Having just got back from a few days in London it strikes me again just how many Poles are now in the capital. Everytime I get on a bus I am sitting next to Poles. When I get off the bus I am facing a Polski Sklep (Polish shop). When I go to a pub or restaurant I am served by Poles. I am greeted by them at hotel receptions and accosted by them at markets. They are renovating my friends houses and looking after them in hospitals. They are taking advantage of a plethora of free university courses (I would have to pay for any education in Poland). They are hearing Sunday Services from Polish priests and in their native language. For the first time in over 500 years England has now more Catholics than Anglicans, this being a direct result of the Polish invasion. Polish people in Great Britain far outnumber all other immigrants... they are everywhere.
After Germany beat Poland in Euro 2008 I phoned Big German Friend with congratulations. When England are playing even the most obscure of nations, Poles always support the opposite side. They never support England. They are resentful because of all the Poles in 'slave labour', but if things were that bad in the UK why don't they just go home? And why blame England? Millions of Poles having fled their homeland... surely it is Poland that is the problem?
The fact is that a young Polish architect or engineer can earn more money and have a better standard of living managing a shop or restaurant in Britain. Not only is the average income in Poland pathetic (less than 80 quid per week), but employees receive no tea breaks and only half an hour for lunch (if that). Working conditions are often horrendous and employees rights are non-existent. Health and Safety is an unknown concept and Poland still not having grasped capitalism, choice is little and prices inflated. When getting on planes to visit family back home, Polish people are invariably loaded down with carrier bags full of cheap goods (Polish shop owners buy much of their stock in Argos!).
Consequently they are happy to be living in Britain and are much more productive than their British counterparts who have had it so easy for so long. But why can't Poles be a little more gracious about their new adopted home? The Polish papers scream POLES EXPLOITED IN GREAT BRITAIN! and all you will here from Polish immigrants in the UK is about their "Beautiful" Poland and how wonderful things are back home. Yeah, right.
Word of the week: Niegrzeczny meaning rude.
Thursday, 12 June 2008
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
Return to a city in chaos.
The train back to Lodz took a while longer than the usual 2 hours as most of the line is being taken up and replaced. Much to my disappointment the old 'cold war' trains are being superseded by new stock. On leaving the train station I strolled the 15 minutes back to my flat on the main street. The whole country is being dug up and Lodz is in the middle of it. Great holes in the road cause generally angry drivers to become even angrier, although anything that slows these lunatics can only be a good thing. The death rate on Polish roads is 250% higher than in the UK. It came as no surprise to me that the Grand Prix last Sunday was won by a Pole.
No diversion signs are set up and the streets are filled with motorists searching for a clue as to where they are, if you do not know the concrete jungle you are lost. Another thing which I have always found infuriating is that there are no signs to the City Centre, so consequently you can drive around the suburbs for hours before finding your way into town. The only reason for this that I can think of is that, up until recently, most Poles just did not travel, even to other cities. And yet there must have been trade surely? Long stretches of pavement are closed off with no consideration for how pedestrians are to continue their journey. Traffic lights at major intersections do not work and warring drivers fight their way forward inch by inch with much honking and swearing, police do not bother to manage the traffic and it's every man for himself. This is how Lodz looks and has done for sometime.
Billions of Euros from the EU which is going towards 'revitalising' the country also seems to be providing big expensive cars for anyone with even a distant cousin working in the government. I can understand that a lot of road needs widening and clear markings have to be put down (a rarity!), but miles of perfectly good pavement elsewhere in the city is being needessly destroyed. Charming old trams are disappearing and new and characterless state-of-the-art vehicles now wait for the new rails being laid (no extra buses were laid on for commuters who for months have had a hellish journey to work). So much money wasted. And it's all taking forever as there is a chronic shortage of workers, all of them having emigrated to Great Britain. Even the President of Poland Lech Kaczynski recently joked that he could not find a plumber. There is much talk in the press of Poles returning home but I don't see any evidence of it, no-one I know has come back - they are all settling in the UK and having children. Ryanair and Easyjet etc make it easy for them to visit family in Poland regularly, booking their tickets way in advance for 3 quid.
