Pondering Poland

It’s fairly clear that I am a bit devastated that I will not be a European. I was really hoping that the UK would vote remain and that life would continue as usual. However, that is not how it worked out. Among a million reasons why the country has made the wrong decision, one stands out, the horrific racism that seems to have been unleashed by this vote. As much as the leaders can say that this vote was not about immigration, the reality is that it was. People who have very few immigrants in their towns, voted to make sure that this will never be the case. One of the hardest hit groups seems to be the Polish. I have a number of close Polish friends and am appalled to see in the news about people putting notes through the doors of people that they know are Polish, telling them to go home, that we had voted to have them leave.

Last year, I had the privilege of visiting Poland twice. Both in winter, once to Krakov in January and once to Wroclaw in November. Here are some highlights from those trips.

Liam and I headed to Krakov in mid January and let’s be honest – it was freezing. Really, really cold. There was snow on the ground and we were glad of our warm coats. We were lucky enough to have two very clear and crisp days. 

The first day we got the sad stuff over and done with. A visit to Birkenau and Auschwitz were both on the cards. I had previously vowed never to visit another concentration camp, as I find them too harrowing. However, Liam had never been so, with a heavy heart, off we went. We were on the English tour and were able to be dropped to and from our hotel. I can honestly say, that this place is well preserved. There are photographs of the people who perished there on the wall, there are stacks of their belongings, there are whispers and moments of them everywhere. Every moment, you feel as though you are looking over the shoulders of history and that you are right there. Because you are. In no way can you fathom the horror or the reality of it, but you get a good idea. I had always been lead to believe, though movies and literature, that people survived these camps. I faced the grim reality, that people only survived for, at the most six weeks. This means that those who were liberated when the war ended had only recently arrived at the camps. There are many stories of great bravery, great kindness and of resistance. The worst for me, was the room of hair. Yes, hair. They shaved the inmates and used their hair to create textiles for the Third Reich. I was backed into the furtherest corner of the room and could only glance at it, before bolting.

After this we headed into the central city – to the beautiful central square and proceeded to numb the pain with delish Polish vodka. And delish soup served in a whole loaf. The square is beautiful. So very medieval and so very not what I expected Poland to look like. Off the square, you can visit the home of Pope John Paul II or you can walk to the castle and see the undercroft where the dragon lived. People in the city are very clear about this, there was a dragon and it lived under the castle. There is a great metal sculpture outside of the dragon entrance that spits fire every few minutes. At the entrance to the main cathedral, there are bones hanging by the door. These are said to be dragon bones. Apparently DNA studies have shown that they are likely to be whale, which begs the question how did a whale get to Poland?

That night we met up with our friend Tahnee who had been living in Krakov. We had some more delish traditional food (and vodka) and walked the city.

The next day, was again bright and clear. We took the bus to Wieliczka mine. This is an abandoned salt mine, turned tourist attraction. It is incredible. The rooms have been turned into cathedrals, the walls into works of art and at every moment on the tour through, you are surrounded by beauty. I would recommend a trip out here, it’s stunning and well priced. 

Krakov, like many European cities is hugely walkable, and it’s stunning. Even in the freezing cold, I was taken in by its natural beauty. The people are really kind and helpful, and the living is cheap.

My next trip to Poland, was with a bunch of workmates – I was the only girl on the trip and I loved every minute. We were visiting a friend’s hometown, and had the benefit of his knowledge to show us around. Ryanair have cheap return flights and I would really recommend visiting this town. We arrived quite late at night, checked into our hotel – Jan Pawel II (John Paul II). The hotel is one of the best in the city, and is true to its name – there was religious memorabilia everywhere. It was tasteful though. Pawel tells us that his parents occasionally come here for a nice dinner. We giggle as I am sharing a room with my friend Dilan and are referred to as Mr & Mrs Whyte, by the concierge and then by our friends – everyone else has opted for single. 

It might be late, but the night is just beginning. We drop off our bags and head out to a local bar called Kalambur – its walking distance from the hotel, which we discover, just about everything is. The bar is off the beaten tourist track. Most people there are locals and very few speak English. I would call it an alternative hipster bar – the music was crazy and people were dressed accordingly. I loved it. We quickly discovered that the local spirit – Wisniowka – which tastes like cherries, is delish and very, very cheap – about £1 a shot. From there, we take a quick walk through the main square and realise that we are here during the Christmas markets. Hurrah! We walk to another traditional bar, where Pawel orders us a number of local dishes to share. It’s lovely to see Pawel so happy to be eating the food from home again. I can relate, I freakin love NZ food and never realise how much I miss it, until I get home. We stumble in at about 4am – the rest of Wroclaw is still out partying, but this old chick needed her bed.

