This title of this post refers to the name of my new band, which has existed for approximately 48 hours and some change, and will dissolve tomorrow upon my departure from the (surprisingly nice) city of Ankara.
I arrived Thursday night after a long, pleasant, tea-filled bus ride from Istanbul, during which time I had a lovely conversation with a Turkish woman who has lived in Istanbul most of her life, and works as an electrical engineer. She was returning to Istanbul by train on sunday, and shared that she loves to sit on the train with a thermos of wine and look out the window for hours. A woman after my own heart.
My connection to this city is a friend named Ryan, a man I had yet to meet but who came highly recommended to me by two of my favorite men, the Hunter brothers. He came bounding out of the university dorms as I arrived at his place, lanky arms and all smiles, and yes, a friendship was instantly formed. Ryan is teaching English for a private middle school and is one of dozens and dozens of native English speakers who were hired for one to two year contracts to teach in Ankara. Picture all of these young people, with an average age of 23, living in University dorms on a hill that overlooks the city and is about a 30 minute bus ride into downtown Ankara. Frankly I have just walked into a vortex, one that is built of beer cans and stories about who hooked up with whom the night before. It's a pretty hysterical scene, and a little exhausting, too.
Thursday evening was Thanksgiving part I, and consisted of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and lots of Whiskey.
Friday I spent the day in downtown Ankara, wandering around, eating roast lamb and vegetables for lunch, and drinking lots of coffee while reading my international spy thriller paperback.
That evening we went to a Turkish restaurant where they lay down a plastic sheet over your table, and throw down an OBSCENE amount of greens and tomatoes, sprinkled with lemon and olive oil, and you eat with your hands. Then comes a tray loaded with kebab, bread, and fire roasted peppers and more tomatoes. It was a lot of food to pack away, but it aided in soaking up the numerous liters of beer consumed by our group that evening. At this particular bar you can order a "tower" of beer, which comes in a tall, clear glass cylinder with a spigot attached. We sat downstairs in a packed pub with mostly Turkish patrons, listening to a wondeful guitar player singing acoustic, but very rockin, versions of contemporary songs. Again, eveyone knows the words and routinely breaks out into spontaneous dancing, sometimes on the tabletop.
My thirst for guitar playing was quenched the next day, as we nursed our hangovers and sat around Ryan's apartment. His next door neighbor Dan is a good ole' Northwest boy and recent Whitman grad, and between the two of them they have 2 guitars, 3 harmonicas, a tambourine, and a ukulele. They were planning to play some tunes at Thansgiving part II, scheduled to happen that evening. I quickly invited myself to join in, and the band was formed.
That evening we convened in the basement of a nearby dorm building, brought table and chairs down from various rooms, and lay out a decadent spread of homemade Thanksgiving fare on the pool table. We had pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes, loads of chicken, gravy, sweet stewed carrots, and attempted stuffing. For many of the teachers it was their first thanksgiving away from home, and quite a special night. Following our food comas we set up shop near the end of one of the tables, and entertained roughly 25 or 30 people with a set list that included Johnny Cash, Old Crow Medicine Show, and Devendra Banhart. After our first song a girl said cheerily, "you all sound surprisingly professional!" Thus greatness was born.
This event reminded me how much I value creating and being a part of these types of experiences- not everyone throws talent shows or shoots watermelons with spear guns or cooks giant waffle breakfasts for all their neighbors- all y'all out there in the Northwest are doin it right!
Sunday Ryan and I played soccer in the sand covered turf (strange set-up) near his apartment, and recorded Devendra Banhart's "At the Hop," in Dan's apartment. I will be emailed a copy of this song soon, and will do my best to post it!
Tomorrow I leave Ankara for the wilds of Mediterranean Turkey, and though I am a wee bit reluctant to leave my makeshift home here, adventure calls! I want to be a beardless Farley Mowat, writing books about strange Turkish birds and mountain villages.