The 2012 European Football Championships will take place in Poland and Ukraine. There is much doubt that the necessary infrastructure will be put in place in order to host the event and the hundreds of thousands of fans that are expected. As yet no world class stadium exists in Poland and extensive recruitment of labour from Russia and China is a strong possibility. Lodz, mercifully, is not one of the cities that will be hosting the tournament.
No diversion signs are set up and the streets are filled with motorists searching for a clue as to where they are, if you do not know the concrete jungle you are lost. Another thing which I have always found infuriating is that there are no signs to the City Centre, so consequently you can drive around the suburbs for hours before finding your way into town. The only reason for this that I can think of is that, up until recently, most Poles just did not travel, even to other cities. And yet there must have been trade surely? Long stretches of pavement are closed off with no consideration for how pedestrians are to continue their journey. Traffic lights at major intersections do not work and warring drivers fight their way forward inch by inch with much honking and swearing, police do not bother to manage the traffic and it's every man for himself. This is how Lodz looks and has done for sometime.
Billions of Euros from the EU which is going towards 'revitalising' the country also seems to be providing big expensive cars for anyone with even a distant cousin working in the government. I can understand that a lot of road needs widening and clear markings have to be put down (a rarity!), but miles of perfectly good pavement elsewhere in the city is being needessly destroyed. Charming old trams are disappearing and new and characterless state-of-the-art vehicles now wait for the new rails being laid (no extra buses were laid on for commuters who for months have had a hellish journey to work). So much money wasted. And it's all taking forever as there is a chronic shortage of workers, all of them having emigrated to Great Britain. Even the President of Poland Lech Kaczynski recently joked that he could not find a plumber. There is much talk in the press of Poles returning home but I don't see any evidence of it, no-one I know has come back - they are all settling in the UK and having children. Ryanair and Easyjet etc make it easy for them to visit family in Poland regularly, booking their tickets way in advance for 3 quid.
The 2012 European Football Championships will take place in Poland and Ukraine. There is much doubt that the necessary infrastructure will be put in place in order to host the event and the hundreds of thousands of fans that are expected. As yet no world class stadium exists in Poland and extensive recruitment of labour from Russia and China is a strong possibility. Lodz, mercifully, is not one of the cities that will be hosting the tournament.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
Smile please!
Having to pass through Warsaw on my way back to Lodz, I took the opportunity to spend an evening with Big Eggs. Unbeknown to me he'd booked me in at the Marriot, the tallest building and probably the most expensive hotel in town. He met me on the platform and despite my protestations grabbed my suitcase and marched off... "But you are my the best friend and my flat is so dirty!" As we were leaving the station a street seller offered us some cheap pens at which we shook our heads, the seller shouted after Big Eggs "I'm not going to watch any more of your films!" We were still chuckling when, on entering the hotel a well dressed man said hello. "Who was that?" I enquired, to which Big Eggs replied "I don't know, I think I fucked him once."
We dumped my stuff and I showered while Bigs Eggs updated me on his latest castings. We took the lift to the bar on the top floor which has the best views of the Ugly City. We met another actor friend of his who was about to leave for St. Petersburg. He had been involved in one of those dancing talent shows (Polish television is saturated with them) and fell in love with his Russian partner. When the programme came to a close she was a few days late in returning to her hometown of St. Petersburg and now the Russian authorities have forbid her from leaving again... fucking Communists. So this chap is going to drop everything here, including a promising career, to be with her in Russia. He intends to study the language and search for work. Romance at it's finest. He told us about the nightmarish bureauracracy and the amount of documentation needed in order to get to St. Petersburg (if you go as a tourist it's easier).
The next day Big Eggs had a photo session lined up. Showbusiness in Poland is backward to say the least (there is no Polish word for showbusiness so this is another one of many English words they use). Obviously concerned that he doesn't have a regular squeeze, his agent organised a girl with whom he could be snapped. This is what they were doing to bachelors Rock Hudson and Montgomery Clift in the 1950's. They usually pose the actor sat at outdoor cafes reading worthy tomes or his latest script. The girl would normally be pictured in a rose garden sniffing at the blooms or playing with a cocker spaniel. Then they will often include some 'candid' shots of him and his 'new love' strolling through the park, the wind flying through her hair while he signs autographs or feeds the ducks. I met Big Eggs afterwards and asked how it went but he couldn't even remember his 'girlfriend's name.
