(B)last names!!!

I finally found out why people in Poland, after reading my name (e.g. in my CV) tend to think I'm female. It is because my last name finishes in "a". At the beginning I thought that they usually present themselves with the last name in front of the first one, so they thought that my first name finishes in "a" and that's why I may be female, but it's another story. I'm living here for four months and I didn't notice that they change the ending of the last name accordingly with the gender. Well, it sounds so strange to me, but I guess it's just a reminiscence of the Slavic tradition. Still, it's less dramatic than in countries like Russia, Ukraine or even Bulgaria where new born babies or wifes get their last name after the first name of their father/husband, so practically it's quite complicated if not impossible to track genealogies by the last name. After talking to my friends from different nations about these things, I found out even more interesting stuff. Almost the same thing as in Poland happens in the Czech Republic. Or they're even more strict about it, as in Poland it may occur in some cases that the last name doesn't change due to some grammar peculiarities (some men have last names finished in "a" ) while if a male's Czech name finishes in "a", his daughter's (or wife) name will add a specific suffix like "ova" to that name, to make it much clearer. All these things are fascinating for me, as I would have never imagined that in present times last names change in some cultures. I could not imagine getting married in Russia for example and my wife getting her last name after my first name, or in the Czech Republic with more letters added to my last name that's already finishing in "a". I guess my name was enough confusing for people here in Poland. Maybe I should add a picture in my CV after all, like suggested to me. :-)

Teatime stories

When talking about the Polish tea drinking habits, I should start with the fact that they drink a lot (of tea; of course they drink a lot of other stuff too :-)) but that’s another story). They have probably the largest consumption per capita in Europe, after UK, of course. And still growing. They drink it every day, several times a day. For breakfast (like British), if not coffee drinkers and they definitely drink it along with their usual sandwich-based dry dinner. They produce a lot as well. Most of the tea on the Romanian market comes from Poland. I was surprised to find that out, after curiosity drove me to read the packages, that Belin, Teekanne or Celmar, the most famous tea brands in a Romanian supermarket (besides Lipton) are all Polish brands. Even the no-name tea in discount supermarkets comes from Poland. Still Romanians don’t have much of tea-drinking culture. It was very funny a few months ago, while in Romania with my Polish workmate, when he ordered green tea in a restaurant on the Black Sea shore, the waitress asked “Would Lipton be OK?” “Of course” and she brings him Lipton Green Ice Tea. And then he said “I meant hot tea” “Oh! Is everything all right? Are you ill?” OK, so that’s fact. It’s not very common to order tea in a Romanian restaurant or coffeehouse, needless to mention pubs. We usually drink it at home and it’s mostly herbal tea, for pharmaceutical purposes, so we shouldn’t blame the poor waitress for getting a bit confused. It’s all about climate after all. That’s why, in a coffeehouse in Poland, if you are not a coffee drinker and you are not very fond of juices, you’d most probably order tea (not plain water with lemon like in Romania :-)), normal tea. But watch out what you’re ordering, because in Poland, normal tea means black tea (not like in UK where normal tea is every kind of tea that comes from the tea plant e.g. black, green, white, or oolong). But even if it’s black tea, don’t expect to get milk with it, I never got and I have never seen a Pole drinking it with milk. Instead it’s very probable that you get lemon. Besides “normal” tea they usually drink berry flavoured tea. Most of the Poles that I met hate mint or lime tea, which are the most popular in Romania. They don’t make it strong when they drink “normal” tea. Usually the infusion takes no more than 30sec. At home they even infuse only one teabag for the whole teapot. Maybe that’s why they don’t drink it with milk.
By far the most bizarre remark would be the word for “tea” in Polish. In most of the languages in the world and all the European languages besides Polish and Lithuanian this word is derived from the Malay “teh", from Amoy Chinese dialect “t'e”, or Mandarin “ch'a”. It has developed in the European languages based on two roots: either “te-” (in all Western languages) or “cha-” (in most Slavic languages, in Greek and Turkish or even Romanian – “ceai”). But it’s not the same story with the Polish “herbata” or the Lithuanian “arbata” (that probably came from the more influential Polish). Who knows what the story behind this word is, but one thing is sure - they have a long history in being special about it.
Nevertheless, the best tea I have ever drank was in a krakowian "kawiarnia", a place called Camera Café (very nice atmosphere and they project classic movies, mostly mute, so you can even watch while enjoying your drink or your ice-cream topped hot apple pie). The recipe is not complex at all, but the mix of flavours is simply amazing. I won’t tell you, you’ll have to come to Krakow to try “Smak lata” (“Summer savor”). Besides, they’re paying me big money for this post :-))

Well, what can I say, maybe at the beginning “herbata” wasn’t my cup of tea, but I sure enjoy it now, especially that it’s a legitimate alternative, for a change, to a non coffee drinker like me.

