accordion players, or why I love Poland
Every Sunday morning, just before the church up the street rings in the 12 o’clock hour, a man goes into the courtyard of our apartment complex and plays one song on his accordion.
The first time I heard this, I thought it had to be pre-recorded music that someone nearby was playing. And when I ran outside and saw him playing, I fell a little more in love with Poland.
Sunday morning accordion player
Our neighborhood accordion player is not the first musician I’ve seen playing; I’ve been on a few buses and trams where someone would play his accordion in exchange for change from passengers, and I’ve walked by more than one restaurant where someone was playing the accordion.
Ever since I was a little girl and unearthed my dad’s old accordion from our under-the-stairs crawl space in the home I grew up in, accordions have always reminded me of some far-off place. And apparently, I’m now living in that far-off place, and absolutely loving it.
Like this:
life is not fair
When I was a little kid and would meet limits placed by my parents with cries that they were being unfair, I was often told that life is not fair.
During my time in Morocco, I knew of three individuals who fell from a roof or high window, and unfortunately, out of those three, only two survived – a neighborhood toddler who was caught before he plummeted to the ground and my Ninja cat.
Back in November of 2010, my Fulbright ETA friend in Ouarzazate lived in a building where a young boy fell to the street from a window in his family’s apartment. An ambulance was called and he was taken to the clinic, but, because it was late at night, and the clinic was not staffed as it should be, the boy did not receive the care he needed. He died as a result of his injuries.
I cannot imagine what it is like to lose a child. I hope his family has been able to find peace.
The closest I have come to experiencing heartbreak was Ninja’s escape followed by three days spent on the streets of Errachidia, and I am acutely aware of how fortunate I am to be able to say that.
A year and a half after the boy in Ouarzazate passed away, I cannot stop thinking about him and the fact that he died and Ninja lived.
God’s will, some might say, and who really knows all the factors that were involved that resulted in one living and the other dying.
After finding Ninja on the street with two broken hips and some other injuries, I don’t know that he would have survived had we not taken extreme measures to secure medical treatment for him. And without access to a number of resources, medical treatment would not have been an option.
I am incredibly grateful that we were able to have Ninja put back together again, but I also find it extremely unsettling that matters of life and death come down to what resources you have at your disposal.
That’s life, I guess, and life’s not fair.
Like this:
a morning at Lublin’s Open Air Village Museum
I spent yesterday morning at Lublin’s Open Air Village Museum, which is known locally as “Skansen.” It’s located out of town a bit, but was only a 30 minute walk from where I was staying. The sign listed the adult admission as being 10 zł, but when I tried to pay, the cashier smiled and waved me through.
I really enjoyed the time I spent walking around Skansen. The scenery is gorgeous, and being able to go inside farm houses and outbuildings from bygone days was both interesting and educational. They have farm houses from as far back as the 1780s, and they also have the different regions of Poland represented.
And perhaps best of all, they cows, goats, chickens and horses living out happy little lives. While they don’t have quarter machines full of corn to feed the animals like they often do at petting zoos in the United States, they do have ample dandelions, and the goats seemed to love those.
This was a relaxing place to spend the morning, and lots of families were here as well. They have bathrooms, a souvenir shop, and a snack shop selling juice, ice cream, beer, etc.
the entrance to Skansen
windmill
inside one of the old farm houses
workers in their horse-drawn wagon
goats in a field
holiday in Lublin
A few weeks ago, I found out that Poland celebrates Labor Day on May 1st, and Constitution Day on May 3rd. And SGH gives students (and teachers!) the 2nd off as well.
Having a few unexpected days off, I decided to take a short trip to visit Lublin, Poland’s 9th largest city, located about three hours east of Warsaw. It’s a city that has a goat on its crest – how could I not visit!?
Lublin – City of Goats!
I booked tickets on Polski Bus, and was pleased to find both seat belts and wifi on the bus. Polski Bus is kind of like Megabus; I ended up paying 42 zł ($13.20) roundtrip. I was happy with the service and would definitely travel with them again.
