‘Life is too short to drink cheap wine.’

4 June 2011, Hala’s farm in Czermin village, Poland

I’m slow getting started this month, mostly because after getting the news of Piotr’s death, I had no steam. Piotr was the younger son of my friends Ewa and Marek whom I got to know while a Peace Corps volunteer in Nowy Sacz. Ewa died of cancer in January 2002, about a month after I saw her last and a few months after the wedding of their older son, Wojtek, which I had attended. Piotr and I had bonded, perhaps because he had the same name as my son Peter and a somewhat similar personality, full of energy, off beat humor, keen intelligence. His touch of sarcasm came through even when his English wasn’t perfect. I used the Polish-only version of Google and found his obituary and some comments on an IT blog headed “Only the good die young.” From that, I found that he had many admirers and friends, just as I’d expect. I also learned that he was 30 when he died at the end of October last year (I wasn’t sure of his age). He apparently worked for Google in Krakow. I can just picture him in that kind of irreverent, creative, energetic environment. After talking to Wojtek on the phone, I wrote to him with my contact info. I will write to Marek but need time to compose my thoughts first. I don’t know what to say in English or Polish other than “I am so sorry” (Bardzo mi przykro).

Today I sat under Michal’s gazebo and prepared dill for drying. Hala harvested the tall stems, twisted off the dirt-laden roots and presented them to me along with four dryer plates to be filled. A nice way to spend a hot afternoon -- mindless work in the cool shade.

My right thumb is green from using it to separate the smallest stems from larger ones. I timed myself -- 45 minutes to fill a plate. Hala came to help for a while before going to fix obiad (dinner). By the time she had obiad ready, I had filled all four dryer plates. and Michal had them in the dryer. Because we had dessert (fresh strawberries that I bought at the outdoor market yesterday) and ice cream, we only had one course, per Hala. Naturally that course filled my plate with mounds of delicious yellow mashed potatoes and fried cutlet with onions and mushrooms, all served up by Hala. I got to spoon my own cucumbers in cream. I will definitely not need to eat again tonight. My friend Iza arrives from Krakow shortly. Michal will take me to town today and pick me up tomorrow when she leaves.

5 June, Cermin

Iza’s arrived on time Saturday at the stop not so far from the hotel. We just had to schlep her small suitcase through the Old Town Square, an interesting feat on all those cobblestones Then off for two days of walking. Iza hadn’t been in Sandomierz since her school days. Yesterday we walked through the newly completed park below the hotel, then up hill and around to the New Town where I used to live and back down the main streets to the Old Town. Today after a leisurely breakfast and much checking to ensure the bus we thought would take her to Krakow was actually going to operate, we visited the castle and basilica. Iza climbed Brama Opatowska (the old tower gate on the Opatow side of the town) and toured the underground. The latter is unique to Sandomierz, a labyrinth of corridors and rooms built in the 13th Century as protection during three Tartar invasions. In anticipation of the Tartars’ arrival, the townspeople would close up house and shop and move into the underground where they lived and did business until the danger passed. The Tartars did significant damage to the town itself, which is one of Poland’s oldest and most historically signifiant sites. The underground had been a story for many years, then was found by accident when a street or something caved in the ‘50s or ‘60s. It’s been turned into a popular tourist attraction, complete with costumed staff.

Michal met Iza and me at the bus station where the bus arrived on time. We were told it would be a big bus, not a mini bus, because lots of students would be returning to the universities in Krakow. And it was. However, a horde of college-aged males pushed their way to the front of the line despite having just arrived. A Polish woman who was seeing her college-aged daughter off commented that they were “niekulturny” (uncivilized), and I agreed (in Polish) and got a sharp look from one of them.

While I was waiting for Iza on Saturday, I walked up to the square and found some teenaged boys break-dancing. I thought that had gone out of style many years ago but apparently not. They were very acrobatic, as you can see from this fellow.

Break-dancers in Sandomierz Rynek

7 June 2011, Warsaw

Well, no doubt about it -- summer is here. I think spring was a day or maybe two in length sometime in May. Yesterday it felt like August in Southern Illinois -- 90F and about 110 percent humidity in the shade. We had a bit of thunder and some rain late in the day but not enough rain to make much difference to the dryness. And per Hala, no rain in the village which desperately needs some if crops are to develop.

Because I’ve spent so much time sitting in transit (three hours from Sandomierz yesterday) and will again (overnight to Prague tonight), I have been walking everywhere despite the heat. I figure I may have walked off one scoop of the coconut and chocolate ice cream I treated myself to on the way back to the apartment yesterday.

I had lunch today with Dorota and Malgoscia, two of my Peace Corps language teachers who opened a school to teach Polish to foreigners. We marveled at the passage of time -- IKO, their school, is 17 years old, and we’re known each other 20 years, a lifetime! I remember the birth of Malgoscia’s older daughter who now has a driver’s license and younger sister. We gave Malgoscia a baby shower, probably the first such event in Polish history.

Malgoscia was in charge of PCV language training for several years, learning how to teach adults a foreign language from Michael, an expat who helped set up the language training program. (There wasn’t, and still may not be, a pedagogy for teaching Polish to adults.) Malgoscia learned quickly, trained her teachers well and was a gifted teacher herself. She also had an entrepreneurial side and saw an opportunity in the marketplace and in Dorota. Together they ventured forth into, for them, the unknown world of business ownership. But the PC business volunteers and a few other American expats in Warsaw have been available to help along the way.

Like all small businesses, they are struggling in this depressed economy made worse for them by EU grants (not loans) that favor start-ups. A number of “schools” purporting to do what theirs does have opened with that free EU money for a year or two and a non-government organization financed by the ministry in charge of competition (!) offers classes at no cost. We talked about some marketing ideas, including promoting their successes. For example, foreigners heading banks in Poland need to pass some type of exam in Polish, and every one trained by IKO has passed the exam. We talked about social media, and I dissuaded them of their idea that because I’m an American, I understand and use those. Not. I have a Facebook page with minimal info because so many people I know “friended” me; I don’t have a Twitter account because I don’t see the need to announce where I am at every moment of the day, disclose intimate details of my life or share my sometimes half-baked opinions. And this blog is written for family and friends, not the larger blogosphere.

Some of you may recall me writing about Dorota in times past. I feel as if I’ve watched her grow up ... she wasn’t long out of college and spoke minimal English when she taught our “survival Polish” class in the winter of 1991. Now she’s a successful entrepreneur, mother of Franiu and partner to Jacek, and good friend.

