The lighter side of Albania

Through a twist of fate and the willingness of a tiny school in Albania to once again host over 40 middle school students from all over Europe, the Kielbasa Chronicle made a return trip to Tirana this year. I remember last year, tearing the four pages out of my tattered Eastern Europe guidebook, thinking I would only have to research Albanian words, food, and directions once in my life. After all, this tiny bunker-strewn wasteland is not exactly known as a tourist hot-spot. The food is great, the weather is mild this time of year, but clean and orderly it is definitely not.

Despite having made the same trip last year, five of the twelve kids on the cross country team made the return voyage, so they must have had a good time. We also brought along the czar of CEESA athletics and our athletic director, Jim Matter. My assistant coach from last year, Rachel, could not make the trip since she had a baby a few months ago, so the new addition to the coaching staff, who absolutely loved the trip, was Barbara, our middle school German teacher.

After four years, and missing it by a whisker a couple times, the boys’ team brought home the championship trophy, and their coach couldn’t have been prouder. The great thing about working with kids this age is that they have almost no experience to draw upon, so there is also little fear of failure. Just go out and run for the fun of it. Being on the trip is reward enough. It’s certainly a far cry from the days of coaching high school cross country where the season started Aug. 12 and ended the last weekend in October, with the kids running six days a week. We needed to employ all kinds of strategies, from bowling nights to camp-outs, just to keep the kids engaged. I have many good memories of those years, but don’t miss the level of commitment required.

It was a stress-free trip with a great bunch of kids who were so much fun to travel with. Sometimes teenagers have tendency to whine when things aren’t so entertaining, but this group was complaint free. The adults were also, and we even found time to rent a bus for an afternoon on the Albanian coast. After driving many air-condition deprived miles down potholed roads and passing through countryside which probably hadn’t changed in 50 years, we arrived at a remote beach, inhabited by only us foreigners and the staff of a tiny restaurant & seaside cabana rental. The fresh seafood dinner was phenomenal, as we enjoyed the company of our fellow coaches from Budapest, Moscow, Prague, and Zagreb. We all had to agree that middle school cross country was by far the most relaxing sport to coach.

Beauties and Beer Tents

The Warsaw Open, a stop on the ATP Tour for some of the world's great female tennis players, commenced this week. The tennis gods smiled down upon tour organizers and this reporter when former world #1 ranked player, and Russian uber-babe, Maria Sharapova decided to use the tournament to launch her comeback from a shoulder injury that has sidelined her for over 9 months.

A couple friends and I hustled out of work in order to catch the end of her match against an Italian, Tathiana Garbin, and were lucky enough to see Sharapova blow three match points in the second set. This allowed us to actually find our seats and enjoy the third set which she ended up winning 6-3. The reigning queen of grunts did not disappoint:

She has been measured at over 100 decibels on the grunt-o-meter, the equivalent of standing near a police car with its blaring siren. The evolution of grunting in tennis is chronicled in great detail here by the BBC. Sharapova owes a great deal to the pioneer of the grunt in women's tennis, Monica Seles.

Also, last week, on a sun-drenched Friday afternoon, the hard-working folks at AS-dub convened for a faculty social at the nearest oasis, just off the bike-trail leading to school. We at the Chronicle would never condone drinking and cycling, and Polish law is quite strict in this regard, but there's great comfort to be found in enjoying good beer, good food, and good company after only pedaling a couple short kilometers from school. Patio culture is certainly one area where this country is leaps and bounds ahead of my former homeland.

The real deal . . . spring that is.

Now this is more like it. Mother Nature has decided to let go of her lingering embrace of Jack Frost. The blizzard of "snirt" captured by my camera a couple weeks ago seems like a distant memory as the darkness of winter's tunnel has ceded to the inevitability of changing seasons, toasty sunshine, and the fairer sex shedding their winter coats in favor of something more, errrrr, revealing.

The first race on the burgeoning Warsaw running calendar came and went with lots of fanfare. The Carrefour (French supermarket chain) Warsaw Half Marathon, which is a distance of 21 km over here, not 13.1 miles, turned a crisp Sunday morning spent recovering from Saturday's rugby match into something akin to running through a crowd armed with bamboo sticks. Nobody was actually hitting me, but with every step on the uneven cobblestone streets jiggling my bruised, pasty-white thunderthighs (it's tough to run in the winter), it certainly felt like it. Special guest at the runner expo was none other than famed run-walk-run guru and U.S. Olympian, Jeff Galloway. I wanted to see if he remembered meeting me at the Portland Marathon back in 2001, but didn't see him after my finish. Maybe I should've looked around, but the post-race celebration at Rooster was calling.

