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During Christmas Eve dinner, my youngest daughter asked me, "Father, what does this snow look like?" I told her that to the best of my knowledge, snow is a white powder that makes people happy and happier, even though it is completely legal.
When on the second day of Christmas, the TV news reported that it had snowed in Podhale, I had no doubts: such an opportunity to make Maja and myself happy at the same time could not be missed.
On Friday morning after the holidays, we packed our ski equipment and headed south. Quickly, almost the entire 70 km to Krakow, with a traditional break to recover from the holiday food at McDonald's, we reached Zakopianka. The views were not exactly breathtaking, because firstly, it was dark, secondly, it was not winter, and thirdly, to avoid traffic jams, we took side roads and did not see a single bit of the new route.
Only about thirty kilometers before the destination, the temperature dropped to zero, the rain turned to snow, and everything around became as it always was between Christmas and New Year's a long, long time ago, that is, fairy-tale-like.
We arrived at Balabanówka, located at the highest point in Bukowina with a divine view of the Tatras, late in the evening. The owner is my dear friend from Gottwald, who has been coming here for years in December from across the pond to organize New Year's Eve, which the highlanders talk about until late autumn.
We spent the evening with the Balabans sipping good alcohol and talking in a civilized manner about Trump, Johnson and Duda until late.

Even though the welcoming evening devoted to solving the problems of the country and the world with the help of intoxicants dragged on until very late, I decided to get up early to go for a morning jog.
A six-kilometre jog along an unshovelled road to the centre of Bukovina, in falling snow and a temperature of minus ten degrees, makes me release happiness hormones that can only be compared to the joy experienced by drivers of fancy cars with registration numbers starting with the letter W, who honk their horns and push morning joggers into the snowdrifts.
I got home before nine. With one foot already in the previously heated sauna, I discovered that the front door to the house, which I had left open when I ran out, was locked. Knocking, text messages and phone calls to the household were of no use. I walked around the house, pushing through meter-high snowdrifts and found the window to my daughter's bedroom. After ten minutes of banging on the glass, frozen, with icicles hanging from my nose and a white beard, I finally woke Maja, who did not seem surprised by the second visit from Santa Claus in a week. My investigation at breakfast two hours later did not lead to the discovery of the perpetrator of my nightmare.
We reached the slope at lunch time.
Maybe in these Dolomites they have longer trails, more snow and later dusk, but they can only dream of queues for lifts that bring people closer together and crowds on the slopes, thanks to which skiing becomes a safe team sport. And if we add to this mulled wine alternating with red soplica and oscypek with cranberries, then no Aperol Spritz with Tyrolean ham will impress me any more. Real skiing on the scale of our abilities.

You in Warsaw probably don't know, or at least don't remember, this old Polish word, so let me remind you.
A sleigh ride is one or more teams pulled by real, non-mechanical horses with sleighs attached in the form of a procession. It is a type of entertainment, organized during Shrovetide, accompanied by music, singing and frolicking around a bonfire.
The highlight of our New Year's sleigh ride was the grilled sausage.
For a seventy percent vegan like me (I only allow seafood, fish, steaks, ribs, game, cheese and butter), three pieces of pork are a huge shot of cholesterol, but oh so pleasantly melting in your mouth, with a hint of garlic, horseradish, saffron milk caps in vinegar and sprinkled with lemon vodka.
This perfect combination of alcohol and fat brought us back to life after yesterday's New Year's Eve party, in the company of people I had always dreamed of meeting: Melania with Donald, Boris, Emmanuel and the Queen Mother.
The event was held under the slogan "effective leaders of 2019, who will be even more effective in 2020". I wondered for a long time whether to dress up as Kaczyński or Kim Jong-un. However, after a cool calculation, I chose Duda.
Just before the ball started, I went with the host to a well-known local highlander who fills New Year's Eve balloons with helium. On the way back, I didn't keep an eye on two of the four most important balloons, in the shape of the New Year's numbers. Two twos chose freedom and flew into the sky. The remaining two zeros would be of no use, so to prevent this from becoming a bad omen for the New Year, I quickly made the missing numbers from Christmas paper.
To all my Beloveds, Friends and Enemies I wish you happiness in the New Year!