City of love and doubt

Gdansk is a beautiful city. I've visited my familie there every year for at least a week since I was two years old.

In those 27 years, the city has grown from a typical grey and gloomy socialist town into a colorful, vibrant and modern metropolis. We sort of grew up together.

The latest visit was filled with strolling around, visiting museums, making a boatride, shopping, going to the movies and eating a restaurants. (Tips: go to Sopot to take a walk on the pier and have dinner at U Dzika (pierogi) or Primitive (stekosaurus) - both on Piwna street in Gdansk's old town)

I loved the Nightwish-cappuccino they make at 'Mon Balzac', and really want a license plate with my name on it, too.

There still was a gloomy part about the visit, though. As a kid, I didn't notice, but as a grown up, I can't help but feel the distance between me and my Polish grandmother and uncle. They still seem to live in the Gdansk of 1982, while the rest of us are in the Gdansk of 2009.

That, combined with my almost non-existent Polish language skills, makes it difficult to really keep in touch. No matter how many miles we flew to see them, we're still miles apart.