Last Sunday, it seemed like the whole city decided to spend the day outdoors, after the requisite trip to mass, with palms in hand. The Old Town was bursting with both tourists and locals queuing up for ice cream, sipping beers on the square, or capturing footage of their youngsters chasing each other around the fountain. Those of us who opted for a faster mode of transportation, the bike, cruised from park to park and over bridges in search of pubs and restaurants with inviting patios. From Pub Lolek to Metal Bar to the legendarily eclectic Spider Bar across the river in Praga, we cycled for hours, the last stop being my favorite spot for grub, Boston Port.

It's all downhill from here as we roll on towards summer like an 18 wheeler crossing North Dakota on I-94. This beautiful weather makes me so metaphorical. Anyway, check out this vid. Bluegrass music is taking this great nation by storm and I was one of the first on the bandwagon. It sounds great with Louie Armstrong lightly playing in the background. There is also a great clip of one of the funniest running costumes ever, second only to Mr. Blister and Captain Cramp in creativity, but definitely tops in degree of difficulty. Thanks for reading!

Sports report

The 2009 Special Olympics World Winter Games are being held right now in Boise, Idaho. The Chronicle made arrangements with BBC sports correspondent Cathy Rushton to capture some footage of the Polish delegation. This skeptical Brit even made speedskating silver medalist Mariusz Skonieczny verify with photo I.D. that he was Polish before she provided us these great shots of him enjoying the games. We wouldn't want any imposter Poles appearing on this page.
Her overall impression of the games: "It was really very moving, the enthusiasm and joy was quite incredible". Thanks Cathy!

Pretty boys . . .

The last couple weeks have been a whirlwind of work, education conferencing in Paris (pics coming soon), rugby training, and now, frantic preparations for Valentine's Day. These are all valid excuses for my return to the every two weeks format of the Chronicle. You remember those days? During the first year of its existence, The Chronicle was fortunate to find enough material to update every 14-20 days. Somewhere along the way, the editor decided that there was a demand for a weekly dose of folksy tales from the East side. Either that, or he just decided he was into this writing thing. This has resulted in a detectable upswing in political rants and a leveling off of Polish content.

That being said, the target of my civic rage is safely clearing brush back in Texas, so we are pursuing a fresh, more upbeat report, the working title of which is called "Pole Position". We will ask a random Pole ten questions relating to their homeland, the state of the world, and some quirky, offbeat subjects as well. The first edition will be forthcoming within a week.

Pole Position speaks to my demographic since we all grew up playing this now archaic video game on the Atari 2600. But is there a better, wittier, title out there? I know that there is a wealth of creativity within Chronicle readers, so now is your chance. Please submit your ideas in the comments section and we will make sure to give you intellectual credit, although the financial crisis prevents us from offering monetary compensation.

Last weekend, the Warsaw Frogs were given their big break; a photo shoot for a Polish men's fashion magazine. It was gratifying to witness the dedication it took to get a dozen rugby players together in the dank, dilapidated (alliteration alert!) basement of an old hotel at 8:00 AM on a Sunday morning. We were there for four hours, with our only pay being cookies and Pepsi which, in true model form, were promptly regurgitated into the toilet during the post-shoot wrap party.

The feature should appear in next month's edition of Malemen magazine, but the Chronicle was able to get their hands on a couple outtakes. As you can see, we had to roll around in the mud prior to the photo session. All sense of pride and dignity go out the window when you are turned into a piece of eye candy.

Making history in Albania . . .

Last year around this time, the Chronicle reported from frigid Ukraine after taking the ASW middle school cross country team to the capital, Kiev. As we strive to push the touristic envelope by squiring you, the reader, to the deepest, darkest, least visited corners of Europe as well as the more popular destinations, the Kielbasa sports editor was sent to Tirana, Albania a couple weeks ago.

"Why Tirana?" you may be asking, as well as a few parents concerned about their child's safety. Well, think of CEESA (the Central Eastern European Schools Association) as a sports league, in the same vein as major league baseball except without the steroids and exorbitant payrolls. Schools in Warsaw, Moscow, Prague, Budapest, Istanbul and Bucharest have outstanding facilities for hosting the team sports, i.e. soccer, basketball, volleyball, and softball. These are the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox of international schools, which operate on healthy budgets but charge twelve dollars for a beer and a hot dog. Oh wait, that's still baseball.

International schools in cities such as Vilnius, Tallin, Riga, Zagreb, and Belgrade are the small market teams, the Minnesota Twins, Milwaukee Brewers, and Kansas City Royals if you will. They lack the facilities to host the major tournaments so they take turns hosting smaller events such as tennis, Math Counts, Knowledge Bowl and Speech and Debate. Oh yeah, and cross country too. It doesn't take much to host a cross country meet except a big park, some road construction cones, and a few volunteers.

