So one night we attended a rehearsal of the regional Slovak dance troupe. The group was young (estimated ages 14-25), big (one dance had 12 couples, and there were also 3 'trainee' couples going through the steps at the other end of the hall), and energetic. After admiring the group's dances for some time, Jim and I had an opportunity to demonstrate a couple of American ragtime dances. They showed us photos from their recent participation in a folk festival in France. I thoroughly enjoyed the cultural exchange.
In the center of Kosice is an Old Town area with ornate, elaborate facades that are crumbling to dust. The main theatre/opera house and the cathedral are both under repair and restoration. But most of the buildings have been ravaged by the neglect of 2 generations. We were told that the ownership of many of the buildings is now in question. Many were owned by the government. Those which can be returned to the family of former owners are in dilapidated condition.
Mike and his friends took us on a lovely hike through the hills outside of Kosice. From one hill we saw cottages in the distance. Thinking this was a farm community, we were corrected and told that these were weekend homes for workers in the city.
We were also treated to the native dish of Halushka (English phonetic spelling). It is a very rich 'macaroni and cheese' dish with dense dumpling/noodles.
While driving north, we drove past two 'Gypsy Ghettos' in the countryside. The wandering gypsy population was forced to settle in designated plots of land when the Communist regime took over. I wasreminded of the plight of the Native Americans, forced to live onreservations. The burnt-out, poverty-wrecked, highly populated acres stood out sharply against the green verdant countryside that surrounded them. The opinions we heard of the gypsies ranged from outright disdain to shoulder-shrugging headshaking apathy. There was no romantic view of musical, magical, mischievous gypsies wandering from town to town in their colorful wagons - such as I have imagined.
Jim and I took our last day in the country to hike the Czechosolvakian side of the Tatra mountains. It began to rain as we hiked, but the way was beautiful and included a spectacular waterfall. Hiking around the waterfall required steadying oneself with chains that had been embedded in the rock. Upon returning to the car, cold to the bone, we pooled our last 33 Kroner to purchase the cheapest thing on the menu of the resort restaurant. It was a most delicious meal!
It had gotten rather late, so we spent one more night in Czechosolvakia and arrived at the border about 10:30 am the next morning. After a 3 hour tedious wait at the border, we finally made it back into Poland. Very hungry, we stopped in at the first town to find something to eat. We happened into a restaurant in Dukla where there seemed to be many young men out of work, and drinking. I became very depressed at the sight of three of the restaurant's patrons falling into a comatose state at the table.
From Dukla we headed back to Siedliska. This time we visited Czeslow's other daughter and her husband and children. The husband was the local schoolmaster. The family actually lived in an apartment above the large school. He gave us a wonderful tour of their school including gym, history classroom, cafeteria, music room. Then we ate and drank, and got a recipe for pickled green tomatoes, and I gave the girls some silly putty and a copy of Dr. Seuss's 'One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish'. Then on to Helen's where we picked up people, and back to Sofie's whereupon followed another full family gathering with an abundance of food, talk, and gift exchange late into the night.
From Siedliska we headed west, through and past Krakow, and on to Wroclaw. On the way we drove past a castle ruin, so we pulled over and climbed all over it. Sitting at the top of the hill we pondered the fate of the thousands of stones that were, no doubt, taken from the ruins used over time to build the homes and shops of the town below.
Wroclaw was a treat, because my Polish teacher, Anna Wenzel, and her husband had introduced us, by letter, to their friends. Because they spoke some English, we were able to discuss the state of the country in greater depth than had yet been available. We spent one day on a bee farm (honey farm), with owners, Adam and Hania. I learned all about the life of bees and statistics of honey making (10,000 to 70,000 bees per family, when hibernation begins, how much they eat, how queens are born, how much honey a family of bees makes...). Jerzy gave us a guided tour of the city, and the computer science building of the University. We tried, unsuccessfully, to contact my computer back in the states. The bottleneck turned out to be right on campus. Jerzy is sure that, had we successfully logged in to the computer in the next building, we would have made it to the U.S.
In fact, telecommunications in Poland are very weak. At home I don'teven think about picking up the phone. But in Poland local calls have a very low probability of connecting, and when it does the reception is very poor; All long distance calls must be placed from the Post Office. A call to the US is about the easiest, requiring only about a 30 to 60 minute wait, because AT&T has made a satellite connection available.
Jerzy and Jim took a hike on our last day in Wroclaw, while I recuperated from mild problems with foreign digestion.
And then, we headed for Pabianice, home of my family's relatives. We found the home much as we found our way around the country: We pulled into the edge of town and asked. This time we asked at a gas station and the eager attendant pulled out his Pabianice map to show us the way. It turned out we were but a few blocks from Janek Frontczak's home. We found the apartment and were greeted so warmly by Janek and his wife Krystyna. Then son Marek came over, and we were all joined by friend Maria next door, who spoke some English. Finally son Pawel and his wife arrived.
