Rozmowy

School doesn't start until Monday, so this week I've been quietly translating away at home, at my own tranquil pace and in the - sometimes demanding - company of my flatmate's cat.

However, I've already had the opportunity to get to know some of my neighbours.

Wednesday, about 1pm

Waiting for the tram at Stradom, I realised I was hungry and headed for the nearby blue obwarzanek cart.
Incidentally, obwarzanki are now 1.30PLN in Kraków, a whole 10 groszy more than last time I was here: that's inflation for you.
- Zssssezamem, I said, and handed over a 5PLN coin.

The elderly stallholder sucked hard on where his teeth should have been.

- Nie ma Pani drobne?

I blustered that sorry, no, I hadn't.

He appeared to look at me properly for the first time.

- But... I haven't seen Pani around here before, have I?
- Um...
- Eeengleesh?

- Um... troche... czyli... też po polsku... yes, I speak English.

- Ahh... dobrze. Dobrze!
He nodded in satisfaction and beamed at me gummily.

I thanked him and made a dash for the safety of the tram shelter.



Saturday morning

Sheltering at the bus stop outside Ikea, with a huge blue holdall filled with spare pillowcases and cat-proof storage solutions under my arm, I was trying unsuccessfully to keep the driving snow from blowing in under the hood of my ski jacket.

A small Polish woman of around my mother's age was inspecting the bus timetables.

- Ale osiemnastka w sobotę nie jeździ?
she asked me.
- Maybe not... I answered, peering at the schedules. - I don't know: I'm not from round here, I don't really know how it works...
She made 'ok, never mind', noises and turned away to ask someone else.

About five minutes later, she turned back to me.
- Skąd Pani jest?
- Z Anglii.
- Oh! Dobrze mówi Pani po polsku!
I looked embarassed and hid my face in the hood of my jacket and made denial-type noises. Luckily her bus arrived and I was spared revealing the full extent of my kłopot z polskim.

Saturday afternoon

Wet, powdery snow has been falling for a full 48 hours. At least. On Friday morning my flatmate left for work in normal shoes and came back in the evening cursing slush puddles and damp socks.

After coming back from Ikea, I unpacked the big blue bag, picked up my notebook and set off out again. On the landing was a fragile-looking elderly lady leaning on two walking sticks. Nothing unusual here: the whole block - apart from our flat - seems to be exclusively populated by the babcia demographic*.
- Dzien dobry! I nodded like a good girl. I'm trying to make a good impression.
- But... are you going out? said the old woman. 'Don't you have a hat?!' Her eyes took on a feverish gleam as she launched into a diatribe - stick-waving included - on the dangers of leaving the house in winter. Halfway through she acknowledged that, oh yes, I was wearing a hat (underneath my hood, again). This was not however enough to slow her down.
I nodded and smiled at respectful intervals.
- Never have I seen such snow! Stay indoors! Children mustn't be allowed out!
I could hear her voice still going, albeit fainter and fainter, as I escaped down the four flights of stairs to the front door.

I did wonder whether she was urging me to keep my own children indoors, or classifying me in the 'child' demographic...


*although this afternoon in the porch I made a rare sighting of an actual dziadek!

Random acts of Tourist Rescue before Breakfast

This morning the muesli tasted even more sourly, dustily revolting than Mr Nestle's usual efforts, and a second mouthful confirmed my suspicions.

The milk was off.

Had my flatmates been leaving the fridge door open? We're talking about two blonde art students in their (very) early twenties* who possess some cosmic ability to de-magnetize cupboard/fridge/oven door catches, leaving a trail of swinging portals in their respective wakes.

I spend my life banging my shins on chipboard.


[Now's not the time, but don't let me forget to write a post on the mysteries of young Polish girls from the country. They're not like us. For example, shortly after my old flatmates moved out and the new ones moved in, filmy twee curtains, which wouldn't look out of place in my Granny's flat, appeared over all the windows...I've heard these are called 'firanki'...]

I skipped the coffee and muesli and decided to brave the bad obwarzanki ladies that brood in the underpass by Galeria Krakowska. After short deliberation and much stooping (can anyone tell me why the hatch is always positioned around upper stomach/lower boob height? It is particularly hard to bend yourself down to this level and then try to catch the attention of the squat being glowering on the other side) I emerged bearing my plum pastry prize and made to go to the office.

Near the kiosk stood a young couple, both red-haired, and clearly not Polish. They were looking doubtfully at the pastries on display. The guy made a tentative attempt on the soft drinks fridge.

- Usually they do it for you.
I offered.
- Do you want a hand?

They looked at each other and then nodded why not.

