Well what a night that was. This year once again I refused to chance New Year's Eve outside & a glance from my window reminded me why I choose to spend this annual celebration at home.
Fireworks are thrown from windows and balconies onto the crowded streets below. Rockets are placed on the pavements without any warning and shoot off in all directions. Others leap as bangers explode beneath them. I even saw one idiot who was lighting squibs accompanied by his dog... poor terrified creature. I ventured out onto the balcony but rockets were roaring past at frighteningly close range and I quickly retreated inside to the sound of ambulance sirens which continued to wail all through the night.
I dread to think how many people end up in the hospital with horrific injuries. Not only is there no Health & Safety, there is no common sense. In the first hours of the new year Poles are even more primitive than at any other time.
Thursday, 1 January 2009
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
New Year's Eve.
The worst thing about this time of year in Poland are the 'bangers' that are set alight and thrown around everywhere. What the fun is exactly I do not know. They do not give off any illumination but let out a deafening crack that terrifies every animal within a mile radius. I am told that these basic explosives have only been available in Poland in the last few years and consequently Poles find them hugely exciting. They are lit and thrown around without any regard for people passing by, but this is not surprising as Poles have no respect for each other whatsoever.
The streets and parks are full of idiots, many of them adults, drinking vodka and lighting bangers. The dogs bolt off, petrified and confused. Once captured they are quivering wrecks. I have been unable to take Molly and Daisy out the last few days as it is just so frightening and I don't want to risk losing them.
After much consideration I have decided to spend new year's eve indoors with my doors closed to the usual rabble. There were phone calls from various Polish 'pals' who I don't hear from all year, curious to know if I was holding a party. In previous years they've attended my New Year Bash and had a wild time. A perfectly located balcony in which to see all the fireworks, free food and vodka all night long, comfort and space for all their friends etc etc. They always turn up empty handed. They have never once bought me a drink when I see them in the pub. And I have never been invited to their homes.
This year it occurred to me that if that's the best on offer, to play host once again to all these parasites who crawl out of the woodwork two days before the event then why bother? Unlike the annual Christmas Party which is a free-for-all, I desire the company of real friends at the start to the new year.
The streets and parks are full of idiots, many of them adults, drinking vodka and lighting bangers. The dogs bolt off, petrified and confused. Once captured they are quivering wrecks. I have been unable to take Molly and Daisy out the last few days as it is just so frightening and I don't want to risk losing them.
After much consideration I have decided to spend new year's eve indoors with my doors closed to the usual rabble. There were phone calls from various Polish 'pals' who I don't hear from all year, curious to know if I was holding a party. In previous years they've attended my New Year Bash and had a wild time. A perfectly located balcony in which to see all the fireworks, free food and vodka all night long, comfort and space for all their friends etc etc. They always turn up empty handed. They have never once bought me a drink when I see them in the pub. And I have never been invited to their homes.
This year it occurred to me that if that's the best on offer, to play host once again to all these parasites who crawl out of the woodwork two days before the event then why bother? Unlike the annual Christmas Party which is a free-for-all, I desire the company of real friends at the start to the new year.
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Feeding (on) the ducks.
I'm spending Christmas with Lola and her folks who've treated me as one of their own since I first met them five years ago. I'm treated and fed like a king.
Last night Lola suggested we go for a stroll at midnight to check out the annual festive gathering in the old town square and possibly bump into some old pals of hers. It was minus 4 degrees so we wrapped up warm and set off for what I hoped would be a cheerie hour warmed with candles and mulled wine and accompanied by a little music and merriment. After all these years in Poland I still have subconscious expectations of how it would be as if I was back in Blighty. Lola reckoned being outside in the square preferable to the midnight mass which she presumed would be just elderly locals crammed into the ugly church, it did look decidedly uninviting. I was happy with her suggestion as being trapped in any enclosed space crowded with Poles elbowing me from all sides is something to be avoided at all costs.
