Travelin' Blues

A recent trip took me to Warsaw's Chopin Airport.  It was the height of the Euro 2012 championship, so I expected it to be mobbed, with lines snaking this way and that, and an extra layer of security checks just to make the whole thing that much hellish.  I was greeted by a near-empty terminal.  Waiting in line to check in?  Nope.  Going through security?  A breeze.  I actually arrived to the airport way to early, and had to burn off some extra time wandering around the building wondering where everyone was.

LOT E170s and E190s with a special Euro 2012 livery on their winglets and fuselages.

Getting those visitors off on the right foot.

In both terminals, it was kind of eerie the way that there were so few people.  I have never seen them this empty, except maybe when I had some 6:00 AM flight, and I got to the airport at 4:30.
I had heard about how some 500,000 fans were supposed to come through Warsaw (or something like that, I dunno').  Tourism was supposed to pick up, partly because of the weak zloty, and partly because of the beautification of the country.  Well, I saw no immediate effects.  We're just about in the middle of the tourist season, and they're just trickling in.  I chalk it up to the problems with Greece, Ireland, Spain, Italy, Portugal, and France (oh yes, they too have problems), but I don't have reams of proof to throw at you.  But, there have been several articles noting the downturn in travel within the Euro Zone.

No lines or crowds here.

There are a few people milling around, but everything is just about quiet.

By the way, the traffic in Warsaw isn't too bad, even on game days.

My Odyssey Through the Ukrainian Metropolises and Hinterlands

For those who haven't gone through the ritual of getting a residency permit renewed, it can be a total bitch.  Recently, I had to embark on a journey to Ukraine, the nearest non-Schengen country that didn't require me to obtain a visa to visit.  I was told by the Foreigners' Urzad (bureau/office) that I needed to leave Poland on or before the 31st (the date of expiration for my current residency permit) and come back no sooner that the 1st of April.  So, I chose to go to Ukraine.

Long before I had even started out, people were warning me about how it wasn't the best idea to drive to Ukraine.  Numerous people stressed that going by car was dangerous and a long long wait.  They told me how I'd probably have to bribe the guards; that the line of traffic to cross the border was miles long and would take hours (days even!) to go through; that going by bus was faster and safer; and that I might end up in a holding cell somewhere. I passed it all off as typical hysteria by people who had never even crossed the border themselves, not even to go to Lwów (actually, one person had done that, and by car.)

So, we started out from Warsaw at 8:00 PM, heading towards the eastern border with Ukraine (about a 3.5-hour drive or 155 miles.)  We went first through Lublin, and then to Chelm (Hkhe-weh-mmm).  The drive was pretty uneventful, but at night so it's not like I could enjoy the passing Polish countryside.  We only stopped once at a gas station to put oil in the car and for my companion to buy a Coke.  We did pass a big industrial site near the border that was full of lights, and I surmised it might be a gas facility for the pipelines that cross Ukraine from Russia.  I dug a little deeper (later) and found that no gas pipeline crosses from Ukraine to Poland, only from Belarus to Poland.

We got to the border crossing at 11:30.  About three miles from the border station we start seeing all these trucks pulled over to the side of the road.  Three miles of parked trucks on the side of the road later, we pulled within 'sight' of the Polish customs station.  The only problem is there is a huge line (several hours' wait) and I need to get a stamp saying that I left the territory of the Republic of Poland before midnight.  There was a lane for buses and diplomatic traffic, and we tried that, but we were stopped by a border guard acting as traffic controller (you know those red cone-like wands air traffic controllers use?  He had one of those.)  So my companion is arguing with the guy, telling him my sob story and they guy just isn't having it and is becoming obviously annoyed.  So we turn around, and park in a pretty seedy looking parking lot nearby and start hoofing it on foot.

We walk back up to the traffic guy, who immediately tells us we can't just 'go for a walk' to the border station (about hundred yards away.)  My friend is just pestering the guy, like seriously pestering him, and the controller is just becoming exasperated.  We break off a little bit and ask a man in a truck (in the front of the line) how long he would have to wait, to which he replied "three hours."  That wasn't going to do.  Meanwhile, the traffic controller is telling cars to go through, but one of the drivers has fallen asleep at the wheel and the controller has to shine his flashlight into the window and knock on the guys windshield.  My friend again goes up to the guy and basically they work out that we can get in someone's car (at the front) and we can go to the station.  The controller talks to a guy in a small red VW Golf, and we get into his car.  There's a moment where we sit in there wondering what we're supposed to do (the driver included), and we're thinking, "Can we go?"  The controller looks at us and beckons angrily with his wand shouting a very exasperated "JEDŹ!" ("DRIVE!")  So, we drive up to the border control station and exit the car.  It's about 11:45 or so right now, and my companion immediately starts laying into some guard there, telling them my story, what needs to happen, what we're doing.  The guard is about as happy as the traffic guy, and he takes my passport, then passes us off to another guard.  The second guard may have been drunk, sleepy, or born a little to slow (or maybe any mix of the previous), but he definitely didn't have his shit together.  My friend starts trying to urge him, and he replies, irritated, "We still have eight minutes [before midnight]".

From the back seat of the nice fellow's Golf, heading into the guard station.

He carried my passport loosely in his hand, fumbling with his keys to get the door open to the guard booth.  He didn't have the key, so he walks back to the other office to get it and returns to open the door, take our documents, and cautiously go over mine, but also starts turning on the computer in the booth.  Another guard comes and together they leave to the other guard house, with my companion in tow.  The minutes tick by and it's past midnight, but they return.  My companion starts asking about what stamp they put in my passport, which they said, grumpily, "The 31st!".  I look at the stamped page in my passport and indeed it says that I left the Republic of Poland on 31-3-2011.  My companion let out a triumphant "Hurrah!"

