The cukiernia* on a Sunday morning is not the best place to be when you've suddenly realised you need to be somewhere in a hurry.
At the front of the queue, a young-ish Polish woman was ordering a cavity-inducing sugary breakfast for her family (consisting of small, chubby child and rather larger- surprisingly British - chubby husband). The stout little lady behind the counter was puffing up and down between tongs and teacups, trying to keep up with the ever-increasing number of requests.
Two rather overheated babcie were sitting either side of a table against the wall opposite the counter, apparently just there for the hell of it.
The requests continued. The small chubby child refused to believe that there was no strawberry juice (there were definitely Cappy bottles with something pink in, but Mama insisted it was orange or apple or tough luck).
Three or four young Polish guys in shorts came in, walked to the other end of the shop, and launched into a deep discussion about what to eat and what to do later. Another babcia entered stage left and stood by my elbow at the counter.
At this point, I realised that I should probably get home and have a shower in order not to be late for class. I gave myself about an hour and a half to eat breakfast, wash and dress and walk to the school.
I waited for the stout little lady to finish her pottering. For once I'd had plenty of time to decide what I wanted, and I'd even managed to glean a bit of vocab from the woman in front. She paid and I moved in for the kill.
Except I had reckoned without the marauding babcia forces to the starboard** side. With lightning speed and deadly intent, she swooped in with a 'Prosze wpół kilo...'.
I checked my watch again. Maybe I wouldn't be on time for class after all...
*Patisserie. From 'cukier', from German 'zucker' (according to Wikipedia, so take with pinch of salt: I'd have thought from 'zucchero' cos of the Italian queen but hey) and both come from Sanskrit roots via Arabic sugar traders in Sicily... isn't this fun? Disclaimer: Pinolona studied 'storia della lingua italiana' as a hungover Erasmus student and is therefore not a reliable source.
**Disclaimer. Pinolona does not claim to know anything about sailing - however she does know about words, and 'starboard' sounds cooler than 'port'.
Showing posts with label Queueing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Queueing. Show all posts
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Friday, 1 February 2008
pinolony nie ma
Absence makes the heart grow fonder. But the longer I put off blogging, the less the idea of writing appeals.
I'm sorry: it was January, the weather was rubbish. Only one snowfall, and that only lasted an evening.
What have I been doing with myself? Uh... working - there's only one thing less fun than translating and that's hearing a translator talking about translating.
Being ill is another, and having all kinds of adventures with both private and public doctors, with and without interpretation. Not to mention finally getting my ass to the optician.
- Can he come in to help? I asked (Car Guy looked up for a moment and then went back to glossary-writing 'sorry, was that "gas-permeable"?')
- No... no problem, the optician speaks English.
(Car Guy visibly disappointed)
Yeah, he spoke English... like I learnt some German in school once. But we managed to work it out, and I can see much better now.*
Yesterday was a special day for doughnuts, to mark the beginning of the end of Carnival season. Although to be honest I haven't seen much of a party going on so far. The streets seem empty and everything is grey.
The restaurant Pod Aniolami had organised free doughnuts (in Polish: Pączki, easy to remember because over-consumption leads to development of paunch) and hot drinks on the Mały Rynek. When I walked past on the way back from work, the queues didn't seem too bad, so I lined up and soon I was sinking my teeth into sugar-glazed dough with a somewhat surprising rosehip-flavoured filling. Unfortunately this was not accompanied by tea, thanks to my least-favourite Polish tradition. As I stood at the hot drinks stall, an elderly gentleman pushed in front of me. Then a young-ish man with a little girl. Then a mohair-clad babcia. What could I do but let all of these worthy citizens pass?
Finally I was standing at the front.
- Can I have a cup of tea? I asked
- Sorry, we're closed now.
I hate Poland.
*By tilting my head slightly to the left and squinting.
I'm sorry: it was January, the weather was rubbish. Only one snowfall, and that only lasted an evening.
What have I been doing with myself? Uh... working - there's only one thing less fun than translating and that's hearing a translator talking about translating.
Being ill is another, and having all kinds of adventures with both private and public doctors, with and without interpretation. Not to mention finally getting my ass to the optician.
- Can he come in to help? I asked (Car Guy looked up for a moment and then went back to glossary-writing 'sorry, was that "gas-permeable"?')
- No... no problem, the optician speaks English.
(Car Guy visibly disappointed)
Yeah, he spoke English... like I learnt some German in school once. But we managed to work it out, and I can see much better now.*
Yesterday was a special day for doughnuts, to mark the beginning of the end of Carnival season. Although to be honest I haven't seen much of a party going on so far. The streets seem empty and everything is grey.
