Poland

When I told people I was moving to Spain, the reactions were varied, but the tone was normally quite positive, even if they didn't know much about it. "Wow. Spain. Don't they speak Spanish there?" When I told people I was moving to Poland, the reactions were almost uniform. "Huh . . . Poland . . . Poland . . . What's in Poland?"

It was a fair question. When I went to Spain, I did have a few expectations, mainly gathered from pop culture, Madonna songs, and fotos of bull fights that could have been taken in Mexico, for all I knew. When I came to Poland, on the other hand, I came with a largely blank slate. I had no idea what to expect. I would have been equally non-nonplussed to encounter fat grandmas laboring in fields with scythes all day or to encounter a society of fully modern gleaming vices and devices. One friend of mine stated his lack of reference particularly finely -- When he attempted to think of Poland, he said, all the images were in black and white.

As it turns out, there is a reason for that. Primarily, because through a good part of the year, Poland is black and white. Or, more correctly, grayscale. I realised some months ago, as I was walking to work, that at certain points on the road, I could take a picture in black and white, hold it up to reality, and have to look very closely to see where the two differed. If I took a foto of what I can see out the window right now, the only color you would see is the roof of a house, and the puke yellow of my balcony railing, neither of which are much in the way of cheery color. Everything else, the buildings in the distance, the trees, and the sky (Oh, the sky is the most depressing of all!) are a blah grey. Even the birds are black.

But really, it is the sky that does it. The sky is the color of unrepentant malaise, of depression wallowing so listlessly it can't even cry. Occasionally it works itself up to get a light ice-blue tinge about the gills, before lapsing back once more into its leaden sop state.

Whether the chicken followed the egg, or vice-versa, I do not know. But whether the Poles sense of aesthetic has been influenced by their sky, or their sky reflects the color of their architecture, I cannot say. But what can be said with surety is that while a Spanish woman will deck herself out in garish colors before she heads out into the city, which is itself composed of buildings with cobalt blue domes, pointless murals around the top, odd architectural details all over, and color leaking out of odd corners, the average Polish person dresses in grey. Or black. Or, if they are feeling particularly adventurous, beige or white. This complements the buildings, which are, with a few exceptions, typically a grimy concrete grey, with no adornment whatsoever.

I am exaggerating slightly. If I change my position at the window, I can see 3 buildings of color. But even then, you can perceive a strange note amidst the color combinations, as though the lack of experience with colors results in designers (or whoever painted that shopping mall) missing a key element of perspective in color combinations.

I used to wonder why my students were so anxious to see snow on the ground. I couldn't comprehend why we would wish to have our toes colder than they are now, and wet to boot. But now I think it is because when the snow comes, it covers the grey sidewalks, the black roads and the barren trees with a white that reflects the ambient light back into the sky and makes it bright outside. I still hate snow, but am beginning to see why they speak of it with such love.

But spring is coming. And in spring and summer this area sprouts a vivid green, the air is warm, and the hills are vibrant with life. I can hardly wait.