ONE TWO-HUNDRED-AND-EIGHTIETH
The stadium is reaching its end. It must be the case since you are taking pictures. Recently they took pictures of us when it was reaching its end for the first time. Then everyone forgot that a tiny part of the Market continued operating, that those were exactly the same people, just in smaller grounds. Well, we also earned less because of that, but soon we’ll stop earning anything at all. They’re closing us down. So take those pictures quickly because in a second it won’t be possible any more. The stadium will be empty and they’ll fill our places with stone and gravel. I guess that will really be the end.
It's Ashamed
Early summer, the sun still at my heels. As it rises, it will throw light on my back and everything else that right now is yellowish from the street lamps. I stand on the viaduct leading to the train station. The trains cause gusts which literally stroke my back; the train drivers hoot their horns and shout in their drivers’ cabs. They drive empty trains east, to return in an hour so full that people will be stuck up against the window panes. Monday has yet to begin and I’m standing and looking at these two stadiums. One so very much mine, the other - so foreign. In a moment the security guard will make his rounds, untie the chain and leave the gate slightly ajar. The first to squeeze by will be Linh from Vietnam followed by a few Bulgarians and Piotrek for the security day-shift. The wheels of trolleys carrying dresses, trousers and pants will start to squeak. Someone will shout, someone else will swear or kiss their girlfriend on the left cheek. Then the first customers will arrive; with them the bazaar’s cacophony. Then the hiss of steam from the tea stand or the sound of tape being torn off the plastic foil packaging will not be as penetrating. But there will still be a moment of pleasant quiet and emptiness. The sky has turned a shade of indigo-pink, the street lamps have gone out and an interesting outline has turned into the National Stadium. The Stadium has dominated the space. It stands out, attacks, catches your attention, stings the eyes, shouts and will not let you forget about itself. But this is all out of embarrassment. It’s not ashamed of its appearance, however, but of the fact that for many years it was full of metal ‘jaws’ [folded stalls of local invention], tin stall-booths and make-shift tables. It does not want to remember that dodgy dealing, dirt and chaos predominated. After all, now it’s so beautiful, clean and European – as witnessed by a tourist guide placing the Stadium on a “historical trail.” It informs tourists that the Pope has been here, as has Stevie Wonder. That the entrants in the Race for Peace crossed the finishing line here. Our guidebook even mentions that Ryszard Siwiec set himself on fire here as well as how trade began. But about the fact that one two-hundred-and-eightieth part of the old Europa Bazaar is still in business, it doesn’t say a word. “No need to, there’s no connection, this is not the National Stadium.”
Planet Stadium
The first recollection is blurred, as is the year in which it all happened. Was it ninety-five or ninety-six? Perhaps ninety-seven, but definitely not later. I am standing on the crown of the Stadium; I see the figure of my Dad, his smile and his looking in an unknown direction. I see the chins of others who are laughing about something. The memories do not have a soundtrack. I can’t even hear the laughter. The second recollection is a cry. The third is very definite; it has a temperature and a smell. Together with my younger brother we are looking for a large cross in the Stadium. We move slowly, holding hands tightly, I say: “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.” Jackets, tummies, medals of honour, shoes, records, metal numbers, furniture, animals – a “no thanks” to shady cigarette dealers and we constantly shout “Excuse me!”, squeezing through the crowd. Dad is standing under the cross and has a few pirated games for us. Everyone pays ten zlotys for a game, we get them for free. FIFA 99 becomes the discovery of a lifetime. I run to the Stadium every weekend. I eat spring rolls with Jasmine rice, I walk on the muddy cardboard paths, I wander among the alleys and check if there are any new basketball shirts. I also start to dream about trips to the countries of my acquaintances - Turkmenistan, Nigeria, Russia, Vietnam, Pakistan, Georgia and the Ivory Coast. In a sense I sketch my own personal map of the world on this basis – besides the ‘Stadium countries’ there is only the US (because of basketball.) I take my friends to the Stadium – and my girlfriend for our first dates. I go there at dawn, afternoon and after closing, although I don’t live nearby. For 15 years I traverse the Vistula to reach Planet Stadium. In 2007 the UEFA granted Poland and Ukraine the organisation of the European Championships in soccer. It was announced fairly quickly that in the place of the old stadium there will be a new arena, where the opening match will be held. The city terminated its contract with the Europa Bazaar. A year later the Decennary Stadium was officially closed, but the trade went on. And it continues till today.
Empty
Last year the security guards took down the roof of the last remaining part of the old Bazaar and took away the metal skips. They had set everything up, so they took it apart. When it was still standing, I would take a ladder and climb onto the metal construction. Once, I would have seen a line of stalls leading up to the crown of the stadium, the international bus station and the chimneys of Vietnamese food bars. Today the only things left from these bars are the menu signs. They still serve as metal counter tops – “Five-spice chicken,” “Pho with egg,” and “Spring Rolls” are covered with table-cloths on which goods are placed. Wherever you look it is empty. No-one goes that way; few people use the renovated station. Most of the time it is deserted. From time to time, one of the Bulgarians comes here tu sirf the Web (there is free Wi-Fi), while someone else asks at the counter about a train connection (if they manage to arrive by five, because the ticket counters close then) or someone makes use of the station toilets (charge: two-fifty). The lady who works in the toilet says there have been fewer clients ever since Portaloos appeared near the hall. She does not remember the Stadium, but – like me – she stares into the emptiness all day long.