It wouldn’t be the truth to say I’ve come here with no expectations, that I have no idea what I’m going to see, that I haven’t already built up the image of vast grassland and forest surrounding, that I haven’t made Poland in my head to be the gloomiest, most colorless place on earth. I would be lying if I said I haven’t taken all the black and white photos of a corrupted and destroyed Poland, with barbed wire and vast fields, endless dead leafless forests and crumbled, small houses, clumped together in small communities. I can’t help but visualize that nothing has changed, that they’ve kept everything the same, that some how, 60 years later, Post war, would be the exact same as pre and present WWII; the same clothes; the same uncertainty in their eyes; the same slightly hunched over posture. Everything I’ve imagined I’d see, will not include anything modern or futuristic, But even now I’m getting the feeling I’ve been slightly unfair in my judgment.
I already know the cities going to be nice. No country will ever not clean its self up after being war ridden 60 years prior. I feel slightly hungry now, but for the sake of this trip, I feel shouldn’t eat. I need to feel hungry; I need to wait for satiation, which I possibly might never feel.
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