The Retreat

I'm currently reading Lost on Planet China by J. Maarten Troost (a big thank you to the Rupprechts and Deborah McCoy in particular for the gift), an extremely well-written and hysterical account of a westerner's journey through the seething, quasi-post-apocalyptic juggernaut that is modern day China (to paraphrase the author).  I've found the book to be especially relevant as I try to make my way through my own international adventure, and would certainly recommend it to anyone currently living abroad or planning to do so.

Anywho...at one point Troost describes a train ride from Beijing to Qingdao.  As is Chinese custom, when the train arrived hundreds of Chinese surged into the cars, leaving a startled Troost without a seat.  Not only did he not get a seat, but he ended up stuck on an airless indoor platform, wedged between 12 stinky, chain-smoking Chinese men.  And that is where he stayed for the full duration of his 6 hour trip.  "Damn," I thought to myself.  "That would be THE WORST thing ever.  Thank God I'm not in China."

So I had this story in mind as I stood in the Wroclaw Glowny (main) Train Station with 20 other Polish Students, waiting for our train to come.  We were bound for Duszniki-Zdroj (Douche-Nee-Kee-Zedroige), a small mountain town near the Czech border, where we would spend the weekend "integrating" the new members of IKSS- the University's student organization for culture and sport (Juniatians think JAB).

A train pulled up and I assumed we would get on, but the students assured me that this was the incorrect train.  "Are you sure?", I asked with a fair amount of skepticism.  "Positive," was the reply, with some intermixed Polish that I'm sure was something to the effect of "stupid American."  So it was with some level of indignation that I found myself in a full sprint several seconds later, trying to bite, scratch, and claw my way into the crowded train car that was really built for half as many people as were trying to board.  And as the third to last guy on (no apologies from the "positive" students) I inherited that wonderful space on an airless indoor platform, in a standing wedge between 6 other Polish guys with a 5 hour journey ahead of me.  "This is the WORST THING ever," I thought to myself.

And it was... for a while at least.  The only thing that saved me was the prohibition of smoking on the train (which is quite surprising considering the Polish commitment to smoker's rights...if I had to guess i'd say it was no lower than the 3rd or 4th on their version of the Bill of Rights, after freedom to consume vodka but well before due process or eminent domain).  So as train clank-clunked down the rail at a brisk 50 km/hr (about 30 mph), making the 1 and a half hour trip (by car) into a 5 hour trip, I settled myself into that comfortable space between my compatriots back and elbow, and tried to enjoy the Polish countryside (which seemingly goes from the antiseptic burbs of New Jersey, to the fields of Nebraska, to the Sierra Nevadas in a matter of kilometers.)

But our arrival in Duszniki made the whole ordeal worth it.  If you had to draw up a picture of your perfect little European mountain town, this would be it, babbling brook and all.  On Saturday morning I had the chance to go for a run around town, and found an ATV trail (except I'm sure it was a horse and wagon trail, judging by the remains on my shoes) that switch-backed up a mountain into the forest and through the quaintest little village I've ever seen (farm animals in the only road and all) only to dead end at the top where it opened to a astonishing panorama of Duszniki, the snow-capped mountains surrounding it, and the Czech Republic off in the distance.  To Eileen: if you wonder why anyone would ever want to be here, it is for this place and several others like it.

The rest of the weekend, however, was spent mostly indoors going through the "integration" routine that I've now internalized after a college career heavily-grounded in student organizations like this one.  There were ice-breakers, discussions on effective communication, and goal-making sessions.  The only difference was that it was all in Polish.  And that most everyone had a beer in their hand the whole time (for some reason I don't see JAB holding a retreat with "Drinking Games" on the agenda). 

It would have been a perfect weekend if it wasn't for the aforementioned Polish.  From the beggining, I told the organizers that I didn't want them to cater their discussions to the one Amerykanin in the room.  And they didn't, which meant that I spent most of the time trying to use visual cues and the 50 or so Polish words I know to make sense of what was going on around me.  So After spending Friday and Saturday morning focusing every neuron in my brain on the various "tsch's" and "ski's" in the Polish dialect, I finally gave in to the white noise around me (becuase that's what it sounds like) and spent the afternoon and evening in oblivious repose with by best friend, pivo (beer).  

This was the first time since arriving that the weight of my language ignorance truly hit me.  Language is important for many reasons, but few have experienced the emotional and self-esteem related consequences that come from spending 48 hours mostly misunderstood by those around you.  Its debilitating and isolating, and makes me long for that anonymous American bar where "everybody knows your name" (and how to prounounce it) but also the meaning of "first down", "face-planted", and "sonovabitch" (which, as it became clear to me that weekend, are vital language keys if you are ever going to explain american football to a foreigner).

So as I gazed out at the confused students listening to me lecture on the importance of student activism, I realized that my one responsibility for the weekend, the reason I was in Duszniki, was (mostly) all for naught.  And that is why when it came time to write down my goals for the year, I unhesitatingly scribbled the following words onto the top line: "Learn Polish- Powodzenia!" (good luck)