Esmeralda failed her MOT and Polish law allows 14 days for repairs before she must be taken off the road. Unlike in the UK, MOT centres here do not fix cars so I had to take Esmeralda to Mike and the mechanics who set about her but took longer than expected and when I picked her up she was technically illegal.
Setting off on the dual carriageway I couldn't remember the way to the MOT garage so Lola drove in front of me as a guide. She zoomed through an orange light and in order to avoid losing her I foolishly put my foot down although I could easily have stopped at the red. At the next junction a patrol car crept up alongside and ordered me to pull over.
Ready to admit my guilt and pay a fine, I was also aware of how the traffic police operate here in Poland. I've been a passenger in the past when friends have been pulled over for speeding and know the routine. Around a hundred quid cash bribe is usually paid with no fine and points recorded.
The rozzers asked for my documents and informed me that it would cost me 6 points on my licence and 150 quid to boot. I chilled him out with a little charm and we chatted.
"So what should we do with you? he asked... "How much do you want to pay?" Something prevented me from suggesting a figure although they made it clear that it would be very welcome. He enquired several times how much I wanted to pay without actually asking for a bribe.
"Just tell me how much the fine is and I will pay it," I said, feigning ignorance. There was also a part of me that wanted him to know that I was British and bribing policemen is something that we just do not do.
In order to give me a little more time to let the idea sink in, or maybe he was genuinely interested, he asked me what I did in Lodz. He then surprised me by saying...
"Are you Polish?" An odd thing to say I thought. It is obvious even before I speak that I am not a local.... and why not ask simply where I was from? After enlightening him as to my heritage he asked.
"How much do you earn in London?"
"Oh," I said jokingly, "not much. I'm very poor, just look at my old wreck of a car." Fortunately Esmeralda was looking distinctly grubby after a few days with M & the m's. My shifty eyed traffic cop took another glance at my beautifully renovated classic VW Beetle and finally latching on that there was to be no forthcoming cash handout he gave me back my documents.
"As you are so nice we will let you off, you are free to go." That was indeed magnanimous of him as he could have given me a fine anyway, I thanked them and off they sped to their next target.
Word of the week: lapowka meaning bribe.
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Sunday, 2 November 2008
Cemetery weekend.
The 1st and 2nd of November are two days in Poland when the dead are remembered and commemorated. Everything shuts down on these public holidays and it seems like the whole population without exception return to the towns and villages where they grew up, meet up with their families and head off to where their relatives are buried. Flowers are placed, candles lit, and masses said. Neighbours and acquaintances are spotted and greetings exchanged.
In the cities roads are cut off and police guides employed to deal with the huge amount of traffic coming and going. During the day the cemeteries are not particularly appealing but when night falls the thousands of coloured candles make for a magical setting and dazzle from afar like a fairy scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream - this is the best time to visit.
Polish gravestones are much of a likeness, thick marble slabs of considerable size which are laid flat with a headstone at one end and are placed very close together in rows. They are exceedingly expensive and there is much pressure to spend a lot on such a tombstone. Even in the extremely poor parts of Lodz the cemeteries are crammed with costly chunks of marble, some families take out huge bank loans to buy a burial place costing a year's wages. It makes no sense at all but that's how it is here.
I once accompanied friends who went to choose a gravestone for a relative who had died... death is big business and tombstones are very lucrative for the companies making them. At the showroom we walked up and down lines of great marble slabs all costing thousands of pounds. My friends are retired country folk with no capital and when I made my astonishment at the prices known they said that they had no choice... "People will point at us in the cemetery and in the street and we would be humiliated if we do not buy such a gravestone" they confided. A simple cross is not an option.
In the cities roads are cut off and police guides employed to deal with the huge amount of traffic coming and going. During the day the cemeteries are not particularly appealing but when night falls the thousands of coloured candles make for a magical setting and dazzle from afar like a fairy scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream - this is the best time to visit.