The driver fellow, with whom we've been talking a bit, turns out to be a Ukrainian and quite pleasant.  He's passed through this border many times (poor him) and gives us plenty of information.  We ask the border guard if we can just go across to the opposite border station and re-enter Poland, and he replies, "No.  You must continue to Ukraine."  He gives a slip to the driver that says the car is clean and is carrying three passengers.

Now, this slip will become important later, because at another checkpoint right down the road, another guard will look at the slip, count the passengers, and wave the car on (and if you don't have the said-amount of passengers, you might just be in trouble.)

Anyway, we speed over the bridge and over the Bug River and pass into Ukraine.

The Ukrainian border station is exactly as you think it would be.  It looks like it hasn't changed since Soviet times, and the border guards are brusque and fit the exact stereotype of what you think a Ukrainian, Russian, or Belorussian border guard would be like.  They have the military fatigues and little fur hats with an Ukrainian emblem pin in the center.

We hand them our passports and start explaining things to an incredulous border guard.  Now, in my passport photo, I have long hair (it was taken five years ago), and now my hair is of more 'normal' length.  The border guard doesn't like this very much and stares at me for a very long time.  He starts barking questions in rapid, accented Polish, to which I can only say a little.  When my companion tries helping me, the guard tells him, "I didn't ask you, I asked him."  We explain about the stamp I need, and that we intend to leave Ukraine as soon as possible.  But, he's having a really hard time with my passport photo, so I hand him my (now-expired) karta pobytu (residency/identification card), in which I have a shaved head.  The guard exclaims something along the lines of "What's with your hair?!!!"  He left, then came back with another slightly older guard; he began flipping my passport under a black light to test for authenticity, then handed it to the new guard, who took and stared at it then at my face for no less than five minutes.  I had to practically stick my head into the window while the examined my face, then my passport and karta pobytu.  They began flipping through my passport again and asking me questions in a sharp pointed manner, stopping on my expired German visa.  They asked me questions like, what was I doing in Germany, when did I leave Germany, how long did I stay, all in a gruff, accusatory tone.  Finally, they stamp my passport and hand back all our identity documents.  My companion raids my wallet, saying that the 100zl bill I have there is too much, and grabs thirty zlotych and gives it to the driver.  The driver hops into his Golf and speeds off into the night.

The entire time I was there, I'm fighting the urge to pull out my camera and start snapping pictures.  But, my saner head prevails saying, "This is not the best time nor place to start photographing."  I still was able to snap a few dark pictures, which I had to edit a little to bring out any detail.

The guard exits the booth and we follow him into the main office.  This time, I wasn't sure what exactly was going on and I was thinking, "OK, they're probably going to search us and stuff."

We marched after the guard (and he walks exactly as you think he would walk) through a hallway and out into the checkpoint for people leaving Ukraine for Poland.  He walked right up to another booth, took our passports and immediately began explaining things to the guard in the booth.  They had great fun as they started laughing, also noting that my name is that of Michael Jordan's (a common thing here.)  There are burly Ukrainians swarming up around the booth.  The guard picked one, who was driving a large white commercial van, and basically said to him, "You're going to drive them across the border."  The poor guy wasn't too pleased about it, but before he could do anything the guard marked on his slip of paper that the van contained three passengers, forcing the man to take us at least to the final Ukrainian checkpoint, where another guard would scan the slip and count the persons in the vehicle.

So, we followed the man to the van and he cleared a whole bunch of shit off his front seats (it had three front seats) and he let us in.  Then he demanded to see our passports (who knows why!) and he examined each one by flipping through them.  While he was going through mine, I thought I might have to buy it back from him with the remaining 100zl bill I have.  That, or I might have to stab him, but one thing is certain:  I was getting my passport back.  He gave them both back.  Then, he drove as far as the duty free shop to buy some stuff (probably food for the continuing wait), then drove to the last check point, where the guard shined his flashlight into the cab of the van counting, "One, two, three.  OK."  And we drove another fifty yards before hitting another traffic jam.  We got out and thanked the hapless fellow for taking us this far and began to walk.

Crossing the Bug

I must admit, it was pretty cool walking across the bridge and the Bug (the actual border of the two countries.)  The entire road was bumper-to-bumper vehicles, all of them with Ukrainian plates.  There were cars, trucks, and vans. Cars with trailers containing what looked like whatever was rustled from an antique dealer's dumpster.  The cars themselves looked as if they were held together solely because their bolts had rusted into an indiscernible mass, and they were running on little more than a prayer (the icons that were present in almost every car couldn't have done any harm.)  Almost every car looked like some mechanic's nightmare (or wet dream).  The whole place smelled like burning rubber, burning oil, and unburned gasoline.  The average age of the cars there had to be no less than twenty years.

Crossing the Bug, see the cars.

We walked to another traffic controller, who told us that we could not walk to the border station, so we simply asked to fellows in a blue van.  They obliged and carried us as far as the station, where we got out and began to look for a booth to get stamped.  We wandered around for a bit, asking a border guard, who told us that we had to be in a vehicle to be processed; he suggested getting on one of the buses just for the ride over.  We tried two buses, but no luck.  We loitered a bit, then headed back to the line of cars, finally asking two Ukrainians in a white sedan if we could ride with them to be processed.  They agreed, so we hopped in and they drove twenty yards up and pulled over.  Everyone hopped out, leaving all doors open, popping the trunk and letting the Polish border guards search the vehicle and take our passports.  We got back in again and my companion and the two guys talked a bit.  It turned out that they had waited in line for ten hours and they were crossing the border to work unloading freight trucks.  The 2012 EuroCup was discussed, and I was forced again to listen to Ukrainian techno-pop on the radio.  I noticed that the procedure for examining cars went something like this:  A line of about eight cars pulled up and stopped.  Then, each car was inspected, started from the back of the line.  Once the front car was inspected, the cars would all drive off and another line would pull up.  We sat for maybe twenty minutes until the guards came back and we all had to jump out again, they searched the car (even popping the hood), then gave us back our passports and we drove off, handing the slip of paper to the last checkpoint, a female guard who counted the passengers of the car.  The lads were obliging enough to drop us off the entrance of the parking lot where we had left almost exactly two hours earlier.

