International Blog

July 28, 2008

I’m sitting in the square in Krakow, again, and I’m so torn on what to do next week now that camp is over.  I’d like to see something new, Berlin perhaps.  I went to an internet café and called Bill (my brother) just now and he said that I should either go—just make a decision and do it, or to stay in town and really explore the city.  I don’t want to waste my free time here, but the truth is I am absolutely shot from the last four weeks and I wouldn’t mind just pretending I’m an expat for a week, living with the Jesuits, clubbing and pondering life next to the Vistula.          

But the thought of just going to Berlin by myself is nice.  I should just go to the train station and go.  One of the American volunteers told me that F. Scott Fitzgerald used to get drunk and go to the train station at night when he was living in Europe.  He would just get on a train and wake up the next morning not knowing where he was.  Sounds like a terrible idea.  (Don’t you just love those?)

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

July 27, 2008

Today was the last day of class, during which I instructed the students to write about their favorite memories from camp.  After they read and discussed the assignment, one of the girls asked me what was my favorite part of being in Poland.  I paused for a moment, thinking, and another girl, gesturing to herself and the rest of the class asked, “We?”

I nodded, “yes, all of you…” and couldn’t help tearing up a bit, which caused about five of the girls in class to do the same.  Not wanting to end things on a sad note, I jumped up and instructed them to move their desks out of the way, and I taught them another country swing dance. 

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

July 20, 2008

Yesterday we took a trip to the mountain town of Zakopane, in the Tatras Mountains.  Several of the American counselors rode in a van separate from the students, which was driven by a novice Jesuit who passed the bus in the first five minutes on the road, so we made it to the mountain about an hour before the rest of the camp.

Eager for a little more freedom, we decided to hike up to the top and wait for the others to follow.  Along the way up to the mountain we came to a place where the river opened in a valley and decided to stop for a rest.  It was such a lovely scene, so we all sat down on the rocks by the river and everyone became lost in their own thoughts.  No one spoke for about fifteen minutes, and when I realized what was happening I was overcome by such a wonderful feeling—it was this odd moment when everyone was just connected.  I had this sensation of intense classical music playing, the song I believe was in “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” when, ironically, Dolores is being killed. 

Eventually the kids caught up with us, and I spent the next few hours walking among the Tatras with the students and counselors.  I kept seeing young couples with their little kids walking along, with their babies strapped to their chests, wearing jeans and sandals.  The Poles are so adventurous when it comes to climbing.  Or more, they just worry less about little things.  There were no special hiking boots to be found.  

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

July 18^th 2008 

I’m sitting in the Rynek (square) at an outdoor café waiting for the barmaid to realize I’m here so I can order a Piwo.  The sky is getting dark and it is beginning to thunder pretty loud, but I’m not too worried.  I guess this is how adventures start.  It’s funny I’m being so optimistic though, today was terrible.  My sense of direction is failing me.

I hitched a ride with a Jesuit into the city and then walked in the direction of the mall to search of a new camera and the 2 hour walk just made me want to die.  I couldn’t find the mall and just kept wandering along streets I didn’t recognize.  I asked about ten people for directional help, but everyone just vaguely pointed in the same direction.  It was so hot, my legs were chaffing from walkng so much, and my free afternoon was quickly disappearing. 

When I got to the Mall I realized it was bigger than I had expected and it took a long time for me to find the camera store which was recommended to me.  I just hoped so much to have a nice relaxing day in the city.  It seems like every single action that in the US would take about ten minutes takes at least an hour here-plus discussion. 

The storm is coming, but so far I’m safe under a Lech umbrella.  It’s funny watching people crouching under the small over-hangings by the buildings.  An inspired-looking man walked out into the square in the downpour and just stood there.  I bet it felt good to be in the rain.

The beauty of all this walking is, I suppose (no, not the blisters) is the fact that I can feel it at one pint.  The rain seems to have let up but it’s cold.  I think I’ll go in the pub and get another and prolong this afternoon free of 60 Polish high school kids running around. 

I hate to admit it, but I love smoking in pubs.  There is something incredibly cliché and 1920’s journalist about it, and I just can’t escape the allure of doing it in Europe. 

Sometimes I look up and I can’t believe I am here.  But it seems like home, like what I should be doing this second in my life.  These characters, this job, in this whole life I am fully present.  I’m present in Poland more than I’ve been in a long time.  I suppose it’s because I’ve nothing with which to compare it—everything is marvelously new. 

