Culture – Page 24 – Pat the Expat

Krakow: Sacred and Profane (II)

The city of Krakow is a jewel. What makes it so unique is that it has been any important city since the 7th century, yet it has remained relatively intact over all those violent years. If you have visited Europe you know there are many amazing cities where so much of the architecture has been recreated after its destruction during the Second World War. Krakow escaped such destruction. By the time the Nazis occupied it the fighting was over at the beginning of the war. When the Soviet Army came to liberate Krakow they swept through and caused very little damage. Thus Krakow retains much of its charming medieval character.

This is St. Mary’s Basilica in Krakow’s old town; it dates to the 14th century. I have no interior pictures because we entered to pray, not as tourists, so no photos.

We took some organized tours for our final days in Krakow. One went to the Wieliczka salt mine, an absolutely huge underground site on the outskirts of town. The mine functioned from the 1200s until 2007; now it’s a UNESCO world heritage site. It has numerous chambers and over 100 miles of tunnels. The most amazing thing to me was the various salt sculptures completed by the miners, along with almost 40 chapels: the miners apparently never wanted to be far from a place to pray when they were underground. And yes, JPII even has a salt mine statue!

“Polish for foreigners?” I guess the domestic market is saturated.

I’ll conclude my Krakow thoughts by returning to John Paul II. Our tour guide compared the way locals feel about him to Americans and Elvis. While the comparison is superficial, it does capture the warmth of the relationship. Perhaps based on their unique history, the Poles grasp something about JPII that others miss: just as the triumph of freedom over Nazi tyranny was essentially the story of FDR and Churchill, the triumph of freedom over communism ended up being the story of Reagan and Wojtyla.

Krakow: Sacred and Profane (I)

Vilnius was just beginning to look like Spring; in Krakow, Spring has fully sprung.

Prior to his death in 2005 there was some evidence of Saint Pope John Paul’s life in Krakow. However since the death of its former bishop and first Polish Pope, Krakow has really embraced its most favorite son and now he literally looms over the city. Karol Wojtyla was a most amazing character. He lost his mom and brother when he was still young, and his dad died during World War II. All alone and in the midst of Nazi-occupied Poland, he decided to become a Catholic priest, and attended a secret underground seminary in Krakow.

This sounds matter-of-fact now, but at the time it was a particularly courageous decision. The Nazis had singled out the Catholic hierarchy (all of the priests and religious) as well as the Polish nobility for liquidation. They sought to turn Poland into a vast farm and industrial labor camp to support their master race. Polish peasants would be the workforce for their Nazi overseers, but if the Polish leadership was still intact, they would oppose the Nazi plan. By joining the Polish clergy, Karol Wojtyla was signing his death warrant, since 90% of Polish priests were killed during the war!

Today, Saint John Paul is everywhere in Krakow. We visited his shrine, as well as the Shrine of Divine Mercy which John Paul established in Krakow in honor of Saint Faustina. Unlike some modern churches which resemble theaters-in-the-round or gymnasiums, the Divine Mercy Basilica is a remarkably modern take on ancient religious architecture.

When we travel, we prefer to stay in eclectic local accomodations and eat where the locals do. For example, our BnB in Vilnius was a converted monastery connected to a church, but with no resident staff. In Krakow our room is just around the corner from the main square, off a dark entryway and up three flights of stairs. We had an excellent lunch at one of the few remaining milk bars in Poland. Milk bars were a communist phenomenon: inexpensive, government subsidized diners serving large portions of hearty fare for the workers of the worker’s paradise. After communism collapsed, most milk bars did too. Krakow still has one, although it is a cross between a traditional milk bar and a Portlandia sandwich shop. Dinner that night was a basement cafe hidden inside a library. The theme was Grandma’s cabin in the woods. You stand in line to order, pay and wait for your number to be called, retrieve and eat your dinner, then bus your own plates. Meanwhile, the staff is mostly grandmothers supervising everything.

There is an amazing archaeological museum beneath the Rynek market in the middle of Krakow. They discovered layered ruins back in the early 2000s, and decided to unearth and preserve them. They did so, then rebuilt a roof over the now underground museum so the square looks unchanged. The layers of market history trace all the way back to the 14th century, showcased in a state-of-the-art facility which overlays video effects on the exposed ruins. The market square remains much as it has been for 700 years, despite all the other changes over that period.

Krakow is a very interesting mix of well-preserved tradition, proud culture, and vibrant youth (Jagiellonian University is one of the world’s oldest) and well worth the visit.

