Banishment to the Mounds
Some say that one of the best aids to learning a language is to live with a local family which doesn’t speak your native language. A secondary benefit is that a week-long home stay costs about the same as a single night at a typical hotel in Krakow. The downside, presumably, would be the lack of privacy.
As my goal for this first week was simply to learn Polish, I chose a homestay. Regardless, I was a bit shy about ringing the bell of a stranger who would have to put up with me for a week whether they liked me or not. Ringing the doorbell of my host family was like dipping my toes in cold water, with the exception that the person who answered the door would immediately grab me and throw my whole body into the water. Here goes…
There was little common language, but the host parents seemed very friendly in pantomime. Did I need to shower? Did I need to sleep? Did I need a map? They sat me down by the television. Coffee? No. Tea? No. Vodka? It was 1 p.m. I didn’t know how to ask whether they thought it might be too early in the day for vodka.
“Tak,” I said, remembering little other Polish than the word for “yes.” So I had a shot of honey-colored vodka and my hosts joined me. We watched independence day in Warsaw on television. I didn’t understand, but felt welcome. Another shot of vodka.
My hosts continued to watch television, and I flipped frantically through my Polish-English dictionary in a last-ditch effort to cram enough Polish in to get through this awkwardness. “Don’t you have any friends,” I think the host asked. “Why don’t you take a walk around town,” she continued, though I already had. Based on my assumption that the Polish cherished privacy just like Americans, I think they wanted me out of the house. They suggested that I go out in the snow and climb up some hill that was a few miles out of town. They could show me to the train. I took the hint and began to put on my coat. “Vodka?” the husband asked. But the wife had her coat on, and was waiting impatiently by the door. I was getting mixed signals, but I tried to please them both by gulping down a shot of vodka and heading for the door at the same time.
An hour later, I found myself on top of Kosciuszko Mound, a lump of ground honoring one of Poland’s greatest revolutionary heroes. It was snowing, and I couldn’t see much of anything of the surrounding city. Poland in November.
Tags: homestay, krakow, Language barriers, Poland, Travel
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