'The Sound of Cracking Walnuts Abounds' and Other Polish Vignettes - Part One

That should say NObama!

On the way to Centralna passing through the rabbit warren tunnels which are currently much reduced, I overhear and then see the most bizarre elderly American couple. “Is this the right exit,  honey?” asks a mottled woman, bedecked in mauve slacks riding high at the waist and a lime green shirt, stroking a miniature handbag dog. “The hell do I know” replies the man who is even more outlandish in a suit more pink than purple, yellow John Lennon glasses and a little leather miner’s cap. “Might I be able to assist you?” I enquire, ever ready in this area to assist tourists, and quickly answer the woman’s question about which exit to head for to get to the Marriot.

The old man meanwhile turns to me with not a flicker of surprise at my enquiry in English, sees my “I vacationed with OBAMA in Maryland” T-shirt and gently pokes me in the chest, “that should say NObama, heh heh heh” before turning on his heel and sloping off. I’ve never seen a more incongruous couple in Warsaw and couldn’t imagine for the life of me why they were there. But if I was going to see them anywhere, it had to be Centralna.

The Curse of the Evil Draught and the Potentially Flirtatious Nun

There's an old Polish phrase which I've just made up which goes, 'If being cold is bad and being warm is good, being hot must be better and boiling must be brilliant.' 

Bang! Bang! Bang!  Up goes the window of our train every time we move from a stationary position. Our one window, the only recourse to fresh air on the 7 hour trip from Warsaw to Wroclaw with temperatures 27c on the outside, between me and which are seated 6 imperturbable Polish women of varying ages. I might as well be locked in a box.

That most dreaded of dragons, the leopard print bra-d Babcia, watches me like a hawk. Yes, it’s the sixty fifth time we catch each others’ eyes and the sixty fifth time that I’ve backed down like the coward I clearly am. There’s no way I can pluck up the courage to ask to open the window, I’ll be shot down in flames and stamped into oblivion at the mere mention of it. My silent revenge – a Great Perspiring and shifting of legs.

In the meantime I find myself captivated by this unrufflable, serene Nun who appears undisturbed by the heat. She looks like she should be a wood carving on the prow of a pirate ship. I can’t place her age, she could be twenty five or forty five. She has the smoothest of skin – amazing how the real skin of a woman without make up can glow so – and from time to time glances at me and holds my gaze. Is...a...nun...eyeing...me..up? It’s sort of too disturbing to contemplate, but as she leaves the carriage she stares and smiles at me directly and rather suggestively. After seeing the pink-suited American tourist, anything seems possible. 

Glad it wasn't my stop, no, me and Leopard Print Bra are going all the way... to be continued...