Then Janek announced that there was some dancing we could see that night. It turned out to be another regional folk group, in rehearsal. We were shown a number of videotapes and served tea. And then we watched the troupe. This group sang to all of its dances, and were accompanied by piano. The group has been a traveling performing ensemble since 1975. Though most of the dancers were fairly new to the troupe, the ~75 year old taskmistress still held sway. We offered, again, to give a demonstration of American dances and were welcomed to do so. However since they rehearsed with no audio equipment, there was much ado in getting a tape player to work with the music we had brought along. Eventually we succeeded, and again I am glad we made the effort.
After the dancing, we retired to Janek's apartment for, once again, LOTS of delicious food. Krystyna is an excellent cook! The conversation was slow, but rewarding. We found out that the two sons and Janek ran two stores. I could make out the word 'ryba', which means 'fish', and assumed this was a fish market. Upon visiting the store the next day, however, we found out they were both a combination of tackle/sports shop, and pet store. That is they sold fishing gear (rods, line, bait, lures, boots...) and small pets (tropical fish, gerbils, and canaries). Jim asked, 'So, do you like to fish?'
'No.'
'Oh, I guess maybe you don't have time to fish any more, because you are running the store.'
'No. We've never fished.'
'Oh. Do you like pets?'
'No.'
'Then why do you have a fishing and pet store?'
'Three years ago we had to apply to the government to open a store. This is the kind of store they would allow us to open.'
The store is doing well. However, they are paying 70% interest rate on the loans to stock the store! The store in Pabianice is on the frontage of Narcissa's land. So when we visited that store and Narcissa I was flooded with memories of playing hopscotch in that yard 26 years ago. The water pump from which they then derived all their household water still stands near the street.
Narcissa is looking as beautiful and rosy-cheeked as I remembered her, although her jet black hair is now half silvery grey. She gathered grapes from her garden for us. I met her brood of kittens in the yard. Narcissa spoke no English, but she was still fluent in German. And because my German is years stronger than my Polish, we spoke mostly German between us, and I was able to learn much more about her youth and her ordeal during the war. It was a real treat to me to connect with Narcissa.
We also visited Wendy Frontczak and her daughter Maria. Both of them spoke and understood English very well, although Wendy was shy about speaking. I had not met them previously, although Maria told the story of when Dad and Emily came to visit. Emily was 12 and Maria was 7. Maria vividly remembers Emily playing with her, and being so spellbound, decided right then and there that she would learn to speak English very well. She certainly succeeded! Maria is currently studying for her PhD in Mathematics. Her mother, Wendy, edits a book that is analogous to 'Who's Who' in Poland.
While in Pabianice Janek gave us a tour of the churches - the old one built in the 1300's, the second constructed at the turn of this century, and a new highly contemporary white stucco church currently under construction. We also visited the local museum which had a charming collection of puppets, and a magnificent display of costumes from every region of Poland.
Each night we enjoyed a wonderful meal by Krystyina, and fun visitingwith the whole family. One morning, at our request, Kryslina madepotato pancakes for us. We had been sampling this dish throughout Poland, in search of a dish as Jim's mother used to make. These, too, were delicious. The last night, the neighbor Maria joined us again and for a time we went over to the apartment that she and her mother share in the same building. Maria played some tunes on her violin. Jim and I each played a couple tunes on the piano. And we all sang a couple of Polish songs.
From Pabianice, we took a line northeast to and past Warsaw to the area of the country we thought might hold more of Jim's relatives. We had found a 'Borzymy' on the map - the town on the return address of yet another envelope. It was a long day's drive. We got near and turned in for the night. The next day we found it, and were surprised to see that it was a huge collective farm. We inquired at the director's office if he could help us find the people on the envelope. He looked at it and our map and shook his head and said we were in the wrong place. The boundaries of the 'Wojawista' had been changed, and we needed to go to a Borzymy in a different district.
He then proceeded for about an hour to telephone post offices, and have post offices call other post offices and then call him back, in an attempt to find Ostrazamy, the town on the postmark, which had to be near the Borzymy we were looking for. At last he registered success on his face. He painstakingly showed us on the map what town to go to that would be near Ostrazamy (which wasn't on the map), and instructed us to go there and ask. We took his advice, and after another LONG drive, with just 2 days left before our plane left Poland, we found Ostrazamy. It was a tiny community. We asked an old man on a bicycle where Borzymy was. He scratched his head and pointed across a field, and said what I can only imagine is a Polish version of 'you can't get there from here.' He then stopped a fellow on a tractor who drew us a map of the roads to take and not to take. We thanked them both, and arrived in another Borzymy about 4:30 in the afternoon. This was a cluster of about 30 farm homes. We stopped at a house where an old man was standing in the doorway and two small children played on the doorstep. A tall graceful woman, about our age, walked across the barnyard toward us. About 30 chickens clustered around her like an entourage. The woman had long dark hair. Her sweater bereft of buttons, was fastened with a safety pin. |
