I Smelled a Setup

SZCZESIN, POLAND My mother used to say, "If you can't say something nice, don't say it at all." Of course, she wasn't one to often follow her own advice and didn't know I would grow up to be a roving anthropologist whose research requires the facts and only the facts. The nicest way to put it, Szczesin is not Gdansk. After finding a hotel room and anxious to see the city, I asked the hotel clerk, "Where is Old Town?" With a puzzled look, she waved her hand, "The Palace is in that direction." Not exactly the response I was expecting. Perhaps, one of the taxi cab drivers conversing outside could take me to Old Town. "Do you speak English?" I said to the group. They shrugged and shook their heads. "Deutsch?" One stepped forward, "A little." "I want to go to Old Town." He didn't understand and turned to the others for help and after a few moments replied, "You want me to show you the town?" "No, just take me to Old Town." Shaking his head, confused, he consulted again with the other drivers. Finally he smiled and said, "Will do it for ten Euro - only ten Euro, no more." I smelled a setup - why the quote in Euros when the currency is the zloty. I decided to get a third opinion.

Around the corner I found another cab driver who spoke fairly decent German. But his reaction was similar to that of the hotel clerk and other cab drivers. Finally, he seemed to get it, "Old Town, tak, tak, I can take you to Old Town, just 20 zloty." That was about half the previous quote, so what the heck. As we got underway, he asked, "What are you doing in Szczesin?" I said, "vacation." He looked back at me in amazement, slapped his head, laughing, "Unglaublich! No one comes to Szczesin for vacation." He drove for a few minutes and then pulled over in front of a large modern glass building complex. "Here's the Galeria where all the tourists go. Back there," pointing in some general direction, "is the Palace." Really, I thought, another mall, certainly glitzier than the Crossroads mall, in St. Cloud, MN, but a place my mother would have felt right at home. I decided to pass on the mall and search for the Palace.

Not far away, the Palace wasn't hard to find, a sterile, almost modern looking building. In the inside courtyard, a four-piece brass band played La Bamba to an older set, swaying in their seats. This is not what I was hoping for; where are the little shops, the street performers, the old buildings, the sidewalk cafes? There were plenty of churches and it being Sunday they were all having services. It was getting late, I was hungry, and I hadn't seen a restaurant. At a small tavern, I asked the bartender, "Can I get something to eat here?" "No, we only serve alcohol." "Is there a restaurant you can recommend?" He thought long and hard, "There's a KFC on the corner." I actually had seen two KFCs and a McDonalds, but hadn't thought of eating at them. I walked a little further. To my surprise, I discovered I was back at the original taxi stand, just a few minutes from the Palace. Wow, and they were going to charge me ten Euro! Very hungry now, I spotted an Indian Restaurant across the street from the hotel. Turned out to be a very bad choice - the red wine was ice cold and lamb kebab unedible.

Ticket to Nacmierz

Slwano Church

SLWANO, POLAND I'm on the slow "Express" train to Szczecin, on the German boarder, my compartment companions speak only Polish, so I have time to say a few more things about the events of yesterday. My initial stop was in Slawno, where I thought the Vehlows may have attended church. My brother, Gordy, had sent me a picture of a cousin of ours posing in front of a large church in Slawno. Indeed, it was easy to find, the largest structure in town, with a history that goes back to the 12th century. However, the doors were locked. So I looked around for someone who might tell me something about the church and point me to the cemetery where I might find people with the surnames Vehlow or Hess buried. No one spoke English. No one spoke German. I asked at least two dozen people before I ran into a woman who spoke German. She said her husband was German and that she knew of only ten other Germans living in Slawno. Prior to WW II the church had been German Evangelical but now it was Polish Catholic. She walked me over to the cemetery, where, she said, Lutherans and Catholics were buried, but none of the deaths on the tumbstones dated before the War. After making the 21 kilometer backroad trip to Nacmierz, I concluded the Vehlows couldn't possibly have attended this church in Slawno and lived in Nacmierz.