The Romanian guy who went to Poland

After finally convincing our landlady to allow me to register in her flat (it is said that
the Polish law is so absurd that once you register your stay in a house, you cannot unregister, and abuses may arise in such way that one can stop paying the rent and owner cannot legally evacuate him), today we went to do it. It went fine. From there they directed me to another office (supposedly the immigration office). Of course, after being sent from a room to another, I found out that it was the wrong building, wrong office, wrong address. I went to the right one. I knew that I didn't have all the documents I needed, so I went there only to ask what else I needed. Apparently only the health insurance (as a freelancer the company for which I'm working does not provide me with one), since my emergency tourist's health insurance didn't fit. OK, I said to myself, this is easy. I knew that in Bucharest for example, there are dozens of insurance companies and most of the banks have also insurance branches. After wandering about an hour in the center of the city, I finally realized that it might not be that easy. Every bank clerk was grimacing at my unusual request. 'Co? Nie, nie!' No Allianz, no ING, no Generali, no Comercial Union to be seen. As I was walking with to snow blowing in my face I saw the Deutsche Bank logo. I walked there, and it was indeed, a Deutsche Bank office. I said to myself, damn they must have it. And they did. The first lady that I talked to didn't speak English so she brought a colleague of hers. When explaining to him what I need it for and how it should look like, they told me it's impossible. You cannot sign a basic health insurance with a private insurance company. You have to be insured in the public health insurance system and then, if you want a better treatment while being hospitalized in the (lousy) Polish hospitals, you can sign an additional, private one as well. Nevertheless, I felt they were on my side. The lady offered to phone the immigration office herself to ask for more details. She had been on the phone for more than 20 min., when she started quarreling with that clerk. I could feel a whole war between systems in her voice, the public and the private one. Efficency fighting the unyielding, long-lasting bureaucracy. Thank you Mrs. Ewa Czyrz, you have been my heroine today. Even though (after talking myself to that gentleman) we could not understand exactly what I needed...
So here I am, going back to the immigration office. On the way there I discovered that the document registering me in the flat I live in contained a rather smaaaall error: instead of 01.02 it was written 02.01 (2nd of January), so practically one month less. I can't even get the living permit with it, so I'll have to change it tomorrow. It shouldn't be that difficult :))
In the immigration office, finding it impossible to give me a better solution regarding the health insurance they decided to solve me some other way. 'I have talked to my superior and we agreed that in fact you do not need a living permit after all.' 'But my employer poses it to me as a condition of signing the contract. I will be staying illegally in Poland if I don't get one' 'No, relax, it's OK'. So he was practically advising me to break the law. Or maybe he was just wishing that I got back to my home country (repatriated) and stop bothering him with my problems. After experiences like this one, I might as well return to Romania.
The funny thing is that today, after googling a bit, I found out that in most of the EU countries, including Romania, the living permit (for periods of more than 90 days) is optional for EU citizens.

Heeei, tramvai!

Un lucru pe care polonezii nu'l suporta - sa stea in picioare in tramvai. Pesemne s'ar simti aiurea in tramvai, nu stiu, insa nu vrei sa stai in calea cuiva atunci cand e pe cale sa isi revendice vreun loc in mijloacele krakowiene de transport in comun. Si nu vorbesc de persoane 50+ si nici de locurile rezervate, caci lucrurile ar fi cu atat mai grave in astfel de situatii. Daca cineva te'a impins, si dupa ce iti verifici portofelul realizezi ca e la locul lui, inseamna ca pe undeva pe langa tine e un loc liber. Asa ca te dai la o parte din calea nefericitului. Alte motive sa te impinga cineva nu prea am intalnit. Ar face orice sa puna mana (sau fundul) pe un scaun liber. De multe ori, doamnele se urca in tramvai, vaneaza un loc (sau ridica pe vreun tanar), isi lasa poseta pe el si apoi pleaca in cautarea unui compostor, uneori destul de departe chiar. Iar odata ce'au sezut, nu se ridica inainte sa coboare. Am vazut o intamplare de'a dreptul infioratoare. O tanara doamna ii arata cu degetul unei oarbe care incerca sa se aseze peste ea crezand ca locul este liber, ii arata unde este un alt loc liber. Insa nu s'ar fi ridicat sa sa duca insasi catre acel loc. Ii era teama. Insa experienta de azi m'a pus pe ganduri. Ma urc in vagonul din spate al tramvaiului, fara sa ma preocupe faptul ca e mult mai gol decat primul. De fapt nici n-am bagat de seama astfel de detalii. Oricum, ca idee, in general ultimul vagon e cel mai liber. Ma asez pe un scaun dintre cele multe libere si imediat dupa ce se inchid usile ma izbeste drept in fata un miros intepator de cacat. Mi'am zis initial, ridicandu'ma si indreptandu'ma catre celalalt capat al vagonului ca pesemne sunt doar fructe, fermentate... Dar mirosul ma urmarea cu aceeasi persistenta, incat, pentru cateva momente eram ingrijorat ca ar putea fi de la mine. Ma blocasem, pur si simplu. Eram blocat pana la urmatoarea statie. Mi s'a parut atat de mult. Nu sunt scarbos din fire dar mirosea mai rau decat in orice buda in care fusesem, chiar mai rau ca in haznalele de la tara. Ceilalti, destul de multi de altfel, cat sa acopere cam toate scaunele, nu pareau sa se sinchiseasca prea mult. E adevarat, unii isi puneau ceva la nas, altii doar il si'l strambau, dar nimeni nu m'a urmat la prima statie in celalalt vagon, mult mai aglomerat si fara nici un loc liber. Abia la a doua, am vazut o cucoana care, recunoscandu'ma, imi marturiseste ca ea nu mai putea. Am coborat in sfarsit la Dworcowa, si am privit trecand pe langa mine, vagonul din urma in care cei cel putin 10 oameni isi acopereau nasurile cu hainele sau cu fularele, dar erau totusi fericiti, pentru ca erau asezati. As putea ghici ca in sinea lor se simteau mai norocosi decat suckerii din primul vagon care stateau in picioare.

