It’s autumn - and the lengthening nights wrap themselves around us ever closer. All Saints’ Day, 1st November, will soon be upon us: the perfect time for a moment’s reflection and introspection. All across the land, in cities, towns and villages, Poles will make pilgrimages to place thousands of multi-coloured candles on gravestones, family tombs, mausoleums, graves of unknown soldiers, victims of communist oppression as well as poets, priests and painters. In the larger cemeteries, such as Krakow’s Rakowicki, you are arrested by the sight: spectral lights of red, white, yellow and green, conjure up shadows which dance and flicker like wood nymphs in the night as, in a forgotten corner, the branch of a willow gently drapes across a sleeping sarcophagus, ‘Here lies Jaciek’, long since gone. And in a ceremony repeated throughout the land, from the middle of it all, a church is overflowing, its open doors bathing the quick and the dead alike with kind and holy words, as mysterious and beautiful as an Arab call to prayer.
On a dry, warm night I walk slowly around the cemetery: cutting quickly off from the main avenues, finding quiet delight in discovering ever-smaller paths, which become quickly clogged with autumn leaves and roots of trees. I trip, regain my balance and check the unlit candle in my pocket. It’s still there, waiting for that empty grave. It’s a tradition to place a candle on an empty grave and say a prayer for its owner. But, as you could warm your hands by the candle heat from most graves, finding an unlit one is no mean feat. Still, it is good fun looking, all the same.
Most graves and tombs have several carefully and tastefully arranged candles in shaped glass jars, reverently placed by family members. Fresh pots of flowers, too, are provided, in remembrance of the dearly departed. And lest you think my picture a little too rosy, I’ve heard all about the Joneskis next door. You know, the ones you need to keep up with, especially in the village, where appearance is all. It gets like a competition, apparently: the biggest and most impressive candles, wreaths and flowers. But beneath the surface lies something deeper, pagan almost. In the villages especially, every square inch of a grave may sometimes be covered with candles and flowers in the firm and solemn belief that such an over-abundance of familial love and good wishes will itself ensure the soul’s ascent to heaven. Christianity of course, like all religions and cults before it, supplanted and suppressed pre-existing festivals, labelling them inferior, or ‘pagan’. And yet our intuition lives on: throughout the long dark days of clerical, communist and now capitalist oppression, we cannot but feel the occult pull to recognise, if only once a year, the need to connect, either with our ancestors or some part of ourselves, hidden deep within the rest of the year.
It is not surprising that human beings should light fires at this time of year, pause and turn away from the maelstrom of everyday life. It feels right to stop for a moment and reflect as we settle down for the long winter night. But why can similar scenes be found repeated across the world, not just in the autumn, but also on the very same day, 1st November? Is there indeed some truth to the mystical belief that, on this day, the worlds of the living and of the dead draw close, overlap, even?
I once blithely informed an inquiring Pole that, in England, we have only Halloween, a modern, American-influenced, tradition to our name. Of course I was wrong: both All Saints’ Day, 1st November, and All Souls’ Day, 2nd November, were once celebrated in Britain just as much as in the rest of Europe and many other parts of the world besides. All Saints’ Day remembers all the saints in heaven while on the second, All Souls’ Day, prayers are given for those in purgatory, neither in heaven nor in hell. However, back in the English revolutionary mind of the seventeenth century, such concepts smelt far too much of Popery and were discouraged as popular festivals as Protestantism became the norm and Protestant Englishmen became a little more ignorant of, and removed from, their own history and culture.
But it’s never too late to rediscover that which was, temporarily perhaps, lost, and in Krakow, one chilly November night hundreds of years later, at least one Brit could be seen mingling among the reverent, but slightly footsore crowds, glad that extra trams had been laid on from the cemetery to ferry Krakowians between family graves and family homes. As always in any Polish crowd, there was character and style. Smart men with dickie-bows and pork-pie hats, who in England would look rather old-fashioned, strolled proudly past, escorting fur-coated women of a certain age, balancing freshly-sculpted bouffants through the crowds. Mothers hold their smiling children’s hands as fathers struggle beneath plastic bags overflowing with candles for second cousins, twice removed. United in their memories, All Saints’ Day allows the Poles a time of reflection, of quiet and mutual respect which some other countries would do well to observe.
Sunday 29 November 2009
PODGORZE: A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE
“South of the river! At this time of night?!” It’s a good job Krakowian taxi drivers are braver than London cabbies or us Podgorzians would never get home after a late one. Yes, there is indeed life after Kazimierz. Just five minutes south of Plac Nowy is the district of Podgorze, founded as an independent township in 1784 by the Austrian King Joseph II and long remaining independent until its merger with the city of Krakow in 1915.
On entering Podgorze, via either Piłsudskiego Bridge (from Krakowska) or Powstańców Śląskich Bridge (from Starowiślna), you immediately notice the difference. This oldest part, Stare Podgorze, nestles cosily between the river and the wide green stretches of the hill (gora, from which the area takes its name) just a few hundred metres away. It has a very villagey feel, as I thought when I first set foot here, flat hunting, a couple of years ago. Mind you, the district managed pretty well before I came along and Podgorze is, in fact, currently celebrating its 225th birthday, with many varied events such as open-air concerts, street theatre, fireworks and, in late September, the eighth annual ‘Podgorze Open Door Days’ event.
It cannot be denied that, to foreign visitors to Krakow, Podgorze is perhaps most well known - infamous - for its wartime history. Both the Jewish Ghetto and Oscar Schindler’s factory (fully renovated as a modern museum and opening in full in November this year) are grim, but necessary, stops on the tourist trail. During World War Two, the Nazis created the ghetto in a small area of Stare Podgorze, forcing Krakow’s Jewish population of approximately 10,000 to live for years in squalid conditions, before enacting ‘the final solution’ in 1943. Cross Powstańców Śląskich Bridge, leave the tram at Plac Bohaterow Getta (‘the square of the heroes of the ghetto’) and walk slowly, silently, among straight, orderly lines of cold, oversized metal chairs, which stand as artistic tribute to the murder of thousands and the absence of a culture and community lost to Krakow, and to Poland, forever.
