While it pains me to admit, I must confess that my first weekend in was primarily spent recovering from my exhausting day of travel (a full 16 hours of flight split between three flights: Idaho Falls to Denver, Denver to Newark, and Newark to Warsaw, with extra time thrown in for connections, on-ground delays, and weather delays in and out of Newark) and from the dramatic shift forward in time eight hours. My roommate and I did explore our surrounding neighborhood a bit and ventured out into the downtown area of Warsaw, but for the most part I slept an ungodly amount and walked around in something of a dreamlike haze. I am more happy to announce, though, that I more than made up for this lack of excitement my first weekend with festivities during our second weekend in Warsaw.
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| Fresh flowers from a student |
The other teachers at our school had organized an evening out to welcome back a friend who had recently been abroad, and to welcome Jean and me, their new friends and colleagues. On Friday evening we all gathered at the Centrum, a bus stop close to the central bus and metro station in Warsaw. From the Centrum we traipsed along a few blocks to a small bar popular among college students and foreigners. The bar itself is so small that it can only seat 20 or so people, but it is set off of a small, quiet road or alley so that most of the bar's patrons (and the patrons of neighboring bars and restaurants) spill out onto the sidewalks and the street itself. So after purchasing our beverages, we all relocated to sit on the curb and sip our beers. Our small group of teachers was soon joined by a group of girls who had formerly taught at our school, and after we finished our drinks, they decided to take us to a new club that had just opened and was having a party to celebrate.
The club is nestled against the Vistula River and offered both indoor and outdoor bars, a rooftop area for drinking and sitting, and a stage area for music and dancing. The seating was a delightful mixture of canvas liquor logo chairs and wooden pallets on wheels that could be rearranged to accommodate larger or smaller groups. Bathrooms had not yet been set up, so off to the side was a large semicircle of port-a-potties with portable sinks for handwashing.
I have something of a horror of outdoor bathrooms, particularly those frequented by large groups of people who have been consuming mass amounts of alcohol. The likelihood of standing or sitting in someone else's urine (or worse) is so strong that I shudder to think of it. Unfortunately, though, after two glasses of strong Polish beer, I was forced to admit defeat and join the line for the bathrooms.
As I stood in line for the bathroom, I let my mind wander, feeling as though I were pleasantly floating in a sea of Polish. I soon became aware that I was standing in front of two young men who were blowing into their beer bottles to make a sort of "whoo whoo" flute sound. I smiled to myself as I heard them say something about Peru, realizing that they must be pretending to be Peruvian pipe players. They must have seen me react to their antics, or had otherwise been watching me, because immediately after that one of the young men leaned over to me and asked, "Hablas espanol?" I was so surprised that he was talking to me that I didn't immediately realize that he'd addressed me in Spanish. I quickly stammered out, "Si, un poco...uh...pero hablo ingles," at which point both the Spanish-speaking fellow and his companion laughed and started talking to me in English.
We chatted for a few minutes--they wanted to know where I was from and what had brought me to Warsaw, and I was impressed that they spoke not only English but a fair amount of Spanish. I met up with them again after what can only be described as a harrowing experience in the toilet and managed to cobble together quite the conversation about ourselves that spanned English, Polish, Spanish and (for reasons that can only be attributed to drink) Italian. Mostly these two men were curious about me and how I was finding Poland. I tried to explain that for me, growing up in a city that was barely over 100 years old, to find myself in a city that was centuries old was a heady experience. Despite the fact that much of Warsaw was destroyed during the war and only recently rebuilt, the architecture of the city is beautiful and the buildings, to me, are breathtaking. I was pleased to discover that although these two men had lived in Warsaw for quite some time, they completely understood what I meant.
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| The sun setting on Gagarina street--my street-- as I make my way home from school |
At one memorable point in the conversation, I told them that Warsaw was a most beautiful city. Actually, I think at this point in the evening, my exact words were: "Warsaw es un ciudad bonito. Muy bonito. Belissima, che belissima!" They politely overlooked my slip into Italian and agreed. But Warsaw isn't a city, one told me, it's an idea. Blackfoot, the place that I was from, that was a city. Warsaw isn't a city, it's too big, it's too varied. Warsaw is an idea, a beautiful idea that encompasses so many brilliant facets, like architecture, society and culture. And, most wonderfully, this party we were at was not a party but a celebration of that very idea.
Now it's entirely possible that, sensing my inebriated state, these two guys were just messing with me, spouting pretty words to impress the drunk American. I doubt this, though. I'd prefer to think that they believed what they were telling me. That they felt the magic and wonder of this amazing moment. We were sitting on wooden pallets with the Vistula River at our backs, looking out at a city covered in twinkling fairy lights. Overhead hovered hot air balloons and around us our fellow celebrants danced to remixed Michael Jackson songs. The feelings I felt were so complex and so huge that it seemed impossible to give voice to them. But to characterize the evening as a celebration of the utterly indefinably beautiful idea that is Warsaw seems as an apt a description as any I can find even now.
In the days since meeting those two gentlemen, this part of our conversation has stayed with me when other details (such as their names) has not. Every time I encounter some new aspect of Warsaw, I recall this description of the city. I've only been in the city for just over two weeks now, so I'm suffering from equal parts infatuation and lack of experience, but each day as I walk the streets of Warsaw, I feel over and over again that I am incredibly fortunate to be alive and celebrating daily the idea that is Warsaw.