Things I miss in Seattle: Kate's Pub Happy Hour, micro-brew, and seeing the mustaches being grown on the upper lips of many male friends and colleagues. If someone wants to make me a little collage of the handle-bar progress (Chad . . .) I will frame it on my wall when i get home. Speaking of school, I have also been tickled by some of my old students excitement at gmail chatting with me, and asking lots of questions about when I will come back and hang out in their Improv class, and why the heck I am in Poland, or Turkey! P.S. Some of these students, who will remain unnamed, chatted me the other week while IN CLASS! I told the ladies they should go back to work and could talk to me later, and they replied, "but we already finished all our goal setting!" Sneaky little buggers.
Three more weeks and the skyline of Seattle will be imminent on my horizon. Prepare your couches for your dear departed friend, and I promise to entertain you with more stories from the Turkish travelin' road.
all the best,
Miss Lindsey
Monday, November 29, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Pack of Wild Dogs
I have been in Istanbul for about a week, slowly taking bites out of the enormity of a city that is home to roughly 18 million inhabitants! WHOA! I have been having an absolutely swell time staying with my friend Ian, he continues to be a fabulous tour guide and host. We have imbibed much of the whiskey I bought from the duty free store at the airport, gone on long, meandering walks to drink fresh carrot juice, look at music shops, bookstores, and sit by the inky black Bosphorous to watch the ships at night. We have also spent a couple evenings watching youtube videos of the muppets singing "Oh Danny Boy," and the Dutch National Ballet performing a piece called "groosland" in fat suits. Amazing. I have frequented his favorite neighborhood sanwich shops and watering hole, where the beer is relatively cheap and nuts are salty.
Some of the best things I have eaten: a soupy egg dish with tomatoes and cheese, hot peppers and a shitload of bread; platefuls of green olives, cucumber, honey and butter cream (also with loads of bread); deep fried fresh sardines with salad; and turkish flat bread with spices, onion, and lemon as a garnish.
Things I have learned about turkish cuisine- Turks MUST eat bread with every meal, and are CONSTANTLY drinking tea.
My favorite day involved Ian and I taking a ferry to a nearby island about an hour away, and during the ride we drank our requisite tea and listened to the song-like sounds of tiny spoons touching the sides of small glass cups. This island was amazing, steep cliffs that rose out of the water, quiet seafront cafes and shuttered houses on wind blown streets. We grabbed a pack of cookies and a few beers at one of the little stores, and made our way to the top of the island, followed by two semi-wild dogs who were just thrilled that we were going for a walk. At the top we found an open meadow with horses, and a stunning view of the ocean, as well as the faraway shapes of Istanbul. Not being ready to leave, we traversed to the other side of the island, picking up two more dogs along the way. It is not often that a lady can say she hung out on a Turkish island with a pack of wild dogs, eating cookies and drinking beer on sea swept cliffs. We finished our day with a delicious fish dinner, and both promptly fell asleep on the ferry ride back to the city.
My other favorite night was when we went in search of a local rembetica band that was playing in the neighborhood, and upon finding the venue, were rewarded with some of the most beautiful, soul lifting music I have heard in ages. Rembetica is traditionally greek style music, with folk songs (a lot of times about drugs), accordion, violin, bouzouki, guitar, and clarinet. Everybody in this packed bar was throwing back glasses of Raki, favored liquor of choice in Turkey, like it was water, and before long the floor was filled with people dancing and singing along. It was gorgeous.
In between my sight seeing excursions I had the pleasure of meeting my new friend Melanie, another Seattle transplant, and we had a grand old time drinking tea, watching the old men fish by pier, and eating a fabulous dinner with her very sweet husband.
When the city starts to press in on me a little too much, or too many men give me wolf eyes, I retreat to a cup of turkish coffee and a book, and remind myself this is EXACTLY why I quit my job: so I could drink coffee and read in a foreign city, listening to the call to prayer and ruminating on the nature of life and whatnot.
