Mirror, mirror on the wall…

I am one of those rare women who is satisfied with her looks. Not that I am a beauty queen, far from it, but I’ve learned to live with and love what I’ve got.

I’m about average height and average weight. Well, that needs a disclaimer. In Poland I’m what you would consider normal but in America my friends say I’m super skinny and ask if we have food in Poland. One benefit is that I get all the good sales stuff at the Gap. Hey, somebody has to buy the size 0. I used to complain about my weight issues until I realized that I don’t have any, and then I shut my mouth.

My hair is dark brown, although about 10 years ago it was light brown and 10 years before that almost blonde. I haven’t started coloring my hair yet, but I think the time is rapidly approaching. I really don’t want to color my hair. It has nothing to do with ageing and vanity. I’m just lazy and it takes time. Also, I like my natural hair color and will be sad to never see it again.

I have an interesting eye color, or so I have been told, by people who are standing way too close to me in brightly lit places. That’s the only way you’d notice my interesting eyes because in regular light they just look brown. Brown eyes in Polish are called “piwny”. Piwo is beer, so I guess that’d make my eyes “beery”. Misiu’s ID says that he has piwny eyes too except his eyes are quite another color, almost blue/grey. Maybe the lady at the ID office was a bit “beery” that day herself.

I used to get compliments on my complexion, but something has gone haywire with my hormones since Rosie was born, and it is reflected in my skin. I still get compliments on my teeth which are pretty straight (except that one wicky-wack tooth that gives me character), and they’re pretty white despite all the coffee I drink. My teeth must be nice because while giving birth to Rosie, the midwife looked up from between my legs where all the action was going on and said, “Wie Pani co? Pani ma bardzo ładne zęby”. (You know what ma’am? You have very nice teeth.) What else could I say but, “Dziękuję”. There is one small problem with my smile though - it comes with a slight underbite. Who knew that a few millimeters in the wrong direction could make such as difference? A slight overbite is cute and endearing. A slight underbite is masculine and frankly a bit scary. A lot of people say that they can hardly notice it. Those are the same people who will compliment your Mohawk ;) I’m absolutely positive that it is noticeable. A few years ago I was really ill and went to a private hospital in Berlin. As soon as I stepped up to the reception desk, I was directed to the department of malocclusions (bite problems). That’s not what I was there for of course.

I don’t have nice hands or feet and admire nice hands and feet of others. I don’t mean in a sick way, just in passing. I am convinced that I have weird legs, so that’s why you’ll rarely find me in a skirt these days. I do not have any fashion sense whatsoever. We can go to the same store and you’ll come out with 10 new outfits each one better than the last and I’ll come out with nothing, not even the new socks that I need so desperately because I have a severe shopping disability. Send help, please!

I have a lot of scars. The worst one’s are medical but the most numerous are, let’s say, kitchenal. Cooking and ironing are difficult and dangerous activities. I’m also ambidextrous. I write with my left hand, but do practically everything else with my right hand or with either hand. I use right-handed “normal” scissors, but in elementary school always got stuck with the “lefties” dumped on my desk. Being ambidextrous was great for freaking out the pitcher in baseball games in high school PE and is also useful if you have a boo boo on one hand. You can just use the other. I started out using the computer mouse in my left hand, but later I got too lazy to move the mouse to the other side and to change the “clickers”, so I just started to use my right hand. For fun, I recently tried to change back to the left, but I have lost my mouse dexterity completely in my left hand and am too impatient to exercise and get it back.

Basically, I look like my father. My father is quite a handsome man. He’s got a little of a Dustin Hoffman thing going on (but taller) so I guess that makes me Tootsie. Believe me when I tell you that it is not pleasant for a woman to be called handsome. We all know what it is code for. Even with all of that, how is it that I am satisfied with my looks? Well, first of all my parents prepared me for my looks. Not exactly for my looks, but they were preparing me for the family nose, my father’s nose. I remember when my cousin got the nose. Everyone at the family reunion commented that she had been such a lovely girl but then her nose started to grow and voila- behold the family nose and a miserable teenaged girl. My parents were probably awaiting the day that my nose would start to grow so they started preparing me for it, the family nose, at an early age. They repeated on a regular basis that it doesn’t matter what you look like on the outside, but it’s what’s inside that really counts, blah, blah, blah. Ad nauseam. It took me all these years to figure out that it really is true. And I didn’t get the family nose after all. I have my own nose which has got a little bump on it from a well-placed elbow of my opponent on the soccer field (football pitch), but I can live with that.