Polish gravestones are much of a likeness, thick marble slabs of considerable size which are laid flat with a headstone at one end and are placed very close together in rows. They are exceedingly expensive and there is much pressure to spend a lot on such a tombstone. Even in the extremely poor parts of Lodz the cemeteries are crammed with costly chunks of marble, some families take out huge bank loans to buy a burial place costing a year's wages. It makes no sense at all but that's how it is here.
I once accompanied friends who went to choose a gravestone for a relative who had died... death is big business and tombstones are very lucrative for the companies making them. At the showroom we walked up and down lines of great marble slabs all costing thousands of pounds. My friends are retired country folk with no capital and when I made my astonishment at the prices known they said that they had no choice... "People will point at us in the cemetery and in the street and we would be humiliated if we do not buy such a gravestone" they confided. A simple cross is not an option.
Friday, 31 October 2008
Wardrobe woes.
Like most things in Poland, antiques are horribly expensive. The weekend markets are full of hideous rubbish and the people pushing their way round are hard to deal with. So I've been looking online at the Polish auction site Allegro which is similar to ebay. Ebay.pl arrived in Poland three years ago but has not made any headway at all - there is hardly anything on it... it is difficult to get Poles to change their ways.
So, browsing Allegro.pl I can't believe that I will have to fork out 600 pounds for an old wardrobe which you could pick up in the north of England for 25 quid. New furniture is slightly cheaper but ghastly to look at and poorly put together. Capitalism is still in it's infancy here. There are no bargains, indeed, sellers want a fortune for everything.
Scrolling down the Allegro items for sale, even the tat is described as UNIQUE!!!!!!!!! and has a ridiculously high starting price and/or reserve price. Invariably every sentence ends in dozens of exclamation marks and the majority of antique furniture is listed as ART DECO!!!!!!!!! no matter what it looks like. They do not know what Art Deco means but have latched on to this term as something meaning 'old.'
It is the same for cars. Even write-offs are advertised online at ludicrous prices. An 12 year old Jaguar which you could pick up in Blighty for a couple of grand would set you back 14 thousand pounds in Poland... laughable. And it would need a respray. Many Poles shoot across the border to Germany to buy stuff there including cars. Mobile phones and smaller goods are bought in the UK and often resold here for extortionate prices.
So shopping is tedious and expensive and the choice is minimal. Ikea has at last arrived in Lodz and should be ready by August 2009. I can't wait.
So, browsing Allegro.pl I can't believe that I will have to fork out 600 pounds for an old wardrobe which you could pick up in the north of England for 25 quid. New furniture is slightly cheaper but ghastly to look at and poorly put together. Capitalism is still in it's infancy here. There are no bargains, indeed, sellers want a fortune for everything.
Scrolling down the Allegro items for sale, even the tat is described as UNIQUE!!!!!!!!! and has a ridiculously high starting price and/or reserve price. Invariably every sentence ends in dozens of exclamation marks and the majority of antique furniture is listed as ART DECO!!!!!!!!! no matter what it looks like. They do not know what Art Deco means but have latched on to this term as something meaning 'old.'
It is the same for cars. Even write-offs are advertised online at ludicrous prices. An 12 year old Jaguar which you could pick up in Blighty for a couple of grand would set you back 14 thousand pounds in Poland... laughable. And it would need a respray. Many Poles shoot across the border to Germany to buy stuff there including cars. Mobile phones and smaller goods are bought in the UK and often resold here for extortionate prices.
So shopping is tedious and expensive and the choice is minimal. Ikea has at last arrived in Lodz and should be ready by August 2009. I can't wait.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Nouveau Cuisine.
I bumped into Vincent today. Bespectacled, podgy, pasty white and not even slightly attractive, Vincent is from Belgium. He lives here in Lodz with his Polish girlfriend since meeting her in England a few years ago and he has a small business importing Belgian beer. We used to be pals but he fell out with me after inviting Lola and myself to dinner.