So consider a school like Tirana International to be the Nashville Sounds, a AAA affiliate of MLB. They want to be invited to the major leagues but have to prove themselves worthy by hosting an event. Which is why the Chronicle sports department was witness to the first ever cross country race in Albania's history:





One of the more fascinating, albeit tragic, reminders of Albania's isolationist past are the bunkers that dot the landscape from the coastal beaches to the rugged mountain terrain. Everywhere you look, there are small, cylindrical concrete shelters large enough for only one man. Albania's Stalinist dictator, Enver Hoxha, commissioned the construction of 600,000 refuges, enough for 25% of the country's population. He feared invasion not only from the West, but from his ally, the Soviet Union as well. Check out some of the beachside huts of Albania:

Frogs pick up the Czech and another Capital's Cup

Some of you may or may not know that one of my hobbies is playing old man rugby with the Warsaw Frogs. I really shouldn't characterize this brand of the English sport with such a condescending denomination since being 34 makes me one of the club's elder statesmen. Truth be told, there are a large number of quality players from around the world making up the squad. They just happen to have landed in Poland's capital for a variety of reasons, be it love of country, a good woman, or money.

One could go as far as saying that the Frogs are a mainstay of the social scene for ex-pats in Warsaw. There are around sixty guys involved in various team functions, be it actual matches or just hoisting the occasional pint while wearing team gear. The annual Warsaw Tens tournament in May is attended by more than a dozen teams from around Europe and as far away as Tahiti and the United States. But our season culminates in the fall at the Capital's Cup, hosted by either Moscow, Vienna, Warsaw, Budapest, or this year's team, the Prague Barbarians.

Since all touring sides live by the credo: "What goes on tour, stays on tour.", I will provide only a partial glimpse into the weekend. Defending the title with ease (bulletin board material for the archrival Moscow Dragons)after only allowing one try to be scored against us in five matches, the Frogs hoisted their third consecutive cup. Amazingly enough, this ugly mug remained unscathed by the usual contusions beneath my eyes. My only badge of honor this year was a nasty spike-shaped bruise upon my derriere.

The real fun began after the actual playing of the matches. Every year the team braintrust chooses a different theme for the trip. This year's was a parody of the world famous French bicycle race. But instead of conquering the Alps and Pyrenees, the "riders" in the 2008 Le Tour De Frogs spilled into the streets of Prague clad in various shades of spandex and brandishing a thirst for adventure rather than pain and agony.

For those unfamiliar with the sport, the physiques required to play rugby vary from the dainty, waif-like backs to the robust members of the scrum who never miss a meal. Hilarity ensued when the whole traveling party of twenty four guys were squeezing into outfits which left little to the imagination.

The rest of the weekend is contained within the classified files at the Chronicle, only to be revealed upon court order.

Warsaw Half-Marathon

Ahhhh . . . the beauty of standardized testing is to give the teacher, errr, I mean the kids, a time-out from the daily grind. So, while they engage in the tedious process of filling out bubbles with a #2 pencil, I will give you, dear readers, an update.

Last weekend, a couple of friends from work ran the Warsaw half marathon with me. For them, it was their second road race ever, coming on the heels of competing in the Run Warsaw 10K last fall. I applaud them for their chutzpah, running double the distance with virtually no build up to this mileage. This may be due to the fact they seek out advice on running from yours truly. I'm not exactly a fountain of conventional wisdom when it comes to adequate preparation and proper nutrition.

So when the three of us toed the line, I think we embodied one of my favorite running expressions, "off the couch". To do a race "off the couch", means that you have taken the time to put aside the six-pack and bag of chips in order to perform some sick test of endurance with little or no training. I have seen some amazing off the couch performances and, unfortunately, have utilized this training program way too often. That's what happens when you look at endurance athletics as a way of earning "beer credits". The more miles you run, the less you have to worry about looking like you spend a good portion of your life sitting on a barstool.


My two colleagues, Pawel and Pawel, are both P.E. teachers at AS-Dub. Both of them "walk the walk" when it comes to knowing how important exercise is in your daily life. But I'm sure all of us can remember having a gym teacher back in school who was a walking contradiction of everything he preached. I won't name any names, but those of you who attended Hibbing High School know who I'm talking about.

Anyway, the Pawels had a great time, finishing in just a shade over 2 hours. More importantly, they did not cross the finish line saying "I will never do that again!". So it's all going according to plan, he said with a menacing smile. In a few short months, you should be reading about them completing their first marathon . . . off the couch, of course.

Thanks for reading! And answer the poll question!

Chicken Kiev!

One of the many perks of teaching overseas is the opportunity to travel internationally as part of my coaching duties. This is my second year coaching middle school cross country and it is such a refreshing change from the varsity level back in the States. The practices are only two days a week compared to six, and the season last for only 6 weeks. In Idaho, I would start coaching during the dog days of early August and complete the season around Halloween. Also, instead of traveling to a different city for meets every week, we culminate all of our hard work with a trip to a different international school.