I guess I am satisfied with my looks because I know that it could be worse. A few years ago, I saw a young woman maybe about 20 years old visiting the City with her parents. She was trying to hide behind a scarf wrapped around her head and face, but there was no hiding her disfigurement. I suppose she was afflicted with the Elephant Man’s disease. More importantly, she was enjoying her visit, talking with her parents and smiling. From that day on, I swore that I would never complain about my looks ever again. And I’ve almost lived up to that promise.

The Baltic Sea and Iodine

If you make it to the Baltic Sea nowadays and you can find a square meter on which to park your blanket and your family, consider yourself lucky because the Baltic Sea is a real family summer vacation hot spot.

Why?

Proximity? Well, it is in Poland, but considering the lack of highways and packed trains getting there in the summer, you may find it easier to hop a plane to Greece.

The beach? The sand is really quite nice and ideal for making sand castles and babki, but the water is pretty chilly and the beach is packed.

The weather? When the weather at the Baltic Sea is good, you can compare it to any “hot country”, but when it is bad, it is bad -rainy, grey, cold and windy.

The cost? That’s certainly not it because the prices along the Baltic in the summer season are just as high as in Greece or Turkey.

One year, we flew to Crete for a 2-week vacation. Actually, we were newlyweds so it was our honeymoon, a few months delayed. We stayed in a hotel on the beach and also rented a car and travelled around the island. We visited a lot of beautiful places, ate delicious food and enjoyed fabulous weather. We also took a boat trip to Santorini. I even went topless on the beach for the 1st time. We had a blast. Oh, the good old days. (We just celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. My topless days are over.)

During the same 2 weeks, our friends went with their son to the Baltic. They drove more than 8 hours (we arrived by plane in about 3 hours). It was sunny the first week but rained the second. They had to find something indoors to entertain their son and themselves. They spent much more on food than we did, as well as spending a good lot of time inside at shopping centers and cinema multiplexes. After comparing notes, we realized the their trip cost double ours!

So, what is it that draws people to the Baltic Sea? It’s the iodine, baby! Actually it’s the iodide. What’s iodide? Yeah, I didn’t know either. It’s the form of iodine carried by seawater.

I first became aware of it when I overheard some of my female students talking about the health benefits of iodide. They insist that their children go to the seaside for at least 2 weeks each year. Some parents even send the kids with grandparents or aunts or uncles if they cannot go together. Nothing less than a 2-week stay by the Baltic Sea is sufficient to iodize your kid for the school season. Iodide (jod) is said to boost the immune system and is best delivered to the body by breathing it in through the delicate spray of the sea. I have also read the eating root vegetables grown in a place high in iodide (such as soil near the sea) is said to be beneficial as well.

I have children now and my students, mostly the female ones, are astonished to find out that I do not guarantee my kids a stay at the Baltic each year. As I hear my kids coughing from the other room, I wonder if I have done them a disservice or if it is just a bunch of malarky.

Welcome to the Baltic Sea

When I mentioned to one of my university professors in the US that I was considering a trip to Poland and maybe even a swim in the Baltic Sea, he recoiled in horror. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t go to that contaminated country and for gawd’s sake don’t swim in the Baltic or eat any fish.” In case you didn’t know, the Baltic Sea, according to my professor, is a secret Soviet dumping ground for nuclear waste, and Poland is so contaminated by Chernobyl that we all should be glowing in the dark.

As my new friend took me for my first trip to the sea, I had that advice in mind. It was really hot out, and I was wearing a sundress which was not a good idea as it drew attention to my horribly bruised legs. I was impressed by the beautiful, fine, pale brown sand on the beach. I was also impressed by the beautiful pale brown Polish women on the beach. We had only been on the beach 10 minutes, but I was already sweating. Children were frolicking in the water, so I took off my sandals and headed towards the water to dip my toes. Now it was my chance to recoil in horror as I discovered that the water in the Baltic Sea is freezing cold. I looked more closely at the children who were begging their mom’s for just 5 more minutes in the water, and I could see that their little lips were blue and their teeth were chattering.