The next day, we are treated to a great hotel breakfast – complete with Polish stew. Dilan and I laugh about the chair and crucifix between our beds. This is going to be a full on day. We head down to the local market to exchange some cash and check out the local produce. The market is locally listed and is actually a site that my colleagues have visited as part of a project to protect street markets.

We are treated to a golf cart tour today. Three golf carts are joined together, there are blankets and sides to the carts to keep us warm.  

To my delight, this is where I discover, that there is a dwarf trail. Yes, that is right, there are dwarves hidden all over the central city, they are often themed by what they are near – mini atms and general mischief. I make it my mission to find as many as possible. They are amazing! Again, these come with their own folklore – we visit their home and are told stories of what they have been up too. The tour takes us past the main cathedral – the boys will climb this whilst hung over the next day. My knee could not take that, so I write post cards instead. It takes us past artist’s houses and also to medieval trading streets. There is a great one with artisans in residence, that used to be the butchery street. There are bronze animals on it and we all take turns posing with them. I buy some beautiful glass jewellery for my Mum and a friend, I alway’s think that it’s nice to give a gift that is a bit different and can come with a card saying where it was from and who has made it. The tour takes us past a number of the projects that Pawel worked on before moving to the UK and to lots of other tourist attractions, including his university.

Two things really stand out from this day for me. The first is a story about an artist who bought a house beside the church, for a bag of fur. My friend Max and I gave each other a rather large side eye as this fact was imparted to us over the P.A. of the golf carts, mouthed ‘bag of fur’ at each other and nodded and then laughed for days over it. It’s a pretty niche joke and one that we are still in fits over. Pawel denies that this was the case, I just want it to be true.

The other is a really poignant monument to the Katyn massacre in some gardens. It is of the angel of death, and is in memorial of soldiers and of a moment in time, where all the intelligence of the city was lost. Professors, students, clerics and people of local power were slaughtered. Pawel tells it so much better than I could, but the memorial is stunning and really got me.

By the time that the tour has ended, we are in great need of food and warmth. We are frozen to the bone. We head for traditional polish food – I rediscover my love of perogi and other local delicacies. We warm ourselves in a small café and eat very well. We head back to the hotel for a quick nap – like an hour – and get ready for a rather large night.

After another traditional dinner – I am glad that we are doing a lot of walking cause OMG we are eating our way through this city – we head out clubbing. Clubbing in Poland is much like England, except it’s very cheap. We meet up with some of Pawel’s friends and get our boogie on. Sometime after midnight, we decide to head to the local gay club. To me, this is a big thing. Poland is still a very catholic country. They worship John Paul II – everything is named after this man – and they are slowly becoming more accepting ideas different from this. To have a large gay club, called HaH (Heaven and Hell) in the middle of the city feels brave. Once we are inside, it’s a huge amount of fun. Different to the clubs that I have been too in England, lesbians and gays are all in one room, partying together and it’s awesome. We dance to the small hours of the morning and crawl very happy into our beds.

Breakfast the next morning is a quiet affair. We are all shattered. We all head back for naps after eating. After feeling more human again, we head out to the central square again. I am keen to explore the Christmas markets. I have shopping to do for Christmas in NZ. I find more dwarfs, I drink a delish hot choc (with a shot of pushnovka of course!) out of a boot shaped mug. I eat a lot of meat. Its sunny, it’s crisp and there is not more that I could ask for. Great company and fun times.

So, these are my two trips to Poland. I have loved both of them equally. I went both times with great company and discovered local secrets. I am really hopeful, that others will come and visit these towns. That they will understand the Polish people and how lovely they are. It should not be joy that we are feeling at the possible repatriation of both the English and other Europeans. It should be sadness that our culture will be less rich without them in it.

On Belonging

There are many moments that stand out from my recent trip home to NZ, climbing mountains, seeing friends, holding my new born niece when she was hours old, hearing one nephew finally say my name, and playing endless games of cricket or basketball with the other.  But there has to be something to be said for those moments when you just think, I am right where I am supposed to be.

As human beings, I think that we like to feel a part of something, like we fit and that people understand us.  Over the last six months of 2015, I struggled with this.   A number of my friends had moved back, some had babies and others passed away.  I lost one person a month for those months and by the time I boarded the plane to head back to NZ, I was feeling burnt out and well over it.  I was looking forward to having my Mum look after me, to seeing my family and to getting away from work and London for a while.  This is an odd feeling for a fiercely independent and London loving person.  I have spoken before about my relationship with London, and how it’s a great city to leave and an amazing city to come home too.  To be so glad to leave it behind this time was a bit heart breaking for me.  

