Every other Christmas, I travel to Poland with my partner.
Her Dad, his wife and their kids, live in Szczecin, a city near the German border. Factor in two more sisters – one a music teacher who also lives in the city, the other a dancer who lives in Gdansk – their partners and various grandparents and pets, and it can make for a busy celebration.
I love going. Usually we take the train from Aberdeen to Edinburgh and fly to either Berlin or Gdansk, then take a sleepy bus or train, east or west. Sometimes we’ll stop for a day or two in Berlin or Gdansk, take in Christmas markets or walk around the canals.
When we eventually get to Szczecin, I enjoy the cold and still weather, the frost and the sense of peace. I don’t speak very much Polish – enough nouns to understand what most arguments are about, but not enough to join in.
I read, play with the dog, get offered piwa by the bucketload and mostly just enjoy watching the chaos of a large family Christmas unfold, without feeling the stress that it prompts in the others.
Christmas is in jeopardy again
After we both stayed in Aberdeen last year, this was supposed to be one of those years, but, as I write, there’s more than a degree of uncertainty around the trip, as social distancing restrictions are discussed again. I find it hard to leave the cinema, my work, at a challenging time. She is, understandably, more determined to plough on, hardly having seen her family over the past two years.
So, I likely won’t go, for better or worse. It means that, unfortunately for them, there might not be someone there to eat every remaining scrap of the Christmas Eve dinner, with no capacity to say “no” in a situation where I can only resort to half-translated, half-drunk, awkward politeness.
There won’t be someone to finish off the plentiful fish dishes, many of which are saucy and oily, which none of the mostly vegetarian sisters or kids will eat. It is my burden to bear, after boasting about how much fish I ate as a child, growing up in the north-east of Scotland, with a fisherman for a Dad. Carp is the traditional Polish Christmas meal. Not often caught off the coast of Whitehills.
It also means that her Dad will have to find someone else to watch Christmas films and drink whisky with, while others catch up and potter around. I strain my ears to follow the English dialogue, which is buried under a Polish translator, who speaks the lines about a half second after they are uttered.
I am, usually, not the most Christmassy person in the world. But, after two years in a pandemic, it feels like a miss
In past years, we’ve watched Beginners (starring Ewan McGregor), Waterworld (Kevin Costner) and Insomnia (Robin Williams and Al Pacino). I spent about 15 minutes, in English, trying to tell him the latter was the first film I ever watched at Belmont in Aberdeen. I think he understood; his English is better than my Polish, at least.
Christmas Day there is very much like our Boxing Day, displaced by 24 hours. Everyone is worse for wear, having had too much of everything. If weather allows, we go for a walk to a nearby lake. TV and the fireplace to follow, and another quick wander around the quiet streets of Bezrzecze, the suburb where they live.
Keeping hope alive
Being separated usually wouldn’t, under most circumstances, be so sad. When I stay in Aberdeen every second year, to do my fair share of work shifts and see my parents, my partner usually still goes to Poland. I am, usually, not the most Christmassy person in the world. But, after two years in a pandemic, it feels like a miss. Like everyone else, I had hoped for a more normal festive period.
I’ll be watching, like most people, the updates from our governments over the next week or so, to see to what extent I can have a normal Christmas and New Year. Sifting through the scandals about their Christmas parties.
After last year and the improving Covid situation following late summer, I put too many eggs in the basket of a less interrupted, more festive 2021. The hope of a proper break. Many likely did the same. We shouldn’t beat ourselves up for that. Who could’ve known?
Instead of going to Poland, I’ll be here. I’ll hope for good weather. I’ll hope that the cinema will be able to continue, mostly without disruption, as we show our Christmas films. I’ll go for quiet walks or jogs around Aberdeen, and try and spend time with my friends who are available.
And also, as far as I can, I’ll try not to worry, or go to work any more than is needed. I still have the time off, regardless.
I hope you’ll all manage something of the same. Merry Christmas and happy New Year, when they come.
Colin Farquhar is head of cinema operations for Belmont Filmhouse in Aberdeen