It was foggy on the road, evocative of the old days by the Thames and Sherlock Holmes films. The only people around were groups of youths on street corners swigging beer and vodka. They stared at us as we were not attired in the usual shell suits, bomber jackets and beanies. Approaching the town square we were dismayed to find it was dark and empty. On returning we found ourselves in the throng of what looked like an average Saturday night, packs of loud tragic looking yobs in various stages of drunkeness and on the verge of hostility. We looked far too smart and they didn't like it, keeping our heads down with a lively pace we made it home in one piece but it was unpleasant. The air had been bitterly cold although I enjoyed the fog, but festive it was not and the Christmas Spirit was nowhere to be seen.
Today the women served up a feast, unaided by any of the men who in Poland stay well away from the kitchen. I washed up which pleased them to no end.
Afterwards I went for a two hour stroll to the park with Lola and the dogs. Lola had gathered up bread for the ducks which she likes to do regularly and finds therapeutic. Once at the pond she remarked on how few ducks there were. Indeed, the waters have teemed with the critters all year and now their absence seemed blindingly obvious and gave the ponds an eerie stillness. Lola then went on to enlighten me. Apparently the birds are caught by individuals and cooked for Christmas. It didn't surprise me. Although the main Christmas dish is carp, this is supplemented with other fish, meat, and, it seems, just about anything else to hand.
Last night Lola suggested we go for a stroll at midnight to check out the annual festive gathering in the old town square and possibly bump into some old pals of hers. It was minus 4 degrees so we wrapped up warm and set off for what I hoped would be a cheerie hour warmed with candles and mulled wine and accompanied by a little music and merriment. After all these years in Poland I still have subconscious expectations of how it would be as if I was back in Blighty. Lola reckoned being outside in the square preferable to the midnight mass which she presumed would be just elderly locals crammed into the ugly church, it did look decidedly uninviting. I was happy with her suggestion as being trapped in any enclosed space crowded with Poles elbowing me from all sides is something to be avoided at all costs.
It was foggy on the road, evocative of the old days by the Thames and Sherlock Holmes films. The only people around were groups of youths on street corners swigging beer and vodka. They stared at us as we were not attired in the usual shell suits, bomber jackets and beanies. Approaching the town square we were dismayed to find it was dark and empty. On returning we found ourselves in the throng of what looked like an average Saturday night, packs of loud tragic looking yobs in various stages of drunkeness and on the verge of hostility. We looked far too smart and they didn't like it, keeping our heads down with a lively pace we made it home in one piece but it was unpleasant. The air had been bitterly cold although I enjoyed the fog, but festive it was not and the Christmas Spirit was nowhere to be seen.
Today the women served up a feast, unaided by any of the men who in Poland stay well away from the kitchen. I washed up which pleased them to no end.
Afterwards I went for a two hour stroll to the park with Lola and the dogs. Lola had gathered up bread for the ducks which she likes to do regularly and finds therapeutic. Once at the pond she remarked on how few ducks there were. Indeed, the waters have teemed with the critters all year and now their absence seemed blindingly obvious and gave the ponds an eerie stillness. Lola then went on to enlighten me. Apparently the birds are caught by individuals and cooked for Christmas. It didn't surprise me. Although the main Christmas dish is carp, this is supplemented with other fish, meat, and, it seems, just about anything else to hand.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Wasted lives.
The flatmates have returned to their family homes for the Christmas break and I have the place to myself again... what bliss. For the last week Brunette Flatmate had her boyfriend staying for the second time, he'd travelled from the other end of the country and spent six days in Lodz glued to the box, that's when he wasn't sleeping.
Like the flatmates, The Boyfriend never once took a book of a shelf to have a look, never proposed an outing of any kind, never showed any curiosity about this city to which he has only visited once before. The Boyfriend is 21 and overweight. My closest friend back in London is 70 and she has more vitality, strength, intelligence and wit than these slovenly non-entities can ever hope to be blessed with.
