Early June, southern Poland

Good to be home after spending over a week in different venues in the hilly southern part of my homeland. First five days in Wisła; the timing of our stay was not haphazard. We turned up to my girlfriend’s second home to take part in the third “Granatowe Góry” – JerzyPilch Festival, a series of (mostly) open-air lectures, discussion panels, workshops and concerts. Despite not being a culture freak, I picked out thought-provoking events from a rich agenda (usually four events taking place at the same time) and appreciated them.

As I dwell on his works and biography, I discover Mr Pilch as a controversial and enthralling figure. He appeared in the spotlight late, in the early 1990s, after turning 35. Written-word-wise, he could boast a superb skill of building long-drawn-out, complex sentences, in which no word is useless and which do not let a reader lose track of the thread. He deftly and humorously painted ordinary events and spiced ordinary places with magic. On the other hand, he was an outright sexist and misogynist. His most renowned book, “Pod mocnym aniołem” being a brutal record of how low an alcohol addict can stoop, has been an inspiration for a film of the same title. As a male, he had several more of less fleeting relationships with women. Towards the end of his life, he married a poet quite probably younger than me, who stayed with him until the end of his days (in which Parkinson disease kept him company). Currently I presume the widow has an affair with Jerzy Baczyński, chief editor of “Polityka” weekly.

I must say I have little understanding for romantic relationships with age gap higher than a generation (in the aforementioned example the age difference is roughly 40 years). I could not even imagine myself, aged 35, going out with a woman aged 25. Folks claim if a younger woman falls in love (if it is indeed love) with a much older man, money has to be in stake. In Pilch’s case, this could not have been the case, as he never earned a lot and quickly parted with his income. Besides, as an alcoholic, he lacked some of the crucial makings of a reliable life companion.

Customarily, the festival attendees were also my girlfriend’s parents, which involved living under one roof with them for five days and nights (we slept in a living room). With hindsight, I was over-optimistic with respect to how smoothly we would get on with one another. The stay went without spats, but being positioned as a guest in a place I am familiar with and where I make myself at home was a kind of uncomfortable. The unease was felt with my girlfriend’s parents, who had an intruder in the flat in which her father grew up.

What I had to put up with were… rituals (as a person afflicted with mild Asperger syndrome I detest them) and the fact the life revolved around eating. I confess I eat to deliver nutrients to my body, minding healthiness of my diet, but do not take much pleasure in consumption. Participating frequently in rituals related to eating or drinking was a misery to me, a waste of time, energy and money (not mine, yet any). I have recently realised I am not fond of celebrating. I realise why it is important to people and for social reasons I take part in celebrations, but do not cherish them as most people do.

As we were leaving for Bieszczady, I felt a deep relief. The weather during the Corpus Christi weekend was not quite fine (lots of rainfall), but made the most of clement mornings and early afternoons wandering past Połoniny, at times above clouds and relaxed indoors during afternoons. On our way back we made a stopover in Lublin, my first ever visit to the city and hopefully not the last one.