Tomorrow I head to Ankara (apparently a shithole, but I am determined to have a fabulous time there) to stay with my friend Ryan and celebrate Thanksgiving. I have about 3 more weeks here, and I am lookin to take some long distance buses to some coastal beaches, and trade in my tea glass for a wine glass, and perhaps work on another farm.
This ginger is lovin Istanbul, chaos and all, and she wishes you a very happy and healthy thanksgiving, wherever you may be. Gobble Gobble from Turkey!
Some of the best things I have eaten: a soupy egg dish with tomatoes and cheese, hot peppers and a shitload of bread; platefuls of green olives, cucumber, honey and butter cream (also with loads of bread); deep fried fresh sardines with salad; and turkish flat bread with spices, onion, and lemon as a garnish.
Things I have learned about turkish cuisine- Turks MUST eat bread with every meal, and are CONSTANTLY drinking tea.
My favorite day involved Ian and I taking a ferry to a nearby island about an hour away, and during the ride we drank our requisite tea and listened to the song-like sounds of tiny spoons touching the sides of small glass cups. This island was amazing, steep cliffs that rose out of the water, quiet seafront cafes and shuttered houses on wind blown streets. We grabbed a pack of cookies and a few beers at one of the little stores, and made our way to the top of the island, followed by two semi-wild dogs who were just thrilled that we were going for a walk. At the top we found an open meadow with horses, and a stunning view of the ocean, as well as the faraway shapes of Istanbul. Not being ready to leave, we traversed to the other side of the island, picking up two more dogs along the way. It is not often that a lady can say she hung out on a Turkish island with a pack of wild dogs, eating cookies and drinking beer on sea swept cliffs. We finished our day with a delicious fish dinner, and both promptly fell asleep on the ferry ride back to the city.
My other favorite night was when we went in search of a local rembetica band that was playing in the neighborhood, and upon finding the venue, were rewarded with some of the most beautiful, soul lifting music I have heard in ages. Rembetica is traditionally greek style music, with folk songs (a lot of times about drugs), accordion, violin, bouzouki, guitar, and clarinet. Everybody in this packed bar was throwing back glasses of Raki, favored liquor of choice in Turkey, like it was water, and before long the floor was filled with people dancing and singing along. It was gorgeous.
In between my sight seeing excursions I had the pleasure of meeting my new friend Melanie, another Seattle transplant, and we had a grand old time drinking tea, watching the old men fish by pier, and eating a fabulous dinner with her very sweet husband.
When the city starts to press in on me a little too much, or too many men give me wolf eyes, I retreat to a cup of turkish coffee and a book, and remind myself this is EXACTLY why I quit my job: so I could drink coffee and read in a foreign city, listening to the call to prayer and ruminating on the nature of life and whatnot.
Tomorrow I head to Ankara (apparently a shithole, but I am determined to have a fabulous time there) to stay with my friend Ryan and celebrate Thanksgiving. I have about 3 more weeks here, and I am lookin to take some long distance buses to some coastal beaches, and trade in my tea glass for a wine glass, and perhaps work on another farm.
This ginger is lovin Istanbul, chaos and all, and she wishes you a very happy and healthy thanksgiving, wherever you may be. Gobble Gobble from Turkey!
Friday, November 19, 2010
One Night In Warsaw
I am writing this from the 3rd floor apartment of my friend Ian's apartment in Beyoglu, Istanbul, a neighborhood which he says is a rough spot home to Kurds and transvestites. Though I have been advised not to wander around too much, I feel quite comfortable here. Ian and I attended high school together, though I'd wager we have not seen one another in ten years. He is a fabulous host and I greatly enjoy his company, his Turkish lessons, and his killer sense of humor.
For those of you with the time and inclination to read everything I have shared, I felt it only right that I bid adieu to my 5 weeks in Poland with a few final stories and ruminations.
