The road beckons...

I had perhaps a few too many drinks that night. I drifted off to sleep, my head spinning, only to woken up by her an hour later...

I felt her hand on my chest, her forehead snuggle into my shoulder. Then she ran her leg up against mine and purred.

Yes. Agnes had had too much to drink that night too, and the look of wide eyed terror on my face meant that no matter what horrors might be waiting for me on the open road, it was time to go.


ps: Agnes insisted that I make it clear that she was unconscious while this happened, but I have no way of confirming that. believe what you will. you've all seen the way she looks at me.

Prague

Our trip to Prague. Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhh it was so cold. I apologize for the lack of spectacular photos, but you try walking around and taking pictures when it's -10.

Prague is spectacular. But even in the middle of January, there was no mistaking that this was a big tourist spot. Everything was in English, drunken foreigners littered the streets and bars. fuck the beaten path, it's overrated, crowded and expensive.


Beer cheese and sardines. While it looks like vomit, it was delicious and cheap.








Eastern European fashion. The cowprint, the horns and the even the plastic udders are excusable. It's the fanny pack that's wrong.

Huddling for warmth. We walked in this position the entire day in order to not die. While easy for Laurence, urination was difficult for me since I wasn't on the end and had no hands free. Someone had to hold it. Someone.















Two hours into our ice walk, Laurence suddenly asks if anyone has seen his testicles, but clearly Kim doesn't know. He never found them. We think it was the gypsies.























I have personally been to 'THE SHADOW' myself once while travelling in Middle Earth, and I'm telling you straight up, I wouldn't wish that upon any travel agent!

Foot Modelling 2005

Caption time!


A)













B)


















C)


















D)

Fact 3/15

"The guy behind you. I dare you to arm wrestle him."

He was a middle aged Polish businessman, wearing a tie, sporting a big thick Polish moustache, smoking tiny, slim cigarettes and drinking tiny glasses of beer. Two others in nice suits were also sitting at the table, obviously having some kind of informal business meeting with him.
My price for doing it, a kebab for my poor unemployed ass, and since I didn't have my camera, someone had to draw a live sketch of the match to remember it by.

I was sure that victory and the kebab were mine if I could only convince him to do it. I doubted it though, because these people seemed like they were in the midst of some serious business and arm wrestling some drunk goof probably didn't fit into the atmosphere of their evening. I approached and told them that I had a bet going that if I could beat someone at their table in an arm wrestle and I'd get a free beer. The two guys in suits instantly told me to go away and find someone else, but before I was able to walk away, the Moustache quietly raised his hand and sushed them. The alpha-stache wanted to speak.

His simple question,"Why us?"

What I didn't say: "Because you have a big, fat gay moustache, you're smoking cigarettes marketed for chubby 13 year old girls, you're wearing a dressshirt and tie, and I'm pretty sure you're drinking beer out a teacup."

What I did say: "Because you guys look like you're up to it."

His next question, "And what do I get if I win."

I fought my chuckle into submission and told him he'd get a beer.

He agreed and we sat down. Everyone around stopped what they were doing and began to watch the arm wrestle between the middle aged business man and the guy in a hoodie wearing a toque.

My arm hurt for three days and the doctors say the emotional scars will last a lifetime. Seeing certain kinds of brooms now triggers his memory and causes me to wet myself. He didn't just beat me, he humiliated me. At some point, he was letting me hold him an inch from the table while he lit up another slim cigarette and talked about profits and losses. Then he put the cigarette down, asked if I was ready, and slammed my hand into the table.
Then he did it all over again with my left arm.

Not only did he get a beer from me, but I'm convinced that after he crushed and humilitated me in front of the entire bar and his clients, he probably closed a million dollar deal.

What did I learn? That any man that smokes girl cigarettes proudly in public is a man to be reckoned with. This is a man with nothing to fear and who wants to show it. This was the Polish man named Sue.