However, the history of Podgorze is, mercifully, long and rich and I, like many foreigners and Krakowians alike, am keen to learn about other aspects about my new neighbourhood. The three-day event ‘Podgórskie Dni Otwartych Drzwi’, (roughly, ‘Podgorze Open Door Days’), which takes place annually in late September, was the perfect opportunity to stroll around: popping into galleries, dipping into local museums and taking in the area’s many green spaces. Depending on your native tongue, we’re either in the middle of an Indian Summer or the beginning of a Złota polska jesien - golden Polish autumn. Either way, a free English-speaking tour guide and a sunny Sunday morning was an opportunity not to be missed.
A good a place as any to start a tour of Podgorze is Rynek Podgorski, which, together with a style of low-rise architecture unique to Krakow, is dominated by the beautiful redbrick Saint Joseph’s Church. Taking my dog for a slow, meandering walk late one night, I estimated the towering structure’s number of bricks at about one and a half million. However, I now believe this figure, like my state of mind at the time, to have been wildly inaccurate.
Being the greenest of Krakow’s eighteen official districts, Podgorze is a great place for dog walking. Just above the church is Park Bednarski, a spacious park populated by dog-walkers, lovers, squirrels, birds and giant multi-coloured animals, drawn on the paths by tiny children with massive chalk crayons. Take tram number 3, 8 or 10 to ‘Korona’ tram stop (just three stops from the Wawel) and you really feel that you’ve left the city behind.
But don’t relax for too long. Just around the corner is Lasota Hill, home to a 19th century Austrian fortification and a modern church on the site of the original, which dates back to the 11th century, shortly after Poland’s official conversion to Christianity. From here, you have a fine view of central and northern Krakow. But for one of the most spectacular views of the city, take a ten-minute walk from there to Krakus Mound. Kopiec Krakusa, in the Polish, is an earthwork, believed to date from the 7th century and to contain the grave of the legendary founder of Krakow, Prince Krakus. It looks just like a (slightly smaller) Glastonbury Tor: an amazing and magical sight, here in (supposedly) non-Celtic Central Europe. Your short climb around its winding path rewards you with a majestic 360-degree panorama of the city: to the north, Stare Miasto and the northern suburbs; to the east, the smoking chimneys and steelmills of Nowa Huta; whilst, turning your head to the south, you may even catch a glimpse of snow on the Tatras - the start of the Carpathian Mountains. Now, that’s not a bad reward for a stroll south of the river!
On entering Podgorze, via either Piłsudskiego Bridge (from Krakowska) or Powstańców Śląskich Bridge (from Starowiślna), you immediately notice the difference. This oldest part, Stare Podgorze, nestles cosily between the river and the wide green stretches of the hill (gora, from which the area takes its name) just a few hundred metres away. It has a very villagey feel, as I thought when I first set foot here, flat hunting, a couple of years ago. Mind you, the district managed pretty well before I came along and Podgorze is, in fact, currently celebrating its 225th birthday, with many varied events such as open-air concerts, street theatre, fireworks and, in late September, the eighth annual ‘Podgorze Open Door Days’ event.
It cannot be denied that, to foreign visitors to Krakow, Podgorze is perhaps most well known - infamous - for its wartime history. Both the Jewish Ghetto and Oscar Schindler’s factory (fully renovated as a modern museum and opening in full in November this year) are grim, but necessary, stops on the tourist trail. During World War Two, the Nazis created the ghetto in a small area of Stare Podgorze, forcing Krakow’s Jewish population of approximately 10,000 to live for years in squalid conditions, before enacting ‘the final solution’ in 1943. Cross Powstańców Śląskich Bridge, leave the tram at Plac Bohaterow Getta (‘the square of the heroes of the ghetto’) and walk slowly, silently, among straight, orderly lines of cold, oversized metal chairs, which stand as artistic tribute to the murder of thousands and the absence of a culture and community lost to Krakow, and to Poland, forever.
However, the history of Podgorze is, mercifully, long and rich and I, like many foreigners and Krakowians alike, am keen to learn about other aspects about my new neighbourhood. The three-day event ‘Podgórskie Dni Otwartych Drzwi’, (roughly, ‘Podgorze Open Door Days’), which takes place annually in late September, was the perfect opportunity to stroll around: popping into galleries, dipping into local museums and taking in the area’s many green spaces. Depending on your native tongue, we’re either in the middle of an Indian Summer or the beginning of a Złota polska jesien - golden Polish autumn. Either way, a free English-speaking tour guide and a sunny Sunday morning was an opportunity not to be missed.
A good a place as any to start a tour of Podgorze is Rynek Podgorski, which, together with a style of low-rise architecture unique to Krakow, is dominated by the beautiful redbrick Saint Joseph’s Church. Taking my dog for a slow, meandering walk late one night, I estimated the towering structure’s number of bricks at about one and a half million. However, I now believe this figure, like my state of mind at the time, to have been wildly inaccurate.
Being the greenest of Krakow’s eighteen official districts, Podgorze is a great place for dog walking. Just above the church is Park Bednarski, a spacious park populated by dog-walkers, lovers, squirrels, birds and giant multi-coloured animals, drawn on the paths by tiny children with massive chalk crayons. Take tram number 3, 8 or 10 to ‘Korona’ tram stop (just three stops from the Wawel) and you really feel that you’ve left the city behind.
But don’t relax for too long. Just around the corner is Lasota Hill, home to a 19th century Austrian fortification and a modern church on the site of the original, which dates back to the 11th century, shortly after Poland’s official conversion to Christianity. From here, you have a fine view of central and northern Krakow. But for one of the most spectacular views of the city, take a ten-minute walk from there to Krakus Mound. Kopiec Krakusa, in the Polish, is an earthwork, believed to date from the 7th century and to contain the grave of the legendary founder of Krakow, Prince Krakus. It looks just like a (slightly smaller) Glastonbury Tor: an amazing and magical sight, here in (supposedly) non-Celtic Central Europe. Your short climb around its winding path rewards you with a majestic 360-degree panorama of the city: to the north, Stare Miasto and the northern suburbs; to the east, the smoking chimneys and steelmills of Nowa Huta; whilst, turning your head to the south, you may even catch a glimpse of snow on the Tatras - the start of the Carpathian Mountains. Now, that’s not a bad reward for a stroll south of the river!