In Torun, after being nursed back to health by my friend Kasia with lots of tea, soup, potatoes, and sleep, I roamed around her hometown with her and her crew of friends, visiting her favorite bars and arriving home by bus around 6:30 am two nights in a row. She was such a great tour guide, and I was tickled at the thought that my guidebook said nothing about her favorite bar, the infamous punk rock bar Pilon under the Torun bridge, behind the wrought iron door you need a secret knock to be admitted into. Torun has a rough underbelly that I saw a few times, though felt quite safe with her tall, sweet natured, at times hard-drinking male friends. It also has cobblestone streets, castles, beautiful fields near her apartment on the edge of town, and bright city lights shining over the dark and swift moving Wisla river.
After a teary goodbye to Kasia, I borded the train to Warsaw on monday afternoon, small gifts from a few of her friends tucked safely into my pack, who will be remembered fondly.
I found my hostel easily, as it was very close to the train station, ate my last Polish dinner of pork with mushroom sauce, rice, and roast vegetables, and then had a beer at the hostel bar. It was here that I had a nice conversation with some fellows travelers, and in swapping notes of where we were from I received the funniest response I have heard so far. As a side note, when I say I from Seattle most people respond in one of two ways:
"Grunge rock!"
or
"Seattle Supersonics!"
For those broken-hearted Sonics fan, know that the fame of our beloved team is known throughout Poland. However, back to the story! When I told this British guy I was from Seattle, he looked at me with a shit eating grin and basically yelled, "OH MY GOD! Dale Chihuly!" I tried to explain, nicely, that yes, I know who he is, though nowadays some folks consider him to be a bit of a hack.
My 10 hour train ride from Warsaw to Frankfurt began at 6:30am the next morning, and as I attempted to sleep I listened to the sounds of Warsaw and reminisced on my time in Poland. Despite the history, and underlying sadness, and the difficulty of transport, I was moved by the beauty of the landscape, the realness of the people, and the hope held by many for the country to continue to grow and thrive. I will miss eating beets, pastries, coffee on the farm, playing music, hearing the language, and wandering the streets. I feel like there is something unfinished here, and I hope to return again in the next few years. I never did tell the whole story of my Bubby's immigration and the subsequent annihilation of the rest of my relatives, so instead I will leave you with this bit of coincidence, that may have far reaching effects.
While on the farm I was asked to talk with a group of high school students and play "Paradise" for them, which I did happily. Upon finishing the song the history teacher with them asked why I had come to Poland, and I mentioned that my grandmother was from a town in Belarus called Ivenets. Her eyes lit up and she said, "Ivenets . . . I've been there many times."
With help from Ewa as translator she shared the following: the village does indeed exist, about 80 km west of Minsk. It continues to be a hard place to live, especially for Polish people, who have trouble finding work. The village looks as if time stopped about 50 years ago. Before the war, Jews lived fairly peacefully with other residents, and during the war, the local cemetery was spared destruction. Many people were killed, not only during the war but following it, when the Russians took control. She said that it is a beautiful place, and in the forests on the outskirts of town there are many unmarked graves. Locals, in a show of respect, would tie cloth to the trees to mark where people were buried. She offered to take me with her high school students this spring, as she is going back for a visit. Though I am planning to be in the states at that time, she also offered to do a little research for me if I can find the name of my great grandmother, to see if there is any information in the local archives. She had tears in her eyes as she told me much of this, and said for her it was a very moving place. A part of me feels incredulous that these pieces actually line up, but the fortuitousness of meeting a woman who has been to this tiny village in Belarus while working on a farm in Poland speaks for itself. There is truth that in looking for the answer to a question we find out much more (usually about ourselves) then we may have thought possible.
This thoughts drifted in and out as I slept my way back into the rain and dreariness of central Germany, but after a lovely two nights with my friends Aya and Rodney, I was ready to move.
So, friends, here we are. The sun is out in Istanbul, I have already eaten ridiculously good food, walked steep, bustling city streets, and dropped deeper into my travel experience. I look forward to what the next four weeks hold, and to sharing whatever might be in store with the likes of you.
