Dear Poland, I am (almost) no longer in you!
To paraphrase the great Lady Godiva, my employment contract have come to its close. At the proverbial butt crack of dawn tomorrow morning, my family and I will leave your exotic shores for a new adventure in the US.
It may seem difficult to believe, but Poland, I will miss you.
I will miss your delicious food, your neard-damned-free, blazing fast direct-to-God internet, you ridiculously affordable pay-as-you-go mobile phone plans, your balmy winters, your steadfast commitment to elimination of all vowels from your alphabet. I will miss your coy, almost accidental racism, your amazing interpretation of English, your one-of-a-kind optimism. I will never forget your ample and affordable public transportation and that one tram seat which always carries the forever-funk of many geriatric, multi-lingual hobos. I will often find myself pining for a need to carry around a coin purse so large that it can be easily used as a bludgeoning weapon and the way your people have perfected the fine art of buying everything using exact change. I will often find myself lost in a sea of uncertainty and indecision due to the lack of the frequent lectures from all of your old ladies which always knew how to dress and parent my child better then me. I will never again be able to buy shoes, lunch meat, large quantities of booze, potatoes, and electronics in the same store. Try as I might, I will never again have a holiday in Hel or find myself in a country made entirely out of Ikea. I will miss your commitment to proudly remain a country forever free of air conditioners, dryers, or anything Nintendo. I will never again be able to enjoy taking elevators to negative floors or explain to all new visitors that “I live on the second floor which is really the third one”. Living in a country where any sauce or condiment aside from mustard and horseraddish has a 95% chance of tasting like nauseatingly sweet paprika wil soon become a distant memory. Most of all, I will miss the sweet, sweet sounds of the entire repertoire of Abba, sang perpetually and without a shred of shame or reserve by my improbably drunk neighbors all night long every Friday night.
Yes, there are great many things to lovingly miss from a great distance about you, Poland. I almost wish I could stay in you a bit longer. Alas, my beloved “Central Europe”, all sorts of things must eventually come to an end. No, no, don’t cry! You will always have a special place in my heart. Every time I will be treated rudely by a store clerk or hear a stranger complain loudly, rest assured I will be thinking of you!
With this, I conclude the final entry of the “OMG Poland!” blog. Great many thanks to all of the readers and re-bloggers of my adventures!
Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish!
One of the staples of Polish kitchen is its variety of fresh vegetable salads. Among them, the undisputed Summer salad king — a scrumptious cucumber, sour cream, dill, and salt creation named simply “Mizeria”, which means “Misery”. Because Poland.
This is "Moja Mądra Sówka" or “My Wise Owl”. It is sold widely in many staples of Polish toy shops, such as Smyk and Toys R Us. When you place something inside of the Owl’s beak or touch various parts of her stuffed anatomy, it bestows the words of pure wisdom unto the eager-to-learn babes in 100% pure and native Polish.
To the toy’s credit, it works exactly as advertised which, in of itself, is a monumental achievement for Polish toy manufacturing industry. Things begin falling apart rapidly, however when you hear the choice of phrases triggered in response to a child’s interaction with the stuffed bird. Squeeze it’s wing, and it utters:
"Wow, this is fun!"
"Your touch is so pleasant!”
"Please do it again!"
"I like it so much when you touch me!”
Insertion and removal of a finger in it’s beak nets a variety of cooing pleasure noises, culminating in “I love our special game!” All that is spoken in a voice of a deeply satisfied, barely-legal young lady, as depicted in a clip below:
Wow, Poland. Wow.