In the last post (I’m not linking, just scroll down, you lazy schmuck), I mentioned that contrary to the sentiment of “Bezrobotny,” I’d seemed to have fallen into a relatively stable work situation, for which I was awaiting phone calls and confirmations of hours. To which the cosmos replied, reading from a collection of Robert Burns, “The best laid plans of mice and men / often go awry.” One by one, schools failed to call, and again, one by one, informed me of the economical impossibility of employing me, or simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. At this point, with one private student and two through the Skype School, my workweek consists of 6 hours, totaling 168 zlote in pay. Did I mention that the exchange rate has been plummeting for some unfathomable reason?
Yesterday (Monday) marked four weeks since my arrival in Krakow back in September. For the last month, I’ve been sleeping on a fold-out couch in the spare room of some friends of the family, unsuccessfully hustling for work and sitting in various cafes, reading or trying to find a day without embarrassing news online. Suffice it to say, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. But as those of you who know me well no doubt already know, when I have undue amounts of time on my hands, which was more often than not, considering my study habits, I tend to think. And think. And reconsider. And think again. And because I can’t really travel, what with money being tight and my needing to stay in Krakow, in case someone actually DOES call, time is the one thing I’ve got in spades.
So, I’ve had more than enough time to think this over, and then reconsider it, and then think it over again. And I’ve come to the conclusion that, for a myriad of reasons, Krakow is not really the place for me to be right now. Mainly, its because my goals for this year to either put away a pot of money for tuition/living when I got back to school in ’09 or ’10, or to do something constructive towards preparing for that. I was initially planning to learn another language or improve one of the ones I already speak, in order to make translation and comp lit a real possibility. But apart from questions of supporting myself, Polish doesn’t grab me the way, say, German or Spanish do. Add to my inability to fulfill either of those main goals the fact that since I’ve arrived, I haven’t really gone out or met anybody, even when I DO work. I don’t speak Polish, apart from buying food or paying for tram tickets, and the few schools I have worked at were more brief contract positions than teaching posts, with a staff room and the kind of friendly interaction even schools in Toronto managed to have.
So I’ve decided to give it one more week. If the next week triples my weekly workload and at least triples my pay, I’ll consider staying and find a flat. If not (and this seems more and more like the most likely outcome) I’m getting on a westbound train, and heading to someplace closer to the Atlantic. I’ve got family, I’ve got friends, and they’ve all got couches.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Bezrobotny
So, I’ve been here, in Krakow, for two weeks, and with the exception of two hours’ teaching over Skype per week, I am still unemployed. Most of that, I’m told, has to do with the scheduling of the University, which started in earnest yesterday, meaning the private schools won’t get their stuff together until next week, at the earliest. The net effect of this, besides a dwindling supply of zloty for yours truly, is a lot of time to sit in the Kawarnia, drinking coffee that should stop pretending it’s not espresso, and contemplate Poland. And maybe, you know, learn some Polish.
John Cleese – John Cleese, as in “This Parrot is No More” John Cleese, endorses a major Polish bank. I don’t have a problem with it really, but it’s quite strange to walk down the street and see his face, larger than life in the plate windows of a bank on the Karmelicka. Apparently he does TV commercials, too, but I haven’t seen any of those. I would imagine they are somewhat humorous.
Paradox – A few years ago, there was a spate of articles about what had come to be know as “The French Paradox,” being, of course, the fact that French people are thinner and happier, despite their butter-enriched everything. I think the name may have been misapplied. Since I’ve arrived, I’ve been fed not only mushrooms, breaded and pan-fried (not sautéed, FRIED) in a stick of butter, but a slice of country bread, thickly spread with…lard. As in, the rendered fat of pigs. I can’t say it’s the tastiest thing I’ve ever eaten—VERY salty, a little bit grainy, and mostly just coating the mouth with a greasy feeling, and make you CRAVE something acidic, like coffee. Or vodka. The mushrooms, on the other hand, now those were something.
