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Two people close to me spent considerable time in Eastern Europe in their early 20’s. Both of them embraced the local cuisine with gusto and returned home quite a bit larger for their efforts. I understood from them that getting fat in Eastern Europe was going to be a simple task. Unfortunately I only had about three weeks to do so. To further complicate things, the rest of my family is not as adventurous as I am, and the kids were eager to take advantage of the prevalence of American fast food, which has invaded the former Eastern Bloc. Even with these constraints I made the most of my time in the region and found that not only did I pack on a few extra pounds but I also came away loving the cuisine.
It is hard not to love food that is so rich and so right. They may not have refined the fat delivery process as well as McDonald’s and KFC, but the Eastern Europeans have done a great job of packing as many fat molecules into a meal as humanly possible. My love affair with Eastern European food began on our first night in Bulgaria and continued until our final days in the Czech Republic. It was all rich, hearty and tasty, but my highest praise goes to the food we ate in Ukraine and Poland. It is no surprise that the coldest places we went had the richest foods. I guess one sheds a lot of calories shivering through the frigid, long winters. I didn’t have a winter to spend shivering with the Ukranians and Poles but after a couple weeks, I did have a little more to grab around the midsection as a result of their perogies and kielbasas.
I have always liked perogies. We don’t get many chances to eat them at home and when we do, I think health conscious cooks have tried to use olive oil or other less “bad” fats when serving them to Americans. Already a fan, I was shocked at how much better they tasted in their homelands. In Lviv we bumped into a Ukranian who grew up in New Jersey and he turned us on to a fantastic down home cafeteria where I ate perogies stuffed with chicken, pork, cabbage and my favorite– sour cherries. These were all served straight out of a pool of butter. At least I think it was butter. It could have been lard. I wouldn’t know, since lard is not a taste I’ve developed. I know I have seen it, but I don’t remember tasting it. It is usually in a little corner of the dairy section in your local supermarket. I have always thought It is nice for our supermarket managers to stock lard for our different first generation immigrants. Anyone in America long enough gets re-educated with the virtue of mono-saturates and vegetable oils. This time the education was mine.

At the end of a rich and delicious meal full of pork, cabbage, chicken, and various dark breads, I dipped into desert, my sour cherry perogies. These butter or lard-rich little morsels were covered with big crystals of sugar and a spoonful of sour cream. Each bite contained the richness of the various fats, the sweetness of the sugar, and the tartness of the cherries and became a transcendental experience. Of course each bite was followed by another and another, and too soon the first serving was gone. I quickly excused myself and ordered a second. It too disappeared before I noticed. If Anne would have allowed me a third, I would have ordered it right there. As it was, I had to get the family back to the hotel. We did stop by McDonald’s to get the kids their 20 cent ice cream cones.

As soon as we hit the room, I convinced the big boys to go to a Powersoft shooting range, which was close to the restaurant with the glorious perogies. They jumped at the chance to shoot things, and I had a great cover for getting back into that neighborhood. After wowing them both with my marksmanship, I asked if they wanted to go down the street for dessert. Both said, “No.” Well, too bad for them. Our family is not a democracy. Back to the restaurant they went and after bribing them with the promise of another ice cream on the way home, they sat and were good company while I ate servings number thee and four. My biggest regret was that this was our last day in Ukraine. We were on a 6am train the next morning and it was not going to be possible for me to pick up some little cherry fat balls for the train.

I decided not to try to replicate the cherry perogies in Poland. It just didn’t feel right. I settled on lamb and mint perogies with a dessert of rhubarb perogies. They were good, but my culinary sensors had already turned towards sausages and I could no longer be satisfied with perogies, no matter how good. I knew this was the home of kielbasa. It was the only Polish food I could name prior to arriving in the country, which raises an important point: we need more Polish restrauants in the US. I have only been to one Polish restaurant in my life, a little sausage shop in Cohoes, New York, and that was the day before Anne and I got married. But I digress. I will get back to kielbasa.