Travel day

Wednesday was a non-stop day on the move. We departed for the bus station around 5 AM and hiked a mile in the dark with everything we owned packed on us like mules. It was so early nothing was open yet except the McDonalds at the adjacent train stration, so we had that for breakfast. We took an uneventful 8 hour bus ride to Warsaw, where we intended to catch a train to Krakow.

But the first train was full, so we ended up with one first class ticket and one standing ticket on a later train. Which took 3 hours to get there. I’ll let you guess who got what ticket. What I don’t understand is that with one hour left on the trip, the train staff opened up another car and gave us seats, when they could have just sold us those seats in the first place, and the standing ticket I had was discounted. Sometimes you just have to accept things as they come: those “why?” questions can drive you crazy.

The extra time in Warsaw gave us a chance to grab a lunch at…wait for it…McDonalds. This one was outfitted with surly big city folk, people crowding the aisles and talking loudly on cell phones, security guards making sure only customers used the restroom, and wait staff who dismissed our questions with a contemptuous wave of the back of the hand. We looked like a couple of refugees with all our packs and bags, and we were treated accordingly. Even the view out the window was ugly.

We squezzed on board the train, rode to Krakow and disembarked. We had to traverse a shopping mall to get to the old city and arrive at our BnB, where we unpacked and went out for some warm cabbage soup, kielbasa, and beer before collapsing into bed.

Travel days are never fun. They must be rated on an entirely different scale. Did you arrive safely? Were you injured? Were you ever at risk? If you can answer yes, no, and no, it was a good day.

Observations from a hospital waiting room

Sorry for the dramatic title: nothing too serious to report. I was up at San Javier Hospital in Guadalajara to give blood, specifically platelets, for my friend undergoing chemo. Mexico is one of those places where if you need blood, you literally need to bring it with you by enlisting friends and family to come and give blood for you. Everyone knows how the system works, so everyone pitches in to help.

The rules for blood donation are as arbitrary in Mexico as anywhere. Back in the States, I and my entire family were prohibited from giving blood since we were stationed with the Army in Germany back in the 80’s: our beef supply back then came from the UK, which had a Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE, or Mad Cow disease, as you know it) outbreak. There is no test for BSE, so while there is next-to-no chance we have it, we were disqualified. Move to Mexico and voila, no problema. But they have rules for age (18-60), weight (>50 kilos), no meds, no alcohol (48 hours), fasting at least 5 but not more than 8 hours, last meal with no dairy or fat. Think about meeting those requirements during an emergency need for blood!

I passed all the preliminary screens, but then my blood needed a serum test, which delayed me for another 5 hours, so I got an extended stay in the hospital waiting area, which in turn led to this observation.

The Mexican people have a very different approach to the societal need to gather when one of the family gets sick. The waiting room was a veritable fiesta of several families. They each staked out a section, setting up a specific place for the family to gather, talk and visit while they queued up for trips up to visit their loved ones. There wasn’t any crying or even a long face: it was more like several impromptu family reunions had suddenly taken place like some hospital waiting room flash mob.

The families weren’t loud, but there were many hugs and kisses and murmurs of recognition. Some showed up with food, which they passed along to the rest of the family. Several members had visitor’s badges hanging around their necks, and they went up to visit the admitted relative, then returned to the waiting area and passed the badge along to another set of relatives. Sometimes the patient arrived in the waiting room via the elevator, and the family rushed to greet them.

Now remember, this wasn’t a maternity waiting room: this was a waiting area attached to an emergency room for a hospital specializing in cancer treatment. Some of the patients I saw looked quite sick. But the mood in that waiting room was positive. There seemed to be an emphasis on family and togetherness: gathering in the face of bad news, but not becoming disconsolate with grief even if the bad news turns worse.

I found there was much to learn from this unique approach to gathering when illness strikes the family. It reminded me, in a way, of the Irish wake: a real party in the face of tragedy. Of course, the Irish wait until the worst has happened, and party almost in the face of that end. The Mexicans may have improved on that idea!

Going to the theatre

Another unique aspect of expat life lakeside is the availability of the fine arts. In addition to numerous musical performers, we have several playhouses, all providing quality entertainment in English. Among the most well-known locally is the Lakeside Little Theatre (LLT), which just completed season 53.

When we were just visiting the area, we managed to attend a performance, and once we settled here, we committed to getting season tickets, which run about $70 USD for six shows. While we were both working, we almost never went out for shows: too busy, too tired, and many of the hottest tickets were expensive, while the topical content was not our cup of tea. Ever notice how many storylines seem literally or metaphorically set on the Upper East Side of “the City” as they say in New York?

