Postcard
I remembered this diary item when I heard the comment about how
helpful strangers are once they understand a traveler's quandary. The
city in question was to be my last stop in Poland after having driven
3500 km crisscrossing the northern half, whose history is
considerably distinct from the southern half, 1999.07.20, Finding my
way in Szczecin was an adventure in uncharted waters. I entered the
city by the street leading directly from the highway. When I realized
I was indeed in the heart of town I began asking for directions. It
was a comical enterprise. Most people thought I was trying to sell
something and walked by politely muttering "Thank you". I began
pointing to the name of the street on the folder the rental agency
had given me. The first three after that said they didn't know. One
man, the fourth, said I was just two blocks away. Although at the
next corner there was a triangular traffic divider, no left turn was
allowed. I therefore turned right. After all, turning back or going
around the block ought to be just about the same, right. Wrong! It
wasn't a square block and I found myself in another strange square
with no idea where the one now was that I should return to. I saw a
man standing on the street seemingly just whiling away the time, so I
parked behind him. When I got out of the car, he was no longer in
sight. I returned to my pantomime of pointing to the street name on
the folder to passerby. A lady came by and stopped but wouldn't even
look at the folder. I guessed she knew she would be unable to read it
and found my glasses and read it to her in my best Polish
pronunciation. She recognized the name but had to think how to get
there. Finally another lady joined us. Together they figured it out.
Their genial utterance was that it was only five minutes away. "Okay,
which way?" The two of them then began saying a great deal of which I
understood only a tiny fraction, which was that somewhere after a few
right turns I would see an obelisk. After leaving them I even did see
an obelisk, but the names didn't jibe. Not wishing to go farther
afield, I again stopped and proceeded with my pantomime.
One man, after saying thank you, turned back from about ten meters
away and came to me, apologizing for having misunderstood my
intentions. He tried hard to think of directions for me. He even
took my documents and went across the street to phone the rental
agency for directions. But before he got around to it another man
gave him full instructions. He then came back, actually got into the
car and began telling me 'lvov' and 'pravo' ('left' and 'right') and
'proshto' (straight ahead). We arrived exactly where the instructions
were supposed to take us, but that was a different rental agency. We
then went into it and asked. They helped indicate where my agency was
located and we went there. The man then paid the parking for me and
walked with me along the street to look for the agency, which was not
all that easy because there was no obvious, great big Hertz sign.
Rather there was a little hole in the wall the entrance to which was
thirty paces down the street. He stayed with me until I had spoken
with the people to be sure all was well this time. My insistence to
give him some money for a taxi back from where I had so brutally
abducted him, received only outright rejections. I had, after all,
taken him far away from where I had found him.
While we were engaged in all the right, left, straight business, he
asked me, "English". "Yes," I said, "Canadian". He managed to convey
that his sister has a son in Ontario. When I said I was from Quebec,
he asked the equivalent of, "They speak French there, don't they?"
"Yes," I said, "And English".
When he was sure I was in the right hands, he shook hands and left,
with me repeating several times "Gin cuye," which is Polish for
'thank you".
Victor
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