This year, we were fortunate to take a trip to Kiev, Ukraine. Since declaring independence from the former Soviet Union in 1991, this country has been divided. Those that live in the West want to forge a closer bond with Europe, and eventually obtain EU membership, and those that live in the East long for the days when they were one with Mother Russia. In fact, one of the most striking monuments in Kiev is the Mother Motherland Statue commemorating the Soviet loss of over 20 million people in World War II.

Kiev has also been called "the Rome of Orthodox Christianity" since this religion traces much of its early history to the churches built there. They certainly are impressive structures with multiple gilded domes dotting the city skyline. The brightly colored facades hint at the stunningly brilliant murals inside depicting the saintly deeds of the church founders.

But for me, what was most fascinating about Kiev was the ubiquitous presence of organized crime. Large black luxury cars and SUVs with tinted windows moved slowely up and down the main streets within the city. Upon parking, there would always be a cadre of burly, neckless thugs wearing earpieces that would surround the vehicle before the occupant exited. I'm not saying that just because you own an ultra-expensive car and have bodyguards, you are affiliated with the mob, but my tour guide informed me that 200 people control 90% of the wealth in Ukraine. It takes a lot of greased palms to acquire all that power in such a short time. And corruption breeds poverty while poverty, in turn, breeds resentment. I'm thinking that these guys need a lot of protection and also the status symbols that make the resentful impoverished people like me remember where my place is.

My colleague, Rachel, and I were lucky to get an up-close look at a couple of these cars outside the restaurant where the coaches' dinner was being held. The bodyguards were even kind enough to let us pose for a picture. Even the Ukrainian mafia is kind to tourists.

Politics is definitely a taboo topic of conversation in Ukraine. I tried to get some perspective on the state of the government from Mila, our tour guide. This woman has been living in Kiev since she was a little girl and has seen it all. Elections had only been held a few weeks before and she said that it was too soon for her to be commenting on them. However, I have a comment. I want to congratulate Ukraine on electing one of the most stunningly beautiful prime ministers in world history. At age 48, Yulia Tymoshenko shatters the mold of what a powerful woman should look like. I applaud the Ukrainian people for putting her in power even though she doesn't exude authority like the Thatchers and Merkels before her.

One of the stops on our tour was a walk through the park that sits across from the parliamentary building. Since 2004, political lobbyists have been camped inside tents on the park's lawn. The number of tents has fallen from a high of 20,000 in 2004, around the time of the pro-west Orange Revolution. Only a few dozen communist sympathizers have kept up their vigil near the capital. They really hold no allegiance to any of the 38 parties that hold offices, but instead are paid to "rabble-rouse" for the highest bidder, usually the shady oligarchs (Putin lovers) on the eastern side of the country.


The President, Victor Yushchenko, sends his kids to Pechersk International, the school that hosted the cross country meet. Apparently, he is married to a Ukrainian-American and they wanted a bilingual education. People I talked with at the school described how much of a distraction it can be to have armed guards outside their classrooms even though their is a sign clearly posted in front telling you to check your weapons at the gate. In case you've forgotten, Yushchenko was the guy that had his face disfigured from dioxin poisoning during the 2004 elections. They play by a different set of rules in the "Wild East".

Thanks for reading . . . only 8 more weeks until I am back on American soil! Check out some pics of the Motherland (Ukraine that is):

Run Warsaw!

Remember the movie Forrest Gump? One of my favorite parts is when he just kept running and running and running. After a few weeks, people start following Forrest as he crosses the country and then runs back to his home in Alabama. He is given credit for starting the jogging craze of the 70's, and launching the fitness boom, spawning our obsession with burning calories or limiting their intake.

Here in Poland, the quest for self-improvement has lagged behind a few decades. There just isn't that much of a need for exercise when people are concerned with getting ahead in the new economy, or, to be more succinct, just getting to and from work. This usually involves walking, a novel concept that most of America has long forgotten. Combine this with the lack of fast food and the average Pole stays relatively svelte without the need for self-imposed physical torture.

Corporate giant, Nike, a genius at forecasting and even manufacturing trends has decided that Poles need to get fit. The last few years, they have invested a significant chunk of the swoosh fund in putting on Run Warsaw, a 5k / 10 K road race.

The entry fee is only 25 zloty (about $9)and includes a sweet tech fabric T-shirt and a week long membership at a local fitness chain. This takes me back to the good old days in the early 90's when you could enter Grandma's Marathon for a mere $20. And I could usually count on my loving mother to pick up the tab. Now, I don't think you can find many road races back home that are under $25.

This brilliant marketing scheme has certainly paid dividends for Phil Knight and company. The race was filled to capacity with 20,000 participants eager to see if they could finish the 3.1 mile distance. Most decided to forego the 10k, as I'm sure this was a first-time road race for many.

Anyway . . . here are some pics. In the spirit of non-conformity, we decided to funk things up a bit and give our Nike shirts a bit of added flair. You have to do something to stand out among such a huge crowd.