Polski Bus at the rest stop.. and yes, that is a large, fake spider on the roof of the building.
And I decided to move away from the traditional hotel experience and opted to stay instead at a guest house. For 120 zł ($37.72), I got two nights’ accommodation at Guest House Wytchnienie. They were a bit away from the city center, but the bus system was pretty easy to figure out, and I got a little extra walking in. My single room at Wytchnienie was comfortable and cosy, and the shared bath and kitchen were just outside my room. I’d stay there again if in Lublin, but next time I’d know to bring my own towel and some ear plugs because the walls are quite thin.
Guest House Wytchnienie
I originally planned to visit both Lublin and Kazimierz Dolny on this trip, but with the state holidays, a number of things are closed both yesterday and tomorrow, and so I’m instead focusing only on Lublin this trip, and visiting the Skansen Open-Air Museum and Village, and the Majdanek Concentration Camp.
Ninjas don’t have wings
A year ago today, our beloved Ninja found himself trapped on our rooftop in Errachidia, Morocco. We didn’t know about this at the time, and that proved to be almost fatal for him.
Earlier in the day, my friend from the US, Danger, my PCV friend, and I left for an overnight trip into the desert. As the three of us rode out of cell tower range on our camels, The Husband was frantically tearing our house apart looking for Ninja.
The next morning, while watching the sun rise over the Sahara, my PCV friend, Danger and I rode back into range. And at this point, Ninja had already either jumped or fell 10 or so meters from the roof to the ground in front of our building.
According to one of our neighbors, a black cat (that looked unlike any cat he had seen before) had been by his door around 2200 on May 1st.
As Danger, my PCV friend, and I neared the edge of the Erg Chebbi, I got a phone call from The Husband asking me to come home as soon as possible. At first, he wouldn’t tell me why, but when he did, I did everything possible to get our camels, and later, our SUV driver, moving as quickly as possible. And if you’ve spent any time in Morocco, you know that things don’t typically move quickly, especially first-thing in the morning.
Our desert trek, near the village of Merzouga, was a good 90+ minutes from home. After arriving back at the grand taxi station in Errachidia, we went back to the house to try to figure out what to do.
Ever an American, I made up a flier offering a reward for Ninja’s return. We went door-to-door asking if anyone had seen him. We begged friends to help us come and search.
In general, people were very supportive of us, although some townspeople laughed at our efforts. We were offering money!? For a cat!? The streets of Errachidia are filled with hundreds of cats! Why not just choose one of them to replace our missing cat?
Our adopted family reacted as though one of their own children had gone missing, and spent countless hours, even at night or in the rain, searching for Ninja.
Our Fulbright and Peace Corps Volunteer brothers and sisters joined in the search parties and made meals for us so we could continue searching for Ninja.
How long do you keep looking for a pet who is missing? Thankfully, we got our answer on May 3rd, when, around 2300, The Husband and one of our Moroccan brothers decided to make one more search before calling it a night. While Danger, my Moroccan mom and I made dinner and waited for the guys to get back, we heard shouting from the front yard. Running downstairs, I found Mohamed joyfully exclaiming that they found Ninja.
We flew outside and ran until we met a them a few streets away, The Husband holding a badly injured Ninja in his arms. Mohamed had picked up a very tiny kitten along the way too, abandoned by its mother.
Up until finding him, we did not know how Ninja escaped. He is a Ninja, after all, so maybe he found some way out the front door. After seeing his injuries, it became apparent that he had jumped or fallen from the roof.
Despite his injuries, the first thing that Ninja did after being brought upstairs was to limp to the litter box to relieve himself, or to try to anyway. Like I said, his injuries were really bad.
What do you do with a badly injured cat while living in rural Morocco? After Ninja healed, The Husband and I talked about how we both had thoughts of finding him too injured to save, and being placed in the horrible position of having to end his suffering as humanely as possible, and most likely without the assistance of a veterinarian. There was a vet in town, but he dealt only with livestock, and the nearest vet who saw domestic pets was several hours away.
