So... Where's the Microwave?

Due to unanticipated internet problems, I have not been able to write anything until now. I would have killed to write something about the bizarro world while I was in Copenhagen, but sadly, Chapel Hill's wireless is unfriendly to Europe.

First... flying is kind of surreal to me. I thought it would feel different from what it actually is, but no, it really does feel like you're lifted up and, well, chilling out in the sky for a little while. I wanted to throw up at one point, which I don't think the pregnant girl next to me would have appreciated, but that was only from Raleigh to D.C. Let's see. From D.C. to Copenhagen was the only memorable flight of the three; that's when things began to get European. I was on this huge plane with about a hundred people, 98 of whom were blond. And all these people who had been speaking accent-less English in the airport suddenly turned Norwegian on me. How was this woman beside me Swedish? And that family in front German? Even the flight attendants assumed I was Norwegian (the Swedish woman identified the language for me) and kept asking if I wanted "Tee-ah" (tea). The flight was eight hours across the Atlantic but I didn't have the window seat, so I just saw this cartoon image of the plane flying very slowly over southern Greenland for like five hours on the screen on the back of the seat in front of me. I was actually glad to be on the aisle since it was such a long flight. I kept getting up just to walk around or go to the bathroom (which are tiny... tiny... tiny... And scared me half to death when I flushed since it was so loud).

I slept for only an hour, but when I woke up, time had jumped from midnight to 6:00 AM, so it was kind of like my schedule at school ha. (Note to Elaine: "Jet-lag" is nothing more than a post-UL morning). And when I landed in Denmark an hour later, I had five hours to kill before my flight. There were a lot of stores in the airport (which is huge), so you think I would not have a problem being occupied for so long. But when you don't speak Danish, have no Danish money, and don't know a single person, regardless of whether you are officially in Europe for the first time, you can get bored. So I people-watched as I usually do and hoped no one could tell I was an American (so I would get neither robbed, abducted, bombed, or offended). I saw a middle-aged business woman fly by on a scooter which threw me off guard. I saw a few other people riding them, so I guess it's not as weird as it would be in the United States. Or maybe I'm clueless and people actually do fly by on scooters in crowded places in the U.S. People dressed kind of like they do at the Weaver Street Market. Nobody had old jeans or ---INTERRUPTION: I just looked out my bedroom window and saw a neighbor with a side part and small little black moustache --- ratty T-shirts. Just imagine a picture you've seen of a street filled with well-dressed Europeans, and insert Krista into it, then you have the idea. (Elf up...).

It was a lot of fun, but you really do feel awkward when you are the foreigner. At least, I do. It's exciting but then also, you have no idea how to do some very simple things. For instance, in the airport I had to go through Passport Control. Keep in my mind I have no idea about all the technicalities involving flying to another country, I just knew I had to have a passport. So I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it or anything. So when someone directed me to the Passport Control box I kind of creeped up to the window and prayed to God the guy spoke English.

"So, um, yeah, is this where I go to ... show my passport?"
"Okay."

I showed him my passport, he stamped a page. I stood there expecting him to say something like, "What are your reasons for travelling? Have you anything to declare?" (What that last one means, I have no idea, but it appeared in my Polish phrasebook).

When he didn't, I realized I should probably go around the stand, but when I did it looked like a big glass window blocking the way. I tried to go around to the other side, but the guy gave me a weird look and kind of glanced at the "window." I went a little closer to this "window" before I realized it was an automatic door that looked different from any other one I had seen. I just sort of quickly walked through and hoped no one saw. Then, when I went to the bathroom, I couldn't figure out how to flush the toilet for the longest time (yes, this is the second time I am mentioning bathrooms). There were these two little metal button things and finally I pushed one and walked out, ashamed. Copenhagen ate me alive...

I changed some money at the airport which I hear you're not supposed to do and got some Polish zlotych and a few Danish coins with some holes in them (oh the sweet earrings!...). I was paranoid about leaving anything unattended (for good reason, I'm sure), so I was lugging my laptop, purse, and a very heavy black duffel bag throughout the airport for five hours. I got creeped out because this dude kept looking at the duffel bag pointedly and then to me, and I saw him maybe four times while walking around. (No, I am not giving the Copenhagen drug exchange symbol by taking out a piece of gum from my purse. You have the wrong girl with the wrong black duffel bag!) But it was pretty awesome, the whole experience of being surrounded by pale people who looked like me, with funny eyes and weird bone structure.

By the time I was on my last flight, I was exhausted. I had consumed probably eight Red Bulls in three days (which is just gross) without eating very much, and had slept about five hours in those three days. I fell asleep as we were taking off (how I managed to fall asleep knowing I could die on that airplane, I don't know) and woke up as we were landing. And getting off the plane, I somehow managed to feel no compulsion to get my luggage that had travelled below the airplane for twelve hours off the belt until I had passed through the Doors of No Return and saw Ms. P.