Since we are rested, retired and the tickets are cheap, we take that last complaint in stride and enjoy the live entertainment. This season the LLT put on Agnes of God and Fiddler on the Roof, among others. With about 12 showings per play, it is a major commitment by our friends and neighbors, and it is great fun watching them perform. We go opening night: I agonize watching the performances, as I can identify with the performers as performers, hoping everything goes well. The casts are, well, mature, as are most of the expats in the audience, although they occasionally find some younger performers for key roles. Some performers are retired professionals, some were artists back in college, some just got the theater-bug in retirement: all seem to take the craft very seriously.

The LLT is tucked away mountainside on a side street in San Antonio Tlacayapan, a little village between Ajijic and Chapala. They have a very fashionable lobby and a nice bar area for intermission; I would estimate the theater itself holds a little more than one hundred seats, so there are no bad ones. In addition to live plays, they also broadcast performances by National Theatre Live (we have not attended those, yet).

Growing up, I never would have imagined being a season ticket holder for a theater, but then again, I never imagined being an expat, either.

A powerful problem

Back in the day when I was institutionalized at the United States Military Academy, we took a heavy load of science, mathematics, and engineering courses, regardless of whatever we thought our major was. One of the more detested classes was Electrical Engineering, or “Juice”as we called it. Juice was a very simple course: learn a series of standard formulas relating to how electricity works and apply them to a series of problems. The challenge was that electricity is, frankly, perverse. We often use analogies to water (electricity “flows” for example), but these are really wrong, for electricity behaves in ways counter-intuitive to the water-in-pipes model, in that it flows both ways, or doesn’t flow at all, or pulses, or…well, you get it. Except that some cadets did not get it, which meant they never knew which formula to use in what situation, and they struggled. The Juice professors were also in on the gag: they always provided a set of meaningless data points so you could not tell which formula to use just by what data was in the problem.

What we all knew was that we would never need this information again. The only thing I can remember for sure from Juice was the phrase “Volts don’t kill; amps do.” This in fact is also a gross simplification, since the two are related, and both can do harm. Which I re-learned recently.

It hit 90 degrees a few days last week, and we decided to turn on our mini-split air conditioners. Regular readers will recall the sad tale of the installation, complete with extra holes and severed water lines, but that is all in the past. Now, we get to reap the benefits of cool, fresh air as we sit in our living room and watch the television. Except when I click the remote, nothing happens. Maybe old batteries? We have not used the air conditioner since it was installed in December (when we watched the installers turn it on); maybe the remote was not mated to the unit? Nope, I checked and both remotes worked with our bedroom a/c, but nada with the living room unit.

We got a hold of the folks who installed the units. They had me double check the breakers in our fuse box, which were all working. So they came out. They double checked all the connections but saw nothing amiss. They opened up the unit and showed me the computer chip circuit board, which was clearly “fried.” Bad news. This led to a quick trip back to our fuse box, where the installer showed me with his voltmeter that the power coming into my casa was running at 244 volts.

Now voltage varies whenever electricity is delivered, but it is supposed to be regulated so it varies within an acceptable range. In the States and down here, voltage should be around 110/120 or 220/240, depending on the type of power supply. At my house, it should be 220. So 244 is too high, especially since that was a one-time reading and the voltage may spike even higher. That is what happened to my new a/c: a spike cooked the chip circuit. It could affect any electronic device I have.

So now we have to notify CFE, the power authority, because the high voltage is coming in to at least my entire neighborhood, and it should not be . Meanwhile, we’re scrambling to find a whole-house voltage regulator to protect our appliances and electronics from spikes (or drops: such brown-outs can be just as damaging!) in the future. I recall reading about high and low voltage problems locally, but I had the (false) impression that our newer development had a community voltage regulator. No one seems to know if we do (still checking), but even if we do, it failed, so we’ll get one for ourselves regardless.

Back in the States, we had surge protectors for some of our personal electronics, but since the problem here is both too much or too little voltage, we’ll need to get regulators, especially to protect the fridge and TV. The entire episode was just a reminder that you can’t take anything for granted as an expat: if someone else has a problem with infrastructure, you likely do too…you just don’t know it yet!

Staying in touch

A friend recently mused about whether I was still in touch with the goings on in the States, and it reminded me how different things are today, communications-wise.

