Point for Discussion

 

It’s when travelling that you understand how ignorant you are.

I felt, for example, so foolish in Poland for not knowing their language.

I struggled to say thank you, and I still have no idea how to say “Please”.

Then there was all the history of Krakow of which I was completely oblivious.

Being in Krakow was like being in a parallel world. Familiar and weirdly unfamiliar at the same time.

I found the lack of language ability on my part to be such a barrier.

One of the guests smiled at me as we waited outside the church. Later this same person stood for a photograph together with the bride and groom. I was also asked to stand with them. This was a great honour as in Polish weddings family/guest photos are not taken; as usually, the bride and groom are photographed in scenic places alone.

In Krakow I had been passed by several brides and grooms on route with their photographer walking alone to various scenic spots for a dramatic photo opportunity: all a bit staged and contrived. The tram terminal seemed to be a particular favourite such venue with one of the Krakow photographers.

On the road to Żywiec we passed another already married couple being photographed on a dam wall.

However, as the wedding I was attending was aiming to combine both Polish and English traditions the groom had prevailed upon his photographer to take a few shots of family and guests.

The groom had already told me that he was determined to get a photograph of me. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. Now I am not at all photogenic, being 99% all teeth and 1% cock-eyed, and then to ruin most photos with my gargoyle presence, so I was surprised to be asked to join this small group.

“It’s because we don’t have a photograph of you,” the groom explained. “And also you are my godmother and this is Maria the bride’s godmother.”

Maria smiled at me following this introducing, and exclaimed over the similarity of our roles. And so we then posed for the photographer, who did not look at all happy with the figure standing next to the groom and who looked less than pleased that I wasn’t a tram or a vast expanse of dammed water.

Much later during the reception I went to sit with Maria. I wanted to just chat with her. I knew she didn’t understand English, and that didn’t matter to me. I wanted to just say something, anything. I wasn’t at all interested in being understood. It wasn’t important. I just wanted to use gesture and smiles and to chat. I was hoping that she would reply in Polish and that we could then companionably chatter to each other sitting side by side saying whatever came into out heads and not being understood at all.

Unluckily my presence flummoxed her. She was appalled by me suddenly sitting by her side and yabbering away in an incomprehensible language. She felt embarrassed that she couldn’t understand me. In alarm she filled up a glass with vodka, then raised her glass in a toast. She looked as if she’d be happiest after the toast was drunk if she could climb into the nearest hole to get away from this bizarre English woman that had suddenly attached herself to her side.

Polish weddings don’t end until the wee hours. And at five in the morning Maria finally got up to leave together with the rest of her group. She shook hands with all those who had by now also joined this table.

What was so special for me was the warm hug she gave me as we said our goodbyes. It was as if we were kindred spirits.

Maria was a far better godmother to the bride than I had ever been to the groom, for the couple had married in a Catholic church, and the groom had converted to Catholicism in order to do so.

However, the groom’s parents were not at all displeased by the outcome; for they had chosen me to be their son’s godmother even though they had known I was an atheist.

Perhaps atheists make the best godparents after all… discuss!

 

.