Friday morning marked the end of the group's stay at Sodispar, our apartment/hotel setup in Krakow, as everyone headed out for a 10-day homestay with different Polish families in and around the city. It's amazing what a different perspective it's given me in just two days. It feels like I've been here for a week already; not in a bad way, it's just been so jam-packed with different thoughts and experiences. For instance, speaking primarily with people who aren't fluent in English (but are conversational, and a thousand times more skilled in English than I am in Polish) has given my "inner-monologue" a Polish accent! Wow, there's just so much to say, I know I'll never get it all down.
I was greeted Friday morning after seminar with a smile and a handshake from Ania, a 19-year old girl with straight brown hair cut in stylish fringed layers and huge brown eyes. She helped me carry my bags out to the car, where Kate's homestay mother Zena (Ania's neighbor) was waiting to drive us out to their apartment complex, about 10 minutes outside the city center. The car ride was pretty quiet, neither Zena nor Ania spoke very much English, and Kate and I speak practically no Polish, plus we were a little nervous I think. A quick observation- all of the Polish people who I've talked to whose English is less than perfect are incredibly apologetic about it, I noticed it with Zena and Ania, and later with Ania's mother, her boyfriend Marchin, ans her grandmother. But as Zena remarked from the drivers' seat, "We do not have language, but we have hands." I can't help but notice that fluency in English is definitely a class marker in Polish society. [Side note: I'm trying to be honest and forthcoming in my descriptions of my experiences and my interpretations of them. I'm certainly not trying to offend anyone or ruffle any feathers, but I also don't want to be constantly self-censoring and worrying about how what I'm writing might be interpreted by others. It's a balancing act.]
As we left downtown Krakow, the buildings took on an industrial, 1970's kind of look: 10 or 12 stories high with uniform facades, clustered in groups of 6 or 8. The shops changed from downtown storefronts to strip-malls and freestanding warehouses. When we arrived in the neighborhood, I was overwhelmed with...gray. Buildings, sky, roads, sidewalks- all gray. The faded yellow paint covering the walls of the narrow staircase leading up to Ania's flat was a welcome shot of color. We entered the small flat on the second floor and I was greeted by Ania's mother Agata, with whom she shares the one bedroom, bathroom, family room, and kitchen. Agata is one of the most genuinely kind people I've ever met. Petite and dark-complected, she speaks less English than Ania, but has made such a tremendous effort at communication, one that I've tried hard to reciprocate. She carries around a Polish-English dictionary so that she can describe things to me. For instance, during dinner on Friday (which in Poland is called "Obiat," and is traditionally eaten around 2 in the afternoon), she looked up a Polish word that translates as "flour gone sour" to describe the soup she had prepared. (I looked it up later in my Polish phrase book, the soup's called "barszcz bialy.") Over the past few days we've all found ways to communicate- I try to speak slowly and simply (but not in a condescending way), and use lots of expressions and hand gestures. I'm trying to reciprocate the incredible kindness they've shown me (Ania insisted I sleep in her room, while she stays on a cot in the the family room that doubles as her mother's bedroom) by offering to do the dishes and help with meals. Sometimes they humor me, but usually they'll have none of it. They really have been incredibly gracious and giving.
Friday evening after dinner, I accompanied Ania by bus to her university, so that she could check her exam grades and get a signature from a Professor. The school reminded me more of high school than Kenyon- students running around in cliques, talking excitedly, it was very different atmosphere from the Jagiellonian. I could see the dichotomy that Daria had described between private and public universities in Poland- the public schools are very selective and academically rigorous, while the private schools are less so. We met up her friend Olivia and her boyfriend Marchin, took a bus to Galleria Krakowska, where Olivia and Ania shopped for makeup in a drugstore and I tried to explain to Marchin why I was studying in Poland (all three of them thought I was crazy for doing so). We spent the evening wandering the streets of Krakow-they felt bad for not having anything specific planned for me, but I was happy just to be out exploring. We tried to get inside the Wawel castle, where the Polish King and Queen used to live. It was closed for the day, but they did tell me the legend of a dragon who used to used to live there and showed me his commemorative sculpture. Apparently he prayed upon the virgins of Krakow until he was vanquished by a clever townsman, who fed him a sheep with a flaming rock in the stomach. Even better than the three brothers legend. Poland is full of great stories.