He had long boasted about his culinary competence and ordered us over one Sunday morning with instructions not to eat breakfast as we would be treated to a handsome lunch and a banquet of a dinner.
We arrived at midday already famished. It wasn't long before he started to fanny around in the kitchen with much clamour and detailed narration in his Poirot accent of precisely what he was preparing. An hour later he emerged with what he described as a 'symbolic' lunch as we should save ourselves for the evening feast. The lunch consisted of three small prawns on half a slice of toast. Having downed our meal in 3.5 seconds we had to endure Vincent 'ooohing', and 'aaahing' as he enjoyed the fruits of his labour, chewing for 10 minutes on each prawn. His girlfriend is built like a broomstick and hardly pecked at her fine fare.
I'd brought the dogs and it was suggested that we go for a long afternoon walk to really build up an appetite for our evening binge. This was not necessary as I was ready to start scoffing the sideboard. Once outside, I dived into a corner shop and bought some ice-cream hoping this would stave off our hunger.
When we got back I opened the wine we had brought (oddly their flat was devoid of alcohol) and sat back again while Vincent returned to the kitchen, popping his head out now and then to enlighten us on what exactly he was preparing and the skill he was employing to create this magnificent meal. Lola and myself lay almost comatosed with hunger on the sofa while the girlfriend waxed lyrical about Vincent's cooking and what a marvel he was.
By seven o'clock we were barely conscious when Vincent finally emerged triumphant with a vast plate in each hand which he carefully placed in front of us. The style of the food was the same as their flat... minimalistic. I was looking at four pieces of ravioli. Lola and I looked up at each other in disabelief. Two mouthfuls was all it took, I then turned to Vincent who was making appreciative "MMMMMM!" noises with each munch and asked if there was more... "MORE?" he bellowed as if auditioning for an amateur stage production of Oliver Twist. Of course there was no more.
They then wanted us to settle back and watch a film but we exited pronto and headed for the nearest McDonalds where we engulfed enough grub for 8 people.
A week later I met them in the pub and Vincent asked expectantly if we'd enjoyed his table. "Very tasty," I said, "but we were still very hungry when we left and went to McDonalds." This sent him into shock and he was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. He has never forgiven me for this confession and his stick insect of a girlfriend said that I had hurt him terribly. I was not angry that he had starved us for a whole day so why was he so upset when I'd simply been honest with him!
So that was that. We never heard from them again until I bumped into him today. It's a mystery why he remains so plump when he eats so little... it must be the beer.
Word of the week: uczta meaning feast.
He had long boasted about his culinary competence and ordered us over one Sunday morning with instructions not to eat breakfast as we would be treated to a handsome lunch and a banquet of a dinner.
We arrived at midday already famished. It wasn't long before he started to fanny around in the kitchen with much clamour and detailed narration in his Poirot accent of precisely what he was preparing. An hour later he emerged with what he described as a 'symbolic' lunch as we should save ourselves for the evening feast. The lunch consisted of three small prawns on half a slice of toast. Having downed our meal in 3.5 seconds we had to endure Vincent 'ooohing', and 'aaahing' as he enjoyed the fruits of his labour, chewing for 10 minutes on each prawn. His girlfriend is built like a broomstick and hardly pecked at her fine fare.
I'd brought the dogs and it was suggested that we go for a long afternoon walk to really build up an appetite for our evening binge. This was not necessary as I was ready to start scoffing the sideboard. Once outside, I dived into a corner shop and bought some ice-cream hoping this would stave off our hunger.
When we got back I opened the wine we had brought (oddly their flat was devoid of alcohol) and sat back again while Vincent returned to the kitchen, popping his head out now and then to enlighten us on what exactly he was preparing and the skill he was employing to create this magnificent meal. Lola and myself lay almost comatosed with hunger on the sofa while the girlfriend waxed lyrical about Vincent's cooking and what a marvel he was.