I was surprised with all the burdensome processes involved in crossing the border.  For instance: the fact that every single car was inspected.  I was told later that this is mostly done to lock down on smuggling, specifically cigarettes.  One can buy a pack of cigarettes in Ukraine for about sixty cents, then take it to Poland and sell it for a greatly inflated price.  But Poland isn't usually the destination for cigarettes, because if you can make it to France of even England you can make a tidy profit.  As we were getting into our car in the parking lot, some man walked up to us holding a plastic grocery bag full of cigarettes trying to sell us them.  We drove away, and didn't even have to pay a parking fee; the parking attendant just let us ago.

A shot from the parking lot, looking at the border station, as we were about to leave.

And so, we drove back towards Warsaw, past all those trucks parked one after another on the side of the road.  About a half hour later, the rain came.  We arrived in Warsaw around 5 am, my usual waking time, and I got to get home, eat a small breakfast then head off to work.  I was in the Foreigners Urzad (office/bureau) by 11:00AM, passing in photocopies of my newly-stamped passport.  The lady accepting them was confused by the stamps that said I left Poland on the 31st, but arrived in Ukraine on the 1st, then left Ukraine on the 1st.  I said, "It was at midnight."  She nodded, then stamped the photocopies, accepted them and bid good day.

The Eleventh and Travels

I was particularly excited for this November, mostly because I thought I would be able to spend the 11th in Poland, which happens to be its Independence Day.  First off, you might ask why a nation that claims to be 1000-years old and whose inception started with the baptism of a king would need an independence day.  Well, it celebrates its independence from Germany, Austria, and Russia, which was secured on November 11th, 1918 (yes, the end of World War I), ending a partitioned rule of 123 years.  Next, you might ask why I would care at all since the Poles don't really have any super-fun holiday extravaganzas.  From what I've heard, Independence Day is just a day everyone stays at home and the military holds some token parades.  Meanwhile, the people in the States hold raucous parades for just about every holiday they can (Memorial Day, Thanksgiving Day, the Fourth of July, Veterans Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter.)  Well, I've just never seen it, and I really wanted to see it.  Unfortunately, I was recalled to the US (on tragic circumstances) and spent the day (Veterans Day) hearing from veterans describing the free meal they got from Applebee's.  On the flipside, I did get to spend the Fourth of July in the States, instead of Poland as I have or the past couple of years (mostly by drinking a few beers and watching Gettysburg.  There's nothing more satisfyingly patriotic than watching the Confederates' dreams and hopes crushed on the battlefield.)

My journey to the States was surprisingly uneventful; everything went as smoothly as could be.  I flew Air France, and every flight was on time.  The layover in Paris was short enough and on both flights I didn't have to sit next to any horrible miscreants.  Even my passage through Customs was swift.  (Not that I'm plugging for Air France.  It was almost two years ago when they cancelled my flight from Paris to Warsaw on Christmas Eve and couldn't get me out until Christmas Day.  Then, they left my baggage in Paris.)
The trip from Boston to Rome (I flew Alitalia on the way back) was a different story.  The lass at the ticket counter  squeezed me up to seat 11A on account of the flight being full, which I immediately fantasized that I was bumped up to Business Class or the mythical First Class.  Unfortunately, I was relegated to the first seat of economy.  It wasn't all bad: there was no seat in front of me that would recline backwards and I got to exit rather quickly, plus I could stick my feet up on the partition.  The bad thing was the family across the aisle (and whose fat grandfather sat next to me) with the noisy toddlers.
I've never had a problem with kids on an air plane; if anything they're usually better than the horrible adults that usually ruin my flight.  The babies cry during takeoff and landing, but then quiet down after ten minutes and sleep the whole time.  These little brats didn't sleep at all and did nothing but talk really loudly and cry.  I mean, they. would. NOT. shut up.  Meanwhile, their loving parents proceeded to ignore them and continue to watch their movies.  The mother saw fit to change one of their diapers in the cabin instead of the bathroom, where there are perfectly good accommodations for changing a shit-filled sack from little child.  Also, they turned on a DVD player sans headphones so the rest of us could enjoy the crappy kids movie.  And another thing: when I first arrived at my seat, I was greeted by the grandmother playing with the two kids in my seat.  She then went, "Oh, you're the one sitting here." and spent ten minutes picking up toys and uncooperative kids to clear out and let me sit down (meanwhile backing up the line for people waiting to get on the plane.)  Did she just think that someone wasn't going to sit in that seat on an over-booked flight?
The flight from Rome to Warsaw was fine, but I was picked out by Customs for inspection, who scanned my bag.  The guard then spent a few minutes writing something down and said I could go.  Why the need to write down something when nothing happened?  They feel the need to note anything of importance and whatnot.  It's like when a few years ago I got off a late train and headed for the benches under the walkways in Centralna to wait for a friend.  Two policemen followed me and took down all my information in a little book then let me go.  Doesn't really make sense.