The idea behind Peace Corps language class is to help PCVs navigate daily living in their new countries, not to ensure we speak flawless Polish, Spanish, French, Swahili, Tagalog. In our case that meant words, phrases, sentences to use at the “Ruch” (kiosk), in the “sklepy” (shops) and “Poczta” (post office), on the “ulicy” (streets, itd. (etc.). My still-limited skills are the fault of my own laziness, not for want of good teachers. As in every endeavor, there is at least one person who needs the details, who questions the minutia. To which Dorota would reply, “Nie zapytaj dlaczego. Zrob.” (Don’t ask why. Do.)

16 June, Czermin

Trite but true that time flies when you’re having fun. (A variation on that, “Fun Flies When You’re Doing Time,” is the title of a book by my “PC Bestest Friend” Susan about her (and our) adventures as PCVs in Poland. For a copy, contact Susan at susansnelson@aol.com and enjoy!)

Prague was wonderful, as beautiful and charming as I remember. It’s been 15 years since my last visit there; I took my son during the time he was with me over here.

The overnight train from Warsaw started off with cars for Vienna and Budapest that had to be disconnected somewhere along the way making for a very noisy night. Not much sleep. Plus I shared the second class sleeping compartment with a Polish woman who was quite nice but periodically snored loudly. I easily forgave that in the morning when she got coffee for the two of us from the conductor.

I actually had a fairly decent sense of direction on arrival, found the taxi stand and got to the hotel on a narrow cobblestoned side street in Mala Strana, across the Charles River from the Old Town. Although it was only about 9 am, the hotel let me check in. I dumped my bags and went off for a walk, more coffee and something to eat. Armed with a map the hotel clerk provided, I crossed the Charles Bridge and took a very long way around to the main square, stopping for a coffee-and-cold-cuts breakfast. Essentially I had gone right when I should’ve gone left at some point, but no matter. Wandering through Prague’s Old Town is one of the city’s main delights.

Midday as I returned to the hotel, it started to rain ... thankfully a light rain, but I was still very damp on my return. I put my clothes on a chair to dry, unpacked my bags and took a nap until my friend Iva arrived. Iva was the wine specialist on the project I managed in Macedonia and eventually became my deputy chief of party, taking over the close out after I left. We’ve remained friends since. One of the benefits of all this overseas work is a wonderful cadre of friends in each location.

Iva had flown from Skopje, then taken public transport from the airport. We got her settled and exchanged bottles of wine. I had asked for Macedonian wine to take to a wine bar owner in Minneapolis and had brought her our friend John’s Vranec, a Macedonian variety he’s now growing and bottling in the Sierra wine region of CA. Off we went to the Old Town, a more direct route, with a stopover for coffee and cash.

Iva reads about Prague while we wait for our coffee.

We spent four days (Wednesday through Sunday last week) exploring Prague primarily on foot. I think we only took a tram once other than when we departed for home. Crossing the Charles Bridge, taking photos anywhere and navigating the narrow streets were regular challenges as everywhere was overrun with tourists -- student groups of all ages and adults from all over the world. Prague tourism definitely didn’t seem to be down.

We hiked up to and all around Castle Hill (Hradcany), watched the Changing of the Guard at Prague Castle and went into St. Vitus Cathedral.

Castle Hill from the Charles Bridge

Entrance to Prague Castle, less gild than Versailles but equally massive

Entrance to St. Vitus Cathedral

Walking back from Castle Hill, we visited the gardens of Wallenstein Palace with its unique wall of fake stone that includes animal and human shapes. The palace is massive, built in the 17th Century to rival Prague Castle. It currently houses the Czech Senate.

Portion of fake stone wall in Wallenstein Garden

With hundreds of others, we watched the hourly routine of the famous astronomical clock of the old city hall in the old square. Another day Iva climbed the tower for a magnificent view. Not knowing there was an elevator, I sat near the Jan Hus statue in the square to wait for her and got a suntan. (I didn’t think my knees would make the downward climb.) Another day we arrived in the square to find an Avon Breast Cancer Walk getting under way. If I’d known, I might have signed up for the event.

Hundreds of Czech women took part in Avon Walk

Everywhere we went, we seemed to run into Franz Kafka.

One of several Kafka-themed cafes

Franz Kafka statue by Spanish Synagogue

Deciding to take a new route home from our end of the Charles Bridge, we discovered (1) a shorter, easier-on-the-legs-than-crowded-cobblestone-streets route and (2) the Kampa Museum of modern sculptures which was showing the works of Kandinsky, Schoenberg and Kupka. As with other museums, we didn’t go inside -- the weather was too nice for that. But we did see some of the sculptures in a courtyard and outside.

One of three cast bronze babies outside Kampa Museum

With the exception of one restaurant, the food and service we experienced were excellent. The less-than-wonderful meal was at a riverside restaurant that I remembered from my Peace Corps days. You enter by walking downward through a barely shoulder-wide stone staircase, which is why I remember it so well. The scenery was lovely, the food was okay at best and the waiter was beyond indifferent. To compensate, we followed the sound of karaoke music under the bridge to another restaurant where, despite saying all we wanted was a glass of wine, we were greeted warmly, served promptly and not forgotten. The music continued in a separate area of the restaurant that we suspected was reserved for tour groups. We made a dinner reservation for our last night, and the food, wine, service, ambiance were excellent. I ordered salmon, continuing my good luck from France with this meal.

Speaking of food, we happened on a restaurant not far from our end of the Charles Bridge. It was called Leone & Anna. The outside terrace where we sat was in an wide passage between two buildings. The charming waiter who spoke English and good food saw us return two more times, including a lunch of the best hamburger I’ve had overseas. Another day we had lunch at a pricey place on the Fifth Avenue of Prague. We continued to sit, chat, people watch well beyond the end of our meal, then it started to rain and we stayed even longer. And no one hovered or brought the check to hint we should leave. So we each ordered a glass of wine and sat out the rain. Perhaps the most expensive lunch I’ve ever had but well worth it.

Me “sampling” the art outside a gallery across from our hotel

Sunday morning saw Iva off for Skopje via tram, bus and airplane while I slept in, then did a bit more wandering, eating and shopping before heading for the train station. An equally noisy, mostly sleepless night back to Warsaw where I found a new addition to the Hala Glowna (Main Hall). The main railway station is being renovated in advance of the 2012 World Cup to be played in Poland. Many of us, expats and Poles alike, doubt the ability of any contractor to remove the decades old stench of urine from the place ... but they are trying. And it does look nicer now.

Old signs make new sculpture at Warszawa Centralna

17 June, Sandomierz

As I drove into town with Hala this morning, she told me about the eight new chicks that her mother had ... and I was going to report on that as the day’s big news. Later. Bigger news first. I’m in the lobby of Hotel Basztowy, and I just saw Ojciec Mateusz (Father Matthew) in the flesh! He walked down the steps, dropped off his room key and exited while I tried not to stare or pant. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt, not a cassock as he appears on the small screen but I recognized him immediately.

