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Sunday, December 2nd, 2007

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.

Evidence

Sunday, December 2nd, 2007

My last day in Płock, I returned to the state archives one last time, looking for absolute evidence that I was in fact related to the strangers from Piączyn. The archivist seemed happy to see me back and tried to shake my hand, but I had misread and thought he was reaching for my pen. I ended up stabbing him in the hand with my pen. Such miscommunications transcend all language.

Sifting through the parish birth records one last time, I found another kind of miscommunication, this one over a century old. My great grandfather did have a brother Józef after all- his name had been misspelled in Cyrillic. So we were related, after all.

Before catching a bus to Warsaw, I celebrated the week’s findings the only way I knew how- with a return to my favorite restaurant, Tessa. I ordered a pork chop with surówka, a tasty salad based on red pepper and cabbage. Indecisive between a coffee and a beer, I chose both. Another meal alone, but this time I had the Polish version of MTV. This featured mostly American videos, but with Polish text messages submitted by lovers. For all Płock lacked in a jazz scene, it made up for in excellent food and televisions.

So, Did I Really Have Third Cousins in Poland?

Wednesday, November 28th, 2007
Walk to Piaczyn Any time my alarm clock goes off at some ungodly hour when it is still dark, the first thing that comes to my mind is "what the hell was I thinking?" The ... [Continue reading this entry]

Leave No Stone Undisturbed

Tuesday, November 27th, 2007
Searching for any clue I can find to my family history, I request several tomes of parish and civil records at a time. The search is seemingly endless, but it's still exciting trying to deciper patterns through incomprehensible cyrillic ... [Continue reading this entry]

Nie Rozumiem

Tuesday, November 27th, 2007
Miscommunicating in my new language is an ongoing adventure. Waiters and waitresses are usually patient as I read the menu with a dictionary at my side. Others deliver their finest monologues in Polish, sometimes not noticing my vacant ... [Continue reading this entry]

A Day in the Archives

Monday, November 26th, 2007
Last night I walked by a "duchowne" building the night before, and forgetting to learn what a duchowne was, I didn't think anything of it. This morning I went to the historical society of the diocese, and asked the ... [Continue reading this entry]

Jazz in Northeastern Mazovia

Monday, November 26th, 2007
Still high from my discovery of the thriving and innovative jazz scene in Krakow, I was hoping to find at least a little of the same in downtown Płock (pronounced "Pwotsk"). I walked by the one reputed music club ... [Continue reading this entry]

Subterranean Jazz Club

Monday, November 12th, 2007
So I made it to Poland, and have time for a couple of nights out on the town before my Polish classes begin... The jazz scene in Krakow, apparently, is nothing to sneeze at. I didn't ... [Continue reading this entry]

An Army of Senior Citizens

Sunday, October 28th, 2007
Back when my brother and I made our first discovery about Ignacy, I guarded my ancestral "documents" with my life. After my brother and I went our separate ways, I found myself a cheap motel in Vermont, where the ... [Continue reading this entry]

Mamma Never Told Me She Was an “-owski”

Sunday, October 28th, 2007
My brother, who lives in Montana, doesn't have a telephone. But, every once in a while (I'm using the term "a while" very loosely here) he'll show up unannounced at my doorstep. When I'm lucky, I'm actually home ... [Continue reading this entry]