Alex: rediscovering home in Poland
Alex Anczewski is Senior Designer at ALHAUS, and lives and works in Dublin. Apart from right at the moment—as he explains in his article. Time away from ordinary life can lead to introspection and as Alex wanders about his childhood summer home in Poland, his thoughts turn to the past.
While so many people get stranded in Europe and the world experiences life-changing dramas or even tragedies, my lockdown took the form of a homecoming-gone-wrong dramedy.
I have spent the past 16 years making my life in Ireland and recently returned to Poland for the usual round of family obligations familiar to an immigrant. When the border closed and the whole country went into a lockdown I began the strange journey of rediscovering my home.
My routine flight from Ireland to Poland in early March seemed safe enough. Amid growing Coronavirus warnings, many, including me, still downplayed the whole situation. Dublin Airport still had its usual vibrant pulse—the sight of a protective mask was still a rarity and, at least in my case, still perceived as slightly over-reactive behaviour.
Both countries joined the list of infected nations pretty late and, at the time of my journey, the number of cases of the virus was still low. Poland, however, closed its border as soon as the rate grew, leading to my return flight being cancelled.
As March was making space for months to come, it became clear that international flights were not going to resume any time soon. A two-week stay was already evolving into a month and with city life shutting bit by bit due to aggressive government restrictions, moving away from the city to the family’s summer house became the most tantalising option.
On the surface, being in my childhood summer home with the closest of all, my mother, and out of the way of the madness seems idyllic—and in a way it is. After all, here the Coronavirus still mostly seems something that happens elsewhere. I am surrounded by fields and forests, hidden away from the city’s sirens and stay-home announcers. I wake up in the mornings before sunrise amid frantic bird chirping and watch nature waking up to a spring life—bees and blooming trees, sparrows building nests and cats on roofs hunting birds.
With that, however, came dusting out the attic, chopping up the wood, firing up the stove, organising broadband, and trying to put together a provisional workplace. Within the rustic and often unfinished walls of the country cottage, I plug in a very dusty stereo I had as a teenager and watch my childhood memories unfold in every corner. Everything seems very familiar, yet after all those years, very distant. I am now trying to feel at home in my old home once again.
Perhaps it is trite to say that a lot has changed. That people I once knew have changed, that I have changed. Every small interaction from shopping to small talk is now confusing, even though this is where I grew up. I don’t think I would notice those things if I were here for the planned short stay. The lockdown and isolation have affected many in different ways. Being unable to leave a place is a strange feeling and in my case, it has become a starting point to take a step back and look at my past. Confront it with the present and reconcile my two homes.
While contemplating this, I watch as strong winds carry clouds of sand through the fields, a sign of another drought year approaching. The contrast of the scenery makes me think of my other home. I miss the view of Dublin Bay—the two chimneys—and the smell of salt, the sea breeze, the beach, the pier, the pub and familiar faces.
As I take consolation in the fact that my lockdown is comfortable compared to some, I think of my partner who remains in Dublin. She has started working from home and I think about how very happy she will be to have me out of the way and to have our tiny shared apartment to herself for the time being!