Polonia Seeps Into Everything

I have just come back to Warsaw on the best plane trip I can yet remember.  The seven-hour flight from Boston to Madrid flew by (pun intended.)  Maybe it was because I was in a good mood to be escaping the heat wave on the East Coast, maybe it was because I had an entire four-seat row to myself.  In any case, the hop from Boston to Madrid, then from Madrid to Warsaw went as smooth as can be.

I was Stateside for a wedding (one of the best I attended.)  Even though it was an American-German wedding (the bride was from Germany), I found little parts of Poland.  For instance, I recently purchased a mug for my mother.  It was traditional Polish pottery, hand-painted, etc.  While we were guests for the wedding, I found a mug in the cabinet that was not only the same type (same shape) of mug that I had gotten my mother, it was from the same set!  It was painted with the same design of flowers and such.  Further inspection, and inspection of the groom's cabinets, showed plenty more of these Polish mugs.
In both Boston and New York, there are statues to some of Poland's national heros: King Wladyslaw Jagiello and Tadeusz Kosciuszko.  It seems that Polonia (the name for the Polish Diaspora) has left its mark all over the place.  At least in the places I visited in ten days.

While in Boston, I met numerous people who all reacted in the same few ways: "I'm of Polish heritage."  "I just spent the last few days with Polish people."  "Warsaw?  Where is that?"  It's nice to be able to connect to people in such a way.

While in New York City, I really thought about the differences between the largest city in the US and the largest city in Poland.  Poles not from Warsaw often complain that Warsaw is fast-paced, dirty, the people unwelcoming, the traffic terrible.  Compared to Manhattan, Warsaw is a green, quaint, sleepy hamlet.  Manhattan is dirty; the roads are shitty; the traffic is unbelievable; the amount of homeless is depressing.  The cramped, traffic-clogged roads of Manhattan are a far cry from the relatively broad, seemingly-empty roads of Warsaw (NOTE: This does not apply to the Old Town.)
Brooklyn is has the neighborhood of Greenpoint (where, the brother of this author lives.)  It's been described as the Polishtown of New York, with the signs being in Polish and everyone speaking in Polish and ignoring those who actually speak in English.  My brother summed it up as: "It's the only place where I've seen a man stumble out of a bar cannot-stand-up-drunk at like three in the afternoon.  On a Wednesday."  (Plans to upload pictures of Greenpoint are presently stalled.  They will be uploaded later.)

Statues to King Wladyslaw and Kosciuszko in Central Park and Boston Commons respectively.

The Polish Consulate in New York City.

Plane Crash: After Effects: Memorial Plus Volcanic Ash

Iceland's Eyjafjallajokull (try saying that five times fast) has erupted, hurling plumes of ash into the sky. The ash has caused the cancellation of more than half of the EU's flights, and a great deal of transatlantic flight. The skies over Ireland, the UK, and Scandinavia have become virtual no-fly zones. Today, at around 9 AM, the cloud apparently nudged into Poland (near Szczecin.)

This ash plume is cause of some concern for Poland, since it may cause the cancellation of world leaders' plans to pay their respects to Kaczynscy on Sunday. The Poles were even mulling over delaying the funeral if Obama could not make it.

Volcanic ash is notorious in its ability to clog airplane engines (car engines have air filters, which make them less susceptible.) Mount St. Helen's eruption caused cancellations across the northwest, and volcanoes in Alaska routinely cause cancellations for Alaskan Airlines.

Volcanoes aside, there is still an uproar over the choice of the Wawel as a burial place. Facebook groups such as, I want to be buried at the Wawel, and, We Want a National Stadium Built on the Wawel (how retarded is that group?) have tens of thousands of members. The decision to bury them there basically came down to the Catholic Church, which usually throws its weight behind PiS, which in turn claims to be the party representing the Catholic Church. Oh, and I still don't care either way, but I think it's rather shameful the way that people are literally taking to the streets over this. Honestly, I think Kaczynscy being buried at the Wawel is a political move, and that it would be better if he was laid to rest in Powazki in Warsaw. Kaczynski was from Warsaw and probably should be laid to rest here as well. BUT, I can see that he might want to be buried in the Wawel. That's just my two cents.

Tomorrow, Saturday, there is a memorial for Lech Kaczynski at noon at Plac Pilsudskiego. There is a general prohibition of alcohol in Warsaw until 6 PM and all public transportation will be free. I'll be reporting on it and will write more about it tomorrow.

Back in Action

Well, it's been a long several months, but I'm back in Poland's borders.

I flew over on British Airlines, and I must say that I am not impressed. OK, their seats are fairly comfy, but the rest of the experience was less than great and they charged me $110 in bag fees (can you believe that shit?)

As usual, I was doomed to have the center seat on both flights next to the most horrible people on the plane (not counting screaming babies.) The entertainment system also crashed an hour into the flight and needed to be rebooted. I must say though, Surrogates and X-Men Origins: Wolverine were both pretty awful. I gave up bread for Lent, so I wasn't able to have the little roll that usually accompanies airline cuisine.

Going through Customs was the quickest ever and my bags were some of the first onto the carousel. The bus arrived shortly after I got to the stop. Unfortunately, the bus driver only had 1.10zl in change (a one-trip ticket (bilet jednorazowy) is 2.80zl) and all I had were a 10zl note and a 5zl coin. I eventually just gave him the 5zl and he gave me 1.10zl in change (the whole thing pissed him off good.)

I was told by numerous Poles that the weather was freezing and that snow drifts were high. The temp today and yesterday was in the fifties and the sun was bright and shining.

Now to get back some students and find a real job.

Now, after a good night's rest, I've planted most of my seeds which will be grown on the balcony. No cucumbers this year, but the tomatoes and the morning glories will be back in force.