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

July 14, 2008

We all took a walk the other day up to a hill near the school.  It’s so strange, I still haven’t gotten used to walking with hoards of high school kids, but I really love it.  Other than a few students, none of us really knew where we were going, as originally the trip was described as going to a “Strawberry field and archeological site.”  It turned out to just be a hill called “Strawberry Hill,” although there were no strawberries to be found, and I have no idea what they were talking about with the archeological site.  Just another example of how so much of our world here is lost in translation. 

It was a beautiful view from hill, we could see the monasteries and all of the surrounding countryside.  We took a different route down the hill than we had climbed up, which turned out to be a wildly steep trek.  I lost my footing at one point and fell back on the hand which held my camera, and I’m pretty sure I broke it.  I got pictures of the kids climbing down first though, so it’s not a total loss. 

Last night was the camp talent show.  I convinced several girls and one boy to do the “Electric Slide” with me, as I taught them the dance a few days ago in class.  The girls were so sweet, they were so nervous about getting on stage dancing in front of their friends.  It’s funny, I never would have pictured myself doing things like this, dancing and singing in front of kids every day, but somehow it just seems right.  While taking a walk the other day I taught some of the girls the song “Oh Susanna,” and one of my favorite students, Klaudia, told me that it “gave her great pleasure to hear me sing.”  I couldn’t believe she said it, because I’ve never been any good at singing. 

All of the volunteers, and most of the kids performed at the show, either dancing, singing, doing various talents and the like.  There is a group of American high school boy volunteers here who have been a big hit among all of the Polish girls.  They performed several talents, the most popular being a rendition of “Ice Ice Baby.”  The closing talent was Big Zbigs playing his clarinet, which was good but my connotations are not all that pleasant with his clarinet, so I was happy when he called up everyone who had performed on stage and we all sang one of the popular Polish folk songs, “Ukraine.”  It was quite the night. 

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

July 12, 2008

So, life in Poland continues to be colorful.  Today I had my Intermediate class read the first few pages of “Little House in the Big Woods” and I taught them about Laura Ingles Wilder.  I’ve been having them listen to American music too.  The other day I printed out the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkle’s “America,” and blacked out a few common words they would know, and had them listen hard to try to pick up the words from the song and fill in the blank. 

Two nights ago we had futbol (soccer) matches here between the teachers, Polish counselors, and a visiting town’s altar boys.  The American teachers were entertaining to watch because none of them had really played before, and the Poles just killed them.  Big Zbigs was there in full gear, wearing the Polish flag and a bandana that said “Polska.”

After the matches we had a meeting with the Poles and the teachers, about the rules of the camp (several days after camp began) mainly regarding who can drink and where, and who is responsible for the kids at which time.  I should note too, that everyone who held a position of responsibility at the camp was at the meeting (who is responsible for the kids at which time?…)  Big Zbigs has all of these “official” rules, which are followed by “unofficially… you can get away with anything” rules.  He’s completely insane, but everybody absolutely loves him (myself included,) and the camp somehow gets along. 

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

July 8, 2008

Today we got internet which was a great relief of all of us volunteers.  We are teaching at a summer camp located in a in a small town on the outskirts of Krakow, called Piekary.  We live in dorms, or “houses” with the students.  My roommate Kelly and I have our own bathroom and slightly more privacy, though we live with all of the kids.  It’s extremely laid back at the camp, although the gates apparently lock at 10:30 which is annoying, but they’re small and we figure we can just climb over if we need to.

There are about nine American teachers here, all to whom being a camp counselor as well as a teacher in Poland was a surprise.  We will be teaching two classes a day in the morning.  I was assigned a novice class of four girls who know very little English, and an intermediate class of about fourteen students with whom I should be able to teach more creative lessons.  In the afternoons the Polish counselors (who I absolutely love) told us we will be having activities with the kids, although so far those are a mystery.  Poles don’t seem to have quite the same organizational techniques as we do in America. 

The camp director is a huge jolly Polish man named Zbyszek (called Big Zbigs by the Americans) who in both looks and personality is a sort of mix of Hemmingway and Santa Claus (and in every way is everyone’s favorite uncle.)  He speaks very little English, so far mainly communicating with the Americans with the both greeting, and question, “Problem?!”  Every morning at 7:30a.m. all members of the camp are awoken by Big Zbigs’ wake-up calls, which so far have ranged from a fake bird-whistle, to an entire verse of “Amazing Grace” played on his clarinet.  For posterity’s sake Kelly and I have started setting our alarm for 7:25a.m.

Piekary is a small town surrounded by the breathtakingly beautiful Polish countryside.  It is about a mile walk through the town down to the Vistula river, and across the river is a Benedictine monastary.  I plan to go on a run through the fields by the river tomorrow.

While wandering around Piekary on the first night we found this local pub, which on the outside looks really crappy but on the inside is this insane attempt at a techno club, decorated with video screens, plush chairs and a disco ball.  We were the only people at the pub, called “Cool Club,” but it will be interesting to see if the locals actually come out on the weekends. 