Krakow Chronicles Summer Quiz
How well do you know Krakow and its people? Test yourself with the Krakow Chronicles Summer Quiz ...
1. The most famous river in Poland flows through Krakow on its way to Warsaw and, eventually, on to the Baltic Sea. What is the name of Krakow’s river?
a) The Wisła
b) The Vistula
c) The Mississippi
d) Krakow has a river?
2. Kazimierz was once a run-down, neglected district, where only brave souls dared walk at night. How things have changed! What is your impression of the modern Kazimierz?
a) It’s a cool, bohemian place to hang out and meet my friends
b) The parking is a joke and there are few facilities for the local community
c) I can remember when you could buy a beer, a vodka chaser, a zapiekanka with extra ketchup and still have change for a two-bedroom flat on Plac Nowy
d) I prefer Galeria Krakowska
3. The Poles are naturally proud of their extensive range of fine, golden beers. I, for example, support the Okocim brewery. Which is your favourite Polish beer?
a) Tyskie
b) Lech
c) Żywiec
d) Polish beer …?
4. Few are those who leave Krakow without experiencing the Heynal at least once. But what is the Heynal?
a) An informal goral (mountain-man) form of address
b) A trumpet call
c) A strumpet call
d) A spicy Polish kebab
5. A visit to the smallest room in Krakow’s bars, cafes and restaurants can lead to confusion and embarrassment: what should you do when faced with two doors, one marked with a triangle and one marked with a circle?
a) Wait patiently until someone enters or exits, thereby ascertaining which is ‘gents’ and which is ‘ladies’
b) Rattle the doorhandles, bang loudly and insistently on both doors, then suddenly lose all interest and walk back into the bar, all the time shouting inanities to your boyfriend down your mobile phone
c) Use whichever room is free: it’s two in the morning, for God’s sake!
d) Put the vodka back in the fridge, go straight to bed and never try to turn your flat into a nightclub again
6. Some countries queue, some countries don’t. Poland doesn’t. What should you do if, while waiting patiently in line, someone jumps the queue ahead of you?
a) Tap them politely on the shoulder, smile diplomatically and say ‘Przepraszam, ale czy mogł(a)by pan(i) stać na kolej? (Excuse me sir/madam, but could you please take your place in the queue?‘)
b) Pretend to ignore it: you’re only here for the weekend and you don’t want any trouble
c) Quietly slip back in front of the queue-jumper (‘When in Rome …’)
d) Write about the incident on internet forums and / or English-language newspapers
7. Krakow is home to foreign nationals from nearly every country in the world. What are you doing here?
a) Just visiting
b) Teaching English
c) Working in real estate
d) 4 to 5, with time off for good behaviour
8. For what is the nearby town of Wieliczka famous?
a) Its amazing salt mine, listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site
b) The only surviving statue of Lenin tying his shoelaces
c) The longest bar in Poland (over 200 miles long, every inch hand-cut from living rock)
d) Its world-famous ready salted crisps
9. Noone should leave Krakow without seeing the famous Wawel. What is the Wawel, pride of all Poland?
a) The name of a famous bar in Wieliczka
b) A well-established chain of language schools
c) Krakow’s castle: the former seat of the Polish monarchy
d) A Polish traditional wedding dance
10. The Poles are great animal-lovers and it’s no secret that Krakowians love their dogs (cf. daschund parade, 6th September). In Krakow, many dogowners allow their dogs to ‘do their business’ …
a) anywhere they want
b) wherever they want
c) anywhere they like
d) wherever they see fit
SCORING
1 A4 B3 C2 D1
2 A2 B4 C3 D1
3 A1 B1 C1 D4
4 A2 B4 C3 D1
5 A1 B3 C2 D4
6 A4 B1 C2 D3
7 A1 B3 C2 D4
8 A4 B1 C1 D1
9 A1 B1 C4 D2
10 A4 B4 C4 D4
0 - 10
Tourists may be forgiven their lack of Krakowian knowledge; the rest of you obviously live in a shadow-world of unknowing, from which a throwaway quiz in a newspaper cannot ever hope to rescue you.
11 – 20
Congratulations! You’ve done your homework. Take a moment to look smugly around before returning to your guidebook.
21 - 30
You’ve obviously been here some time and should be proud of yourself. But beware that experience does not turn to cynicism.
31 - 40
Impressive: it seems you know Krakow like the back of your hand. However, there’s more to life than the back of your hand. Krakow is a fine city. Never forget it.
1. The most famous river in Poland flows through Krakow on its way to Warsaw and, eventually, on to the Baltic Sea. What is the name of Krakow’s river?
a) The Wisła
b) The Vistula
c) The Mississippi
d) Krakow has a river?
2. Kazimierz was once a run-down, neglected district, where only brave souls dared walk at night. How things have changed! What is your impression of the modern Kazimierz?
a) It’s a cool, bohemian place to hang out and meet my friends
b) The parking is a joke and there are few facilities for the local community
c) I can remember when you could buy a beer, a vodka chaser, a zapiekanka with extra ketchup and still have change for a two-bedroom flat on Plac Nowy
d) I prefer Galeria Krakowska
3. The Poles are naturally proud of their extensive range of fine, golden beers. I, for example, support the Okocim brewery. Which is your favourite Polish beer?
a) Tyskie
b) Lech
c) Żywiec
d) Polish beer …?
