(This one’s for Amanda)

It was brought to my attention this week that Poland is having a strange effect on my psychological well-being. I have only recently found intense enjoyment with Internet Backgammon. Unfortunately, I’m not very good at Internet Backgammon and I take it rather personally when anything malign transpires during a game. While playing one match, apparently, I had been beating my mouse against the table and uttering unkind things to the person on the other end of the game. Jaime looked over his glasses at me sympathetically and said in his mild-mannered way, “You know, you’re the only person I know who could turn backgammon into a contact sport.” I proceeded to mutter, “Carpet bagging scallywag, Yankee bastard” into the screen. I am teetering close to the edge.

All of this, I firmly believe, was brought on by Neurosis Polska, a little known and under-researched mental dissolution occurring after prolonged exposures to things that make no sense, particularly those in Poland, given there are so many. My first exposure to said ridiculous phenomenon occurred shortly after my arrival. I had finally figured out how to get from my modest abode in Kazimierz across town to Akademia Pedagogiczna. I had the tram times memorized, I knew precisely when I needed to leave the house in order to have time to buy tickets, etc but minimize time in the elements. You can imagine my surprise one day to wander out to the tram stop to find that the #13 no longer stopped outside. They just up and changed the tram routes on me. Once figuring out my next closest option, I also discovered that they had changed the times as well. Why? There is no clear answer really. All I can tell you is the #13 was moved over a block, its route staying the same. There was no real reason for this at all. I was perplexed but I had moved on.

Now, while I had come to terms with tram routes being changed arbitrarily, I could not, for the life of me figure out why in the world they would move the tram stops. Only recently, on my jaunt across town, did I discover another curiosity. While sitting on the #8 (the single most unreliable tram), I watched out the window as I saw the university coming into view on the left, and then, receding into the distance behind me as I sat dumbfounded at why the tram didn’t stop. It seems they moved the tram stop three blocks in the other direction, you now must get off the tram before you get to where you’re going. I trekked my five blocks from the next tram stop to try to figure out what in the world had just happened. Sure enough, all that was left of the stop was a signpost, which I stared at, mumbled, and then kicked for good measure. While moving a tram stop three blocks may seem understandable, moving a tram stop 100 meters away from both the kiosk where you buy tickets AND the shelter is beyond me. Who does that? And why? You can’t just move a tram stop and not tell people! You can’t do that! It defies all logic, why move a stop 100 meters away from a shelter? People now have to stand in the wind or cold or rain for no good reason. I just don’t understand this at all.

Of course, this is nothing next to my complete inability to understand why the Poles can’t queue. Let’s examine the evidence for a moment, Poland used to be a communist country, queuing is compulsory in communism, yet Poles seem completely unable to queue in circumstances that demand a queue. What I don’t understand is that I see loads of Poles queuing for something that they don’t even know what they’re queuing for. They can stand for 12 hours in a queue in Rome to see the recently deceased John Paul II (bless his soul) while they can’t manage a supermarket queue with four people in it. I was most upset one day while waiting at the local Kefirek to see the woman behind me leave the queue to look at something and then get back in line IN FRONT OF ME. She explained that she had just gone to look at something but came back, but failed to actually get back into her place and pushed in front of me. When I got upset and nudged her out of line, she got mad at me! Tell me where that makes sense! It’s not the only time it’s happened though. I will never ever understand why it is impossible for Poles to queue. This is totally beyond me.

Rossman’s (a drugstore-like establishment) is a classic example of bad Polish design. The little store is set up where you have two aisles, you enter on one side through a little swinging gate and go up and around the horseshoe to end at the checkout counter, and there’s no time for dallying. The only thing to do is to stand ready at the gate, put on a pith helmet and armor, put your head down, and wait for the bell. You can’t look at anything in aisle one, unfortunately the aisle with shampoo etc, you have to buckle down and run the gauntlet between angry Polish ladies in the bath soap and the treacherous cosmetic sales clerks. If you stop to look at anything, people get angry and push you, while the other side is just one long line. There’s a small outlet to the right of the second aisle with various sundries, but god forbid if you turn off, you’ll never be able to merge back into oncoming traffic. You can’t turn around; you can’t go in the other direction. My biggest suggestion is a ‘One Way’ sign which would clarify matters. A few helmets with the hand baskets wouldn’t go amiss either.

There’s a whole set of things I don’t understand about Poland based around arbitrariness. I’m sure most of you recall my ordeal in Tesco with the cucumbers, but I feel it deserves to be mentioned again. Cucumbers had been sold by the piece since I started buying them in September, but all of a sudden, one cold and dismal day in January, things changed. I placed my cucumbers in the buggy as always and made my way to the counter where I was informed that cucumbers must be weighed back in produce. Why? Well, it appears that boredom overtook the Tesco employees and for no good reason decided to change cucumbers to be bought by weight. One question, who does that???