Kielbasa is a wonderful sausage I gained a taste for when we visited Anne’s cousin Tammy in Indiana. It was an earlier time in my life when getting fat was not an option. It was summer and I was struggling to put on weight before the football season started. During a visit to the land of Anne’s Swiss forebears, Berne, Indiana, our car broke down. While we waited at Tammy’s house for the replacement part to make its way from San Diego (finding a Japanese part in a small Midwestern town), I had my first kielbasa, though in Berne they call it Swiss sausage. Tammy cooked it simply in a boiling pot with potatoes. It was a hearty and delicious dish and I think I scared her with how much I ate.

Since that time I have always loved the Polish national sausage. However, much like the perogies, I was not ready for how much better and how varied the selection of sausages would be in Poland. The Poles treat sausage the way the Africans treat jerky. It is available everywhere. As we walked through the mall, a nice young lady came up to me with a collection of dried sausages in paper cups. The family was far ahead of me on their way to the food court. I stopped for a second and tasted each one. I tried to have her tell me the differences but her English and my Polish were about the same– non existent. I didn’t let my complete ignorance of the types of sausage get in my way and at every chance, I ordered a kielbasa or other local sausage. Fortunately for my blood pressure, we only had three days in Poland and I was soon in the Czech Republic missing both the sausages and the perogies. I am still missing them and will make finding Atlanta’s Polish and Ukranian restaurants (if they exist) one of my first tasks when I get home.

Technorati Tags: Family travel, food, Kielbasa, Perogies, Poland, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW, Ukraine

Krakow, arguably one of the most beautiful cities in Europe (probably the most beautiful in Eastern Europe) has a rich history and a vibrant population. Our mere three days there were not enough to make a real analysis of the city, but we did manage to get some feel of what Krakow was like. Throughout history Krakow has been through a lot, whether it be a Tartar invasion, a Nazi extermination, or a Soviet occupation, Krakow has seen it all. When we would walk down the streets we could hardly help but think of the people who had inhabited it during the various time periods. Looking at buildings that were once the homes of hundreds when the ghettos were established, or the famous tower where the lone trumpeter warned his countrymen of the coming Tartars, you couldn’t help but feel like you were walking amongst living history. It’s truly an incredible place.

We were dropped into this place fresh out of an unpleasant ten hour Ukrainian train ride which covered about twenty miles. We hopped off the train and were put into a place that seemed almost like home. A mall! No, not a crappy second or third tier Indian or Thai mall, a real mall. Better than the ones at home. It was huge, had some amazing ice cream, and was actually connected to the train and bus station. Here we replenished our tired selves with some Subway and ice cream. When we finally exited the mall, we had no idea where we were going and rain clouds loomed overhead. We went to a tourist information office and hid from the now torrential rain fall and gusts. We got some information and talked to a local city guide who gave us some hints for dealing with taxi drivers (he referred to them as ‘f—ers’—not sure where he picked up his English!). The woman at the desk told us that we should go on the tram. The thunderstorm had passed and the sun was shining, so we followed her instructions and crossed the street to the tram stop. We boarded but soon found things were harder than they seemed. All the trams were being re-routed thanks to a visit from the Ukrainian president who had followed our lead and gone to Poland (though he probably hadn’t taken the 10 km/hr train). A friendly guy fresh from the pub tried to help us, but it seemed with the road closures no tram could get us to the Sheraton. We finally got there by walking after a prolonged detour of tram rides that took us exactly one block from where we had started.

When we arrived we found the security a little tight with metal detectors and baggage screening machines at the entrance. We soon found out that the Polish president had come in from Warsaw to meet his Ukranian colleague and was staying in the same hotel as us. It seems both presidents were following our lead (I’m sure they’re avid readers of sixintheworld.com). We further observed that the entire parking lot was blocked off so it could be patrolled by fifty secret service agents. There was one posted outside the room next to us as well. We weren’t sure who was inside, but it felt a little creepy having our movements so closely monitored.