For those of you who have forgotten or haven’t been reading me long enough, “Ojciec Mateusz” is the most popular television series in Poland, and it takes place and is partially filmed in Sandomierz. Father Matthew is a crime-solving priest who easily rides an old-fashioned bicycle over our hilly cobblestone streets. Many of the cast and crew stay at Hotel Basztowy, and the lead actor has declared in several interviews that he not only loves the city but this hotel. He stays in the same room each time, one that overlooks a park. I snapped a few photos with my iPhone but couldn’t get very close.

Ojciec Mateusz and his police colleague

Okay, enough slobbering over handsome unattainable men. Back to the chicks. When I returned from France, Michal’s brother and wife were visiting from Switzerland. At Hala’s mother’s request they had brought 20 eggs from a variety of chicken not available in Poland. These chickens apparently grow to 5 kilos (about 12 pounds) or more and make great rich broth from just one-quarter of a chicken.

As the farm has no chickens right now, only turkeys that her mother is also raising, Hala borrowed a hen from a neighbor. And the rent-a-hen has been sitting on the eggs. Apparently it is possible to hatch chicks from these eggs even after such a long time because Hala’s mother now has eight new chicks with hopes of a few more. (Some of the original 20 eggs have been broken.) Ideally one of the chicks will be a rooster so that additional eggs can be laid and hatched without benefit of a trip from Switzerland. Hala informed me that while a hen can lay eggs without a rooster, she will lay more with one. No comment.

In other news, I got a chuckle this morning over Michal scolding (loudly, as always) Hala’s mother for her lack of care for a stray cat that has adopted them. Can’t recall if I told you about the cat before so bear with me or skip this paragraph. I’ve named him “Lucky” because he was lucky to land at this farm. (Not an original idea, one gadged from my brother who suggested the same moniker for his wife’s cat.) Lucky is such a dark brown that he looks black. He isn’t allowed in the house, but the family feeds him, and Michal makes sure he has fresh water and clean dishes. His mother-in-law is less scrupulous, hence the scolding. Oh, and Michal bought Lucky a new dish while in Warsaw this week and often sits and pets him. Although an outdoor car, he is lucky.

19 June, Czermin

“Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.” So sang the Carpenters back in my day ... but actually neither has ever particularly bothered me. When you’re single, it’s Sunday that can get you down. Sunday is traditionally family day, and yours exists no more. It’s how the Brunch Bunch was started, why I became such a faithful Bruncher for so many years. My late friend Suzanne and her friend Sunny, whom I never met, started asking other single friends to brunch after they were divorced. My friend Terry invited me when we were going through our divorces, then she never attended again. She had grown up with our late friend John who had been brunching for some time. Later I invited Marilou who invited ... You get the picture. Over the years lot of people have come and gone, some to marriage (Brunchers were usually single), some to other interests (I have been gone too much to be a regular), too many to death. I have carried the concept with me overseas and established brunch groups in three countries because Sundays are even harder when you’re an expat alone overseas.

Today, at last, it is raining but it is a Sunday. The rain started last night not long after we came into the house after our ognisko (bonfire). And it apparently continued through the night; it was raining when I awoke. Today’s gray skies signal, we hope, more rain as the garden and crops are in desperate need. So strange that last year we had flooding of historic proportions. Global climate change indeed.

Of course a rainy Sunday provides a great excuse for a lazy day at the laptop adding to my writing, listening to music and playing solitaire on my iPhone (thanks to Matt who helped Alfreda and I download the app while we were in Dordogne) and lounging on the bed reading the historical novel I bought in Prague. Don’t get excited; it’s in English. The bookshop, Shakespeare and Sons, located below the Charles Bridge in Mala Strana seems to have been modeled after the Shakespeare & Company Bookstore in Paris. I spent yesterday afternoon ironing, sorting and packing to leave here on Tuesday morning for Warsaw.

We roasted kielbasa to be eaten with sharp mustard and dense Polish bread, fresh tomatoes and onions, strong Polish beer (Hala and Michal), bubbly water (me) and Michal’s homemade version of bourbon, Aqua Vitae (Michal and me, and later Hala’s sister who dropped by). Michal gives me a hard time because I don’t drink much or often. I’ve never acquired a taste for beer of any kind, a huge disappointment to my dad and many friends. But since my life has been peopled with alcoholics, including some family members, I’ve always been cautious, rarely over-indulging. Some of you have been present during those times when I did -- after Fred’s birthday party during college (mid 60s), I swore off gimlets for life, then lapsed on an early ‘80s trip to my sister’s in Denver where her late husband and I finished several pitchers of kamakazis (basically gimlet shots), forgetting what I learned at their wedding. At a mile high, the body reacts to booze more sneakily. And I broke one of my mother’s cardinal rules (don’t mix your drinks) on my first New Year’s Eve in Poland as a Peace Corps volunteer in training. The alcohol selection then ran to Russian champagne and vodka, both cheap. My PC Bestest Friend Susan and I settled on Russian champagne ... but I couldn’t resist, and I had a few of the vodka-laced Jello shots made by the “youngsters” in the group. Not a good combination, even when you aren’t driving.

So Michal was surprised when I agreed to a shot of his bourbon, Aqua Vitae, very potent but tasting unlike any bourbon or sour mash whiskey I’ve ever had ... and had several more. I called it quits after #6. I had eaten two kielbasas with bread etc. and took a long swig of water after each shot. I only had a very mild buzz and awoke with no hangover. Hurray. Truth be told, it’s the hangovers that really keep me from overindulging alcohol-wise. I hate losing a whole day to that misery when I could be enjoying myself!

21 June, Summer Solstice, Warsaw

Summer has begun with a big bang. My dear friend from college Marcia underwent a lung transplant today. Word on her CarePages is that she’s resting well in the ICU. Thank God, the doctors, the donor and his/her family.

A few weeks ago when I thought I might organize a mini-reunion in Chicago of our foursome of friends from mid-60s Lambda chapter of Kappa Delta, I learned that Marcia was atop the transplant list, and so on call. She had some kind of lung condition that I never totally understood beyond that it would only get worse and kill her without a new lung. Breathing was undoubtedly made more difficult since she lives in Snowmass, Colorado, several miles above sea level where the air is thinner.

23 June, Warsaw

Updates on Marcia’s CarePages indicate she’s continuing to do well, off the ventilator, breathing on her own, started on physical therapy, eating the requisite hospital Jello and smiling for the camera. Hurray.

