Overheard in the changing rooms at the salsa school:
- So, you've got your ticket [to Lviv] then?
Pino: - Yep! Right here!
rummages in rucksack
- definitely, somewhere in here...
starts to remove objects from bag
- right at the bottom, here...
takes out black-bound WHSmith diary, groaning at the seams: diary exhales cloud of old ATM receipts and email addresses on fast-food napkins, but no bus ticket
- just a second, maybe it's at the back somewhere
not Pino: - You do have it, right? I mean, I gave it to you... we're all adults, so I mean I thought it would be ok.
Pino: No, absolutely, I have it Right Here...
- maybe it's in my other bag
tries hard to disguise Serious Doubts
- I'm normally very responsible, I don't normally lose things (liar)
not Pino: I thought you had a different bag with you last night?
Pino: Yes, that's right, absolutely, it must be in that one...
not convincing anyone
- ... only... I don't want to worry you but... this morning I definitely cleared out some old papers from my bag. And then... I put them in the bin (train of thoughts spirals out of control) and then... I Took The Bin Out!
- Excuse-me-I-have-to-go!
On tram:
Pino's mind: Did I take the bin out? Wasn't the communal bin outside almost empty this morning? That means they'd only just collected the rubbish! That means they won't have come for today's yet! So there's a chance I might find it! Interrupted by visions of self diving head-first into communal bin to retrieve lost ticket.
Fifteen minutes later:
Stumbles up stairs, drops keys, opens door, crashes headlong into bedroom, spots handbag under pile of back issues of Polityka...
Ticket is in bag!!
Phew...
[Oh Crap I haven't packed yet!!!!]
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Wycieczka na Wschód
Elements of a perfect school field trip:
- Starts at very-early-o'clock in the morning: lots of students standing outside school eating pretend croissants by 7 Days. Several people nearly get left behind.
- Although our teacher instructs us very emphatically to stay awake and look out of the window, we all fall asleep almost as soon as the coach starts moving.
- There is approximately one public toilet in the whole of Małopolska.
- Someone spills orange juice on the coach and the driver goes ballistic, almost abandoning us in Biecz (wherever that is).
- It is fun to climb up bell-towers in wooden churches!
- It is not fun to eat only ice-cream all day and pee in a bush.
- Polish people who do guided tours of churches speak veryfastindeed.
- Predictably, when you visit a historic church, the caretaker will try to encourage you to get married there.
- Trying to find a place to eat in a group of eleven will take forever. Add an extra half-hour to forever for each additional person.
Fotki:
A Big Polish house, like what they build in the country. Looks as though it only has three levels instead of the customary four.
Inside the synagogue at Bobowa, former centre of Hassidic Jewish life, now a place of pilgrimage.
The paintings inside date from the 16th century
Painted interior of the church
Cerkiew (Orthodox church) in Kwiaton, former settlement of the Lemkos or Rusyns (cue lots of angry comments from Real Łemkowie because I got it wrong again). Slavic cultural history is cool.
Inside the church - which smelt strongly of Ronseal wood preservative. Now re-consecrated as a Catholic church, since the original Eastern Orthodox congregations have long since moved on.
An Orthodox lapidarium - no actual graves, just the tombstones, which were rescued and restored. The Łemkowie and their families are long gone and the gravestones were rescued from various centres of Łemko or Rusyn culture and are currently undergoing restoration. The inscriptions are in Cyrillic and the language is apparently a cross between Ukrainian and Polish. It's fascinating. I wonder who they were, where they went, and where their descendants are now...
- Starts at very-early-o'clock in the morning: lots of students standing outside school eating pretend croissants by 7 Days. Several people nearly get left behind.
- Although our teacher instructs us very emphatically to stay awake and look out of the window, we all fall asleep almost as soon as the coach starts moving.
- There is approximately one public toilet in the whole of Małopolska.
- Someone spills orange juice on the coach and the driver goes ballistic, almost abandoning us in Biecz (wherever that is).
- It is fun to climb up bell-towers in wooden churches!
- It is not fun to eat only ice-cream all day and pee in a bush.
- Polish people who do guided tours of churches speak veryfastindeed.
- Predictably, when you visit a historic church, the caretaker will try to encourage you to get married there.
