I had not realized the essential breadth of my family until this trip.  It seems as if, throughout my whole immigrant life, I have been riffling through the random pages of a book instead of being able to read the whole story; I knew from pictures, phone calls and stories who my family was but never really had the luck to have them all together at once, all to myself. We have had family members stay with us on extended vacations, but its not the same. I am talking about the irrevocable holiday gatherings, a promixity that allows weekend bbqs and that feeling of wholeness you get in your soul when you are surrounded by your own kin. I finally got to experience it all…it was so comforting and amazing that I wept behind my sunglasses the entire ride out of Poland. It hurt knowing how much I had missed out in order to live the life I lead in Canada - It hurt knowing I was as much of a distant relative to them as at times, their non-precense had made them to me. But sitting there, getting to know some and being re-acquainted with others and being surrounded by their inherent love for me, and mine for them, felt as good as it does to be tucked in at night (AND you can never be too old when it comes to being loved by gma’s delicious plethora of goodies). It’s amazing to see some of them so grown up, out-maturing and out-growing me, when I remember them being but toddlers. I also loved comparing my features with my aunt and cousin Marta (we are told, that we both, in our own way, ressemble our grandmother), to compare my momma and her sister (how they have similar voices, hands and lips) and to mentally pit my dad and his brother against eachother (I’m always trying to discern their various personality differences from their physical similarities). I also thouroughly enjoyed being as endearingly obnoxious and childish as I wanted to be to my grandparents - I do have 12 years of catching up to do. It’s surreal when upon the telling of a sick joke you discover that your perverse sense of humor is family-wide (I laughed my ass off in Poland thanks to my hilarious misadventures with my cousins Dennis and Marta) or when you begin to spend uninterrupted time together, observing all the similar personality quirks (ahem same frickin’ pit hole of an appetite). I got to visit my grandparents as many times as my week would permit so that I could squeeze in every hug, laugh and memory. I love them…they are so dear, my heart melts. I wish I could come every weekend and bug them and eat their food and watch tennis with my grampa. So I snapped away and gave them headaches with all the camera flashes because I desperately did not want to forget our moments. They are special and they are all mine. I have lived two lives - my North-American socialization and my Polish up-bringing at home. Bringing these seperate, yet overlapping parts, has been testing at times; Where do I fit? How do they co-exist? What is this embedded culture that runs in my veins? I learned on this trip, that my life extends beyond the confines of my Vancouver bubble. I have so much here I didn’t know was mine for the take. I really feel so happy and greatful and will come back to this memory for fulfillment when my love tank is exhausted. I love Poland and I love Vienna!  

My dad had one request, “please go to my mother’s resting place, buy her some flowers and don’t forget to call me”. So Marta, Dennis and I went to see Gramma. I remembered to call my dad and he got the chance to say a few words to his mom who passed some 19 years ago… I put the phone down and let them have a moment. She was apparently the most altruistic, selfless and affectionate human being so I am also glad I had the opportunity to share a few words with her in my own way. I feel like she is a presiding presence over my family, a beacon, whose good heart still lives in each one of us somehow.

(Marta, my long lost sister from another mister - glad I found you!) - 

(My mom’s parents - got gpa to pose for this one) 

There is no such thing as being hungry in Poland when you have a family like mine. IF you think Italian families force feed, you are sorely mistaken. I went to my gma’s for tea and ended up eating a jelly filled donut, a fruit tart, a cookie, half a chocolate bar AND she was offended that I asked her, no BEGGED her, not to make me lunch. My aunt’s cooking is also so damn good that even when there just isn’t any room you fucking find some and then you eat more and more. Anytime you start feeling the slightest bit unfull (I can’t even call it hungry) someone feeds you something and its delicious and indigenous to Poland, so you eat it. The problem is that now, I am used to eating like a fat cow and I am worried this habit of being incessantly well fed will folllow me home (which in reality isn’t much of a problem considering I cant cook shit all). Marta, Dennis and I (we were soldered to the hip for the entire week- the three cousin muskateers) went about the rigamorole way of eating; salty, sweet, sweet, salty, sweet, salty… we could.not.stop. But I suppose it’s also very much the culture; being hospitable, showing love by feeding family and guests and offering everything you have in your fridge. In a way, by tasting all the food I remember my mom cooking at home, I can trace back where it all came from and I can now have a matured appreciation for it. In fact, that is how I have developped my taste buds - loving the insatiable heartiness of potatoes, perogies, sausages and baked goods. You may not notice but most of my pictures are taken with food, after food and before food and this is why poland gets a food post. But I shouldnt feel like a beluga whale because I’m on vacation right? And when it’s abroad and someone else buys it for you it doesn’t count right? Right??? Sigh.

Side note, I came back with (and I am not over exagerating) 4 fucking kilos of CHOCOLATE that was given to me throughout my stay in krakow. My gramma says, “oh just eat it little by little every day”….UMMM no gramma I can eat that shit in a week. 

