Lulu does Poland, part 2

The wedding reception stretched into the wee hours of the morning, with many of the guests lingering around the dance floor. At one point the best man scooped me up and swung me around, while I watch the drunken "beetle's blood" boy swing Gosia around like a rag doll.

After finally going to bed at 7AM, I awoke in the cozy Polish farm home place designated for those in the wedding and their company. I strolled down to the restuarant area for breakfast, in a amazingly mismatched outfit (Gosia had packed for me while I was at the museum) passing dozens of puppies, chickens, bunnies and horses on the way. We helped them to clean up, bring their presents to their flat, then the father of the bride took us speeding through Warsaw streets back to Gosia's flat where immediately passed out.

The next morning, we planned to take a 7AM train to Pulawy (pronounced Poo-ava), where Gosia grew up. So, naturally, we caught the 10AM train, running all the way there with my 70000 Kg backpack. After taking me to her new and beautiful home, stuffing me with fresh vegetables from her Grandparent's farm, she took me to the cutest village ever, where apparently the first King of Poland resided in what is now a huge pile of rocks. Passing bakeries, waffle shops and eateries, it seemed as if we ducked into every place, Gosia grabbing tons of Polish treats for me to try. After sitting by a church and chatting for what seemed like hours, we headed back to her parent's house, where I was able to practice the Polish Gosia had taught me on the train.

Then we headed over to her grandparent's house, the cutest little Polish village EVER. Her grandfather keeps bees that fly very freely around their yard, and her grandmother keeps a really intense vegetable garden. I entered their home, and her grandmother, without hesitation, put plates and plates of food and tea in front of me, instructing Gosia to translate commands to try this honey and that soup, and to tell her what the weather was like in New York. The fact that I did not speak Polish was irrelavant to her, as she spoke directly to me as if she expected a response. Cutest woman ever.

Gosia was such a good teacher that my ability to speak Polish is far expanded from simply "the squirell on the chair likes cheese". I am now able to hold a fairly basic Polish conversation about squirells and what they do and do not like to eat. I can also say yes, no, thank you, hello, and nice to meet you my name is marilu... however, these did not seem as impressive to Gosia's parents or grandparents as my squirell phrases.

Later that evening we sat over Gosia's shoebox full of memoirs from her year in America, looked through pictures and notebooks, etc. So many years have gone by, and we're both so much more grown up.

Watching Gosia speaking with her parents and friends was a bit like watching a fish in water. I kept thinking to myself how weird it was to hear her speaking this way, like she's had this secret life on the side of her english-speaking American year with us. It felt so weird, but also so beautiful.

(Side note, ignore the typos, I don't have time to go over this and I'm on a Danish keyboard... see----> æøåæøåæøåæøæåæø)