Happy All Saints' Day yesterday.
Well, I'm not sure you say that. "Happy."
Umm, ok, "Greetings," then.
Hey, don't look to me for appropriate. Because I missed that boat years ago.
Mr D and I went for a walk at dusk in Powązki cemetery, which is what every single Pole in Warsaw does on November 1st. The streets along both sides of this huge cemetery were blocked off. In fact, ulica
Towarowa Okopowa (the four northbound lanes only) were turned into a carpark. It looked quite strange.
We parked a few blocks north of the area and walked the rest of the way. Naturally, Mr D had me clambering over hill and dale because we can never just go the easy way, on the pavement. Never mind. We got there in the end.
Streams and streams of people walked quietly along toward the main entrances of the cemetery. It was a subdued and tranquil atmosphere. Flower sellers and candle vendors lined the pavement edges, with the odd pashmina stand every few hundred meters. (Can't go anywhere on the planet without a pashmina stand or three.)
As we got closer, I realised that my wintery "going out for a walk on a chilly afternoon" get-up, which seemed entirely fine when I left the house, was in fact wholly inappropriate for cemetery strolling on All Saints' Day.
Because. If we can take it as a given that Poles wear black, oh, maybe 86% of the time, then we can certainly take it as a corollary that on All Saints' Day, 102-104% of Poles wear black. Or even more than that. 125% or 130%.
Maths. Not my strong suit. But you know what I mean.
And believe me, I know it's not about what you're wearing.
I know that.
When I should have been wearing this:
Oh man. Next year. Someone shoulda told me.