Day 0: An Afternoon Walk in Gdansk

Every time I when I answer the question of why I am spending my holiday in Poland with a 'why not?', I am met with surprise. Here I will tell the story of how an afternoon walk through a residential area of Gdansk made me understand my own fascination a little better.

Behind my friend's house, a hill raises sharply. The path going up that hill led me onto a cemetery. Surrounded by a friendly anarchyof trees, the gravestones blinked in the afternoon sun. Black, marble and simple grey tones determined the scene. Because most of the people who pass away are froma bygone eras, gravestone styles are almost always a little outdated, even when they're new. A light uncomfortable feeling sprung up when I passed an elderly lady tending the plants around a grave: how do you respectfully hold a water bottle? She doesn't seem bothered by my presence.

As I took random turns, reading the names to myself, practicing pronounciation, the strong noise of heavy machinery pierced the air. It always strikes me that in former socialist countries, some municipal service will be set to destroy piece and quiet, and it seems that even this most annointed place presented no exception. Workmen drudged in a cloud of dust.

After another few turns through the rows of graves, I arrived at the chapel. The building was as classic as you can achieve with concrete as building material. At the top of the roof, flaked off plasterwork showed the skeleton of the construction in rusty red tones. The doors were open and judged from the small number of cars and the wheelchair parked at the door, the person being sent off has reached a respectable age.

I walked down the main lane to the official entrance. At the boomgate, the next party was waiting. This crowd was bigger, the men who were jovially greeting each other were younger: grey, but modernly dressed, holding silver wrapped lillies in their left hand and shaking hands with their right. Near the entrance two trucks with gravestones and cemetry benches were parked, each manned with a person sitting on a plastic green garden chair on the pavement. The commercial logic is unmissable; the stonemasons business is right here.

I crossed the street and entered a residential neighbourhood. Unlike some of the blocks of flats, this neigboorhood leaves me guessing of its origins: is it pre- or post '89? I provisionally decide the latter, as the extensions show a deviation from the usual box-like shapes and the window take up quite some wall space. The ornamental details of the cemetry are echoed in the barriers and railings of the houses.

I entered a small shop and bought a candy cigarette saying “Smoking is bad for your healt” for Maciej, who has a hard time staying away from tobacco. On the way back through the cemetery the two gravestone trucks were no longer manned and the chapel was locked. Halfway up the hill I'm met by a priest, hunched over, casually holding a bible in his hand, his drapery trailing after him in the strong wind.

I realize that I have a more complete answer on the question why I like visiting Poland than the 'why not'I have been giving out. I like visiting Poland because it has become dimensional to me. Many of the places I have visited have received a few days worth of attention before I moved on. These places are usually enjoyed and sometimes disliked at face value. In those cases I am aware of my limited experience: I know I have barely scratched the surface.

However, my liason with Poland has passed this initial phase. I see things I like, I see things I don't like, but the most satisfaction is derived from the complete picture I can form in my mind. And don't get me wrong: it is a very vague and basic picture. Yet the action of completing the puzzle is exciting and rewarding.