4. Few are those who leave Krakow without experiencing the Heynal at least once. But what is the Heynal?
a) An informal goral (mountain-man) form of address
b) A trumpet call
c) A strumpet call
d) A spicy Polish kebab
5. A visit to the smallest room in Krakow’s bars, cafes and restaurants can lead to confusion and embarrassment: what should you do when faced with two doors, one marked with a triangle and one marked with a circle?
a) Wait patiently until someone enters or exits, thereby ascertaining which is ‘gents’ and which is ‘ladies’
b) Rattle the doorhandles, bang loudly and insistently on both doors, then suddenly lose all interest and walk back into the bar, all the time shouting inanities to your boyfriend down your mobile phone
c) Use whichever room is free: it’s two in the morning, for God’s sake!
d) Put the vodka back in the fridge, go straight to bed and never try to turn your flat into a nightclub again
6. Some countries queue, some countries don’t. Poland doesn’t. What should you do if, while waiting patiently in line, someone jumps the queue ahead of you?
a) Tap them politely on the shoulder, smile diplomatically and say ‘Przepraszam, ale czy mogł(a)by pan(i) stać na kolej? (Excuse me sir/madam, but could you please take your place in the queue?‘)
b) Pretend to ignore it: you’re only here for the weekend and you don’t want any trouble
c) Quietly slip back in front of the queue-jumper (‘When in Rome …’)
d) Write about the incident on internet forums and / or English-language newspapers
7. Krakow is home to foreign nationals from nearly every country in the world. What are you doing here?
a) Just visiting
b) Teaching English
c) Working in real estate
d) 4 to 5, with time off for good behaviour
8. For what is the nearby town of Wieliczka famous?
a) Its amazing salt mine, listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site
b) The only surviving statue of Lenin tying his shoelaces
c) The longest bar in Poland (over 200 miles long, every inch hand-cut from living rock)
d) Its world-famous ready salted crisps
9. Noone should leave Krakow without seeing the famous Wawel. What is the Wawel, pride of all Poland?
a) The name of a famous bar in Wieliczka
b) A well-established chain of language schools
c) Krakow’s castle: the former seat of the Polish monarchy
d) A Polish traditional wedding dance
10. The Poles are great animal-lovers and it’s no secret that Krakowians love their dogs (cf. daschund parade, 6th September). In Krakow, many dogowners allow their dogs to ‘do their business’ …
a) anywhere they want
b) wherever they want
c) anywhere they like
d) wherever they see fit
SCORING
1 A4 B3 C2 D1
2 A2 B4 C3 D1
3 A1 B1 C1 D4
4 A2 B4 C3 D1
5 A1 B3 C2 D4
6 A4 B1 C2 D3
7 A1 B3 C2 D4
8 A4 B1 C1 D1
9 A1 B1 C4 D2
10 A4 B4 C4 D4
0 - 10
Tourists may be forgiven their lack of Krakowian knowledge; the rest of you obviously live in a shadow-world of unknowing, from which a throwaway quiz in a newspaper cannot ever hope to rescue you.
11 – 20
Congratulations! You’ve done your homework. Take a moment to look smugly around before returning to your guidebook.
21 - 30
You’ve obviously been here some time and should be proud of yourself. But beware that experience does not turn to cynicism.
31 - 40
Impressive: it seems you know Krakow like the back of your hand. However, there’s more to life than the back of your hand. Krakow is a fine city. Never forget it.
Monday 20 July 2009
The Cut-Out-And-Keep Guide To Modern Poland: No. 2 Customer Service
First published in Krakow Post, August 2009
Those of you who have spent any time in Poland will probably have noticed something about Polish customer service: it’s pretty lousy. Of course, there are many exceptions to this generalization. But that is precisely what they are: exceptions. During a typical week of shopping, bill-paying and visiting government departments we are all too likely to encounter apathy, laziness, boredom and even downright rudeness.
Firstly, a tip for the tourists, refreshing themselves perhaps in the Main Square. Your time is precious. Don’t waste it waiting for the three waitresses chatting idly by the till to deign to serve you. Each waitress has their own tables - and you’re on the wrong table. Even frantic handwaving will result merely in the kind of thousand-yard stare that leads you to question both the girl’s eyesight and your actual existence upon the planet. But look at it from her side: why should she help you when it’s much, mush easier to ignore you? And remember that when you finally do get served, it’s as well to ask for the bill straight away - that is if you want to get to the Salt Mine today, not tomorrow
But having thrown the book at Polish customer service, let us not immediately throw away the key. Rather, let us first examine the case(s) for the defence. Firstly, Poland is still, in many ways, emerging from a centrally-planned, Communist command economy, which shut up shop barely a generation ago. The concepts of free trade, competition and customer service all need time to take root within the collective consciousness. It’s a fair point - and to prove it you need merely take a walk to your local street kiosk. There, as in most other countries of the world, you might expect to make contact - eye contact - with the proprietor of the establishment. Instead, you are greeted merely by endless rows of cigarettes. And it is only after having been exposed to such subtleties of emerging market capitalism that you notice the small dark hole beneath. It is here that you must supplicate yourself to the All-powerful Keeper of Cigarettes and Bus Tickets, who crouches, troglodyte-like, inside. They have it; you want it. That’s customer service, central European style.
Me being me, of course, I refuse to bow down to such low tricks. Consequently, any transactions I am forced to make involve me addressing myself to sun-bleached packs of Lucky Strike. Although it can be frustrating and takes me twice as long to get what I want, I rest easy in the knowledge that I am completely in the right. Indeed, I am confident that my corrective attitude has already been noticed by kiosk designers and I fully expect the kiosks to be redesigned in a more customer-friendly manner within a matter of months.
Of course were I a little shorter none of this would be necessary and I would be able to see just how charming and friendly the kiosk-dweller actually is. Maybe I’ve been missing out all this time. Because I love to see a smile on a shop assistant’s face. Really I do. But unfortunately they’re about as rare as pubs which actually do serve ‘until the last customer’. And here the Polish defence calls its second witness: an excuse for a common lack of humanity which has been repeated to me many times by Poles themselves: shop and government workers rarely smile because – duh! – they’re at work! The inference being that nobody actually likes their job, and because you’re at work you must therefore be miserable, so what should the customer expect? Just be glad you get served at all!