Ireland: Kilrush and Kilkee plus the Litter.

I've mentioned before about my dallying about in Kilkee, the seaside resort in County Clare. Here's a more in-depth explanation:

An abby ruin lying in a pasture.

The road in the Western Highlands

The bus ride to Kilkee was about ninety minutes through the Western Highlands. An amazing thing about Ireland (or at least this part) is the amount of neglected ruins standing in the middle of fields. We might pass by a sacked abbey, a crumbling castle, or merely a watchtower standing in the midst of a pasture with cows grazing about it. The weather was gray and overcast with a smattering of rain. The rain there was never a heavy downpour, but rather more of a dense misting.

The whole reason to visit Kilkee was a concert at the main church, which I was informed later used to hold Polish Mass every Sunday (the Polish population dwindled apparently. But, there was a Polish store on the way into the town.)

The town itself is rather small and situated on a sand beach on the harbor. Cliffs rise up on either side of the beach and grassy hills undulate towards the inland. The lack of sun didn't take away from the majesty of it all, and the gray sky melded with the wavy steel sea. A breeze pushed breakers in, causing a dramatic spray and boom as broke against the black rock shore. A golf course was nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding countryside; all that let wary hikers know there was a course there was a few signs warning of flying balls, a small wire fence, and a random sand trap. There wasn't a tree in sight.

Some people playing a round on the links.

Across the bay.

A shot of Kilkee.

The grass was so soft. It was like walking on whipped cream or down feathers. Rolling down the hill (yes, I did do that) was extremely satisfying and was even better than doing it in the snow. Unfortunately, there were tons of trash lying about. Trash barrels stood virtually unused as garbage was strewn around the landscape. It wasn't just in Kilkee, but in Limerick and Kilrush as well.

One of the many ignored signs.

A small bit of evidence.

Apparently they have no idea what this is for.

Kilkee seemed to be suffering/benefitting from a housing boom, as brand new beach homes lined the roads facing out to sea. They were obviously rented by the week or weekend, and one could see straight into each home due to the large glass frontal windows that afforded them a view of the bay. The main street of Kilkee was lined with tourist shops and fish-'n-chips take outs. It was rather quaint indeed. By the beach there were a few stands selling periwinkles (things I used to smash as a kid for fun, but never ate.)

Beach houses facing the ocean.

Kilrush was a larger town, more set back from the shore. It had numerous bars, all of them displaying some soccer game and all boasting of live traditional music. Kilrush also had some infatuation with butcher shops as well, as there seemed to be too many to really be supported by the local populace. There were almost as many butcher shops as there were bars (these people apparently like their meat. When I was in a grocery store in Limerick, the meat section took up a good eight aisles-worth.)

A shot of downtown Kilrush.

Limerick was a bustling city that closed down after five o'clock. Everything closed except a few bars and maybe a store or two. In some parts litter blanketed the ground like leaves do in the fall. Aside from that, it was rather charming.

On a bus in Limerick. Apparently gum litter is a big crime.

I must stress that everyone there was extremely nice and charming. I've never met such lovely fellows. Everyone was so warm and inviting (aside from a few, such as the man at the bus stop yelling racial epithets.)

Near the University of Limerick there is a ruin of a castle, one that has stood for hundreds of years. Most people there don't know about it, or seem to care. Now it's overgrown and serves as a place for college students to party and fuck.

Trash at the castle.

One of the many empty condom wrappers.

Litter is just everywhere; including cow pastures.

Apparently a pasture is the proper place to dispose waste.

It makes the meat tastier.

Ireland: The Overview

I've recently returned from my trip to the Emerald Isle (my first ever.) Not surprisingly: the weather was crap, the food was almost inedible, the dentistry was lacking, and all the workers were Polish. The landscape was beautiful, dotted with ruins, and oh-so green. It was also dotted with litter and some horrific suburban sprawl.

Coming in through Cork via Warsaw, it was easy to see that the vast majority of the passengers were Poles sporting freshly cut crowns (haircuts are cheaper in Poland, so they cut their hair before they go back and cut it really short.) Exiting the airport, I was greeted by the most foul-mouthed bus driver whose every other word was 'fuck'. It was a rather quick drive to the Cork bus station, and a short wait at the terminal.
At the station, there was no shortage of entertainment, as a middle-aged, scraggly Irishman began yelling racial epithets at two black cabbies waiting in the parking lot. The asiatic lady standing in line behind me noted that he had done this before and that he was actually riding our bus. He stood there yelling at them, with them yelling back (one started to do a mock goose step and Nazi salute) until a security officer came by and began talking to him. He peacefully turned around and boarded the bus.
The drive to Limerick was very beautiful and the clouds were just inspiring. This inspiration was short-lived as I found out that my living place was a dorm of the University of Limerick, and it was a revolting mess. I don't know how the furniture could have gotten so grimy—it was as if it had been left out in the elements for the better part of a year—or what exactly the stains on the carpets and mattresses were, but I wasn't impressed.

But that's all nit-picking. I made a trip to the seaside resort of Kilrush. The town itself is undergoing some expansion, which is less than pretty. The coast surrounding the town took my breath away. Green fields went right up the dark, shear cliffs, which fell away to the gray ocean. The grass was thick like matted hair, and as soft as down. It made a nice mattress on which to roll down the gentle slopes (which I did.)

A small tragedy of Ireland is the amount of litter (which will be covered in a later post.) Kilrush, with is beautiful land- and seascapes, was no exception. It was in every cove, niche of rock, and grassy field.

Ireland's recent boom has brought tons of new development, which means rows and rows of identical homes developed in the most horrendous fashion. It's ancient history is abound everywhere. Ruins of castles, abbeys, and watchtowers stand in lonely fields with cattle and sheep grazing about them. One such castle, right beside the River Shannon, stood as an overgrown ruin almost totally ignored by everyone.

