What’s a traveler like you doing in a town like this?

Copied from my journal, since it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. I wrote it in Germany, but I reckon it’s still applicable here in Poland, too. (By the by, flickr has some updates as well.)

(18 September: Gatschow, Germany)

“I’ve been thinking about something [English] Ed said back at the hostel in the Netherlands. He was talking about [Texas] Nick, who was leaving to go back to Texas a few days after this conversation. Ed was saying that he just didn’t think Nick was meant to go home yet; that he was meant to keep traveling and to have more adventures and experiences. And it’s sort of stuck in my head because I’ve been wondering(/wandering, ha ha, punny) what am I meant to do? I think I’m meant to keep traveling until I want or maybe even need to go home. I think maybe I need to be doing all this traveling right now as a way to free myself from Hampshire. And from the Valley, actually. I think going any which direction I chose is a good way to gain ultimate control over my life after having school decide what I’m going to do, think about, and experience for the last several years. It’s almost my own coming of age ritual. Coming of age in the sense of actual assumption of responsibility. I suppose I’m using this as a ceremony for myself. It’s something of a soul journey…a spirit walk! Or something.

There’s another part of me that has been thinking a lot about “What the heck am I doing here?” I don’t speak any German, so why did I decide to come to Germany? Well, because there’s a host who was available who speaks English. What about Poland? And all these other places? There’s a part of me that realizes I can’t expect to be able to communicate any better than a Russian coming to my hometown back in Connecticut. But should we (as travelers and global citizens both) be limited to seeing places and experiencing life only in places that speak our language? That doesn’t quite make sense to me either. We learn so much by living other’s lives and experiencing a different way of being. Should Americans constrain their experiences to the US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the UK? And for that matter, I can hardly understand some UK (or even southern US) accents. Does that mean I should not go down south just because I can’t communicate comfortably? I don’t think so. I think it’s one thing to assume that everyone should (or does) speak your language. I think that’s wrong. However, it’s natural to ask if they do. A French family traveling through Bethel would find that I can actually give them directions or help them out, at least a little. Yes, the experience of being in a new country and speaking that language is very different from the experience of not speaking that language. But does that make the experience any less valuable? I don’t know, but I don’t feel like it’s the case.

I’m sure that someone somewhere would think I was being a self-centered American by traveling like I am, but I don’t think it’s wrong. I think I’m learning a lot from the people I meet (and I think I’m even learning a lot from that disorienting feeling of not being as self-sufficient and independent as I am at home) and I think there is no shame in learning. And no, I can’t learn everything. I can’t learn all the history and all the politics and all the stories of oppression while also experiencing the place as it is RIGHT NOW or the understanding of the place from those who live there. I just don’t have the time. I can’t even do that at home. Maybe I should know everything about a place I live in, but I just can’t know everything. I’m okay with that. I just want to learn something. That’s all I can really ask for and be able to honestly accept. I’ll keep thinking about this. Maybe I’ll become enlightened.”

Meanwhile, as another update for today (ohmygod, two in one day, aren’t you so excited you just want to explode?) I have had an absolutely magnificent day. My new host is one of the most generous, giving, energetic, enthusiastic people I’ve ever met. She runs an English language school, so after we went to the market (I tried a traditional Polish sausage) I helped her put packets together and we talked and talked and talked and had pierogi (I got the spelling right this time) for lunch (Russian style with cheese and ham, and spinach and feta, and another kind that was meat and good and then for dessert there was a raspberry kind and another kind with sweet cheese, like in a Danish and it was all INSANELY delicious) and then I talked with her students for a while about traveling, help exchange, circus, life, the Boondock Saints, prostitution (…), driving cross country in a pickup truck in December, etc. And then 2 girls who go to this school (but weren’t in that class) took me out on the town and we had an amazing time. We walked around and talked and went to see the oldest movie theater in the world (built in 1909) and went to this delicious traditional Polish restaurant and they got me a traditional meal and we talked about everything and then for dessert we went up to Cafe 22, which is at the top of the tallest building and has a panoramic view of the city, and we drank the world’s most amazing hot chocolate. I don’t take that statement lightly. I’ve had a lot of hot chocolate in my life, but I can honestly say, this was the best. Thick, rich, intense, seriously delicious and honestly so thick a straw would have easily stood up in it. I feel like I’m being absolutely spoiled, and I can’t thank everyone enough for all they’re doing for me. It’s amazing. And I’ve talked so much today that it’s astounding that I spent two days without talking while I was traveling from Liverpool to the Hague. I’m learning more about the communist history here in Szczecin. It was completely flattened in WWII, and it was rebuilt according to the time, so it’s a really interesting mix of old and new, as I think I mentioned earlier. Also, apparently in WWII yes, Germany took over Poland, but 10 days later, Russia invaded, took all the intelligent Polish commanding officers down to Ukraine, and killed them. It’s certainly a different perspective on things.

