Mai pen rai!

Say good-bye to the winter in Poland

joannas — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 03:44:00 GMT

'Drowning of Marzanna' is an old Polish tradition, performed at the beginning of Spring. (If you are just reaching for your phone to call Amnesty International, stop just right there.) Marzanna doesn't feel, doesn't speak or see. She is a doll made of hay, wood and scraps of materials. As a symbol of passing winter she is set on fire and thrown to a river, so she can take the Winter with her and carry it to the sea.

When I was a child we used to spend a whole day at school making Marzanna. Some of us were responsible for hands, others for legs, head and hair. Our effigy was always colourful, decorated with flowers and ribbons. The ritual of burning and drowning of Marzanna was done during a field trip to the nearest canal. There was something wonderful about the whole march through the town. People were cheering and some joined us in our celebrations.

In today's Poland only very small children drown their Marzannas. That's why I didn't refuse when my sister invited me to Poznan to take part in 'Marzanna funeral procession'. I haven't done it for 20 odd years and the idea of feeling like a child again was very tempting.

The day was organised by Cafe Glosna, which is a new art cafe in the city centre. Here you can have a nice coffee or something stronger, buy books and some hand made accessories. The owners organise very unusual workshops and lectures, where you can learn how to carry your baby in a shawl or find out more about Eskimos.

We met on Saturday in the Cafe with the others involved. A colourful small crowd gathered around tables to make rattles. They used plastic bottles, dry beans and colourful paper. Everyone was welcome, so mothers came with their children who, fascinated, cut paper, painted cans and made a lot of noise.

The skeleton for Marzanna had been prepared in advance and a few girls attached legs, hands and head. Our doll wasn't pretty (Marzannas usually aren't), but she smiled sweetly and seemed happy she was finally going away.

The day was beautiful. Sun was shining , warming us all with its beautiful rays. The streets looked tidier and people happier. Even more so when they saw our small procession.

At the head of it a few people carried our Marzanna, followed by a Balkan orchestra (not originally from Balkan, but played beautiful music from the region) and, finally, two guys dressed as zombies carried a very sad snowman. Everyone who attended the workshop in the Cafe had their rattles with them and made one huge noise. Suddenly, there were hundreds of us. People came out of their houses and shops and many followed us to the Warta River.

Children were the most curious and fascinated by it all.

Poor Marzanna was set on fire at the River and thrown in to its depths to accompaniment of cheers, shouts and rattles.

The day finished with a nice picnic and then a short after party in Cafe Glosna.

Now, when I'm sitting in my flat in London, I'm looking outside my window and admire the geourgous sunshine, I am even more sure that the Winter is gone. It has disappear in Warta River and moved out with Marzanna. I just hope they won't come back too soon.

Don't stop me now!

joannas — Thu, 8 Mar 2012 05:23:00 GMT

'No, you cannot do it! It's irrational! Absolutely crazy!What will people say?!'

That's my mum screaming at me from the other side of Europe. I've just told her that I'm planning to go away for 3 months next year and travel through South East Asia.

We finish the conversation and I hang up, thinking that maybe she's right, maybe I am crazy. Isn't it time for morgage and kids and all other grown-up stuff?

You see, most Polish women are obidient wives who clean, cook and never ever travel without their husbands. They think it is wrong to leave men behind and go away for their own pleasure. Some, like my mum, are convinced that the distance can spoil their relationship.

And here I am, ruining the order of this world and being a disgrace to my family.

My whole life I've wanted to travel, but I thought it impossible. There was always something: no money, school, busy job...Now I think that maybe I was scared and these were just excuses or I wasn't determined enough.

Last month I went for my first ever backpacking trip to Thailand. In my whole 30 year old life I'd never felt so free and full of life like then. I thought I could do anything. It was like an awakening.

Now I want more. The planned trip is next year and I feel like I want to pack my bag today and set off. My job seems too boring, my clothes too heavy and thick, my stomach too bloated, and my daily commute too uneventful.

As to my husband: well, he doesn't have a choice. I either go now and come back as a happy, fulfilled wife, or stay and become another miserable Londoner.

Photos: Me

joannas — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 23:47:00 GMT

My Scholarship entry - Seeing the world through other eyes

joannas — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 23:44:00 GMT

The smell of gasoline hits me hard, yet I am mesmerised. Before me a group of very small but well built Thai boys perform fire tricks I haven’t seen before in my life. Their tattooed bodies glisten in the dark and move to the music. It is a truly sensual experience....

I am in Haad Rin, on Thai island called Ko Phangan. This is the place to come if you really want to let your hair down and party until dawn.
I’ve been coming to the beach every night for the last couple of days not only to watch the spectacle, but also to meet people.

I don’t know if this is a bucket of alcohol I’ve just had or too much sun during the day, but I’m deciding to learn some fire tricks. I simply ask one of the guys about it. Without saying anything he handles me two chains with tennis balls attached and shows me how to move so they swirl around me. This seems easier than I thought.
The next night my new skills allow me to have a small conversation with one of the ‘perfomers’. They are all 30. They work for a local bar for food, accommodation and small cash. It’s a simple life but they seem happy.

I’m enjoying their company.

They show me some new tricks they learned the other day. One of them burns himself quite badly, but all he does is smile. ‘Mai pen rai’ he says to me, ‘It’s nothing’.

If you go to Thailand this is the expression you will hear very often. It reflects the Thai way of life, their attitude towards problems. You lost your bus ticket? You failed your exam? You’ve just stepped into a huge cow poo? ‘Mai pen rai!’ Life is too beautiful to be worried about insignificant things.

My thoughts stop for a few seconds: I imagine my desk on the other side of the world, overloaded with papers; my emails probably blocked by now with hundreds of messages, which need responding; my stressed out boss. In a few days I will have to go back there and face the everyday life. ‘Mai pen rai’, I say to myself quietly, and suddenly I feel a hundred times better.