First Impressions

First impression, this is my favorite city to visit. I can't tell you how nervous I was when the train was approaching. It started ever since passport control at the border. The guards were very military, dressed all in green. They wore drab green sweaters with dark green rectangular patches on the shoulders and elbows. Most of them had a shaved head covered by a precisely positioned beret. Passports were swiped into card readers and info was authorized on a hand held terminal before a stamp was put on. They were very intimidating, but not as much as the guard towers at the border. There was a main concrete building surrounded by guard towers which fortunately were not occupied, but nonetheless a bit intimidating. This was a bad note to start on, and the scenery, as serene as it was, couldn't settle my nerves. Acres of warm green grasses followed by acres of bright yellow daffodils by the hundreds of thousands was not enough. The little Bavarian hamlets with the cute little churches wasn't enough. I was quite terrified when the train set in.

Everything after that was a dream for my first day here. Ten minutes out of my hotel and I ran into street theater, widely enjoyed by the passerbies. A mime was locked in a zoo cage with a large oak desk and a coat rack. The sign above, which I deciphered thanks to my pocket phrasebook, read, 'Don't feed the banker.' He amused those that walked by with his impecable management of imaginary coins that were carefully noted in imaginary books. He amused those that walked by for long enough to get their attention so they read his sarcastic description of bankers. The cage was a block away from the town square. It hadn't changed for 150 years and had more energy than a nightclub. It was Sunday afternoon and everyone was out. In one corner was a large crowd of youth rallying for a local team. As soon as it looked like the rally was over someone would find a visible perch and start up another chant. No one ignored them either. Everyone either joined in or enjoyed it as they passed by. Every cafe had packed the patio dining areas with goodhearted drinkers. Everywhere I looked I saw smiles and activity and enthusiasm and life. I only took one picture because every picture was perfect. There were so many people, all locals, just enjoying a not so sunny day, because they could.

I just kept walking, right out of the town square and onto one of the numerous bridges. It was pedestrian only, all wood, and painted green. I marveled at it's purely asthetic purpose. There appeared to be little reason to cross at this point. I would also find out that the river it flowed over was also not necessary, and not even a river, but a lake that was pumped from one end and drained from the other so it flowed. The lake/river flowed right through the center of the city and along its entire length were parks and playgrounds and islands for ducks with little ramps for them. One of the numerous intertwined parks was the designated spot for chess players, attracting small crowds around each bench. The entire day I just walked, sore feet and all, taking pictures of everything, although I couldn't capture it all.

I've seen a large town hall gutted and converted into a huge vegetable and flower market. I've been to the National Museum, where instead of showing off a collection of Italian masterpieces, it was entirely Polish. In fact one floor was entirely Silesian, the region around Wroclaw. It's so much more informative and so much more meaningful to be in Poland, looking at six centuries of art, and pieceing together the history and the times and the world Poland has been in. I spent a long time in the early 19th century portrait and landscape rooms. I don't think I've ever seen a picture of my great-great-great grandfather Dr. Strentzel, but I got a chance to see the country he left behind and the people he lived around. Granted he lived much further east, but I ignored that little fact. It isn't at all surprising that he ended up in the Alhambra Valley, no where else holds a candle to Polish country side. I've spent 3 hours seeing an uncut version of Romeo and Juliet in the Wroclaw Contemporary Theater, directed by a Lithuanian and performed in Polish in front of 200 mostly patient school kids. I've eaten the most amazing things. My first meal was in one of two vegetarian restaurants stacked on top of each other. I had no idea what I ordered. It was a cafeteria and the food was too far away to point to. I ended up with mashed potatoes and mushroom sauce, nothing interesting, and Krupnik. Krupnik translates to barley soup, but no one in the states would ever put so many fresh herbs into any soup. It wasn't overpowering like biting into a twig of rosemary, but it was very aromatic. It had flavors I don't know how to explain. Flavors that were all nose and seemed to come from no where. My second meal was a different kind of mashed potatoes and Chrodnik. They handed the plate to me and it was peuce. Peuce is like a purple. You get peuce when you take beet soup and add soured milk. It's very good but I couldn't quite stomach the whole bowl. It has an odd sweetness to it that I'm not used to. I also had a Polish Pita, the equivalent of fast food. Every one eats them, and it's surprisingly healthy. To make it, take the biggest salad you can imagine eating. Not too much lettuce, lots of different cabbage and beets and cheese and carrots and corn and a great sauce. Now take a warm pita that is too small to begin with and pack everything in there and charge a buck. I've had Chleb. It translates to bread, but weighes about ten times as much. It also has some light herbs baked into it. Top that with some local Black Current jam and life is perfect. That's another thing. Everything is Polish and everyone is proud of it. Everywhere I look I see the inscription, in English, 'Made in Poland.' The land is polish, the food is polish, the language is polish, everything is polish and it's beautiful. The McDonald's sundae doesn't compare to the ice cream parlors that in some parts outnumber the cafes. Everyone walks around with ice cream cones and pitas. Soon I'll go to a puppet theater and see the 115 meter panorama depicting a polish uprising that had been saved for over a hundred years from the onslaught of its neighboring countries.

Now don't get the idea that I'm on vacation here. Granted it's amazing, but the fact that I'm a lonely tourist should say something. Poland hasn't quite mastered the art of tourist satisfaction. My second day I spent 5 hours looking for a place I could afford, only to end up at my first hotel to find that the weekday rate is higher. Fortunately I looked pitiful enough that I got the weekend rate. The student travel agency could only give me a 6 year old list of hotels. The hotels either no longer existed, or had since been upgraded to three stars in order to charge higher rates for business folk. The only alternative is the youth hostel which has few frills - no shower, lockout all day, a curfew, and little kid beds. I chose the rubber ducky mattress. I'm very tired and quite worn out. Day to day life at this point is just difficult. Things break, things wear out, things run out, and replacements aren't perfect.

As a final note, I'm sitting in a lovely cafe sipping mango tea that was strained through a mini wicker basket. I finished my second journal today, that's 480 half-size pages that I'm very proud of. I'll be here until Sunday, and the name of the town is pronounced Vrotswav.