Life Worth Living

Crap on aeroplanes and easy fixes

Air travel has become more and more stressful. Airplanes are full and queues are growing. The cures are simple and easy but does anyone do them? Noooo.

1. The middle seat: you can't sleep, nobody wants to sit there, elbows in your side, back pain etc.

FIX: Put a pull up wall between each pair of seats that people can lean on. better yet, shape it so it has an arm rest. Now you can lean, get privacy, sleep and rest your arms avoiding back pain. No more elbow wrestling with the jerk next to you and no more frakkin newspapers in your face. Its pull up so it can be lowered in emergencies of course.

2. Security Queues. The insanity of queuing for an hour at security happens now.

FIX: make the exit part bigger and move peoples stuff quickly away so while they put on their shoe, belts, string vests, the next person can go through. Now have a special queue for INFREQUENT flyers. This is a queue for people who simply don't fly more than once or twice a year and don't know all the new rules. Put some helpers on this line and explain things to them BEFORE they reach the front. That way people who fly a lot don't get stuck in a queue with someone saying "I cant bring this bag of toiletries on board?" every five minutes.

3. Run, sweat, sweat, wait , wait , wait. You run for the plane knowing its 3 minutes ot boarding and arrive stressed, dripping in sweat and looking like you are about to have a heart attack.Then the plane is delayed 30 minutes.

FIX: Have screens at security announcing delays on planes. It will reduce stress at security, allow gentle strolls instead of mad dashes and keep people cool and happy.

4. Boarding takes too long.

FIX: Board by strict row number. A large board outside the boarding area where you take your position in the queue, next to the board, before boarding will mean people enter the plane in the right order (back to front). If you are out of position, you are sent back.

5. WE dont all eat/like cheese!

FIX: For goodness sake have alternatives for food - serving just cheese sandwiches (thank you LOT airlines) or serving ham sandwiches with cheesey bread (thank you LUFTHANSA) is just bad- even bloody crisps would do. They are light so no fuel worries. 

British in Poland

A quick entry today. If you are British and thinking of moving to Poland you would do well to have a look at British in Poland blog which is run by Ben Szymanski. Despite his second name Ben is a Brit who moved to Poland 3.5 years ago and found it hard to get useful information. Hence, he created this blog.

Oh and he interviewed me in a podcast so this is also shameless self promotion.

An Englishman in Poland: Finishing the first Year

Kasia was living with me in Wroclaw now and quite pregnant. The Rynek had become an oven in which to bake foreigners (I'll have mine well done please) so we decided to get a more normal flat and rented in the suburbs. Most people in Poland live in flats not houses. They are built quickly and with as few building materials as possible. We therefore quickly learned what sexual positions our neighbours preferred, what made them laugh on the TV and how loud they could belch, without ever having a cup of tea with them.

During the next six months we would visit doctors a lot. Medicine is big business in Poland. Everyone has a medical opinion and probably a box of something to cure you. The doctors have a fairly systematic approach. Shirt off - blood pressure check - advice to eat more garlic - 4 prescriptions - week off work. I'm almost certain that going into a Polish doctor with both legs in your hand, blood dripping on the floor, will result in being advised to take a week off and eat garlic. In fact with the number of crosses I've seen in Poland and the doctors constant advice to eat garlic, I'm beginning to worry...

They say some pregnant women lose the ability to make clear decisions. This can make driving hazardous and Kasia was no exception. She is the only person I know who when at KFC, took the sign "Drive Through" as an instruction. After repairing the car we decided I would have to drive from now on. It turned out driving on the right was no problem. I'd spent many months in the passenger seat and got used to the idea. However my work demanded that sometimes I drive between Wroclaw and Poznan or Zielona Gora. This means many kilometres on roads with one lane in each direction. Polish people can judge distances much better than us Brits and have no problems overtaking. Some of them even have the psychic ability to see round corners it seems and can easily overtake on bends.

On Polish roads you can find signs that say, in effect, "This bit of road is dangerous, 50 people have died here". They are known as Czarny Punkt - black points. Its a sober reminder that Polish roads and driving are dangerous. Which brings me to mushrooms.