I disagree. Surely, as a customer (the guy with the money), I have a right not to be made to feel guilty for someone’s educational underachievement and / or existential crisis. However, I fully sympathise with anyone working the Saturday night / Sunday morning graveyard shift at 24 hour off-licence / delicatessens. (Had Dante been Polish and not Italian, he would surely have described an eighth circle of hell, illuminated by the cold half-light of dawn and populated by confused, mumbling souls condemned to wander for all eternity in search of potato chips and alcohol.)
In the end, is it so impossible to brighten up the day with a smile and a friendly attitude? It doesn’t have to be false. The tepid English ‘Hello, sir. And how are you today?’ or the ubiquitous American ‘Have a nice day!’ are regarded by many Poles as meaningless insincerities and we are, perhaps justifiably, derided for them. But we’ve all got to get through our days one way or another and, rather than be greeted with a blank expression, scowl or grimace from my fellow man, I’d much rather both give and receive courtesy, respect and a nice big smile!
Those of you who have spent any time in Poland will probably have noticed something about Polish customer service: it’s pretty lousy. Of course, there are many exceptions to this generalization. But that is precisely what they are: exceptions. During a typical week of shopping, bill-paying and visiting government departments we are all too likely to encounter apathy, laziness, boredom and even downright rudeness.
Firstly, a tip for the tourists, refreshing themselves perhaps in the Main Square. Your time is precious. Don’t waste it waiting for the three waitresses chatting idly by the till to deign to serve you. Each waitress has their own tables - and you’re on the wrong table. Even frantic handwaving will result merely in the kind of thousand-yard stare that leads you to question both the girl’s eyesight and your actual existence upon the planet. But look at it from her side: why should she help you when it’s much, mush easier to ignore you? And remember that when you finally do get served, it’s as well to ask for the bill straight away - that is if you want to get to the Salt Mine today, not tomorrow
But having thrown the book at Polish customer service, let us not immediately throw away the key. Rather, let us first examine the case(s) for the defence. Firstly, Poland is still, in many ways, emerging from a centrally-planned, Communist command economy, which shut up shop barely a generation ago. The concepts of free trade, competition and customer service all need time to take root within the collective consciousness. It’s a fair point - and to prove it you need merely take a walk to your local street kiosk. There, as in most other countries of the world, you might expect to make contact - eye contact - with the proprietor of the establishment. Instead, you are greeted merely by endless rows of cigarettes. And it is only after having been exposed to such subtleties of emerging market capitalism that you notice the small dark hole beneath. It is here that you must supplicate yourself to the All-powerful Keeper of Cigarettes and Bus Tickets, who crouches, troglodyte-like, inside. They have it; you want it. That’s customer service, central European style.
Me being me, of course, I refuse to bow down to such low tricks. Consequently, any transactions I am forced to make involve me addressing myself to sun-bleached packs of Lucky Strike. Although it can be frustrating and takes me twice as long to get what I want, I rest easy in the knowledge that I am completely in the right. Indeed, I am confident that my corrective attitude has already been noticed by kiosk designers and I fully expect the kiosks to be redesigned in a more customer-friendly manner within a matter of months.
Of course were I a little shorter none of this would be necessary and I would be able to see just how charming and friendly the kiosk-dweller actually is. Maybe I’ve been missing out all this time. Because I love to see a smile on a shop assistant’s face. Really I do. But unfortunately they’re about as rare as pubs which actually do serve ‘until the last customer’. And here the Polish defence calls its second witness: an excuse for a common lack of humanity which has been repeated to me many times by Poles themselves: shop and government workers rarely smile because – duh! – they’re at work! The inference being that nobody actually likes their job, and because you’re at work you must therefore be miserable, so what should the customer expect? Just be glad you get served at all!
I disagree. Surely, as a customer (the guy with the money), I have a right not to be made to feel guilty for someone’s educational underachievement and / or existential crisis. However, I fully sympathise with anyone working the Saturday night / Sunday morning graveyard shift at 24 hour off-licence / delicatessens. (Had Dante been Polish and not Italian, he would surely have described an eighth circle of hell, illuminated by the cold half-light of dawn and populated by confused, mumbling souls condemned to wander for all eternity in search of potato chips and alcohol.)
In the end, is it so impossible to brighten up the day with a smile and a friendly attitude? It doesn’t have to be false. The tepid English ‘Hello, sir. And how are you today?’ or the ubiquitous American ‘Have a nice day!’ are regarded by many Poles as meaningless insincerities and we are, perhaps justifiably, derided for them. But we’ve all got to get through our days one way or another and, rather than be greeted with a blank expression, scowl or grimace from my fellow man, I’d much rather both give and receive courtesy, respect and a nice big smile!
The Cut-Out-And-Keep Guide To Modern Poland: No. 1 The Security Guard
First published in Krakow Post, July 2009
You know what my problem is? Authority. I don’t like authority. Or rules. Or barriers. Or short, ungrammatical sentences. And definitely no quasi-military uniforms. I see red when I see a blue light. It’s wrong, it’s self-defeating and I should just get over it. Thanks for telling me. Now stop telling me! I can make my own decisions, dammit!
Why the sudden rush of blood? Well, I recently made the mistake of slipping casually under a rather flimsy piece of tape, taking a few steps into ‘the forbidden zone’ and ignoring a scary, muscle-bound guard’s command to return. Sure, I was wrong, but was he in the right to bolt after me, grab my skinny wrist tight and start radioing for backup, all the while aggressively shouting phrases that I’m sure both his and my mother would both have been ashamed of? A little excessive, perhaps. However, it seemed he was soon satisfied that – like a trusty guard dog – he had successfully protected his patch and now couldn’t be bothered dealing with a stupid Englishman with broken Polish and a deathwish: he let go of my wrist, turned his back and allowed me to melt once again into the crowd. Fortunately for me.
‘Course, it’s a problem being a middle-aged proto-anarchist in the twenty-first century, especially in a country like Poland. Sometimes it seems that everything – and I mean everything – is ‘protected’. You cannot even pass a busstop without seeing the words ‘obiekt ochrony’ - protected object – slapped on the glass. (Is it even the busstop that’s protected or merely the sticker itself?) Actually, I’ve never seen a security guard at a busstop. There’s not really much to ‘guard’, is there, apart from the odd empty crisp packet and the occasional sleeping drunk? And, anyway, they’ve all got cars now – the guards, that is, not the drunks … although when you consider some of the driving in Krakow …)
Still, at least the ticket inspectors are reasonably civilized. Even open to a joke and a little bribery, on a good day. I can’t say the same about private security guards, though.