Tonight Marta, Hala and Michal’s daughter with whom I usually stay when I’m in Warsaw, went to hear Cassandra Wilson at Warsaw Summer Jazz Days. Every year I miss the jazz festival, so when I saw this concert, I asked Marta to get us tickets. My ‘thank you’ to her for her continued generous hospitality. The opening act was an Israeli trio, led by Avishai Cohen on bass accompanied by piano and drums. An interesting set with some music that I really enjoyed but Cohen’s strange head movements both while he played and as the others were featured were distracting. Cassandra Wilson was disappointing because she sang so little, letting her five-piece band take center stage most of the set. Actually that wasn’t bad ... they were incredibly good. I could’ve listened to them all night.

I came back to finish packing while Marta scraped a sticker from her car window. We had inadvertently parked in a taxis-only area on a main street. Not only did we not see the sign, but regular cars were parked in the entire area when we drove in. While I can appreciate, I guess, the cabbies need to make a statement about their reserved spaces, I cannot appreciate the sticker which featured a caricature of a penis. What that has to do with parking is beyond me.

When I went on line to check in, I discovered that KLM now has a one-checked-bag rule. While it looked like I could check two since I have a “Silver Medallion” status with Delta, I decided not to take any chances. I repacked everything, leaving one coat for Marta to take with her to the farm sometime. Per her scale, I am well within the KLM limits. I decided to weigh myself, and I’m also well within the limits -- only a pound heavier than when I left Minneapolis. Not bad for two weeks in the land of pork and potatoes and the world’s best bread.

26 June, Minneapolis MN USA, home again, home again ...

Well, I’m home. The trip back was the usual nightmare. I awoke at 4 am worrying about the baggage, should I repack, should I leave things with Marta, etc. etc., and I couldn’t fall back to sleep Was at the airport an hour before the baggage check-in folks arrived, and got through that with no problem. Flight was half an hour late leaving since it arrived late, but I had plenty of time for the transfer. And for a change didn’t have to stand in a long security line to board for MSP. Traffic is definitely down. Delta flew a 767 that was almost full but holds nowhere near the number of the usual Airbus. I sat behind three teenaged boys who thought the world not only revolved around them but wanted to hear every word of their scintillating conversations ... and a baby who cried off and on all night. I didn’t even get in a doze.

My wonderful sister arrived to pick me up just as I exited the terminal, and my wonderful nephew (with a little help from the cleaning lady) had the apartment in great shape. He’d put the bed linens in the washing machine, ready for me to dry before remaking the bed. When I did that, I found a pair of pink fluffy footies, the kind women wear to bed when their feet are cold, on the floor on the far side of the bed. Hmmmm. I laid them with the rest of his gear that was by the front door (he had to go to work and would return to pick it up afterwards) and didn’t say a word when he came by later. Seems he has a girlfriend.

This weekend Barbara, Christopher and I, with some help today from my friends Doug and Larry, helped Tomery move out of her to a rented room. She’s paring back expenses for six months to give herself time to decide what she wants to do next, which is probably move to Austin, Texas. Unfortunately she was about as unorganized about this move as she could be ... read: nothing packed. None of us is very happy.

30 June, Minneapolis

As the month ends, I’m delighted to say that my friend Marcia continues to improve and is no longer in the hospital. The doctors wanted her out quickly because of the potential for a hospital-acquired infection.

My niece Tomery will finally stay at her new abode. She’s been staying with me since she worked until 10 pm most nights and hasn’t had time to unpack. The house where she’s rented the room has a swimming pool and hot tub in the back yard ... I may have to find my way over there.

And my sister bought a new car today. She’s been wanting a Mini Cooper for ages and found a used one at a used car dealer that has an excellent reputation. We test drove the other day, and we picked it up tonight after she finished work.

My sister Barbara and her Mini

As for me, I’m settling back into life in Minneapolis. Have arranged my next trips, to Chicago and Michigan in mid-July for sure, perhaps North Dakota with niece Dyana to see her mother, grandmothers et al., and a week “up north at the lake” with my friend Jean from San Francisco.

“Don’t make plans before ...”

5 May, Czermin village near Sandomierz, 200 miles southeast of Warsaw, Poland

“W domu jestem.” That’s what I said to Michal, Hala’s husband, at 5:30 this morning as he assembled lettuce, tomatoes, garlic and other fresh garden goodies for our breakfast salad. “I’m home.”

Michal replied in Polish, “Yes, yesterday.” But I said, “No, this morning,” and he smiled. This typical breakfast and his and Hala’s farm feels as much like being home as my oatmeal, yoghurt and fruit breakfast in Minneapolis.

Yesterday when I arrived in Warsaw, the weather was beautiful: coolish but not cold, partly cloudy with a bit of sun, spring at last. Perfect for a nap as the driver brought me to Sandomierz; he sometimes drives too fast for me so sleep is a nice avoider. And I actually did fall asleep for about two hours ... I’d been awake for more than 24. Unfortunately I awoke very early on the day I left Minneapolis and couldn’t fall back to sleep since I knew the alarm would jar me awake at 5 am. I’d promised to take my nephew Christopher to the airport -- LA for his birthday.

Not much has changed since I left here in December, except the Internet provider at the farm ... and there’s the rub. For some reason I could get on last night; I downloaded a day’s worth of messages. But later in the evening and today, nic (nothing) with the exception of Skype. Weird.

It works! Marek (the Center’s IT expert) arrived, re-set up the system for all of us and now I can not only Skype but also read a day’s worth of email and surf the web. Reconnected at last ... and those of you who know me best know just how crucial that is to my very existence.

I’ve been reading a new Jeffrey Deaver novel. He’s one of my favorites, especially his Lincoln Rhyme series about the NYC crime scene specialist who’s a paraplegic. Denzel Washington played him in a film a few years ago. Anyway, this one centers on a man dying of cancer who blames his disease on the electric utility where he works. So he starts to devise ways to create electrical problems that kill people. Like all of Deaver’s novels, it includes many interesting details, in this case about electricity. All of which just resurfaced a childhood memory. My dad was handy at fixing just about anything, but he would not fool with electricity. Oh, he’d repair a toaster back in the days when one did such a thing instead of tossing it and heading to Target for a new one. But fix a socket, nope; he even hesitated when it came to replacing a fuse in the days before circuit breakers became ubiquitous.

Oh, @#$%^&*(. I’m thirsty and decided to open a bottle of water that Hala gave me for the bedroom. Did that without even thinking about it being fizzy water and it splattered everywhere, including my keyboard! I blotted quickly and am praying none went into the logic board below. That was replaced not long ago when I spilled a whole bottle of water on it back home.