By seven o'clock we were barely conscious when Vincent finally emerged triumphant with a vast plate in each hand which he carefully placed in front of us. The style of the food was the same as their flat... minimalistic. I was looking at four pieces of ravioli. Lola and I looked up at each other in disabelief. Two mouthfuls was all it took, I then turned to Vincent who was making appreciative "MMMMMM!" noises with each munch and asked if there was more... "MORE?" he bellowed as if auditioning for an amateur stage production of Oliver Twist. Of course there was no more.
They then wanted us to settle back and watch a film but we exited pronto and headed for the nearest McDonalds where we engulfed enough grub for 8 people.
A week later I met them in the pub and Vincent asked expectantly if we'd enjoyed his table. "Very tasty," I said, "but we were still very hungry when we left and went to McDonalds." This sent him into shock and he was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. He has never forgiven me for this confession and his stick insect of a girlfriend said that I had hurt him terribly. I was not angry that he had starved us for a whole day so why was he so upset when I'd simply been honest with him!
So that was that. We never heard from them again until I bumped into him today. It's a mystery why he remains so plump when he eats so little... it must be the beer.
Word of the week: uczta meaning feast.
Monday, 27 October 2008
The Ukrainian Accordian Quartet.
Walking down the road the other day with Luscious Lola we came across three men playing accordians... it was Bach and we stood among a handful of people transfixed by these impassioned young men with these extraordinary squeezeboxes. It was cloudy and looked as if it might rain. Several people strolled by with a sideways glance.
After a few nervous glances heavenward they drew their concert to a close and started to pack their precious instruments away. The small number of people who had been watching walked away without leaving an appreciative coin. We congratulated them, put a note in their empty box, bought the cd's and invited them for coffee at my place 100 yards away. I repeated my road and flat number as I left them thinking they would not turn up but they surprised us a little while later.
They were the Ukrainian Accordian Quartet although the fourth had had trouble with his visa and had been unable to join them on this occasion. They came with flowers for Lola, polite and charming, they drank tea and we played Jenga. They agreed to come again later after their second 'concert' that evening. Apparently they were invited to play as part of a street festival but no-one seemed to know anything about it.
And what a fun evening it was! I picked them up in Esmeralda whom they loved although it was a trifle cramped and we headed over to Lola's place. We drank vodka and talked about the Ukraine, Poland, and Mozart. They didn't like Poland, and although the Poles were not generous it was possible to make more here than in the Ukraine where all are at the mercy of the mafia. Lola cooked and we laughed a lot. They had spent the whole weekend in Lodz but received little reward for their efforts. If they had been breakdancing or doing karaoke they would have had an audience of hundreds, but as it was no-one was interested in them. I often have to remind myself that the intelligentsia of Poland were wiped out by the Nazis and then the Soviets and consequently there is a distinct lack of culture or manners in this country.
After a few nervous glances heavenward they drew their concert to a close and started to pack their precious instruments away. The small number of people who had been watching walked away without leaving an appreciative coin. We congratulated them, put a note in their empty box, bought the cd's and invited them for coffee at my place 100 yards away. I repeated my road and flat number as I left them thinking they would not turn up but they surprised us a little while later.
They were the Ukrainian Accordian Quartet although the fourth had had trouble with his visa and had been unable to join them on this occasion. They came with flowers for Lola, polite and charming, they drank tea and we played Jenga. They agreed to come again later after their second 'concert' that evening. Apparently they were invited to play as part of a street festival but no-one seemed to know anything about it.
And what a fun evening it was! I picked them up in Esmeralda whom they loved although it was a trifle cramped and we headed over to Lola's place. We drank vodka and talked about the Ukraine, Poland, and Mozart. They didn't like Poland, and although the Poles were not generous it was possible to make more here than in the Ukraine where all are at the mercy of the mafia. Lola cooked and we laughed a lot. They had spent the whole weekend in Lodz but received little reward for their efforts. If they had been breakdancing or doing karaoke they would have had an audience of hundreds, but as it was no-one was interested in them. I often have to remind myself that the intelligentsia of Poland were wiped out by the Nazis and then the Soviets and consequently there is a distinct lack of culture or manners in this country.