Also, speaking of perspective: most of this area is Catholic. The mother of my last couch host was VERY Catholic and asked (translated through my host) if I was Catholic or baptized.

“Uhm….no. To both.”

My host looked at me silently, took a deep breath, and translated. Her mother stared at me silently, then turned and left.

“She doesn’t like that.”

Her mom came back in, said something, and left again.

“She says it’s just different.”

It was strange for me because I knew she was Catholic, so I knew I could have just lied and said yes, I’d been baptized but I’m not religious. But I didn’t feel like that was right. Instead I later compromised and told her that even though I wasn’t religious, my mom was Catholic. (Sorry, Mom. Please don’t kill me. You already yelled at me for it in my conscience.) I think it helped a little. Anyway, that was a little weird for me…I don’t think I’ve ever been asked if I’ve been baptized before. I could have just as easily said no, I’m Jewish, but why should it matter? It’s just a strange realization to know I’m seriously in the religious minority and to fear that I might be rejected because of it. It’s a silly fear, I know this. But still. Maybe it’s not so silly, since wars are fought over beliefs.

Anyway, it looks like my itinerary has changed (again). Here’s the current plan:

-Szczecin, helping out at this language school (Sept 29-Oct 5)

-Berlin, staying with a friend of this host (Oct 5-6)

-Prague (Oct 6-8)

-Istanbul and JAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!! (Oct 8-14)

-Greece!

Oh, and the new header picture is from Scheveningen, Netherlands. It’s roughly a 5 minute walk from the hostel I worked at.

I’m being Johnny Cash!

There’s a red line all over Szczecin that brings you on a walking tour through the city, so yesterday I spent about 4 hours “walking the line”.

Useful signs....sort of.

Szczecin, by the way, is pronounced Sh-cheh-chin, and is apparently written Stettin in English. It’s an interesting city: it’s got a lot of beautiful old buildings right next to old communist cement housing and it’s a port city, so there’s a river running alongside it. I’ve been having some serious culture shock dealing with not just the language and a new country, but also dealing with being in a city with lots of people and noise and chaos and cars after living in the quiet, open country for half a month. Plus, all the German I learned is now useless. Oh well! But I can say cat in Polish! (My host here got a kitten on Monday. He’s adorable. He’s asleep on my pillow right now.)

It really is strange to be in a place where communism still affects the lives of the community members. My host’s mom (who doesn’t speak English, so this was translated through my host) asked me if I knew Poland was communist (yep, and I explained I’ve come from eastern Germany, so I was prepared a bit for it) and she talked a bit more about it and about how Americans must think they’re backward and poor like in Afghanistan. I laughed because when I arrived in Gatshow, Nicole had said to me, “It’s like Poland but more impoverished”. I hadn’t really expected it to be…but then again, I’m not sure what I expected.

Right, so I’m just about to head off to my next couch surfing host (same city though, just changing where I sleep) and I’ll be off to Berlin on Friday. Don’t quite know where I’m sleeping yet, but I’ll find something. And Prague will be just a few days because I’ll be heading off to see Jay soon! (Though I don’t have tickets yet, I’m planning to get there on Oct 8.) So I’m SUPER excited to see him. It’s like an extra-early Christmas!

And I have a bunch of catch-up posts to do from scribbled down thoughts in Germany, but I’ll get to them eventually, I promise.

I argue with cute French boys about the proper way to sing “You’re just too good to be true”

As an explanation of the title, I sing the big, loud brass part. He (Johann, fellow helpx’er) prefers a jolly whistling tune. I also managed to get the Champs Elysees (sorry, accent mark fail, this is a German keyboard. I can do all the ß’s and ä’s and ö’s your heart desires, though) song stuck in his head and hearing him sing it pretty much completed my life. My friends from high school French class will understand.

