8 Proud Hours in Warsaw

When I think of Warsaw, I think of something like this (Photos are my own):

After getting off of a rickety Polish airlines flight (LOT)-- (they lost my baggage even before I got on the plane, and just told me so), my suspicions were confirmed: Catholic, elements of post-Soviet architecture and broad avenues, European in the center. Sure, I stereotype.

What I did NOT expect, right as I was visiting one of the last synagogues in Warsaw, was a lot of loud, a lot of rainbows, and a lot of pride in this thriving "young" country.

The Spaniards gone wild. (Reminds me of my first pride in 2006, Madrid)

Whatever you are, you can be proud. (The rest of the sign reads, "Proud by choice")

SRSLY

This one is for a special friend. Notice the flag.

Warsaw was hopping with pride. Announcers, men "dressed" as priests, drag queens, lesbians, gays, straights, purples. We all marched together with the support of the police (who were thanked, by the little Polish I could understand). We marched together to the armory (I think?) towards Old Town where dancing, chanting, laughter, and love ensued. Balloon (wo)man, my favorite.

Of course, Poland is a traditionally ethnic country, and at the fringes of every Pride, there is always some not so proud people, held back by police (don't let this picture fool you, those police are just getting off duty).

Anti-Gay posters.

One man was even sprinkling holy water on the crowd.

As I was being shoved around by lenses much larger than mine, I decided to get some lunch before I starved to death from lack of food for almost 12 hours (or edible food). In the process of getting some perogies (sp?) I stumbled upon a movie set, WWII something:

Lord knows today, I was both in front and behind a lot of pictures...

For a country that went from communist to European Union capitalist (and the president of the EU is polish this year) in only a span of about 15 years, I am really impressed at how far they have come and the amazing direction they are going. I AM PROUD!

Christmas Eve

Before I tell you about how I was turned away from a church three times the eve of Christmas eve, I would like to introduce you to my family at Christmas Eve, to give, shall we say, a striking image of the family eccentricity.

We go out on a tar and chip road to Aunt Tammy's house in the middle of ??? and beat off several dogs while we bring presents into the house. Inside is Uncle John, and his kids Jimmy and Lexi and then of course my cousins Rachel, John, and Alysha, who has a new baby to a solider who just came back from Iraq (we shared stories about Kurdish people and Falafel all night).

My cousin Rube brought his new Latvian girlfriend. They arrived just as my cousins broke me down to show them a picture of "The Mysterious Russian" I am seeing. My cousin Alysha tells me that she accidentally bought my cousins the wrong gifts (thinking they were still 5 and 7, when they were 12 and 10) saying she "Lives in the Past." Later, I argued with Uncle/Father Tim (the orthodox priest) about the gospels of the bible. I didn't win, but I think I just like to see him get all anxious (another family trait).

Speaking of family traits, my uncle brought boxes of photos and keepsakes from my deceased bubby. Inside, she still had kept the christmas cards we had made and sent to her, along with every clipping from when someone was in the newspaper. The pictures dated back to the 40's and had women with kankles in them. I surely hope that doesn't run in my line. The pictures were in an attempted organization scheme (like most Tomson organization efforts) and had a general chronological order, though my baby pictures were with pictures of my father at 15. I found another piece of evidence that I was Jewish--some distant relatives that looked like they were wearing skull caps and had sweaters where those tassles should be coming out, but were shoved up inside. My family thinks I am Jewish now too.

Present opening happens and I sort of stare into space at children as other people try to prevent them from dangers I should be seeing (like ice cubes???)--finally I get to talk about uncle T-Bone about the composition of salt; i bought him himalayan salt from Dean and Deluca's.

I'm asked to watch children for a while until I pass them off to my perhaps even more incompetent sister who passes them off to someone who knows that children cannot open pistachios. Meanwhile, some old man my aunt Tammy has cared for over the years sits in the corner in a sitting room that no one sits in and watches the Christmas tree as if it is going to suddenly take him back to some other time or place that was a lot friendlier to him.

I give the rest of my dad's Sam Adams Cherry Wheat six pack to my cousin Alysha and the Iraq vet, go through a lot more hugs (some tight and some pats), go through more hugs, and then go to the car and shoo off dogs. In the car, we pass up houses that flicker in sight between black and white pictures and now. Some still keep logs outside. Some look like "Home Improvement" or "Country Living" covers, most of which are out dated or from the 50s, when the area juuuuuust started to get electricity.

I pocketed a bunch of pictures that didn't belong to me (i.e. my family wasn't in them), mostly of the Hunkie men and of the women with kankles and keep them next to my bed, flattened in the "Confessions of St. Augustine," along with the pictures of my other grandmother, who is sipping on Coors and wearing pants in the 40s, when God knows women didn't wear pants--or at least good housewives. A stray away from the kankled women in Mosgrove, where electricity was just taking hold....

What a long way we've come.

Dear Enron: Why am I writing to you about Cancer wards?

Dear Enron,

Your paper is due in one hour and seven minutes.

Yet I sit here after three hours of procedures for removing yet another cyst in an actual American hospital... and I still have no proofread you.

So about this American hospital. In July, I wrote about the excellent care in the "women's health center" at the American Hospital in Istanbul. Now I write to you about "Breast Cancer Center" at Yale-New Haven Hospital.

Funny how I go from "Women's Health" to "Breast Cancer" Centers for treatment. Don't you think they could have been a little more optimistic here in New Haven about that care? (That dragged on quite some time....) Well, I guess I was the only under 50 year old woman in that ward.

Alas, though I'm okay, I'm tired and too high strung to settle into writing about you Enron, because quite frankly, "Breast cancer" is not the same as "women's health."

Why am I writing about this?

Sincerely,

Danielle

A Snapshot of Kosovo on 12 hours of Sleep... in 4 days

I am broken. The struggle bus has a flat tire. I am officially going to my bed and praying the sheets are not going to make me break out in a rash. 

But all this aside. I am more excited and inspired than I have been since.... well maybe ever. 

Why? My experience in Kosovo. 

I will go into this later, but I wanted to leave my community with a glimpse of the people, the nation, the spirit, and the nature of this self proclaimed "Newborn" country. 

Flying back on a delayed jet, with no working camera, and little sleep, with a pilot who was probably a fighter jet pilot at some point by the barrel turns we made, I was seated next to a Turkish/ Albanian looking guy. He did not have the typical "Former Republic of Yugoslavia" look about him. He grabbed a Turkish newspaper and politely sat a seat away from me. He offered me chewing gum after our meal and that broke the ice (this is a trick I always use!) Turns out his father was Turkish but his mother was Albanian. He was living in Prishtina with his family. His wife is Bulgarian and their son's name is Edward. He owns two toystores. One in Prishtina and one in Istanbul. He traded in Istanbul and Hong Kong. His dream is to open a Toys "Rooys" or Toys 'R Us in Kosovo. He worked for 10 years without much money but the past 3 years have made it up. He is fluent in Albanian and Turkish, with decent English. He may have a Turkish passport, but he loves Kosovo as his own country and loves American for what it has done there and what it represents: multicultural, multifaith, strong democracy, entrepreneurial values. 

After four days of meeting with the ministers of this country (most under 30, as 70% of the pop is under 30), young business people from all over Europe with JADE Junior Enterprise Network, and witnessing Kosovo, this story is a great picture of what Kosovo is becoming and is: multicultural, multifaith, a recent democracy, with stronger entrepreneurial instincts than what most American have. Plus they love American--Bill Clinton street intersects with Mother Teresa Street in the center of town. 

Welcome to the best kept secret in political science, business, and the developing, post-conflict world. That no one knows about. 

Now we do.