These guys (and they are, of course, mostly male) are everywhere! Let’s take a moment to examine the species, starting with those seen pulling up quietly in front of banks, in white mini Hummers, with helmets and guns. This particular genus is guarding that most precious of our commodities: money. As such, they’re hand-picked for their professionalism, attention to detail and muscle size. If you’ve ever messed with one of these, chances are you’re reading this article from either Intensive Care or from Secure Wing B.
Next in the pecking order are the many varieties of black-clothed, big-booted guard. Equipped with hard exo-skeletons and formidable nightsticks, they possess varying levels of energy and testosterone. Their natural habitat is any public event or temporary structure deemed to be worth more than about 5 zlotys as scrap metal. Whilst apparently docile creatures, be warned that they may bite if threatened.
A little further down the genealogical tree and we come across the nocturnal guard. These ‘all-nighters’ are so-called due to their habit of guarding, for example, an impromptu ‘stage’ (in reality some bits of old scaffolding and a few hastily erected floorboards) throughout the long hours of darkness. They often achieve this by spending all night sitting together in a semi-circle, playing cards and smoking cigarettes, whist speaking a secret language that even the Polish mountain-people would find a mystery. Comprised mainly of individuals with – unusually for the security guard - the correct balance of X and Y chromosones and even the odd pony-tailed student, the all-nighter may be approached - albeit with caution – by those curious as to the future function of the guarded object, or else by tramps trying to cadge a fag after midnight.
And now we come to the guard that perhaps all of us are most familiar with: the shop and office security guard. This subspecies is itself strictly hierarchical, with a guard at a government or corporate head office snobbishly refusing to even look at the Kefirek or Biedronka guard, come the security guards’ Christmas party (incidentally, the one unsupervised event in the whole of Poland). These guards are solitary creatures and spend their time incessantly patrolling the same small patch of territory, the more domesticated individuals occasionally helping to weigh fruit and vegetables when needed. They lead a routine, even boring, life. And so, without wishing to seem in any way irresponsible, I would like to take this opportunity to ask, nay implore, some of our more impressionable readers to attempt to steal an item of small worth from one of these neighbourhood shops. The ensuing commotion would make the guard’s day, week or even year. Believe me. You’d be doing him a favour - as well as helping to smash the tyrannous forces of state authority, into the bargain.
You know what my problem is? Authority. I don’t like authority. Or rules. Or barriers. Or short, ungrammatical sentences. And definitely no quasi-military uniforms. I see red when I see a blue light. It’s wrong, it’s self-defeating and I should just get over it. Thanks for telling me. Now stop telling me! I can make my own decisions, dammit!
Why the sudden rush of blood? Well, I recently made the mistake of slipping casually under a rather flimsy piece of tape, taking a few steps into ‘the forbidden zone’ and ignoring a scary, muscle-bound guard’s command to return. Sure, I was wrong, but was he in the right to bolt after me, grab my skinny wrist tight and start radioing for backup, all the while aggressively shouting phrases that I’m sure both his and my mother would both have been ashamed of? A little excessive, perhaps. However, it seemed he was soon satisfied that – like a trusty guard dog – he had successfully protected his patch and now couldn’t be bothered dealing with a stupid Englishman with broken Polish and a deathwish: he let go of my wrist, turned his back and allowed me to melt once again into the crowd. Fortunately for me.
‘Course, it’s a problem being a middle-aged proto-anarchist in the twenty-first century, especially in a country like Poland. Sometimes it seems that everything – and I mean everything – is ‘protected’. You cannot even pass a busstop without seeing the words ‘obiekt ochrony’ - protected object – slapped on the glass. (Is it even the busstop that’s protected or merely the sticker itself?) Actually, I’ve never seen a security guard at a busstop. There’s not really much to ‘guard’, is there, apart from the odd empty crisp packet and the occasional sleeping drunk? And, anyway, they’ve all got cars now – the guards, that is, not the drunks … although when you consider some of the driving in Krakow …)
Still, at least the ticket inspectors are reasonably civilized. Even open to a joke and a little bribery, on a good day. I can’t say the same about private security guards, though.
These guys (and they are, of course, mostly male) are everywhere! Let’s take a moment to examine the species, starting with those seen pulling up quietly in front of banks, in white mini Hummers, with helmets and guns. This particular genus is guarding that most precious of our commodities: money. As such, they’re hand-picked for their professionalism, attention to detail and muscle size. If you’ve ever messed with one of these, chances are you’re reading this article from either Intensive Care or from Secure Wing B.
Next in the pecking order are the many varieties of black-clothed, big-booted guard. Equipped with hard exo-skeletons and formidable nightsticks, they possess varying levels of energy and testosterone. Their natural habitat is any public event or temporary structure deemed to be worth more than about 5 zlotys as scrap metal. Whilst apparently docile creatures, be warned that they may bite if threatened.
A little further down the genealogical tree and we come across the nocturnal guard. These ‘all-nighters’ are so-called due to their habit of guarding, for example, an impromptu ‘stage’ (in reality some bits of old scaffolding and a few hastily erected floorboards) throughout the long hours of darkness. They often achieve this by spending all night sitting together in a semi-circle, playing cards and smoking cigarettes, whist speaking a secret language that even the Polish mountain-people would find a mystery. Comprised mainly of individuals with – unusually for the security guard - the correct balance of X and Y chromosones and even the odd pony-tailed student, the all-nighter may be approached - albeit with caution – by those curious as to the future function of the guarded object, or else by tramps trying to cadge a fag after midnight.
