Rest in peace Middleton High . . .

Last week, the first school to take a chance on hiring me (albeit for an in-school suspension position paying $6.00 an hour) burned to the ground. Middleton High School, located in a rural suburb of Boise, lost 75% of the original school structure when an electrical fire ignited at around 7 AM last Thursday. Fortunately, everybody was able to get out in time, and there were no injuries. You can check out some coverage at www.ktvb.com .

Through the miracle of modern technology I was able to talk to a few of my former colleagues the day of the fire. They are going to have a tough road to recovery from this tragedy. Many of my friends from that school district have not only worked their whole lives in that building but also graduated from there. I couldn't imagine trying to teach, let alone learn, in that environment right now.

At least 23 teachers lost their rooms, and the school's main server containing transcripts from past and present students was engulfed in flames. What's remaining is being sent to a cyber forensics team in Salt Lake City where they will hunt for salvageable data. The P.E. department has lost the main gym used by the 700 middle school students who attend school in the adjacent building. All of the administrative offices are gone. So I guess kids can't cause trouble in the classroom anymore because there's no place to send them.

Sitting over here in Poland makes me feel helpless when people who treated me like family are going through such an ordeal. At the same time I feel guilty for feeling fortunate I'm not working there this year. Months of frustration lie ahead for everybody there. Schools are not rebuilt overnight and the timeline puts completion of a new facility around July 2008.

Class was back in session yesterday for the high school . . . apparently they are going to double up the number of kids in each classroom at the middle school. 60 kids and 2 teachers in a room built to hold 30 kids? Drastic times call for drastic measures, I guess.

You can also see more pictures and read a few stories at: www.idahostatesman.com
Anybody back in Middleton who happens to read this blog, get in touch, add a comment and let me know how you're coping with this. I'd love to get a firsthand account of what students and teachers are facing right now.

Late Night Grub

Last weekend, after a late night of carousing, my friend Murph introduced me to Warsaw's answer to Taco Bell. Located near the Palace of Culture and Science, which dominates the city skyline, is the legendary Food Bus. I'm sure it has some other more descriptive moniker in the native language, but for me "Food Bus" was all I needed to hear. With opening hours from midnight 'til dawn, it was the type of cuisine any not-so-discriminating (i.e. intoxicated) palate would crave.

Upon entering the vintage 70's chariot of mass transit, we were greeted by a no-nonsense pani (older woman) who took our order (be ready with your Polish). A man who probably drove the bus when it was in service feverishly worked the grill where the dashboard of the bus once was. I had heard tales of singing drunks and vomiting foreigners but, regretably, only a few old bums were there to entertain us at 4:30 AM.

Two bowls of zurek, a kielbasa, schitzel, and a plate of peirogies only set us back about 30 zloty ($10). Now try satiating your appetite with a couple 7-layer burritos after dining on this early morning Polish feast. You'll never look at another drive-thru again folks. There is a distinct lack of late night drive-thrus in Poland anyway. This could have something to do with the zero tolerance policy for drinking and driving. One drop of booze when you're behind the wheel and you are doing time in the Polish pokey.

For those making the trip to Poland this year, make sure we make a journey to the food bus. It might not be on the tourist maps but it certainly is one of the more unique icons of Warsaw night life. As for the rest of them, I'll let you figure those out when you get here.

Meeting a Nobel Peace Prize winner . . .

Last night was an evening I won't soon forget. Once again, I finagled myself an invitation to a reception at the U.S. Ambassador's residence (THANK YOU ROBB!). Yes, I know this is the third time I've been there since I moved to Poland but the shrimp they serve are so good! As long as the Secret Service doesn't arrest me for taking too many liberties with the open bar and appetizer trays, I'm going make sure that your tax dollars are being spent wisely. As a fellow U.S. citizen, I thank you!

The event was given in honor of the Jan Karski Freedom Award winner, Lech Wałęsa. Jan Karski was a prominent Polish World War Two resistance fighter and scholar who during the war reported to Western governments on the situation in Poland and the Holocaust of the Jews. He died in 2000 at the age of 86. This was the first year the award was given. Mr. Wałęsa, for those who slept through the 80's, led the Solidarity movement in Poland responsible for the beginning of Communism's collapse.

I can remember watching this revolution on television back in 1989, and how the rest of Eastern Europe soon followed Poland in reforming their governments and breaking free from the yolk of Soviet domination. Never in a million years did I think I'd have the opportunity to one day meet this prominent historical figure. I knew I'd have to act quickly to snag a picture with him.