6 May, Czermin

Yesterday afternoon Hala and I visited her neighbor Dorota from whom Hala gets early salad stuff, as I write on my grocery lists at home: lettuce, tomatoes etc., and to whom she gives potatoes and later veggies. Dorota has four beautiful greenhouses, and the one we entered exhibited long, neat rows of maturing plants, well tended and protected from nature. The cucumber plants were climbing their taut strings and well in bloom, and the rows of tomato plants were just beginning to flower. Our interests lay in the outer rows -- the ready-to-harvest lettuce and radishes. Hala pulled huge radishes from the soil while Dorota cut four giant heads of buttery soft lettuce. I was ordered to stand in the door so my shoes didn’t get caked with damp dirt. I collected the booty as it was harvested and savored the idea of future “Michal salads.” Ah, heaven.

Today I drove into Sandomierz with Hala and made my first visit to the recreation center’s swimming pool, only to be greeted by a sign on the door announcing no hot water between 8 am and 4 pm and ‘sorry for the inconvenience.’ Having come that far, I decided I’d brave a cold shower. And it was actually warm, probably residual hot water in the tank. The pool was cooler than I recalled but at least I had a lane to myself. I swam about 10 laps, then did some water aerobics and Pilates. Not as much exercise as I’m used to but enough for my first day of lap swimming.

Tonight we visited Dorota again, this time to collect a cheesecake that Hala had asked her to bake. (We delivered all of the ingredients when we went for veggies yesterday.) We had to see Dorota’s new outfit for her nephew’s wedding on Saturday and help her decide which red wine-colored blouse to wear with the pearl gray suit. And of course, we had to taste the cheesecake. I am determined not to regain the weight and inches I lost recently ... but I also have to be a good guest. I ate a small piece with my fruit tea.

8 May, Czermin

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers out there. May your children honor you as they should for doing your best to endure their good and not-so-good days and still loving them as only a mother can.

Today is doing double duty -- it is also the 12th anniversary, yahrzeit to my Jewish friends, of my son Peter’s death. If we can make the timing and Skype work, my friend Jean will call today, and we’ll say Kaddish for him. Two years ago Jean and I went to Temple Israel in Minneapolis to say Kaddish at the evening service, but it was so long that we left after an hour. We hadn’t anticipated that it was the day all of the Hebrew school kids were graduating. We said Kaddish in the corridor outside the sanctuary.

This is one of several traditions that I started after Peter died. I went to Temple Israel on the first anniversary with my friend Susan, who’s mother’s yahrzeit is the day after Peter’s. We go together whenever I’m in town. Wherever I am, I spend time alone outdoors remembering Peter, and I honor that memory with a contribution to the Mayo Clinic’s cancer research programs. For his birthday in early September, I try to spend that weekend at the Fosters’ cabin near Brainerd, invite all of the Hagens to join me and celebrate my Godson Craig’s birthday too. He was born on Peter’s birthday.

Today Hala and I will walk to the forest as we often do on Sundays. And I’ll sit alone for a while under the gazebo. We’re being gifted with a sunny day.

10 May, Czermin

How many times have I written that spring is finally here and in how many locations? Two days in a row of sunshine and moderate temps and I’m at it again. Fingers crossed ala the US, thumb buried in fist ala Poland, whatever it takes for the good luck to keep spring marching toward summer with no more backtracking. It was lovely to again be able to take a postprandial walk to the forest with Hala, even if we did have to endure for a few minutes the odorous remnant of a neighbor’s late afternoon field spraying.

11 May, Czermin

Well, after a couple of months of being around and/or helping friends with assorted “bugs,” I have finally succumbed. Late yesterday afternoon my sneezes grew ever louder and more frequent -- you may have heard me, and all that other good stuff that goes with a head cold hit me like a Sammy Sosa home run. I took an antihistamine at midnight and slept sitting up so I could breathe. I finally awoke at just before 8 am when Hala came to check on me. I hadn’t smelled my usual wake-up call -- Michal’s morning coffee, and breakfast was ready. I promised to eat later; my stomach isn’t up to Michal’s delicious but very garlicky morning meal yet. I’ll lay low today, keep taking my vitamin C, perhaps another antihistamine and eat a peanut butter sandwich. Yesterday I went to the new Kaufland hypermarket where I had a choice of peanut butters, including one low fat. Hala was surprised I had found any. Poles generally do not like peanut butter although they do enjoy Nutella, a hazelnut and chocolate concoction that is spread on bread and to me, Ms. Sweet Tooth, is way too sweet. I cannot abide it, even in nalesnini (crepes).

I’m blaming my cold on the busload of guests who arrived at the hotel just before I left. I was sitting in the lobby using the wi-fi when they arrived, loud, noisy and definitely inebriated. They obviously had gotten started on ‘happy hour’ en route, and it was only 4 pm when they poured themselves into the hotel. They were a group enjoying a “wyczeczka” paid for by their company’s social fund. This type of trip is one use for monies that companies must set aside in a fund to benefit employees, a carry over from The Old Days when everyone would’ve gotten a couple of weeks or a month at the company spa or resort. Marzena, who manages the hotel, says these social fund trips are always well laced with alcohol, mostly bottles brought along, and too often accompanied by physical sickness, too much noise and the occasional fight. But they do fill up the hotel rooms with much needed revenue.

12 May, Czermin

Stayed home today again and slept all morning, then showered, dressed and went for a walk to the forest under warm sunshine. I didn’t even need my sweatshirt, just a short-sleeved polo shirt. I noticed that many of the dandelions are turning into white fluff balls of seeds. I’m probably the only person I know who loves the sight of dandelions -- bright yellow dots across a verdant lawn or field. My dad dug them out with a vengeance, added toxic chemicals and cursed loudly every spring as they bloomed anew. Oh, I know they are tenacious weeds but they add a smile to spring, and for that, I love them. (I also live in a condo so I don’t have to deal with them.)

13 May, Sandomierz

I can breathe again. Came into town with Hala and have spent this morning on the laptop. Found and booked a shuttle service in Paris, PDF’d and printed necessary vouchers and instructions. What a relief. I’m not willing to pay for a taxi to the hotel and wasn’t looking forward to trying to learn the Metro so quickly.

Czermin

Hala and Michal make a great cooking team, seamless, each with an assigned task or role that requires minimal discussion. Their son Marcin called earlier in the week to say his friend would be in the village and could bring some “home cookin’” back to Krakow for Marcin. Lots of his dad’s Bolognese spaghetti sauce and his mother’s pork cutlets, at least six, were ordered. So yesterday before dinner the sauce was prepared, a ginormous amount. I sliced the mushrooms per Michal’s directions. Tonight he and Hala made the cutlets. After Michal sliced the pork roast into cutlets, Hala pounded each within a millimeter of its life. Michal prepared the giant cast iron skillet while Hala prepared the egg wash, flour and fine bread crumbs. She floured, egged and crumbed, he fried. As her fingers became coated, she cleaned off the breading into the egg wash. When the cutlets were all done, she added the remaining flour and bread crumbs, some small bits of pork and additional seasoning to the leftover egg wash and mixed ala pancake batter. Michal made four savory pancakes that we enjoyed as a przekaska (hors d’oeuvre).

