Ostrzeszow, Poland, September 25th, 2008. After a few days in Cracow and a day spent touring Auschwitz, Bartek and I drove to his hometown of Ostrzeszow, which he jokingly said was known as the informal capital of Poland.  Along the way we passed towns with names in Polish that in English translate to “Black Mustache,” “Boat,” “Cow Mountain,” and “Deer.”  I’m told that there are a trio of towns not far from here called “Teddy Bears,” “Cleans,” and “Rabbits.”

When we drove in, I chuckled upon seeing a cow by the side of the road grazing with no fence.  Bartek told me that if I wanted I could go to the market the following day to buy a cow or chickens or fruits and vegetables.

So, I went.

I plotted to buy a chicken and then set it free in the center of town with a sign around its neck reading “Lucky Chicken, Do Not Eat.”  Bartek told me how to say “I want to buy a chicken” in Polish, but I forgot almost immediately after getting out of the car.  It didn’t matter, I apparently had slept too late to buy any livestock or fowl, but if I wanted I could have bought a pair of cheap jeans or some candy.  Not easily defeated, I tried to buy one anyway.