Travel /
Donkey visits Poland [76]
Thanks for your compliments.
Who is Grzegorz?
Maybe he will feature in the next part.
Part 6'Gregor is no good man.' Darek shook his head.
'What did he do?' I asked, wondering why Darek always called him Gregor when talking to me.
He had stayed for the barbeque on the day we arrived, then driven on to his home town. The idea had been that I would stay for three days with Darek and his family, then another three days with Grzegorz and his family.
'I call him... No answer. I call again.. No answer...'
I thought about how one of their friends in Slough had entrusted Greg (the usual name for him amongst us English) with a big handful of money to pass on to his family. This man had also been trying to call Grzegorz, and had also been calling Darek repeatedly, asking after his whereabouts.
But I was on holiday. The weather was still hot and sunny. The food was good. I liked the local beer more than I liked some of the other Polish beers I had tried. Most of all, I liked the people. Worrying about Grzegorz was, at the time, something I just couldn't be bothered to do. 'Let's have a beer.' I suggested as a way of solving some of the problems we faced. This usually worked, but Darek was wearing his worries on his face - I could see it, and for once he opted instead to pace up and down, watching the phone, waiting for a call.
The only calls that ever came were from their friend in Slough. But eventually, we did sneak off for a beer.
It was only when Sebastian, his lovely girlfriend and I had gone to buy a pair of shoes - I needed a new pair - that I really thought about it. This time Sebastian was driving his girlfriend's car and I thought 'If Grzegorz doesn't appear, how the hell do we get back to England? Sod it! I'm on holiday! I think I'll go for brown shoes this time.'
Recognising numbers is one of my better skills in Polish, but Sebastian still had a habit of beating me to it and taking the money off me and handing it over. Obviously, I'm not going to be as fast as a Pole in this respect, and recognising all the different notes and coins takes some getting used to. But I stayed relaxed about it. If that's what he wants to do, I'll leave him to it. Although I never had any problems when buying a sneaky couple of bottles of £omża Mocne in the shop around the corner.
Grzegorz never called. We never saw him again. Is it really worth running away with someone else's £1000? He is still a wanted man.
Part 7Bartek, the younger of the two sons, did not have a girlfriend at the time, so he spent more of his time hanging round with his mates. I went out drinking with them a couple of times and I was slightly suprised how little they drank in comparison to both Darek and some of the older generation I knew, and to myself and my mates when I was in my late teens and early twenties.
The first bar we went to was a wooden construction in the main square in the town centre, with most of the tables and chairs out in the open. Each of us went to buy our own beer, usually one at a time, rather than the practise I am more familiar with where everyone has to catch up with the fastest drinker in order to be in for the next round.
£ukasz spoke very good English, although with a funny accent compared to everyone else I knew. Partly, I think this is because he made more of an effort to imitate the many and varied English vowel sounds. He had a habit of trying to translate everything they were all saying, and this did become a bit jarring after a while, when I wanted to just sit there and listen, regardless of whether or not I understood what was going on.
Later on that evening in another establishment, Bar Pod Koniami (not Bar Pod Osłami!) we had a slightly unwelcome inclusion to the group. A man, probably in his early thirties, had decided to join us. Although we we all slightly drunk, he was more so. Just from what I could see, it looked as though he fancied Marcin. £ukasz returned from the bar and the translation commentary started up again. 'I can't translate what he is saying. It's disgusting! I don't even want to tell you what he's saying. That man is horrible!'
I'm sure it would have been possible to translate, but there is so much that can be guessed that it wasn't entirely necessary. However, £ukasz, with his strange brand of cigarettes that are thinner than usual, his mannerisms and his soft voice, all came together to make him appear somewhat effeminate. Not only that, but this was something Bartek had joked about before.
I tried to take a few photographs of everyone that evening. I don't like to use flash as it tends to flatten the image and make the eyes red. Without it, pictures tend to have a more natural look - they can be lightened later on. The main problem with this technique is that the slightest movement anyone makes causes it to become blurred. If the movement is in the hand that holds the camera, everything is blurred.
I decided to get the dodgy man to take a picture of the rest of us. 'Simple - you just press that button there...'
Not simple! A worse photographer than even myself.
The evening seemed to finish just when I thought it was getting going, so we stopped off at the twenty-four hour garage so I could buy just one more bottle. Why greeting the ekspedientka with a friendly 'Dobry wieczor, pani!' caused so much giggling from everyone else is something of a mystery to me. Did I use the wrong grammatical case or something? I don't know! I thought it corresponded perfectly to my 'Good evening, madam.' or 'Good evening, miss!' that I would use in the same situation back home.
Pesky kids!