And now we come to the guard that perhaps all of us are most familiar with: the shop and office security guard. This subspecies is itself strictly hierarchical, with a guard at a government or corporate head office snobbishly refusing to even look at the Kefirek or Biedronka guard, come the security guards’ Christmas party (incidentally, the one unsupervised event in the whole of Poland). These guards are solitary creatures and spend their time incessantly patrolling the same small patch of territory, the more domesticated individuals occasionally helping to weigh fruit and vegetables when needed. They lead a routine, even boring, life. And so, without wishing to seem in any way irresponsible, I would like to take this opportunity to ask, nay implore, some of our more impressionable readers to attempt to steal an item of small worth from one of these neighbourhood shops. The ensuing commotion would make the guard’s day, week or even year. Believe me. You’d be doing him a favour - as well as helping to smash the tyrannous forces of state authority, into the bargain.
Saturday 13 June 2009
Rainbows And Wreaths
First published in The Krakow Post, June 2009
© John Marshall 2009
Picture the scene: you’re with your girlfriend, relaxing in the Main Square on a sunny Saturday, enjoying some fine Balkan folk singing and dancing; each performer striving to achieve perfect harmony and synchronicity with his/her partner. Then, in the corner of your eye you glimpse something most unharmonious: riot police, visors down and tails up, shuffling around the back of the Sukiennice. Curious, you decide to follow them. And, before you know it, you’re taking part in Krakow’s annual March For Tolerance March. And to think I only went out for a coffee …
It was my first ‘gay march’ and I felt conflicting emotions. Pride at standing up for tolerance and the right of everyone to lead their own lives, free from fear and persecution. But also distinct apprehension: we were tightly ringed by scores of scary-looking riot police whose militaristic get-up was perfectly matched by the aggressive manners and chanting of the far-right boot-boys. These self-appointed guardians of ‘Polish values’ were baying for the marchers’ blood only metres away from bewildered tourists. Knuckled fists were raised and primeval, guttural noises were spat out of angry throats. We banged our drums, waved our Rainbow flags, danced and, most importantly, were there. A little later, honour satisfied, the gathering broke up peacefully and my friend and I caught a beer, gawping (from a safe distance) at the fascists.
It was a strange sight to see both neo-Nazis (sporting the fascist organisation Combat 18 t-shirts) and riot police on the streets of my adopted Krakow, city of culture and learning. But after four years, I’m getting used to this annual face-off. At least the march is allowed now (they have been banned in Poland from time to time, always on spurious grounds) and it must be said that the police do a good – although slightly heavy-handed - job of keeping the peace. I only saw one ‘incident’: a well-dressed middle-aged Polish ‘gentleman’ decided to throw a plastic plant pot (complete with a flower – oh, the irony!) at us. Before you could say ‘strong-arm tactics’, a policeman broke ranks, rushed over and had granddad pinned up against the kebab stall. I caught his eye, smiled and blew the old git a sarcastic kiss as we marched merrily past. Here’s to next year’s march!
On to things less controversial …
Saturday 20th June, (Midsummer’s Day) sees the annual party called Wianki. It’s big, loud and heaps of fun. The main event is a free open-air music concert (Lenny Kravitz this year, no less!) by the Wawel and the river, followed by some spectacular fireworks. More sedately, you will have the chance to observe some ancient pagan traditions during the day.
Dating back to Pagan times, Wianki (meaning 'wreaths') celebrates all the usual midsummer themes of life, renewal and, er, virginity. Unsurprisingly, it was rebranded "Noc Świętojańska" (St. John's Night) by the early Church, which, no doubt, toned down some of the more earthy practices such as young lovers consummating their love in nearby woods. However, some elements have remained, such as jumping over the huge ceremonial bonfires (sobotka) which are lit along the riverbank and, of course, young women casting their wreaths upon the river.
Traditionally, Polish girls wear wreaths of flowers and throw them into the river. According to folklore, if the wreath comes back to shore, the girl will never marry, if it sinks, she will die young and if it flows down the river, she will be married. Oh, if only modern dating was so easy! Fortunately for all, the Wistula is a fast-flowing river and, traditionally, most girls went away happy.
Back in the 16th Century, Jan Kochanowski wrote the following description of Wianki traditions and beliefs:
In Poland the Eve of St. John's is fraught with miracles and magic. Animals talk to each other with human voices. The earth shows the enchanted riches … plants take on magical properties ... Wreaths to which are fixed lighted candles are cast in the waters … From the course and fate of the wreaths auguries of marriage are made. The special promise of St. John is youth, love and general fertility.
(I wish I’d read that last line years ago. It would have made a cracking chat-up line!)
It’s almost impossible not to get caught up in it all: my advice is simply to allow the crowds to gently sweep you towards the river, the lights and the sounds of one of the biggest nights in Krakow’s diary.
Oh, and just because you’re sitting in the middle of the biggest open-air event of the year doesn’t mean you’re legally free to drink alcohol. Take a tip from the locals: buy a bottle of coke, top it up with vodka and let some other dozy ex-pat get fined 200 zloty for open-air drinking!
© John Marshall 2009
Picture the scene: you’re with your girlfriend, relaxing in the Main Square on a sunny Saturday, enjoying some fine Balkan folk singing and dancing; each performer striving to achieve perfect harmony and synchronicity with his/her partner. Then, in the corner of your eye you glimpse something most unharmonious: riot police, visors down and tails up, shuffling around the back of the Sukiennice. Curious, you decide to follow them. And, before you know it, you’re taking part in Krakow’s annual March For Tolerance March. And to think I only went out for a coffee …
It was my first ‘gay march’ and I felt conflicting emotions. Pride at standing up for tolerance and the right of everyone to lead their own lives, free from fear and persecution. But also distinct apprehension: we were tightly ringed by scores of scary-looking riot police whose militaristic get-up was perfectly matched by the aggressive manners and chanting of the far-right boot-boys. These self-appointed guardians of ‘Polish values’ were baying for the marchers’ blood only metres away from bewildered tourists. Knuckled fists were raised and primeval, guttural noises were spat out of angry throats. We banged our drums, waved our Rainbow flags, danced and, most importantly, were there. A little later, honour satisfied, the gathering broke up peacefully and my friend and I caught a beer, gawping (from a safe distance) at the fascists.