Yes! My first Random Act of Tourist Rescue. From here it's just a short step to booth interpretation. Today the bakery, tomorrow the Council of Europe.

- Right, what do you want? I asked, briskly

- uh... I guess two croissants...
- Do you know what's in them? I reckon it's chocolate... hang on...
'Prosze Pani czy rogaliki są z czekoladą?
The woman assented impatiently.
- How many: two? Two.

- And... said the guy carefully ... 'An Ob-var-zhan-ek'
- Oooh well done! Dwa razy obwarzanek (i think actually they only wanted one. ah well). Nie nie, uhh... jeszcze kurosant.

- Would you get a bloody move on there's a queue building up!
Said the Bad Obwarzanki Lady crossly. Or something like that anyway.

- Przepraszam Panią ale...

- (to the guy): did you want water?
- yes, duzy woda, said the guy, who was getting into the spirit of things.

The lady behind the glass looked as though she might erupt at any moment.

- Eight zloty thirty; I said 'uhh Bon appetit'

and beat a hasty retreat.

Next I made for the newsagent's to get some fruit juice**. There was a young Indian guy at the counter trying to buy a tram ticket.

- Normalny, said the lady behind the counter: 'nor-mal'.

The guy nodded, looked embarassed, and handed over the cash.

Only then the lady launched into a huge spiel in Polish about where exactly to go, how to exit the underpass (not as simple as you'd think... it's under a crossroads by the station and there are at least four exits), where to cross the road i tak dalej ad infinitum.

Her victim reached for his phrasebook.

- She's telling you where the tram stop is. I butted in, starting to feel over-confident. 'Do you know it?'
- Yeah yeah, said the guy, and legged it while the going was good.

I paid for the juice and decided it was probably time to go to work after all.


*And yet we can't get anyone to fix the boiler.
**Blackcurrant actually. It's brilliant. Nice and sour. If you slip a shot of vodka into it you can get someone wasted and they'll never notice a thing.

Simple repairs for common household items

Occasionally I get really incensed hearing men constantly droning on about how gorgeous Polish girls are: hence the slight diatribe at W-Wa in the form of a comment on an earlier post. Generally one thinks, well, women have other qualities apart from the ability to look decorative. Like designing buildings, curing illnesses, sitting in a little box and turning one language into another and back again in a matter of seconds. Why focus on prettiness? It's not something that any of us can do very much about.

However, as a rule I have to admit I agree. When you walk down the street in a Polish town the other women are much more likely to be attractive and slim than in the UK, where I am increasingly surprised by the size of everyone.

There's a quote from Family Guy where the teenage daughter asks Death to kill all the girls that are prettier than her: 'Well that would just leave England'. Ouch. And secretly, I'm proud of being asked for directions, not because I look like a local but because it implies- as a Pole suggested- that I don't look stereotypically ugly enough to be a Brit. Thanks. I think.

Well, I'm afraid I'm letting the side down something chronic at the moment.

Yesterday morning I hauled myself out of bed several minutes before the alarm (which I forgot to set anyway) and staggered into the bathroom, apparently via Switzerland and the hanging gardens of Babylon.*
The face in the mirror looked as though it had been punched by the back end of a bus through a hedge backwards.
Several hours of vodka and bawling your eyes out is not the ideal way to stay young and beautiful. Salt water is most terribly dehydrating to the skin.

Students of interpreting often practice with speeches which describe a process. These are easier to remember because they have a logical progressive sequence. For example, the process of making a cup of coffee or of ironing a shirt.

For students then, here are some key English expressions to use in the process of breaking off a relationship. Anglophones, repeat with me- I think we know them by heart by now:

- This is going to be one of those difficult conversations (good opener)
- It's not you, it's me (classic)
- I think you're a really great person (but:)
- I really, really like spending time with you (this is pushing it)
- If we'd already been together twenty years, this would be fantastic (you should be so lucky)
- My friends will tell me I'm an idiot (aims to flatter but generally ineffective)
- Actually there's this other girl (wait for it...)
- Nothing's actually happened
- Can we still be friends?

Szanowny Państwo, dziękuję za uwagę.

This time, I gave back the jumper (didn't suit me).

I kept the 1999 Rioja Reserva.



*Mr Izzard: sorry yet again.

Chivalry

It's universally true that Polish men are more polite than English ones. At first this seems cute and exotic. After all, who in the UK kisses us on the hand instead of simply shaking it?! 'A kiss on the hand may be quite Continental', right, girls??