Hubert

We met him on my birthday. Really drunk, I grabbed a random guy and brought him over to my friends and said, "Hey guys, this is my cousin, Jacek." Everyone started to greet him when he put up his hand and stopped them. "No. I Hubert." These simple words would mean so much to us. I also believe they are the only words he knows in the English language. "No. I Hubert."

For the rest of the night Hubert hung out with us. He didn't speak at all, I don't think he understood anything either, but he just sat there and nodded his head and smiled when we looked at him. It felt very natural and right.

The next day we were unsure whether we had imagined Hubert or whether he was real. We scanned the photos of my birthday and sure enough found the unmistakable buzz/bowl cut of our friend. We thought that Hubert had touched our life once and we'd never see him again. Until...

The Halloween party. Like some sort of gift from the pagan gods, the unmistakable haircut of Hubert shot past us and we called him over. He sat with us for the rest of the night, 3 hours. Again, not speaking a word of English and just smiling and nodding. I'm not sure what he was doing in that bar or whether he had any plans that night, but he was either really cool or really lonely.

We learned two things about him that night.
a) he's a builder
b) he's a chess champion

The rest remained shrouded in mystery.

And really, "I am a builder" doesn't mean much either, does it?

We got his phone number that night and I vowed to invite him to all good parties. Hubert would be our 'living furniture.' Every time there'd be a lull in the party, I'd look over and smile at Hubert and he'd smile back and we'd enjoy a moment that went beyond words and language. Plus, he really seemed to enjoy it too. It was a win-win situation for everybody.

Or was it?

So when we did the century club, I invited Hubert. He came, with a bag full of WARKA STRONG 7% beer and I thought maybe he didn't understand the game. But sure enough, he went well past 100 and it didn't phase him. Hubert plays by his own rules. But alas, this was the night we learned the third thing about Hubert. Yes, he was a builder. Yes, he was a chess champion. But it turns out he was also a champion of perversion. Stealthily, beyond the perception of any man present, Hubert would throw winks and kisses at all the girls and we were told that our living furniture, was in fact just that, a perverted love seat waiting for a girl to sit on his face. Hubert was officially banned from our lives by every girl we know.

This one goes out to you Hubert. Wherever you are.



HUBERT: Oct-Dec 2006. SIT AND NOD IN PEACE.


Hubert found using the latest computer technology. It wasn't just a dream.

-"No. I Hubert"



- "No. I Hubert."

















-"I love you Hubert! Smile for the camera."
-"No. I Hubert."

- "Get away from me Hubert!"
- "No. I Hubert."

Ready, Aim, Fired

Friday the 13th. Ominous.

I knew bad shit was going down. 2 months ago, our entire group of teachers in Wrocław had decided to refuse to go to Gliwice, a shithole city that our friend who had trained with us was forced to work in. He told the boss of the company after training that he wanted to return to Wroclaw or he'd quit. He wans't going to spend a year of his life in Poland's own answer to Brampton. He was reassured and promised a spot here in Wroclaw within a month. A month passed, with no spot for him. Two months of promises passed, and still no work in Wroclaw. One day, the former head teacher of his school told him the truth, that he was never going to be transferred and they were just lying to him in hopes he'd grow roots in Gliwice. Finally realizing that he was being lied to and screwed over, he quit his job one payday and moved here to find work. The boss, an angry, overly macho pig of a man was furious. His whole life, he was used to screwing people over and being screwed over himself didn't sit well with him. With a shortage of teachers now in shithole Gliwice all the teachers here in Wroclaw were asked to work there for a week one at a time to cover for our friend. As a group, we all refused on principle. The boss found this out while on one of his many skiing trips to Austria and was livid.

Then this week, signs became obvious that shit was going down. A new teacher suddenly showed up. Another to come in a month. Then I was told that I had a meeting with the owner of the school on Friday. Mysteriously, next week's schedule, always up on Wednesdays, was not to be seen. Was I fired? I thought so, but everyone told me I was paranoid. I know the crazy redneck owner of the company hated me and two months ago I remember he had vowed to fire people for ruining his skiing trip in Austra with the news that nobody was going to work in Gliwice.