Right! So a quick update: I’m headed off to Poland on Monday! Specifically to Szczecin (…uhhhhhhhhhh). So I’ll be there this week and then to Berlin for the weekend/following week (on a related note, if you know of someone I can crash with in Berlin, let me know), and then Prague for a week! And then I think I might/will probably be going to visit my dearest darling friend Jay in Istanbul, which is AWESOME.

And also, I now know more German! I can name nearly everything on the table at dinner and I can ask for something and I can do some other stuff too, enough so that people who don’t speak English can often almost guess what I need. It’s worth noting that although the kids here don’t speak much English (but they do speak a little), the woman who I’m working for is fluent and so I’ve had tons of good heart to heart conversations with her. She’s a beautiful person.

Right, so at this very moment, I’m attempting to book my ticket to Poland. I’m alive and well (but I have a cold, bleh) and I’ll keep you all updated as I can!

A dirty, dirty girl learns her numbers.

Well, I’m in Gatschow! It’s amazing: I feel like I’ve found my footing and some grounding even though my life, as my good friend David recently said, ‘has as much direction as a leaf on the wind’. My days are spent eating entirely local, organic foods, delicious bread, learning some German (I can count to 19, sometimes 20, I know my colors, I can name a few animals, I can be polite, and I can explain that I have the hiccups), gardening, making a porch, insulating and rebuilding an attic and so much more. I also built fairy houses with a 10 year old, watched a Swedish movie dubbed in German, taugh a little circus, played on a trampoline and I go to bed dirty from the garden and playing, happy and tired each night.

completed garden

Also, my syntax is getting sorta funny after being around non-native English speakers.

I don’t have much internet, so things on this front will be quiet, but next up is Poland! And then Czech, and then blasting through Austria to get to Italy for a while. So check back here in a week or so, and I reckon things will be picking up again. Meanwhile, I am safe and incredibly happy and I feel loved. But I do look forward to some warm weather…

flower fence (and farm)

A reflection, a bad joke, and a story

From my journal:

I’m off to see the Germans, the wonderful Germans of Gatschow! Which means I just left the hostel about 30 minutes ago. Gave goodbye hugs and kisses to those who were awake who happened to be Damien, Austrian Steffi and German Steffi, Nick, Kriscz, and Dan, with a message to say goodbye to everyone else for me. I’ve realized, in light of those hugs, that I’m happiest in a place where I get more random, everyday hugs than goodbye hugs. That’s certainly been the case as of late. And while I knew it would take me a little while to adjust, I soon found myself just as comfortable as I’d become in that creaky old Pirate Ship I now recall so fondly. They’re really good folks, the whole lot of ‘em. And I reckon that the hostel would be the ideal setting for a sitcom. It’s such an excellent group of characters that hilarity, as they say, ensues. All the time. And I reckon I’ll never be able to hear Fleet Foxes or Mumford & Sons without thinking of it, and it makes me happy to have those bands to listen to like a hard candy that brings back all the sweetness.

-later-

There’s a train company here called ‘metronom’. I’ve figured out it’s probably German for metronome and relates to keeping time, but my first thought was, ‘What’s Godzilla’s favourite snack? METRONOM NOM NOM!’ I reckon it’s still applicable.

-later still-

Quick note: the following story is somewhat safe for work, though not entirely. If you get fired, it’s your fault. Tell whoever reads over your shoulder to read more carefully, rather than just skimming.

Right, so once upon a time, there was a traveller named Victoria. She’d been travelling for a little while and had realized that whenever she did mildly reckless things, Fate was skipping merrily beside her, slipping good fortune right underfoot when the pavement might give way. However, like Victoria, Fate was lousy at planning ahead and usually waited for her to get a little nervous before working its wonders.

Victoria saw this happen recently in Amsterdam when she was half dead on her feet with no hostels or hotels free, and she saw it again when she worked at a place full of loving, beautiful people just as she was beginning to turn inward too often. But then came the day when Victoria left that lovely place in search of her next adventure (which, true to course had arrived a little last-minute but not so late as to have been influenced b the hand of that tricky beotch, Fate.) So off she went to catch her train to Germany.