And who indeed, in England, opens doors for you without even questioning? In the UK, this would be a good excuse for a smack in the face:
- Whaddya think I am?? You think I can't get through a door by myself? You think I'm pregnant??? (officially the worst offence against weight-concious Hollywood-aware Brits)

A week or so ago we took our Polish teacher out for a drink or seven (it being the end of semester) and grilled her on Polish customs. She revealed that neither she nor her friends would go anywhere near a guy who refused to open the door for them. No way. Nada. That guy is Officially Out of the running.

The thing I hate most is the Coat-holding thing. Last week, Car Guy had a parapetówka* at his new (currently minimally-furnished) flat. At the end of the evening, one of the girls, unaccompanied, handed her coat over to one of the guys so he could hold it out for her to slip her arms into. Now, this is the kind of mock-chivalrous behaviour I hate-loathe-and-despise more than anything. For heavens' sake. How hard is it to put your own coat on? It simply reminds me of staying at my Granny's house when I was small and unable to work out technical complications such as sleeves.

Just for the record, Car Guy's friends thought him an asshole for several months because I insisted on putting on my coat By Myself.

Just for the record, Car Guy most politely over tea this evening informed me that he has no sentimental connections with me whatsoever.

Thank goodness, I shall be able to put my coat on in peace from here on in.

*House-warming party: 'parapet' is Polish for 'windowsill' cos there's no furniture so that's all there is to sit on.

Lubisz tańczyć?

I've been in Poland for nearly eight months now and only twice have I been dancing*. Maybe if my dance activities increased then my coordination would improve and my propensity to fall over would fall in inverse proportion.
Since I come from the Home-Counties-dahling and Daddy worked in a bank, I spent a fair portion of my early years being ferried between dance classes and rehearsals and the dreaded RAD ballet exams. I still have nightmares about standing stiffly on the wooden floor of a village hall, wearing a pink lycra handkerchief and trying to suck in both stomach and bottom and not choke on the dust mites whilst willing my hair not to start pinging out kirby-grips like some deranged porcupine, to the accompaniment of the Loudest Clock in the World and the scratching of the examiner's pen. ('Seems worried... Not Enough Turnout... Looks out of window too much seriously impeding sense of direction...').
These days, the notion of Unstructured Dance for Fun makes me freeze in terror, instantly aware of every muscle and every potential fault.

So my first Kraków dance experience was somewhat accidental. We simply went to meet an old classmate for a beer after our Polish lesson. (So many ex-classmates. All these people who win Polish- the final boss is really tough to beat- and get the big rocket launch like at the end of Tetris. Or they simply cheat by marrying Polish women...). After about an hour, his wife showed up with a friend, ordered vodka and Red Bull all round (so now you know: V & RB, favourite tipple of lairy football fans in Wetherspoons and of sweet young Polish girls) and settled in for the night.
Incidentally, I'm in a slightly confusing limbo as to the purchasing of beverages in Poland. In the UK I'm used to rounds (unless there are more than six of you, in which case carnage is very likely) or simply buying a bottle- of wine- between two or three people. In Poland, you either sip on a pint of beer (take note ladies...) or you go through the whole vodka-shots-and-juice palaver, which is a story for another day I think. Guys always offer to buy drinks, which leaves me in the awkward position of whether to assert my feminist personality and square things up by standing them a pint or two, or just to let it go, take advantage, and possibly be secretly considered a sponger.
An hour or so and several units of alcohol later we were in a charming locale called Gorączka. This is Polish for 'fever', and we know all about this now since the language school, with impeccable timing, has decided to teach us about parts of the body and sickness. I can also tell you that I have toothache, earache and the shivers, and can I please have a doctor's note? (very, very important if you don't want to lose your holiday allowance).
Now, in Polish clubs, things work in pretty much the same way as in England. You dance around your friends, around your handbag, around the guy with the huge bongo drum who seems to have materialised in the middle of the dance floor, and you avoid Sleazy Men Who Want to Touch your Bum (especially if they tell you they have three months to live. No joke. My little sister had to rescue me). All very familiar and easy.

My second dancing experience here was at an Even More Grown-Up Party last weekend. It was similar to the wedding in that the food kept coming, with dancing in between. It was similar to the last party in that I was definitely the youngest and scruffiest person there.
- Lubisz tańczyć? said the wife of Car Guy's colleague (possibly to escape my attempts at Polish conversation), and led us to the dance floor.
With horror, I realised that people were dancing to Pop Music in couples...

- Do you know how to dance? I whispered to Car Guy
- Well, yes, I mean, I can

We took a few tentative steps

- You have to let me lead though...


