Poland in Colour

by Victoria Evans (New Zealand)

Making a local connection Poland

Another hot, balmy day was drawing to a close in Wroclaw, Poland. I had spent the majority of it admiring the city’s candy coloured buildings as I drifted from attraction to attraction. Compared to the uniform grey, black, white, and brown houses of New Zealand, the bright shades of minty green, fuchsia, and creamy orange, with their Baroque-style flourishes and ornaments was an abrupt change in scenery for me. I had just wandered back to the city centre from viewing the epic Panorama of Raclawice, when I settled at the foot of the City Hall steps. The air was heavy and humid and seemed to be filtered through a hazy golden light that added to the magical atmosphere of the city, but could easily have been explained by the scorching heat wave that had enveloped Poland and the rest of Europe during the summer of 2018. In front of me a crowd grew by the minute and the theatrical yells of a performer broke through the evening’s peace. Despite my tired feet, my curiosity had been piqued, and I gently wove amongst the people to spot the main attraction. Standing at the centre of the crowd, was a man whose arms move in wide flourishes as he held up a pack of cards as part of a magic trick. I am instantly disappointed – I have never been enraptured by card tricks – and my attention quickly drifts. I let my eye lazily circle the ring of people surrounding the performer, until I settle on him. He was slowly walking away from the performer – and closer to me – undoubtedly understanding every word of the unfamiliar Polish that the performer yelled out, not that I knew that yet. To the unknowing eye, he wore the outfit of the prototypical tourist. Shorts and a grey T-shirt to combat the sweltering day, a cap, sunglasses, and slung over his shoulders was the humble backpack. Nevertheless, once he had completed his orbit towards me, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “do you have any idea what they are saying?” To my surprise, he immediately launches into a smooth translation of the Polish performer’s routine, sparing a chuckle for the moments that he outsmarted the audience. When the crowd started to disperse, he looked down at me, and asked “Are you hungry? Do you want to go get something to eat with me?” As we walked through the cobbled streets, I admired how the fading light illuminates the buildings and threw the street arches into relief. Every now and then, I catch a glimmer of bronze from the hundreds of tiny bronze dwarves that were scattered throughout Wroclaw’s centre. He took me to a hole-in-the-wall Polish milk bar. I watched as he ordered the traditional Polish pierogi – generous doughy packages of moreish cheese and potato – not envying him the task as the elderly Polish woman does not appear to speak a word of English. As we talk, he is surprisingly open with me, and goes on to tell me tales of hiking in the Polish mountains with his friends, how he had moved to the Netherlands, but what stays with me is his reply to my repeated marvelling over the colour and brightness found not just in Wroclaw, but all of Poland. He nods his head slowly as he turns to look out at the buildings outside. He explains that Wroclaw did not always look like this. That when he was a child, he remembered the city was cold and grey, or at least felt like it, after the long years of Nazi occupation, Allied bombings that basically turned the entire city to rubble, and USSR control. As he speaks, I start to see Wroclaw in a new light. The bright streets are slowly bleached of their colour, seafoam blue and vivid tangerine turn to ashy grey and back again. I start to see the brilliant colours and ornamentations as declarations of strength and individuality, as efforts to reclaim the city’s storied and regal beauty once again. My attention returns to him when he accedes “But you are right, it is beautiful. It will always be my home. I can’t imagine a place more beautiful”.