From Gdansk, the only way I could get to Nacmierz was by renting a car, but renting a car in Eastern Europe, so far, is nothing like renting a car in the States. After 20 years of embracing free enterprise, there are still no rental car companies. You rent from individuals or through hotels. When I asked at one hotel if I could rent a car and drop it off at Slupsk. "Dziewiec!" he said shaking his head, "Hire driver, you must." That seemed unreasonable so the next night I asked at the Hotel Krolewski. "Tak! Tak! You can." the clerk said. I learned though that it would be expensive - approximately $114 for the day. "Okay,' I said, realizing there was no other way, my only ticket to Nacmierz. The next morning an elderly man showed up with an Opel, straight stick, no air conitioning, manual windows, and an empty tank of gas. I think it was his personal car. I had to prove to him that I could drive, reminiscent of when I taught Rachel, keeping one hand on the emergency break and the other ready to pounce on the steering wheel. Luckily, I passed, dropped him off at a gas station, fueled up, and headed off to Nacmierz. Our agreement was that I should drop the car off at the train station in Slupsk and call him when I got there. It wasn't clear how this was going to work since he didn't speak English or German, the hotel clerk had done the translating for us. When I arrived at the station, I called his number. "Train Station," I said and he replied, "tak, tak," and something that sounded like, "come soon." Surprise, five minutes later, he showed up. He must have taken the train and been waiting for me all along. Wierd, I could have given him a ride and saved the price of his train ticket.

My Great + Grandfather

Storks in Nacmierz

NACMIERZ, POLAND I reached Nacmierz through a narrow winding rutty paved road lined with elm trees. A sign indicated I had arrived, but there was no store, no gas station, no school, no church, no cemetery, just a row of houses, barns, and sheds surrounded by wheat fields and groves of trees, with an occasional hunting blind. Two storks were grazing on the side of the road and high above, on an electrical post, two more were tending their nest. I pulled over to take a picture of the storks as some young kids walked by. "Is this Nacmierz," I asked. They didn't understand me. I repeated the name slowly, pointing to the ground. "Tak, Tak, Nacmierz," the older girl excitedly responded. So I found it, the birthplace of Martin Vehlow, my great + grandfather, who, with his wife Christine, and their four children, had emigrated from this very town in 1853 to settle in Watertown, Wisconsin.

What prompted them to leave? There's little in the way of the Nacmierz landscape that would distinguish it from the countryside around Watertown. Were the Poles giving them trouble? At the time of Martin's birth in 1810 the town was called by its German name, Natzmershagen, but at the time of their last child's birth in 1850 it was known by its Polish name Nacmierz. Maybe it was the land reforms that Frederick William III, then King of Prussia, had implemented strongly strengthening the patrimonial privileges of landlords. Maybe it was the doctrinal church reforms the same King imposed that would have watered down the family's conservative articles of faith. Or maybe it was the massive amount of advertising in German papers that towns like Watertown were doing to attract settlers? We have no record of their reasoning, but their discontent and hopes for a better life were clearly strong enough for them to leave everything, undertake a 54-day cross-Atlantic journey, and start a new life, perhaps not exactly as Americans, but as German Lutherans in America.

Just four kilometers from Nacmierz, on the Baltic coast, is Jaroslaweic, surreal, in contrast to the stark ruralness of this entire region, a 50s like beach resort town, with kitsch laden shops, ice cream stands, snack bars, and hoards of flip-flopping, kids schlepping parents - beach towels and air floats of every imaginable configuration in tow. By their language and dress, the beachgoers didn't come from far, perhaps from Slawno or Slupsk, the two largest nearby towns. I wondered if anything like this existed when the Vehlows lived here and whether in leaving it had caused any regrets. I know how strong an attraction the ocean has for our own family. It would be difficult to leave Montara. I wished I could have lingered awhile, absorbing this idyllic throwback in time, the sun-drenched beach, and more of the beer that was flowing freely, but I had to get my rental car back to Slupsk and find a place to sleep for the night.