After all the dignitaries (generals and diplomats) filed past and were greeted by Ambassador Ashe and Lech (he said I could call him that), I sidled up beside and asked (in Polish, but of course my kids told me that I screwed up in my phrasing) for a photo. The photographers from the newspapers must've thought I was somebody important because the flashbulbs started popping. The former President, displaying the subtle arrogance of most politicians, looked away from my tiny camera and into the lenses of the press. It turned out okay, but I'm kicking myself for not bringing a bottle of Lech beer to put in the picture. I think he would've found that humorous. In fact, during his acceptance speech, he had the stones (or should I call them pierogies?) to take a few digs at the U.S. government for their imperialist ambitions toward Cuba. Everyone had a good laugh, but for some of the American politicians, it sounded more like an uneasy chuckle.

We are finally getting a taste of the real Polish winter I have heard so much about. I think the last time I saw this much snow on the ground was back in early November. It's kind of reassuring when the weather is "normal". Lately, abnormal weather has been the norm here. This is a picture I took outside my window at work.AND IT'S STILL SNOWING!!! Have a happy hump day . . . Do widzenia!

Sign of the apocalypse . . .

I like to receive my Polish news alerts every day so I'm not completely out of the loop on current events here. Never in a million years did I expect to prepare for a hurricane in Poland. Winds up to 180 kph are expected throughout the country this evening. That, my American friends, is over 110 mph! Maybe they can call this one Hurricane Kassia (that's Katrina in po polsku). It caused the cancellation of happy hour at a fellow teacher's place because her electricity is out. Oh the humanity!


In sporting news, the 3rd place team in the UNBA (the Ursynów Natolin Basketball Association www.unba.prv.pl) is none other than Starzy (old men in po polsku).
Not bad considering their are 16 teams in the league. Last week, we got a big win over our rivals, Hoops (who are, oddly enough, sponsored by Contex, a condom manufacturer). If you visit the website, the answer to the question "Why is it all in Polish?" , as asked by one of my Bolivian students, is because we live in Poland. Sixth graders can be quite amusing.

I also started playing rugby again, after an eight year retirement. Should be fun, especially in a social context, check out http://www.frogsco.pl/ the official website of the Warsaw Frogs.

Happy Friday!

Lost in a cultural blog, I mean fog.

One of my friends keeps a blog and always comes up with these catchy titles for each entry. For example, in writing about his contempt for Christmas presents that show absolutely no thought, he entitled it "Blog, Humbug." I'm nowhere near the wordsmith that my former bartending colleague is but I decided to give it a try, thus the name of this entry . . .

This weekend, I once again demonstrated why I sometimes refer to myself as "ignorant Amerikansky". Sundays, for me, are a day to sleep late, grab a mocha (have I turned into that which I hate? Yuppie scum? or am I just a Polish metrosexual?) and wander around the streets of downtown Warsaw. These ventures have no purpose other than to further my discovery of all things weird and wacky in Warsaw. (alliteration alert!)

Getting of the metro that morning . . . okay, I admit that it was 2:00 PM. It's not often that I roll out of my abode before noon. Anyway, the subway platform and the rest of downtown was crawling with kids soliciting donations for something or other. I gave the spare change I had and was rewarded with a heart sticker that had something in Polish on it. This wasn't a random occurence since everywhere I went there were kids asking for zloty. And there weren't many people to be found that had not been relieved of their coins for the mysterious heart sticker.

As I continued toward the Palace of Culture and Science (formerly the Joseph Stalin Palace) there was this huge stage with Polish pop stars singing to a huge crowd of people. And here was one of those giant mystery hearts hung on the palace. I'm not sure I've seen a higher concentration of stiltwalkers in one place either. It could be an accident liability issue back in the states that makes performing on stilts a lost art form, but I think we need to bring 'em back. Everybody loves a guy on stilts!

There was even a strange, silvery guy who looked like he was auctioning off small children. I didn't have a clue what to make of this.


I'm never one to be shy about talking with people but for some reason I felt quite self-conscious about asking what all the hullabaloo was about. I think it stems from that "stupid American" complex I have. I just don't want to come across as a complete dumba** to the locals. Mark Twain once said:

"Better to close your mouth and appear to be stupid than open it and remove all doubt."