We dumped my stuff and I showered while Bigs Eggs updated me on his latest castings. We took the lift to the bar on the top floor which has the best views of the Ugly City. We met another actor friend of his who was about to leave for St. Petersburg. He had been involved in one of those dancing talent shows (Polish television is saturated with them) and fell in love with his Russian partner. When the programme came to a close she was a few days late in returning to her hometown of St. Petersburg and now the Russian authorities have forbid her from leaving again... fucking Communists. So this chap is going to drop everything here, including a promising career, to be with her in Russia. He intends to study the language and search for work. Romance at it's finest. He told us about the nightmarish bureauracracy and the amount of documentation needed in order to get to St. Petersburg (if you go as a tourist it's easier).
The next day Big Eggs had a photo session lined up. Showbusiness in Poland is backward to say the least (there is no Polish word for showbusiness so this is another one of many English words they use). Obviously concerned that he doesn't have a regular squeeze, his agent organised a girl with whom he could be snapped. This is what they were doing to bachelors Rock Hudson and Montgomery Clift in the 1950's. They usually pose the actor sat at outdoor cafes reading worthy tomes or his latest script. The girl would normally be pictured in a rose garden sniffing at the blooms or playing with a cocker spaniel. Then they will often include some 'candid' shots of him and his 'new love' strolling through the park, the wind flying through her hair while he signs autographs or feeds the ducks. I met Big Eggs afterwards and asked how it went but he couldn't even remember his 'girlfriend's name.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Every boy's wet dream.
I stopped off in Lviv to break up the journey and pick up some stuff I had left, which meant spending another night in the flat waist high in Christian reading. My landlady Nadya and her poor husband Borys invited me round for a cuppa that evening. We sat in front of a cinema sized television and I attempted to converse while they watched a loud and kitschy talent show. Allowing a suitable time to pass and having consumed enough tea for the month, I made to leave but it was not so easy...
"YOU WANT MORE TEA? TEA? BORYS! YOU NO LIKE TEA?" Nadya bellowed at me. Many Eastern Europeans who are not used to talking to foreigners automatically raise their voices and repeat the same words over and over again. I may have trouble understanding other languages but I'm not deaf or stupid!
"No, thank you." I said.
"YOU NO LIKE TEA?
"Yes, it's very nice, but I don't want another one."
"YOU WANT EAT? WHY YOU NO HUNGRY? BORYS WILL TO MAKE WATER TO TEA... BORYS!!"
The next morning with a couple of hours to kill, I took a walk around the old town before my train was due. I said hello to a girl just too pretty to ignore. I was glad to be back in Lviv where they speak Ukrainian which is similar to Polish. We strolled to the main thoroughfare together as she was looking for a t-shirt. Her make-up had been somewhat enthusiastically applied and reminded me of Liz Taylor's Cleopatra. She told me of her ambition to work in Human Resources and her aim to move to Moscow, I imagined Chekov giving me a wry smile.
We stopped at a Country Fair which had come to town. Smiley people presided over stalls galore offering such produce as cheese, wine, glass and peasant jewelry, pottery, local art and wooden carvings. Sooty blacksmiths manipulated red hot iron and traditionally attired babuszkas sold shawls and blouses. There were colourfully costumed 'cossacks' dancing and frequent firing of antique muskets.
It being time for me to leave the Ukraine, we bid each other farewell and with a womanly wiggle my companion walked away without looking back. A ravishing combination of wild black hair, a tiny waist and low cut hipsters which were met with red stilletto's on which she glided around effortlessly... she was every boy's wet dream. She turned down a side street, stopped to look in a shop window, and stepped inside.
Word of the week: Laska meaning sexy girl.
"YOU WANT MORE TEA? TEA? BORYS! YOU NO LIKE TEA?" Nadya bellowed at me. Many Eastern Europeans who are not used to talking to foreigners automatically raise their voices and repeat the same words over and over again. I may have trouble understanding other languages but I'm not deaf or stupid!
"No, thank you." I said.
"YOU NO LIKE TEA?
"Yes, it's very nice, but I don't want another one."
"YOU WANT EAT? WHY YOU NO HUNGRY? BORYS WILL TO MAKE WATER TO TEA... BORYS!!"
