This blog name and design now seems inappropriate, given the temperatures and gloom we’re in now. But the principle behind it still stands, and I’m going to see it through.
Three months in Italy saw us cover enough of the country, and we got out hours before we officially would have become over-stayers. A two hour flight saw us head north, into lands where autumn has well and truly arrived. Where autumn is equivalent to a cold Wellington winter. Where two people, after acclimatising to the heat of the Middle East and an Italian summer, shiver in their lightweight but easy-to-pack jackets, wear layer upon layer, and make plans to buy hats and scarves as soon as they can. Where nine degree highs are a sharp contrast to the 20 degree evenings that made at least one of us shiver back in beautiful Monopoli.
Here we are in the ancestral lands of The Husband, the land where at least one of his great grandparents decided to leave and take a chance on the other side of the world. Here we are, in a land where it is a little easier to blend in, until we open our mouths, that is. Here we are in a land to which I have only ever paid cursory attention, even given its role in two of the major world events of the 20th century (and that I studied in one of my majors). Here we are in a country that kicked off a revolution, and gave birth to a major religious leader.
Here we are in Poland. For a couple of weeks, at least.