Fast Train
I sit on a train headed to the town of Poznań. But I am not in a regular seat, rather in a little pull-out plastic stool that folds out from the walls of the train. This setting reminds me of the scene from the first Harry Potter movie where Harry, Ron, and Herminone are on their way to Hogwarts. After jumping into Platform Nine and Three Quarters to catch the train headed for Hogwarts, the three of them meet for the first time in their seating compartment. The little rooms with three seats facing each other on both sides and space overhead for luggage appear identical to the train I am on now, except the seats look more modern. Sliding doors painted a mint color separate the passenger compartments from the consequence seating for purchasing a ticket too late after all the seats are already full. But my seat is quite comfortable, surprisingly, and I also achieve the best view if I sit sideways where I view the passing fields of yellow flowers, wheat, villages, white birch tree forests, and farms firsthand. There is a chance I traveled on one of these fast trains with my parents fourteen years ago, when we lived in France for my father's sabbatical.
It takes two and a half hours to reach Poznań from Warsaw. We are visiting my step-grandmother for her 86th birthday dinner. She lives on the fifth floor in an apartment building without an elevator. For forty years, until this day, she climbs those five flights of stairs every time she returns from going out.
The final stop of this train is Berlin, Germany as it heads west. Most of the houses and apartments here look the same. Not only in Warsaw, but all over Poland. All made out of the same cement usually painted a pale shade of yellow. Houses have red or brown roofs. When I asked why all the houses and large apartment buildings look the same, made of cement or brick, my father answered that it was the cheapest and most efficient way to house people after the war. The materials are also not flammable, therefore, no one pays attention to fire alarm installations here.
A waiter in a flatly ironed dress shirt, black jeans, black dress shoes, and a maroon colored apron entered our train cart with a portable crate of coffee and tea's. This immediatley sparked an issue for those not in the passenger compartments, including myself and the woman sitting behind me scanning a Polish newspaper on a pull out seat identical to mine. She read both my father and I's minds as she remarked in Polish, "well, this is going to be a problem." But, somehow, we scootched past him and the beverage crate without any problem.
The passengers that I'm facing in the passenger compartment are two families. A mother, her one year old child, and the little one's grandmother sit on the left side. The mother and grandmother are both trying to feed the one year old rice cakes. Both of their attention has been focused on the child for the past hour of the ride as they attempt to force him to eat. The mother finally decides to breast feed the baby instead, cradling him or her in her arms. She appears at peace and relaxed with her silenced child as she blinks slowly looking out the window. On the right side, a blonde mother, stubbly faced father, and a little blonde boy first sit in comfort. Then, the boy becomes more and more restless as the train ride continues. He stands on the seat and studies his reflection for a few seconds, but then quickly lays down and starts kicking his father's arm-rest lightly while his head rests on his mother's lap as she struggles to hold him and gather tomatoes and lettuce from her bag filled to the top with containers and plastic bags at her feet. His dad seems busy on his MacBook Pro typing, scrolling, and putting his left hand to his mouth scratching his stubble while he thinks. The little boy finally sits up holding a plastic mixer for the coffee his parents were handed minutes ago by the train employee in his mouth. His father points to the screen and the little boy watches.
The mother has a distict polish face. Round with a pointed out nose and full lips. Light eyes and hair. She eats a tomato as if it is an apple biting into the side of it.
Then all of a sudden as I peak up from the iPad I write on to examine them again, the child begins to sob loudly. So loudly I can hear it vividly although their door remains closed. The father continues his work as if nothing is happening, but the mother reaches out and caresses her child's tear stained face to sooth him. The mother and child exchange a few words and finally seem to agree on something. The mother lays down with her feet and knees still together on the floor. The boy fits himself against the crevices of his mother's torso and places his tiny feet in matching ankle socks on her knees. His arms wrap around his mother's neck and she places her hand on his back, gently rubbing her fingers in circles. As the child falls asleep, she gets up from laying with him but continued to soothingly rub his back. The family regains peace.
The one year old on the other side makes his or her way to the older boy's father and props him or herself on the man's leg, staring at him intensely. The father speaks to the little one, but the little one just stands blankly observing him for a few seconds, then turns around to return to her grandmother.
Descibing the families in the passenger compartment rewards me with almost a thrilling feeling. An excitement. An elatedness. I am the opposite of bored. Instead, engaged and concentrated. The simplest way to descibe my feeling is: I feel good. It feels like I am making productive use of my time rather than wasting it.
I also remain amazed on how I am able to descibe these families in such a way that the story forms seamlessly without dialogue. Ever since landing in Poland, the phrase "actions speak louder than words" has become a reality that I must live by when I barely understand the complex language.
There is now only an hour left until we reach Poznań. I just gobbled up what supposedly is the best pączki in the world. Pączki is the polish version of a donut, but instead of having a hole in the middle, there is jam. Every jam imaginable may appear in between a fluffy pastry. This "best pączki in the world" seems to live up to it's label as it tasted particularly delicious with the topping of sugar-filled glaze and shavings of orange peels.