The train that never came.

“No worries,” Victoria thought to herself. “My first ticket is open. I can catch any train to Amersfoort. It’s only the connecting trains that have reservations.” So off she went on the very soonest train she could find, planning to run like flaming sharks were after her in order to maybe, just maybe make that connection at 11.37 am.

11.30 comes and goes, leaving Utrecht in its wake.

11.45 comes and goes, leaving farmlands rolling away.

Noon casually strolls in while Victoria’s train just pulls into Amersfoort.

“Flaming sharks be dammed,” Victoria said to herself upon seeing the vastness of the station, “I don’t even know where I’m going.” So instead, she casually strolls herself up to the ticked office, prepared to argue a bit but also to buy a new ticket if needed.

Instead, Fate gave a little nudge and (of course) everything worked out. The ticket office lady (who must surely be Eddie Izzard’s close cousin, if not his sister, judging by her appearance) was unbelievably sweet and nice and sorted everything out quick as can be, putting Victoria on the next train in an hour in a half’s time to Hamburg. Again, no worries. She didn’t NEED to be in Hamburg until 9 am the next day anyway. From there on, her journey was smooth and easy and deposited her neatly in Hamburg hbf station. She walked off the platform, cast her eye down the chaotic bowels of the station and thought to herself,

“Right. I don’t speak German, either.” But what could go wrong? Surely near a train station there must be hostels, right? Of course! So off she goes wandering in a straight line for a bit. She sees beautiful buildings, large shops with elegant window displays, street art, and what was certainly a beer garden a few hours ago. But shops like that usually mean a hostel is probably not that close, so after some time, Victoria decides to be reasonable and she heads back to the station where she (confidently? Stubbornly?) marched right past a tourist information desk. They direct her in the exact opposite direction she’d originally gone, so she headed off to where they insisted there were lots of hostels. Almost immediately, she saw a sign for a hotel. Close, but no cheap, mixed dorm cigar. Still, it’s a good sign, so she continued in that direction. Again, she found herself on a remarkably busy street, but an astoundingly different one. Dark casinos crouched next to grubby (slightly suspect) shops, the streets, weren’t as clean- oh, but wait! A spa! A poster to her right showed a wonderfully fit, tanned male torso with a beautiful ocean background. At a quick glance, “spa” and “massage” stood out in clear white, which made the following window display (boudoir costumes, whips, chains, leather bondage gear, and I kid you not, and olde tyme gallows made out of leather) all the more startling. That’s when Victoria looked around a little more carefully instead of just scanning the hotel signs.

SEX + KINO!!!! SEXXX! ADULT!

OH. Victoria looked. Back at that relaxing-looking spa. Again, OH. “Gay spa” “massage” “play” and a bunch more words in German that I didn’t even really need to translate to understand.

“Aha,” she said to herself. “So this must be the red light district, then.” But, again, nothing to worry about. This road intersected with a much quieter road whose biggest signs advertised a Lebanese deli. And lo, a hotel right above it.

“There’s certainly no harm in asking if there’s a hostel anywhere nearby,” Victoria reasoned. So in she goes, the guy at the desk speaks a bit of English, and she asks her question. He stares at her blankly. She tries again, explaining cheap room for just one night anywhere in the area. She points to the word ‘hostel’ on a tourist brochure. He laughs a pitying laugh.

“No. There is a [festival? Something in German] on, most places are full. We have cheapest rooms now 200 euro, 250 euro just for one night.” He can see that she’s not able to afford that by a long shot. He has no idea where any hostels are. He goes online to show her that there are only a few rooms left elsewhere, and all more expensive. She blanches, thanks him, and goes in search of a Starbucks or Maccers to get some wifi and see if maybe, just maybe there’s a hostel a little further away that’s got a room, any room under 30 euro. She heads toward the train station, back through the red light district which is now swarmed with packs of macho guys leering at everyone as dusk settles uncomfortably around the garish signs proclaiming SEX!!! She decides to follow the only map she could find (which is, of course, small and poorly labelled) to what soon proves to be a much emptier, quieter, more industrial area with only the roar of cars to keep her company. Just as she stood at a crosswalk thinking that she might have accidentally lost Fate around that last corner, a large sign caught here eye.