It has since occurred to me that dancing may be the solution to the lack of daylight and outdoor activity. Since the snow started falling, I've been burning a ton of calories just trying to stay upright, but honestly I'm finding it hard to get out and get active and I'm tired of being stuck indoors in front of the computer. I need something to placate my twitchy feet.
There appears to be a dance school on ul. Josefa- not too far from where I live. I'll keep you posted...


*Not counting the wedding in September.


Disclaimer:
Pisarka tego bloga informuje drogich czytelników że imaginacyjna kanapa faceta-którego-nie-wie-gdzie-się-znajduje-samochód jest najwygodniejszą kanapą w Krakowie i ostatny post nie stanowił narzekania.

The Foreigner's guide to Faking It in Poland

Suddenly I've become very popular. People are coming to visit me! Why they've all waited until the coldest months of the year is a mystery to me, but then Brits seem to be in blind denial when it comes to weather, probably due to the fact that in the UK we don't actually have any (unless you count rain in various settings: rain, some rain, more rain, pissing down, etc.). Personally I'm terrified by the prospect of not seeing daylight until March, but then again I've never lived in Glasgow.
There are a proliferation of guide books to Kraków (of which I like the Thomas Cook guide best- it has pictures and ghost stories, which is all it takes to keep me entertained), not to mention phrase books: but on the latter point don't even bother. You'll have just worked out how to pronounce 'excuse me' and it'll be time to go home.

So, on the basis of my broad experience so far, I've decided to write a short guide to faking it in Poland, for stupid foreigners like me. Please read, learn and inwardly digest before blithely hopping up the orange-painted Easyboardingsteps.

1/ Diet: If you are female, practice inhaling enormous plates of lardy stodge- such as pierogi, placki ziemniaczane and zapiekanki without batting an eyelid (or gaining an ounce). Douse liberally with extra lard or kefir (sour milk) for good measure.

2/Liquid refreshment: In the run up to your trip, reinforce your constitution by ordering your drinks in two separate components: spirit in a small glass, mixer in a large one. Gulp the spirit and sip the mixer. Naturally this will unbalance your consumption rate somewhat, but you'll get used to it. N.B. the one exception to this rule is gin and tonic. Don't do it. Ever.
Girls: learn to drink pints. For extra authenticity, add raspberry-flavoured ice-cream sauce.

3/Complain: About anything you like. Be loud and enthusiastic. Some good topics to get you started are- the weather; public transport; the government; the price of an obwarżanek.

4/Road safety: Practice waiting patiently at the pedestrian crossing, even if there is nothing coming, until the green man appears. Do Not on any account jaywalk, even if the road appears to be completely clear. I made this mistake a couple of times when I first arrived. Don't do it! Cars will coming flying around the corner out of nowhere and they won't even be looking for you (they're probably on the phone or listening to Radio Zet). Equally, do not step onto a zebra crossing unless you are Absolutely Certain that it's ok. Wait until a Polish person starts to cross. Better still, be a nun. Even trams stop for them.
Finally, remember that cars can come round the corner from the left when the green man is flashing, and that trams (with the law on their side) stop for no-one. Woe betide the innocent foreigner who gets her heel (or her rollerblade) stuck in the rails...

5/Chivalry: If you are under the age of 60, regardless of gender, practice the following move on the bus or the Tube in preparation for your trip to Poland:
When an elderly lady steps through the sliding doors, stand up, step to one side and offer her your seat. Be particularly aware of very mature females armed with umbrellas, sticks or large handbags.
This manoeuvre could Save your Life.

6/Conversation: In most areas you are likely to visit (i.e. the Rynek, the centre of town, McDonald's) people will speak English. However, should a Polish-speaking Pole engage you in conversation (this may well happen: watch out for fragrant gentlemen lurching towards your bench in the Planty and tiny batty old ladies sitting next to you at the bus stop), here are one or two useful fillers you can drop in at random, based on my experiences of Faking It In Polish* so far. All you have to do is gauge the tone and pick the appropriate category:

General:
- 'no' the all-purpose. Meaning 'yes'. Naturally. Don't forget to nod. It will stop feeling weird after a while.

Surprise:
- 'naprawdę?!', meaning 'no kidding?!' Used by your tandem exchange to raise the tempo when you've just taken 15 minutes to tell him you like to watch TV at the weekend.
- 'Serio?' as above. Or below, I can't remember.

- 'na pewno' meaning 'damn straight'. Can be good or bad, depending on Polish sarcasm- I haven't fully worked it out yet.

If the tone seems positive:
- 'świetny!' meaning 'great!' (warning, often also sarcastic)
- 'rewelacja!' meaning 'fantastic'.
Probably best not to refer to this section too often however. You are far more likely to need the next one:

If the tone tends towards the pessimistic:
- 'Straszny!' meaning 'bloody awful'. This is used All the Time.
try also:
- Tragedia!
- Katastrofa!
- Fatalny!
- Koszmar!
- Jesusmarya!