But more examples persist, like butcher cases in a local shop, all pork. I’ve never seen so much pork in my life. No chicken fillets, no fish, no hunks of beef. The Poles, I believe, have somewhere close to 60,000 words for pig products yet no word for cloves, go figure. Mustard and ketchup are loaded with sugar yet you can’t buy sweet pickles. The Post Office sells laundry detergent for goodness sake! This is one that always gets me. First of all, it takes half a day to accomplish anything in the post office (the other half you might as well go to Rossman’s). Yet, you can actually post a letter and buy underpants. I have never seen such an odd array. Back in parcels, where I’ve lost many an hour of my life, you can pick up a package and buy fabric softener. Who goes into the post office thinking, ‘just need to pick up some toothpaste’? For that matter, who stops by a kiosk to buy a tram ticket and thinks, ‘I could use some mayonnaise/socks/porn magazines/carrots’? Who in the world does that?

What about malls? Yes, a new addition to Krakow, the Galeria Kazimierz has opened in Krakow sporting such shops as H&M. At the same time, what kind of shopping mall doesn’t take credit cards!? I was shocked and dismayed to discover that half of the places in the mall didn’t take a credit card. I was also mildly perturbed that all of the coffee shops offered beverages that they didn’t have. If you don’t have smoothies, don’t advertise them. Simple as. Which brings me to another point, imposters. There are imposters lurking about Krakow, their trade in fooling unsuspecting passersby in food. I can just imagine the little calzone man sitting in his third floor apartment looking down at people entering the establishment. He rubs his hands together gleefully, all the while cackling at their disappointment. I have never run across so much food in my life that was a lie. Burritos don’t have cabbage in them, by default; Calzones demand tomato sauce; spicy means just that ‘spicy’, and margaritas must have Triple Sec in them. You can imagine my intense dismay at ordering a $6 margarita that came out as a half a glass of tequila and lemon juice. That is not a margarita, that’s a shot of tequila. Wasn’t even any salt on the rim….

I’m not sure if you remember my bamboozlement at the sign in Oswiecim, the single Most Unhelpful Sign in Poland, with numbers that didn’t correspond to anything. But signs generally give me a problem. Just because a sign points straight doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I followed one such sign in the Warsaw train station to discover that said sign meant neither straight or go up the stairs. Somewhere on the complete other side of the train station I found a restroom. I was also disappointed to see that Tesco took down the most helpful sign of all. There was a clever cow sign above the meat section with the little sections indicated by dotted lines and marked. You could tell if you were buying a shoulder or toe or whatever by reading the sign. Unfortunately, they took the sign down which now makes buying a roast hit or miss. There is however an update to the Most Unhelpful Sign in Poland, it appears someone has decided to add a key to the numbers.

I think, however, the real essence of Neurosis Polska can be summed up in one anecdote, and is precisely why I think I have developed some sort of Turret’s Syndrome. While trying to code data for my Cambodia research, I discovered that I was in desperate need of highlighters. So, I trucked my little self over to Empik to peruse the stationary goods section for said implements. After being awestruck that White Out cost $7, I picked up a yellow, pink, and orange highlighter. I was a bit upset that these highlighters cost $4 but I was willing to acquiesce on this one point. However, it was soon discovered that the orange highlighter was $10. Now, first of all, I’ve never paid $10 for any writing implement. Second, why was the orange highlighter more expensive? It was the same brand, same size, same shape tip, same amount of liquid, no difference at all, except in color. Curiosity got the better of me and I had Jaime ask why the orange one was more expensive. He looked it up and replied ‘it just is.’ You can’t do that! You can’t just decide that orange is going to be more expensive. Why? Why? Why? Was there an embargo on orange highlighters? Is there a critical shortage somewhere? Or is it color discrimination? Who just decides that orange highlighters are going to be more expensive? Who, in the entire world, does that??!

Now that I’ve hit the highlights (so to speak) of the elements contributing to my Neurosis Polska perhaps you are all more sympathetic to my plight. I’ve endured trams that are subject to change without notice, arbitrary signs, and burritos with cabbage. The next stage is quiet acceptance which I sincerely hope is a stage I can thwart with regular doses of Kool-Aid and cornbread. There are just so many things that I really don’t understand and probably never will. The only things that seem to work in this country are KFC and papal funerals. Perhaps if they put a picture of the John Paul II at the end of checkout counters at the supermarket, then maybe, just maybe, people might queue.

Quote for the week:

“Don't let people drive you crazy when you know it's in walking distance.” –Author Unknown

“What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?” –Ursula K LeGuin

Latin Phrase of the Week:

Borges sumus. Resistere inutile est.
We are the Borg. Resistance is futile