The next morning with a couple of hours to kill, I took a walk around the old town before my train was due. I said hello to a girl just too pretty to ignore. I was glad to be back in Lviv where they speak Ukrainian which is similar to Polish. We strolled to the main thoroughfare together as she was looking for a t-shirt. Her make-up had been somewhat enthusiastically applied and reminded me of Liz Taylor's Cleopatra. She told me of her ambition to work in Human Resources and her aim to move to Moscow, I imagined Chekov giving me a wry smile.
We stopped at a Country Fair which had come to town. Smiley people presided over stalls galore offering such produce as cheese, wine, glass and peasant jewelry, pottery, local art and wooden carvings. Sooty blacksmiths manipulated red hot iron and traditionally attired babuszkas sold shawls and blouses. There were colourfully costumed 'cossacks' dancing and frequent firing of antique muskets.
It being time for me to leave the Ukraine, we bid each other farewell and with a womanly wiggle my companion walked away without looking back. A ravishing combination of wild black hair, a tiny waist and low cut hipsters which were met with red stilletto's on which she glided around effortlessly... she was every boy's wet dream. She turned down a side street, stopped to look in a shop window, and stepped inside.
Word of the week: Laska meaning sexy girl.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Time to get back.
Odesa calls to mind those boomtowns of the Wild West; deep in debauchery, gold, wine, women and song. It's one big funfair, but if you are not organised then the intense heat - like anywhere - can be quite unpleasant.
I remember arriving on the Greek Islands one summer with a few friends who assured me that there was no need to arrange accommodation beforehand as there "will be lots of Greeks waiting when we alight from the boats." Ha! The ship docked in the fierce midday sun with not a soul to be seen... and tons of roudy English descending. We spent the first two days trapsing round the islands searching - me Atlas like under the great weight of my girlfriends massive rucksack - and the nights sleeping on the beach. On the third day I waded into the water for a paddle and stepped on a porcupine-type sea urchin which left me with over 50 spines in my foot. Yeah, that was a great holiday. I found a doctor to whom I paid about 30 quid to help me, all he did was attack me with a needle. The islanders swore that the best way to remove the spines was to pour human urine over them, so my friends all pissed into a bottle and poured it slowly over the base of my aching foot. It didn't do any good and I've never known if this is really part of Greek folklore or just the locals having a laugh.
Odesa was certainly lively but I have decided to head back westwards to Poland, to go any further east from here on my own would be foolhardy especially as I don't speak Russian. Knowing that it would probably take some time and not a little effort to buy my train ticket, I made a point of going to the railway station the day before I wanted to leave. I was right. I queued for a good 30 minutes and when I got to the window I was told tersely that I had to go to another place. I queued again elsewhere for an hour and when I got to the front she pulled down the blind. It is disconcerting the way they speak to each other, like in Poland, without any courtesy or cordiality. Then a miracle! I recognised Vitaly and Alexej in yet another queue, they had been in Odesa for a few days and had had the same idea as me. So I joined them and we took pictures of ourselves while fending off others pushing in.
At the next window an argument seemed to have broken out. The battleaxe behind the glass was shrieking at a man who was in turn gesticulating wildly... "What going on?" I asked my comrades. Vitaly calmly replied... "He's buying a ticket." At the end of another long wait we purchased our return journeys home, the boys going north to Moscow and me west to Lviv where I would spend one last night before the final leg back across the Polish border to Lodz.
I remember arriving on the Greek Islands one summer with a few friends who assured me that there was no need to arrange accommodation beforehand as there "will be lots of Greeks waiting when we alight from the boats." Ha! The ship docked in the fierce midday sun with not a soul to be seen... and tons of roudy English descending. We spent the first two days trapsing round the islands searching - me Atlas like under the great weight of my girlfriends massive rucksack - and the nights sleeping on the beach. On the third day I waded into the water for a paddle and stepped on a porcupine-type sea urchin which left me with over 50 spines in my foot. Yeah, that was a great holiday. I found a doctor to whom I paid about 30 quid to help me, all he did was attack me with a needle. The islanders swore that the best way to remove the spines was to pour human urine over them, so my friends all pissed into a bottle and poured it slowly over the base of my aching foot. It didn't do any good and I've never known if this is really part of Greek folklore or just the locals having a laugh.
