“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.” —Andrew Wyeth
Because Sopot is a tourist town on the seaside, summertime around the main area can get busy, with crowds of people walking on the Monte Cassino—the main pedestrian street—and headed for the beach and the pier. Days are longer and the city center is packed with people getting gofry and lody (waffles and ice cream) from kiosks; as the evening goes on, nightclub-goers drink their grocery-bought vodka on the street before careening into the clubs and pubs. Women teeter in impossible heels; men don’t so much walk as swagger. The mood is loud and feels aggressive, a party with an edge. The stories are obvious: Party, fun, drinking, drugs, that girl, that guy.
But when winter comes, the town empties and one truly does feel the bone structure of the place. Buildings—mostly grey—against grey winter skies, layers of bare tree branches, grey streets, grey coats. The kiosks are closed and the beach inhospitable. Nothing is hidden behind green foliage or crowds of people.
People still walk on the Monte Cassino—if you stayed inside from the cold, you’d be indoors until March—but it’s a head-down, just-business kind of walk. The wind is sharp and dry and stings your eyes. Yet one can’t help but feel that the story, as Wyeth mentions, doesn’t stop in winter, but perhaps tucks itself inside those apartments and houses, offices, churches and nearly-empty cafes. The stories are still there, as dramatic and hopeful and sad and glorious as their summertime counterparts, just a bit more hidden beneath the bone structure of the landscape. The whole story doesn’t show.
Photo taken on the Monte Cassino, Sopot, Poland.
Happy Friday!
So well written. I could imagine it all. Thank you for this post.