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Bathroom blues.
A have spent the last four days finishing my new bathroom. I had paid two builders what in local terms is a fortune for a refit but their work was just dreadful. They usually arrived about midday and some days did not turn up at all. They left rubble and rubbish all over the flat - I still have a WC and plasterboard sitting in the staircase, they had no tools but kept using mine, they had no work lamps and no means of transport. Picking up something from the hardware shop was a big drama for them and they kept asking for money in advance... and I stupidly gave it to them.
The work was to take just two weeks but they were still here in the third week with little done and us caked in dust and debris. After pestering them for detailed invoices, they eventually presented me with hastily scribbled notes with prices for each fitting that amounted to over 10 pounds for every hole drilled. Not even solicitors get paid that much. After the last cash handout they promised to finish off what they had started but I haven't heard from them since.
On closer inspection of the bathroom I see now just how awful they were. Nothing has been sawed in a straight line, the floorboards are damaged as they put no protection down, silicone and filler has been used to disguise the shockingly shoddy state of their work. My mistake was that I didn't keep a closer eye on what they were up to. They had no tools.
And yet I was so kind to them. I gave them 30 quid each just for carrying a table upstairs for me. In Lodz the average salary is less than 500 quid a month and for labourers much less. Friends have often warned me about being too nice... "You must be more Polish," they say, ie. hard and untrusting. I see now that it is true. I've been ripped off once too often. Those two jokers were obviously not builders and yet came on the recommendation of a friend's builder. I was an easy target, after having lived here for so long I should have known better. THEY HAD NO TOOLS.
The work was to take just two weeks but they were still here in the third week with little done and us caked in dust and debris. After pestering them for detailed invoices, they eventually presented me with hastily scribbled notes with prices for each fitting that amounted to over 10 pounds for every hole drilled. Not even solicitors get paid that much. After the last cash handout they promised to finish off what they had started but I haven't heard from them since.
On closer inspection of the bathroom I see now just how awful they were. Nothing has been sawed in a straight line, the floorboards are damaged as they put no protection down, silicone and filler has been used to disguise the shockingly shoddy state of their work. My mistake was that I didn't keep a closer eye on what they were up to. They had no tools.
And yet I was so kind to them. I gave them 30 quid each just for carrying a table upstairs for me. In Lodz the average salary is less than 500 quid a month and for labourers much less. Friends have often warned me about being too nice... "You must be more Polish," they say, ie. hard and untrusting. I see now that it is true. I've been ripped off once too often. Those two jokers were obviously not builders and yet came on the recommendation of a friend's builder. I was an easy target, after having lived here for so long I should have known better. THEY HAD NO TOOLS.
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
80p for a piss.
This must be the most expensive slash in the world. I was on a train but the loos are unwelcoming to say the least, so, needing to point Percy at the porcelain, I waited until I got to the station in Lodz.
As is usually the case, a sullen and rather matronly female sat on the other side of a small window with the price 3.50zl fixed above it, that's about 80p. When I handed over my coins she furnished me with two sheets of toilet paper. Two exceedlingly rough sheets I might add. What you are supposed to do with two sheets of bog roll I don't know.
The foul stench that met me when I entered the urinal and the piss puddles I had to step over confirmed yet again that in Eastern Europe good value for money is hard to come by.
As is usually the case, a sullen and rather matronly female sat on the other side of a small window with the price 3.50zl fixed above it, that's about 80p. When I handed over my coins she furnished me with two sheets of toilet paper. Two exceedlingly rough sheets I might add. What you are supposed to do with two sheets of bog roll I don't know.
The foul stench that met me when I entered the urinal and the piss puddles I had to step over confirmed yet again that in Eastern Europe good value for money is hard to come by.
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