Back in 1983, I was assigned to a US Army unit in what was then called West Germany. We had access to German television stations and one or two British channels over-the-air. If you lived in Army housing, you had access to the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service, a unique cable system which provided a smattering of shows from any of the major US networks, minus the commercials. Some shows were a season or so “late.” Others were series which had never made it, so they were provided free to the military. News was the national edition of one network (NBC, as I remember it) recorded and shipped over, then shown a day late. AFRTS got their first satellite access in 1984, which meant we started receiving actual channels and news in real time, which was a major change. We got the morning shows late in the afternoon, due to the time differential: one of my strongest memories from those days was watching the Challenger disaster live as we sat down to dinner.

Phone service was provided by the BundesPost: think MaBell without the charm, and it was ridiculously expensive (as all long distance phone service was). Many times, you had to call an operator and schedule an overseas call; alternatively, family back home could call you collect, in effect notifying you they were at home and wanted to talk. You would deny the charges, then return the call to save them some money.

Mail took an extra week or so to arrive. The only papers available were the International Herald-Tribune, a weekly compilation run jointly (at that time) by the Washington Post and New York Times, or the daily Stars & Stripes.

And of course there was no Internet.

The net effect was to to be somewhat distanced from the news and the culture. I have always had trouble placing music from The Clash into any timeline, because right as they became famous back in the States, we were out of touch in Europe (which is an excellent excuse to embed one of their songs).

What’s different today? In place of the government-provided infrastructure described above, we have an organic, commercial one in Mexico. Because of the demands of primarily American and Canadian expats, we have access to several cable, streaming, and satellite TV services. I have Dish network, ostensibly in Cincinnati, Ohio, so I get some fifty channels, including all the major networks, local affiliates, PBS, CNN, Fox, HBO, Disney, ESPN, etc. For television news, I watch one major network (usually ABC), BBC America/International, and Special Report on Fox.

Using web applications, I listen every morning to WTOP, the DC-area news and traffic radio station, but now I get to smirk when the traffic or weather is bad. My favorite magazine subscriptions (The Economist, First Things) have gone digital, delivered to my tablet. Online I use GoogleNews to aggregate several feeds, and I use an incognito tab on my Chrome browser to read the Washington Post and New York Times every day. When I run into something behind a paywall or subscription-only, I use the Internet archive (tip: bookmark this site and use it; it works great) to get free access.

Mail delivery is even worse in Mexico, but is improving due to the introduction of Amazon here and its delivery system for packages.

We still have T-mobile cell phone service, with free calling to the States, and we can Skype/Google-chat when we want video. Whatsapp, an app which is used all over the world but not that often in the States, gives us free text messaging and asynchronous communications.

Not to mention, with the time I have as a retiree, I can pretty much choose how much news to consume, and when. One thing I haven’t mentioned: social media. Given our internet connectivity, social media is as ubiquitous here as in the States. However, if you get any of your news from social media, I suggest you reconsider. I can tell you the biases of all the media sources I use, but as the Russian troll operation demonstrated, the online world is far more complicated. With so many people trying to spin or distort what they call news, you are better off using social media for connecting with friends, not gathering information, wherever you are.

Chili today, hot tamale

Sorry for the pun title, here’s a little jazz to make up for it.

One of the oddities of living in a place with such a wide variety of cultures is how they mesh. Annually for the past 40 years, Ajijic has hosted a charity fundraiser called the “Mexican National Chili Cook-off.” The event looks exactly like any of the hundreds of similar Chili contests NOB, but with a Mexican flavor.

This is the unofficial start of the charity fundraising season down here, with several different types of events aimed at the large population of temporary expats known as snowbirds.

The Chili cook off ran Friday through Sunday, with contests for Margaritas, Salsa, and of course Chili. They had a large stage with a steady stream of performers: we were there Saturday at noon for some local Mariachis. In addition to the contest tastings, there were booths for drinks, hot dogs, pizza, hamburgers, and tacos. For some reason we always end up getting in line for the taco booth; I guess I have already eaten all the hot dogs I ever should.

There were several raffle drawings each day, and a large collection of tents where local tradespeople or organizations could pitch their wares. We bought a rug and some knives, but I still couldn’t find just the right hat.

Some store owners had exotic pets on display: we saw an owl, an exotic bird, and a snake. There were roving bagpipers and Caballeros on dancing caballos. And it all seemed to fit together. Anyway, a good time was had by all, whether you ate Chili or not.

Local Crafts & Craftsmen

We asked a local craftsman to repair a small wooden table which has been in the entranceway of every house we owned. The piece was a gift from my mom to my wife, so it had sentimental value. The wood was damaged (let’s call it distressed-that’s much more chic) and the lock didn’t work. Still, it was one of only two pieces of furniture we brought with us to Mexico, partially with the intention to have it repaired. We told him to refinish it, add some turquoise highlighting, and build a hutch for the top of it. Voila, as they say.