Surrounded on every wall by books in Polish and in English, luxurious large format photographic books with minimal if no text, history, geography, art, biographies, pulp fiction and worthier novels etc etc. Over ten thousand books on every conceivable subject. None of my young comrades, however, are the least bit interested. They prefer to watch crap tele (I have just one fuzzy channel) or sit at their computers sending banal messages to each other on social networking sites. None of them are familiar with Poland second largest city, they have never been to any of the parks, have never visited the museums or art galleries, have never even suggested a stroll down the main street. Blonde flatmate attends college for just three hours daily and the rest of the time sits on her rapidly expanding arse doing sod all - watching films and online 'chatting'. She says she never has time to clean or hoover. Neither does she have the time for a part-time job. And now the parents of my soon to be ex-tenants must fork out more cash so that their offspring can move to accomodation that will be pricier, dirtier, uglier and further. Simply because their children are not willing to lift a finger.
Like the flatmates, The Boyfriend never once took a book of a shelf to have a look, never proposed an outing of any kind, never showed any curiosity about this city to which he has only visited once before. The Boyfriend is 21 and overweight. My closest friend back in London is 70 and she has more vitality, strength, intelligence and wit than these slovenly non-entities can ever hope to be blessed with.
Surrounded on every wall by books in Polish and in English, luxurious large format photographic books with minimal if no text, history, geography, art, biographies, pulp fiction and worthier novels etc etc. Over ten thousand books on every conceivable subject. None of my young comrades, however, are the least bit interested. They prefer to watch crap tele (I have just one fuzzy channel) or sit at their computers sending banal messages to each other on social networking sites. None of them are familiar with Poland second largest city, they have never been to any of the parks, have never visited the museums or art galleries, have never even suggested a stroll down the main street. Blonde flatmate attends college for just three hours daily and the rest of the time sits on her rapidly expanding arse doing sod all - watching films and online 'chatting'. She says she never has time to clean or hoover. Neither does she have the time for a part-time job. And now the parents of my soon to be ex-tenants must fork out more cash so that their offspring can move to accomodation that will be pricier, dirtier, uglier and further. Simply because their children are not willing to lift a finger.
Saturday, 20 December 2008
Christmas is coming.
There is not much here to give away the fact that Christmas is almost upon us. Only the main street running through the city has a thin layer of extra lighting. Shops don't bother to alter or embellish their window displays in any way, there's no carol singing or public concerts, and no christmas songs on the radio - just the usual ghastly techno and heavy rock.
Fir trees are bought a day or two before the Big Day, as are decorations which then remain in place until the end of February. There's something distinctly depressing about seeing Christmas decorations still up so far into the following year.
There are even more police cars on the streets than normally (every second car seems to be an ambulance or patrol car), this is apparently because they are seeking extra bribe money from speeding motorists in order to facilitate some Christmas shopping.
As one would expect in a Catholic country the churches are busier than usual. It's always been a mystery to me how a nation can spend so much time in church and yet be so nasty the moment they step from the portal. I remember one Sunday watching a congregation piling out from one of Lodz's many places of worship, a massive monstrosity carved in concrete and steel. I was with my Big German Friend... "holier than holy... now watch them as they drive out of the car park..." he remarked. And we watched them... cursing and honking and pushing and denying others even the slightest consideration. Love thy neighbour? Forget it. Treat others as you want them to treat you? Not round here.
Word of the week: czlowiek religijny meaning churchgoer.
Fir trees are bought a day or two before the Big Day, as are decorations which then remain in place until the end of February. There's something distinctly depressing about seeing Christmas decorations still up so far into the following year.
There are even more police cars on the streets than normally (every second car seems to be an ambulance or patrol car), this is apparently because they are seeking extra bribe money from speeding motorists in order to facilitate some Christmas shopping.
As one would expect in a Catholic country the churches are busier than usual. It's always been a mystery to me how a nation can spend so much time in church and yet be so nasty the moment they step from the portal. I remember one Sunday watching a congregation piling out from one of Lodz's many places of worship, a massive monstrosity carved in concrete and steel. I was with my Big German Friend... "holier than holy... now watch them as they drive out of the car park..." he remarked. And we watched them... cursing and honking and pushing and denying others even the slightest consideration. Love thy neighbour? Forget it. Treat others as you want them to treat you? Not round here.