The Dentist in Poland Are Very Good

NHS Dentist

GDANSK, POLAND I had dinner tonight with Chris, a gentleman from Kent, England, who's here to have two root canals and a broken tooth fixed. "The dentists in Poland are very good and I can get it done for 1/3 of what it costs in England." "But don't you have a National Health System in England," I asked. "We do, but it's inefficent and costly. My NHS dentist insisted I see a private doctor. He didn't feel qualified to do the work." Chris continued, "Nine out of ten doctors opt out of the NHS because they don't get paid enough and those that remain aren't very good. The system in England is okay if you're dying on the street but if you have anything that is remotely elective, you wait, don't get it done, or get it done privately. The Swiss and French systems are the same, people there go to Hungary or Poland." So listen up, Nancy Pelosi, you should be careful what you wishes for.

Gdansk is so accessible. I've walked from one end to the other, visited six museums, and crammed my tiny brain with a zillion factoids that I'll soon forget. Then one factoid strikes you like a bolt of lightening summing up the tumultous history of this region. At the end of WW I, 90% of Gdansk was German and was accorded, under the Treaty of Versailles, an independent status subject to the control of the League of Nations. Other German areas in what was then Prussia came under control of Poland. Of course, this didn't please Hitler and became his justification for attacking Poland in 1939. And so it goes, the history in Europe, and the rest of the world, is one continuing saga of a religious or ethnic group retailiating for the real or purported disinfranchisement they've suffered under another group.

Lately, I've been liking the idea of being a roving anthropologist. It's a label that helps keep things in perspective. When I run into a disagreeable situation, like the extremely bad dinner of Pieroui, a type of dumpling, that tasted as bad as the rabbit I had in Barcelona (my family knows how bad that was) or my first night here, sleepless, due to church bells ringing on the hour and half hour, while revelers, on the street below, partied until four, and construction workers started jack hammering away at six, I just tell myself it's all part of my research as a roving anthropologist. As a roving anthropologist your research is not bound to this or that, the good or bad, but can extend to any aspect of human behavior. It's an idea that seems to suit my present situation quite well.

Tourist Destination

Gdanzk

GDANSK, POLAND I liked Gdansk the moment I got off the train and looked up at the tall narrow facade and ornamented crests and reliefs of the train station. Throughout the city, the style is repeated over and over again in a colorful medley of renaisance curves and straight lines. Although the city buzzes with life, I kept looking up at the roof tops for that's where the architecture is at its finest; there it has no apparent utilitarian purpose other than to please the eye. Each unique structure becomes a brush stroke on the city's canvas, a living, breathing, masterpiece. I knew that Gdansk had been an important sea port, militarily strategic, and home to the solidarity trade union movement, but I had no idea it was such a stunningly beautiful city and so accessible - everything: museums, shops, restaurants, all within easy walking distance.

Hotel Krolewski

The city has not gone unnoticed. It's a prime destination for tourists inside and outside of Poland making finding a hotel room very dicey. I had to do a good deal of schlepping my bags around before I found a room in the middle of Old Town, but it was only for one night. The next morning I went through the process all over again - going to five hotels before snagging the last room at the Hotel Krolewski, the nicest three star hotel I've ever stayed in. The hotel, a converted grainery from the middle ages, spared during the Nazi blitzkrieg, sits directly on the canal across from Old Town, which is the view I'm lucky to have. The room is $78 including breakfast and free wifi. I was able to get a second night so I'll be here until Saturday.

I Now Stand Corrected

Traveling Companion

GDANSK, POLAND Some times you get everything wrong. On a very slow "Express" train from Warsaw to Gdansk my traveling companion was an articulate young woman, a life time resident of Warsaw and a Buyer for Carlsberg Beer, who, after reading my last blog, insisted that it be amended to reflect the truth about Warsaw. Her vivacious smile, excellent English, had already destroyed my first impressions. "Okay," she said, "the city doesn't seem to come to life but this doesn't mean there isn't any life; clubs, cinima, restaurants, etc. And yes, some of the older people don't speak a foreign language but the young people do. Most learn English in school; four years in primary and another four in high school." She conceded a few minor points but was adamant that Polish people are very open and hospitable. So in the interest of checking my facts, I now stand corrected. On the US, where she had spent a few weeks, she said, "I don't like the food but the amusement parks, roller coasters, I like a lot." Interesting first impressions?