- Trying to find a place to eat in a group of eleven will take forever. Add an extra half-hour to forever for each additional person.
Fotki:
A Big Polish house, like what they build in the country. Looks as though it only has three levels instead of the customary four.
Inside the synagogue at Bobowa, former centre of Hassidic Jewish life, now a place of pilgrimage.
Wooden church of St Michael the Archangel in Binarowa, dating from about 1500. Gosh that's old.
The paintings inside date from the 16th century
Vestry painting
Painted interior of the church
Cerkiew (Orthodox church) in Kwiaton, former settlement of the Lemkos or Rusyns (cue lots of angry comments from Real Łemkowie because I got it wrong again). Slavic cultural history is cool.
Inside the church - which smelt strongly of Ronseal wood preservative. Now re-consecrated as a Catholic church, since the original Eastern Orthodox congregations have long since moved on.
An Orthodox lapidarium - no actual graves, just the tombstones, which were rescued and restored. The Łemkowie and their families are long gone and the gravestones were rescued from various centres of Łemko or Rusyn culture and are currently undergoing restoration. The inscriptions are in Cyrillic and the language is apparently a cross between Ukrainian and Polish. It's fascinating. I wonder who they were, where they went, and where their descendants are now...
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Kryzys tożsamości
One field trip to the eastern depths of Malopolska* and some new acquaintances later and I've decided to take a more philosophical attitude to the whole Polish learning process. After all, what does being good at something mean? It means being useful to other people. And life's too short to be useful. Somebody pass me a cold beer.
Talking of not being useful, I have been attending a literature course.
I started attending the extra classes because translators and interpreters should always be aware of the intricate cultural references underlying any text and/or speech as well as reading the news in four different languages Every Day even the bits that aren't really interesting... oh all right, I needed extra credits to get my diploma, and I quite like reading.
The course is called 'Historia literatury polskiej XX wieku', and the entire thing is in Polish. Our lecturer is small and voluble and given to twisting out direct, challenging questions with an ironic smile. I suspect he despises us for hurling ourselves against the unforgiving edifice of the Polish literary opus. Or he pities us for our naive belief that we will ever penetrate Polish culture.
On the other hand, there are a lot of pretty Hungarian girls in the class so maybe he's just in it for the banter.
In any case, this semester has been a traumatic struggle through the twentieth century, starting with war poetry, the Warsaw Uprising, moving on through the Holocaust via Tadeusz Borowski's Proszę państwa do gazu before finally tripping up on the hermetic prose of Witold Gombrowicz's Trans-Atlantyk.
This particular volume is only 120 pages long. I am on page 28. This is after three weeks. I couldn't explain exactly why I didn't understand it: most of the words themselves seemed clear enough. But the paragraph-long sentences, the stream-of-conciousness style dialogue, and a disproportionate proliferation of words ending in -ż made it harder than usual to decipher.
In desperation, we decided to go and watch the play, conveniently showing at Stary Teatr last week. The goal: to understand as much as possible, bearing in mind that the actual content of the dialogue probably isn't all that important.
This is what happened:
Act I: Gombrowicz (the main character, not the man himself) on stage with suitcases. Deckchairs. We understand that he has moved to Argentina. We also understand that war has broken out in Poland. So far so good. Although maybe not so good on the war front.
Gombrowicz asks for money from three confusing old men who toast each other a lot, plus one diplomat.
Gombrowicz has to get in with famous and decadent Argentinian writer with a penchant for attractive young boys.
Some other things happen. A lot of people are on stage, talking fast in Polish.
Mild nudity.
Curtain down
Act II:
We lose the plot completely, but there is a sparkly curtain plus lots of topless boys in white trousers, so it doesn't seem to matter so much.
I gave up and asked a Polish friend to explain it to me.
- Actually, that's an interesting question: there isn't really a plot as such, the main point is Gombrowicz playing with language. Why on earth do they want you to read that?!
I showed up at literature class on Tuesday afternoon spoiling for a fight.
The lecture consisted of a snap survey on who had read the book, who had been to the theatre and what did we understand. Having established that the answer to this was 'very little', our lecturer went on to explain the plot and its relation to the concept of Polish national identity. He then turned to one of the Hungarian girls.
- What does it mean to be Hungarian?
She answered, and the question went round the class, while I did some very quick thinking. Not quick enough though.