So, what to do with our badly injured cat? We knew that Ninja needed to get to a big city, and so we put him and The Husband in a grand taxi headed for Casablanca. And at this point, it was after midnight, which meant arranging a taxi was more complicated than just negotiating the price, getting in the car, and going. While they were on their 9 hour cab ride to the capital, we were making phone calls to try to figure out the next step in saving Ninja. We quickly ascertained that they would need to go to Europe to have access to things like an ultrasound and a surgeon. The first flight out of Casa the following morning happened to be going to Paris.
Thanks to our French-speaking Fulbright brothers, we were able to find a clinic for them to go to, and to give the clinic a heads up on Ninja’s condition and arrival time.
After a week or so, The Husband and our bionic Ninja returned to Morocco, with Ninja sporting a plate and seven screws in one hip, and one screw in the other. He has also received strict instructions not to climb or jump on anything for the next three months.
bionic kitty – Ninja’s x-ray showing his plate and screws
I never thought I’d learn how to remove stitches, and I especially did not think I’d learn this was a skill I’d acquire while on my Fulbright grant in Morocco. Ninja was a great patient and actually purred while I removed his 30-something stitches close to three weeks after he returned to Morocco.
I’m happy to report that Ninja is happy as ever, and is totally healed at this point. He has two massive scars on his hips, but really, they add character.
Today, while much of the world is celebrating International Workers’ Day, I’m celebrating the fact that Ninja is still alive, and that I have two cats who I love too much. And without the help and support of our friends and family last year, I don’t know that I could be saying that.
Ninja may not have wings, but thankfully, he still has another eight or so lives left in him.
Thank you! Merci beaucoup! شكرا جزيلا لك! Dziękuję bardzo!
strawberries for dinner
strawberry truck - coming soon to a mall near you!
First on today’s agenda was buying a new filter for our water-filtering pitcher (proof that our expat life is full of never-ending excitement!). And this meant a trip to the mall.
On my way in, I noticed the truck so full of ripe strawberries that I could smell it from across the street. With my new filter purchased, I joined the queue of folks waiting for strawberries.
And on my way back home, I had a moment with two locals on the street that reminded me of being in Morocco. I was minding my own business, lost in a day-dream, when a man next to me called me back to reality. Both because I had not been paying attention to him, and because I really struggle to understand spoken Polish, I was confused and asked him to repeat himself.
He and his son pointed to my bag of strawberries and asked how much I paid for them. I had paid 8 złotych, or about $2.50 for a kg of juicy, delicious berries.
mmm.. truskawki!
While visiting the US earlier in the month, I picked up a big container of vegan protein powder, and I decided that for dinner, I’d be making a strawberry vanilla smoothie.
half a kg of strawberries, eight ice cubes, a scoop of vegan protein powder, and just enough water to keep things moving
Now that the weather is warmer, the idea of having something cool and refreshing for dinner is appealing. In addition to being tasty, the smoothies are quite healthy. As prepared, I got 25 grams of protein, around 275 calories, and a full, happy stomach.
one of the best smoothies I've ever had
I’m looking forward to a summer full of delicious fruits and vegetables!
Like this:
a language learning confession
The weather lately has been absolutely beautiful, and next week we have a long holiday. So needless to say, not many students came to my second class today. We had so few students that our regularly scheduled activity would not work, and so instead, we had a casual conversation peppered with certain words being written on the board and explained. I love when all of my students come to class, but this was a nice opportunity to get to know three of my students better while targeting their specific interests.
At some point in the 90-minute period, we were talking about language learning, and I mentioned how difficult Polish is for me, and that because my pronunciation is so bad, I feel very self-conscious. When people have trouble understanding my attempts in Polish, the conversation often switches to English, and this switching (while kind on the part of the native speaker), isn’t helping me to learn Polish.
One of my students suggested that I pretend like I don’t speak English. I like this idea even though I know that if I can’t use English, my inclination is to go with the Arabic I learned while in Morocco.
What I didn’t mention in class is that sometimes, when I get frustrated with the Polish language, I seek comfort in my Alif Baa.
cheating on the Polish language