Odesa was certainly lively but I have decided to head back westwards to Poland, to go any further east from here on my own would be foolhardy especially as I don't speak Russian. Knowing that it would probably take some time and not a little effort to buy my train ticket, I made a point of going to the railway station the day before I wanted to leave. I was right. I queued for a good 30 minutes and when I got to the window I was told tersely that I had to go to another place. I queued again elsewhere for an hour and when I got to the front she pulled down the blind. It is disconcerting the way they speak to each other, like in Poland, without any courtesy or cordiality. Then a miracle! I recognised Vitaly and Alexej in yet another queue, they had been in Odesa for a few days and had had the same idea as me. So I joined them and we took pictures of ourselves while fending off others pushing in.
At the next window an argument seemed to have broken out. The battleaxe behind the glass was shrieking at a man who was in turn gesticulating wildly... "What going on?" I asked my comrades. Vitaly calmly replied... "He's buying a ticket." At the end of another long wait we purchased our return journeys home, the boys going north to Moscow and me west to Lviv where I would spend one last night before the final leg back across the Polish border to Lodz.
Thursday, 29 May 2008
A feast to behold.
Feeling in expansive mood now with my new gangster connections, I took another epic train journey down to the south to have a look at Odesa, the seaside playground of the Ukraine and stronghold of the Mafia.
A city of one million people, Odesa is like Sopot in Poland or Brighton without the grunge. The first thing I did was check out the famous concrete steps made famous in Eisenstein's 1925 film Battleship Potemkin and familiar to any film buff. Monumental and the perfect meeting place.
Odesans are seen by Ukrainians as a different breed, with a unique energy, humour, and a slight snootiness. The density of pubs and clubs is greater here than in any other city, and like most seaside towns it takes on a different personality in the summer. I've always thought that holiday resorts are much more interesting in January. There are without doubt loads of brothels, and 'Romance Tours' bring older men from the States to hook up with local lasses. Many of these online dating agencies are run by criminal organisations. God knows how the 'couples' converse as it's only Russian spoken here. Still, I don't suppose they do much talking.
Of course it was only a matter of minutes in the town before I spotted a McDonalds. The Ukrainians put garlic on everything, be it toast for breakfast or chips for lunch, it all gets covered in the stuff. Garlic is fantastic but I thought I would take a break from it and pop into our favourite American 'restaurant'. Young Ukrainians spurn traditional cuisine for junk food and pizza, which is a shame as Ukrainian food is delicious. Invariably with masses of people queueing, this was the first McDonalds I could actually get into. Depressing eh?
When I eventually got to the counter, the boy at the till beamed at me and, seizing a chance to practice his English said, "What can I help you?" I looked up at the familiar menu and pointing to what looked like a Big Mac I said... "I'll have one of those."
"Oh, you mean a schwelterinszkay?"
"Right, yes, that'll do me. And some chips."
"No, we no have the chips, only fritki."
"Yes," I said. I knew from my Polish that fritki means fries so I was getting somewhere. He looked up after tapping on a screen, "and this to drink?"
"Coca-cola" I articulated, assured by the fact and the whole world understands that.
"Small, to this medium or the big one?"
"The big one, I mean a large coke."
He focused once more on the screen and tapped. "And sauce?" he added.
I pointed to a picture of what looked like mayonnaise... "this white stuff."
I handed him a blue note and he presented me with my change and a receipt, saying "Your check."
"You mean my RECEIPT," I corrected him. Europeans using American terminology really gets my goat.
A tray was swiftly handed to me and I weaved my way through the clamour of the crowd. I made a beeline for a rare seat, sat down and examined my lunch. I had been given a fillet-of-fish, no fries and a small coke. He'd got the mayonnaise right though.
A city of one million people, Odesa is like Sopot in Poland or Brighton without the grunge. The first thing I did was check out the famous concrete steps made famous in Eisenstein's 1925 film Battleship Potemkin and familiar to any film buff. Monumental and the perfect meeting place.
Odesans are seen by Ukrainians as a different breed, with a unique energy, humour, and a slight snootiness. The density of pubs and clubs is greater here than in any other city, and like most seaside towns it takes on a different personality in the summer. I've always thought that holiday resorts are much more interesting in January. There are without doubt loads of brothels, and 'Romance Tours' bring older men from the States to hook up with local lasses. Many of these online dating agencies are run by criminal organisations. God knows how the 'couples' converse as it's only Russian spoken here. Still, I don't suppose they do much talking.