Rugby World Cup report . . . video blog!

Okay, this is going give you a better glimpse of Scotland than anything I could write. Sorry about colorful language! Thanks for visiting the site!

World Cup Rugby 2007

This weekend, a couple friends from work and I will be hopping on a plane to Glasgow, Scotland. From there we will drive to Edinburgh, home of Murrayfield Stadium and the Scottish Rugby Union. Sunday, the Scottish National Rugby team is taking on the All-Blacks from New Zealand. Many are predicting a lop-sided blowout in favor of the kiwis, who are also the pick of most to take home the Webb-Ellis Cup as tournament champions.

I've had this date circled on my calendar since I bought the tickets way back in March. I wonder how many kilts I will see among the 68,000 fans slated to attend.

The few Scotsmen I know are difficult to understand when sober. My computer translator is programmed to decipher 9 languages but drunken Scottish rugby fan is not one of them. I will have to make it a point to imbibe in the local spirit so I can be on the same wavelength as the rest of the fans.

It's going to be difficult not to overuse the phrase, "If it ain't Scottish, it's CRAP!" I will try everything in my power not to be annoying American tourist guy. As George Bush would say, that's going to be "hard work".


One of the traditions of the All-Blacks is the "haka". This is the traditional call to battle adopted from the Māori tribe in New Zealand. It is performed before every match and would definitely cause my bowels to release if I was facing off against these guys on the pitch:

The big catchup blog . . .

Okay . . . a lot of random happenings floating around in the Kielbasa offices that need to be talked about. I will try to briefly touch on a wide variety of topics, some reaching as far back as July. Forgive me for selectively forgetting to publish thoughts on such important events as peeing on the jellyfish sting of a friend in Spain , the arrival of my friend Bag in Polska, and the Warsaw Frogs victorious defense of the Capital's Cup in Vienna.

Let's start with a two week holiday in Spain to finish off July. My friend Sean "I'm Irish, not English" Doyle was generous enough to invite me and a couple other lads down to his parents beachside villa in the southern town of Puerto de Mazzeron. On my way there, I flew into Barcelona and promptly had my ATM, card and phone "nicked", as the Brits say, on the first night in town. Following a frantic morning of filing a police report after waiting behind about a dozen other pickpocket victims, I had to head to the U.S. consulate to call my Mom and Dad back in Minnesota. Let's just say that I am one of the lucky ones who can always count on my parents to bail me out of trouble. Not everybody has that support at age 33.

After procuring some aid from the parents, via Western Union, I jumped on the next bus out of town, which just happened to be the one that took 9 hours to get to my destination. The day before they told me 4, but apparently that was the express bus. I was on the bus that stops in every city on the southern coast of Spain. Add the fact that the air conditioning was broken and you have occasion to use the Polish phrase: "Nie mam farta!" . . . Unlucky!

The rest of the time in Spain was spent learning why Spaniards are so happy. They get up late, start their work day around 10 AM, work until 2 PM, siesta until around 5:00, and then put in a few more evening hours before knocking off for dinner.

The busiest time of day in any supermarket is right before dinner. In Spain, this means that everybody heads there around 9:00 PM, right before closing. We tried to follow the same pattern without the interruptive hassle of work getting in the way. Dinner until 11:00, cocktail hour(s), a fruitless pursuit of local senoritas on the dance floor, and in bed around dawn. Up at noon, hit the beach by 2:00, rinse, lather, repeat. It is no longer a mystery why you don't see many Spanish immigrants.

The timing of our visit coincided with an invasion of jellyfish along the beaches in the south. Sean was the victim of a few stings from one of these nasty little critters, and I had to step in and save the day. For some reason, since I am a science teacher, people think that I'm also Marlin Perkins or Jacque Couisteau reincarnated. It does give me a certain credibility when suggesting that human urine relieves the sting of coelenterates (see, I told you I knew scientific stuff!).

Without the internet to confirm or debunk this myth, he chose to let me, ahem, recycle some beer onto his arm. Strangely enough, he said that it helped relieve the pain somewhat. Just to be on the safe side, he also commandeered some sting relieving lotion from a couple locals. Of course, when I found an internet cafe, my scientific expertise was refuted by the all-knowing Google, but the bond between Sean and I remains.

Booking the flight to come see me in Polonia has been a challenge few have taken in my first year of living over here. After the Janici (two friends named Janice from Boise), Scrote, Tracy the Canuck, and my parents and brother, guests in my flat have only been random strangers. You need to read the previous post if you think that means I'm sleeping around. Now that I write it down, seven guests in my first year seems like a good start.

Year numer dwa (a little Polish to make sure you're focusing), started with a visit by my friend Bag, aka "Andrew O." (he won't let me use his full name for fear of retribution from his employers), and the only person to have survived living with me in three different locales during college. Unfortunately, he only had a week to see all of Eastern Europe. The office of tourism, here at the Chronicle, decided to focus on three countries in a week with the help of a rental car.

