Vodka - Not Just Spirit, But Spiritual

When you go to a party at someone's house in Poland, you take presents: flowers for the wife, and vodka for the husband. The wife will probably drop a little curtsey as you hand her the flowers, and the husband smile beatifically, kiss the bottle, and chortle. The Poles are mostly naturally ceremonious and civilised, regardless of class.

The first party I went to in Poland was in someone's flat - I forget whose - and followed what I was later to learn was the usual pattern, excellent food and what then seemed a staggering quantity of vodka.

After about 2 or 3 hours, and half a litre, I went out on to the balcony to cool off. The other men all followed me, leaving the ladies to make coffee.

A young man asked me, "Do you love God, Chris?"

Before I had time to reply, he continued, "I don't. He's too big to love. But I love Jesus, and Our Pope (John Paul), and the Saints, of course."

In England, this would have been an extraordinary conversational gambit at a party of "professional people", and in very bad taste. The miscreant would have been starved of further invitations. In Poland, as the vodka flows, that's how people talk, about God, history, politics, poetry.

Vodka is not just spirituous, it's spiritual.

An Ode of Appreciation, Adulation even, to be sung at the monthly full-moon Bonfires in the Forest, Elblag, Poland.

I have wriiten a melody for this, and shall post it later, when I know how. The second syllable of the name of the Polish city Elbląg is pronounced somewhere between "blong" and "blonk"



In Poland there’s a town
Of beauty and renown,
And Elbląg is the name of that fair city.
Where they eat and drink and sing
When the owl is on the wing
Where the full moon and the trees are very pretty
In the forest
Where the full moon and the trees are very pretty.

And there Wictor and his crew
And Lech and Jurek too
And anyone who’s anyone in Elbląg
Pack their sausages and guitars
And drink beneath the stars
And round a bonfire in the forest have a sing-song
And some moonshine
Sometimes Autumn, sometimes Winter, sometimes Spring song.

O Heaven to be there
In the dark and frosty air
Among the happy Citizens of Elbląg!
To laugh and drink and sing
When the bat is on the wing
And roast sausages and philosophise all night long
(Well, till ten-thirty)
And philosophise and roast sausages all night long!

So I raise my glass tonight
Beneath the cold moonlight
To absent friends and present, sober, plastered.
And I thank you, people dear,
And I promise, that next year
I shall sing to you in Polish, when I’ve mastered
Your beautiful language.
Będe spiewal po polsku, when I’m plastered.