Driving along fast roads, you will often see people sat at the side of the road with mushrooms for sale. Cars will go from 150Km/h to 0Km/h in about 25 metres in order to catch a mushroom bargain. In England, eating mushrooms bought from a stranger at the side of the road is an effective way to commit suicide. However, Poles know two things very well: mushrooms and bargains. The roadside mushroom is thus a part of life here and probably a contributing factor to dangerous driving.

Kasia was almost ready to give birth and I was away for work, flying this time. I decided on one trip to buy her flowers as a present after a long trip. In Wroclaw there is a truly wonderful little flower market in the Salt Square (Plac Solny).Its open 24 hours. I guess many men have a need to buy apology flowers at 4am on the way home after a night out. Anyway I bought a lovely ring of flowers and hopped back into my taxi. The taxi driver asked me who the flowers were for. I told him I'd been on a long trip and these were for my wife. He told me he was sorry. For what I couldn't say.

Arriving home I knocked on the door, Kasia opened it and I proudly presented the flowers. She looked at me and asked who they were for. The same look as the taxi driver in her eyes. I explained they were for her, a little deflated at her lack of gratitude. "But, I'm not dead" she said. You see one weekend every year, Poles flock to the graves. Everyone goes. Its utter chaos. Traffic jams for miles to place wreaths on the graves. The one day I had decided to buy flowers for my wife was that weekend and I had bought her the classic Polish Wreath for the dead. A week later, when the flowers were still in full bloom, a friend of ours, laughing at our story, pointed out the flowers were actually plastic too.

Kasia gave birth in November of the first year. It was rough. Zosia was the most ill child the hospital had seen survive they told us. She survived due to her own determination and also thanks to equipment bought by WOSP. WOSP is like red nose in England, but its run by one man:a saint if ever there was one. Each year he dedicates his life to raising as much money as possible to buy equipment for sick children. He is a human phenomenon and in 2010 alone raised 36 million zloty to buy hospital equipment. Zosia is alive thanks to this man, Jerzy Owsiak, and the generosity of Polish people - who adore children. Thank you.

The hospital was rudimentary. Kasia was rushed into the operating theatre and I was advised I was unwelcome. Left outside, worried, I was engaged by a painting hanging in the hallway. It was a picture of a man in a black cloak, carrying a scythe, with a sheeps skull for a head. Death I assume. Outside an operating theatre. In the waiting area. Death. I mean why not go the whole way and write "Abandon hope all ye who enter" above the doors?

After three hard weeks in the hospital mum and daughter came home. It would be a real family Christmas in Poland. I quickly assumed my role as father with exhausted mum and decorated the flat. Christmas dinner in Poland though was beyond me and so that duty fell to Kasia. The typical Christmas dinner in Poland involves Carp. For about a week before Christmas thousands of these poor creatures writhe over one another in huge tubs of water at Supermarkets. They are often bought live, taken home and kept in the bath tub until their glorious moment arrives. Turkeys in Poland meanwhile presumably are watching James Bond on TV and tucking into a Christmas helping of turkey feed. Carp is a bony fish. Conversation at Christmas lunch is an art - speak, spit, speak, spit, speak, spit, spit, spit.

So the first year passed. I was now used to life in Poland and after a year there were few surprises left. Its now six years later. Christmas this time was spent in Egypt and I had falafel and Turkey for Christmas lunch. Zosia and I swam for hours and Kasia read a Stanislaw Lem book about Pirx by the pool. In Poland I feel very comfortable, life is good.but the winters are still cold, cold, damn cold. I doubt I will leave Poland, unless its for a job or a warmer country. I'm proud to be one of the few who "went the other way" as the taxi drivers say.

An Englishman in Poland: The first 6 months

My first six months in Poland can be described thus: cold, cold, damn cold. Hot, damn hot, cold (shower).

It was -30 as I walked to work in Zielona Gora, a town in Poland where I'd found work. My English clothes were quickly upgraded for Polish conditions. I didn't know eyes could freeze. Speaking no Polish, shopping was an experience. Each night I would browse the local supermarket. I would skip the herring aisle - Poles can eat herring in very imaginative ways - and make for the fridge with semi-ready meals, chosing between something I didn't recognise or something else I didn't recognise.The girls at check-out would smile nicely, in the way you would smile at a pet monkey when he put a banana in his ear. Simply put, not many English people worked in Zielona Gora at that time.