All was packaged for Marcin’s friend: several liters of sauce and more than a dozen cutlets, all ready for the hungry graduate student. Some garden fresh veggies were also sent along.

14 May, Warsaw

A lovely day for a long bus ride. Even better for a long walk afterwards. After taking a cab to my old apartment (now Hala and Michal’s daughter Marta’s apartment), I walked back to the center of the city to stretch my legs, breath some reasonably fresh air and enjoy the sunshine and warmth. An amazing number of new dedicated bicycle paths line some of the busy thoroughfares and were being used. Where there aren’t paths, they hit the sidewalks and don’t have bells or use their voices to announce their approaches from the rear, which is very unnerving.

Although I was kind of exhausted after almost an hour of walking, I felt good too. Got my weekend IHT (International Herald Tribune) and started the crossword. If those boxes get any smaller, I’ll need a magnifying glass. Even the Strib version has larger boxes. Got my first Warsaw ice cream cone (coconut and chocolate, of course.) I only eat ice cream when I can get coconut, thus limiting the amount of ice cream I eat. Bought some tram tickets so I could ride part way back to the apartment. And enjoyed tandoori chicken with Marta and her roommate Piotr at a new Indian restaurant near the flat. The Indian Embassy is near the restaurant, thus ensuring tasty, authentic and reasonably priced food -- which is what we got.

18 May, Paris, France

As I typed that dateline, the old cigarette ad slogan, “You’ve come a long way, baby” came to mind. Who’d a thunk it -- me, the world traveler? Well, my mother, for sure. She always said I had my bags backed and by the door in case someone suggested a trip. And me -- I have virtually always had duplicates of all my cosmetics and hair care stuff and many more sets of undies that I really need given that I have had a washer and dryer, all in anticipation of travel.

It’s been 20 years since I was in Paris. Between Christmas and New Year’s in 1990 two St. Paul Companies friends and I made the trip for 10 days of almost tourist-free touring. We stayed in “Gertrude Stein’s Paris” -- the St. Germain des Pres area of the Left Bank of the Seine between the Eiffel Tower and the Latin Quarter. We had a ball, walked everywhere in the city and rented a car to see Epernay (champagne country), Meudon (where Rodin is buried) and Versailles.

This trip I’m with Alfreda, a friend I met when we both worked in Macedonia; she now works in Senegal. She arrived earlier in the day than I and was already checked into our hotel in the Montparnasse district, farther from the Seine so not a touristy neighborhood, which I know I’ll like. Tonight we walked down the street to a small bistro for an early dinner. When we arrived and asked for dinner menus, the waiter looked at his watch and said incredulously, “It’s 5 o’clock.” We acknowledged that was early but said we were hungry, then ordered to prove it -- lamb for me, a curried chicken and rice dish for Alfreda and some very good house white wine.

Our room is small and crowded (I think they dismantled a king-sized bed to give us the requested twins), but it’s clean, well equipped and just fine since we won’t spend much time there anyway. The staff is very courteous and helpful and loves that Alfreda speaks such good French.

24 May, Paris

Highlights of the week ... I was way too busy having fun to write daily.

While having dinner the first night (Monday), we noticed a number of people standing at the bar drinking their espressos even though there were tables available. Our tour guide of a few days later explained that in many places, the coffee is less expensive if you stand to drink it. Given the prices, that makes sense.

Our first full day (Tuesday) we started with a petit-dejeuner (continental breakfast) in a nearby cafe. Ah, crunchy French bread with butter and jam and cafe au lait -- I am in breakfast heaven. Couldn’t do this at home or I’d looked like Porky Pig, but here -- well, when in Paris ...

Then we walked for six hours, sightseeing and people watching. Our first trek was from our hotel in Montparnasse to the Eiffel Tower where we didn’t go to the top. The lines at all four legs were very long. Why wait several hours to do something you are terrified to do? Perhaps if it were at night ... I offered to enjoy a sunny respite while Alfreda made the journey, but she declined.

Approaching Le Eiffel

Off we went along the River Seine where first we checked out river cruises and booked a lunch cruise for the next day.

The intrepid walker at the River Seine

Walking along the quai toward Notre Dame, small cars and motorcycles zoom by. The French definitely are aware of the high cost of parking and fuel. The only big cars of any consequence were taxis ... the rest were Smart Cars, small Citroens, etc. And more motorcycles than I’ve seen anywhere and large dedicated parking zones.

Lunch in a small bistro was an incredibly tasty quiche that was more fresh veggies than cheese or eggs, just as I would prefer, and a nicely dressed green salad. Musee d’Orsay’s plaza was packed with people waiting to enter; we kept going; more long lines at Notre Dame. We went street shopping for gifts and stopped for coffee and dessert while we waited for a walking tour of the Latin Quarter to start. Unfortunately I’d mis-remembered the time, so we took the Metro toward our hotel.

A word on the Paris transportation system of Metro (subway) and RER (local trains) -- we didn’t use any buses. Well coordinated and connected but going from one to the other on foot underground can be a real challenge for the novice. I think we walked halfway back to the hotel at one transfer point. But surprisingly clean and under 2 euro.

Back at the hotel, we sacked out, checked email, rested our weary feet and discussed the next day’s adventure ... soon it was after 8 pm. Because it was still very light outside, we had no sense of time, but we were hungry. We both had excellent grilled salmon (do you see a trend here when it comes to the quality of the food?) in the outdoor plaza of a neighborhood bistro. The plaza was named for Flora Tristan, an 19th Century French socialist writer and activist credited with being a founder of modern feminism. I looked her up as I wasn’t familiar with the name.

If it’s Wednesday, it must be river cruise day. But first a stop at Gare Montparnasse for train tickets to Versailles for tomorrow and to Limoges on Friday and to Thiviers on Saturday, the last one gets us within 15 minutes or so of Matt and Will’s place, our weekend sojourn in the countryside. Queuing, as the Brit’s say, was a long and tedious process. Thankfully Alfreda speaks incredibly good French. That was helpful beyond belief when we bought these tickets. She conversed easily with the ticket agent, asking questions and ensuring we got what we needed, including a doable connection for the trip to Limoges (we had to return from Versailles to Paris and change trains).

The weather was perfect for a cruise boat with huge curving windows that offered panoramic views of the sights and air conditioning that kept us from sweating under the sunlight. Once again, we opted for salmon, this time poached. I expected the food to be well presented and good -- it was fantastic. Every course was more perfect than the one before.