There are times when I look at the situations that I get myself into and think that a comedy sit com, could not have been written better, but that these things are actually happening to me.  I often read too far into off the cuff comments, I stress internally about what to say to people and often use laughter or comedy to cover up these anxieties.  I am lucky that I have a few really good groups of friends who get this and make it easy for me to fit in.  They appreciate my off the wall sense of humour and see past the craziness.

I was lucky enough to spend time with two of these groups of people in NZ this time and it was like a balm for my soul.  The first is a group that I literally grew up with.  There is not much that these girls do not know about me.  I have known one of them since I was five, and the others we found as we grew up.  The thing about this group is that from the outside, I don’t fit, they are all married, have kids and are quite sorted with their lives.  They seem to have shit sorted.  Whereas often I feel like I wing my way through life and that I have no plan other than where my next holiday is going to be.  My last two trips home have been rather rushed, so I was not able to spend as much time with these chicks as I would have liked.  This time was a bit different.  At our normal Christmas get together, I was relieved to hear that they feel just like I do.  They don’t think that they have anything sorted either.  They too wonder what they are going to do with the rest of their lives and have a whole different pile of worries to me.  At the end of the evening, it was down to four of us left and we really caught up.  We laughed, drank wine, got serious, laughed some more and it felt like I had never left.  I felt like I fitted and that these people got me.  Maybe it was finally being with a group of people my own age, who have been through so much with me, that I didn’t feel like I had to watch every word and look for hidden meanings, I was at home.

The second group are my long lost London family, who have all moved back to Australasia.  These are the group of people who understand my wanderlust.  Who get what it means to want to go everywhere and see everything.  They get the feeling of being torn between home and the rest of the world.  These are the people who ask when you are coming back, but totes get it that you are unable to give them an answer.  There were many moments that stand out for me – dancing the night away at Caz & Alex’s wedding with my London crew as if we were still in London, Simzy was even singing.  But New Years is where I really began to think about where I belonged. 

 

New Year for me, is always a time for reflection.  I tend not make big grand resolutions, if I do, I quickly forget them.  I like to think about the year that I am saying goodbye to, the good and the bad and think about what I want from the next year.  A new job, more travel and maybe do something about making time in my life to begin dating again.  When the New Year arrived, I was right at home.  Sitting next to Cate, listening to Simzy sing, next to a bonfire and cracking jokes with a really fun lady that I had just met.  I remember upholding tradition by demanding to make Cate & Aaron’s hug a group one and thinking, there is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be right at this second.  There were people who were missing of course, but I am kind of used to missing people at this point.  And then in typical me style, I spent the next few days wondering what it meant.  Did I want to move home?  Probably.  Am I going to?  Unlikely in the next two years.  But it was a powerful feeling in that moment to feel like I fitted.  To feel like I belonged.  To feel like I had never been separated from these people.

All of this lead up to very emotional goodbyes from NZ.  I am normally a mess leaving my family and friends, this time was no exception.  Knowing that the next time I see my niece Lily, that she will likely be walking, was devastating.  She was just starting to turn her head towards me when I talked, and I am going to miss out on her when she is little.  Also hearing that my wee nephew is still three weeks on standing in the doorway to my bedroom saying ‘Nicca?’ makes me both happy and sad at the same time.  Happy that he can say my name and sad that he doesn’t understand where I have gone.  As predicted it has taken me a while to settle back into London.  Flying into Paris and being met by my number one travel buddy helped – I think that he was scared that I was not coming back.  One day running around in sunny, freezing Paris, before heading back to reality was just what the doc ordered.  He totally got it when I shed a tear in the taxi back to Clapham.  And that is where it leaves me.  I am missing home terribly, up to my neck in work, trying to save money, lots of friends to catch up with and holidays to plan.  And beginning to fall back in love with London again.  Do I belong here?  Nearly


PS - you may have been wondering where I have been since September - you can see what I have been up to at www.dothedaniel.com where I have been writing about my travel adventures.

Keep your opinions about my figure to yourself...

So you guys have probs figured out by now, that I have another blogging gig.  I feel kind of like I have been cheating on you all.  You are still my number one, the others get my public public thoughts, you guys get the more emotional stuff.

So what’s been happening team?  Here it feels like not much, but so much all at once – besties have returned, container malls have launched, work has been mental and holidays have been taken.  Life is going on all around.

What I have noticed recently is a bit of a backlash in the media around the curvy girl look.  I was tempted to call this blog – Stop calling me fat – part two.  I am still hurt that the first one had to be written, so am not impressed that this is a follow up.  I have noticed on my Instagram that there are a few movements happening – mainly out of the States - #effyourbeautystandards (Tess Holiday is amazing!) and #plusisequal.  You guys were so awesome after my last blog, I felt the virtual hug from around the world.  I am not writing this blog for sympathy or for attention, I am trying to draw attention to those that speak before they think and to those who are actively fighting in the curvy corner.