Each weekend I would take a train for 5.5 hours to Warsaw. Polish trains in those days were an adventure. Still this train was largely empty and so sleeping in an empty carriage was possible. Half way through the journey the train would split into two halves. I only found this out by sleeping in the wrong half once. Trains in Poland were not as bad as people said though. They were always on time or within a few minutes, nothing like English trains whose arrival times are best described using a gaussian distribution curve with a long tail. Nontheless, you needed to be on your toes.

The beer sellers would come on at each station and offer cans of beer at much cheaper prices than the railway bar. Once a man came in my carriage as I was dozing and announced "lodowka" - fridge. It was snowing and I assumed he was cold, so I tried to explain he was welcome and we could turn the heating up (it worked in about 50% of trains). "Lodowka" he shouted. After one more attempt, angry as hell at my lack of response, he left calling me some colourful things. Apparently, he had said "zlotowka" - meaning in effect, "Spare some change?", and the ignorant foreigner had turned the heating up instead.

Soon though my days in Zielona Gora (roughly translated Green Mountain - it was flat as hell and as far as I could tell, white) were over and I moved to Wroclaw - a city in south west Poland. Wroclaw is the biggest village on earth. Its a safe friendly city with all the interesting stuff within one mile of the city centre square or Rynek as they call them here. Now heres the rule: you are a foreigner, you move to Wroclaw, you absolutely must live on the Rynek. We all do it. It seems like such a good idea at the time of course. However, the pubs do not close at 11PM here. The discos, under the pubs, begin around 11PM. I found a beautiful flat, 37m2 (property in Poland is only measure by square metres) right above the noisiest disco in town. Thump, thump, thump, thumity thump - oh thats Michael Jackson. Thumpity, thum-thump. Oh George Michael. After two weeks I finally slept.

The Rynek though was a fine place to be as temperature went from -30 to 30 plus almost overnight. Polish spring and Autumn are very short and winter switches to summer in a blink. 2003 was a year of extreme weather. In May by 8:45am, I was walking to work at 30 degrees. I had more cold showers that year than horny teenager. There was always something happening on the Rynek. From rock concerts to childrens day from Communist celebration marches (fake) to the Nazi party handing me a go home foreigner leaflet (real). It was the best summer of my life and often I would sit a whole evening outside at a cafeteria and watch the world go by in a very European style.

During those first five months, I had of course spent each weekend with Kasia. Since proposing in February of the first year (on top of the Palace of Culture in Warsaw), I had met all of Kasias relatives. If the first six months could be titled it would be "My Big Fat Polish Engagement". For an Englishman the extended Polish family can be overwhelming.

Lets start with kissing men: hairy men with a little too much vodka giving you the triple kiss on each cheek and a warm hug. Maybe two. Seriously, I haven't hugged some ex-girlfriends that close. Hmmm maybe that explains some things.

Ah yes, then there is the the ritual of vodka. Easter morning was spent at the Gradowskis - a sweet older couple with joy in their eyes and warmth in their hearts. It was 10am on Easter Sunday when they poured my first vodka. It was 10:05 when they poured the second. I don't remember leaving.

I learnt to wear good socks and skate. Most people in Poland insist on you taking your shoes off when you visit. Good socks are in order. However, be aware that until today polished wood is the preferred floor covering. This turns each visit into an ice skating performance. On one occassion, after a slip in the bathroom, I ended up with my face inches from the toilet bowl and my left foot in the cat litter tray. My advice: buy those socks with rubber tread on the bottom.

Then there is Polish mafia. Polish family mafia. Stefan is Kasias uncle and hes a big, big man, with a deep voice. He invited us for dinner in a restaurant one day, which was nice as we had little money in those days. Dinner was going pleasantly until Kasia left for the toilet. A chance to get to know one another as men I thought as Stefan leaned in conspiratorially. In a deep voice he said:

"If you hurt her, there will be nowhere you can hide".

I had a Hugh Grant moment and responded "Right, yes, right, absolutely... more water?"

He emphasised the point again, just in time for Kasia returning and the conversation went very civil again. It was a surreal moment. Stefan I should say now is really a bit of a teddy bear. Kasia tells me.