For those of you with the time and inclination to read everything I have shared, I felt it only right that I bid adieu to my 5 weeks in Poland with a few final stories and ruminations.
In Torun, after being nursed back to health by my friend Kasia with lots of tea, soup, potatoes, and sleep, I roamed around her hometown with her and her crew of friends, visiting her favorite bars and arriving home by bus around 6:30 am two nights in a row. She was such a great tour guide, and I was tickled at the thought that my guidebook said nothing about her favorite bar, the infamous punk rock bar Pilon under the Torun bridge, behind the wrought iron door you need a secret knock to be admitted into. Torun has a rough underbelly that I saw a few times, though felt quite safe with her tall, sweet natured, at times hard-drinking male friends. It also has cobblestone streets, castles, beautiful fields near her apartment on the edge of town, and bright city lights shining over the dark and swift moving Wisla river.
After a teary goodbye to Kasia, I borded the train to Warsaw on monday afternoon, small gifts from a few of her friends tucked safely into my pack, who will be remembered fondly.
I found my hostel easily, as it was very close to the train station, ate my last Polish dinner of pork with mushroom sauce, rice, and roast vegetables, and then had a beer at the hostel bar. It was here that I had a nice conversation with some fellows travelers, and in swapping notes of where we were from I received the funniest response I have heard so far. As a side note, when I say I from Seattle most people respond in one of two ways:
"Grunge rock!"
or
"Seattle Supersonics!"
For those broken-hearted Sonics fan, know that the fame of our beloved team is known throughout Poland. However, back to the story! When I told this British guy I was from Seattle, he looked at me with a shit eating grin and basically yelled, "OH MY GOD! Dale Chihuly!" I tried to explain, nicely, that yes, I know who he is, though nowadays some folks consider him to be a bit of a hack.
My 10 hour train ride from Warsaw to Frankfurt began at 6:30am the next morning, and as I attempted to sleep I listened to the sounds of Warsaw and reminisced on my time in Poland. Despite the history, and underlying sadness, and the difficulty of transport, I was moved by the beauty of the landscape, the realness of the people, and the hope held by many for the country to continue to grow and thrive. I will miss eating beets, pastries, coffee on the farm, playing music, hearing the language, and wandering the streets. I feel like there is something unfinished here, and I hope to return again in the next few years. I never did tell the whole story of my Bubby's immigration and the subsequent annihilation of the rest of my relatives, so instead I will leave you with this bit of coincidence, that may have far reaching effects.
While on the farm I was asked to talk with a group of high school students and play "Paradise" for them, which I did happily. Upon finishing the song the history teacher with them asked why I had come to Poland, and I mentioned that my grandmother was from a town in Belarus called Ivenets. Her eyes lit up and she said, "Ivenets . . . I've been there many times."
With help from Ewa as translator she shared the following: the village does indeed exist, about 80 km west of Minsk. It continues to be a hard place to live, especially for Polish people, who have trouble finding work. The village looks as if time stopped about 50 years ago. Before the war, Jews lived fairly peacefully with other residents, and during the war, the local cemetery was spared destruction. Many people were killed, not only during the war but following it, when the Russians took control. She said that it is a beautiful place, and in the forests on the outskirts of town there are many unmarked graves. Locals, in a show of respect, would tie cloth to the trees to mark where people were buried. She offered to take me with her high school students this spring, as she is going back for a visit. Though I am planning to be in the states at that time, she also offered to do a little research for me if I can find the name of my great grandmother, to see if there is any information in the local archives. She had tears in her eyes as she told me much of this, and said for her it was a very moving place. A part of me feels incredulous that these pieces actually line up, but the fortuitousness of meeting a woman who has been to this tiny village in Belarus while working on a farm in Poland speaks for itself. There is truth that in looking for the answer to a question we find out much more (usually about ourselves) then we may have thought possible.
This thoughts drifted in and out as I slept my way back into the rain and dreariness of central Germany, but after a lovely two nights with my friends Aya and Rodney, I was ready to move.