I met my old friend in the Krakow airport as we exchanged Polish greetings and a warm man hug. He had learned a few phrases on the 9 hour flight from Chicago, and even managed to squeeze in 4 hours of sleep, something I have found to be impossible. We then hailed a cab and checked into a hostel. No, folks, hostels aren't just for college backpackers. There are people of all ages looking for a cheap place to lay their head during the odd hours between pub crawls and castle tours.

After a couple days touring Krakow, we decided to make the spontaneous decision to point the car south toward Prague. This involved driving through the Polish countryside for most of the afternoon, but allowed us to soak up village scenery you just don't see out of a train window.

After a couple nights in Prague, our epic roadtrip brought us through Dresden, Germany across the border back into Poland and back to Warsaw on roads that make Minnesota Highway 169 seem like the autobahn. Once we were safely ensconced in familiar territory, I gave him a tour of ASW, and showed him the finer points of Warsaw's nightlife.

After the whirlwind week, I put Bag back on the train to Krakow and hibernated in my bed for a few days. It was exhausting packing that much fun into an all-too-brief time. But he seemed to enjoy himself and hopes to make a return visit for an extended stay.

A couple weeks ago, the Warsaw Frogs traveled to Austria for defense of their title as holders of the Capitals Cup. We faced teams from Vienna, Prague, Moscow, and Budapest. This would be my first time on an international tour with the
Frogs, a collection of mighty warriors hailing from all corners of the globe. It is a truly unique experience to be on the same team with players from the U.S, Canada, France, England, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Poland, Spain, Sweden, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. I'm sure I probably missed a few countries, but you get the point. Most of us are ex-pats who either can't let go of the glory years past, or need an excuse to hit and get hit by other agressive Neandrathal types. Off the field, however, you'll never meet a more culturally refined group of gentlemen.

We fielded a strong squad this year, traveling 27 strong. This is a far cry from collegiate days at North Dakota State, when we'd load 15-17 players into 3 cars and hit the interstate to exotic destinations like Winona, Gustavus Adolphus, and Duluth. But we were much more durable back then. The men's game features harder hitting players with a few more pounds and the attitude to prove something.

The Frogs triumphed in their first three matches, rolling over Moscow, Prague, and Budapest. The defensive juggarnaut allowed only 1 try until the fourth match of the day when fatigue and substitutions resulted in a loss to the host squad, Vienna. However, we had already secured a spot in the final against Prague so this loss was a formality. In fact, it helped refocus the team for the final which we won in convincing fashion, 10-0. Okay, so it wasn't that convincing.

After the tourney ended, we retired to the hostel (see, not only college students!) and donned our formal evening attire. This consisted of veterans in superhero costumes, and tour virgins dressed as damsels in distress. The author got off easy, only required to dress as an effeminate cowboy, which I think was a reference to Brokeback Mountain. In rugby, the competition extends off the pitch to what we call "the third half". And the Frogs easily outdistanced the four other sides at the awards banquet, which was held at the Ottokringer Brewery.

Well, that is it for this week in Polska. If you have an appetite for more prose from abroad, check out my former colleague, Danielle Richert. She just relocated from Middleton, Idaho to an international school in Ecuador. Since she's an English teacher, please don't compare her flawless composition to the error-filled hack job usually found here. Her blog can be found here: www.deeanddee.blogspot.com

Thanks for reading!

Welcome to 6th Grade . . . don't make me angry!

Tomorrow marks the beginning of school here at ASW. I'm feeling pretty good about it since I don't have my head firmly entrenched in you know where after living here for a year. With age comes experience and wisdom, right? So you'd think I'd know better than to go out and get a nice shiner the weekend before school.

Old habits die hard and it seems I still like to tackle people with my face during rugby matches. Oh well, this might give me an air of intimidation on the first day of meeting my new kids. But I am also fearful of what my face will look like after this weekends Capital's Cup tournament in Vienna. Three matches in one day could be a risky proposition in maintaining my rugged ugliness. Wish me luck in not coming back to Warsaw looking like a raccoon!

Goodbye summer . . . we had some good times.

The author returns to work this week, reinvigorated from a couple months traveling back to the states to see family and friends. It certainly was a busy couple of months crisscrossing the world from Warsaw to Boise to Coeur D'Alene, back to Minneapolis, up north to Hibbing then home again. Whew! I think I'm experiencing jet lag symptoms just from writing that sentence.

Summer started off by landing in Boise to celebrate Hash #1000, the weekly run of the Boise Hash House Harriers. This is a wonderful group of finely conditioned athletes who combine drinking with long distance running. For a detailed description of what this is all about, go to www.boiseh3.org If you see some debaucherous pictures of a guy who looks similar to me, that's just my double Matt. He's a real fun guy to hang out with, but I was constantly getting mistaken for him back in Boise.