Did you know when traveling from country to country your browser automatically changes to the local language or more specifically to that of your current IP address. This isn't too much of a problem as the layout is the same, only the words are in a different language. What's frustrating though is that your spell check also changes to the local language. In writing this blog, the system thinks that I'm writing in Polish and everything I write is spelled wrong. Here's another quirk: I tried to download a Netflix movie, but the system noticed that my computer was in another country and told me, "No you can't do that." It's strange the way you don't have control over your own computer and the subscription services you've purchased. I wonder if it wouldn't be too much to ask the techno-wizards to give us back our computers.

Know How to Live

Palace of Culture and Science

WARSAW, POLAND A waitress who had attended college in Montreal told me, "I want to move back to Montreal where people know how to live. People don't know how to live here. It's so so boring." With 1.6 million people the sprawling city is everywhere but really nowhere. The Old Town, completely reconstructed after it was distroyed by the Nazis in 1944 in the aftermath of the Warsaw uprising, is a focal point for tourist, but I doubt the city's heart and soul. First impressions are never reliable. It would take me a long time to get to know what really makes this city tick. Indeed, it's Catholic and conservative - in Old Town, it seems, there's a church every few feet. But like the gloomy mist clinging to the church bell towers, you feel a heaviness in the air in which the old guard and social realism continue to dull the senses. Not nearly as stolid as in the 70s when I visited East Berlin and Prague, but there nonetheless. You see it in the manner and method with which people go about their daily tasks - expressionless and methodical - outside of Old Town, few, if any, speak English or German - an insularity insured by the vastness of the city. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that most have not been to a foreign country.

50 Million Years Old

Amber

VILNIUS, LITHUANIA Just about everywhere in Vilnius you can find Baltic amber jewelry. I learned something about this precious stone at a small museum around the corner from my hotel. Amber is a 50 million year old fossilized resin that comes in a variety forms representing the manner and place in which it originated. However, look out, it’s impossible to tell the fossilized stone from plastic. One test is to place the amber in a bowl of 10% salt water. If it floats, it's amber. If not, it's probably plastic. Or you can vigorously rub the stone on your shirt or pants. It’s the real McCoy if it smells like resin. Unfortunately, I’m not sure how one would actually do these tests when buying small pieces too small to smell and no salt water in sight. They say you can check the seller’s certificate of authentication, but who's to say if the certificate is authentic.

The one thing that has impressed me about the Baltic countries is their total embrace of the internet. Wherever I went I was able to find an open wifi connection, with what AT&T charges for roaming, this is a huge bonus. Last night in the comfort of my hotel room, I could Skype with Debra and Rachel. The sound and picture were outstanding and all for free - amazing! Also I've had excellent telephone reception, which makes texting an easy and inexpensive way of staying in touch. Isn't it odd that in our own backyard where these technologies were spawn, we have yet to realize their full benefit. SF, which promotes itself as a tourist Mecca and home to thousands of immigrants, would do well to adopt an open wifi system. In fact, if Obama wants to help the impoverished and stimulate the economy, I can think of no better way than to give the poor notebook computers and free wifi access. Imagine the boom in communication, education, and entrepreneurship. The panhandler on the street would have the same access to the world around him as the taxpaying rich. So who’s standing in the way: hotels, telephone, and cable companies? They all have their profit margins to protect but at the expense, I submit, of a smarter, healthier, more productive, and engaged society.

