Just Gdansk (It Will Be Ok)

"A great, grrreat piece of news is that Little Chip-Chip is going to give a grrreat concert. He doesn't want any posters, he doesn't want any programmes, he doesn't want anyone to talk about it. He is afraid of so many things that I have suggested he play without candles, without an audience on a mute piano" - George Sand (1844)

Caught the early train to the Gulf of Gdansk. There were a few moments on the way to the station where I felt pale and lost and vulnerable, huffing with my bags on little sleep in a foreign field. But the weird palm tree in Warsaw's center oriented and calmed me. 

The guide books say that it's a six-hour trip, but that one day in the near future, a high-speed train will reduce the journey to three hours. Imagine my delight in discovering the future is now. Usually early-edition guide books just tell you what you missed out on, but for once I got over on old Rick Steves. 

A drunk was at the ticket window trying to cut in line, but the stout ticketress wasn't having any of it. She mushkied him back to brushky. That is how they talk. I got my ticket and boarded the speed train. And what a thing of beauty!

I wasn't a boy who played with trucks, and I can't identify different models of car or plane, but I was all a'gush over this marvelous locomotive. Choo choo, Thomas, may I board you?

I later learned it's part of a fleet of Italian trains they bought to revolutionize transport to the hot spots. Poland is becoming a popular alternative for labor and talent, since it's cheaper than Germany or Sweden. I had mixed emotions about that. Like, the people are probably being exploited, but I'm sure places like Romania are like, "Um, If Poland doesn't like it, you can exploit us if it means a fine tube of Italian steel like this."

Very comfortable, fast ride. No Wi-Fi, which was a blessing. As the rich countryside rolled by, I read more of that memoir. Fought my way through a long, boring chapter on Chopin. I'll be glad to see the back of him. 

I'm in love with his girlfriend George Sand, though. She's hilarious. 

There was a free coffee cart, so I got some free coffee. There was a sweet pantomime with a local mom who thought my turn had been skipped. The cart man was just adjusting his position, but she thought he'd moved on, and she made these "I'm so sorry, swarthy non-Pole," expressions, and I made a "Such is the life of the outlander," shrug. 

But I got my coffee, and she could relax and enjoy her own. Reader, the lady took two pipes of sugar. 

Reading reading. The author described a sad old diner in Warsaw where you could buy half a cup of coffee if you were poor. I thought that was very beautiful, I remember being poor in New York and going out to buy coffee anyway, since the transaction made me feel like I still belonged. How grateful the half-cup buyers must have been for this nod to their dignity. 

We passed Malbork castle on the way. It's enormous, and less than an hour away. It looked very red and strong in the morning light. I hope to return there on Wednesday and kick the stones around. 

I read an article a friend sent me about how Warsaw was rebuilt with the aid of old paintings. That made me think back fondly on yesterday's visit. I also read that the Chopin statue (God, him again!) was also a reproduction. The original was smashed by the Commies, but a guy had a souvenir version of it in his basement in Rome or something, and they used it to remake the statue. 

So wild to think about a time where you didn't just have 3D modeling of everything. Like, people had to be like, "Oh, it was just an amazing statue. Like, it had Chopin in it, and he was... under a, like a tree." And then to find that model, and be like, "This! We can make it just like it was."

Then I pulled into Gdansk and forgot about that fey piano player and Warsaw. 

(Though I did read that workers trying to rebuild after WWII breathed in the equivalent of three brick's worth of dust a day. The city was rebuilding them while there were rebuilding it. (and, of course that made me think of all the vaporized fax machines and neckties I breathed in on the days after 9/11)).

I had to go right to work from the station, and there wasn't really a sense of how Gdansk is made up. I figured I'd shake a few hands and sneak away to my room. But my co-workers had other plans. It was a big deal for them to have a representative from the Home Office here, and they showed me around like a stuffed panther they'd won at the ring toss. 

A million meetings. They get a crate of fresh fruit every day as a perk. We get bagels back home. So, they are happy and thin, and we are slow and dull. But we like it that way. 

Apparently, this is all top secret, so I'll get thrown in the brig if I talk about it, but I can say it was many hours of legitimately fascinating conversations about "phonemes" and "homographs" and the building blocks of language. 

My only worthwhile asset was that I knew people they only spoke to over email. I got some milage out of describing their amusing real life habits. "Sure, she's stern in email, but, reader, she takes two pipes of sugar in her coffee."

I was taken to lunch. It was like a cutlet or something. They didn't know if it was pork or chicken. There were also buttery potatoes and syrupy carrots. Some funny conversations, like:

"Gdansk and Gdynia are becoming the, I don't know the English. I am forgetting the English. They are like the.. where the technicians gather to build computers."

Silicon Valley?

"YES! We are the Polish Silicon Valley." 

Also a marvelous exchange about idioms:

I asked my co-worker if there was a Polish idiom for when a surprise is spoiled.

"Yes!" It is something with a cat. Let me see to remember."

The cat is out of the bag?

"No, no. It's 'He threw out the cat when he threw out the water.'"

That sounds a little like 'throw the baby out with the bathwater,' which means to get rid of something good along with something bad.

"No, this is something else. It's… he is opening the door to throw out the water, yes? And the cat escapes."

Too too wonderful. Apparently an American voice actress he directs sometimes tells him all sorts of idioms. He said there was one he had trouble remembering:

"Now what is this expression? He is flying out of his pants. Out of the top of his pants. By his pants?"

Then another slideshow, and then I was done. Cabbed home, and home turned out to be a marvelous Caligarian apartment with wild green furniture and crazy-making stripes everywhere. I was in love with it. I am in love with it.

Took a long nap and was still up in plenty of time to hook up with my co-workers back in the US. We exchanged a few emails. Yes, it's nice here. Yes, they get free fruit!  And then I vanished. The scheme to sort of do day trips and not work during this week isn't really going to play out. With both masters to serve, I may end up working overtime.

I don't know, I'm making this up as I go: flying out of top of my pants.