When I returned to my new friend he asked, “What do you think?” I replied, “There’s something seriously wrong with your ocean,” to which I got a geography lesson drawn in the sand explaining why in fact it is not an ocean and why it couldn’t possibly be anything but cold.

During the rest of my stay, I didn’t venture in the water again but I did eat some fish from the Baltic. My new friend also took me to meet his friends, to a disco, to a military museum with really light security which meant I could touch practically everything, and to his mom’s work in the local municipal government office where we looked through all the new passports (or ID’s, I don’t remember) which were waiting for the owners to come and pick them up. My new friend didn’t allow me to buy anything or pay for anything the whole time, and I now realize that this was an imposition on my part and for that, I am truly sorry.

I hope someday to go to his hometown on the Baltic again and visit his mother and thank her for her hospitality.

Just found out I’m cool…

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/21/garden/21cold.html?ref=style

…or maybe just cold, brrrr.

It’s -17 ° Celsius right now (about 1°F). That’s cold. I had to go out and start up both cars. I pray that they will start up tomorrow. I ran across the article above by accident. If you haven’t got the time to read it, it is about people who live year round without heating in their homes, on purpose. I don’t have heating in my house, on purpose, well at least for now, if being broke qualifies as on purpose.

our domeczek

It was recommended by our renovation contractor that we not install any central heating operated on heated water in the radiators since we were planning to use our house as a dacha. It was argued that it would be too much of a bother to drain the whole system after each visit in the winter or to keep it heated the whole time when we were not there. He also guaranteed that after draining the insulated water pipes we have now, we would never ever have a problem with frozen pipes. Are you laughing? Of course, he forgot to tell us about one (just one) U in the pipe where the water collects and could get frozen. It did and we fixed it with another contractor. We are heating our house this winter. Well, at least enough to keep 2 rooms and the bathroom warm and the water pipes from freezing. Oh, the family togetherness!

the barn

For the future, we are considering either to stick with the no-water plan and install a piec kaflowy (wood/coal burning tiled stove) or go all out with a regular heating system perhaps eko-groszek (pellets). The piec kaflowy has a rustic, romantic feel but requires more work to operate than a normal furnace such as the pellets one. We’ve already met with a zdun (stove fitter), but we still cannot decide. We will wallow in our indecision until next winter hits and we have to worry once again about our pipes.

at Babcia’s

Keep warm!

Our 1st Wywiadówka

Today, I went to the 1st wywiadówka of Lizzie’s school career and the 1st in my mothering career. The turn-out was sad, only 2 parents made an appointment with the teacher out of the whole class, but so what, my appointment was great and it was all in Polish!

It reminded me of my 1st parent/teacher conference as a teacher in the US . I was all prepared, and I lined up some chairs outside of the room just in case some parents had to wait to speak to me, the all-important educator of their precious children. I had more than 120 students and was a little nervous that I wouldn’t be able to meet with as many parents as I wanted to. Another teacher walking down the hall observing me and my chairs said, “You know no one is coming, right?” “What d’ya mean?” “No parents come to parent/teacher conferences in this school.” “Oh,” I said and went back into my classroom where I slumped down in my chair and waited and waited and waited. My first parent appeared and gave me his name which didn’t sound familiar. I couldn’t find that surname on my list. He then gave me his child’s name and we were rolling. I felt so teachery and after he left, I checked the hall for others waiting. No one was there. After more waiting, one of my students arrived with his grandfather who said that he now knew why his grandson was so interested in history. The poor boy was terribly embarrassed, but that’s what grandpa’s are for. After another hour of waiting, I decided to pack it in. 2 visits and not even of the problem students. 2 visits from 120 students.

Anyhow, back to Lizzie’s conference, Pre-school Parent/Teacher Conference, no less. I think it was her teacher’s 1st wywiadówka as well, so I went easy on her ;) I learned that Lizzie is a quiet and very well-behaved child, even too well-behaved. She likes to stick with her best friend and almost exclusively chooses cars and trucks to play with and always puts them away when she’s done. She is an excellent painter and takes her art work quite seriously. All in all, she is developing well.