Style—The strangest thing about Krakow, I think in particular, is the stark difference in style amongst the inhabitants. The average age of the city is quite young, because of the universities, and so there’s a lot of young, stylish, attractive people walking around. The difference between men and women, though, is huge. About 25% of the men are what one might consider “well-dressed,” meaning non-sneaker shoes, tailored trousers, collars on shirts, and, invariably, a scarf of some sort. The same goes for virtually every woman I’ve seen. Sweaters, shirts, even being casual, there’s a great awareness of one’s public image here. The remaining men, though, are inveterate, well, slobs. Anoraks, hoodies, baggy jeans and skater shoes. Or soccer jerseys and consumer-grade soccer shoes. In that way, as well all the others, it feels like Ireland in a foreign language. As to a reason why…I’m afraid I’m at a loss. But, I’m sure I’ll found out, sooner or later.
John Cleese – John Cleese, as in “This Parrot is No More” John Cleese, endorses a major Polish bank. I don’t have a problem with it really, but it’s quite strange to walk down the street and see his face, larger than life in the plate windows of a bank on the Karmelicka. Apparently he does TV commercials, too, but I haven’t seen any of those. I would imagine they are somewhat humorous.
Paradox – A few years ago, there was a spate of articles about what had come to be know as “The French Paradox,” being, of course, the fact that French people are thinner and happier, despite their butter-enriched everything. I think the name may have been misapplied. Since I’ve arrived, I’ve been fed not only mushrooms, breaded and pan-fried (not sautéed, FRIED) in a stick of butter, but a slice of country bread, thickly spread with…lard. As in, the rendered fat of pigs. I can’t say it’s the tastiest thing I’ve ever eaten—VERY salty, a little bit grainy, and mostly just coating the mouth with a greasy feeling, and make you CRAVE something acidic, like coffee. Or vodka. The mushrooms, on the other hand, now those were something.
Style—The strangest thing about Krakow, I think in particular, is the stark difference in style amongst the inhabitants. The average age of the city is quite young, because of the universities, and so there’s a lot of young, stylish, attractive people walking around. The difference between men and women, though, is huge. About 25% of the men are what one might consider “well-dressed,” meaning non-sneaker shoes, tailored trousers, collars on shirts, and, invariably, a scarf of some sort. The same goes for virtually every woman I’ve seen. Sweaters, shirts, even being casual, there’s a great awareness of one’s public image here. The remaining men, though, are inveterate, well, slobs. Anoraks, hoodies, baggy jeans and skater shoes. Or soccer jerseys and consumer-grade soccer shoes. In that way, as well all the others, it feels like Ireland in a foreign language. As to a reason why…I’m afraid I’m at a loss. But, I’m sure I’ll found out, sooner or later.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
The Other Side of the Mirror
I’ve just come from the Krakow Central Post Office (Poczta Glowny), where I mailed my absentee ballot back to North Carolina. I’m writing this on the upper floor of the Kawarnia Provencja, off the Main Square. I don’t know exactly how old this building is, but the sign out front is charmingly missing a few letters, and if the timeline I’ve been given for the city’s growth is correct, it predates the U.S. by a century or two.
The difference between the two buildings seems to mirror, if you’ll allow the flight of rhetoric, a similar divide in the Polish psyche. The post office, in a nice, old, building, looks on the inside like I’d imagine a Soviet government office would look is the Soviet Union had never collapsed. Clean, modern, but very impersonal, clerks behind plate glass, and low ceilings and light. The café, in contrast, is the kind of place that makes Lonely Planet editors hard. Sloped, white-washed ceilings, vintage ceiling fan at the apex. Paintings on the walls, older, wooden tables. Candles are burning at various places around, and of course this balcony where I’m sitting right now, accessible by a steep, narrow flight of stairs. Did I mention that the “coffee” I’m drinking, which is really more of a long, double espresso, cost me like $2.50? And it goes without saying (I AM in Central Europe) that smoking is…I wouldn’t go so far as to say encouraged, although the EU might. Stack of ashtrays on the counter is all, take them as they’re needed.