I think Mr. Twain was a wise man so I tried to keep a low profile until I could get back to my apartment and look up this major event on the internet. Upon doing a bit of research and typing in the words "Wielka Orkiestra Swiatecnej Pomocy", I was able to discover "The Great Orchestra of Christmas Charity Foundation" which is a coalition of charities helping kids all across Poland by having parties, auctions, and concerts on one big day, the Finale. They raised over $9 million in one day last year. Now I feel bad about only giving them 5zl (about $2).

Well, I think I've rambled enough about this subject. Oh yeah . . . one more thing. Over the Christmas break, my neighbor growing up, Joe Gnoza, who has taken numerous trips to Italy during his retirement was expounding upon how everybody thinks his last name is of Italian heritage when, in fact, it's Polish. I was a bit skeptical of this since every last name here ends in either "czyk" or "ski". Getting off the metro the other day, I was astonished to see an advertisement that proved Joe right . . . translation anyone?

The Santa gig and a brush with death.

For the second consecutive year, I was drafted to play Santa for the little kids on Christmas Eve. This is quite an event in my family with over 30 people on the Nelson side converging on one house for the traditional turkey, ham, mash potatoes, and stuffing dinner. Most of my cousins now have children ranging in age from 1 to 8. The one person that these kids never see is yours truly, so my mom has coerced me into dressing as the jolly old elf for the benefit of the youngsters.

Those who have children know that when they are toddlers, the sight of a guy in a cheap Wal-mart Santa suit peering through flowing white whiskers bellowing "Ho, ho, ho!" can be quite the traumatic experience. And as they get older, they either gaze on in wide-eyed wonderment or scoff at the ridiculously fake-looking costume. My cousin Ron's son Jesse, a comedic ham in his own right, gave me some quick acting lessons before I got into character. The kid is 9 (I think) years old and he's instructing me on the subtle mannerisms of St. Nick. He's a sharpie. There he is with Zach, another kid too smart to be fooled. Tough to impress those two clowns.


This year, I managed to impress one little girl, my cousin Darren's daughter, Ava, and the look on her face was worth the sweaty, embarrassing experience. The rest of the little ones, including my nephew Griffin, reacted with screaming horror. All the parents got that quintessential photo-op of their kid with the big guy but unfortunately my camera ran out of battery juice when running on video mode. I'll see if I can scrounge up some footage from one of the relatives and post it on youtube for your amusement. I was able to capture a frame of some grainy footage off a video that looked like it had been shot by someone stricken with Parkinson's. You can barely pick out a stunned child about to burst into tears. My favorite part is a proud mother and my grandma who looks just as excited as the kids!

The rest of my Christmas break was quite uneventful. My mom, who doted on me the whole time I was home (that's what good moms do, no matter how old the kid gets), took me shopping for shoes and work clothes. It was great to find things that actually fit me! I have completely given up on shopping over here. Apparently, I'm considered to be freakishly huge in Poland and the things I do find that fit me cost a hefty sum.

There were many other visits to family and friends with a lot of good bonding going on. It's nice knowing you're missed, and especially gratifying when some are planning on flying across the pond to come see you. This includes my parents and younger brother Dave who are arriving towards the end of April. It should be a great experience having them along for the journey to Slovenia and Croatia.


After a frenetic week that included the swim meet, the obligatory visits to the finer taverns in Hibbing, and my battle with jet-lag, it caught up with me. I managed to get quite sick and it lingered in my body the last week I was stateside. Attending the wedding of an old friend was not as enjoyable when you are near death's door with body aches, fever, and a phlegm-gargling cough. Try as I might to douse this cold with free libations, I was forced to drag myself up to the hotel room at 10 PM, well before my normal bedtime. My dreams of dancing the night away with a stunningly beautiful bridesmaid were dashed. I did however get this sweet pic with my friend Bag. We had it framed and sent off to our former roomie and rugby teammate, Benihana Steiner. He was also married over Christmas break. It was a small affair, and we weren't invited but this is what we would've looked like had we been able to attend:


New Year's Eve was also a total bust, spent at my brother's place on the couch, in the fetal position.

The big Boise State Fiesta Bowl victory, and the bonding time with Griffin, were the highpoints of my time spent overcoming illness. I'm just thankful that my brother Paul and his wife Jennifer allowed my germ-ridden carcass to bunk there for a week. I could've taken out their whole household with the infection I had.


Now that I'm back here in Poland, it's nice to be settling back into the routine of things. Back to the daily challenge of linguistic confusion, and the quiet solitude of my apartment that already looks like I have visitors. Maybe I should unpack . . .