Of course it was only a matter of minutes in the town before I spotted a McDonalds. The Ukrainians put garlic on everything, be it toast for breakfast or chips for lunch, it all gets covered in the stuff. Garlic is fantastic but I thought I would take a break from it and pop into our favourite American 'restaurant'. Young Ukrainians spurn traditional cuisine for junk food and pizza, which is a shame as Ukrainian food is delicious. Invariably with masses of people queueing, this was the first McDonalds I could actually get into. Depressing eh?
When I eventually got to the counter, the boy at the till beamed at me and, seizing a chance to practice his English said, "What can I help you?" I looked up at the familiar menu and pointing to what looked like a Big Mac I said... "I'll have one of those."
"Oh, you mean a schwelterinszkay?"
"Right, yes, that'll do me. And some chips."
"No, we no have the chips, only fritki."
"Yes," I said. I knew from my Polish that fritki means fries so I was getting somewhere. He looked up after tapping on a screen, "and this to drink?"
"Coca-cola" I articulated, assured by the fact and the whole world understands that.
"Small, to this medium or the big one?"
"The big one, I mean a large coke."
He focused once more on the screen and tapped. "And sauce?" he added.
I pointed to a picture of what looked like mayonnaise... "this white stuff."
I handed him a blue note and he presented me with my change and a receipt, saying "Your check."
"You mean my RECEIPT," I corrected him. Europeans using American terminology really gets my goat.
A tray was swiftly handed to me and I weaved my way through the clamour of the crowd. I made a beeline for a rare seat, sat down and examined my lunch. I had been given a fillet-of-fish, no fries and a small coke. He'd got the mayonnaise right though.
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Eurovision... another year of bloc voting.
Surprise surprise, Russia won the Eurovision Song Contest.
Since the Eastern European countries were invited to participate in The Eurovision Song Contest eight years ago, not one country in western Europe has won or even come close. This year the United Kingdom came last again. No-one, not even the BBC would admit it until now, but bloc voting is the way it goes. Eastern European countries flagrantly vote only for each other, regardless of what the entries look or sound like, and because there are so many of them the larger industrialised members in the west don't stand a chance. This is no longer a song contest.
The results of last night's competition reveal that nations east of the Adriatic Sea occupied the top 15 places in the competition. It is an example of the way things work on this side of the continent. Eastern European neighbourly back-scratching has turned this 'contest' into a mockery and it's a shame. In the ex-eastern bloc corruption is still rife and on all levels. There is no sense of fairness. You can see this even here in this once funny camp kitschfest, Eurovision was always light fluffy fun to us, but now it has become humiliating. Terry Wogan who has compered the contest since 1980 says he may not return next year as there is just no point in the UK (or any of the original participants) taking part.
What really pisses me off is that France, Germany, Spain and the UK all bear the brunt of the cost of Eurovision. The 'big four' all limped in last yet again last night. If Eastern Europe wants to let politics takeover the contest then lets pull out and let them pay for it and get on with it!
Since the Eastern European countries were invited to participate in The Eurovision Song Contest eight years ago, not one country in western Europe has won or even come close. This year the United Kingdom came last again. No-one, not even the BBC would admit it until now, but bloc voting is the way it goes. Eastern European countries flagrantly vote only for each other, regardless of what the entries look or sound like, and because there are so many of them the larger industrialised members in the west don't stand a chance. This is no longer a song contest.
The results of last night's competition reveal that nations east of the Adriatic Sea occupied the top 15 places in the competition. It is an example of the way things work on this side of the continent. Eastern European neighbourly back-scratching has turned this 'contest' into a mockery and it's a shame. In the ex-eastern bloc corruption is still rife and on all levels. There is no sense of fairness. You can see this even here in this once funny camp kitschfest, Eurovision was always light fluffy fun to us, but now it has become humiliating. Terry Wogan who has compered the contest since 1980 says he may not return next year as there is just no point in the UK (or any of the original participants) taking part.
What really pisses me off is that France, Germany, Spain and the UK all bear the brunt of the cost of Eurovision. The 'big four' all limped in last yet again last night. If Eastern Europe wants to let politics takeover the contest then lets pull out and let them pay for it and get on with it!
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