Aside from the dreary weather, bland chow, and dingy quarters, everyone was extremely nice and lovely (lovely in the personality sense, not in appearance.) Strangers were quick to introduce themselves and engage in conversation.

Overall, it was a splendid time.

Eire: An Update

I am currently not in Poland, but rather in the Emerald Isle. I'm actually sitting in the library of the University of Limerick typing this. It's been interesting and I'm sure I'll have some shenanigans to talk about.

Stettin: Szczecin: Brickville

This past weekend I went to Szczecin for a three-day trip which was bound to involve a lot of opera. Now, I'm not the hugest opera fan in the world, but I was especially invited to view the premiere of Piekna Helena at Opera na Zamku (The Opera in the Castle.) More details in the next post about that.

Artwork in the castle courtyard. In each chest there is sand with progressively more trash and pollution. As there is more pollution, the body changes until it becomes less defined and more 'mechanical' in a sense.

My road to Szczecin started at 10:45 in Warszawa Centralna. I bought my ticket with minutes to spare and hurried down to the platform where the waiting train was already boarding. Rushing through the cars, I found a cabin that was somewhat open. Inside, three men sat in a haze of cigarette smoke, one with a lit cigarette in his hand, obviously ignoring the No Smoking sign on the doorway, while the other two had their hands ever-ready on their darling packs of Marlboros. I sat down but only stayed a few minutes after I couldn't take the smell and the stinging in my eyes anymore. I grabbed my luggage and hunted for a new compartment.

The next one I found was peaceful an quiet with two men. I sat down between them (apparently the opposite bench was taken by women that were absent.) A young man to my right stared straight ahead while he shifted to make himself comfortable, while the older gentleman to my left (around sixty) listened to heavy metal on a Sony discman. The conductor came along and after looking at my ticket, promptly told me that I needed to move: these train cars were going to Zielona Gora, not to Szczecin. I asked which ones were going to Szczecin and he said to go three more wagons down.

I finally came to rest in a compartment with three gentlemen (one left in Poznan, I think) and tried my best to sleep. The sun does rise early in these summer days and I only managed about two hours of broken sleep before I arrived in Szczecin Glowny. Right before we did, we passed through some of the thickest fog I have ever seen. Outside the windows was pure white that reduced visibility to zero. From the main train station there was still some fog hanging over the water.

Morning fog from Szczecin Glowny (Stettin Hauptbahnhof.)

My time in Szczecin was limited, but enjoyable. I spent a great deal of time in the Zamek Ksiazat Pomorskich w Szecinie (The Pomeranian Dukes' Castle) and the Opera na Zamku (The Opera at the Castle), which is an opera company that operates out of the castle.

On Saturday, it was the last day of Dni Kultury Ukrainskiej (Days of Ukrainian Culture) at the castle. There was a large stage set up in the main courtyard, on which traditional Ukrainian folk dances and songs were performed. I only caught the tail end, but the performers' uniforms were terrific and hilarious. Also, I'm pretty sure that some of the songs they were singing are more of the 'Pop' category, and were not traditionally sung by Ukrainian peasants while harvesting their grain. One song that was absent from the performance was the fantastic Razom Nas Bahato, Nas Ne Podolaty.

Dances of Dni Kultury Ukrainskiej

Inside the castle, within the realm of the Opera, a restaurant called "Restauracja na Kuncu", which is a play on words, since the director of the Opera's last name is Kunc. It's a bit of fine dining; a place to go for a meal or coffee before the show, but it has reasonable prices. The prices were further reduced because everyone associated with the Opera gets half-off all dishes (something the owner resents.) Thus, with my indirect association I was able to dine there with a relatively small bill. Aside from the usual fare of typical Polish food, it offers some interesting additions. One such was the Salmon Tartare, a take on steak tartare (sans egg yolk) with salmon. I had it, and it was really good! Their pierogi are serviceable, but I've certainly had better; their sauces contain a distinct amount of cumin.

Sign for the restaurant in Opera na Zamku.

The clock tower at the Pomeranian Dukes' Castle.

I was given a restaurant and shopping guide by a member of the opera, which was more entertaining than it was valuable. Inside it boasts that Szczecin is now a major destination for plastic surgery (someone told me that many Germans cross over into it, not only for plastic surgery but things like dental care as well, because it's far cheaper than in Germany.) The part on plastic surgery is as follows:

Many new and modern clinics have opened within the last couple of years and most of the staff speak very good English. A typical stay for an operation can be as short as 2 or 3 days. There are great savings! For example a breast enhancement/reduction or liposuction (fat removal) is usually 50% cheaper in Poland than in many other Northern European countries.

How wonderful. The best part of the whole guide is the part on Szczecin's history. It's an interesting little blurb that conveniently fails to mention anything about Szczecin being a German (ethnicity-wise) city for something like 700 years.

Szczecin boasts over 1000-year and turbulent history [sic]. It was the ducal seat and a member of the Hanseatic League since the 13th century. The city was one of the most powerful ports and trading centres on the Baltic Sea. During World War II, 60% of all buildings were destroyed.

And that's about it for Szczecin's history. I guess it's enough for a small pamphlet. One thing that was interesting, is the amount of German tour groups visiting the area. The most that I saw were older people, and we joked that they were coming to say, "Hey! I grew up on this street. It sure looks a lot different than it did back then."

Artwork (graffiti?) on a stoop near the castle.