Together, we devised a plan to separate Lizzie a bit from her best friend in the class because those two girls are addicted to each other. They both need to learn to mingle with the other kids. In addition, to draw Lizzie out, I suggested giving her a role to play. She likes to hide a little behind a role and feels freer to be more outgoing when she is playing someone else. I asked her teacher to correct her Polish and to not worry about her English “r” in Polish words. When she says rowerek, it is so sweet. I also asked her to be aware that Lizzie is so in love with Pre-school that she wouldn’t tell the teachers if she got ill…probably until it was too late and words like vomit and carpet come into play.

I’m pleased with Lizzie’s Pre-school. I don’t really have anything to compare it with. I didn’t go to pre-school in America. The day is nicely structured. The children have a lot of free play, semi-structured play and structured play. Each day they focus on different areas of development. One day is music, another art, gymnastics, etc. Today was addition and subtraction. Each group has about 20-25 kids, but they are rarely all present. Each group also has 3 teachers (a morning teacher and an afternoon teacher with some overlap and an assistant for the whole day).

They have to feed the little buggers as well. They have breakfast, soup and dessert, and dinner and fruit. After years and years of American processed school lunch, I am impressed with the food my daughter receives at school (ok, minus the breakfast parówki). At about 8:30, the kids have cereal with milk or oatmeal/cream of wheat, a sandwich and a drink. Sometimes they even have inka which thrills Lizzie to no end because she says that she had coffee at school. At about 11:00, they have hot soup and a dessert such as a cookie or fruit gelatin or pudding. At about 1:30, they have dinner which can be anything from pierogi (known happily by the kids as “Pierogi Day!!!!”), a piece of meat, potatoes, a vegetable, or crepes or pasta. Juice, water and compote are served to drink. They also get a fresh piece of fruit after dinner which they actually eat. They eat in the classroom and 2 ladies bring a trolley with food from the kitchen. Sometimes I’d like to get a plateful of dinner, too. It smells so good!

It’s a public school, but that doesn’t mean that it is free. The tuition, food, supplies, parent’s committee and some other payments add up to about 350 zloty a month. Is that cheap or expensive? It depends on your vantage point. The monthly gross minimum wage in Poland is about 1,300 zloty with the net minimum wage working out to be about 980 zloty a month. That means the cost of Pre-school is 36% of the after-tax minimum wage.

The next big event on the Pre-school agenda is a presentation for Grandparents because Thursday this week is Dzień Babci (Jan 21st) and Friday is Dzień Dziadka (Jan 22nd) (Grandmother’s Day and Grandfather’s Day). Our Babcia will be there. Lizzie has made a laurka (card) and has been practicing her poem for the show. She can’t wait!

Wierszyk:

“Kocham was”

Kocham moją babcię, kocham mego dziadka.

Ale jak im o tym powiedzieć?

Może im zaspiewać, wtedy będą wiedzieć!

Na zakończenie:

Aby babcia i dziadek

w zdrowiu długo żyli

Aby uśmiech dla nas mieli

w każdej wolnej chwili

The Baltic Sea and a Good Night’s Rest

My new friend welcomed me, and I was already feeling better. He carried my bags as all Polish gentlemen insist on doing, and we were on our way to his mother’s house where a fantastic home-cooked meal was waiting. I must have looked a fright because his mother looked at me quite strangely, but what could I do? It wasn’t my fault that the train conductor wanted to rape me.

After a delicious dinner and my first taste of buckwheat, my new friend showed me around the town. Then we came back home and decided to turn in early probably for my benefit. And here’s where the fun begins…no, not that kind of fun. I should mention that when I am stressed or really tired, I walk in my sleep. A sleepwalker in Polish is called a lunatyk which cracks me up. Actually, it is kind of accurate because when somebody hears that I sleepwalk they tend to think that I am crazy. Needless to say, that after changing countries, travelling to the seaside and getting hit in the head, I was pretty well exhausted. I should also mention that one month before my trip to Poland, I had been hospitalized for food poisoning and still was pretty scrawny and prone to bruising. We all got ready for bed and I was sporting my new pj’s (top and shorts) bought in the US. All the better to see my badly bruised legs which had not been bruised from the attack, but rather by my dragging and pulling my little suitcase from the Poznań bus station to the Poznań train station. We all went to bed - my friend in one room, me in another and his mom in another.

