WARSAW— Another road trip, another white-knuckle, adrenaline-soaked adventure. Puzzled? Read on.
The other day, it suddenly struck me that it was a bit like the preamble to an ethnic joke—a Canadian, an American, and an African are on their way to a wedding in small town Poland.
Always quick to laugh at my own jokes, I snickered to myself as an expat pal of mine from Zambia, (alias) James, hopped into my car Saturday morning.
“Where to, sir?” I asked in my best faux-British accent. (Since I am Canadian and Canada remains part of the Commonwealth, I somehow feel entitled to put it on once in a while—tongue-in-cheek, of course). The moment seemed more than a touch surreal anyhow.
The three of us met five years ago at one of the top business schools in the country where we were all returning as mature university students. I chose business school to expand my horizons and get into business writing, James found academia to his liking and is teaching and working on his doctorate. Gary (also an alias) is a former soldier from South Carolina who came to Poland on the G.I. outplacement program, which is when the U.S. Army pays for a post-service college education.
The difference in cost of living between Poland and the United States means that a person can get a quality college education here at a comparative fraction of the price, and all in English, which is why Gary chose Poland to do a degree in finance. Gary is also the last one of us three to succumb to the charms of the locals and marry a Polish girl. The wedding was about to take place in her hometown.
“Here’s the address, driver!” James kept up the role-play and handed me a note. Our destination was a wedding chapel in a small town in southern Poland. James was going to be Gary’s best man and I was going to be on wedding picture detail.
As anybody who knows will tell you, the roads in Poland are famously bad and the driving culture is little better. Poland boasts the greatest number of road fatalities of any European Union country, and the running joke is that the safest way to get around Poland is in a tank. In fact, barely a week before the media was fixated on a terrible traffic accident, which claimed no less than 17 lives.
Apparently, when a (very) overcrowded van carrying the 17 seatbelt-less passengers crashed head on into a transport truck, it was executing a doozey of a driving maneuver that is all too common in this part of the world. “Na trzeciego” roughly translates as “third one in” and for someone who is used to obeying speed limits and other driving laws, it is a bit of a stretch to conceptualize; it’s basically when a third vehicle passes a second vehicle, which is in the process of passing another one. Oh, and it only counts if it’s done on a single-lane opposing traffic highway (which the vast majority of motorways in Poland are).
So, back to my joke—a Canadian, an American and an African bounce, weave, skid, screech, and honk their way across half of Poland for a small town wedding. When they arrive, the bride’s family, trying to get to know them a bit better asks, “So, what brought you all here, anyway?”
“A tank,” I (the Canadian) say, and actually manage not to be the first one to laugh for a change.
Friends Read Free