Look, I'm sorry, but it's more fun to catch up on Game of Thrones and Doctor Who while eating classy dinners like grilled cheese washed down with pinot noir than it is to actually attempt to form coherent sentences on the internet.
Mmm, tv and cheese.
I'd read some fairly bad reviews about Finnair but my flight was lovely. I mean, the food was meh at best, but it was underbooked and I had both a window and aisle seat all to myself. Glorious! At least, until halfway through the flight when my body decided that it wasn't going to let go of hay fever season without a fight and my nose suddenly started leaking nonstop. That part kind of sucked. It also meant I couldn't explore Helsinki airport in search of pulla as had been my original intent. Instead, I found the book swap room (why is this not mandatory in every airport?), which was quiet and peaceful and filled with books and just generally a lovely haven for poor runny-nosed me.
Flying from Helsinki to Warsaw was rather interesting. It was very much like flying domestic in Canada, right down to the tiny cramped airplane and the disembarking without need to go through immigration or customs. I got there a bit early and in the five minutes it took for Chevy to show up I had about sixteen offers of a taxi ride, all offered under the breath like they were asking if I wanted to buy drugs instead.
Somewhat surprisingly, Chevy decided she was ok with being seen in public with me despite my glassy-eyed, red-nosed state, and we went out for dinner. This was the start of going into places and having them look straight past her and speaking Polish to me. Which, ok, kind of understandable (although just a smidge on the racist side), but what amused and puzzled me no end was the people who would measure up the situation, realize that Chevy was the one who spoke Polish, but who then continued to look at me as they talked, as though they thought they were being punked and I was about to burst out laughing and break out fluent Polish. Apparently I blended in a bit too well.
To be honest, I don't remember all that much about the weekend. We went to a sort of flea/antique market thingy on Saturday, which I remember primarily because of the creepy angel painting. I was doing ok, jet-lag-wise, and then I hit a wall. I hit the wall hard and I never recovered. I tried a nap, but it needed to be at least 7 hours longer. I tried tea and chocolate. No dice. We still went out that night, to see a show at
Teatre Sabat, which was good but featured a lot of chorus girls in sequined thonged swimsuits. I saw my yearly quota of butt cheeks that night. Also, my commendations to whoever does their bikini waxes.
Sunday we tried finding a little shop that sells Fluevogs overseas (I wanted to go visit the shoes.) and an art market Chevy had heard about. We failed miserably on both accounts and instead went over the river to the side of Warsaw that was not destroyed to smithereens after the war. It was pretty! I managed to accidentally buy a bottle of carbonated water at what appeared to be a small liquor store that also sold groceries. I had forgotten about the European obsession with sparkling water. I prefer my bubbles to come with alcohol, so that was annoying.
We ended up at an adorable tea house, filled with mismatched charming furniture and featuring a long list of various teas. We agreed that it was like being at grandmother's house...not necessarily Chevy's grandmother, and certainly not mine (she was more likely to offer to split a beer with lunch than serve me tea in floral china), but somebody's grandmother. Probably the old-school English kind, with rosy cheeks and a vaguely distracted air and a lot of roses everywhere.
On Monday Chevy had to go back to work, so I went off to the Warsaw Uprising Museum. If you are ever in Warsaw, I recommend it. I was there for at least a couple of hours and I enjoyed every minute. (Although they could use some clearer signs. After I bought my tickets, I looked around and then figured the door that was seeing the most action was probably my best bet. Turned out it was for an office building, but a nice Polish man pointed me in the right direction and did his best to do a spiel for the museum, too.) There was quite a long film taken from footage shot during the uprising (they had their own cameramen!), which was absolutely fascinating. There was also a shorter and far more disturbing film of a relatively recent interview with a man who was in Warsaw during the uprising as part of the German army. He seemed like the sweetest old man, someone's beloved granddad, but he was talking about doing the most horrible things. (For the record, he claims to not have agreed with them, but that he really had no choice but to go along.) There was also a short 3D film that showed Warsaw after the Germans were through with it, so basically long panning shots of heaps and heaps of rubble. The Germans were not at all amused by the uprising.
Clearly the only way to follow up this experience was by going shopping and then out for dinner at a place filled with hipsters and live Beatle covers (as sung by Pink, The Lost Weasely Brother, Girl With No Pants, and Girl Who Didn't Really Put Much Effort Into Her Outfit). We drank much wine and I realized that once my basil grows in this summer I will have to try my hand at making a gin basil smash. Booze! With herbs!
Tuesday I went on the free Orange Umbrella Tour. I almost missed it but luckily, even though I arrived 10 minutes late, they hadn't moved very far, so I was able to sidle up to the group and insinuate myself in it. It was a pretty good tour, although halfway through I was very fervently wishing I'd worn my long johns. It went for over two hours and culminated in a free shot of vodka and was very interesting. Try it out! I had planned to go to the Chopin museum after this, but by this point it was 1:30 and I was famished and freezing and not so keen on doing a lot more walking, so instead I stopped by a restaurant and tried out various hot boozey drinks and perogies. I swear my intent was only to stay for a bit and then hit up the museum, but at the time trying out mulled beer seemed like a better cultural experience.
I regret nothing.