William Gibson, in his novel Pattern Recognition, which I just finished re-reading, described Great Britain as “the other side of the mirror.” Poland feels very much like that. Everything here was, since the war, anyway, imported from Russia or built on their model. As a result, they’re built themselves up into a modern European country, but everything feels a little bit…off. Light switches aren’t switches so much as they’re two-inch-square power studs, still on a pivot, but taking nicely to a full-handed slap if you get out of bed in the middle of the night. Vending machines seem to be non-existent, but tiny, vending-machine-sized kiosks, with a person inside, are omnipresent, and sell cigarettes and soap to boot. Buildings have yet to be retrofitted with streetside entrances, the effect being that entering a lot of places, cafes and offices includes, requires a turn down an unnamed alley with a number posted above it, looking for your sign on a door. The traffic lights are the old, Eastern-Bloc style ones which they also have in East Berlin. Walk is a green man walking, Don’t Walk is a red man, standing still.
The nicest thing about Krakow in this sense, though, is the way all the influences seem to meld. Warsaw, by all accounts, is a mostly Soviet city. It was destroyed during the war, and rebuilt, and as a result is on the ugly side. I’m up there for a night or two next week, so I’ll see for myself. But Krakow managed to escape Luftwaffe and Red Air Force bombing, and so the old buildings survived. The Communists built their stuff and now, in the last few years, the EU has funded a variety of modernization campaigns. And so the mirror is here, plainly visible and immediately tangible…but so is the construction of a newer Poland, one that exists outside the old oppositions. Whether that’s entirely a good thing remains, judging from people I’ve talked to, to be seen.
The difference between the two buildings seems to mirror, if you’ll allow the flight of rhetoric, a similar divide in the Polish psyche. The post office, in a nice, old, building, looks on the inside like I’d imagine a Soviet government office would look is the Soviet Union had never collapsed. Clean, modern, but very impersonal, clerks behind plate glass, and low ceilings and light. The café, in contrast, is the kind of place that makes Lonely Planet editors hard. Sloped, white-washed ceilings, vintage ceiling fan at the apex. Paintings on the walls, older, wooden tables. Candles are burning at various places around, and of course this balcony where I’m sitting right now, accessible by a steep, narrow flight of stairs. Did I mention that the “coffee” I’m drinking, which is really more of a long, double espresso, cost me like $2.50? And it goes without saying (I AM in Central Europe) that smoking is…I wouldn’t go so far as to say encouraged, although the EU might. Stack of ashtrays on the counter is all, take them as they’re needed.
William Gibson, in his novel Pattern Recognition, which I just finished re-reading, described Great Britain as “the other side of the mirror.” Poland feels very much like that. Everything here was, since the war, anyway, imported from Russia or built on their model. As a result, they’re built themselves up into a modern European country, but everything feels a little bit…off. Light switches aren’t switches so much as they’re two-inch-square power studs, still on a pivot, but taking nicely to a full-handed slap if you get out of bed in the middle of the night. Vending machines seem to be non-existent, but tiny, vending-machine-sized kiosks, with a person inside, are omnipresent, and sell cigarettes and soap to boot. Buildings have yet to be retrofitted with streetside entrances, the effect being that entering a lot of places, cafes and offices includes, requires a turn down an unnamed alley with a number posted above it, looking for your sign on a door. The traffic lights are the old, Eastern-Bloc style ones which they also have in East Berlin. Walk is a green man walking, Don’t Walk is a red man, standing still.
The nicest thing about Krakow in this sense, though, is the way all the influences seem to meld. Warsaw, by all accounts, is a mostly Soviet city. It was destroyed during the war, and rebuilt, and as a result is on the ugly side. I’m up there for a night or two next week, so I’ll see for myself. But Krakow managed to escape Luftwaffe and Red Air Force bombing, and so the old buildings survived. The Communists built their stuff and now, in the last few years, the EU has funded a variety of modernization campaigns. And so the mirror is here, plainly visible and immediately tangible…but so is the construction of a newer Poland, one that exists outside the old oppositions. Whether that’s entirely a good thing remains, judging from people I’ve talked to, to be seen.
