Three umbrellas

As a French guy living in Poland, people often ask me if I like it here. How I’m feeling. Here’s a short story that partially answers the question.

A few years ago, my wife’s mother came back home on a rainy day. My in-laws were living not far from Paris, in a flat in a calm and safe residential area. She left her umbrella to dry in front of the door.

The next morning, it was gone.

Last Saturday, we went to our town’s castle where a party was held for the kids in the park. Rainy day.

At one point we went to a café in the castle’s park to get something to drink in a dry place. We left our umbrellas in front of the door, went in. Unfortunately it was packed, so we quickly left.

Monday morning, heavy rain. The kids will have to take their umbrellas to go to school. That’s when we realized we had left our umbrellas outside of the café.

Not expecting to find anything, I jumped in the car and drove to the castle.

Arriving at the entrance of the café, that’s when I saw them:

Our three umbrellas, neatly folded, stored in a rack, the smallest one tucked in the handle of another one so that it wouldn’t fall on the ground.

A story that captures how Poland feels to me, day to day.