I called the owner, asking if I was fired, and he refused to tell me. From this, I knew I was canned. This fucker had insulted me personally each time I'd met him, telling me 5 minutes after asking what my blue collar parents and family do, that anyone that works with their hands is a moron. When he fired the last teacher, he tore a strip out of her for half an hour, degraded her, and the suddenly told her she was finished and to pack her things. I promised myself that although he would fire me, he wouldn't get a chance to degrade me first.

We met, and right away I was told I was fired and for nonsense reasons. I knew I had nothing to lose, so I tore a strip out of him. I refused to speak in Polish, because I knew the owner spoke broken English and was ashamed of it. Every time he spoke English, I pretended I didn't understand him and asked his wife to explain. Midway through his sentences I yawned and asked him what his point was, because I wasn't intereseted. Then, at the end, I pulled out my camera and took a picture of me getting fired. "I'm getting paid in two days right? Ok, everyone smile, me getting fired, 2006" He was furious. He was even angrier when told him the first picture didn't turn out and I wanted one with just the two of us. He told me if he ever sees this picture I'm getting sued.

Yes. I took a picture of myself getting fired, and I took it to show all of you, and to ensure my boss lost sleep.

Good night to all, save him.


Photo #1. This was taken 5 minutes after them accusing me of not taking my job seriously and me heatedly denying it. What bullshit.

The head teacher is seen here with hands crossed praying to God to help him grow a spine.














The bosses wife. She's upset here because she knows she's going to get beaten tonight for this. Halfway through sex my goofy face will pop into the owner's head and she'll end up with a shiner and a sore bum.

He took my job. But my camera took his soul. If you're looking for a job teaching English in Poland ask to see the top of your bosses head. If it looks like this, it's him - find another school quick!

Me one hour and 3 beers after I got fired. At this point I called back to the school to ask Zbig if I could get a reference. Notice Mike doing his Zbig impression on the right.

******Well, it's now been 4 days since I was fired. I'm writing all of this from my uncle's place, full of sausage and Warka Strong beer. What do I think of it all? I'm upset, but my overwhelming feeling is that for once in my life, I didn't get bullied even if I was done wrong. The owner of this school talks to people like dirt, and probably has his whole life. When I picked up my paycheque today the head secretary said the boss was fuming, yelling "It's my face. How can he take my picture", the whole time. So for all the times that some big kid stole my cheetos in grade school, for all the times some huge gino cut Suzuka off, and for all the shitty bosses in this world, I have this memory to hold on to.

And what now? Well, I didn't come here to work like a dog and I remember that now. This job was boring, and I remember that too. I'm going to buy an interrail pass this week and take a train to Istanbul and stop everywhere along the way. And when I get back, I'll do whatever I want. I was scared to quit my job and leave my life to come here. But that was just the first step. Now I'm packing a bag and stepping on a train with no plan, a pocket full of money, and I'm going to Turkey to find out what kebabs really taste like. (they come from Turkey, right?)

New Years

60,000 people in the Rynek. 100,000 surrounding the Rynek. A crowd so full, and so Polish, that when I tried to push to the front I didn't get more than 10 feet before some babcia elbowed me in the gut. The view you see is from the window of my friend, who has an apartment right inside the Rynek. All night, we saw ourselves on television when the angle was right and after I get really drunk, we ended up throwing pickled herring (a Polish new years staple) at random people in the crowd who looked up in surprise and thanked god for the miracle of free fish. The lady in a huge fur coat, who got all the fish water left in the jar was particularly thankful.

Frozen Wrocław, aka Fro-Claw

The weather was very mild here for the last few weeks, around zero, with a lot of rain, then suddenly the temperature dropped to -15 and a gorgeous fog came over the city and the tree tops all froze. Here are some pictures.