Ghost Town

Since my arrival, the hostel has been bustling with people, as groups of students unloaded each week to count singing male Aquatic Warblers throughout Biebrza National Park.  For the first two weeks, only a few were present, as the project was just beginning.  I enjoyed their presence, even though I took little initiative to strike up conversation.  Fortunately, some individuals did initiate conversation.  They never failed to impress me with their understanding of English, and put me to shame, as I was unable to hold a conversation in Polish. 

The dynamic of the hostel shifted with the daily arrival and departure of volunteers, tour groups, biologists, and other random guests.  Everyone seemed to immediately connect, conversing easily and unifying as a group, particularly at the nightly parties.  Yet, with the language barrier, I could not be sure how deeply these connections extended and how well everyone related to each other.  So I was left with the impression that they had become like family in this short period of time. 

Last Wednesday, about thirty students from Lublin arrived and that night commenced the wildest party I had yet witnessed at the hostel.  Some individuals even clambered up into the attic and insisted on peering down through our bathroom vent with their torch and conversed there throughout the night.

Needless to say, it was a sleepless night.

By the next day, the crowd had drastically dispersed, and now, there are two or three people left on the property with my co-workers and me.  It feels like a ghost town.  The quiet is at times refreshing, as when we spent a relaxing evening congregated around the fire pit.  We were only joined by the mosquitoes, whose company that we could have done without.  Yet, during the day, when all are off working and I am left to myself, the hostel seems like a ghost town and the silence feels somewhat unsettling. 

Polski List

I’ve spent the past several hours composing a letter to a relative in Poland, with whom I have recently connected.  I have learned a few words and phrases over the past couple of months through my inconsistent podcast usage and practice.  Yet, I know nothing of sentence structure and verb conjugation, my knowledge of assigning proper gender articles and endings to objects is minimal, and I generally spell Polish words phonetically in my podcast notes because it’s far too complicated otherwise.  Needless to say, these factors make for an interesting letter, and I imagine that she derives much amusement from my feeble attempts at writing in the Polish language. 

During my writing sessions, I am constantly revising sentences for the sake of simplicity.  Although, I find Polish to be a challenging language, it is really quite straight-forward and to the point, which is demonstrated by the significant lack of Polish equivalents to English articles and other filler words.  I also greatly mistrust the accuracy of online translation tools.  As a result, I translate the Polish word or phrase provided by the translator back into English, in order to see how jumbled my message became in a matter of seconds.  It reminds me of the telephone game, in which a sentence is whispered from one person to the next, all the way down the line, until the final player states aloud something entirely different from what the group began with.  When I am really struggling with the online translator to produce a translation with some resemblance to my original meaning, I pull out my hefty Polish-English dictionary to do it the old-fashioned way. 

But, finally, my letter is complete and ready to mail and, hopefully, does not contain too many awkward mistakes!

New York City Musings

Yesterday, I caught the first bus to New York City to pay a visit to the Polish Consulate.  I will explain more on why I was there at a later date.  While I was waiting, I felt slightly overwhelmed by the constant chatter from the line of people that extended onto the sidewalk because I had not a clue as to what they were saying to each other.  I didn’t even have a general idea regarding the topics of conversation, like I sometimes can with Spanish, as I will recognize a handful of words, which help to piece the puzzle together.  Yet, I have learned relatively few words and phrases through my Polish audio lessons, thus far, and, as a result, I was only able to pick out about three or four words, never mind guessing at content.

I feared attempting to make use of my few phrases, as I worried that they might not get the hint that I only fully grasp the English language and would continue trying to speak to me in Polish, or that I would face ridicule for my ignorance.  In hindsight, these were rather irrational fears, but they were fears, nonetheless, which caused me to keep to myself and speak only in my native tongue, when I absolutely had to. 

And that was just an isolated location in a city dominated by English-speakers!  I worry what my response might be to a situation, in which I am the minority, socially isolated by the barrier of language.  I wouldn’t be able to just walk a few blocks in any direction, so that I might be comforted by the sound of familiar words.  Perhaps, this is just another one of my comfort zones that I need to break through, and further learn to cope with the element of uncertainty and the fact that I cannot know everything.

After this, I discovered Bryant Park, which is more like a rectangular area of concrete with some small trees and shrubbery planted in mulched soil, and scattered about the grounds.  Yet, it was still a lovely reprieve from hurriedness and traffic of the nearby streets.  Several box shaped stores were open on the property, selling a variety of products from coffee to pickles to winter clothing accessories.  I weaved among these little shops and the many iron patio sets, and on to the center of the park, which was void of tree cover and featured an ice-skating rink.  There seemed to be a set capacity for the rink and time allotments, as there was a long line of patrons waiting to enter the facility to get suited up.  I found a cozy table in the warm sunlight and read a book for awhile, all bundled in my winter gear, as there was still a chill in the air. 

Later, as I was wandering back to the Port Authority Bus Station, I stumbled upon Times Square with all of its flashy advertisements and television screens.  I meandered along the blue road, designated for pedestrian traffic, amazed at how I never realized for how many blocks Times Square extended.  As I waited at a corner for traffic to go by, I heard the distant sound of some sort of folk music.  I identified the source to be a live band, diagonally across from where I stood.  Their music had a Hispanic/Latin beat, but I could not place it into a specific genre with my limited knowledge of cultural music.  The band’s wind instrumentalist had a case full of wooden pipes, which he swapped in between and during songs for varying effects.

As I wandered, I also thought of what it might be like to live in such a large metropolitan area.  It would be an interesting experience for a time, but I believe that I would generally be unhappy, being so isolated from nature with massive man-made structures looming overhead and enveloped by a sense of loneliness in such inescapable anonymity. 

My thoughts then turned on the bus ride home to how it feels that I have led two vastly different lives, the crossover of which is rather unidentifiable.  In childhood, I was so socially isolated.  I vacationed with my family to big cities, stayed in hotels, and went shopping. I often dined in restaurants on the weekends and indulged in fast food at least once a week.  I regularly attended rock concerts and theater performances.  Yet, now, I prefer the country.  I have a more nature-oriented, holistic approach to life, and try my best to maintain a healthy lifestyle.  I take risks, pushing my comfort zone, yet keep a close eye on where my money goes.  It’s fascinating how drastically my personality, my goals, my values seem to have changed over the years; however, I suppose I am really the same person underneath it all, just coming into my own.