The restaurant Pod Aniolami had organised free doughnuts (in Polish: Pączki, easy to remember because over-consumption leads to development of paunch) and hot drinks on the Mały Rynek. When I walked past on the way back from work, the queues didn't seem too bad, so I lined up and soon I was sinking my teeth into sugar-glazed dough with a somewhat surprising rosehip-flavoured filling. Unfortunately this was not accompanied by tea, thanks to my least-favourite Polish tradition. As I stood at the hot drinks stall, an elderly gentleman pushed in front of me. Then a young-ish man with a little girl. Then a mohair-clad babcia. What could I do but let all of these worthy citizens pass?
Finally I was standing at the front.
- Can I have a cup of tea? I asked
- Sorry, we're closed now.
I hate Poland.
*By tilting my head slightly to the left and squinting.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
Impertinent questions, ice cream, directions
Our Polish class- no longer 'beginners' but 'been doing this for five months now so no excuses for still being pretty rubbish' has increased in number by two. It might be three, depending on whether or not we scared the Dutch guy away.
We are still working on the past tense: this is made more complicated than you'd think because each verb has two versions, depending on whether you did something often-frequently or only once (thank you W.S. Gilbert for a very effective illustration of the difference between perfective and imperfective). A favourite language school exercise involves taking a little picture card from a stack and describing the activity illustrated on it. This is useful because you can do it in the past, future, negative and so on. The framework question is 'How often did you ... last year?' e.g.:
- Last year, how often did you go to the cinema?
- Last year, how often did you go out to dinner?
- Last year, how often did you watch television?
The answer is 'daily', 'once a week', 'twice a month' and so on (i.e. often-frequently/imperfective). Unfortunately, one of the picture cards shows two faces in close proximity. What's that? we asked.
- 'Całowac': to kiss.
Scandal ensued. One of the new guys in the class, with a big grin, has taken to asking the girls how often they kissed last year, last weekend, yesterday evening and so on. The cinema picture is no longer 'jak często w ześlym roku chodziłaś do kina?' but
'jak często w ześłym roku całowałaś w kinie?' - how often did you kiss in the cinema?
The possible variants are endless. I can only hope that I have been kissed in interesting enough places...
For some reason (maybe because I have a deceptively harmless appearance), people always approach me to ask for directions.
Little do they know.
To begin with, I would listen calmly and then respond with 'nie wiem', 'nie rozumiem' or 'nie mowie dobrze po polsku'. However, now I can just about work out what the question is and where the place is. And, thanks to my Colloquial Polish CD, I am An Expert at telling people to go straight on, turn right and so on.
Today, as I was on my way back from the American bookstore, two middle-aged ladies asked me how to reach ul. Piłudskiego and the National Museum. To my surprise, I realized I knew what they were talking about. I couldn't tell you whether my directions were accurate or not (given that I usually need SatNav just to find my way to the muesli aisle), but there was definitely communication of some description, which is a small miracle!
Visitors to Krakow... watch out...
This weekend the sun came out and we had a short-lived Indian summer [in Polish this is known as a 'golden summer' because of the sunlight on the turning leaves and other sentimental things. I think the British name came about because the reddening foliage, coupled with the fact that the rugby's on, triggers a mysterious craving for chicken tikka masala].
On Sunday, having spent an hour and a half rollerblading up and down the Wisła without falling in, I decided that it was high time I tried out the famous ice-cream place on Starowislna (given that it's been just down the road all this time). This unassuming outlet is reputed to sell The Best Ice-Cream in the whole city, so normally there is a resigned-looking queue of people lined up along the street. In almost six months I've still not managed to acquire any kind of Polish stoicism in the face of queues, so up until now I have always passed this particular confectioner by.
Today, however was going to be the day.
As I approached the shop, I passed several cars parked in the street, each with one or two people sitting inside, vacant, beatific looks on their faces and melted ice-cream dripping down their chins onto the dashboard.
A certain amount of organisation is required if you want to frequent any eating-places in Krakow not designed for tourists.
Once inside the door of the shop, you realise you do not get to see the product. Recommendation by word of mouth should be enough for you. There is a list of seven or eight flavours, primarily forest fruits, on the wall behind the counter. You have approximately six minutes to translate them and decide what you want (although the size of the cones is generous, so you can go for several at a time) before you arrive at the till. There are two things to remember: number of scoops followed by list of flavours. It is a slick operation, and before you realise what has happened you are outside blinking in the sunshine with a veritable tower of frozen dairy product causing you some serious wrist strain.