Monday, September 29, 2008
The First Post from Krakow
I’ve been in Krakow for almost exactly one week, so I think things have percolated enough to get down something. My jet lag is a (not so) fond memory, and my Polish has progressed to…well, it’s progressed.
I’m sitting, right now, on the shore of the Vistula, right below Wawel Castle, and across from the Hotel Polska, the Japanese Museum, and the Jubilat Headquarters. The sun is out, maybe 16 or 17 degrees, and despite the fact that it’s the middle of the workday, people seem to be strolling. Or commuting…I can’t quite get a read on people’s goals here yet. The students—all 200,000 of them—won’t arrive until Wednesday, so the city still has a bit of an older, quieter feel about it.
Apart from that, here are some things that struck me, today, yesterday, or during the 48-hour haze that marked my arrival.
* Bagels. They’re not called bagels here—only in Warsaw—but they’re sold everywhere. Zl1.20, sesame seed, poppy seed, or salt. And damn tasty, if I do say so. They’re a bit less chewy than a New York-style, but I’m not about to criticize something in its homeland.
* Trams. Krakow has a pretty extensive tram system, augmented by busses. It costs about a dollar to ride, and they’re on the validated paper ticket system (i.e. no driver interaction). The nice thing is, the EU has brought a flood of development Euros, which have meant, in terms of transit, a fleet of new, low-floored trams, along the lines, I think, of the ones the TTC keeps talking about buying to replace the Streetcars. The older ones are still in service, and have either a rounded, inter-war look, or a jagged, 70’s, Commie look about them.
* Young British Men. I went out with my hosts and some university friends of their on Friday night, to a nice little café in the Old City, and then to a newer café down the street, for the “Boston Sandwich.” If anyone wants to tell me why this involves marinated pumpkin, I’d appreciate it. But heading home, and even on the sidewalk outside the bar, we encountered the dark side of the zloty-Euro exchange rate: drunk Brits on stag. Imagine a frat boy, maybe pastier and with a slightly higher penchant for violence. Sitting on the sidewalk, or making passes at everything in a skirt, its kind of embarrassing…until I remembered I’m not English. It’s nice to be asked “English or American” and have the correct answer be the right answer, for once.
I have a job interview in a few hours, at a newer school in the old Jewish district. Once things settle down more, and I have a flat, and some Polish skills, come visit. Until then, I’ll keep things interesting. As they say here, Do Widzenia.
I’m sitting, right now, on the shore of the Vistula, right below Wawel Castle, and across from the Hotel Polska, the Japanese Museum, and the Jubilat Headquarters. The sun is out, maybe 16 or 17 degrees, and despite the fact that it’s the middle of the workday, people seem to be strolling. Or commuting…I can’t quite get a read on people’s goals here yet. The students—all 200,000 of them—won’t arrive until Wednesday, so the city still has a bit of an older, quieter feel about it.
Apart from that, here are some things that struck me, today, yesterday, or during the 48-hour haze that marked my arrival.
* Bagels. They’re not called bagels here—only in Warsaw—but they’re sold everywhere. Zl1.20, sesame seed, poppy seed, or salt. And damn tasty, if I do say so. They’re a bit less chewy than a New York-style, but I’m not about to criticize something in its homeland.
* Trams. Krakow has a pretty extensive tram system, augmented by busses. It costs about a dollar to ride, and they’re on the validated paper ticket system (i.e. no driver interaction). The nice thing is, the EU has brought a flood of development Euros, which have meant, in terms of transit, a fleet of new, low-floored trams, along the lines, I think, of the ones the TTC keeps talking about buying to replace the Streetcars. The older ones are still in service, and have either a rounded, inter-war look, or a jagged, 70’s, Commie look about them.
* Young British Men. I went out with my hosts and some university friends of their on Friday night, to a nice little café in the Old City, and then to a newer café down the street, for the “Boston Sandwich.” If anyone wants to tell me why this involves marinated pumpkin, I’d appreciate it. But heading home, and even on the sidewalk outside the bar, we encountered the dark side of the zloty-Euro exchange rate: drunk Brits on stag. Imagine a frat boy, maybe pastier and with a slightly higher penchant for violence. Sitting on the sidewalk, or making passes at everything in a skirt, its kind of embarrassing…until I remembered I’m not English. It’s nice to be asked “English or American” and have the correct answer be the right answer, for once.
