sticky fingers

Well, it finally had to happen. I got pick-pocketed on the train. Or close to being on the train. I was returning home from Wroclaw at six in the morning. They were so good that I don’t even know when or how it happened. It wasn’t in the actual train because I slept on my backpack the whole time so I would have felt somebody fumbling. They must have been watching me when I was purchasing my ticket, fiddling with my wallet and sticking it into the top of my backpack. Then they followed me, down to the platform, waited until there was a crowd entering the train, and whamo – got it out without me even noticing. Crap. But they were good robbers. Because they only removed the cash (some 250 PLN), leaving all my bank cards, my id card, my driver’s licence and even my library card! They then threw the cashless wallet into the bathroom on the train, which was retrieved by some random passenger who then passed it on to the train guard. The train guard then looked all over the train for me, until he found me and gave me a nice friendly talking to about being a silly daffa for putting my wallet into such an obvious stealing place! Sigh.

My seven year love affair with the Polish rail based on complete naïveté, has finally come to an end. I am now a person who has been robbed on a Polish train. It makes me sad, because I really do think the PKP is a wonderful institution in which I have felt safe and comfortable. It doesn’t matter that it is on the verge of collapse, bankruptcy and the average age of an employee is over 40.

The episode however had its bonus moment. I got to use the toilet at the station for free! Also I told a 16 year old off on the tram for not vacating his seat for an old nana. He gave me a ‘look’ with his stupid cool hair and slouchy jeans. But my retaliating look said “don’t fuck with me or you’ll get it. Now move!”. He blushed, got up, and nana sat down. Damn straight.

We’re off to Sicily this evening. Plane leaves half past midnight. I have a new backpack! And I cannot wait to try it out. After lumbering for seven years with my green Crapmandu number that has always been too large for my back, I am ready to fly high with my new purchase! The plan is to climb Mt. Etna. The volcano on Sicily, which has recently been alight. I better go and pack. Michal has just yelled from the kitchen "You-Styna, what you are doing is improper!". Better go and roll a mat. Wojtek, Michal's brother with his big hair will be staying at our place. We needed someone to water the basil.

I won’t be blogging regularly for about two weeks. But you never know…

cooking means war

I have been battling with the pumpkin. And I will continue to write about it until the damn thing disappears from my fridge and my milk can return to its proper shelf. The sucker is:

a. heavy
b. tough
c. awkward to carry
d. stubborn

I finally did manage to mangle it and cooked a pumpkin curry. Despite Wong’s polite advice to email his mother, I decided to take on the challenge solo. The curry was delicious. I had some red curry paste I made from scratch some weeks earlier that I had frozen. Finding fresh galangal and fresh kaffir leaves in Krakow set me into a frenzy of excitement and I whipped up various curry pastes to last us the whole winter. Unfortunately as I finished preparing the dish I realised I had run out of rice. Being a lazy sod at the best of times, I dug out some buckwheat from the back of the cupboard instead, convincing myself it is kind of like rice. It’s not.

Note: buckwheat goes badly with curry. It also makes the poo curry colour look even more pooey. Makes a bad photo for a foodie post on one’s blog.

Today I whipped up some pumpkin soup. Recipe from my uber zuper cook cuz Marta. She adds coconut milk. Yummo. It’s been raining heavily here for the last 6 days or so, so hearty hot meals have been craved my most healthy bodies. Now there is only ¾ of the pumpkin left. Maybe I’ll go and feed the neighbourhood.

killing the beast

ugly buckwheat


beast dominates

tasty treat in the making

Off to my parents place for the weekend. They don't know we're coming. Hope they'll be home.

as requested

Some of you moaned about not being able to access the pumpkin pilates photos. Here they are. Facebook-less.

pumpkin slug position

pumpkin hunting frog position

pumpkin resting frog position

keeping fit

You can see the full session of my pumpkin workout here.

Mr H, I stole your phrase and used it in the title of the album.

crushed

You know you have been away for too long when you realise you have no idea who your best mates’ new mates are. I was talking to Tabitha today over Skype, catching up on this and that. We got to a point in the conversation when I had to stop her and exclaim “geez Tabitha, I have no bloody idea who the hell you are talking about. All these new people. I know no one!” Tabitha replied “Yup. You are officially out of the loop dude. When I’m being asked how I know Libby and Hugh for example, I often start the explanation with there once was this girl named Justyna…”. I groaned “oh crap, my footprints are fading!” At this point Skype cut out and I really did disappear. How sad.

Also I tried to return my cross-eyed specs yesterday. I went to the optometrist and told the lady I made a really big mistake and could I just return the frames minus the lenses cost because they make me look so awful. She said no. "Next time don't make such hasty decisions. All I can suggest is you give them away" she advised. Return policies always thrill me in Poland. Pity I don't have any friends with really wide heads.

And another thing. I finally managed to stack it on my bike. After a good 12 months of dodging traffic, horse buggies, trash-metal-and-shit guys, dicky tourists and hideous pigeons, I crashed in a very pathetic way. It was all my fault. I convinced myself I could tackle the river terrain around Tyniec with my Ukrainian, 30-year old, rickety gear less wonder pretending it was a mountain bike. It's not. My back wheel slid in the dirt on a steep ascend by the river bank and I failed to lift it out in time. The bike toppled to the side in slow-mo, lazily tossing my sad arse to its knees, head bowed in the dirt. Tragic. "You ok?" Michal came rushing over. "Yes" I bluntly responded and with determination got back on and peddled away. Now something came loose in the bike's frame and it squeaks more than ever.

hole in the wall

I didn't get a chance to do anything with the pumpkin over the weekend. It is sitting by the wall, and I occasionally use it as a stool. To stand on, as well as it to sit on. It is indeed a sturdy little sucker. Instead, Saturday was spent on home renovating. Exaggeration aside, it was spent on putting a hole in the wall. Michal has grand plans. The hole will be turned into a cupboard. With shelves and a door. I await with anticipation. It is desperately needed to store all the jars filled with pickles, fruit and whatnot. Winter is coming after all. The family is preparing us for hibernation. Latest count: 4 jars of wild cherries, 3 jars of pickles, 2 jars of stewed apples, 1 jar of mushrooms. See. This is how Poland survived before Tesco (ala Woolies). I just need to find a jar large enough for the pumpkin. I hear it pickles well in vinegar.

pumpkin stool

day trip

Over a week ago we went to Suchedniow to pick up Michal’s grandparents to take them back to Krakow for the day. Last time they were both in Krakow was in 1976 at Marek’s (Michal’s dad) graduation. It was a treat seeing them get so excited about the day trip. There was no complaining, no tsk tsking, no pains in the neck, no ‘lets go home soon’, no old people whining. It was great. They were happy to see the sites, eat my spicy pasta (Helena even asked to take some sauce home – fancy that! I got to put shit in a jar for someone else, so it could be reheated the very next day), they liked our apartment and appreciated both the Singer sewing machine and Michal’s new power saw. Pluses all round. The most entertaining moment was when they saw some break dancers in the town square. Helena stopped and stared and then exclaimed "oh my, these young men really are twisted". Noice.

It's nice to have grandparents who not only give you slippers and stewed apples, but who are also keen to see a bit beyond their front fence. I hope that I am as easygoing and enthusiastic as Helena and Mietek when I am their age. Or be like my babcia Zosia, who at the age of 70 still went camping with us, slept on a blow up mattress, and the only nanerish thing about her was keeping each individual piece of her clothing is separate plastic bags. The rustling would wake the whole camp ground in the morning.

Helena and Mietek