My Bologna Has A First Name...

Today was a low-key kind of day. I went for a jog when I woke up this morning (well, afternoon), and was surprised to see that almost all of the shops were closed. Restaurants and cafes, too. Is that typical of most European cities, I wonder, or just those like Krakow, where Sunday mass is still figures into most people's routines?

I ran in my usual park, on the blacktop path which makes a short, 300-meter loop around what is either an empty swimming pool or a skate park, I'm not sure which. A corrugated metal fence plastered with posters advertising events in the city usually surrounds the ambiguous pit, but today it had been knocked down due to high winds the night before. It was about 3 in the afternoon, and the first thing that popped into my head was, "why hasn't someone fixed this yet?" For some reason, I thought, if this had happened in New York or Chicago, some city maintenance crew would have been on it like white on rice. Not that I'm any kind of authority on the matter, since I don't live in either city, but that's the thought I had, unjustified as it may be.

Some more random observations:

• One of my favorite things about that park is the elderly couples who shuffle around the loop together with arms linked, the women in long skirts and sometimes sporting a kerchief (headcarf? I'm not really sure how to describe it), and oftentimes escorting a small dog. Elderly people seem to be more out-and-about here than in the states. Or maybe there's just more of them. Professor Kubiak says Europe's average population is getting older, as couples no longer reproduce with enough gusto to replace themselves.
  

• I went to the grocery store this evening and decided to be adventures and order some form of deli meat that I was pretty sure was turkey. It took me five minutes of broken Polish and crude sign language, and when I returned home and had a taste, I could tell it was definitely not turkey, nor any other form of lunchmeat I'm familiar with. It was probably just some type of bologna, but earlier in the week someone mentioned horse meat, and my imagination whirred with all of the possible origins of my mystery meat. I lost my appetite, but was proud for stepping outside my comfort zone.

• Back at the grocery checkout, was surprised to find that I was expected to bag my own groceries! I stared at the cashier for a while, oblivious, until she pointed to a bunch of plastic bags hanging from a hook at the end of the checkout, then stared at me expectantly. Oops, one of those faux pas you simply can't avoid as a foreigner.