I mentioned that I was stressed on the train about missing my stop or getting robbed. I was also afraid that I would fall asleep on the train, thus guaranteeing missing my stop AND getting robbed. So, that night, safe and sound in bed, I had a dream that I had fallen asleep on the train. I woke up on the train (I was absolutely sure it wa s the train) thinking that the train was stopped somewhere and that I was trapped. I went to the window and saw that the outside wasn’t passing by in a blur so that added to my conviction that we must be parked somewhere at the station. I went to the next “compartment” and turned on the light where I saw a male passenger sleeping. The next compartment contained a female passenger sleeping. Another compartment was a bathroom. And still yet another, I could not get open because it had a funny lock (a Gerda lock for those of you in the know). At that moment, I wondered why I had my pj’s on in the train and wandered back to bed. My friend’s mom looked at me so pitifully the next morning. She was grateful that I hadn’t been able to open the front door and get out onto the street. She was convinced that with the attack, the bruises and the sleepwalking, I had undergone a horrible trauma which was haunting me. A good Polish breakfast and a trip to the beach were sure set me right again.

PS Beware what you do or say when you are buying pj’s because it’s a small world. While standing in line to buy new pj’s in the US before coming to Poland, I decided to pull out another new purchase from my bag to kill some time. It was my new guide to Poland. After about 4 pages of my guide book, it was finally my turn to pay. I put the pj’s on the counter hardly looking at the sales lady until she asked meekly, “Are you going to Poland?” I replied, “Yes,” as I noticed the name Ewa on her name tag but still not registering the fact that she could be Polish. To make a long story short, it turned out that I’d be traveling to her home area. She gave me the name and address of her sister who owned, at the time, 2 shops in the center of the City and asked me to go there and tell her sister the funny coincidence of our meeting (now one shop is a Rossman and the other one is a club). I did go there and all the sister could say was, “amazing” over and over as she quickly dismissed me with a brush of her hand and I was escorted out of the shop. Oh well…

You think your journey was bad po polsku

This is my first attempt ever to write something in Polish. I translated the post about my unfortunate train ride to the Baltic Sea as suggested. Translating it from English was the only way I could have done it. If I had to write it in Polish from scratch, it would probably go something like this- Pojechałam nad morze. Było do dupy. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t write some short spontaneous posts in Polish in the future as suggested by Ewa. Thanks for the encouragement!

After completing this translation, I proudly handed it to Misiu for correction and watched sadly at how many errors I had made. I am always complimented on my Polish when I speak which makes me think that the people I talk to are either mind readers, deaf or big fat liars. Actually, they are probably just really sweet and the same kind of people who will tell you that they like your new haircut, saying- “Your new haircut is faaannntastic! Mohawks are so universal.” (mohawk - po polsku irokez, you know, the other tribe)

For those of you who are not mind readers, I have included the corrected version. For comic relief, I have also included the original version written by me, all by myself in some language resembling Polish. Feel free to laugh at my Polish because this story, as you know, is a bit of a bummer.

By the way, I have left out the map of Poland. I figured if you can speak Polish, then you can figure out where the Baltic Sea is ;)

Wersja poprawiona

Wracając do moich pierwszych dni w Miasteczku. Podsumowanie: Byłam instalowana w moim pokoju czyli Archiwum w PZU, już poznałam Misia i niestety jego dziewczynę też i miałam całe dwa tygodnie do zabicia zanim zaczęła się szkoła. Co taka dziewczyna ma robić? Jechać nad morze Bałtyckie!

Koleżanka z czasów studiów była w Polsce kiedyś na wymianie studentów i wysłała moje dane kontaktowe jej najlepszemu koledze w Polsce. On mieszkał nad morzem i wierny polskiej gościnności zaprosił mnie do siebie na dwa tygodnie.

Wyruszyłam w podróż na którą składał się jeden krótki przejazd autobusem a potem następna dłuższa podróż do Poznania. W Poznaniu musiałam przesiąść się do pociągu i jechać dalej aż nad morze. Byłam bardzo dumna z siebie jak dotarłam do Poznania autobusem dopóki nie dotarło do mnie że nie miałam pojęcia gdzie znajdowało się PKP. Spytałam studentów którzy pokazali mi jak tam się dostać, chodzili ze mną, pomogli mi kupić bilet i jeszcze posadzili w pociągu. Wylewnie podziękowałam i potem ruszyłam w świat.

