The faces have gone white after the surprise of immigration in Oslo and the brick red of Copenhagen is even fiercer contrasted with the faded stone that welcomed us to Warsaw. The old city, brick and battered, could be the one of centuries ago, but was built after the last so called World War.
Across the bridge, where we were told not to go, a football stadium boasted a stand full of weeds and plants, and a market rolling around its circumference offering everything from razors to throwing stars, old soviet toys, hats and innumerable rip off products. Maybe the most amazing thing was that in the rows of nasty kebab and sausage stands, once you got over the look of the package, there was an old lady in each, washing, peeling and cutting fresh ingredients for the fire.
Warsaw is somehow sweet, hard and sad. Everything is waiting to happen. It appears to have been this way for generations. The past and future both seem to weigh in heavy on a present both stalled and accelerating. I sensed some confusion. Not identity crisis in that pompous sociologist manner. It may not even be a crisis. But anyway, I had to try the pierogies, which can sort of chameleon into any type of food. They could be like a calzone or a meat pie or something sweet: blueberries and sour cream. You can have them fried, from the oven or boiled, which ups the price and brings in some salad. I tried the ones with green peas, bacon and cheese. Nicely.
The Alfredo spent the whole time crashed at a camping site. At 7am there were lines for the shower. Or so I heard. The bear lost its stuffing at the BBQ, manned once more by Marco and Tobias took me away from the bus for a taste of 5 Star Living without cash, straight from the Garry Maidment book of “5 Star Living without cash” (still unpublished in case anybody is interested).
The group’s work continues to change. The painting at the Frontline store went grey and yellow, dipped and curled and the combinations people are getting into, shit, it’s almost illustrative sex it works so well. If you check the images, the faces of the crew at work may say as much about these shades and interactions as any explanation.
The second painting was at a club called the Plan B and there was an epic mood. There was also lots of vodka, which might have contributed to this. But to be fair, even before before and before that too, all the people around were friendly and warm and able to laugh at the mess of Big Geezers running around. Why is this day different from any other day? Why do the women seem to get more lovely at every stop?
The painting at Plan B started off with a splattered chaos; earthy hues, an explosion of browns and the owner of the place was wondering if he’d have to paint it white within the next two days. Apparently he wasn’t stoked. By the end of the night, he was talking about it like it was a new found love. Flash. All these words are background.
Like in Oslo, by the time we got on the bus there was a crowd of people waiting to say good-bye. To be straight, things went so fast that I only realized how many folks were there when the bus started to pull away.
Big thanks to Pavel and Alexandra for all their warmth.
Here we come Budapest.
Read the Big Geezers Tour Diary Part 1: Copenhagen
Read the Big Geezers Tour Diary Part 2: Oslo
Read the Big Geezers Tour Diary Part 4: Budapest
Read the Big Geezers Tour Diary Part 5: Vienna
Read the Big Geezers Tour Diary Part 6: Bratislava
Fotos: Landry A.
Words: Harlan Levey