All fairly self-explanatory (say no. 4 out loud and think of 'nightmare' in French). Your ability to sympathize on the Woes of this World will help you to make friends in no time at all and your stay should be a rewarding one (provided you avoid jaywalking and always offer your seat on the tram. I Mean It.)

*As usual please correct me. It may help explain a few discrepancies in my social interaction on a day-to-day basis.

Tips for language acquisition... (ensure tongue remains firmly in cheek at all times) part I.

There's this brilliant website for student/trainee interpreters which is full of advice for practising etc. By far the best time to consult it is last thing at night, so you can go to bed and dream about all the great things you're going to do tomorrow.

One section on this website is a series of ten tips for learning a new language, written by an EU staff interpreter- using Polish as an example- and they are beautiful, really beautiful, all about crosswords and song lyrics and etymologies (I love etymology, don't get me wrong- don't get me started either, you'll regret it). However, given that I am the sort of irresponsible person who doesn't live in the Real World and forgets to empty their bin on a Friday and hangs out with malorientated motorists, students and sacristans, most of them are utterly beyond me.

[Here's the link: http://interpreters.free.fr/language/dekalog.htm]

So, with all due respect and a great deal of humility, I have compiled my own ten observations on how to eat, sleep and breathe foreign vocab (Don't inhale. It might go to your head). These are strictly aimed at former pre-exam crammers who only limped through their A-levels by burning vocabulary onto their retinas in the half hour before the doors opened and consequently have a short term memory with a strict "one in, one out" on-the-door policy within any twenty-four hour period.

Here are numbers one to five:

1/ Alcohol. Ok, so it's stating the obvious. But anyone who's tried to speak French will know how a ballon de rouge or four can turn you into Proust with beer-goggles (also known to improve singing ability, even in the most hopeless cases). Although in the case of Polish it may simply increase your confidence to the extent that you start adding -owac and -owany to the end of English words and conjugating everything in the genitive just to hedge your bets.*
If all else fails, you can always sit and translate the label on the back of the bottle (for 'translate', read 'bug your Polish friends for translations of...').
Warning: any vocabulary gleaned in this manner will almost certainly be forgotten the next morning.

2/ Biology. Remember those girls who came back from their Erasmus semester with a photo of some sloe-eyed Sicilian in their purses and a fluent command of the Italian idiom? Fraternizing with the natives is a long-established method for acquiring vocabulary without trying too hard, and you may even enjoy yourself. For fairly logical biological reasons, this works much better for girls than for guys. The irony therein is that Polish women, without exception, all look like supermodels**, while the guys look, well, pretty similar to British guys (socks under sandals, terrible haircuts and so on).
Caution should be exercised when using vocabulary acquired in this manner in a professional context.

3/ Crime. Have something stolen. As yet (touch wood) this method remains untested in Poland, but was experienced in a bizarre way involving a rented bike in Italy (bizarre because said bike was returned three days later when the end-of-term party season finished. Northerners are Weird). Following the theft you are compelled to go down to the local nick and attempt to communicate. You then have to pretend not to hear the Entire Station giggling like big girls because your driving licence ID gives your first name as 'Miss'- which, everywhere in Europe except the UK, designates a beauty pageant entrant.
You will never, ever forget the Italian word for a bike lock.

4/ Babcia. Rent a sofa from someone's grandmother in Nowa Huta. This may also be a direct consequence of quarter-life-crisis financial angst. There is No Chance that she'll be speaking any English to you, and you'll have to pick up one or two Polish words otherwise you won't get any dinner. As an interesting side effect, you will learn how to interpret the babcia growl, commonly uttered in queues if you complain that they may have pushed in front of you. Equally common on the tram: if accompanied by brandished umbrella, relinquish your seat Immediately.

5/ Sport. Go jogging in shorts. Very quickly pick up rude things to shout at lorry drivers.
Again, this is generally one for the girls, although you'd be surprised.
And see cautionary note to no. 2.
Interestingly, if you want to steal something on the Bvd de Clichy, this is probably a good way to get away with it.

To be continued...

*At all costs, avoid pidgin German e.g. 'Ich habe weile zutrinken und ich bin auf mein face gesmaschd. Ist hier in die nahe eine taksihaltestelle?'
**Although she will spend the next fifty years metamorphosing into a fierce babcia with a vicious umbrella- see point 4/. Is there any section of the Polish demographic I haven't managed to offend yet?