Around 26 (the exact number escapes me) of my friends from the aforementioned "running club" competed in the Ironman Coeur D'Alene triathlon this summer. I was lucky enough to venture up to picturesque northern Idaho to cheer them on. Most of them were first-time entrants in a race like this so there were a lot of jangled nerves that morning when high winds kicked up white capped waves on Lake CDA. Some had done zero swimming prior to entering this crazy test of endurance so to see conditions that test even the most skilled of swimmers certainly had to tighten a few sphincters. Check out the vid from the local news that morning. Gotta love youtube:


Anyhow, to make a really long story (and day) short, everybody came through with the proverbial flying colors and finished the race. It was emotional for all since they had worked so hard for months to accomplish this monumental feat. Now, the thoughts of "What's next?" are flying through post-race conversation. I know I was a bit envious of seeing them come across the finish line. It's tough to train over here on the roads of Poland without taking your life into your hands, so it could be awhile before I figure out the logistics of doing a triathlon over here. However, there is some hope since the school just hired a new counselor who has done Ironman before. The addition of a training partner just may roust me off the couch and onto the road.

Well, I'm going to continue this entry later since it's been a couple weeks since I've written. But I would be remiss if I didn't mention how great it was to spend time with "the two cutest kids in the world" my nephew Griffin and his new sister Lauren. The picture above was taken at my brother Paul's house and gives you a good idea of what most of my time in Minnesota consisted of: quality time on the couch.

Okay, this has the potential to be one of those lengthy entries so I'll cut it short and pick it up later . . . for now. Thanks for reading . . . do zobaczenia!

My father's security team . . .

As some of you may know, my parents and brother are now making a visit to see their ex-pat son/brother in Polska land. After arriving on Thursday afternoon, it was good to get them back to my flat for some rest and relaxation. Both Mom and Dad had gotten some sleep on the plane with the help of medication. Dave didn't quite fare as well and spent most of the flight in airline purgatory watching a couple terrible movies. He does, however, commend the human resource department at KLM for their discerning eye when it comes to hiring flight attendants.

Day 1 involved some local sight-seeing in some blustery weather. The conditions were not conducive to enjoying a libation on the patios of Old Town. But we made the best of it and the beauty of Warsaw's public transport system was not lost on them. I think it gave them a feel for daily life in the big city and the assortment of characters encountered on the streets.

It was with some trepidation that I arranged for us to attend a Polish League soccer match that first evening. My dad declined to attend given the chilly night air and his recovery from pneumonia, but Mom and Dave braved the elements for a chance to see what Euros call "the elegant game". This would also be my first chance to watch a Legia contest, a team notorious for their rowdy fans.

The atmosphere did not dissappoint. We were able to mingle with the hoolies beneath the underpass near the stadium as they "pre-funked" with a few brews and some raucous chanting. My mother enjoyed the show of strength from the local policja. They, as always, made sure their presence was known, wearing their riot gear and stone-faced expressions.

In the end, the home team triumphed 3-0. Everybody was happy, no rioting ensued. I was relieved that we actually saw a match with more than 1 goal.

The next day, we all went out to the rugby match between the Warsaw Frogs and Kinsale RFC, a team from Cork, Ireland. It was a hard-hitting bruisefest but I was able to escape with a few minor abrasions. Sustaining a serious injury in front of your mother in a country with limited health care facilities would not have been the ideal situation. Now I can take a couple weeks off and prepare for the Warsaw 10's tourney in May.

The post-match social was of particular interest to my Dad as he got into the act by posing behind some tour virgins from the Irish team.

He was all too happy to pose for this picture. It's a classic. But Mom didn't quite enjoy the bawdy lyrics in some of the songs, but like she told one of my teammates "I've raised three boys, I've heard it all".

Dave had a great time meeting some guys from the Frogs, and raised a few toasts with the national beverage. Peer pressure has no age limit as he was encouraged to extend his night by the big Scotsman, Ian, Philo the Polish Hitman, and Oksana from the Ukraine.

The Minnesota contingent is currently visiting Krakow, the tourist center of Poland. Although a bit daunted by the language barrier, I am assured they will be alright. The itinerary calls for them to attend Auschwitz, the Wieliczka salt mine, and Wawel castle. They will be back tomorrow, and we head for the mother country, Slovenia, on Friday.

"I'm glad that David came with us. When you're not around, I count on him as my bodyguard." --James Gaspersich

I'm sure the coming week will bring more quotable gems. Thanks for reading!

Return to college . . . Poland v.s. Azerbaijan!

Hello all . . .