Later that evening, we met up with some of some of the other EiT students and some Polish students from the Jagiellonian at a bar in Kazimierz, the old Jewish district. I hoped that Ania and Marchin didn't feel out of place, with everyone speaking in rapid-fire English. I met a bunch of the Jagiellonian students, and had some great conversations with them about Antioch (where many of them spent time as exchange students), sociology, politics, fashion, film, television- before I knew it it was time to catch the tram back to Ania's neighborhood.
Saturday was a pretty lazy day, just lounging, watching TV with Ania and Agata, telling them all about my family, my house, my school, and asking about their lives. Agata used to be an actress, then went to school for five years to become a nurse, which she's been doing for 2 years. The conversation required much effort on all of our ends, but was incredibly worth it. I can't articulate how thankful I am to be here, to be spending time with people who aren't so materially well-off, but whose stockpiles of kindness and good humor are unending.
Today, Agata's parents came to visit for the evening. They live in a suburb on the other side of Krakow, about 15 minutes from the city center. Within five minutes of meeting me, Agata's mother insisted I visit them at their house next weekend. She was so proud to have been to the U.S. twice, in broken English, with Ania as a translator, she described the 24 states she'd visited, including Yellowstone National Park, Hawaii, South Dakota, and Florida. Almost immediately upon arrival, Agata and her mother began what I later learned was their monthly ritual of dying her mother's hair (jet black) in the kitchen sink. The tiny flat reeked of ammonia for days afterwards, but the sight of Agata's mother walking around with her damp hair under a plastic cap, forcefully insisting that I eat another pounchek, or donut, was almost worth it.
Like any parent, Agata's mother was incredibly proud of her children- she showed me Agata's nursing thesis (on the treatment of patients with Schizophrenia), and told me all about her son Peter, a urologist. She asked me about my parents' jobs, and when I told her my mother was a University professor, and my dad was an engineer, she said "Good positions, smart people." She sighed. "This is not good country. Many in Poland are smart, but have no money. My Agata, she has two professions, but still no money." I didn't want to look at Agata and Ania, who must have been embarrassed by her comments. "In America, is different," she said. "You do work, you have money. Is not like this in Poland, because of the communism. Communism is gone, but is still the same." I nodded, deciding I had neither the heart nor the communication skills to explain the nuances of American inequality. I thought of Ania, and the background photo on her old PC of a giant American McMansion- the kind that pop up in droves near my house, in fake neighborhoods called "Eden Meadows" and "Eagle's Landing." I wasn't sure what was worse, the unfair stereotypes of Americans as loud, brash, and culturally insensitive, or this illusion of widespread affluence and equity. It reminded me a piece by Polish scholar Ewa Morawska, who mentions the view of Western democracies that most East-Central Europeans get through the media and entertainment industry- a view of rampant consumerism rather than political participation, civil society, and other positive attributes of democracy.
Later that evening, Ania and I were studying in the family room/bedroom while everyone else talked and watched TV. "What are you reading?" her grandmother asked, leaning over to see my book. "In-ter-national Mi-gration," she read aloud. "Ah, it is now," she said. "There are too many Rosyjski (Russians) in America." I tried to hide my surprise. "The first time I go to America," she said "No Rosyjski. Then I go next time, and there is too many. The Rosyjski mafia, everywhere. We no like the Rosyjski." "Russians," Ania corrected her, without looking up from her notebook. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. A while later a news program came on TV. I wanted to show I knew a little bit about Poland, so I pointed to the screen and identified the former Polish President. (Or maybe he was Prime Minister? See how much I really know...) "He is a very good man. A good politic. He is right, not left like communists. Right, like me," she said, pointing to her chest. I nodded again.
They left soon after Agata's mother's hair dye had been rinsed out, and Ania closed the door behind them and sighed audibly. "I am free!" she exclaimed. Agata smiled, "Flat is too small for five people," she said. I smiled back, realizing how happily accustomed I'd become to our little trio.