- So... what does it mean to be British?
- No, wlasnie, nie wiem.
- fife o-clock?
- no... nobody drinks tea at five.
- the Queen?
- ...
- well, why didn't you just fill in the Channel, instead of going to all the trouble of building a tunnel?
- That's easy: we need something to keep the French out!
- So being British means not being French?
- Yes! That's it.
- And Princess Diana?
I tried to explain that this was simply a trick caused by the tabloid press, but my powers of Polish expression failed me.
The discussion went on a bit longer.
The lecturer indicated me to the other students.
- So here we have it: it's sad isn't it? Empire, post-colonialism and now the British can't even express their own identity.
I tried to protest:
- But we've learnt from that! In Britain we're really tolerant!
laughter
- well... uh ...ok. We're tolerant to everyone except the French. But it's a joke, ok?!
I am not yet well acquainted with Witold Gombrowicz, but I suspect that the concept of a British person failing to express their cultural identity in Polish is very appropriate here.
* The Polish characters on my keyboard for some reason aren't working with Firefox.
Talking of not being useful, I have been attending a literature course.
I started attending the extra classes because translators and interpreters should always be aware of the intricate cultural references underlying any text and/or speech as well as reading the news in four different languages Every Day even the bits that aren't really interesting... oh all right, I needed extra credits to get my diploma, and I quite like reading.
The course is called 'Historia literatury polskiej XX wieku', and the entire thing is in Polish. Our lecturer is small and voluble and given to twisting out direct, challenging questions with an ironic smile. I suspect he despises us for hurling ourselves against the unforgiving edifice of the Polish literary opus. Or he pities us for our naive belief that we will ever penetrate Polish culture.
On the other hand, there are a lot of pretty Hungarian girls in the class so maybe he's just in it for the banter.
In any case, this semester has been a traumatic struggle through the twentieth century, starting with war poetry, the Warsaw Uprising, moving on through the Holocaust via Tadeusz Borowski's Proszę państwa do gazu before finally tripping up on the hermetic prose of Witold Gombrowicz's Trans-Atlantyk.
This particular volume is only 120 pages long. I am on page 28. This is after three weeks. I couldn't explain exactly why I didn't understand it: most of the words themselves seemed clear enough. But the paragraph-long sentences, the stream-of-conciousness style dialogue, and a disproportionate proliferation of words ending in -ż made it harder than usual to decipher.
In desperation, we decided to go and watch the play, conveniently showing at Stary Teatr last week. The goal: to understand as much as possible, bearing in mind that the actual content of the dialogue probably isn't all that important.
This is what happened:
Act I: Gombrowicz (the main character, not the man himself) on stage with suitcases. Deckchairs. We understand that he has moved to Argentina. We also understand that war has broken out in Poland. So far so good. Although maybe not so good on the war front.
Gombrowicz asks for money from three confusing old men who toast each other a lot, plus one diplomat.
Gombrowicz has to get in with famous and decadent Argentinian writer with a penchant for attractive young boys.
Some other things happen. A lot of people are on stage, talking fast in Polish.
Mild nudity.
Curtain down
Act II:
We lose the plot completely, but there is a sparkly curtain plus lots of topless boys in white trousers, so it doesn't seem to matter so much.
I gave up and asked a Polish friend to explain it to me.
- Actually, that's an interesting question: there isn't really a plot as such, the main point is Gombrowicz playing with language. Why on earth do they want you to read that?!
I showed up at literature class on Tuesday afternoon spoiling for a fight.
The lecture consisted of a snap survey on who had read the book, who had been to the theatre and what did we understand. Having established that the answer to this was 'very little', our lecturer went on to explain the plot and its relation to the concept of Polish national identity. He then turned to one of the Hungarian girls.
- What does it mean to be Hungarian?
She answered, and the question went round the class, while I did some very quick thinking. Not quick enough though.
- So... what does it mean to be British?
- No, wlasnie, nie wiem.
- fife o-clock?
- no... nobody drinks tea at five.
- the Queen?
- ...
- well, why didn't you just fill in the Channel, instead of going to all the trouble of building a tunnel?
- That's easy: we need something to keep the French out!
- So being British means not being French?
- Yes! That's it.
- And Princess Diana?