When we finally left the Sheraton to go and see what Krakow had to offer we were amazed. As we walked down the streets, we felt as if we going back in time. There was no better place to start than the city square. Here we listened to some local accordion players, watched second (or maybe third) rate break dancers, and let the little kids watch some puppet shows. There was also some sort of concert going on. It seemed to be traditional music but we never hung around that side of the square long enough to find out. We sat in the square for what must have been hours, soaking up the sunshine and watching the crowds. Everywhere we looked the people were smiling and happy, a big difference from some other Eastern European countries we traveled to. In fact, Poland seemed more like western Europe than eastern. While some of the old Soviet bloc countries have retained an almost entirely foreign atmosphere, Poland has jumped right into a western European mindset. One cab driver reminded us this is because the country had been part of western Europe for centuries and a member of the Eastern bloc for only 60.

We continued our adventure around Krakow by going into the old Jewish ghetto. At the advent of World War II, Jews had inhabited the area known as Kazimierz for over 500 years. They had been forced out of Krakow in the 15th century and built a thriving community just outside the city walls. The Nazis forced all of Kazimierz’s Jews into another ghetto across the river and killed them in the concentration camp portrayed in Schindler’s List. This place was very saddening. Every building seemed to tell its own story of how hard life was during the occupation, of all the bloodshed and horror that had happened around it. (We also went to Auschwitz, the main death camp during the occupation, but that is another post.)

While we were walking down these streets, we noticed a huge crowd gathered around a small street. We made our way over and found out it was a Catholic procession honoring Krakow’s patron saint, Stanislas. This is in the old Jewish ghetto mind you. It was fun to see how excited the people got about their religious leaders, who walked by waving in their robes, but it was also strange to think that the original inhabitants lost their lives because of their faith. This experience sums up how we feel about Krakow: it is a city that bears the scars of the past but that looks positively towards the future.

Technorati Tags: Family travel, Krakow, Poland, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW

Over the past nine months we have seen some of the world’s greatest natural wonders and experienced many of humankind’s greatest accomplishments. Sites like the Great Wall of China, Angkor Wat, the Taj Mahal, and the Hagia Sophia have filled us with wonder and reminded us that man possesses awesome power to shape his environment. These structures, though unique in purpose (and built at great human cost), are an expression of our common quest for comfort, inspiration, and safety.

Last week we decided to visit a site of an entirely different nature, a place that represents not the heights the human spirit can reach but the depths. This place was one that none of us really wanted to see, but one Tom and I felt we had to. In 1940 outside the town of Oswiecim in southern Poland, occupying German forces took over an old army barracks and converted it into a camp for political prisoners and other enemies of the state. The facility came to be known as Auschwitz, a later nearby extension as Birkenau. It was here that the Nazis murdered more than one million people–Jews, gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Catholic priests, Polish dissidents, and anyone who supported them.
A visit to Auschwitz is painful, however, people come here not to hurt but to heal. Somehow standing along the wall where thousands were lined up and shot, in the chambers where they were poisoned, and in the barracks where they were housed like animals makes their suffering real. It makes something unfathomable fathomable, something distant close.

The entrance to the site warns that it is not recommended for children under 14. Since three of our six fall into this category, this made our visit complicated. The 14+ members of our group wanted to immerse ourselves in the “museum,” yet we knew we had to carefully cater our visit around the needs of our three youngest members. As we entered the facility, passing under the infamous “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign, we explained that terrible things had happened in this place 65-70 years ago. We didn’t dwell on details but reminded the kids that they should try their hardest to be quiet and reverent out of respect for the many people that had died here. Their job was to sit on the steps outside the various buildings and draw in their notebooks or play with bugs as we took turns cycling through the displays inside. After a bumpy start (it’s hard to remember to be quiet no matter where they are), Kieran and Asher became happily engrossed in their artwork and thankfully had little awareness of the gravity of their setting. At 12, McKane understood the importance of the place, was humbled by it, and did his best to keep the little ones occupied.

