Sydney Harbour Bridge and Gdańsk Cranes

I am going to write about my first impressions after coming to Gdańsk. It is always emotionally confusing when I change the countries. I then ask myself a question - where I belong? When I come here I sometimes feel that this is the place I want to be. Why would I keep changing my mind about selling the Gdańsk place? I know that I should sell it and I go through the motions of preparing for it. I am not stopping it, but I am vacillating. I like to come to this apartment, I like its spaciousness and I like finding my things I left here the last year. They are like nice surprise presents.  I like some Polish ways, they are not my ways any more, but they are familiar and for a while they bring the past back.

When I arrived here one week ago and saw the cranes of the historic Gdańsk shipyard I felt warmth coming to my heart. I felt that I am home. When I come to Sydney and see the Harbour Bridge, I have exactly the same feeling. I feel that I have come back home. This is a very schizophrenic feeling. It confuses me.

Walking through the park this morning seeing the cranes so close I realized that there are similarities between the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Gdańsk Cranes. I did not like either of them at first. They seemed heavy and clumsy. In both cases they overpower the landscape. They did not seem to have anything elegant about them. The design? From a technical point of view maybe even brilliant, functional for sure, but beautiful? No! And then they grew on me and became a part of me. And I started to love them. When you love people and things they do not need to be objectively beautiful, if there is such a thing as an objective beauty. It is in the eye of the beholder. Now, I love them both. They do not seem to be clumsy and heavy. To my eye and heart they are powerful and strong. They are solid and reliable in their character. You can depend on them.

Come to think about it, the whole Gdansk is like that. Germanic in its style, of course. What else? The architecture of many objects is solid with some heaviness about it. The house I live in is like that as well. Walking, from the place I live, towards the Old Town of Gdansk, I see the heavy body of St. Mary’s Basilica, towering over the town. I like looking at it when walking towards it. It seems so distant, but in fact it is not all that far. When I come closer to it, it disappears from the skyline. The next time I see it is when I am almost next to it. Then it towers over me making me feel insignificant in comparison to the reason it was build all those ages ago. And it was built to the glory of the creator and the higher power. This is an intention behind building churches. I have written about the St Mary’s already, some time ago. http://acobserves.blogspot.com/2014/05/sightseeing-in-tricity.html

I think that I need to accept the fact that I can not choose between the countries and that my confusion is just a fact of life.

From Sydney to Gdansk

It has been my time to move for some time to the northern hemisphere. I have rather ambivalent approach to the fact that I move from one country to another like a yo-yo. To some it looks glamorous but to me it is what I just have to do. I even had a tendency to look at it negatively.  It was an unpleasant necessity. This year I have decided that I will take a different approach. I intend to enjoy my stay here, in Europe, from the day one. This means from today. This is the promise given to myself and I intend to keep it.

I am back to Gdansk, in the environment I know well. Not much has changed. Friends who stayed in the place added few towels to my possessions, at least temporarily; the grass in the garden is yellow rather than green, as I saw it last, but the rest seems to be as I left it. I am still taking stock. It is fun; I find things that I forgot about during the time I have been at home in Sydney. They are usually nice surprises. Except for one. I found a rotten fish in my defrosted freezer. My first chore was to dispose of the fish and clean the fridge very thoroughly. It has been a lot of airing in the kitchen but the smell sill lingers. I do not remember leaving the fish to rot; I did not turn the fridge off myself. It was my friend who was supposed to do it. And he did. I think I better leave the fish affair uninvestigated.   After all, it is a rotten business.

                               

The trip was long. It seems to be longer and longer every year as the layoffs are longer.   Strangely enough, I go through it better now than in the past. Knowing that it will take about 30 hours before I will breathe fresh air again, I resign myself to the fact. Arriving at the airport I step in into a travel bubble. For the next many hours things of my normal life will not require any action. I will be only reading, writing, watching films, eating and sleeping. Knowing that relaxes me. This time I was reading Knausgaard second book from the autobiographical series - My Struggle and an NLP book by Richard Bandler himself – Get the Life You Want. I watched three films – Cinderella, Focus and English Vinglish.

 It was so uncharacteristic of me to pick Cinderella to watch, a film  for children but I found it fun and I watched it with interest. One needs to feed the inner child sometimes.  The second film did not require a mental stretch either.  The film is about a con man played by Will Smith and his partner in crime, very pretty Margot Robbie. Interesting thing is that in both of the films, played two Australian actresses – Cate Blanchett as a wicket step mother and Margot Robbie as a skillful pocket thief. None of the actresses got particularly challenged by the roles but both looked fantastic.  

