Travel Photography > Northern Seas > Gdansk, Poland

Gdansk, often remembered as being an independent city-state between the great wars, was also an early participant in the Hanseatic League – a constant maritime presence in the Baltic and a center for grain, timber and shipbuilding. Jewelry and amber trade flourished, and so did the arts. It lies between the Baltic and the delta of the Vistula River, which connects almost all of Poland by water.

But so much more happened here, and you can almost feel that weight. One of Hitler’s first international demands was that Gdansk be returned to Germany. It’s no wonder then, that the first battle of World War II happened here, and also the first Polish revolt against communism. Lech Walesa’s solidarity movement began as an outspoken trade union in Gdansk’s shipyard.

Uncle says that during the war, Hitler declared Gdansk be defended at all costs. The Russian answer to this was to simply level the city. And they did, blitzing one of Europe's most astounding cities into a heap of rubble. Only two of the ornate homes on the Dlugi Targ survived the bombing.

The communists, sensitive in their early idealism, ordered the most historical and stunning components of the city rebuilt, as much as possible, down to the last brick. The Polish, always starkly at odds with the Soviets, maintained a respect for their religious and cultural backgrounds in the second half of the twentieth century. Rather than mow over the German culture - the churches, the castles, the old cities as the Soviets did with cities like Konigsberg, the Poles sought to integrate it into their own. Because of that, Polish Pomerania is still Pomerania. They respect their heritage, even the historical German side of it.

More importantly, as a part of a country that is more comfortable with home-cooked meals than going out, Gdansk has one of Poland’s best markets for good restaurants.

In the evening, (where the graffiti says 'Lucky You All Coppers are Bad,)' we meet up with relatives at a canal-side restaurant. I am wondering if there is a correlation between all this strange North European graffiti and their bad taste in music. Maybe it's the bubbles they put in the water.

I order a Polish dish called Pierogi; ravioli pasta stuffed with pork, sauerkraut, mushrooms and fruit. My Italian cousin balks at this, because, of course – you order ravioli in Italy. Cristiano is no snob of Italian cuisine. He does wonders with olive oil and pasta and whatever is in the kitchen. And, he always affirms that ‘some of the best pizza is from New York.’ But there is something suspect about pasta from Poland.

There is no doubt that Italians, like Germans with beer, perfected pasta. And for staking claim, the Italians do so with most vengeance. But like the Basques and the New World, there are a group of food historians who believe pasta was invented, well, here in Northern Europe. The common wisdom says that Koreans invented pasta and passed it on to the Chinese, who introduced it to Marco Polo. Like beer, which was invented in several regions in prehistory, pasta may have been invented in multiple regions.

One admittedly unlikely theory holds that pasta was invented in German lands. And introduced to Italy long before the age of Marco Polo. Pomerania, which has been called the ‘corn granary’ of the historical state of Prussia, was likely a center for grain storage – one of the most vital of northern states’ interests was its ability to stock grains for cold winters.

Italian food historians have traditionally always been up in arms about this, especially because of the claims of American food writers, who seem to stretch old world history myths for the benefit of 'color.' In one instance, in a movie called “The Adventures of Marco Polo”, actor Gary Cooper points to a dish of noodles in Asia and asks what it is. “Spa Get!,” the man answers.

More likely, in Germany as in all the other places that have claimed to invent pasta – Persia, the ArabMediterranean, France – these places probably simply found ways to preserve grains for bad times, cold winters and droughts.

Making something from grain became increasingly important in Germany and Poland that by the seventeenth century, grains had a similar status to the potato in Ireland.

The continuous migration of Germans into Slavic Pomerania was welcomed during this time, because the Germans were viewed as master farmers – hundreds of years more technologically advanced, and at the cutting edge of mill technology, they became kind of like a farming class.

But Pierogi is it’s own deal. Mushrooms, pork and sauerkraut and it’s all Polish, despite how it’s wrapped. And delicious, especially down with a good German beer, overlooking history itself.

We left Gdansk following the southern Pomeranian roads. In lands south of Wacja, dad and Hans and Jane and I stop in thepines to pick wild blueberries and look for chanterelles. We collect a handful each, and up the road in a small town, we buy cherries and smoked sausages. I can think of no better way to spend an afternoon, eating as you go, dad talking about the advance of the Russians on Berlin in World War II.

Dad has said that picking berries is one of his favorite past-times. In the field, he says, it's no coincidence that it's often Germans doing the same. That my parents spend long August hours picking their own crop of Minnesota berries - despite the mosquitoes and humidity - is probably also no coincidence. This modern act of gathering seems almost a Northern Seas trait.

Jane is looking forward to Berlin. They say there is a Prada super-store there. Out the window, the brick wall enclosing a field of garden gnomes is sprayed in red. "Bucky Luckball breaks the Chocolate Order!"

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