Hail yonder pirates. We shall now BLOG UNCHRONOGICALLY, and take you back to the magical world of Torun.
You remember when you were young, and Mom told you if that if you ate too many sweets you would get a tummyache, but how you would eat like 2 boxes of oreos and a milkshake and still shit like a champion? Yeah, well, it finally came true - Mom wasn't lying. It happened. We ate so much of one food in Torun that we got sick.
What was this magic food? Is it Tuna Noodle Casserole?
Good guess, but no. OK, but what about Tuna Noodle Casserole prepared in a beer pitcher?
Mmm, mayonaissse. But again, you're wrong. Well, what was it that finally managed to rock our digestive system to its acidy core?
KOPERNIK GINGERBREAD FROM TORUN, POLAND. Mike touches the black monolith of ginger death.
No, we're not drunk. Well, we are, but only on the godhead force of chocolate cream gingerbread. Further on the food tip, they make bacon flavored cheetos here. You'd think they would be awful, but in reality they're wholly terrible. And I couldn't stop eating them. This is me after I finished the bag.
Facing the grim cityscape of dark Torun. It's actually all medieval and cute, but this pic takes you behind the eyes of some serial killer. Or something dumb like that.
More Torun. Mike and Copernicus, who was born there and discovered planets or something.
Spot the satellite dish on the Medieval rampart. I wonder if the Teutonic Knights had NBA Season pass, too. I wonder what NBA team the Teutonic Knights would root for. These are the important questions Michael and I discuss during our travels. Check the ramparts.
Remember how those 80's high school movies how people would put underwear and a bra on the statue outside the school of the school's namesake, and Dean Vader or whoever would get in a huff and immediately blame Corey Haim or one of those adorable rapscallions? Well, who cares, but Mike was hungry.
This is something here: in Poland, the first of November is Saint's Day, unlike in America where the only thing we know about it is that it's after Halloween and something about dead people. They do it hardcore - most of the town closes, people go home, and cemetaries grow haloes from candles placed on the graves of dead loved ones. Turn up your monitor contrast, if you haven't already.
The next morning the cemetary is littered with flowers, and the busses are redirected away from the cemetary-only routes back to their regular paths.
And on the dead ancestor topic, I made a daytrip to Golub-Dobryzn (sans camera), about 25 km from Torun, to see the hometown of our great grandpa. I tried to finagle with the archives to find old documents but they were in Torun and retrieval of anything is pending. Golub-Dobryzn, what a town. The Jewish cemetary is gone - now a cement factory - as is the synagogue. Nice place, though. It's basically the Polish Kenilworth, NJ. Industrial, a good place to live, but it has a castle! Take that, American Kenilworth. All you have are guidos, and Rt. 22's White Castle is in Union. Suckerrrzzzzz.
Props to Iza, our awesome couchsurfing host.
She was studying stuff at the school - cool stuff I'm sure - and she demanded we drink with her, which we did. And then we ate chips and all was pleasant. Chips and vodka. The Middle East needs to learn this.
Her roommate's bedroom, where we slept, had pictures of naked women and trains. Somewhere a Freudian is pondering. I just farted.
STEPHEN MOTHERFUCKING SHERMAN.