Verdict: fruit flavours are definitely what this place does best. They have a sharp and tangy flavour (I had strawberry and blueberry) which a good foil for the slight sugariness. The berry ices have a smooth texture as they melt and are not sickeningly creamy, although the chocolate (ok, ok, I had three scoops, I couldn't decide quickly enough) was a bit icy. But more than compensation for this iciness was the fact that it contained chunks of real chocolate: decent stuff too, not that cooking rubbish.
Apparently in the winter they switch to doughnuts.
If you're reading this in the office, I do hope there's a decent gelateria on a corner near you...
We are still working on the past tense: this is made more complicated than you'd think because each verb has two versions, depending on whether you did something often-frequently or only once (thank you W.S. Gilbert for a very effective illustration of the difference between perfective and imperfective). A favourite language school exercise involves taking a little picture card from a stack and describing the activity illustrated on it. This is useful because you can do it in the past, future, negative and so on. The framework question is 'How often did you ... last year?' e.g.:
- Last year, how often did you go to the cinema?
- Last year, how often did you go out to dinner?
- Last year, how often did you watch television?
The answer is 'daily', 'once a week', 'twice a month' and so on (i.e. often-frequently/imperfective). Unfortunately, one of the picture cards shows two faces in close proximity. What's that? we asked.
- 'Całowac': to kiss.
Scandal ensued. One of the new guys in the class, with a big grin, has taken to asking the girls how often they kissed last year, last weekend, yesterday evening and so on. The cinema picture is no longer 'jak często w ześlym roku chodziłaś do kina?' but
'jak często w ześłym roku całowałaś w kinie?' - how often did you kiss in the cinema?
The possible variants are endless. I can only hope that I have been kissed in interesting enough places...
For some reason (maybe because I have a deceptively harmless appearance), people always approach me to ask for directions.
Little do they know.
To begin with, I would listen calmly and then respond with 'nie wiem', 'nie rozumiem' or 'nie mowie dobrze po polsku'. However, now I can just about work out what the question is and where the place is. And, thanks to my Colloquial Polish CD, I am An Expert at telling people to go straight on, turn right and so on.
Today, as I was on my way back from the American bookstore, two middle-aged ladies asked me how to reach ul. Piłudskiego and the National Museum. To my surprise, I realized I knew what they were talking about. I couldn't tell you whether my directions were accurate or not (given that I usually need SatNav just to find my way to the muesli aisle), but there was definitely communication of some description, which is a small miracle!
Visitors to Krakow... watch out...
This weekend the sun came out and we had a short-lived Indian summer [in Polish this is known as a 'golden summer' because of the sunlight on the turning leaves and other sentimental things. I think the British name came about because the reddening foliage, coupled with the fact that the rugby's on, triggers a mysterious craving for chicken tikka masala].
On Sunday, having spent an hour and a half rollerblading up and down the Wisła without falling in, I decided that it was high time I tried out the famous ice-cream place on Starowislna (given that it's been just down the road all this time). This unassuming outlet is reputed to sell The Best Ice-Cream in the whole city, so normally there is a resigned-looking queue of people lined up along the street. In almost six months I've still not managed to acquire any kind of Polish stoicism in the face of queues, so up until now I have always passed this particular confectioner by.
Today, however was going to be the day.
As I approached the shop, I passed several cars parked in the street, each with one or two people sitting inside, vacant, beatific looks on their faces and melted ice-cream dripping down their chins onto the dashboard.
A certain amount of organisation is required if you want to frequent any eating-places in Krakow not designed for tourists.
Once inside the door of the shop, you realise you do not get to see the product. Recommendation by word of mouth should be enough for you. There is a list of seven or eight flavours, primarily forest fruits, on the wall behind the counter. You have approximately six minutes to translate them and decide what you want (although the size of the cones is generous, so you can go for several at a time) before you arrive at the till. There are two things to remember: number of scoops followed by list of flavours. It is a slick operation, and before you realise what has happened you are outside blinking in the sunshine with a veritable tower of frozen dairy product causing you some serious wrist strain.
Verdict: fruit flavours are definitely what this place does best. They have a sharp and tangy flavour (I had strawberry and blueberry) which a good foil for the slight sugariness. The berry ices have a smooth texture as they melt and are not sickeningly creamy, although the chocolate (ok, ok, I had three scoops, I couldn't decide quickly enough) was a bit icy. But more than compensation for this iciness was the fact that it contained chunks of real chocolate: decent stuff too, not that cooking rubbish.
Apparently in the winter they switch to doughnuts.
If you're reading this in the office, I do hope there's a decent gelateria on a corner near you...