I have a job interview in a few hours, at a newer school in the old Jewish district. Once things settle down more, and I have a flat, and some Polish skills, come visit. Until then, I’ll keep things interesting. As they say here, Do Widzenia.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Random Thoughts on Dublin Airport's Terminal D
I’m writing this in what I can only assume is a newly constructed departures hall at the Dublin Airport. I saw newly constructed because I was sitting in this very airport, four years ago, and this is definitely a step up. Dublin, they say, has joined the ranks of the European capitals, both in cost and culture. Although I haven’t been in Dublin since the winter of 2004, if one can judge a city by its airport, this is certainly the case.
Although, I must admit, my judgment may be skewed. It’s ten minutes past 6 in the morning as I write this, having failed to find a Wi-Fi signal despite an illuminated “Internet Point” sign, directly below one reading “No Smoking.” Did I mention that I got off a flight from JFK an hour ago, on which, I failed to get more than a few winks of sleep? And so, I wander up and down the concourse, waiting for my Krakow boarding call, and marveling at the size of the crowds here, at 5:30 in the morning. And tea (TEA!!) is like €2.50, so my breakfast, so far, has consisted of a glorified airplane shotglass of orange juice before I landed, a Moro bar, and a 500ml bottle of Diet Coke.
But I digress. The concourse I’m sitting in as I type this is ultra-modern, designed to the last detail. Everything is a pale shade of gray or ivory, utterly unobjectionable and noticeably clean. The one exception is the flaming red that surrounds the information booths, currency exchanges, and vending machines. The signage seems to indicate that there was, or sometimes is, or maybe will be, Wi-Fi internet throughout it. The ceilings are high and the walls, for the most part, glass or opaque panels. Poetry, in Irish and English, is etched into the barriers between the waiting areas and the hallways to the runways. And yet, a quick look out the window reveals that despite all this advanced architecture, one still boards planes, at least at this terminal, by walking across the runway, inhaling jetliner exhaust and feeling the weather, before walking up a flight of metal steps mounted on surprisingly small tires.
Although, I must admit, my judgment may be skewed. It’s ten minutes past 6 in the morning as I write this, having failed to find a Wi-Fi signal despite an illuminated “Internet Point” sign, directly below one reading “No Smoking.” Did I mention that I got off a flight from JFK an hour ago, on which, I failed to get more than a few winks of sleep? And so, I wander up and down the concourse, waiting for my Krakow boarding call, and marveling at the size of the crowds here, at 5:30 in the morning. And tea (TEA!!) is like €2.50, so my breakfast, so far, has consisted of a glorified airplane shotglass of orange juice before I landed, a Moro bar, and a 500ml bottle of Diet Coke.
But I digress. The concourse I’m sitting in as I type this is ultra-modern, designed to the last detail. Everything is a pale shade of gray or ivory, utterly unobjectionable and noticeably clean. The one exception is the flaming red that surrounds the information booths, currency exchanges, and vending machines. The signage seems to indicate that there was, or sometimes is, or maybe will be, Wi-Fi internet throughout it. The ceilings are high and the walls, for the most part, glass or opaque panels. Poetry, in Irish and English, is etched into the barriers between the waiting areas and the hallways to the runways. And yet, a quick look out the window reveals that despite all this advanced architecture, one still boards planes, at least at this terminal, by walking across the runway, inhaling jetliner exhaust and feeling the weather, before walking up a flight of metal steps mounted on surprisingly small tires.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Requisite Election Year Political Post
While I was in Chicago, I spent most of my time bumming in various coffee shops—they’ve got a bunch of great ones, particularly Café Ambrosia (1620 Orrington Avenue, in Evanston), and the Boystown Caribou Café (I was living in Lakeview, around the corner). When I came down to Jackson County, NC, coffee shops are few and far between, and everything is outside of walking distance, so instead of reading Huff-Po and William Gibson novels while working my way through a liter or two of coffee, I decided to do something, you know, useful.
