Zakopane in the Tatra Mountains

We boarded the big touring bus which made two trips up and down the mountain roads daily to Zakopane. It’s a pleasant drive and as we arrived at our destination Gosia pointed out the rock formation atop a mountain peak known as the Sleeping Knight which can be seen in the distance. We were following up on another lead in finding my family in Poland. We had learned about the artist Antoni Rzasa when we were in Sandomierz. We had been told there was a gallery in Zakopane and so our latest adventure began. Gosia hadn’t been in the Tatra Mountains for many years, so she was keen to see it all again. Zakopane is known for its hiking and skiing vacationers, hence the main street has lots of shops and restaurants that appeal to tourists. For local color there are a number of open carts with older women in babushkas selling their special cheese, Oszczypek, which is a smoked cheese made of salted sheep milk and made exclusively in the Tatra Mountains.

We were expecting to find the Rzasa Gallery along the main street but after searching, lunch and more searching we resorted to asking people if they knew of the gallery or its location. This is where traveling with a native speaker is invaluable. A taxi driver knew where we needed to go and he agreed to take us there and return when it was time to get back to the bus.

As we arrived at the property with the little gallery sign, we were reluctant to drop in without an appointment as it was obviously part of someone’s home. But here we were and after so many miles, we boldly knocked on the door. A handsome blue eyed, curly headed man opened the door and Gosia gave him the short version of why we were there. He invited us to enter the gallery space while Gosia elaborated on my family search and questioned him about his family. When you are a party to these conversations it calls for great patience. To me it seems the smallest question or response is laden with so many syllables and consonants it leaves me wondering if they’ve gone off on another explanation and I’m missing something. Sometimes Gosia deals with a situation in blocks of conversation before she stops to translate the basic information to me. However she is quite capable of translating as quickly as you speak and thinks in two languages simultaneously. She is amazing to listen to. I sometimes have to end my questioning or expectations and remember to let her rest. Although her capacity is great, it does get exhausting by the end of a visit.

We learned his name was Marcin, which of course charmed me, as my grandfather’s name was also Marcin Rzasa. He talked about the sculptures around the room although many were not yet positioned for viewing as if they had just brought everything back from a show or exhibit and hadn’t put things in good order again.

He talked about his father’s work, how they were promoting it without selling anything, and they expected to have an exhibit in Italy soon. His favorite piece was also my favorite… he felt it was like his big brother because it was always with them from the time he was born. It’s a stunning sculpture which predominates any presentation of Antoni Rzasa’ works.

Marcin didn’t seem to have much information for us, but his wife had come along to meet us and Magda graciously invited us in for tea in their kitchen. Magda spoke fairly good English so there was a mixture of conversation in two languages as we sat casually as if we were neighbors stopping by. I was taken by the photography on the walls and learned it was the work of Magda, an artist in her own right. She had captured her husband and children in some very interesting candid poses and lighting.

We learned that Marcin was also a sculptor and we were brought to another studio space to see his work. Where his father worked with an ax and sturdy chisels to create the dramatic and sizeable pieces he was known for, the son’s work was predominantly miniature, delicate and sometimes comical. My favorite pieces were carvings he did of his wife and daughter but there was also a piece with straight chairs piled in a pickle jar. Each one was beautifully smooth and finished in what appeared to be a blonde wood. I wanted to buy a piece of his work, but like his father’s work, he refused to sell it. He couldn’t part with these pieces which seemed to hold part of his soul in them. Persistent as I was, I asked if he could duplicate one for me and he was resistant but eventually said he would try to accomplish it by the last day we would be in Krakow.

As for his family tree, both Marcin and Magda seemed to know nothing beyond the immediate relatives who came from the Rzeszow area about an hour south of my family’s roots. They all concluded there was no connection but I knew how few people with this name existed in Poland even at that time, so I’ve been convinced we would one day find the connection.

It was a lovely visit, but their children needed attention and they both teach and create in addition to daily routines, so we concluded our visit, grateful for meeting these very gracious and tolerant hosts. Marcin walked us out and stood with the sun glinting in his hair as we waved goodby from the taxi.

The following days were full of cafes around the square, a bit of shopping and then a rental car to drive to Kolbuszowa. We visited Wladek’s parents on the farm in Poreby Dymarskie which was so meaningful for me, knowing one of my ancestors once lived there. Heading back we drove the narrow road surrounded by farm fields on both sides, as far as the eye could see. . Gosia’s cell phone rang and when she answered she looked stunned. The man at the other end greeted her with “This is Marcin Rzasa.” After a hesitation, she realized it was the artist in Zakopane and not my grandfather calling from the great beyond. We howled with laughter afterwards. He was calling to say he had finished a little sculpture for me and he would send it down the mountain with the bus driver. Evidently the regular bus drivers were familiar and often carried parcels or mail for the natives of the village. As it turned out, Magda decided to meet us on our last day in Krakow and we enjoyed coffee together in yet another cafe as I turned the little carving in my hand over and over - smooth and perfectly formed. It is a duplicate of the one Marcin carved as a representation of Magda when he married her. She stands on a shelf in my study as a reminder of a very special meeting.

I look forward to finding the connection between Marcin and me in the Family Tree.