So, friends, here we are. The sun is out in Istanbul, I have already eaten ridiculously good food, walked steep, bustling city streets, and dropped deeper into my travel experience. I look forward to what the next four weeks hold, and to sharing whatever might be in store with the likes of you.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Torun, Poland
Greetings from beautiful red Torun, the home of Copernicus! I am here staying with my fried Kathe who I met while on the farm, and sadly I am in bed with an achy body and a brutal sore throat. I am watching my chest for signs of a rash, at which point I will venture into the Polish medical system for Strep throat drugs. Thank you mom, for the consistently sound medical advice, and for making faces at me while on skype video chat.
Things I have learned about Torun so far is that is has 120,00 inhabitants, cathedrals with original frescos that are thousands of years old, and lots of statues, including one of frogs. Speaking of frogs, Kathe told me there was a story on the radio a few months ago about a large vat of vodka that broke during transport, seeped into a lake, where frogs drank it and then ATTACKED A COW! Amazing. Also a great premise for a children's book. So far I have a series in mind, about dancing goats and drunk frogs. Maybe I should call it, 'Animals on Drugs, and other Fables.'
Last saturday I bid a teary and fond farewell to Ewa, Peter, Granny, and Anna at Gryzbow farm. After 3 weeks there, I was surprised at how deeply I'd connected with my experience. I think the best experiences many times sneak upon us like bed bugs in the night, and we are left with an experience that covers us completely, and has caught us unaware. I hugged the kittens, tried in vain to milk the cows one more time, pet some goats and looked into their large, wide set eyes, ate my last dinner of soup, meat, and bread with cheese and beets mixed with horseradish, and I boarded the village bus for Warsaw. That evening I arrived by train in Krakow, to spend a few more days wandering around the spires and cobblestone squares and walk along the river. I found the Jewish Quarter, Kazimierz, as dark was falling. I walked up to the old synagogue right as a car drove by blaring Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah," at which point I though I might fall over from the beauty of the damn moment.
I wandered into a bookstore and read a very interesting chapter of a book which was written following a conference on the Urban Regeneration of Jewish Quarters in Eastern European cities. It brought up some weighty questions about real versus imagined space that is created in what some believe to be a sort of 'Disneyland' themed experience which now invites tourists to experience what Jewish life was really like. Of course, in reality so much of it was destroyed, but preserving historic sites has become a priority in the last 15 years or so. Food for thought.
While in Krakow I had a perfect cup of tea at a quaint bar in the old town square, bought some schwag for my sisters, and met some lovely folks in the hostel in which I was staying. There were 2 very friendly Australian couples, some other young Aussies who LOVED their beer, and 3 very attractive Brazilians, one of whom I got along quite well with. Feel free to infer a little bit there, folks.
The day before I left I made the decision to visit the concentration camps Auschwitz and Birkenau. I had been reluctant to visit, and scared of what I might see, but now I am glad that I chose to go. Our guide was a gracious, very grounded woman who has been leading tours for many years, and grew up in a neighbouring town. Her grandparents were part of the Polish resistance movement during the war, and she said one day her grandmother took her mother outside, where they could smell and see the smoke from the crematorium, and told her what it was, so that she would know. I don't want to trivialize or try to explain too much about the experience- I think it is better left sorted through on one's own if you have the opportunity to visit. There were a few things that made me want to break into pieces, and times when the enormity of it was very difficult to truly take in.
I will be here for the next few days, hopefully on a quick mend back to health, and then headed to Warsaw for at least a day or two before making the long trek back to Frankfurt. From there I will be flying to Turkey for the last 4 weeks of my face melting, challenging, all around incredible journey.