I tried to explain that this was simply a trick caused by the tabloid press, but my powers of Polish expression failed me.
The discussion went on a bit longer.
The lecturer indicated me to the other students.
- So here we have it: it's sad isn't it? Empire, post-colonialism and now the British can't even express their own identity.
I tried to protest:
- But we've learnt from that! In Britain we're really tolerant!
laughter
- well... uh ...ok. We're tolerant to everyone except the French. But it's a joke, ok?!
I am not yet well acquainted with Witold Gombrowicz, but I suspect that the concept of a British person failing to express their cultural identity in Polish is very appropriate here.
* The Polish characters on my keyboard for some reason aren't working with Firefox.
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Zrezygnuję
I have had enough of this język polski.
I have had enough of never being right and failing on a daily basis.
I am frustrated with studying intensively for five months only to find that - instead of moving up to the next level - I am simply moving up 'a bit higher in the same level'.
I am tired of feeling inferior and trying to suppress my complexes (does that word even mean what I think it means any more?) about my pronunciation and my inability to express myself, because there are More Important Things Than That.
There are things I am good at! There are! There are! Really! I have a value as a person!
Why am I still swimming against the tide/running up the down escalator/banging my head against the same brick wall over and over again?
(and don't even get me started on interpreting. Don't go there. I mean it.)
I have had enough of never being right and failing on a daily basis.
I am frustrated with studying intensively for five months only to find that - instead of moving up to the next level - I am simply moving up 'a bit higher in the same level'.
I am tired of feeling inferior and trying to suppress my complexes (does that word even mean what I think it means any more?) about my pronunciation and my inability to express myself, because there are More Important Things Than That.
There are things I am good at! There are! There are! Really! I have a value as a person!
Why am I still swimming against the tide/running up the down escalator/banging my head against the same brick wall over and over again?
(and don't even get me started on interpreting. Don't go there. I mean it.)
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Exercises in vocabulary
This is a 'vocabulary-building' exercise from one of the textbooks we use in school. It caused some hilarity, and I'm short on materials. The title means 'what do we do in the bathroom?' Answers (with justification) in the comments box please).
Ćwiczenie 137: **
Co robimy w łazience? Niepotrzebne wyrazy skreśl.
kąpać się
jeść ......................raczej 'pić'... mmm cold Tyskie, hot shower, bliss.
rysować..............why not?! See 'czekać' below.
czesać się ...........not to be confused with 'cieszyć się', which is when you are happy about it.
kleić ....................for example, peeling the label off the soap & sticking it on the wall of the cubicle.
zakręcać włosy
czekać ................that's what they put the magazines in there for.
prać ....................only when the washing machine isn't working
gotować ............yes! Marshmallows, on the pilot light of the boiler.
golić się
strzyc .................unfortunately yes. With pitiable results.
wygłupiać się ...and how!
śpiewać .............altogether now: Ohhhhhh what a beautiful mooooorrrning! Ohhh what a beautiful daayyyyyy.....
The answer to all of the above is 'jak najbardziej!'. Except for no 1, to which the answer is 'częste mycie skraca zycie'. Or 'what on earth do you think they invented underarm deodorant for?!'
** I don't know what the stars are for. It was like that in the textbook.
Ćwiczenie 137: **
Co robimy w łazience? Niepotrzebne wyrazy skreśl.
kąpać się
jeść ......................raczej 'pić'... mmm cold Tyskie, hot shower, bliss.
brać prysznic..... take your life in your hands and play the 'try to squirt out the flame on the boiler' game.
kupić ...................or indeed barter. Normally for toilet paper, in student dormsrysować..............why not?! See 'czekać' below.
czesać się ...........not to be confused with 'cieszyć się', which is when you are happy about it.
kleić ....................for example, peeling the label off the soap & sticking it on the wall of the cubicle.
zakręcać włosy
czekać ................that's what they put the magazines in there for.
prać ....................only when the washing machine isn't working
gotować ............yes! Marshmallows, on the pilot light of the boiler.
golić się
strzyc .................unfortunately yes. With pitiable results.
wygłupiać się ...and how!
śpiewać .............altogether now: Ohhhhhh what a beautiful mooooorrrning! Ohhh what a beautiful daayyyyyy.....
