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I made it home to Chicago okay. This is thanks to the Polish tradition of skipping the 13th row in airplanes. Though I was in the 13th row from the front, the number on the seat was #14.

There’s another Polish city that’s much further from Warsaw than Kraków or Gdańsk, and I happen to live in it. Often over the past years, I have often walked by a shop with a threatening display of processed meat hanging from above a counter. This time I went inside, and I was back exactly where I was yesterday- in Poland. All the same brands were there- Tymbark’s natural juices (brzoskwinia), kupiec rice cakes (wafle ryżowe), wonderfully fresh bread and dill pickles, Knorr powdered soups (ogórkowa and barszcz czerwony). I could have walked past this place a hundred times more and never known the world within.

There was only one difference. They wouldn’t take my Polish money.



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