I will leave you with this description of character of the week: In the hostel, the Polish guy working night shift told me about a local musical legend, a piano player who is in his early eighties. He wears sunglasses and thinks he is Ray Charles, though he is not blind. He did lose both of his legs though, but despite amputations continues to ride his self made, 5 wheeled bicycle to gigs. He lives with his 97 year old mother, and sings songs at a local bar every week. Generally his songs consist of the following topics: alcohol, women, and asses that have teeth in them and can attack you. A great sadness of my life is that I was not in Krakow on a Friday to witness this myself. However, we all need a reason to go back to a place, and this is mine.
with love,
Lindsey
Things I have learned about Torun so far is that is has 120,00 inhabitants, cathedrals with original frescos that are thousands of years old, and lots of statues, including one of frogs. Speaking of frogs, Kathe told me there was a story on the radio a few months ago about a large vat of vodka that broke during transport, seeped into a lake, where frogs drank it and then ATTACKED A COW! Amazing. Also a great premise for a children's book. So far I have a series in mind, about dancing goats and drunk frogs. Maybe I should call it, 'Animals on Drugs, and other Fables.'
Last saturday I bid a teary and fond farewell to Ewa, Peter, Granny, and Anna at Gryzbow farm. After 3 weeks there, I was surprised at how deeply I'd connected with my experience. I think the best experiences many times sneak upon us like bed bugs in the night, and we are left with an experience that covers us completely, and has caught us unaware. I hugged the kittens, tried in vain to milk the cows one more time, pet some goats and looked into their large, wide set eyes, ate my last dinner of soup, meat, and bread with cheese and beets mixed with horseradish, and I boarded the village bus for Warsaw. That evening I arrived by train in Krakow, to spend a few more days wandering around the spires and cobblestone squares and walk along the river. I found the Jewish Quarter, Kazimierz, as dark was falling. I walked up to the old synagogue right as a car drove by blaring Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah," at which point I though I might fall over from the beauty of the damn moment.
I wandered into a bookstore and read a very interesting chapter of a book which was written following a conference on the Urban Regeneration of Jewish Quarters in Eastern European cities. It brought up some weighty questions about real versus imagined space that is created in what some believe to be a sort of 'Disneyland' themed experience which now invites tourists to experience what Jewish life was really like. Of course, in reality so much of it was destroyed, but preserving historic sites has become a priority in the last 15 years or so. Food for thought.
While in Krakow I had a perfect cup of tea at a quaint bar in the old town square, bought some schwag for my sisters, and met some lovely folks in the hostel in which I was staying. There were 2 very friendly Australian couples, some other young Aussies who LOVED their beer, and 3 very attractive Brazilians, one of whom I got along quite well with. Feel free to infer a little bit there, folks.
The day before I left I made the decision to visit the concentration camps Auschwitz and Birkenau. I had been reluctant to visit, and scared of what I might see, but now I am glad that I chose to go. Our guide was a gracious, very grounded woman who has been leading tours for many years, and grew up in a neighbouring town. Her grandparents were part of the Polish resistance movement during the war, and she said one day her grandmother took her mother outside, where they could smell and see the smoke from the crematorium, and told her what it was, so that she would know. I don't want to trivialize or try to explain too much about the experience- I think it is better left sorted through on one's own if you have the opportunity to visit. There were a few things that made me want to break into pieces, and times when the enormity of it was very difficult to truly take in.
I will be here for the next few days, hopefully on a quick mend back to health, and then headed to Warsaw for at least a day or two before making the long trek back to Frankfurt. From there I will be flying to Turkey for the last 4 weeks of my face melting, challenging, all around incredible journey.
I will leave you with this description of character of the week: In the hostel, the Polish guy working night shift told me about a local musical legend, a piano player who is in his early eighties. He wears sunglasses and thinks he is Ray Charles, though he is not blind. He did lose both of his legs though, but despite amputations continues to ride his self made, 5 wheeled bicycle to gigs. He lives with his 97 year old mother, and sings songs at a local bar every week. Generally his songs consist of the following topics: alcohol, women, and asses that have teeth in them and can attack you. A great sadness of my life is that I was not in Krakow on a Friday to witness this myself. However, we all need a reason to go back to a place, and this is mine.
with love,
Lindsey
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