Potty mouth

While I did see the newspaper headlines announcing the death of Milosz, my total lack of familiarity with his work precluded intelligent commentary. When I finish Cervantes and some relevant Stoppard, perhaps there will be time for him before classes begin.

In Warsaw (not sure why); my guidebook's section on Poland is only sporadically accurate about important things like when museums are open, so I spent the day in the reconstructed Old Town and Royal Castle. While it's all very pretty, the knowledge that it's fifty years old makes it a little more Disneyland and a little less appealing. Must, must, must get to Budapest on Wednesday. There is, evidently, only one night train that goes through from here to there, so I am off to harass the railway reservation agent with my bad Polish. (I do make the effort!)

One note: I had not fully internalized, when Geoffrey described it to me after his travels last summer, what an abomination is the German toilet. Platforms for waste examination are just unnecessary. They keep popping up, with no rhyme or reason. At least they are better than the Turkish toilets Angel and I experienced over spring break.