Enjoying a nice sunny day over here in Warsaw while taking the time to clean up my flat, which has been referred to as being a bit college-esque. While I admit that the complete absence of wall hangings gives my place a sterile feel, the pad in Poland is nothing like my previous dwellings back in the day. Reasons why include:

*no keg fridge
*no beer / bikini posters
*no vomit stains on the carpet
*no late-night Buddha (only a few will get this reference)
*no corner booth from Country Kitchen (one of the best acquisitions of furniture, ever)
*no bar
*no black light
*no disco ball
*no neon beer signs
*and most importantly, no roommates! (I love most of my previous roomies but there comes a time when a guy has to grow up. I'll let you know when that time comes. Baby steps . . .)

I can justify my lack of interior decorating ability by citing the 2006 Anti-Clutter Doctrine drafted last summer as I unburdened myself from most of the worldly possessions that do not fit into three suitcases. No more useless junk shall make its way into my apartment since I know I'll be living a transient lifestyle for awhile.

Couchsurfing.com brought a guest to my place this weekend. Krystal, from Detroit, via Freiburg, Germany has been crashing on the futon for the last few evenings. On Friday night she, and couple of other friends were forced to endure the sheer lunacy of the Ice Bar. I've been wanting to check this place out since I read about it a few months back. Always in search of uniquely odd things to show out-of-towners, a bar built inside a giant freezer was something I had to see.

We can cross this one off the list of "must sees" here in Poland. You walk into this trendy little bar carpeted in wall-to-wall faux polar bear fur. From there, you have to drop 10 zloty on a parka rental and entry to the ice box, where you have to pay an additional 15 zloty for the privilege of taking a shot of Finlandia from glass a made out of ice. Only vodka is served inside the cooler that has also been tastefully decorated with nude ice sculptures. Way too much work for way too little fun. Never again.

The Russian Market . . . now that's a tourist attraction that never fails to deliver. My Polish-speaking friends from Africa are always there to give me a great deal on knock-off Nikes. These guys look so American, stupid me strikes up a convo with a massive guy clad in LSU gear:

Me: "LSU fan huh? Go Tigers!"
Him: "I'm from Ghana, man!"

Once again, doing my part to foster international brotherhood by trying to give the appearance that not all Americans are ignorant. Succeeding? Not quite. How one makes the decision to leave the sunny, tropical environs of Ghana to sell counterfeit shoes in frigid Warsaw is beyond me. Suffice it to say, Eastern Europe is not really the most welcoming place for my compatriots from the dark continent.

Speaking of ignorance, Americans have been happily oblivious to the "elegant game" of soccer. I, for one, fail to see the beauty in a sport where the majority of matches end in a tie (a lot of them scoreless)and are decided in an anti-climactic shootout. But when given the chance to see the Polish National Team play here in Warsaw, I eagerly accepted. After all, they were playing against their arch-rival, Azerbaijan.
It's a former Soviet state, and if there's one thing the Poles hate, it's anything having to do with mother Russia. Alright, maybe I'm hyping this up a little bit.

Anyhow, Krystal and I did our best to pose as hard-core fans of Polska. Donning the ubiquitous scarf and some funny headgear, all we were missing were a couple over-sized, foam, #1 hands and some face paint. You don't see those too much at European sporting events. That could be a lucrative investment opportunity for any of your business-minded folk. The importation of foam #1 fingers to Europe has "financial windfall" written all over it.

The atmosphere surrounding the match was as exciting as I anticipated. Upon arriving at the stadium, we could see that the hooligan prevention forces were making their presence known. Policja in full riot gear armed with ornery German Shepherds patrolled the area outside Legia Stadium. After passing through the ticket checkpoint, I was given a frisking that would violate most sexual harassment statutes back home. Apparently, the hiding of contraband within the warmth of one's family jewels is common practice.


Drunken revelers sang and cheered for the entire match, led by this one lone man standing on a platform at mid-field. He tirelessly exhorted the crowd to root on the white and red while the veins in his neck and head protruded from the exhaustive screams. He reminded me of a couple teachers I know. By the latter part of the second half, Poland's version of Crazy George had fried his vocal cords and was nowhere to be seen. It was nice to see, however, that the Polish National Team had the more traditional cheerleaders provide us with half-time entertainment. They weren't exactly the Laker Girls, but there must be some sense of modesty in this overwhelmingly Catholic country.

The visiting team was overmatched in this contest as Poland triumphed 5-0. I enjoyed the high score, but my opinion of soccer has not changed. Despite all the hoopla and pageantry surrounding the match, the game itself was almost as boring as watching it on television. But I can certainly see myself attending more matches in the future. The frenetic cheering and carousing made it a cultural experience much different than any other sporting event I've attended.

Red Auerbach had his victory cigar. The Poles have victory road flares that they whip out of their pants when the win has been assured. I get brutally fondled by security on my way into the stadium. I'm just wondering how a guy smuggles something in that resembles a stick of dynamite. On second thought, maybe it's best that I don't know.