I remain excited for school. On this train ride I wanted to write about yesterday's experience of my informal orientation the American School of Warsaw, but I became focused on my train expirience instead. I will wait until Monday where I will have even more to share about my school as I will have attended the formal orientation. For now, I will enjoy my family and the ridiculous amount of traditional food that comes with visiting my grandmother in Poznań.
It takes two and a half hours to reach Poznań from Warsaw. We are visiting my step-grandmother for her 86th birthday dinner. She lives on the fifth floor in an apartment building without an elevator. For forty years, until this day, she climbs those five flights of stairs every time she returns from going out.
The final stop of this train is Berlin, Germany as it heads west. Most of the houses and apartments here look the same. Not only in Warsaw, but all over Poland. All made out of the same cement usually painted a pale shade of yellow. Houses have red or brown roofs. When I asked why all the houses and large apartment buildings look the same, made of cement or brick, my father answered that it was the cheapest and most efficient way to house people after the war. The materials are also not flammable, therefore, no one pays attention to fire alarm installations here.
A waiter in a flatly ironed dress shirt, black jeans, black dress shoes, and a maroon colored apron entered our train cart with a portable crate of coffee and tea's. This immediatley sparked an issue for those not in the passenger compartments, including myself and the woman sitting behind me scanning a Polish newspaper on a pull out seat identical to mine. She read both my father and I's minds as she remarked in Polish, "well, this is going to be a problem." But, somehow, we scootched past him and the beverage crate without any problem.
The passengers that I'm facing in the passenger compartment are two families. A mother, her one year old child, and the little one's grandmother sit on the left side. The mother and grandmother are both trying to feed the one year old rice cakes. Both of their attention has been focused on the child for the past hour of the ride as they attempt to force him to eat. The mother finally decides to breast feed the baby instead, cradling him or her in her arms. She appears at peace and relaxed with her silenced child as she blinks slowly looking out the window. On the right side, a blonde mother, stubbly faced father, and a little blonde boy first sit in comfort. Then, the boy becomes more and more restless as the train ride continues. He stands on the seat and studies his reflection for a few seconds, but then quickly lays down and starts kicking his father's arm-rest lightly while his head rests on his mother's lap as she struggles to hold him and gather tomatoes and lettuce from her bag filled to the top with containers and plastic bags at her feet. His dad seems busy on his MacBook Pro typing, scrolling, and putting his left hand to his mouth scratching his stubble while he thinks. The little boy finally sits up holding a plastic mixer for the coffee his parents were handed minutes ago by the train employee in his mouth. His father points to the screen and the little boy watches.
The mother has a distict polish face. Round with a pointed out nose and full lips. Light eyes and hair. She eats a tomato as if it is an apple biting into the side of it.
Then all of a sudden as I peak up from the iPad I write on to examine them again, the child begins to sob loudly. So loudly I can hear it vividly although their door remains closed. The father continues his work as if nothing is happening, but the mother reaches out and caresses her child's tear stained face to sooth him. The mother and child exchange a few words and finally seem to agree on something. The mother lays down with her feet and knees still together on the floor. The boy fits himself against the crevices of his mother's torso and places his tiny feet in matching ankle socks on her knees. His arms wrap around his mother's neck and she places her hand on his back, gently rubbing her fingers in circles. As the child falls asleep, she gets up from laying with him but continued to soothingly rub his back. The family regains peace.
The one year old on the other side makes his or her way to the older boy's father and props him or herself on the man's leg, staring at him intensely. The father speaks to the little one, but the little one just stands blankly observing him for a few seconds, then turns around to return to her grandmother.
Descibing the families in the passenger compartment rewards me with almost a thrilling feeling. An excitement. An elatedness. I am the opposite of bored. Instead, engaged and concentrated. The simplest way to descibe my feeling is: I feel good. It feels like I am making productive use of my time rather than wasting it.
I also remain amazed on how I am able to descibe these families in such a way that the story forms seamlessly without dialogue. Ever since landing in Poland, the phrase "actions speak louder than words" has become a reality that I must live by when I barely understand the complex language.
There is now only an hour left until we reach Poznań. I just gobbled up what supposedly is the best pączki in the world. Pączki is the polish version of a donut, but instead of having a hole in the middle, there is jam. Every jam imaginable may appear in between a fluffy pastry. This "best pączki in the world" seems to live up to it's label as it tasted particularly delicious with the topping of sugar-filled glaze and shavings of orange peels.
I remain excited for school. On this train ride I wanted to write about yesterday's experience of my informal orientation the American School of Warsaw, but I became focused on my train expirience instead. I will wait until Monday where I will have even more to share about my school as I will have attended the formal orientation. For now, I will enjoy my family and the ridiculous amount of traditional food that comes with visiting my grandmother in Poznań.
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