So, a few days after I arrived, I tracked down the local HQ for the Obama-Biden campaign, in Cullowhee (next town over). Turns out, they’re headquartered, locally anyway, in an old gas station. Drinks for the volunteers are in a gas-station fridge with sliding dispensers, and the washroom is out the door and around the corner (it IS a gas station, after all). So, I spend my time calling mountain folk, asking them who they want to be president, and suffering through their screeds when they don’t want Obama. Oh, and did I mention the plate glass window that got hit with the ass end of a hurled garbage can?
And then, as if we were living in a pulp rewrite of Vineland, John McCain opens up HIS Jackson Country HQ…right across the street. I have what you might calla hunch that this fall is going to be awfully interesting. I’m going to keep the political stuff to a minimum, since bathing in polls and editorial every day has proven bad for my mental health. I will say this, though. If McCain wins, I’m probably not coming back for the foreseeable future. I’ve got plans in Poland, and a Canadian work visa that’s valid until July 2, 2011. And I have no (NO) qualms about using it.
So, a few days after I arrived, I tracked down the local HQ for the Obama-Biden campaign, in Cullowhee (next town over). Turns out, they’re headquartered, locally anyway, in an old gas station. Drinks for the volunteers are in a gas-station fridge with sliding dispensers, and the washroom is out the door and around the corner (it IS a gas station, after all). So, I spend my time calling mountain folk, asking them who they want to be president, and suffering through their screeds when they don’t want Obama. Oh, and did I mention the plate glass window that got hit with the ass end of a hurled garbage can?
And then, as if we were living in a pulp rewrite of Vineland, John McCain opens up HIS Jackson Country HQ…right across the street. I have what you might calla hunch that this fall is going to be awfully interesting. I’m going to keep the political stuff to a minimum, since bathing in polls and editorial every day has proven bad for my mental health. I will say this, though. If McCain wins, I’m probably not coming back for the foreseeable future. I’ve got plans in Poland, and a Canadian work visa that’s valid until July 2, 2011. And I have no (NO) qualms about using it.
And We're Back...
So, it’s been more than a year since the last post, but the posts dwindled a year ago because…well, because nothing noteworthy seemed to be happening, and since I’m determined not to turn this into “my online space for self-reflection,” which seems more like “my online space for public, intellectual masturbation.”
But since things are starting to happen again, it seemed like as good a time as any to revive it. So, to recap:
I graduated from university, in English and Russian Lit, and soon after, left Canada. I took a combination of greyhound and Amtrak to Chicago, and stayed there for a few weeks, hanging out at Ambrosia Evanston, and talking to some possible employers in Krakow. I came down to North Carolina about a week ago, and started working remotely on Monday. On Saturday, I’ll be heading up to New York, and on Sunday, flying Aer Lingus from JFK to Krakow, by way of Dublin.
I’ve got one job in the bag there, teaching English over Skype, and another couple waiting for me upon arrival. And I’ve just begun teaching myself survival Polish, which will become full-fledged study once I arrive.
So, here I am, on the cusp, I suppose. This should be interesting.
But since things are starting to happen again, it seemed like as good a time as any to revive it. So, to recap:
I graduated from university, in English and Russian Lit, and soon after, left Canada. I took a combination of greyhound and Amtrak to Chicago, and stayed there for a few weeks, hanging out at Ambrosia Evanston, and talking to some possible employers in Krakow. I came down to North Carolina about a week ago, and started working remotely on Monday. On Saturday, I’ll be heading up to New York, and on Sunday, flying Aer Lingus from JFK to Krakow, by way of Dublin.
I’ve got one job in the bag there, teaching English over Skype, and another couple waiting for me upon arrival. And I’ve just begun teaching myself survival Polish, which will become full-fledged study once I arrive.
So, here I am, on the cusp, I suppose. This should be interesting.
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