English Vinglish is an Indian film about a woman who is systematically put down by her well educated husband and her daughter because she can not speak English. As Shashi is clever and determined, while visiting her sister in New York, she goes to an English school. Learning the language fast and well in the span of four weeks she gains respect and admiration of her family and most importantly self-respect as well. It is a sweet, funny, uncomplicated film that makes one feel good. It was my definite favourite of the three.

Shashi and her international class

                                         

I traveled from Sydney with Singapore Airlines, absolutely fantastic. Later, I found out that it has been voted #2 in the world by passengers. Well deserved. Changing to Lufthansa was like swapping exclusive comfort and service for no fuss efficiency.

It has not been the first time I changed planes in Frankfurt. I knew that the distances between gates were exceptionally big. This time however I had technology to tell me more about it. My fitbit told me that during the day spent in the air and the Frankfurt airport I did 13,000 steps and walked 8.85 km!!! One can get fit in Frankfurt without leaving the airport. And I did not do any flaneuring at the airport, just walked the necessary distance.

The Sydney Harbour Bridge Walk

Bucket list is a little scary name for things we want to do before we kick it. The bucket, I mean. Coming to terms with the last exit or should I rather call it a passage, is one of the things still on my bucket list. But yesterday I walked the Sydney Harbour Bridge! Just the road level but still it has been on my list for a couple of years and doing it had some uplifting meaning to me.

Yesterday was the day for the bridge expedition. The weather was great! It is winter in Sydney now. Maybe not astronomically, but we keep things simple here. The first of June winter officially starts. I love this time of the year here. Most of the days are sunny and many are warm. Yesterday it was around 20 degrees. I rugged up nevertheless, just in case. It is winter after all. The first stage was a bus trip to Milsons Point. I had to change the bus at North Sydney and seeing the park was tempted to take a stroll there instead of the strenuous bridge walk which over the years of postponing it grew in my mind to a really giant event. This time however my decision was firm – bridge walk it is! Few minutes later I faced the steps leading to the bridge and resolutely mounted them prepared for the worst.

The determined me was in action. The walk started. I was excited and expectant of great impressions. The mood lasted about a minute and then suddenly it was a normal walk with passing people in good long weekend spirit who did not look tired at all. After few minutes I reached the first pylon. Hmm… nice, big but suddenly not that overwhelming.

In the next five minutes it was the middle of the bridge! I completed the walk in 15 minutes, 20 at the most.

I had mixed feelings. My expectations did not match the reality. Maybe I was a bit disappointed, a bit amused by my approach to unknown, a bit encouraged to do  things that I consider scary or dangerous? For a moment I even thought, the next time I’ll walk the top the bridge even with my fear of heights. Then I saw  the stairs up to the starting point of the walk. That put me off, at least for now. There are more challenging things like the top of the bridge walk that are a bit more in my area of ability and interest.

The next stage was a bit of flanauring through The Rocks, love the old convict place

 Next point of the day program was lunch and I deserved a little treat – prosecco and smoked salmon bruschetta. Just to reminisce Italy.

Walking through busy and noisy Circular Quay  I remembered the times when I worked there. Circular Quay was the office address and the place I walked every day for some years. This is perhaps another story.

I came back to my suburb by the ferry, one of my favourite ways to commute. Now, I could admire the bridge for the distance. Still monumental but a bit more familiar. Standing in the front of the boat, I loved the wind in my face. It reminded me of my favourite dog Argus when we traveled in the dingy. I was holding him in front of me and he had the best place in this theatre. He looked happy, proud of himself and above all distinguished. I still miss him.

From the Mosman ferry to my home it is quite a distance. It was when I was almost there my fitbit counting steps signaled my daily 10,000 steps made. And I thought that the bridge was going to give me 20,000 steps or more.

It was a great day! 

Woman in Gold

I seem to write my observations on almost all films that I see.  After having my travel advisor period I moved to a movie critic role. I wonder what next.

                                                  

Last week I saw Woman in Gold and my thoughts were  “I skip this one, this is  nothing special”. However after a couple of days some reflections and memories that linked with the film came to me in droves. The film is about many things and one of them is Vienna, town that has been close to my heart for many years. The old memories woke up and they were very beautiful moments I experienced in this elegant town. The film is responsible for  a Viennese revival in my  heart. For me it is good enough reason to write about Woman in Gold. To write about the film, the painting and also Mozart, Vienna and some of my story.

 

The film tells a real story, the story of Maria Altman reclaiming the family possessions taken by Nazis during the war and then appropriated by the Austrian government as national treasures. The biggest treasure of all is The Woman in Gold, a Klimt portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer an aunt of Maria Altman. It is a good story with a some sort of happy ending, the painting returns to its owner – Maria. As Maria Altman lived in California the painting landed up in the US in Neue Galerie in Manhattan and it is permanently on display there. Actually the story from the financial point of view is a really great success. The total realised value added up to over 300 million dollars.

