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Somewhere along the lines of my mixed ancestry my mother claims that we are Polish. I'm not too animated about that fact after a short visit to Poland, but I barely gave Poland the chance. Maybe next time Pooland, (thank you, Piotr, for your wonderful phrase) maybe when you look less like a scene from an apocalyptic movie, and maybe when you have temperatures higher than my freezer, I will love you like all the other cities in Europe.
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| Reader, you must admit: This scene isn't going to mend a broken heart. |
Signing into Poland, I was the in-love, ready-to-take-on-the-city, and ready-to-down-my-vodka with some strangers and hot men. I swear, there is something in me that is always on the prowl for hot men. On the day of my arrival, my boyfriend's girlfriend (yes, you read it correctly) facebooked* me and told me in the nicest way possible "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU KEEP ON POSTING ON MY STEFFEN'S --THE BOY I HAVE BEEN DATING FOR A YEAR-- WALL???!!!!!" Please reader, notice the emphasis that I portrayed when I capped** the ENTIRE sentence and added a stupid amount of punctuation reflecting how her message bulldozed me. Being the sweetheart german girl she probably is (and whose father recently passed), it probably took her a lot of courage to contact me. Me. Amanda. Amanda-- as in the "other woman" -- who was just contacted by the "real woman" that my two-month-romantic-german-fling actually loves. Oh, I forgot to say that he realized that he "really love[s] her a lot" about three hours after the Arschloch is caught double dipping. JesusBuddahAllahYahwehLuciferAllBeingsOfDecisionsAndFate what have I done and let happen? And how the hell am I suppose to compete with a girl whose father just died?! God.
So naturally, Poland was to blame.
Well, who else was to blame?
Me, who believed that he was studying and working on posters at school on Friday and Saturday night.
Me, who saw the pictures of his girlfriend on his phone but believed in a second when he said it was his ex-girlfriend. (Oh, and why wasn't he taking pictures of me?)
Me, who have not met any of his friends, but he has met every single person who means anything to me Switzerland.
Me, who was always forced to eat around 8pm because he really had to study late that night
Me, who paid for every meal he was too poor as a student to go out to eat but since I asked he will go.
Nah, no way. I couldn't have been that dumb, must be Poopland's fault.
In a sense, I think Poland was trying to show me the worst of itself as if to say, "Look I feel even shittier than you! So get over it. Oh wait! Let me rain on your head, splash mud on your boots, and make you smell like wet dog. " Also during my expeditions into the city center, the streets proved to be no eye candy. I mean, COM' ON Poland. If you want me to get over Steffen, at least throw me a bone and let me see some sexy men.
The open plaza of the Old Town Marketplace with its rinky-dink Christmas Market could not cheer me. In Berlin, Zürich, and Colmar, the Christmas Markets were booming with international tourists, colorful stands, and lingering smells of sausages and cheese. But here the little, wooden shacks held together a few nails sometimes holding cowering, cold people just didn't bring that Christmas cheer. The worst part is, I could not smell food anywhere! There is something about standing in the cold and getting a nice whiff of sweet Glühwein or a sizzling crepe that makes life more bearable in the arctic.
Thomas, a fellow French traveler, joined our group of two somewhere between me getting off the train at the city center and my fifth cigarette. He immediately judge Nats's choice of wanting Pizza Hut. French, couldn't expect less.
Thomas and I got our own personal tour of Old Town Warsaw from Nats. I was so surprised by the amount of history that girl and belt out about a building in 2 minutes, but a historian's daughter is after all a historian's daughter. While my mind was preoccupied about the cold and depression Natalia sang her way through history. But, in the end I know one fact about Warsaw: World War II fucked this city over. The end. More to come about the life and times of Amanda in Warsaw.
*Amanda's dictionary-- facebook- verb- to contact a person via post, comments, messages and whatever else way you can contact a person on facebook.
**Amanda's dictionary-- cap- verb- to capitalize words
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