I should mention that Szczecin is a city dominated by brick architecture. If you love everything brick, there's plenty to see here. Marble may rule in Italy, and limestone in Western Europe, but here, brick is king. (Now, not every building is made out of brick, but all the older buildings and churches are.) Since Szczecin is known for its brickwork, many new buildings are cosmetically going with that theme and feature mainly brick facades. In some older buildings, Saint James' especially, it's easy to spot where the older brickwork has been replaced by newer bricks. I'm told the widespread use of brick is because there isn't much stone to quarry in Northern Europe. Since brick is basically dried mud and clay, which is in abundance, it found its way into being the premiere building material. They've certainly been creative with brick, and since brick goes so well with ivy, there's some ivy thrown in there as well.

The front facade and spire of St. James' Cathedral.

The beautiful main doors to the cathedral. You can see where the old brick has been replaced by new brick.

An entrance on the side of the cathedral. This side was currently undergoing renovation.

Typical brickwork.

While Szczecin is not really that big—much smaller than I thought—it does have its share of sights. Simply wandering about will do, but they also have a path painted throughout the city that goes by all the major sites. I more of ambled about, but it's impossible not to cross this path multiple times.

I was able to catch part of a fashion show at the central mall, Galaxy, and meander through the nearby Park Zeromskiego. There, it's a stroll to the banks of the Oder River. They were actually dredging the river, so we were able to see some huge backhoe dig up the mud and silt and deposit it in a barge (the barge with the backhoe was German flagged, while the accompanying barge was flew the Polish flag.) Actually, it was a very interesting process and attracted a small crowd.

Dredging the Oder River.

A few things I left unseen, one was the interior of the St. James' Cathedral and I dearly love climbing the spires (which I was unable to do.) When we went, there was a Mass, so we were not allowed in as tourists. There were the sort collection of museums that I didn't have a chance to peruse, but I'm sure I will if I go back. It may seem rather lame that I mainly dined at na Koncu, but remember, I'm on a budget here; I'll take half-off wherever I can get it.

I was also forced to deal with the frequent crap out of my digital camera. It's a junky point-and-shoot, but it usually gets the job done; however, recently it's decided to freeze when I least want it to and to refuse turning on randomly even if the batteries are fine. While my main camera, my Canon Elan 7ne is working well, it's a film camera so unless I scan my pictures (slides; I usually shoot on slide film), I can't upload them to here.

A great place to catch lunch is at Milk Bar Turysta. Jam-packed during the rush, it's worth it. Cheap with good food and large portions, it beats out most other places. I had a wonderful bowl of chlodnik, which was perfect to cool me down in the hot afternoon.

My meal at the milk bar.

When I left, I took the 11:15PM train back to Warsaw. This one didn't split up and I shared the cabin with two girls and a guy with acne scars so bad he looked like he had been burned with wax. He left (in Poznan also, I think) and was replaced by another girl later on in the trip. The seats smelled like dank sweat and we were near the bathroom, so we got that wonderful waft of shit and piss that hasn't been cleaned up since Stalin died. I got more sleep this time, but it was still cramped and the bathroom was revolting (piss all over the floor.) They seriously need to update these trains.

Three days, sun and rain, not bad.

Flight Over

Well, I'm back in Poland. I was greeted by overhanging clouds and a steady rain.

There's no real need for me to talk about my trip in great detail, but I will anyway.

It all started when E gave me a ride to Logan Airport. The day was searing hot; not a cloud in the sky or even a breeze of any sort. He had his little Garmin GPS set to avoid toll roads, so I got a pleasant tour of previously-unseen Mass, guided by some mechanical voice with a British accent (it even used the word 'roundabout' instead of "rotary.')

E dropped me off at Terminal A (NWA used to fly out of Terminal E, but ever since they were bought out by Delta they've switched to Terminal A.) I checked in with almost no problems (my first bag was two pounds over weight. I had to rummage in it and take out my tiny tripod and my paperback copy of Gödel, Escher, Bach. It ended up being two pounds under the limit. Great success. The automatic check-in machine was also kind of a piece of shit.)

My flight was at 7:05 PM, and I arrived at the airport at four, so I had some waiting to do. No problem, I watched some lectures from my online class and sat it out by the window, watching the ground crew load the A330. At 5:30 there came an announcement that our aircraft had a large mechanical problem (something to do with the nose landing gear.) They estimated that it would be fixed by 10 PM and that we'd fly out at 11:15. A short while later they announced again that the mechanical problem could not be fixed tonight and that they were flying in another plane from Minneapolis, which would be here around ten, and that we'd fly out at 11:15. I began to somewhat panic, since I was originally due to arrive in Amsterdam at 8:00 AM local time, and fly out at 9:45. Now they were saying that we'd arrive in Amsterdam no earlier than 10:00.

A long line formed at the gate desk, and stood up and joined at the back, intent on finding out when I was able to get a connection. While waiting in line I chatted to some fellow travelers and got my voucher NWA passed out. One was $25 off my next flight, another was 2,000 frequent flyer miles, and another was for a $10 voucher that could be used to buy some food in the terminal. I waited in line for about ninety minutes. When I was about two people away to speaking to representative, one of them got on the speaker and announced that Delta was not running the connections, on KLM-Royal Dutch Airlines was doing that, and Delta had no idea what we would have to do. We were directed to speak to KLM representatives when we arrived in Amsterdam.

Seeing as I was being picked up at Chopin Airport, I tried to find a way to contact them saying I wasn't arriving. Internet at Logan costs like $8 per day, and I wasn't about to do that. Strangely, I could access rottentomatoes.com, avclub.com, hulu.com, and YouTube (I was only able to watch one video, the rest had 'errors.') A guy sitting next to me inquired about the internet, and I replied that these must have been a fluke. He let me use his Blackberry Storm (it's kind of crappy, really. Not really a good GUI) to send an SMS.