Yes, that’s a small Statue of Liberty in the Seine

After two hours of sitting, eating and drinking wine, we were ready for our walking tour, and this time I had the start time correct -- 4 pm under the huge Charlemagne-and-horse statue near Notre Dame. Two Aussies, two Brits, a Bulgarian-American, Alfreda and I made up the group led by Kevin of DiscoverWalks, a free walking tour service offered in Paris (and San Francisco), tips welcome and in Kevin’s case, a generous tip was warranted and given. Kevin not only had a broad and deep knowledge of the Latin Quarter, Paris and French history, he also had a wonderful sense of humor and a gift for storytelling.

We visited many “usual sites” like the Shakespeare and Company Bookstore, the Church of St. Julien Le Pauvre (probably the oldest church in Paris) and the Sorbonne (the University of Paris); walked the narrow medieval streets that barely handle a modern automobile; learned that the Latin Quarter is so called because Latin was the universal language when it was settled. We passed a number of REI/Urban Outfitters type stores all with the same name, Au vieux campeur. In fact, we saw five in less than two blocks! Kevin said he didn’t know why they have so many shops and only in the Latin Quarter. Some shops did cater to specific outdoorsy niches (one only seemed to sell maps, for example).

Kevin says, “Don’t make plans before the French Revolution”

Kevin told us about Cardinal Richelieu commissioning a chapel at the Sorbonne, where he was eventually buried. In case you didn’t know, the cardinal was not loved by the masses. So a few years later, the revolutionaries stormed the chapel, removed and beheaded his corpse and tossed it into river. “Don’t make plans before the French Revolution,” Kevin reminded us.

The College de France, we learned, is where all of the best professors teach and only in French. However, the college now has a few Podcasts in English. Per Kevin, they’ve recently discovered that French is not universally spoken because the College of France is not the center of the world, the Latin Quarter is not the center of world, Paris not is not the center of world, France ...

We finished our tour at the Pantheon, originally built as a church in the mid 18th Century but turned into a giant mausoleum for French genius after the revolution (“Don’t make plans before ... “). Rousseau, Voltaire, Victor Hugo, Emile Zola and Marie Curie (more on her later) are among its permanent residents. Some have been moved to this French version of Westminster Abbey. However, not everyone is happy to have his/her family member reinterred there. Camus’ grandson refused to have the writer’s bones reburied there because he doesn’t like the current president. There is a plaque instead.

N.B.: Mme. Curie, who with her husband Pierre discovered radiation, was born Marie Skladowska in Warsaw. And just as last year in Poland honored Franco-Pole Frederic Chopin with “The Year of Chopin,” this is the year of Pani Skladowska-Curie. (Pani is the Polish version of Mme. or Ms.)

Thursday we hauled our luggage over to Gare Montparnasse, a 20 minute walk away, and the water was still running. On a previous trip in that direction we had noticed clear, non-smelly water pouring out of a curb-cut drain and into the street. FYI, when I walked over that way the day before I left for Poland, the water was still running and out of quite a few curb-cut drains. Anyway ...

A word on French trains which are incredibly clean and quick. Ours were all also on time although I understand that is not a given. On the long trains to Limoges and my return train to Paris a refreshment cart came through to sate my desire for a mid-afternoon cappuccino to keep me awake.

Our hotel, Novotel Chateau de Versailles, is part of a French chain that I’ve used in Warsaw, and a bit more opulent that others where we stayed. The room gave us much more move-around room, had a safe that would hold my laptop and a lovely staff. After enjoying club sandwiches in the bar, we set off to see Versailles, a longish walk but easy to find.

Impossible to get all of Versailles into one shot!

I’ve said it before but will repeat ... one look at Versailles and it’s easy to understand why the French peasants not only revolted but did so with such violence. It is far beyond opulence ... and since most of the furnishings were destroyed in the revolution, we aren’t even seeing it at its best (or worst, depending on your perspective).

Banquet hall in Versailles

Upper portion of king’s chapel

Part of gardens, forests behind Versailles

After several hours of exploring the massive, obscenely gilded palace and wandering the extensive formal gardens and grounds, we worked our way toward an exit, got our bearings and trudged homeward. Bone weary, we decided to dine at the hotel. I had the most insanely delicious dark chocolate concoction for dessert; worth every calorie, a few of which I figure I walked off that day.

Friday found us waiting for a fuel oil truck to finish its delivery to the hotel while our taxi’s meter was kachinging off the euros. The truck was blocking the one-lane, one-way, very long driveway out of the hotel. We’d hit 10 euro when we finally left, but in the interim, Alfreda had voiced our complaint to the front desk. We agreed that a letter to the management was to be done when we had a minute. The cabbie didn’t charge us the usual baggage fee; the trip was “only” 18 euro ($24).

Off to Limoges via Paris and thankfully, a smooth transition between trains. Not long after we arrived at our Limoges hotel, the rain started so we had dinner at the hotel, worked on emails, read and relaxed.

Saturday we awoke to sunshine and after breakfast, walked to the national porcelain museum where we explored the ways porcelain is made and decorated, saw incredible examples not only from Haviland and other Limoges factories but also Wedgewood, Meissen and others in Europe and even one from Ohio. I’ll post the photos rather than try to insert any here. However, by far the most fascinating part of the whole museum was this unique fountain in the entry courtyard. If you can’t see it well, the water shoots from the head like growing hair. The base includes several white porcelain water lilies on metal stems.

Fountain at porcelain museum in Limoges

Saturday afternoon we took the short train ride to Thiviers, which is only 15 minutes or so from where my friend Jan’s son Matt and his partner Will have bought a house. I love being met when I arrive from traveling; it’s such a rare event. So it was a special joy to see Matt as we stepped off the train.

The house and surrounding acreage are picturesque and in the middle of “nowhere” (well, actually the French countryside in the northern part of the Dordogne region). Someone else's horses graze in their back pasture and a pony and its pal, a dappled horse, in their pasture across the lane. These were arrangements by the previous owner that continue. A huge garden is under way in the side yard, with the help of retired neighbors who understand farming and helpfulness without intrusion, as well as a mature orchard of fruit and nuts trees. Roses, wisteria and raspberries are nearly gone (the former two) and are coming (the latter) in the front. And silence is all around.

Port 80: excellence in hospitality, beauty, silence

After getting settled, touring Port 80 and kind of meeting Louis and Smoo, Matt took Alfreda and I on a walk in the nearby wood. (Louis and Smoo are adorable big-eared, very short-haired Devon Rex tabbies who were still a bit in trauma from the previous week with a toddler in residence.) The fresh air and chance to stretch my legs were most welcome. In the evening we drove to nearby Brantome ... very medieval French village-y place, solid stone buildings, narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops. At one point a 17th century princess and her entourage rode by but stopped briefly so I could take a photo. We explored the town, then had a drink along the river, and finally dinner in a garden restaurant. The most perfect lamb I've ever had followed by three of the most delicious ice-cream-filled profiteroles with divine dark chocolate sauce ... I am still salivating. I was so glad I went with entree only and not the four-course prix fixe meals the others had.

