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!

The longest weekend . . .

The exhaustion from my own version of The Amazing Race last weekend has finally worn off. Seeing four cities in four countries in four days was certainly an ambitious travel schedule but I had company in from Canada so I wanted to make sure we had plenty to do. Nobody wants to see the same museums, churches, and pubs for ten straight days. I'm a bit of a novice at this amateur travel agent stuff but I think it's better to have too much stuff to see than too little.

Tracy, my guest from Ottawa, and I flew into Vilnius, Lithuania last Thursday night to begin the long weekend. After spending the chilly spring day wandering around the city visiting everything from the castle tower overlooking the city, to Frank Zappa's head on a stick we had a great dinner at the Crowne Plaza where we were staying.
One of the great things about the post-communist economy is that prices for upscale hotels are still relatively inexpensive. A guy like me, who would never be able to stay in luxury digs back in America, can afford to splurge once in awhile here.

One of the highlights in Vilnius was ducking into this non-descript alleyway and finding this local bar staffed by an aged babushka and her son who seemed a few cards short, in our opinion. But then again, I've probably had the same said about me.

He was more than happy to spend some time watching "Pimp My Ride" with Latvian subtitles and occasionally pour me a pint into a glass which looked unused for months. The chances of my companion getting herself a nice glass of red wine were zero but I think she enjoyed her local concoction.

Arriving by bus in Riga, Latvia the next afternoon, we saw a definite contrast from sleepy little Vilnius. Riga was a much more cosmopolitan city bustling with youthful energy. The narrow, Prague-like streets wound between Art Nouveau style buildings in the Old Towne section. Enormous palaces of worship seemed to dot every block. The Russian Orthodox churches in Eastern Europe are amazingly ornate not just for their towering golden domes, but also the brilliantly colorful murals contained inside.

Ending the day with a spectacular view of the sunset from the Skyline Bar atop our hotel, we were both sorry our time in Riga was coming to a close. The next morning arrived much too quickly and before we could wipe the sleep from our eyes, we were on a bus to Tallinn, Estonia. Forunately, we commandeered the area in the back and dozed off while sprawling across six seats, only awaking for the requisite bathroom break in rural Latvia and for passport approval into our next country.

The place we booked in Tallinn gave me a newfound appreciation for renting a flat instead of a hotel room the next time you need accomodations overseas. There's just something more welcoming about having your own kitchen, washing machine, and living room for use during your stay. Granted, I think the only thing we used was a knife and some glassware but had I the desire, it's nice to know I could've whipped up a four course meal.

Estonia had a Scandinavian feel to it given it's proximity to Finland. Prices were a bit higher and clothing a bit furrier. I was tempted to acquire a genuine reindeer-skin viking helmet as a memento but that impulse quickly faded when faced with the outrageous pricetag. It looked quite festive but how often in daily life does dress code call for barbarian headgear? Chances of me attending a Minnesota Vikings' game were already slim before I moved to Poland. I believe they have to be in the playoffs to play in the month of December when I'm home for Christmas. The odds of that happening are longshot at best. Sorry Grandma, I know you're a big fan. At least the Twins have started their season.

After spending Easter in Tallinn wandering around the city, up the hill to the castle and visiting the "Barbie dream house" presidential palace, we spent the last evening of the long weekend curled up on the couch enjoying cheese and wine before heading out to a recommended seafood restaurant nearby. The food was delicious, but we were exhausted. The fact that it was Easter Sunday meant that their was no chance to check out the nightlife in the old town. I'm not sure I would've had the stamina to explore the evening culture of Estonia, anyway.

Our journey to Helsinki the next morning was a ride aboard the Super Seacat fast jet ferry. It was a fierce looking vessel but the irony was not lost upon seeing souvenir t-shirts bearing a picture of the boat and the mascot; a threatening long-haired tabby cat. I presumed that the boat was owned by a devoted pet owner who acquired it only after losing his beloved seafaring feline in a tragic yachting accident. Who else would name a multi-million dollar cruiser after a fluffy land-loving mammal?

There is not much to say about Helsinki. Picture any big city and then put a Finnish flag on top of every building. That's about it. In fact, I stole the picture from National Geographic's website. I just couldn't find anything quintissentially "Finnish" about the city. However, I am proud to say that I achieved one of my life dreams there . . . I took a sauna in Finland. Granted, it was at the Crowne Plaza and we snuck in under the guise of being hotel guests, but all the authentic Finnish saunas were closed for the holiday. The best things in life are still free.

The worst thing about Finland is they charge you 1 Euro to relieve yourself in most public places. Now I can see why the place is so clean. The "urination tax" must raise huge amounts of revenue from Finns, a people renowned for their love of alcohol. And I am not just basing this belief on my interactions with Finlanders in northern Minnesota. Last year, alcohol was the leading cause of death among Finnish teens. Alcohol-related dehydration in a sauna can kill you without warning, I guess.

Big things on the horizon . . . my mom, dad, and younger brother Dave are making their first (of many I hope) visit to Polska next week. Also, my first taste of rugby on foreign soil occurs tomorrow when the Warsaw Frogs take on the Wath Warriors Vets and the Maidstone Vets. Both teams are from England so destruction and debauchery will ensue, guaranteed. The pound buys a lot of beer over here.