At the chili cook-off (more to follow on that), we also picked up some fine local knives (very sharp and stylish) as well as a hand-made rug from Oaxaca. Again, excellent craftsmanship.

Then there was the case of some local services we employed. I previously told you the tale of our air conditioner installation and the resulting (unintended) fountain in our carport. When those workmen were done, I also noticed that the indoor portion of the air conditioner was not centered on the wall (who knew you had to request that?), and that there was an extra hole in the wall, since their first attempt at drilling did not succeed. All this from the same gentleman who offered to run a drainage hose from the air conditioner into (the top of) my wife’s bathroom sink.

“Now I know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall”

Here are some workmen cutting a metal rod to fit in our sunscreen. They best embody the local spirit to just “get it

done” without regard to personal safety. If you look closely, you’ll see they are cutting the metal, on my patio, without the hindrance of any eye or flesh protection.

Lastly, we recently bought a new light for our walk-in closet. The small, recessed LED bulb was simply too weak to get dressed by, so we bought a lantern style hanging light which complemented some other lights in our bedroom. This seemed like a simple replacement operation, so I did not supervise it. Silly me. What we have now is a cable running from the old light to the new light. I hadn’t thought of that solution.

So what is the point? I relish the excellent craftsmanship we have encountered, all at a reasonable cost. I don’t blame the other craftsmen for what did not quite turn out. Again, the cost was minimal, and there are always cultural translations to consider. If anything, I have learned to be exceedingly specific, because if you say “install” it does not mean “replace” and if you don’t say “centered” it will not be so. Just a few more flavors of expat life.

Why be a pilgrim?

So why do people walk the 500 miles from St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France, to Santiago de Compostela, Spain? There are as many reasons as there are pilgrims, but they can be organized in several logical categories.

Like pilgrims from the Middle Ages to the present, the largest category would be religious/spiritual. Originally this would have been a primarily Catholic endeavor, as Catholics were encouraged to go on pilgrimage to various shrines, including Santiago, where the bones of St James were allegedly discovered. Now there is an equal number of “spiritual, not religious” types who go on pilgrimage to re-center their minds, disconnect from the electronic chatter of modern life, or strip life to the bare essentials and engage more honestly with other people. This last point is a common refrain from peregrinos (pilgrims): on the camino, you have only what you need, so you eliminate the artifice of modern society and have more meaningful relationships with your fellow pilgrims.

Another large group is seeking simple self-improvement. They want to lose weight, quit smoking or kick some other bad habit, get in shape, or simplify one’s life. There are some similarities here to the first group, but without any specific spiritual content. Smaller sets of pilgrims are on vacation, after a personal accomplishment, or do it just because it is there.

For whatever reasons pilgrims have, the numbers have been consistently increasing. Last year over 300,000 walked the Camino Frances, with the frequency diagram displaying a familiar normal distribution (I promised no math, but this is statistics) centered on the Summer months.

This counts “completions” with most taking 30-45 days

To receive the official completion certificate, or Compostela, you need only complete the last 100 kilometers of the Camino Frances. When you arrive in Santiago, they ask whether you walked for religious/spiritual reasons or for other reasons. If the former, you receive a Latin script Compostela attesting to your accomplishment; if the latter, your certificado is in Spanish. If you wish, for a few Euros you can also receive a certificate of distance which attests to the actual time and distance hiked.

Whatever one’s motivation, one theme among peregrinos is consistent: how well pilgrims treat one another, and how well pilgrims are treated by their Spanish hosts. Out on the camino, people share with and care for each other. The small towns, some of which only survive by association with the camino, provide a warm welcome. Stories abound of services provided or help rendered by anonymous pilgrims to those in need. Likewise, there are numerous tales of pilgrims finding “no room at the inn” and being taken to stay in local’s homes. There are exceptions, but crime or simple boorish behavior stand out mostly as exceptions to the rule of good behavior.

This is the magic of the camino, and what really brings many pilgrims to come back and walk the camino over and over.

As for me, I am walking in thanksgiving. From early on when my wife Judy and I considered walking the camino, I saw it as a way of saying “thank you” to God for good health, a great family, a satisfying career, and all the other blessings I have received. We’ll spend time every day giving thanks, looking to help others (or maybe accepting help from others–that’s a blessing too) and praying. If you have a prayer request, let me know!