HOSTEL

High five, Fate.

Now let’s just see if they’ve got any rooms. There’s a lot of folks in the windows and the steps outside, but lo! They do have a few rooms left! AND LO! They’re 12 euro! Win and win.

And that’s the story of how Victoria became, as JFK might have said, a Hamburger.

Where Victoria has a stagnant whirlwind life, things are unexpected, and she gets high.

Apologies, dear readers (all four of you…), for forgetting things in my life. Or rather, or having things in my life and forgetting to tell you about them.

So, let’s back up just a smidge, since the last time you heard from me I was deliriously tired and not too keen on Amsterdam. Since then, I took a train to Den Haag (it’s about 2 hours south west) and stayed last minute with a couch surfing person. She was absolutely wonderful, really generous, and introduced me to the traditional Dutch breakfast. Bread with butter and sprinkles (or chocolate shavings).

Dutch breakfast

When I was eating it in the morning I just giggled to myself since it feels like the sort of breakfast you make up when you’re five and then Mom finds out and yells at you. OH! And the sprinkles have a flavor! Because of course American sprinkles are just…well..colorful sugar, but here they have flavors! The ones I had were fruity, kinda like Froot Loops. I ended up spreading peanut butter with my chocolate shavings since there was a part of me that realized I was not going to function with a purely sugar/carb breakfast. When did I become responsible? Ew.

Anyway, so I walked around a bunch, got absolutely drenched (those two days it downpoured really randomly and suddenly and I was always caught in it. And by downpour, I mean proper thunder, lighting, the whole shebang, which was a welcome change from the UK’s sorta vague downward wetness) got lost, found myself again, and saw an outdoor nature photography exhibit outside of a palace. And then I got drenched again.

Since then, I walked from my couch host’s house in Goudenregenstraat (imagine my horror at trying to pronounce said street when I got lost…the g’s are a throat clearing sound, as is the r, which makes it mostly sound like you’ve got a tickle in your throat) up to Scheveningen (yeah, try saying that five times fast, I dare you), which was about an hour with only one downpour. Still, it was a good walk with all my stuff on me. So there I go, waltzing into this hostel where I sorta blankly look at the guy behind the desk and go, “Uhhhh….so…I’m Victoria? I’m here for helpx?” Dan (that’s his name afterall) is a really good guy who gave me a walking tour of the place and let me settle down in his room (a 6 person room: two bunkbeds stacked 3 high) with him, Damien (Republic of Ireland), and Yolanda (Mexico). I settled down to get my bearings a bit, and then wandered downstairs. The work system here is 5 hours a day, 5 days a week, two days off in exchange for bed and breakfast. Any overtime and you get paid a little bit. Since I had just arrived, I had the day off, but I found I didn’t really know what to do with myself at all. I helped Yolanda and Luci (Northern Ireland) peel tape off a wall for a mural Yolanda was painting, and then ended up being at such a loss for what to do, I just started walking. The beach is about 2 minutes away and it’s a good proper beach, and so this hostel is very beach/surfy oriented. The day I arrived it was insanely windy so the waves were monsterous. I grabbed some food at a nearby grocer and ended up finding several steps on the pier that looked shallow enough that I could perhaps walk up ’em on my hands. So I tried. I got one comfortably, but that second one was pretty challenging. I decided to try and walk up the whole thing by the end of the week. Oh, and I also read half of Robinson Crusoe in the library next door. I found myself feeling really disoriented and confused and not really comfortable, but as I was writing in my journal I reminded myself that soon it would be fine, there’s always the adjustment period.

The next day I was on cleaning duty with Luci 10.30-3.30, which is pretty much what it sounds like. Luci’s awesome, so I was really happy to have the chance to talk with her and ask her a few questions to orient myself a bit more. She definitely made me feel more comfortable and the cleaning wasn’t so bad. In fact, I did about 4 and a half hours of overtime, just to keep myself busy.