Sunday Matt arose earlier than the rest of us and went for fresh bread for the day, pastries for dinner and fish for a shepherd’s pie that he was making for dinner. After fresh coffee, bread, croissants, we went to a flea market in a nearby village. Reminded me of some “Russian markets” I’d visited in Poland -- everyone seemed to have cleaned out his/her closets, plus a few bread, jam, cheese, smoked meat vendors. Matt and Will met some English-speaking friends, we bought some book marks, and I bought some goats’ cheese for a later meal. After lunch, we did a longer walk in the forest, then settled in while Matt fixed dinner. The day was gray and overcast and because the region desperately needs rain, we were hoping it would materialize. But, alas, no such luck.

Apparently it's a French law that every village has to have a bakery. Because there is no bakery in this hamlet, two nearby-village bakeries take turns driving through the area with their wares during the week. So Monday morning, being out of bread, we put off breakfast and anxiously awaited the arrival of the “bread lady.”

Alfreda, Matt and Will waiting for the bread truck

Choosing our daily bread ... and a huge brownie for the next journey

After breakfast and goodbye hugs with Will, Matt drove us to the station stopping en route at “one of the most beautiful villages in France,” a national designation given to 70 or 80 villages including St. Jean de Cole. I took a dozen photos, but none captures why I agree with the French government’s designation. I will post those.

You can read Will’s entry into the Frog Blog about life in the Dordogne as well as our visit at http://www.weesweetiesites.com/frog-blog/index.php/ We’re in the 19 May entry.

28 May, Krakow, Poland

My return to Poland saw me making more quick changes that usual for me these days of retirement. Overnight in Warsaw at the old apartment, airport with driver to meet Steve (the other American on the Center board), very quick drive back to Sandomierz, overnight at farm to do laundry-iron-repack, pre-meeting board dinner (thankfully one course less than usual), board meeting, bus to Krakow, cab to Ula’s, dinner there with Ula and Iza (two Krakow friends from my Peace Corps days), overnight then off to Tosia’s First Holy Communion in the rain. Whew!

Tosia’s communion was the reason I planned my trip as I did. She invited me last November when I spent Thanksgiving with her and her family (David and Inga and older sister Frankie). Having attended Frankie’s, I could not miss Tosia’s. The board had agreed to organize the meeting so that I could be there on Saturday.

The communion service was lovely as was our little communicant. Unfortunately my camera battery died and I didn’t have the iPhone along. David promised to send me some pix as there were lots of photogs. After the service, umbrellas overhead, we all walked a few blocks to Da Pietro, an old favorite Italian restaurant on the rynek (square). We Poland IV PCVs have been going there almost since it opened, and David and Inga’s wedding reception was there. As always, the food was delicious, and in true Polish style, lunch (a four course dinner) took more than two hours. It was fun seeing folks I haven’t seen in a while, Kim from our PC group, friends of David and Inga’s that I’ve gotten to know. In the evening we walked along the river pathway for about 20 minutes to a boat-restaurant and the festivities continued with more wine and finger foods.

Tomorrow Ula, Iza and I will have brunch at Ula’s, then play tourist in Krakow. We are going to explore a new historical and archeological museum that is under the main square. Thankfully Ula made reservations as it is hard to get in otherwise. Then on Monday Iza is going with me to Nowy Sacz, where I served as a Peace Corps volunteer. Her mother is from there, and she has family she hasn’t seen in some time so may decide to visit ... or to just relax.

31 May, Nowy Sacz, Poland

I am devastated. I hardly know what to say. I have thought of returning here for a visit so many times, even wrote to my friend Ewa’s widower when I was living here in 2009. When I didn’t hear from Marek, I postponed making the trip in case he would not be around or didn’t want company. Someone suggested he night have remarried and a new wife might not like Ewa’s friend visiting. Now I learn that their younger son, Piotr (Peter) who was like a second son to me in so many ways, has died. He had melanoma and died last November. It is like my own Peter’s death all over again.

I met Ewa, a pediatric surgeon, through a work colleague; she wanted to continue practicing English after years of study in Poland and a few months in the US. I was glad to oblige, we became friends and she became the local “PC doctor.” Occasionally Marek, a pediatrician, and Ewa had to work overnight at the hospital at the same time. Ewa always asked me to stay with Piotr in their flat; she wanted to be sure he arose in time for school. And I remember a wonderful day that he, Krzysztof (my PC counterpart who had a car) and I spent in Niedzwiedz, a small town in the mountains. His father, who grew up in what as then Nowy Sacz province, didn’t believe a town with such a name existed. It means “bear” in Polish. So we took pix of Piotr by the town sign, and he had a grand time wading in a creek. I had unearthed them when I was cleaning storage in July last year and reminded myself to visit. In 2001 I returned to Poland for his older brother, Wojtek’s, wedding, which was the last time I saw Piotr. When I visited Ewa the month before she died, he had exams and wasn’t able to come home. Piotr was an IT genius and got the second highest score in all of Poland on the entrance exams for the polytechnics.

Yesterday as Iza and I walked from our hotel across the top of the rynek (main town square), Iza noticed a pretty blouse in a shop window. We stopped to look for a minute, and I commented that the shop was (or used to be, I wasn’t sure) owned by friends of mine, Wanda and Bogdan, a couple that I got to know through Ewa and Marek. As we walked on, I looked through the open door of the shop and there was Bogdan. I called out his name and he recognized me. Into the stop I leaped to give and receive huge hugs, make an introduction of Iza and start to catch up ... all in Polish. When I asked about Marek, Bodgan told me about Piotr. However, I understood that Piotr was ill now; I missed that he had already died and didn’t think to confirm my understanding through Iza.

Iza and I took the long walk toward Marek’s house, rang the bell to no answer and went to dinner at a new karczma (inn) by the river. I tried to call Marek, got no answer and left a message with my phone number. This morning I called Wojtek who is a doctor. I had found his number by googling. It was good to hear Wojtek’s voice and his continuing excellent command of English. That’s how I learned my error in understanding Bogdan. Wojtek told me that Piotr had died last year and since then, as Bogdan had said, Marek had pretty much become a recluse. We agreed this was not a good time to visit, so I promised to send a letter with my email address and we could arrange something for another time. I was glad to know that he and Agnieszka, also a doctor, have two small children and are doing well.