In Whose Steps: Poland 2011 (1)

On May 7 I began the most intense trip of my life in terms of emotional range. I don't think I've ever felt that happy, nor do I think I've ever been that terrified. The first half was Albion's Holocaust Studies Service Learning Program and the second left me free to wander about Poland, with the only constraints being my suitcase, my wallet, and the great language barrier--I can't speak Polish apart from several polite and apologetic phrases.

I dragged my protesting feet, which would have screamed if they could talk, down every likely alley (and several unlikely alleys) in Wroclaw, Krakow, and Warsaw. It was glorious and frightening and infuriating and lovely. 

Here is the first day.

_______________

Über den Atlantik, Lufthansa Flight 442, 9:00 PM EST

I am lodged in literally the very back of the plane, listening to the attendants pleasantly hissing to each other. The kitchen is in the back, too, something I find confusing. They have to tow the Black Label and cigars all the way through economy class on the way to the bourgeoisie in the front. Agh! We haven't even crossed the Iron Curtain and look what's happening to me. 

Anyway, I am seated next to an old woman of unknown origin who appears to speak only Arabic but hasn't the foggiest how to operate the screen (even when it's in Arabic). She ends up watching hours of Pakistani cricket with no audio (she didn't like the headphones) and later the Green Hornet in Portuguese. Across from her is a well-meaning German with his wife and daughter. He attempts to show her how the screen works through gestures but after a few polite and awkward smiles he gives up, except to turn it off when she finally falls asleep.

Jesse and I are the only Albionites on our connecting flight to Wroclaw. It has propellers. 

The loud group of Wisconsinites behind us finds this very amusing. 

Apparently there is free wine? Fuck yes! I am presented with far too much of a dry red concoction which leaves me rather verbose, as I haven't slept in 24 hours. I regale Jesse with tales of Gulag until she falls asleep, probably so she doesn't have to listen. I am supremely content.