As time’s gone on, I’ve definitely adjusted (as I knew I would, just need to be patient) and learned names and got to know people and have befriended said people as well. It’s a somewhat transient place; soon after I got there Yolanda headed out followed by Alex (Australia). I didn’t get to know them that well, but they seemed like really nice girls. I suppose the friendships were a little unexpected in a way, since I’m only here for a week. In the meantime my days are filled with cleaning, wandering around barefoot, learning more about folks, occasionally doing the breakfast shift (7am-12), and we headed into Den Haag city a few days ago, so I got to go to the MC Escher museum which was EXCELLENT. And two Steffi’s have since joined my room: one’s Austrian, the other German. Both are crazy nice. Austrian Steffi taught me how to make schnitzel and then yesterday Luci, Steffi and I made tiramisu. (It was EXCEPTIONALLY good. And I hand-beat the meringue in about 20 minutes.) We were talking about being rebellious and Luci just exclaims, “I’m so hardcore, I f*#& up tiramisu!” I laughed my head off. But Luci has just left which has broken my heart (fire poi spinner, circus heart through and through), leaving me with a dress (FREE BOXES ARE EVERYWHERE) and a scarf.

Today was a really quiet day since not a lot of people were staying here, so Nick (Texas) and I took our sweet time cleaning what needed cleaning. In my attempt to fill up five hours, I sat down in one of the showers and thoroughly scrubbed pretty much every tile. It’s worth noting that there is pretty much NO ventilation in those showers, and pretty soon I came out commenting that my head felt kind of weird. Okay, no, really weird. Weird enough that I kept getting dizzy and stumbling around a bit, so Nick and I headed outside for some fresh air and water. I cleaned a bit more, but around 2.30 it was getting to be a bit too much and so I went up to my room and curled up on the floor to steady myself. Dan (English, by the way) came in and didn’t quite freak out about my state, but got adorably concerned until I insisted I’d be fine and made him go on his way. I ended up carefully climbing into my bed and conking out for about an hour and a half. And when I woke up, my head was significantly clearer, although it still feels sorta foggy like when you just wake up. No worries though; it’s certainly less concerning than lurching around. Anyway, I figured the fumes from the shower stuff got to me, but it’s better now!

While here I’ve learned a little bit of German, a tiny bit more Dutch (SINAASAPPELSAP! = oj), a little bit about some Illuminati-related conspiracy theories, a little bit about drugs (apparently coming off of ecstasy is awful and only vaugely made better by getting drunk, they roll their joints with half weed, half tobacco, etc) (and no, I haven’t pulled a ‘when in Rome’), and some other stuff that I can’t actively think of now. Oh, and the stairs? Yeah, I haven’t conquered them. Alas.

But my next journey takes me to Germany! I’ll be staying in a fun little community 4 hours east of Hamburg as of Thursday and I think I’ll be headed down southern Germany for the end of September.  I would still love to make it up to Denmark, but I’m waiting to see if fate will throw me that way since I couldn’t find an inexpensive way to do it so far.

So yeah! Hamburg on Wednesday and then on to the helpx’ers on Thursday!

And I’ve been getting hugs lately, which is wonderful since I hadn’t had a proper hug since Scotland and it hurts my soul to not hug.

It’s a different sort of beach life

Well, Amsterdam was interesting for the day and most likely made more weird by exhaustion and enormous crowds. I did give the obligatory walk through the red light district, which I pretty much hated. As a straight woman, walking down the road seeing a bunch of half-dressed chicks standing in windows does not appeal to me at all. And once you add throngs of drooling, giggling males from 18-well beyond middle age, it just is creepy and sketchy and I found myself desperate to get out, even though it was broad daylight. So that wasn’t really my bag. But I realllly love the architecture and I’ve had several wonderful chats with strangers, so that’s always nice.

I’m currently in The Hague, about an hour west of Amsterdam. I’m working a beachy hostel here (we’re about a 2 minute walk from the water). The work’s pretty basic: clean bathrooms, vaccuum, mop, tidy beds, put out breakfast, etc etc.  It’s a good place, the folks are really nice and it’s a good collection of characters.

And I’ve learned a few words in Dutch!

sap: juice
koiffe: coffee
vet: fat (?) as in fat content in milk
nee: no
ja: yes
heren: men
dames: women
kerk: church
politie: police (I think)
slagroom: whipped cream (note: ‘slag’ is British slang for slut. So I kept reading that as ‘slut room’. Needless to say, it’s not.)

Edit: This is the first September I can ever remember that I haven’t been in school. It still hasn’t quite sunk in.