It was a strange sight to see both neo-Nazis (sporting the fascist organisation Combat 18 t-shirts) and riot police on the streets of my adopted Krakow, city of culture and learning. But after four years, I’m getting used to this annual face-off. At least the march is allowed now (they have been banned in Poland from time to time, always on spurious grounds) and it must be said that the police do a good – although slightly heavy-handed - job of keeping the peace. I only saw one ‘incident’: a well-dressed middle-aged Polish ‘gentleman’ decided to throw a plastic plant pot (complete with a flower – oh, the irony!) at us. Before you could say ‘strong-arm tactics’, a policeman broke ranks, rushed over and had granddad pinned up against the kebab stall. I caught his eye, smiled and blew the old git a sarcastic kiss as we marched merrily past. Here’s to next year’s march!
On to things less controversial …
Saturday 20th June, (Midsummer’s Day) sees the annual party called Wianki. It’s big, loud and heaps of fun. The main event is a free open-air music concert (Lenny Kravitz this year, no less!) by the Wawel and the river, followed by some spectacular fireworks. More sedately, you will have the chance to observe some ancient pagan traditions during the day.
Dating back to Pagan times, Wianki (meaning 'wreaths') celebrates all the usual midsummer themes of life, renewal and, er, virginity. Unsurprisingly, it was rebranded "Noc Świętojańska" (St. John's Night) by the early Church, which, no doubt, toned down some of the more earthy practices such as young lovers consummating their love in nearby woods. However, some elements have remained, such as jumping over the huge ceremonial bonfires (sobotka) which are lit along the riverbank and, of course, young women casting their wreaths upon the river.
Traditionally, Polish girls wear wreaths of flowers and throw them into the river. According to folklore, if the wreath comes back to shore, the girl will never marry, if it sinks, she will die young and if it flows down the river, she will be married. Oh, if only modern dating was so easy! Fortunately for all, the Wistula is a fast-flowing river and, traditionally, most girls went away happy.
Back in the 16th Century, Jan Kochanowski wrote the following description of Wianki traditions and beliefs:
In Poland the Eve of St. John's is fraught with miracles and magic. Animals talk to each other with human voices. The earth shows the enchanted riches … plants take on magical properties ... Wreaths to which are fixed lighted candles are cast in the waters … From the course and fate of the wreaths auguries of marriage are made. The special promise of St. John is youth, love and general fertility.
(I wish I’d read that last line years ago. It would have made a cracking chat-up line!)
It’s almost impossible not to get caught up in it all: my advice is simply to allow the crowds to gently sweep you towards the river, the lights and the sounds of one of the biggest nights in Krakow’s diary.
Oh, and just because you’re sitting in the middle of the biggest open-air event of the year doesn’t mean you’re legally free to drink alcohol. Take a tip from the locals: buy a bottle of coke, top it up with vodka and let some other dozy ex-pat get fined 200 zloty for open-air drinking!
Monday 11 May 2009
Polish Landscapes: Magazine Article
I first set foot in Poland four years ago, spending a couple of weeks in Poznan. It was my longest trip outside England and everything was wonderfully strange and exotic. Later, I was charmed by Krakow: its main square, charming streets and old town architecture. I fell in love with it immediately, the hot summer sun quickly burning away any Cold War stereotypes about the country or its people.
Mind you, those who choose to stay soon discover there’s more to life than tourist trails and there are some less than pretty residential areas in Polish cities. Many’s the time I’ve got lost in a sea of grey apartment blocks whose only identifying features were the massive adverts plastered on the sides. No, give me green, any day. I love a bit of green, especially after a long winter (minus twenty-seven Celsius?! Nobody warned me about that one!). So my dog obligingly pulls me around the nearby park three times a day, I stack my balcony with flowers in the spring, and get out of the city whenever I can.
Take a slow train journey between cities. You’ll soon get the hang of the Polish landscape. It’s flat! Really flat! And kind of plain, too. I mean, even the Poles call it Polska, and everyone knows that pol means ‘field’ in Polish. I rest my case.
Of course, Poland is not actually billiard-table flat. Of course not. That would be silly. The south of the country is a huge area of rolling hills, uplands and, of course, the Tatras, which are a magnet for the foreigner just as much as the Poles. I was only in the country for two weeks before climbing Rysy, one of the range’s highest peaks at 2499m. I didn’t expect that. ‘Beats the English Pennines, that’s for sure!
And, unlike England, there are many landscapes here that seem hardly touched by Man at all, an almost primal wildness still lingering in many of the hills and valleys. Taking a moonlit sleighride along a remote snowy forest track, the sound of wolves echoing along the valley was a wonderful, slightly unnerving brush with the raw Poland that I shall never forget.
Copyright John Marshall 2009
Mind you, those who choose to stay soon discover there’s more to life than tourist trails and there are some less than pretty residential areas in Polish cities. Many’s the time I’ve got lost in a sea of grey apartment blocks whose only identifying features were the massive adverts plastered on the sides. No, give me green, any day. I love a bit of green, especially after a long winter (minus twenty-seven Celsius?! Nobody warned me about that one!). So my dog obligingly pulls me around the nearby park three times a day, I stack my balcony with flowers in the spring, and get out of the city whenever I can.
Take a slow train journey between cities. You’ll soon get the hang of the Polish landscape. It’s flat! Really flat! And kind of plain, too. I mean, even the Poles call it Polska, and everyone knows that pol means ‘field’ in Polish. I rest my case.
Of course, Poland is not actually billiard-table flat. Of course not. That would be silly. The south of the country is a huge area of rolling hills, uplands and, of course, the Tatras, which are a magnet for the foreigner just as much as the Poles. I was only in the country for two weeks before climbing Rysy, one of the range’s highest peaks at 2499m. I didn’t expect that. ‘Beats the English Pennines, that’s for sure!
And, unlike England, there are many landscapes here that seem hardly touched by Man at all, an almost primal wildness still lingering in many of the hills and valleys. Taking a moonlit sleighride along a remote snowy forest track, the sound of wolves echoing along the valley was a wonderful, slightly unnerving brush with the raw Poland that I shall never forget.
Copyright John Marshall 2009
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