Word of the week: czlowiek religijny meaning churchgoer.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
The Polish ski jumping champion.
Poland has little presence on the world stage, so when the opportunity arises Poles are more than anxious to get their flags out. Polish ski jumping champion Adam Malysz gives them that once in a blue moon chance.
Ski jumping is shown repeatedly on national television and the reason for this can only be what is indeed a rare species... a prize-winning Polish sportsman. Poles are not renowned for their sporting prowess, they're not what you could call active. In the four years I've spent running and cycling in the park daily with the dogs I could count my fellow joggers on one hand.
The populace prefer to sit in their blocks and watch television, mindless and banal television, and one of their favourite programmes is ski jumping... hours and hours of it. As far as I can see, if you've seen one ski jump you've seen them all, it must rank as one of the dullest sports invented. Nonetheless, tv stations nationwide continually show these dreary contests and the country gather round their Panasonics riveted.
On making new acquaintances it's not long before I'm berated because I'm not up to par on Adam Malysz... but who (apart from 40 million Poles) cares about ski jumping?
Ski jumping is shown repeatedly on national television and the reason for this can only be what is indeed a rare species... a prize-winning Polish sportsman. Poles are not renowned for their sporting prowess, they're not what you could call active. In the four years I've spent running and cycling in the park daily with the dogs I could count my fellow joggers on one hand.
The populace prefer to sit in their blocks and watch television, mindless and banal television, and one of their favourite programmes is ski jumping... hours and hours of it. As far as I can see, if you've seen one ski jump you've seen them all, it must rank as one of the dullest sports invented. Nonetheless, tv stations nationwide continually show these dreary contests and the country gather round their Panasonics riveted.
On making new acquaintances it's not long before I'm berated because I'm not up to par on Adam Malysz... but who (apart from 40 million Poles) cares about ski jumping?
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
The quiet American and a conundrum.
I have a friend called Chris from Colorado. He has been teaching English for eight or nine years. He's had his fill of Poland and wants to return home but it's not so simple... he has a two year old girl called Aniela.
A few years ago he married a Polish girl here in Lodz. They had a child whom Chris's wife, quite shrewdly, ensured was born in the States. They have now separated, the wife has the child and he is renting a dingy little hovel down the road. His job is tedious and repetitive, he earns a pittance, and he finds the Poles rude and boorish. There is nothing to keep him here except little Aniela. He tells me he is frequently depressed and lonely, I see him often as I sympathise - but what can I say to him? What should he do? Stay or go? His soon to be ex-wife is vile to him but Chris still entertains the idea of a reunion purely out of love for the child.
Chris's father is loaded but does not help his son in any way, only telephoning occasionally to ask advice on his investments (Chris studied investment banking). Chris is a quiet American, well-mannered and intelligent. His parents visited once and hated it. They feel his life is meaningless. And yet how could he leave his child? A conundrum indeed.
A few years ago he married a Polish girl here in Lodz. They had a child whom Chris's wife, quite shrewdly, ensured was born in the States. They have now separated, the wife has the child and he is renting a dingy little hovel down the road. His job is tedious and repetitive, he earns a pittance, and he finds the Poles rude and boorish. There is nothing to keep him here except little Aniela. He tells me he is frequently depressed and lonely, I see him often as I sympathise - but what can I say to him? What should he do? Stay or go? His soon to be ex-wife is vile to him but Chris still entertains the idea of a reunion purely out of love for the child.
Chris's father is loaded but does not help his son in any way, only telephoning occasionally to ask advice on his investments (Chris studied investment banking). Chris is a quiet American, well-mannered and intelligent. His parents visited once and hated it. They feel his life is meaningless. And yet how could he leave his child? A conundrum indeed.
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