Zapada, omat, nea...

What could more beautiful and romantic than the first snow when it takes you by surprise and the snow flakes are huge and dense. I was thrilling at 2am when getting out of CK Browar after 5-6 hours of 'beering' it has taken me by surprise. It's been unusually cold yesterday (I had bought a scarf to ease my neck from the stinging Krakowian cold that had come too soon for me), but still I couldn't expect it. Nevertheless it didn't stop me from enjoying it like a lunatic jumping with Maria in a crazy dance in chase of these gigantic flakes like I had never seen before (at least she's not very used to snow). The others could not keep themselves from laughing at our unusual dance right in the heart of the city, a dance that to the people passing by seemed rather a busker's performance than a delighting personal experience.
At about 4am, as we were getting out of Kitsch it had already stopped and the snow was laying on the branches of the previously naked trees and on the cars. It was a good reason for a first snow fight. I must admit, I surrendered easily. We eventually retreated to a warmer place with snow melting in our collars and in our souls.
It has rashly melted right after dawn, and with it our winter mood. It was then when I realized that it is hardly past mid-October and that I should be worried at least as much as I was happy. I hope I'll survive. After all, it's Poland not Scandinavia.

Argument

More than half a year ago I decided to start blogging just to tell stories about a nice period in my life and my post-Erasmus experiences. I called the blog 'Erasmorphosising Europe' being proud of creating a previously unexisting word and a concept as well. Although I never wrote about the absolutely great time that I had as an Erasmus student in the pasta and pizza homeland, I posted a few experiences during my hitchhike travels to Poland, including a pretty harsh post about the Hungarians evoking their anti-Romanian history. I eventually erased them. Anyway, it's almost clear that the blog had no history, as I am also not very fond of this kind of literature (still). Now, however, since it seems that I'm going to continue living abroad, I'm starting to consider it an useful tool to share happy moments, frustrations and other experiences with faraway friends. After all, I have been bragging that my stay in Poland is almost like a second Erasmus scholarship, from the fun point of view. First of all I considered changing the concept, making the title ambivalent - obviously, it's not only about me 'Erasmophosising' Europe, it's also about me getting changed.
Let's all see if it works out fine this time. Obviously, I need your help, since I'm not planning to be a narcissistic writer. Or at least not anymore, because up to now I've been pretty shy about all the kinds of literature I wrote.

What is Erasmophosis?

What the... is Erasmorphosis? What kind of blog is this, you might ask yourselves...

First of all, who is Erasmus? Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus was a late 15th century Dutch humanist and theologian, born at Rotterdam. This guy did a lot of studying, traveling and writing. But that's another story, anyway.

So, what is Erasmus? A lot of things. But when I think about Erasmus I think about 6 wonderful months of my life. I think about Erasmus as this extraordinary mobility programme that after 500 years decided to revigorate the desideria of Erasmus of traveling while studying, or vice versa, studying while traveling.

Erasmorphosis? What kind of word is this?
Sooner or later we''ll all erasmorphosise, I'm telling you! We'll all get the big picture that Europe is nothing but a huge country with different regions and dialects...