The answer to all of the above is 'jak najbardziej!'. Except for no 1, to which the answer is 'częste mycie skraca zycie'. Or 'what on earth do you think they invented underarm deodorant for?!'
** I don't know what the stars are for. It was like that in the textbook.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Juwenalia
This is my third consecutive May in Poland (words like 'glutton' and 'punishment' spring to mind) and yet I've never quite got to grips with Juwenalia , the annual student summer festival.
This year, however, I'm a registered student at the Jagiellonian University (known as 'UJ', pronounced - with English spelling - as 00h-yacht) with a real legitimacja and everything, so I want to take advantage of the festive times.
I know that there have been concerts all week, on a temporary stage outside the student halls of residence - which thankfully I do not inhabit - but apart from that I've never really worked out what it's all about.
I asked a friend from salsa class.
- Well... everyone gets the day off on Friday, no classes at all.
Bonus! Although I quite like our Friday classes: they start early so there's usually not too much of a crowd, and it's conversation class: not as mentally taxing as grammar (besides which, Pani Kinga often has sweeties in her handbag).
- Ok, but what's actually happening on Friday?
- Well, the students dress up and we march to the Rynek, and then they hand over the keys of the town to us for the duration.
Interesting.
- So what does that mean?
- Students rule the town! We get to make the rules for a day and basically we can do what we want.
- Great! But what does that actually mean? In practice I mean?
She thought for a bit.
- ummm..... oh! It means you can drink from an open can of beer on the Błonia!
The Błonia is a huge triangle-shaped common to the west of the city centre. Needless to say, open-air drinking is forbidden in Kraków, with police cars regularly patrolling the banks of the river at night.
Well this is great news - and there's no more time to lose!
I'm off, to exercise my limited sovereignty over the beautiful city of Kraków.
plik! fiizzzzzzz...
This year, however, I'm a registered student at the Jagiellonian University (known as 'UJ', pronounced - with English spelling - as 00h-yacht) with a real legitimacja and everything, so I want to take advantage of the festive times.
I know that there have been concerts all week, on a temporary stage outside the student halls of residence - which thankfully I do not inhabit - but apart from that I've never really worked out what it's all about.
I asked a friend from salsa class.
- Well... everyone gets the day off on Friday, no classes at all.
Bonus! Although I quite like our Friday classes: they start early so there's usually not too much of a crowd, and it's conversation class: not as mentally taxing as grammar (besides which, Pani Kinga often has sweeties in her handbag).
- Ok, but what's actually happening on Friday?
- Well, the students dress up and we march to the Rynek, and then they hand over the keys of the town to us for the duration.
Interesting.
- So what does that mean?
- Students rule the town! We get to make the rules for a day and basically we can do what we want.
- Great! But what does that actually mean? In practice I mean?
She thought for a bit.
- ummm..... oh! It means you can drink from an open can of beer on the Błonia!
The Błonia is a huge triangle-shaped common to the west of the city centre. Needless to say, open-air drinking is forbidden in Kraków, with police cars regularly patrolling the banks of the river at night.
Well this is great news - and there's no more time to lose!
I'm off, to exercise my limited sovereignty over the beautiful city of Kraków.
plik! fiizzzzzzz...
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Secret Lodziarnia
Walking home in the late afternoon sunshine, I passed a tiny ice-cream place, not long out of winter hibernation.
Curious, I stepped inside and ordered a scoop of borówkowy (blueberry - but don't start, because we could be debating this one for ages).
And it was actually pretty good: real bits of fruit (as well as seeds) and a delicious berry-tartness to foil the creamy dairy flavour (as opposed to the Słodkie Wenztl blueberry, which tends to be bland). It was even - dare I say it - reminiscent of the famous ice-cream on Starowiślna. Without the queues.
It's on Madalińskiego, just off Rynek Dębnicki: polecam. Smacznego!
Curious, I stepped inside and ordered a scoop of borówkowy (blueberry - but don't start, because we could be debating this one for ages).
And it was actually pretty good: real bits of fruit (as well as seeds) and a delicious berry-tartness to foil the creamy dairy flavour (as opposed to the Słodkie Wenztl blueberry, which tends to be bland). It was even - dare I say it - reminiscent of the famous ice-cream on Starowiślna. Without the queues.
It's on Madalińskiego, just off Rynek Dębnicki: polecam. Smacznego!
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