“Gratitude is the memory of the heart. (La gratitude est la mémoire du coeur.)”
~Jean-Baptiste Massieu, French educator for the deaf
Gratitude is the Memory of the Heart
Some places don’t let you go.
They stay quietly in the background of your life, waiting. And every once in a while, they call you back.
Białowieża is that place for me.
Almost every two years, I return to the east of Poland. Not out of habit, but because Białowieża asks me to. It does so gently, without urgency, as if it knows I will eventually listen. And I always do.
This year, the journey began in resistance. I left Warsaw feeling under the weather, my body already tired, the sky unsettled.
Winter had sharpened its edges: chaotic weather, black ice slicking the roads, accidents slowing traffic to a crawl. For a moment, we wondered if we would make it at all.
And yet, we kept going.
When we finally arrived, just after Christmas, something shifted. The air felt different, cleaner and quieter. It was as if we had crossed an invisible border into another rhythm of life.
The Hotel Żubrówka staff welcomed us back with warmth, as usual. This four-star hotel has actually become more than a place to stay for us as each return feels like coming back home. The receptionist spoke French, which felt especially kind since we do speak Polish. It was one of those small gestures that stay with you.
Our pleasant surprises did not end there. We got a stunning, quiet room with plenty of space. There was even a small, free bottle of red wine waiting for the fatigued traveller. By the way, our fridge did not have the usual junk. Later, we would understand why.
After a shower, we went down to dinner. We recognised some of the waiters and admired the lush Christmas decorations. The food felt familiar yet full of novelty. It was comforting without being predictable.
I ordered baked salmon with roasted potatoes and vegetables. The dish was healthy and refreshing and the portions were reasonable. Needless to say, I ate each and every morsel in my plate.
You could sense that things had changed, but gently. The menu had been renewed, not reinvented and that restraint felt intentional. The food was notably healthier and we did not feel bloated after the meal.
The same was true at the breakfast. Actually, the buffet had a new layout, still faithful to the hotel’s spirit. We filled our plates with whole-wheat bread, vegetables, ham, cheese and, of course, small serniczki, little cheesecakes, that taste like paradise.
You could also order freshly made omelettes, sausages and other savoury dishes. This is an experience that one should live at least once in their lifetime.
During this festive period, the hotel felt especially alive. Multigenerational families filled the spaces with an easy joy, lingering over meals in the restaurant. The children were visibly happy and readily spent a lot of time at the swimming pool. It was endearing to see couples walking hand in hand through the softly lit corridors.
What struck me most were the grandmothers. They quietly stepped in, helping with the children and giving parents a moment to breathe. This was care, passed gently from one generation to the next.
During our stay, we noticed so many other subtle changes that revealed to us that someone was paying attention with intention.
There were now hot and cold water dispensers, including sparkling water, available throughout the hotel and even by the swimming pool. There was no junk in the rooms and we could see that the hotel wanted to both care for people and the environment.
We also spent long hours walking. Hours filled with the gratitude of returning.
At first, there was very little snow. A body of water that is usually frozen in winter remained dark and open, reflecting the pale sky. Winter was hesitant, arriving slowly. Still, we walked, through the forest, through the cold.
The air was sharp and invigorating. Each step felt like a return to the body, to breath, to clarity. I had felt weak when we left Warsaw, but here, with every walk, strength returned. The forest does that. It strips things back to what is essential.
We also walked beyond the forest, through nearby villages where time seemed to slow even more. Wooden houses lined the streets, painted in colours I did not expect to love. Light blue, deep blue, almost navy. Against the winter air and pale sky, they looked unexpectedly beautiful. I had never thought blue houses could feel so warm.
The streets were mostly empty. From time to time, a lone stroller passed by, or a couple walking quietly side by side. It was silent but not awkward. As a matter of fact, it was that silence that feels companionable, not lonely.
We stopped at a small, cosy shop filled with wooden artefacts. The scent of wood lingered in the air. The woman inside told us she made everything herself. Each object shaped by her hands, patiently, deliberately.
She spoke with quiet pride and kindness. For a moment, I imagined a different version of life: owning a small shop like this, creating art, welcoming travellers from far away. Living slowly. Letting work and meaning blend into one. Letting gratitude guide me through my everyday endeavours.
And after long walks beneath cathedral-like canopies of bare branches and winter light, the hotel offered rest without interruption: wood, warmth and nutrition that mended our broken bodies and souls.
There was very little snow when we arrived. But the cold deepened with each passing day. And then, the night before our departure, it finally came. Heavy snowfall, silent and generous.
By morning, the forest had transformed. A carpet of snow now covered the ground and the lake. It would grow thicker as days passsed by, branches bending under its weight. Everything felt softer, brighter, still.
I was suddenly surrounded by the Poland I discovered and fell in love with almost sixteen years ago. A Poland that feels increasingly rare as winters grow warmer. This cold felt like a gift. A reminder. It stirred memory and gratitude, gratitude for being here, for belonging, for remembering.
My children were happy. Truly happy. I shared quiet moments with my husband, conversations without rush, time without distraction. These things are not small. They are the reason we return.
What I love most about coming back every two years is not what changes, but what remains. The forest does not remember me. It does not wait. And yet, sometimes, it offers a gift, like this snow, brief, beautiful, impossible to hold.
I leave knowing I will return. Not because I have seen everything, but because I never will. Some places are not meant to be completed. They are meant to be revisited. Like memory. Like home. Like a beginning you carry quietly within yourself.
Białowieża waits.
And every two years, I answer.
With gratitude.
❄️*°⋆❆.⛸️₊˚⊹♡🎀
Listen: Gratitude is the Memory of the Heart (Level B1-B2)
Further Exploration: Gratitude is the Memory of the Heart (Level B1-B2)
Read:
- Białowieża National Park: AMAZING SIGHTS in One of the Last Primeval Forests in the World! (A2-B2), Learn English With Africa, March 2023)
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About the Author
Thandi Ngwira Gatignol is the founder of Learn English With Africa. She was born on June 11th, 1981 in Blantyre, Malawi. When she was 19, she left her country of birth for France. She currently lives with her two daughters and husband in Poland.
Thandi holds a Bachelor’s degree in English studies obtained at the Université Paris X Nanterre in France and a Certificate in Journalism from Malawi. She has taught English as a French Ministry of Education certified teacher both in France and in Poland. She speaks six languages fluently, including French, Polish and Italian. She is now learning German and Spanish. Salt No More is her debut novel and you can find her other books here on the website or on Amazon.
Video music credit:
- Sky Blue Intrumental by Kontext, Free Music Archive, CC By 4.0
Blog Article: Gratitude is the Memory of the Heart (Level B1-B2) © Learn English With Africa, January 2026