These are great movements and are empowering for those involved in them.  I certainly feel better seeing that I am not the only one struggling to find nice clothes, to feel better about myself and to keep the bulge under control.  But these are all fine and good, but what of it, if the general public are not on board.

Just to be clear here – I know that I am big girl, I am not stupid as well as fat.  I routinely exercise, I sweat it out at least three times a week at the gym or pounding the pavements around my house as I run, as well as one dodgeball game a week.  I am always going to be a big girl, at some point, I need to get on board with this and stop killing myself over trying to be skinny, and accept who I am.  That will come – surely it will?!  But in the meantime, I am exercising and eating well, so really keeping myself healthy.  I feel better mentally and physically when I do these things.  So you can imagine, how it feels when you are actively trying to better yourself, that people point out the one sore point you have.

On a recent trip to the States, I was shocked at some of the things that came out of people’s mouths.  One lady was trying to be nice, when she casually asked me if I was in town for the plus size porn awards.  Ummm so I look like a porn star?  I think that is a compliment?  It was as I was buying a dress in the plus size shop Torrid – which by the way is awesome – I was actively searching for the smallest size in the shop, as it seems that in the States, I am too big for the mainstream, but too small for the plus size stores.  I ended up with a beautiful dress that I felt amazing in (aka my boobs drew attention away from everything else!), but that comment stuck with me.

Later that same day, I was in the pool (yes, that is right, me in the pool.  Many of my NZ friends will be shocked as for a long time in my 20’s I refused to get in the water, I now think, Fuck it, I am fat and I want to swim.  I have a swimsuit that fits so why not).  In this pool my friend and I made small talk with a group of Irish lads who were in Vegas to see the UFC fight.  We were there to see Mariah.  They were all a bit tipsy and a bit of a laugh.  My friend and one of the guys started talking about the children that were employed as life guards.  They were all very small and beautiful.  I was not bothered by that, Ceasar’s Palace has a right to have the image that they want.  What I was bothered by was the comment that actually, if I was in trouble, because, you know, I am fat and obviously cannot swim, that these tiny lifeguards would have no way of saving me.  That one really hurt.  The reality was that this was a family area in a huge hotel, that was filled with people of all shapes and sizes, some bigger than me, many smaller.  Until that comment I had been feeling comfortable cooling off in the 35 degree heat.

I was messaging my bestie, who is a pretty big fan of mine, who is my go too when people say these things to me.  He continually tells me that I am fine as I am.  The man has the patience of a saint.  He was really upset to hear that these things had been said to me.  He knows the mental courage it takes to get me in my togs.  To be fair from the other side of the world in NZ, there was not much that he could do.  I had told him that his wifey would be smaller when he got back – he said he just wanted a happy wifey, if she was smaller so be it.  I was smaller, but I wanted more!

On our most recent holiday, we had a real heart to heart about this.  We were both tipsy on Aperol spritz’ – fast becoming my fav drink of the summer – and whilst I cannot remember the exact words he said, he was incredibly supportive of my feelings about my size and my want to downsize.  We both got changed after this and hit the beach, swam in the crystal clear water and mucked about like a pair of kids, splashing and racing each other out to the buoys.  We were giggling like kids at the naked people and winding each other up about nude beaches.  The thing is the man is the size of a match stick, but I feel more confident and comfortable with him, than I do any other time.  He is like a protective brother, he would not put up with it if anyone said anything to me, and will not put up with me putting myself down.  The next day when we were on a family beach, again with people of all ages, sizes and nakednesses, I felt so comfortable.  I walked around in my togs all day – to the bar, to the lifeguard when I got stung by a jelly fish, to the hotel when it was time to leave.  Most of the day, I had the straps on my top down so that I could avoid tan lines and in many of our photos it looks like I am topless.  If you look at those photos, it’s clear to see that I am relaxed and happy.  

Whilst I will never be confident enough to submit a photo to any curvy girl campaign, and I will still continue to try and downsize, right now I am happy.  I am happy that I am relatively healthy, that my body can go for a run when I want it to, that I can feel muscles forming from my gym going, that my legs are quite tan from the beach and that I am appreciated for a lot more than what I look like.  I still think that it is not ok for people to say whatever they like to fat people – its fat not a bullet proof vest, shots fired will still hurt.  I think that in its most basic form, its bullying, at its most complex its nasty.  We need a bit more love in this world, and you know who gives awesome hugs?  Curvy girls, we have amazing squishy boobs and are great snugglers.  

*Disclaimer – I think that it’s ok to be whatever size you want.  This is not a rant against skinny people – they have a right to be who they are and not be criticised as well.  This rant is about people who feel that they have a right to put others down for their size.  It’s not ok.