Naprawdę ten wyjazd był stresujący dla mnie. Martwiłam się o wszystko, że przegapię mój „przystanek” (nie zdawałam sobie sprawy że mój był ostatni na linii) albo że zostanę napadnięta. Zaczynałam podróż pociągiem w wagonie pełnym starszych ludzi. Czułam się jak dziecko które potrzebuje nazwisko i miasto przypięte na sweterku. Ci starsi ludzie powoli rozeszli się i w ich miejscu siadali malarze po pracy. Poczęstowali mnie wódką ale myślałam że lepiej odmówić.

Później też malarze rozeszli się. W końcu byłam sama i mogłam się zrelaksować. Konduktor już sprawdził bilety w moim wagonie a mój więcej niż raz. Zdziwiłam się kiedy po raz trzeci chciał sprawdzić mój bilet. Coś mówił po polsku a ja ani be ani me, nic nie rozumiałam. Szkoda, może można było uniknąć tego co się stało potem.

Konduktor z uśmiechem na twarzy zamykał drzwi do wagonu razem z firankami i jeszcze zamknął drzwi na klucz. Wyprostowałam się i protestowałam i wtedy ogromna łapa uderzyła mnie w głowę i twarz. Powiem wprost, dostałam w łeb. To było pierwszy raz w życiu jak dostałam w łeb przypadkowo albo celowo (i mam nadzieję ostatni). Byłam może nie nieprzytomna ale w kosmosie przez jakiś krótki czas. Jak wróciłam do siebie i ptaszki które latały około mojej głowy odleciały czułam jak konduktor złapał mnie między nogami i otworzył swój pasek. Wiedziałam, że muszę coś zrobić i uratować samą siebie od tego cokolwiek ten konduktor miał w planach. Jako studentka brałam udział w obowiązkowych zajęciach samoobrony dla kobiet i miałam ogromny psychiczny problem żeby krzyczeć i oddać komuś. Ta blokada zniknie kiedy atak jest na serio a nie instruktor noszący kostium z pianką. Kopałam go, uderzyłam go i jeszcze drapałam go. Szybko wstałam krzycząc głośno i uderzyłam w drzwi. Na szczęście byliśmy tylko 10 minut od ostatniego przystanku i pasażerowie już czekali na korytarzu. Pasażerowie też krzyczeli i w kilka sekund konduktor otworzył drzwi i uciekł trzymając pasek i spodnie z otwartym zamkiem w ręku. Pasażerowie spytali mnie czy nie jestem ranna i czy ktoś czeka na mnie. Nigdy nie byłam taka szczęśliwa jak zobaczyłam mojego nowego kolegę na peronie. Chyba pierwsza rzecz która powiedziałam mu było to że ten kraj jest popieprzony i że chciałam wrócić do domu jak najszybciej.

PS Jeżeli w Polsce zgubisz się i potrzebujesz pomocy, polecam spytać młodzież żeby ci pomóc tak jak ja zrobiłam w Poznaniu. Innym razem mój plan nie skutkował kiedy spytałam młodego przystojnego faceta na ulicy, (po angielsku) „Czy mówisz po angielsku?” i on na to „Tak, tylko. Jestem z Holandii” No, więc...

PS2 Oddać przysługę i pomóc jakiemuś zgubionemu biedakowi jak możesz. Kiedyś razem z Misiem pomogliśmy turystom w Mieście. Stali i szukali Rynku chociaż Rynek był tak blisko że był widoczny skąd staliśmy. Ich problemem była mapa Rynku, na której był tylko Rynek bez ulic prowadzących do rynku....i jeszcze to była mapa „pop-up”.

Oryginał

Wracając do mój pierwsze dni w Miasteczko. Podsumowanie: Byłam instalowana w moim pokoju czyli Archiwum w PZU, już poznałam Misiu i niestety jego dziewczyna też i miałam cała dwa tygodnie do zabijanie zanim szkoła zaczynała. Co taką dziewczynę ma robić? Jechać nad morzem Bałtycki!

Koleżanka z czasów studia była w Polsce kiedyś na wymiana studentów i wysłała jej najlepsze Polski kolega moje dane kontaktowe. On mieszkał nad morzem i wierny do gościnność Polski zapraszał mnie do siebie na dwa tygodnie.