By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

This summer I spent a month in Eastern Europe.  The first week I spent backpacking in Lviv and Odessa, Ukraine, the middle three weeks teaching English with Jesuits at a summer camp in rural Poland, and the last week living at a Jesuit dorm near the city-centre of Krakow.  The following are excerpts from the journal I wrote during the trip, and from e-mails to my parents. 

 July 5, 2008

We’re stuck at the border of Ukraine and Poland and the border guards are harassing the Ukrainians a few cabins down.  So far we haven’t had to jump through many hoops, which is kind of surprising since we’re American.  I think it’s just because the border guards don’t all speak English.  Earlier when we were stopped at one of the border towns I heard someone yell outside and watched a guy running away from three border guards.  I saw him run one way and watched the guards run another.  I think he made it!

Ukraine was so bizarre.  Lviv was beautiful but very weird, the post-soviet attitude is very apparent.  The street cars were absolutely horrendous and nobody knew a thing about customer service, or even to make change, including at our hostel (which was an utter disaster for our hired ride to find at 1a.m. when we arrived in the city.) 

I read somewhere before I left for Ukraine that Lviv was considered the “New Krakow” in the way that Krakow is considered the “New Prague.”  It’s true, the architecture was incredible, but it takes more than pretty buildings to make a place an intellectual and tourist attraction.  Lviv definitely has a long way to go before it becomes a popular expat destination.

 By Sophie Vodvarka, Scene Editor

By Sarah Knaack

A tall white ‘farang’ walks confidently down the main street of Luang Prabang, Lao, with a 3-foot neon supersoaker held protectively across his body, on the lookout for small armed children. The man’s gait seems to say, “Walk softly…and carry a big squirtgun.”

Sabaay dii Pii Mai!  Welcome to the water festival and the Buddhist New Year. April 13-16 is the height of the hot, dry season, so what better way to celebrate than give all citizens a license to drench anyone in sight-friend, foe, neighbor, foreigner, young, old and, of course, the dry.

Loud pop music blares out of speakers and lends an energetic soundtrack for the lively streets filled with street vendors out in force for the Laos on holiday. Even the police working today have a smirk on their face and wet patches. Girls with dripping hair zip by barefoot on motorbikes, kids wait eagerly on the sidewalk with buckets and hoses, and honking pickup trucks filled with 40 of your closest friends and family are gathered chanting and singing, crowded around a huge barrel of water drinking a Beer Lao in the back.

On the way to my guesthouse, I wonder if there is a superior way to avoid a drenching. Demur and quiet? Quick and businesslike?  Duck, dodge and run? Nothing works-and the kids only enjoy it more when I am almost by, thinking I’d escaped only to feel a whole pan being poured down my back!  I also had the misfortune of wearing a brown dress that doesn’t appear to get wet. Completely soaked, I walk by a girl who exclaims with shock-”She’s dry!” which brings her whole posse’s wrath on me.

Ironically, after being completely soaked I was very thirsty. I spy some bottles of water for sale across the street guarded by 6 boys. Imagine their delight when I said, “Water, please?” while gesturing wildly at the drinkable version. They grin and say, “Nam plaa? Okay, okay!” and then empty their buckets all over me.

In addition to soaking you, sometimes they dye the water colors, or throw white ash on you once wet so people go around looking like some kind of pathetic human powdered sugar donut. In order to make everyone as wet as you, they use any sort of pail, vessel or pot they can find. The result is often times a cooking pot with soot on the bottom being smeared across everyone’s faces!

Pii Mai blends the colorfulness of a state fair, anticipation of Christmas, party attitude of Mardi Gras and the laidback vibe of 4th of July. In the early (5:30 a.m!) morning long lines of orange-clad monks file along the vendors collecting alms of rice and food. I’m looking forward to the other events over the next few days: a parade, a Miss New Year contest, carnival and carrying a Buddha through the streets.

April has never been so exciting!

Sarah Knaack is an Arts and Sciences Senior who spent the Spring of 2008 studying at Thammasat University in Bankok, Thailand.  Sarah is a journalism major with an emphasis in public relations and news, and has held the positions of asssistant news editor and reporter on the staff of The Creightonian.

Welcome to Creighton University’s Online Edition of The Creightonian’s Scene International blog.  The Scene International blog is here for Creighton students who are currently abroad to share their experiences learning about the international “scene,” while studying, working, volunteering, and traveling abroad.

To submit a story or photo to the Scene International blog, contact the Scene Editor, Sophie Vodvarka, at SophieVodvarka@Creighton.edu