To be continued...

I am so Incredibly Lucky

Travelling should broaden the mind. In my case travelling has taught me how lucky I am...

• I am warm. Every day.
• Eating is a pleasure. I am never hungry.
• My water is clean, warm and flows from taps.
• My parents were good kind people.
• I was born in England, a very privilleged country, with a defacto language for global commmunication.
• I can afford luxuries like a PC and an LCD TV or a foreign holiday.
• I am allowed to move freely between countries, to say what I wish and communicate freely.
• My work place treats me kindly.
• I can afford medical care for my daughter. I can afford medicines when we need them.
• I did not have to work as a child and forego education.
• I have spare time and enough money.

And you?

A Trip to the Pyramids: 6 thousand years in 45 minutes.

You could be forgiven, on descending from your tourist bus, for thinking the ships of the desert should better be named sharks of the desert. You quickly develop the side-step: an ancient tourist move that enables moving around camels determined to block your path to the pyramids.

The side step isn't enough though to avoid the salesmen flanking the camels. These determined infantrymen have an arsenal of weapons at their disposal.

"Hi my friend, where you from?"

"No thankyou."

"Stone Pyramid for one pound."

"No, thankyou."

"Camel ride for free."

"No. Thankyou."

"Try saying yes."

"No - thank - you."

"Why are you so angry? You are on Holiday! Shake my hand." (Don't it will cost you money).

"No THANK - YOU!"

Then a t-shirt is thrust below your bag strap (inevitably weighed down with camera, water etc.). If you are quick it won't attach. If it does, be prepared for a battle.Oh and those Stone Egyptian pyramids aren't and also they don't cost one pound.

"Come here my friend, I show you how to take great photo."

"NO!"...."Thankyou".

"No thankyou", is your only defence. Said firmly and politely. For extra effect place your right hand on your heart, smile broadly and say "la, shukran" - no thankyou in Arabic. This is polite and respectful and in many cases cuts dead the salesman. In cases where it does not, no amount of politeness will work.

"You are very rude!"

Do not respond.

"Ach" and a wave of the arm as dismissal. You got through. The pyramids are yours.

There are a few to see, not just the largest Keops. Honestly though, one pyramid is very similar to another. They say that once, when you were allowed to climb to the top, it gave you a feel for the immense size of these ancient tombs but today, climbing is forbidden. For an extra payment you may go 5 or 6 stones high for a photograph but climbing further will quickly see you answering to the men with guns who guard the tombs. The problem is, from the ground, the size of the pyramids just does not register and a feeling of being underwhelmed develops.

Going under the pyramids is possible but was something our tour guide, our tourist agency and several visitors told us was not worth the effort. Our tour was 45 minutes and left us with too little time to find the entrance. I therefore can't comment. 

Of course everyone (I mean everyone) must take a picture of their finger on the top of the pyramid. False perspective seems endlessly fascinating for tourists to the pyramids.

The tour bus moves on to the sphinx. These days you can't get close - or at least we couldn't. Once again 45 minutes left us with little time to explore but in this case, as the only thing to explore was a narrow strip of rock we could not leave, it was enough.

So what did I learn from my time at the Pyramids:

1. Getting a photo with nobody but your family and a pyramid in it takes real work
2. The Sphinx has a huge bottom and tiny head
3. Dont go with a tour guide, go yourself, take time and explore
4. Its pronounced toot-an-hchchchchchchkaamen with as much phlegm as possible

The strangest thing is, I enjoyed it. It was worth getting up at 4am and flying to Cairo from my Sharm hotel. It was worth the diarrhea from the "luxury 5 star" buffet in a tent somewhere near a good restaurant on the Nile. It was worth spending the entire day with a tourist guide whose idea of entertainment was to tell people to shut up (really) when he speaks. It was worth the salesmen

Next time I'll book a hotel in Cairo and visit the pyramids myself. They are worth it. You just can't do it in 45 minutes.

p.s. Incase you are wondering, I tip heavily in Egypt, I buy stuff from markets and I enjoy bartering - I have nothing against people trying to make some money. Except when I have just 45 minutes to see 6 thousand years of history.