Wyruszałam w podróż w którą składała z jedną krótką przyjazd autobusem i potem następna przyjazd dłuższą do Poznania. W Poznaniu musiałam przysiadać do pociągu i jechać dalej aż do morzu. Byłam bardzo dumną siebie jak dotarłam do Poznaniu autobusem do póki nie dotarło do mnie że nie miałam pojęcia gdzie znajdowało PKP. Spytałam jakieś studentów których pokazały mi jak tam dostać, chodzili ze mną, pomogli mi kupić bilet i jeszcze sadzili mi w pociągu. Wylewnie podziękowałam i potem ruszyłam w świat.

Naprawdę ten wyjazd był stresujący dla mnie. Martwiłam się o wszystko, że przegapia mój „przystanek” (nie dałam sobie sprawę ze mój był ostatni na linie) albo ze dostanie napadniętą. Zaczynałam podróż pociągiem w wagonie pełno starsze ludzi. Czułam jak dziecko który potrzebuje nazwisko i miasto napinany na sweterku. Te starsze ludzi powoli rozeszli i w ich miejscu siadali malarze po pracy. Poczęstowali mnie wódki ale myślałam lepiej odmówić.

Później też malarze rozeszli. W końcu byłam sama i mogłam zrelaksować. Konduktor już sprawdził bilety w moim wagonie i tak mój więcej niż raz. Zdziwiłam się kiedy po raz trzeci chciał mój bilet sprawdzić. Coś mówił po Polsku i ja ani be ani me, nic nie rozumiałam. Szkoda, może było unikać co się stało potem.

Konduktor z uśmiechem na twarzą zamykał drzwi do wagonie razem firankami i jeszcze zamykał drzwi na klucz. Wyprostowałam się i protestowałam i wtedy ogromna łapa uderzyła mnie w głowie i twarz. Powiem wprost, dostałam w łeb. To było pierwsze raz w życiu jak dostałam w łeb przypadkowo albo celowo (i mam nadzieje ostatni). Byłam może nie nieprzytomna ale w kosmosie przez jakiś krótki czas. Jak wróciłam do siebie i ptaszki który latali około mojej głowie odlatali czułam jak konduktor złapał mnie między nogami i otworzyło swój pasek. Wiedziałam że musze coś robić i uratować sama sobie od cokolwiek ten konduktor miał w planach. Jako studentka brałam udział w obowiązkowe zajęcie samo-obrona dla kobiet i miałam ogromny psychiczny problem żeby krzyczeć i oddać komuś. Ta blokada zniknie jak/kiedy atak jest na serio i nie instruktor znosiące kostium w pianką. Kopałam go, uderzyłam go i jeszcze drapałam go. Szybko wstałam krzycząc głośno i uderzyłam drzwi. Na szczęście byliśmy tylko 10 minut od ostatni przystanek i pasażerowie już czekali na korytarzu. Pasażerowie też krzyczeli i w kilka sekund konduktor otworzył drzwi i uciekł trzymając pasek i spodnie z otwarta zamek w ręka. Pasażerowie spytali mnie czy nie jestem ranna i czy ktoś czeka na mnie. Nigdy nie byłam taka szczęśliwa jak zobaczyłam moja nowa kolega na peronie. Chyba pierwsza rzecz który powiedziałam mu było ze ten kraj jest popieprzony i że chciałam wrócić do domu jak najszybciej.

PS Jeżeli w Polsce zgubisz się i potrzebujesz pomocy, polecam spytać młodzież żeby ci pomóc tak jak ja zrobiłam w Poznaniu. Innym razem mój plan nie skutkowało kiedy spytałam młody przystojny facet na ulica, (po angielsku) „Czy mówisz po angielsku?” i on na to „Tak, tylko. Jestem z Holandii” No, więc...

PS2 Oddać przysługa i pomóc jakiś zgubiony biedak jak możesz. Kiedyś razem z Misiem pomogłyśmy turyści w Mieści. Stali i szukali Rynek chociaż Rynek był tak blisko że był widoczny skąd staliśmy. Ich problem była mapa Rynku na tym która było tylko Rynek bez ulicy prowadzący do rynku....i jeszcze było „pop-up”.