cabbage) and was fantastic. Next came mushroom soup, again made from scratch. There then followed the carp (which the Poles eat instead of a roast) which came with potatoes and vegetables. After that I got a bit fuzzy about which dishes came after which and I was grateful we didn't have the traditional sixteen courses. I lost track of the number we had, but it was approaching twelve. The food was washed down with a fruit punch made from fresh apricots and plums and to finish we had some cake and little oranges. The whole thing took around four hours and then afterwards we exchanged simple, but thoughtfully purchased, gifts and then sat around, bloated, on the chairs. No James Bond for me this year! The following two days were the same, a round of food and drink, endless cups of tea and no television. Perfect. Even after so much eating we were still able to bring three days supply of food back to Warsaw and now, finally, the fridge is bare!
Snow dominated the scene between Christmas and New Year, with half a metre (or a foot and a half in old money) falling in two days. It's started to melt somewhat, creating skiddy patches everywhere and slush puddles the size of football fields, but the ground is still white in many places and perfect to look at. We went for a walk on New Year's Eve morning, to the forest near to the flat. It was magical. Trees were heavy with snow, the forest silent, only the sounds of some birds and the squeak of a wheel as a woman pushed a pram along a path. We walked for an hour before emerging into a small blizzard and I felt like an Arctic explorer for a time, walking Indian file along the side of the road in the footsteps of an ambling drunk. Real explorers would have done the journey in, probably, half the time and in shorts, but I enjoyed the challenge of putting myself against the snow, only taking a few minutes to shelter in a bus stop. If only Scott had had a karta miasta...
New Year's Eve we went to a party with friends. Vodka, made with fresh cucumbers, and shots called 'mad dogs' were the order of ceremony and although we left at one in the morning to get two night buses home, the party caried on until seven, with dancing and drinking. We drank champagne at midnight and I set off two fireworks that threw sparks into the trees and then bounced back, burning one girl's coat and frightening everyone else. The joys of being slightly drunk and slightly irresponsible experienced again. Sparklers finished off the outdoor entertainment and, with the temperature hovering around minus three, we popped back inside.
Now it is time to start the New Year proper. The post Christmas blues are here only because of the return to work and a semblance of normality, shakey as it may be. I'm not blue though, unless you count that brought on by the cold. I couldn't be happier. And I start this year with the knowledge that I will live in Poland for a long time, with the girl I love and who I will marry later this year. Who could be blue about that?
I spent Christmas in Katowice with my soon-to-be adopted family, and it was a very different experience from the English one. For a start, everything happens on Christmas Eve: dinner and presents. The other two days are spent eating and chilling out. The emphasis is on the dinner and the family and the presents are tokens for others, not the focus.
To begin the celebrations, everyone takes some wafer, the kind you get in church and, offering it to others, you break a piece off each and at the same time wish people good luck, happiness, peace and, in my case, an easy road to speaking Polish. It seemed very formal after the relaxed pubbing of England, but was a sign of how much less commercial everything is here. I mean, people were still carrying Christmas trees home on the day before, so there's no rush to get a tree up at the beginning of December. This year, on a vist to England, I saw my first fully decorated tree in a Westaughton pub on the second of September, on the way into the beer garden with a pint of shandy. It made me wonder what the 'feast' of Christmas is about when for some it starts four months early.
So what about the food? All I can say is I've never had a CHristmas dinner like it and am extremely grateful to those who cooked it. Well, we started with barszcz made from scratch with several pounds of beetroot and almost as much butter. This was poured over pierogi (parcels of pastry containing mushrooms and cabbage) and was fantastic. Next came mushroom soup, again made from scratch. There then followed the carp (which the Poles eat instead of a roast) which came with potatoes and vegetables. After that I got a bit fuzzy about which dishes came after which and I was grateful we didn't have the traditional sixteen courses. I lost track of the number we had, but it was approaching twelve. The food was washed down with a fruit punch made from fresh apricots and plums and to finish we had some cake and little oranges. The whole thing took around four hours and then afterwards we exchanged simple, but thoughtfully purchased, gifts and then sat around, bloated, on the chairs. No James Bond for me this year! The following two days were the same, a round of food and drink, endless cups of tea and no television. Perfect. Even after so much eating we were still able to bring three days supply of food back to Warsaw and now, finally, the fridge is bare!
Snow dominated the scene between Christmas and New Year, with half a metre (or a foot and a half in old money) falling in two days. It's started to melt somewhat, creating skiddy patches everywhere and slush puddles the size of football fields, but the ground is still white in many places and perfect to look at. We went for a walk on New Year's Eve morning, to the forest near to the flat. It was magical. Trees were heavy with snow, the forest silent, only the sounds of some birds and the squeak of a wheel as a woman pushed a pram along a path. We walked for an hour before emerging into a small blizzard and I felt like an Arctic explorer for a time, walking Indian file along the side of the road in the footsteps of an ambling drunk. Real explorers would have done the journey in, probably, half the time and in shorts, but I enjoyed the challenge of putting myself against the snow, only taking a few minutes to shelter in a bus stop. If only Scott had had a karta miasta...
New Year's Eve we went to a party with friends. Vodka, made with fresh cucumbers, and shots called 'mad dogs' were the order of ceremony and although we left at one in the morning to get two night buses home, the party caried on until seven, with dancing and drinking. We drank champagne at midnight and I set off two fireworks that threw sparks into the trees and then bounced back, burning one girl's coat and frightening everyone else. The joys of being slightly drunk and slightly irresponsible experienced again. Sparklers finished off the outdoor entertainment and, with the temperature hovering around minus three, we popped back inside.
Now it is time to start the New Year proper. The post Christmas blues are here only because of the return to work and a semblance of normality, shakey as it may be. I'm not blue though, unless you count that brought on by the cold. I couldn't be happier. And I start this year with the knowledge that I will live in Poland for a long time, with the girl I love and who I will marry later this year. Who could be blue about that?
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