Thanks for reading!

P.S.
Spring in Warsaw is quite beautiful. See for yourself . . . this picture was taken by Tracy last week in Łazienki Park. This place was featured on the last Amazing Race when they went through Poland, but they didn't show any of the natural beauty in the city's greenspace. Oh well, it keeps out the riffraff.



P.S.S. Here's a cool video about Ice Cricket tournaments in Estonia. Brrrrrr!

Odd sights . . .

Remember the sample lady at the grocery store? Usually she would stand near the frozen food section hawking Tombstone pizzas or frozen egg rolls. As a kid, I would wander around from aisle to aisle looking for free snack food from these blue-haired biddys. After making multiple passes, gorging myself, and ending up with flaps of burnt skin hanging from the roof of my mouth, my presence would be met with a disapproving sigh and a raised eyebrow.

Here in Poland, where they take advertising to a new level, you will usually find the sample table staffed by cute young women dressed up in costumes. I don't know what Supergirl has to do with the prevention of tooth decay but she certainly makes one priortize his dental health. Maybe a woman can tell me if stick-thin models with giant lips on their heads really make them want to buy lipstick.

Imagine my surprise last Friday evening when I happened upon a display of Ukrainian vodka, complete with free samples. After knocking one back, the pleasant young man insisted that I try a second one. I reluctantly accepted only to hide behind the wine section, wretching uncontrollably. Does anybody remember "bitter beer face"? Well, Ukrainian vodka face is much more severe.

I didn't think anybody back home would believe they were giving out vodka shots across from the meat section so I requested a picture for the Chronicle. Not only was he happy to oblige, but he even posed for the picture and offered me libation numer trzy. That's Polish for "number three". I politely declined as there was a line of thirsty Poles forming behind me.

Add "Guy Playing a Chair" to the list of odd street performers.
Does one just wake up one morning and have an "Aha!" moment . . . "I know that I'm devoid of any redeeming talent whatsoever, so how 'bout I play this old chair? And for extra comedic value, I will tape a picture of George Bush's head to the front of the chair. This will knock 'em dead at the Centrum metro station."


Finally, I had seen this odd sight a week ago, but neglected to have my camera since I was walking to rugby practice. I was so happy to capture this moment on Sunday because nobody would believe me if I told them I saw a wooly mammoth walking through Pole Mokowtowskie Park. Watching dogs doing what dogs do in parks and then encountering this lumbering beast was quite amusing. Varsovians don't clean up after their pets so there is a surplus of brown landmines in the city. I'm sure production is doubled whenever the furry elephant walks on by.


Big trip this weekend . . . a whirlwind tour of four cities in four days. Crazy yes, but I am doing research for you, my prospective guests. The travel guinea pig is constantly on the lookout for great weekend / day trips from Warsaw. I'll make the mistakes in trying to do too much now, so you won't have to later.

A special greeting to Nate's Mom, a new reader.

Happy Easter!

Everybody's workin' for the weekend . . .

Happy Friday everybody. This has been an excellent week. Helping kids discover the boiling points and freezing points of various liquids has been a truly rewarding experience. Just look at how happy these kids are!


Another guest is making her way to Polska this weekend. All the way from Ottawa (that's in Canada for the geographically illiterate), there is a friend of mine from way back in the day. I think we met way in 1996 (???) when I was traveling to Winnipeg for a rugby tournament. This was somewhere between my first and second senior years.

Anyway, we just got back in touch over the past year and she spontaneously booked a ticket for a couple weeks of travel in Eastern Europe with me as her guide. It's a great time of year to visit since the hordes of tourists have yet to descend like fanny-pack wearing locusts.

That's about all I got going on. But I will share with you this great video. It makes me happy that people like this are out there. I've watched this about 10 times now and it never fails to make me smile:

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.

Off the grid for about two weeks . . .

My apologies to the faithful readers who check out the site looking for a weekly update. My technological umbilical cord was unceremoniously cut some time ago due to some strange Polish rule about paying your internet bill on time. I'm not trying to place the blame on the internet provider but it's a long complicated story involving French-like business hours (closed at 4 on Fridays?) and long lines that harken back to the Communist era.

Okay, enough excuses. There have been a few cultural experiences in the last couple weeks that I feel I need to share. The first highlight would have to be the long-awaited (for Varsovians, anyway) grand opening of the Hard Rock Cafe in Warsaw. Through a well-connected vasectomized (is that a word?) colleague, I was able to get into the glitzy VIP opening last weekend. This was quite a high-profile event complete with red-carpet, famous (in Poland) rock stars, and free eats and drinks (woohoo!). All I needed to gain entry was to pretend to be a big-shot architect from Texas, who also happens to be the father of one of my students. Piece of cake.