The road is tough . . .

After a month-long hiatus from writing the Kielbasa, I have finally made the return to recording my inner-most thoughts (well, maybe not that personal). Anyway, the real bloggers say that consistency is the key to building a readership but if there is one thing I'm consistent at it's being inconsistent.

The first week of my holiday involved a train trip down to Vienna and a visit to an old friend of mine from Couchsurfing.com. Seven hours is a long time to sit on a train, but I had heard many good things about the beauty of Vienna at Christmas and thought that three weeks would be an awfully long time to be in one place. It also gave me time to think about what I needed to bring home to the states, and what I needed to bring back from the states (sweet size 13 shoes!).

Vienna did not disappoint in both beauty and ease of getting around. My friend Darko was gracious enough to put me up for three nights in his place which is conveniently located next to the subway line. However, I felt like I was three years old again, grappling with new surroundings, and having no concept of anything German. Not knowing simple words like "yes" or "no" can make you feel so helpless, but that has become standard practice for me since moving here.

The best part of Vienna was the Christkindlmarkt (Christ child market) where you can find anything having to do with Christmas with the exception of Santa Claus. He has been given "persona non grata" status in Vienna which was a welcome relief since Poland has no aversion to the jolly old elf. There are also numerous places to buy Orangenpunsch(warm punch with schnapps)if you need some spirits to warm your hearth. Like most places I went over the holiday, it was a gray Christmas in Vienna, but it was great to get a chance to explore the city in all it's festive glory.
As I've said before, any time I ride the train, danger lurks as my traveling companion. The trip back to Warsaw proved to be no exception. As we stopped in Krakow, about three hours short of home, six thoroughly intoxicated gents entered my train car. One of them was a bit mor advanced in age than the others but seemed to command the respect of the whole group, kind of like a Polish Tony Soprano. Soon, I hear the dreaded mother of all Polish slang cuss words: "Kurva!
This was bantered about between the older guy and one of his henchman who looked like his face had been the victim of a few knife fights. Next thing you know, the others jump into the fray and these guys are pushing each other through the aisle while I'm just trying to act like nothing is out of the ordinary. I didn't want to catch the glance of an angry capo from the Krakow Polish mafia. Eventually things worked themselves out since the old guy and the rest of his street toughs threatened to work over the troublemaker. But I was sweatin' it out for a bit there. They were probably just your run-of-the-mill soccer "hoolies".

The flight aboard the friendly skies of LOT Polish Airlines was the "cluster" that I've come to know and love. Had a three hour delay out of Warsaw which actually worked out for the best. It enabled me to do some quick shopping in the duty-free shop. They have some great deals on Polish gear which was kind of the equivalent of giving everybody a college sweatshirt the first time you came back from Fargo, ND. Remember those days? Such creativity! Anyhow, midway through the flight, the flight attendant requests the services of any doctor that might happen to be on board. This was all happening in the rear cabin so I was not aware of the details surrounding this medical crisis. My imagination went wild . . . what could it be? heart attack? a woman in labor? an emergency appendectomy?

The paramedics came on board the plane when we finished taxiing down the runway. After all the commotion subsided, they escorted the "patient" off the plane. A morbidly obese and equally fragrant man loped down the aisle muttering to anyone within earshot about how "airplane seats aren't meant for a guy my size. That's the worst pain I've ever had to go through." Poor guy. 10 1/2 hour flight crammed into a seat that is too small for a guy my size. But I really felt sorry for those who had to deal with a severe B.O. permeating everything within a 5 meter (metric alert!)radius. Yikes!

This left me not even remotely close to making my connecting flight into Minneapolis. So I had to drop some ducats for the hotel room in Chicago. I could've had a pity party but I was way better off than those who had to stay the night in the airport or multiple nights in the Denver airport. So I was out a few bucks . . . no big deal. I was still on time for what has become an annual holiday tradition: The Hibbing High School Alumni Swimming meet. Yes, for 15 straight years, I've donned the Speedo. I'm a loser, I know, but for some reason it's a point of pride that I can even fit into a Speedo, let alone swim a length of the pool. Fortunately, I wasn't the only oldster there this year as a few guys from the class of 94 and 95 decided to join me this year. It was nice not to feel like a total geriatric.

Well, I don't want to drone on and on but I will return to finish my musings about Christmas in the near future . . .