Being born Polish and spending my early years in Poland I have seen many films based on the Second World War and human tragedies experienced during that time. By comparison Woman in Gold is a very mild version but moving nevertheless. The film intermixes contemporary times, dramatic scenes from Nazi’s Anschluss of Austria in 1938 with happy moments of the  Bloch-Bauer family.

My favourite scene is a very theatrical wedding of Maria when her future husband Fritz Altman,  an opera singer, sings a Mozart aria luring her into saying yes. How could she refuse? The music was great and the intentions of the young man so romantic. She says YES and the scenes of the wedding reception follow. The family dances a happy, energetic Jewish dance. The dancing scene is repeated few times through the film but each time comes across to the viewers in a different emotional intensity and content. From happy and joyous to bringing premonition of tragic, cruel times ahead.  Music greatly helps to passing the messages.

Vienna was my first Western city to visit and it was on a business trip. How glamorous! Putting the business aspect of the trip aside, there is a lot to remember from more personal perspective. 

Going to the Vienna Opera so see Don Giovanni was like being a part of a fairy tale.  The grand theatre with all its sparkle, glass of champagne in my hand, elegant ladies in ball gowns around me. It was quite an experience for a young inexperienced woman from the Eastern Block.

I was also invited to the Sacher Hotel Caffee for a Vienna coffee and Sachertorte. Apparently when in Vienna one is supposed to do that.

                                                 

While chocolate cakes were not my favourite at that time, it was a beautiful experience to be remembered mainly due to the  special company was keeping.

                                          

Walking through elegant streets of Vienna like Mariahilfer Strasse was also quite an experience. Passersby were absolutely elegant. Ladies  exquisitely groomed in their wide brim hats, wearing gloves at any weather. I wonder if this is still the way these days? Helen Mirren playing older Maria portraits one of such elegant ladies from Vienna. Nothing much Californian about her. Her posture, her simple and elegant outfits, her dignity mixed with chutzpah are fabulous. To me it is a quintessential Viennese  elegance. Or at least this is how I imagine it should be.

                                                       

One of the major characters of the film is  Randol Schoenberg, played by Ryan Reynolds, a young lawyer who helps Maria Altman to reclaim the family possessions. Randol Schoenberg  is also a blogger and he writes about the film and about the real events related to the film events  in his blog  http://schoenblog.com/?p=581. I found it very interesting. This is not particularly relevant to the story but he is a grandson of Arnold Schoenberg composer and painter contemporary to Herman Hesse.

More on disciplinarian fathers

While I was writing my previous post about disciplinary fathers, I realised duality of my memories. There was a father who I felt threatened by and who dampened my mood when he was home and there was another father who taught me to ride a motorbike. Teaching me such a boyish skill did not seem to be connected to tenderness and perhaps it was not. But there was definitely love there. And lots of it. I may have not realised it then but I so clearly see it now. This is why I want to continue reflecting on the subject of a very complex relationship with disciplinarian fathers. In the generation of my father there were so many of them, later on it was almost expected from men to be softer with their children. Slowly, in many countries leading by Scandinavia, fathers were expected to play active and important role in taking care of children. My father, though, was brought up differently. He was most of all a man, his father role was not that pronounced and did not include understanding, caressing, playing with his children. He was supposed to be a man who had to provide for his family and be respected by children. There was no place for warm and fuzzy. His catholic upbringing also had something to do with his understanding of his responsibilities towards the family. 

During my childhood I observed events and I gave them meaning. The only meaning I was able to give with my very limited experience and lack of understanding of life. I saw my father as a hard man, short tempered, rash, dangerous and cold. This is the impression he made on me. Now, that I think about it, I realise that his self-image required certain behaviours, that seemed hard to me.  That self-image was a product of his upbringing. I was not able to see through the barriers he was surrounded by. I believe that deep down there was a softy somewhere but he was not able and not allowed to show it. It must have been hard on him.

I cannot be sure but I believe that relationships father-son are much more complex that it was in my case. I observed some man competing with their fathers. They had to prove that they were better, stronger, more or at least equally successful. I observed a son wrestling with his much older father who had a small chance to win. The son was a really nice and sensitive person but in this situation there was no mercy for his father’s ego. He had too much to prove to himself to notice that the conquest was uneven.

I was tempted to write more on the subject father-son relationships and about impact successful fathers have on life of their sons. I gave up on that though. It is too complex a subject and requires more though. Maybe some other time? I am tempted...

In any case it was cathartic for me to think and write about my feeling towards my father. I am so grateful for what he gave me, even if he hurt me as well.