Halloween is not really a big deal in Poland. Sure, you see some people walking around in costumes, but it seems to me that it is seen as a more American thing, and thus the purview of the "hip and with-it" crowd. The day after it? That's a different matter entirely.
Traditionally, Nov. 1st is the day that Poles go out to the cemetery to leave flowers and candles on the gravestones of their relatives. Prof. Kowal described what I was going to see at a cemetery as a "tłok", which translates as a press or throng of people, and he was absolutely right. I went to two separate cemeteries in three separate visits. In the early afternoon I went out to Rakowicki Cemetery, and in the evening first to a cemetery in Salwator and then a return to Rakowicki to see what the place looked like at night. What made this all very convenient is that these cemeteries are on the ends of a major tram line which runs literally below my apartment windows.
The crowds really were something to behold. Typically, trams are run with two cars, but on the 1st they were run with three. On the morning tram I didn't have space to turn around, though the latter car was actually only half-full. Polish trams operate on a ticket system: you buy a ticket from either a kiosk or an automatic ticket machine located on the tram itself. Increasingly, these "automats" are starting to be located at the stops themselves, but this is a relatively new thing. So, if you can't buy a ticket from a kiosk, you have to board the first car and get a ticket there. Normally this system works very well, except on days when all the kiosks are closed and few people (myself included) had the foresight to get a ticket beforehand. So it felt more crowded than it needed to be.
The atmosphere at the cemetery itself was kind of odd. There was a huge cluster of people all pressing to get into the gates, boy and girl scouts doing various things, candle and flower merchants doing land-office business, hawkers in the employ of the cemetery asking for donations, it all had the air of going to a football game. All it needed was somebody selling peanuts and....oh, there's a bagel vendor! Yet standing in contrast to all of this was another, very solemn emotional current. I don't think I've ever seen such a carnival-like atmosphere surrounding death before.
At the gate, the crowd pressed down the central path towards a chapel located in the center of the cemetery, where prayers were said pretty much continuously all day. There were a number of monuments that everyone seemed to make a stop at, chief amongst these being a collective memorial to, as far as I could make out, all the Polish victims of Communism ever. When I talked to a couple of random Poles later, they said that in general, people leave candles at these kind of collective memorials, as well as candles at the tombs of famous people.
This last point was particularly interesting, because even in death we have a way of showing how important somebody was. In Poland, as in the States, the more elaborate the headstone the more elaborate the person was. The grave goods left behind showed that some of the dead were important in a particular way. A bouquet with a blue and white ribbon came from the President of Krakow, for instance. Others displayed the flag of either Cracovia or Wisła, the two soccer teams in town. And some graves had a hundred or more candles on them, which I don't think means that that person's family was that big.
What was very surprising was that the cemetery in Salwator had more modest headstones, but those headstones had more stuff on them. Whether this means that that particular parish is more tightly-knit, or whether there are just more recent burials there I don't know. Also striking was that early in the afternoon it seemed more solemn, and later, as the sun was setting, I got the sense that more people were just having a look around rather than discharging their duties to the dead.
Being in those cemeteries gave me an opportunity to reflect on how humans handle death, as well as think of contrasts between how it seems to be handled over here and how it is handled back at home. Just observing people at the cemetery, it was possible to see all kinds of emotions. Some were very, very upset. Others just went through the motions and left. Some seemed pensive. Some people just stood at the graves and didn't talk. Others chatted and smoked. Still others seemed strangely happy, which actually made sense considering that this was an occasion to see and be with family. Catharsis takes many different forms. It dawned on me that I had seen all of this before, just never quite in this context.
This change in context was interesting, too. The United States doesn't really have a day dedicated specifically to remembrance of the dead. Memorial Day is supposed to be like this in theory, and I think I may have gone out to the cemetery with my grandfather on All Saint's when I was little. But it's not like everybody takes a day off and travels 300 kilometers to remember their relatives. How, exactly, do we remember our dead in the U.S.? It is in a very informal manner, from time to time, rather than having a ritualized day every year. Which method is healthier? I can't say. All Saint's just seemed to dwell a bit too much on death for my taste, but it may be better to just have that one day of emotional release rather than have the inevitable memory of loved ones come creeping up at unexpected moments.
I wanted to talk with some people at the cemetery about what the day meant to them, but was not quite sure how to go about it. It just didn't seem right to walk up to someone at the grave of a relative and say "Hi! I'm from America! Will you talk to me?" I was able to chat a bit with three groups of two, with varying degrees of success. However, what they said about the holiday was surprisingly short on details. It is a day of memory and prayer. That's about it. What it was, and what it meant, was evident enough that they didn't need to say more.