A Country Not a Nation

Cedelinai

VILNIUS, LITHUANIA After a day of trapsing around the Old Town, Gediminas Castle, St. Anne's Church, and the Cathedral-Basillica of St. Stanislaus (the incense in these places make me cough), it's nice to sit back, have a glass of wine, and enjoy the local culinary delights. Cedelinai, a combination pork and beef stuffed in a potatoe dumpling, covered in a crunchy white meat sauce and topped with sauer cream, is almost worth the price of the bus fare here. More fun though is meeting fellow travelers and sharing experiences. Like the articulate Ausie, who collects countries (145 so far) and advocates for AIDS victims around the world. When I noticed he was keeping a big fat diary, I asked him why he doesn't keep a blog so others could learn of his cause. His mouth dropped, "Now that's not a bad idea. I think I'll do that." A young German, attached to the German consulate in Minsk, explained why Belarus had fallen under the sway of the maniacal dictatorial powers of Alexander Lukashenko. "It's a country, unlike the Baltics, that had always been occupied and never experienced nationhood. They didn't know what to fight for," he told me. A Vilnian woman, with an American husband, relayed her experiences of living under collectivization and in one of those concrete block buildings. To which she added, "When the wall came down, I learned English, learned how to drive, and married an American!"

My time in the Baltics has been too short. I've learned of other places I should visit but the transportation system, without considerable hassle, doesn't allow it. For example, I'd like to go to Druskiminkai, Lithuania, which is on the Polish border, where you would think you could catch a train, or at least a bus, to Warsaw or Gdansk. Not so. There are no trains or buses that go to Poland except from Vilnius where you can either fly or take the bus to Warsaw but nowhere else in Poland. I thought of renting a car, or a driver, but the price is astronomical as there are no drop off points for cars taken out of Lithuania. The bus to Warsaw, is a possibility, but it takes nine hours, an unimaginably long time to be on a bus. So, after weighing my short list of options, I've decided to fly to Warsaw tomorrow. Of course, it's worth noting that it's only been 20 years since the Baltics have gained their independence. It may take them another 20 to develop the infrastructure and mindset to exploit the commercial benefits of their new found freedoms.

The Baltic Photo Album

You Can Kiss the Bride

Block Apartment Houses

VILNIUS, LITHUANIA By express bus it takes 4 hours to get to Vilnius, Lithuania. It costs $20. The boarding scene is one of total confusion. Although we're assigned seats, passengers, push and shove to get in front of the line, many are in the wrong line, cannot read their tickets, and must be redirected through hand language or some broken form of their native language to some other platform. The agent adds to the confusion by standing in the way of those who have checked in and are pressing to board. In the end, we all find our seats and the bus leaves on time. I remember living in Germany where line crashing was the norm although often there was no apparent advantage in doing so. The practice persists here and I wonder what compels people to be so rude. At least, in this regard, Americans are far politer. But Europeans protest, "Americas are only friendly on the surface. We Europeans know how to establish true friendships." I have yet to meet a European who doesn't feel this way but I don't believe it and wonder if there's been study done on this.

The trip from Riga to Vilnius is through rich farm land with large fields of wheat or barley. It looks like southern Minnesota, but without the corn, large farm houses, barns, or silos - only an occasional small home or cluster of homes. On the outskirts of Vilnius, we encountered the large and very ugly run down, soviet era, concrete block apartment buildings. As the Soviets collectivized the farms, the occupants of the large farms were sent to Siberia while the rest were forced to live in these dwellings - only so many square meters per family - all in the interest of equality - you understand.

Bachelorette Party

600,000 of the 3.3 million Lithuanians live in Vilnius, 88% are actually Lithuanian, and their currency is the Lita. One dollar will get you 2.4 Lita. Prices are higher and the standard of living lower than in Tallinn or Riga. The Old Town doesn't have the vitality that Tallinn or Riga had although there are a lot of weddings and hence bachelor and bachelorette parties. I guess it's something  done in other parts of Europe, but I found it unusual and amusing; groups of anywhere from four to a dozen young ladies roaming the streets. One of the group, the bride to be, would be dressed in some weird white outfit, often covered with candy and the rest would be dressed in black or red, acting like little devils. For a small donation you can kiss the bride or select a piece of candy from her dress.