Poznan, Poland

Here I was waiting in my beautiful hotel lobby, just off the busy historic square of Poznan, Poland, a city I had never heard of only weeks before, to meet father/daughter Jozan and Karina. When my boss had suggested that I visit Poland after my conference in Russia, I was excited. It was one of those places I had never really thought to visit before. The original plan was only to go to Warsaw since it housed the main Polish agencies in the language travel industry but a few days later he passed by my office and mentioned that I should go to Poznan as well. Poznan, sure, no problem. I quickly google it to find a small city about 2 hours directly west of Warsaw by train.

As much as I “loved” my work, I was always pretty quick to leave the office at 5pm sharp to take a deep big breath of the fresh air of freedom (or as fresh as the air can be in Florida) and resume what I call ‘real life’, my life. Out of the stuffy office clothes and away from the blinding computer screen that I stared at all day long. But for some reason on this one particular evening I happened to be caught finishing a project and I still hadn’t managed to leave when the phone rang around 5:30pm. Since I was the only one still around, I went ahead and answered it reluctantly and at the end of the line was a very proper sounding gentleman inquiring about information for our high school summer language program. Sure, I start rattling off with generic answers that had become monotonous in my sales speeches about what our school offered, blah blah blah. Finally I ask him, “And where are you calling from?” and my jaw dropped as he answered, “Poznan, Poland” What?! I had only heard of this place maybe 3 hours before!

So, low and behold, about 4 weeks later I’m here, waiting for my fated meeting with Jozan and his 15 year old daughter to discuss the possibility of her studying with our school in the upcoming summer months. Jozan had suggested the hotel that I was staying at. It was old, with classic dark wood floors and paneling. The bedroom had heavy linens, sturdy furniture and beautiful drapes with the view of the main square peaking behind. It was in these moments that I would do a quick “Thank you work!” for letting me stay in such luxurious places.

Finally, a few minutes late, the two wiry figures appeared, a definite father/daughter combo and they whisked me off for a city tour, a brief history of their town and then to a cute café nearby for dinner. We chatted the whole time, a very respectable neurologist and his modest teenage daughter. At the dinner table I told them how after my few days in Warsaw that I quickly learned not to say with a large smile, “Oh, I just been in Moscow!” as it was met with hostile looks of suspicion. I knew there had been wars and occupation but I didn’t really know the extent of it all.

Jozan, a kind man, slowly gave way to a few family stories. He described how his grandfather had been in the hospital in Poznan, recovering from a wound, when they gave word that the Russians were coming. He quickly hopped out of his bed and through a bottom floor window to wait in the safety of some nearby bushes. Everyone was taken that evening and shipped off to Soviet concentration camps in Siberia where they most likely died but he was spared. Wow. From there he spoke a bit about the soviet occupation in Poland, the Russian block housing that sprung up everywhere and the food rations they received; never seeing butter or jam until late in his life.

I asked why he sent his daughter to so many language programs? At 15 she had already spent summers in France, Spain and England. And his answer to that is why I write this little story today. He said, “Because knowledge is something that no one can ever take away from you.”