The night was filled with hob-knobbing and schmoozing. And that was just with the "Jim Beam girls." One of the more interesting characters I met was a man who seemed quite enthused about showing off the fact that he has two thumbs. Yes, I know, we all have two thumbs, but how many of you have two thumbs on one hand? Pretty damn cool if you ask me. He could not tell me enough how important it was to the Polish music scene to finally have the Hard Rock Cafe open in his nation. Ummmmm . . . part of me felt a sense of wonderment when he made this statement and the other part of me wanted to buy him one of those cheesy Hard Rock t-shirts that every American tourist has in his wardrobe. No, none of you are getting one, so don't even ask.

Another of the more colorful revelers I met was the "Guerilla Traveler." This guy helped me realize the importance that having a real eye-catching business card can have in striking up a conversation. The right card can make quite the first impression when forced upon the unsuspecting fellow American ex-pat. Everybody has a story to tell about how they ended up in Poland. This guy has even wrote a book about his travels complete with a website that is infinitely snazzier than any hackneyed effort I can put on MySpace. Check it out, there's even a video promoting his book. http://www.guerillatraveler.com/

Anyway, try the ribs at Hard Rock when you're in town. They're delicious when served with a side of free cigarettes (yes, girls with free cancer sticks on silver trays, what a country!) and aging Polish rockers.

I told my good friend Chicky that I would post a photo of my badge of honor from rugby practice. They used to tell me back in college that I needed to stop tackling people with my face. Some would say it's a play for sympathy from the ladies. Others would say it's a remarkable improvement on my normal ugly mug.

What happens when you mix classic 80's hard-rock ballads, a couple hundred Poles, and a woefully undersized hockey rink? You have yourself the makings of a good time at Torwar open skating. There are a number of places to go in this city where I know I'll be the only non-Polish person there. Last night was certainly no exception and it had more chills, thrills, and spills than the Saturday night stock car races at the St. Louis County Fairgrounds (that one's for the folks back home). I wish I had brought my camera for this. Seeing so many people crammed into such a small space, skating in circles to REO Speedwagon and Rush was quite the experience.
This also served to remind me once again why I hung up the ice skates after 6th grade in favor of the less expensive but more revealing Speedo.

One of the odder things I saw this past week were these four guys prowling the streets of Warsaw looking for little children to abduct. Their cover story was that they were promoting the launch of Microsoft Vista in Poland. Yeah, right, like I'm supposed to believe that a giant Vietnamese villager, a moon man, a saggy-assed giraffe, and an eight legged martian have anything to do with a computer operating system.

Thanks for taking the time to read. Sorry for the delay in posting! Oh yeah, here's a picture of the new mall in downtown Warsaw that I helped design.

Signs of spring . . .

There is an old Polish saying that if the Christmas tree roots are in ice, Easter will be sunny; but if the Christmas tree's roots are in water, the Easter eggs will roll on ice. Well, I'm hoping this proverb doesn't hold true since we had an unseasonably warm December here in Warsaw, but if this week's weather is any indication, spring has arrived in kielbasa country.

Talking about the weather can be considered sort of a reach when making polite conversation with somebody, but here there are some interesting signs of spring that are not normally found when the weather gets warmer stateside.

As I was wandering around the city this evening (me aimlessly wandering around is a definite sign), I noticed a distinct upsurge in the number of street performers. Tonight, my heart was warmed (no pun intended) by the presence of a couple fire dancers near the city center. I don't know why, but there's just something about a dangerous looking woman twirling chains with firey orbs attached to them. If you tell me to meet you somewhere in the city and I run into a couple of pyrophilic females, chances are good that I'm going to be late.

The ubiquitous (one of my all-time favorite words) accordion man was also sighted. This guy, however, is more of an "all-weather" street performer. In fact, one of the joys of riding the tram cars in Warsaw is the possibility that accordion man will jump on and serenade you on your way home. I think it's an especially lucrative gig for him since the audience is helplessly stationary. This allows him to pass the tin cup in front of all passengers who sooner or later are forced to part with their loose change.

I'm a really big fan of the guys who go above and beyond for the sake of street performance. It's easy to dust off the guitar, violin, pan flute, saxophone, or even mime make-up kit and make some quick zlotys pounding the pavement around Warsaw. But it takes a special breed to get some friends up off the couch and form a street band. Not only do you have to get everybody motivated, but the more friends you have at your gig, the more guys you have to split the money with. Here's a pic of my good friend Scrote in front of some hard-working Poles last fall.

Speaking of Scrote, his name came up in my health class today. For the second consecutive trimester, I've been entrusted with the delicate task of educating the international youth community about puberty and sexuality. One of our vocab words was "scrotum" and, of course, I couldn't let this go by without mentioning one of the key differences between males and females . . . the use of nicknames. That's all I have to say on that subject.


I am looking forward to Wednesday's class when we will have a special guest speaker talk about his experiences with both the prostate exam and vasectomy. It is bound to be a riveting lecture from one of my most trusted and respected colleagues.

I think that's an appropriate note to "end" on, don't you? But for your own amusement, go to google images, type in "prostate exam", and see what pops up. Whatever proctologists make, it just isn't enough. I'm hoping that in the next 8 years, they will have found a less invasive way of screening for prostate cancer.

Do widzenia moj' colegos!

Mark