Tuesday, 22 May 2007
Museums and soup
This weekend brought a particular sort of Krakow quirkiness, even by my standards. On Friday night, a mysterious free tram appeared, like the St Andrews phantom ice-cream van, to rattle its ghostly way between Huta and Wawel, carrying cultural pioneers in search of enlightenment (read "drunk students in search of free entertainment").
This was the Night of the Museums, a rare opportunity for people who don't get out of bed before lunchtime to visit cultural exhibitions in the middle of the night.
Although Friday night these days normally sees me curled up with a cup of tea (or at least beer in a tea cup) and a good book by 10pm, I decided to venture out and see if I could improve my mind at an exhibition or two.
The special tram proved to be more spectral than I thought, and after twenty minutes of waiting I realised I would have to plot my own route around Krakow's exhibitions. I started by wandering across the Rynek to Bunkier Stzuki, where I immediately bumped into the only friend of my flatmates who speaks French rather than English. With (slightly self-concious) glee we embarked upon the singularly pretentious pursuit of Talking about Art in French.
By far the most bizarre exhibit was a film of a bust of the artist's own head and shoulders in some pinky-brown, marbled stone. Only with the arrival of her cat, who set about licking the nose of the statue with a vigour enhanced by an uncomfortably loud soundtrack did the actual nature of the 'stone' become evident.
Leaving the Art Bunker behind us, we moved round to Collegium Maius, one of the ancient buildings of the Jagellionian University. The former professors' apartments, containing exhibits, but otherwise unchanged for centuries, were open to meanderers. As ancient university accommodation goes (and believe me, I know) it looked pretty cushy.
On Saturday afternoon I went to Plac Nowy for a taste of Eastern bloc life in the soup queues at the Kazimierz soup festival. The soup stands themselves were hidden by the crowds, so I (rather foolishly) went with mob rule and planted myself at the end of the longest queue. As I had already discovered at the pharmacy, queueing here is an entirely different sport. One person usually equals five plus a pushchair, and any amount of that indignant humphing- which characterises the stereotypical British single-file version- will go unnoticed.
After about half an hour, I managed to procure myself a bowl of (actually delicious) thick, yellow soup.
Queuing was an easy game compared to the task of finding an empty space at a trestle table without slopping any soup out of the flimsy plastic dish it was served in.
An interesting weekend altogether. I may not have achieved total cultural enlightenment, but I got free food, which is the second quest the eternal student.
Now where did I hear that ice-cream van?
This was the Night of the Museums, a rare opportunity for people who don't get out of bed before lunchtime to visit cultural exhibitions in the middle of the night.
Although Friday night these days normally sees me curled up with a cup of tea (or at least beer in a tea cup) and a good book by 10pm, I decided to venture out and see if I could improve my mind at an exhibition or two.
The special tram proved to be more spectral than I thought, and after twenty minutes of waiting I realised I would have to plot my own route around Krakow's exhibitions. I started by wandering across the Rynek to Bunkier Stzuki, where I immediately bumped into the only friend of my flatmates who speaks French rather than English. With (slightly self-concious) glee we embarked upon the singularly pretentious pursuit of Talking about Art in French.
By far the most bizarre exhibit was a film of a bust of the artist's own head and shoulders in some pinky-brown, marbled stone. Only with the arrival of her cat, who set about licking the nose of the statue with a vigour enhanced by an uncomfortably loud soundtrack did the actual nature of the 'stone' become evident.
Leaving the Art Bunker behind us, we moved round to Collegium Maius, one of the ancient buildings of the Jagellionian University. The former professors' apartments, containing exhibits, but otherwise unchanged for centuries, were open to meanderers. As ancient university accommodation goes (and believe me, I know) it looked pretty cushy.
On Saturday afternoon I went to Plac Nowy for a taste of Eastern bloc life in the soup queues at the Kazimierz soup festival. The soup stands themselves were hidden by the crowds, so I (rather foolishly) went with mob rule and planted myself at the end of the longest queue. As I had already discovered at the pharmacy, queueing here is an entirely different sport. One person usually equals five plus a pushchair, and any amount of that indignant humphing- which characterises the stereotypical British single-file version- will go unnoticed.
After about half an hour, I managed to procure myself a bowl of (actually delicious) thick, yellow soup.
Queuing was an easy game compared to the task of finding an empty space at a trestle table without slopping any soup out of the flimsy plastic dish it was served in.
An interesting weekend altogether. I may not have achieved total cultural enlightenment, but I got free food, which is the second quest the eternal student.
Now where did I hear that ice-cream van?
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