(Kiinnnda feeling guilty about the double whip…)

(Beer for the bloat I am working on)

(After we eat, the Kisielewski family likes to lay on the floor…I prefer the beached whale steeze)

(Me, Marta and Aunty - my pa’s sistaa - at our backyard family bbq)

( Family + Tokaj)

(My “diet” hangover ice cream…only three scoops still the size of my head)

Did I mention the drinking? My aunty owns a travelling business so she has wines from everywhere…so we dabbled with Spain, Greece, Hungary and Poland..we are equal wino opportunists. Also, throughout the Krakow stay, Marta continuously felt the need to test whether or not I actually have Polish blood in my veins so I had to prove it to her by taking some good ole Polska Wódka down the hatch:

(Aannnd again:)

(“Let’s go to the garage” became a catchphrase…aka how does France taste?)

I had barely gotten the chance to stretch out my sore tail bone and stiff back legs from the flight, when my uncle suggested we to Melk - a crossroad town 40 minutes west of Wien with a population of about 3 people (not actually, but pretty much), a river, a church, a few inns, a coffee haus and a massive Abbey. It’s also where I was born; we lived there prior to and just after my birth and I have only been back once some 12 years ago (and the memory is so non-existent, it almost isn’t mine anymore). So I was excited - with my head and arms hanging out the car window trying to the get every glimpse of the Benedicten “Stift” Abbey. When we were finally stationary, it seemed like all I was missing was a wienerschnitzel in a bread basket, two braids and The Sound of Music…It’s as if it had been taken out from a storybooky because it really is that beautiful.

(sad & tired goodbye)

(scared & a little bit of duckface)

I am not a seasoned flyer…I mean I have flown a lot but I still can feel every oscillation, dip, offset, seat belt sign and turbulence in my bones. So my goal was to sleep off my discomfort on the entire way over to VIenna. On the cross Atlantic flight, I was seated next to the cutest little old man on earth - the kind that wears a suit and tie on the plane for no reason. Because I had window seat, he had to get up to let me in and I honestly thought “well, I won’t be able to pee on the flight because he will break his legs trying to let me out”. Eventually, me and my old man friend start chatting (after I offered him my extra pretzels and some maynards candy) and I finally understood why I should stop being so effing aspergers when it come to striking up a conversation with strangers. First we spoke in English, and then when we got to know each other, we spoke in french. And goddamn is he ever rad - he’s been married to his wife for over 65 (she has alzeimers now so he has to travel alone), he speaks 6 languages… Most of which he’s acquired by living literally everywhere in the world as an economist for the United Nations. Have my deam life much? This great-gpa has lived about 150 lives. We shared both our meals together; I opened the sealed sauces and juices for him, we swapped undesired food items and had tea time. I won’t lie, it made me so excited to see my own gramps… this helped pass the time. I arrived in VIenna on time, fairly well rested and amazingly problem free - so problem free, I felt as though the universe was trying to baby me (I mean, I did have a cola explode all over me and later opened a pack of sugar thinking it was a wet nap and spilled it all over my pants and hands on the plane but those instances were just typical paulinaisms). As if by divine offering, my suitcase was actually the first one to come out on baggage claim (that cracked me up). I walked through the gates and I saw them - my dear uncle with his grown out hair and cousin who has gotten so tall. I was sick as a dog in the days prior, snotting everywhere, and had an exam weighing heavily on my mind, so much so I had no time to give the trip any forethought. So it wasn’t until then that I realized…I’m here.

“By relocating ourselves, reorienting ourselves, we shake loose the shackles of expectation. Adrift in a different place we give ourselves permission to be different people.” - Eric Weiner

First off, I am very aware that my plane ticket is not a one-way so I am not going to over-dramatize the spirit of this trip. I’m not going on a whim and a prayer, a heavy-ass backpack and 3$ in my pocket. I know when I’m coming back, I have a good idea of where I’ll be and formidably, who I’ll be in the company of (and my family is good shit). I am also not in the midst of an existential crisis that requires the eat, pray, love remedy of meditation, escapism and “finding myself”. I don’t expect anything but the inevitable - sheer joy and wide-eyed enthusiasm.

I do have some goals though… I want to stop being a fucking baby and find my way to the next gate during my transfer and learn how to not be an awkward sketch face around strangers (i.e. dude beside you on the plane with a life story to tell). I’m going to go to Europe, enjoy the hell out of my family and visit a bunch of old-ass castles (I’m totally on a Game of Thrones high). So that’s what you’ll read about here. I’m doing this because I don’t want this trip to be some fossilized memory…the spill over from a different lifetime. I want to pool all my new memories into this hub, this online scrapbook and share it with you. So join me! But I’m warning you…I’m totally beyond the stratosphere of my comfort zone on this lone journey so, bare with me.  

On Day 1, I will be zombie tired and hella emo. 

“travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind”

 -Seneca

Melk, Austria.

Best place on earth! Why? I was fucking born there! (you can eye roll on that one) In all seriousness, I’m looking forward to this visit the absolute most.