Zdrowie

The word means ‘health’, a commodity that you trade off as you go through life, along with love and money.

But when you prefix it with Twoje, it becomes ‘your health’ or ‘cheers’.

In Poland, that usually means vodka—which is very good, perhaps the best you can get, including the famed bison grass variety—it was pleasure to do homework for this topic (the Poles don’t believe in trivia like indefinite articles or personal pronouns).

Nevertheless, there’s a certain irony in wishing people ‘good health’ by plying them with cripplingly strong alcohol—a bit like telling them ‘here’s to a stand-up guy’ prior to shooting them in the head.

I took the autobahn from Berlin to Szczecin—it should have been an easy ride, but the German side is a snarl of roadworks—I spent a couple of hours farting about on the freeway, rather than having a gute fahrt.

In Germany, even the cars have angst.

The change in living standards is obvious when you cross the border—in the housing, the cars, the dress… I stopped off for gas, paid in zloty since we’re out of the euro area, and my first Polish contact in country was very encouraging—the language is incomprehensible, and sports a particularly insane range of accents, including an ‘L’ which has been stabbed in the gut and is pronounced ‘E’—I imagined that a sharp blow to the Polish abdomen may have originated that particular phoneme.

The gas attendant smiled, spoke to me in English, and had none of the arrogance you encounter in Germany. I was also struck by the difference between Poles and the Hungarians during my trip in 2016—both nations have a history of suffering, but the Poles are optimistic and funny, where Hungary is dour and grim.

I checked into the hotel, considered dinner options and turned on the TV.

My research was waylaid by a cartoon of Scooby Doo in Polish, which cracked me up, and set the tone for the evening.

No one replied when I called to book a table for dinner, so I strolled over to the place on the off chance.

Every woman in Poland is convinced that dyed blond hair is a decisive advantage in life—the two young ladies at the restaurant were clearly happy about practicing their English. I explained about the reservation, and one of them said they were too busy to answer the phone—almost as funny as Scooby—and they found me a table right away.

Szczecin—I’m getting RSI with all these zees—is a major Baltic port, which partly accounts for the historical ‘interest’ shown by its neighbors, including Germany and Sweden, and for centuries, and also had a thriving trade with Scotland for herring.

The latter may have been responsible for a delicious herring tartar, but by the time the main course arrived there was no escaping the meat—the entire menu focused on pork and goose, with a smattering of beef here and there.

Polish pig farming is infamous in the Baltic for the amount of nitrogen and phosphorus it dumps in the sea, which results in abnormal growth of algae—blooms of blue-greens are a particular issue.

Blue-green algae, or cyanobacteria, fix nitrogen from the air and get phosphorus from polluted water, and cause oxygen problems in the deeper waters of the Baltic.

Over the weekend, I got a better feel for the region—this is West Pomerania, and we drove around some pretty poor areas. They grow a fair bit of carp in Poland, as they do in other regions of Eastern Europe—but the diet is meat, the carp are a Christmas tradition, and I can bet you a pound to a penny the kids hate it.

I’ve never been on a farm that doesn’t have old machines lying around, but how many bear the label: MADE IN USSR?

It’s duck hunting season right now, and there was much enthusiasm among the groups of men preparing to go out shooting. I think the adjective ‘solid’ may be the best way to describe Poles, and I mean that in a good way.

I delved deeper into the history—Szczecin has been invaded by pretty much everyone, but then that’s the history of Poland as a whole—the unfortunate filling of a sandwich breaded by Russia and Prussia.

Catherine the Great was born here, and I was enthralled with her sexual adventures. In particular I found that her close friend Praskovya Bruce was l’éprouveuse for Catherine’s new lovers—how much less sordid it sounds in French.

Praskovya’s job was to test the prospective lovers, after their proposal by Prince Potemkin, selection by Catherine, and inspection by a doctor. Countess Bruce’s role was more of a horizontal analysis of carrying capacity, presumably focusing on both quality and quantity.

Praskovya’s dilligence led to her being caught on the job, as it were, with Ivan Rimsky-Korsakov. This led to the downfall of both—Rimsky-Korsakov was then exiled in Brattsevo, where he lived in a relationship with the married Countess Stroganova, who bore him four children, (presumably) to her husband’s unending delight.

I shall resist the temptation to make any quips involving either rims or beef.

The India Road, Atmos Fear, Clear Eyes, and Folk Tales For Future Dreamers. QR links for smartphones and tablets.

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