Ooops and a great first impression. She had to explain to some huge Danish guard wearing fatigues (and looked as though he should be named Ivan) that I am a stupid American and somehow managed to not get my checked luggage. It was all the Red Bulls and lack of sleep! Really! So I was personally escorted back through these gates by "Ivan" and with no dignity left, stood for ten minutes watching luggage go by until my embarrassingly bright neon yellow tags showed up. Then he asked to see my "Pish-pid" (five minutes later: oooh! Passport!) and I could leave. No lost luggage, but the self-respect just hasn't come back.

And those have been the most complicated parts of my adventure so far, but it's all been fun. The family is really nice and the kids are adorable. They are just like those British children you see in the movies, only Polish. They don't watch much T.V. and like traditional things, which I like to see. Lots of knights and swords and castles (Kasper has a map of Sherwood Forest on his wall) and they ride bikes. The youngest, Marcel, is four and is just learning to read Polish, and goes around for hours sounding out words letter by letter, and then saying the whole word. He'll read an entire book this way. They are learning some English words, and I am trying to learn Polish. They laugh when I try to say Polish words... "Truskafka." They don't understand that we don't have three different ways of pronouncing the "ch" sound in English. I tried to teach Cecylia the word "bear" but she could only manage "Brrrr!" I forget that I haven't had a real conversation with them. It's a lot easier than it seems, somehow.

And God, the Sound of Music connections. Carrie, you would love it all. The kids called me and their parents into the living room for a little performance after a meal, and Kasper started beating on this huge drum and Cecylia and Marcel had a choreographed dance routine to go along with it. Not to mention I had this fleeting urge to become a nun when we were picking up the kids from kindergarten (the equivalent of our preschool), and there was the nicest young nun who worked there. I thought for a moment that I too might like to rid myself of this material world and don the robes of the church, but I realized 1) I'm not Christian, 2) I (really) like the Smiths, and 3) this really was getting to be a little too much like the Sound of Music, which I don't even like. So for now, I am still the American au pair.

Some points of interest about Poland might be that the roads are terrifying. I am going to have to learn to drive stick-shift (my worst nightmare) and all the roads are very, very narrow, with only one lane. People pass all the time, there are never cars in a row. People pass even when you are on a country road and there is oncoming traffic. And they slam on their brakes. I am more scared of being on these roads than riding an airplane... And I will have the joy of transporting children via this deathtrap. Lord.

Umm.. and I walked around the large city of Poznan yesterday for a few hours, which was really nice. There are a lot of cafes, pubs, museums... It's the biggest city I've been to, and there were so many people. But the roads are crazy there, too. Mr. P pulled over to drop me off and was talking about where to meet him when we heard this ringing sound. I looked up and there was this huge train face-to-face like five feet from the front of the car. It just came out of no where. Then Mr. P. moved a few inches over and the train inched ahead. Then it went flying by... It was just like the Knight Bus in Harry Potter. I looked outside my window and there were people looking out the bus window just a foot or two away. It was crazy. I almost stepped out in front of another train later, walking around.

I wish I could at least speak enough Polish to have a conversation with a stranger so I could make some friends... There are only so many ways you can go about randomly speaking English to people without being weird. I don't want to not try things because I'm too scared, but I couldn't even tell what the shops were from the outside so it was hard to tell whether I should go in the buildings (they are all converted old buildings, some of them palaces/castles). So I would take my chances on whether a place was a bookstore, a gym, or an erotic store (yes, an erotic store, but that store had its name in English too, thank God). I ate spaghetti and bought a drink from a little window store (I paid with 10 zlotych and got all coins back... I stood waiting for some more change in bills until I looked down and realized there are such things as 5 zlotych coins...). I sat by a fountain and nearly got attacked by black pigeon things which were being terrorized by this two-year-old boy. Then, just a few minutes before I was supposed to be picked up, it started raining, so I asked these two guys standing outside a backdoor to a theater (it was the only close place with an awning) if it was okay if I stood under there while I waited for my ride. One spoke very good English, so I found out these guys were Polish dancers on a smoke break who were putting on a performance called The Dance of the Bat or something. They invited me backstage but unfortunately I had to leave, otherwise I would have had yet another typically me odd encounter. I guess meeting Polish dancers for the Dance of the Bat performance is odd in itself, so we will leave it at that.

And I am kind of tired of typing and trying to remember things so maybe later another weird thing will come to mind.

P.S. - Thank you Jenny and Laura for your letters... I read them between my prayers to God to not let me die on an airplane. I will send postcards as soon as I found out how to buy stamps.