What we saw inside the buildings was disturbing, but we expected that. After visits to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC and the Hiroshima Museum in Japan, we were prepared to be shocked and saddened. Thousands upon thousands of shoes, eyeglasses, suitcases, and locks of hair pleaded from behind the glass cases for us to remember their owners–mothers, sisters, grandfathers, uncles, friends no different than our own. Cans of poison gas pellets reminded us of the cold, calculated manner in which most were slain. Typewritten reports documenting the daily, weekly, and monthly tallies of victims attested to the businesslike efficiency with which the Nazi crimes were carried out.

We spent at least two hours wandering the various displays, gathering leaves and rocks, and pondering the solemn setting. As we made our way back to the visitors’ center it began to rain. We wondered whether we should take the shuttle bus to Birkenau only 3 kilometers away but decided we had seen and felt enough for one day.

It is often said that we need places like Auschwitz so we won’t repeat the mistakes of the past, in this case so we won’t allow genocide to occur again. I’d like to think that we’ve learned from the Holocaust, but I’m not so sure. As we’ve traveled, we’ve seen evidence of similar human calamities that much of the world does not remember or simply chooses to forget. Tens of millions died at the hands of Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot, but their countries were hidden from Western view and beyond our accountability. More recently, ethnic cleansings in Rwanda and Kosovo unfolded while the rest of the world sat back and watched in denial and disbelief. Today world leaders bicker over how to handle the crisis in Darfur, while every day hundreds perish at the hands of marauding warlords. Millions in the Congo live in constant fear of the violent militias that roam the countryside but somehow they are not our concern.

I certainly don’t hold the answers to the world’s great problems, but I do know that we can never rest on the laurels of history. If we are expecting genocide to come only at the hands of someone who looks or sounds like Hitler, or its victims to be only people who look or sound like the Jews, then we will likely miss our opportunity to prevent it. I left this somber, difficult place knowing that we must continuously work to teach our children the value of human life–all human life. The way we can honor those who died here is to actively defend the rights and safety not just of those we know or with whom we share a common heritage but also of those we’ve never met or might not yet understand. Only then can we feel we’ve done our part. Only then will we have learned the lesson of Auschwitz.

Technorati Tags: Auschwitz, Birkenau, Family travel, Holocaust, Krakow, Poland, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW

Once a year we set aside a day to honor or at least cook for our wives and mothers. On the road we have a way of losing track of our holidays. We remembered our birthdays because we discussed which country we where we were going to be in for each one before we left. Other holidays, even big ones like Christmas, seem to sneak up on us. We sometimes miss them or get confused as to their actual dates. For example, we almost celebrated St. Patrick’s Day on three different days because we never could figure out which day of the week the 17th fell on. We missed Valentine’s Day and Presidents’ Day and almost missed Mother’s Day. A luckily timed call to one of McKane’s friends tipped us off. (We don’t know if they celebrate Mothers’ Day in Eastern Europe. We wouldn’t know if they did because we can’t understand any of the billboards.) With our belated discovery we were ill prepared to create a special day for Anne. We would like to think that every day is special for Anne but in reality, every day is hard work. She keeps the kids from hurting each other and takes care of many of our needs and logistics. The best we could do was get take a walk around the town and try to keep the complaining and sparring to a minimum. We were moderately successful but owe her a better Mothers’ Day next year when life is back to normal.

The best part of our Mother’s Day came while we were hanging out in the old town square here in Krakow. Anne, Dax and I sat while the other kids climbed statues and watched different street performers. We talked about the trip, our imminent return, and decided we needed to do something for our grandmothers at home. We were too late to send them anything, so we decided to take a special picture for them. Grandma Judy and Grandma Lorelie, this is a shot for you. We aren’t the best acrobats, but we did our best to spell out the H, M, and D in Happy Mothers’ Day.

HAPPY MOTHERS’ DAY from all 6 of us (from some of us twice–neat trick, eh?). We couldn’t have embarked on this adventure without your love, support, and many years of selfless devotion. We wish you were here with us in Poland, but since you can’t be, we’ll stick to silly stunts and plan on celebrating once we get home.

(Extra credit to those who can find two Ashers.)

Technorati Tags: Holidays, Mother’s Day, Poland, Kracow