I used my voucher at the nearby Game On bar. They were out of food (the kitchen had just closed), but they had to Sox game on. I got a pint of Samuel Adams Summer Ale (a fine pint indeed) and watched the Sox for a bit.

The plane arrived and we finally boarded. I got an aisle seat, sitting next to an older woman. I read a bit from a complimentary Wall Street Journal (Mexico's economy has taken a hit to the balls) and waited for take off. We sat on the plane for a bit, and the pilot announced that a circuit breaker had blown on a minor system and shouldn't cause much of a delay. It took a short bit, but we were airborne a little after 12:45 AM—over six hours later than our supposed take off.

I slept through most of the flight, missing breakfast. We landed in Amsterdam around 1:00 PM. The pilot had gone up to 39,000 feet and gunned the engines, cutting the seven-hour trip down to six. Going through customs was fairly easy, but the line was exceedingly long. The customs guard was smiley and pleasant. After seeing my old student visa for Germany, he asked, "You were in Germany? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" I replied, "Ein bisschen." He gave a nod, "Ein bisschen."

It's strange, these days almost all check in is automatic. You get your tickets from a machine, and now they have these automatic transfer machines. I scanned the barcode from my original boarding pass and it printed me out a new one. My new flight was at 2:50, landing in Warsaw at 4:50. I could only hope that my luggage would follow me there.

Follow me it did. It was some of the first luggage to be unloaded onto the carousel. I had unfortunately gotten a middle seat between some fat old guy, who had terrible breath and smelled like an alcoholic, and some middle-aged woman. Halfway through the flight, the guy got up, and I suspected he went to the bathroom. He left a carryon bag under the seat, but he never returned. Either he had to take a massive hour-long shit, or he just moved to another open seat.

No one was there to greet me at the terminal, so I headed straight out to the bus stop. I was exceedingly fortunate when my bus arrived just as I walked up. On the way to the apartment there was a girl and her mother going for the First Communion (they got on at a different stop.) The little girl was dressed elegantly all in white, with a white wreath of flowers on her head and white gloves, white shoes, and a white purse (even a little fur-lined white shawl.) It was quite a clash and contrast of the prim and proper against the background of the everyday riffraff (like last summer at the wedding in Sosnowiec, where there was a a grubby beggar and her children on the church steps while everyone stood in their Sunday best in line to congratulate the bride and groom.) I really wanted to take a picture, but I didn't want them to get angry (I wasn't sure how the mother would react.)

Well, that's pretty much how I got here. Jet lag still eats at me, but I'll manage.

Flights

I used to have quite a bit of luck while traveling.  Now, I consider myself lucky if I reach my destination intact.

I used to love flying in planes, but now that I do so several times a year, I dread it.  I now enjoy waiting in the airport more than sitting in a cramped, crowded plane full of the dredges of humanity.  Say what you will but for me, it's the destination, not the journey.

It seems that I'm always next to the fattest person on the plane, and he never has a tightly sealed asshole.  My time next to these farting lumps of crap makes my air travel almost unbearable.

I flew to Poland for spring break once, leaving on Friday after classes and taking the bus to Boston.  The day before, it was a clear, sunny day, but now it turned into a gigantic blizzard that delayed the bus almost an hour.  I was to fly Northwest Airlines, and when I reached Logan almost all the flights were cancelled save for this one.  We were told that the plane was flying into Boston, and if it could land, then the flight would continue as scheduled.  The plane did not land and the flight was cancelled.  The ticket counter was mobbed with people and I was told that the earliest flight was on the following Monday.  I snapped at them, asking if any other airline would be able to connect me and they promptly bought me a ticket for a Swiss International Airlines flight on Sunday, arriving on Monday.

Oh, but that's not all.  On my return journey, my flight from Warsaw to Amsterdam was delayed.  I barely made my connection, from Amsterdam to Boston, but Northwest Airlines lost (with whom I flew back to the States), lost my luggage and left it in Amsterdam.  I got it back a few days later, but Customs had searched my bag (and repacked it quite shoddily) and removed two half-liter bottles of vodka.  Since it's legal for a non-US citizen to bring a liter of alcohol into the US, what are they doing removing a liter of alcohol from a citizen's baggage?  I called up NWA, who told me that I had a case and should call the TSA.  The guy on the other end told me flat out that I was probably not going to see either my Zubrowka or Wyborowa ever again.

A winter jaunt to Poland ended up quite similar.  I flew out on Air France, with a connection in Paris.  I had a nine-hour layover, which is plenty of time to go and explore Paris.  And explore Paris I did.

Paris is many people's favorite cities.  Now, I've only been there twice, and I won't deny that it has it's charm, it's culture, it's utter beauty and inspiring sites, it's history, gardens, restaurants, theaters, museums, churches, bridges, porn shops.  Paris is a city that everyone should visit within his or her lifetime; it's just too much to pass up.

The subway line from the airport to Paris proper is eight Euros one-way (and I thought public transportation was over priced here!)  I took the metro in and saw what I could.  Most of what I saw is in my Cheburashka post.  I didn't have tons and tons of time, because I still had a flight to take to Poland.  Plus, it was Christmas Eve.  I had heard that Paris is beautiful at Christmastime, and it is, but it kind of looked the same as it had when I was there six years earlier.  It was a clear, sunny day, and I got to watch the sunrise.  It was rather warm and all I needed to wear was a polar fleece.

I digress.  My tale about Paris is something for another time.  I should bring up that I arrived in Paris with about three hours of sleep in the last two days (no joke.)  So I had my fun in Paris, got back on the metro and went back to Charles De Gaulle.  I passed customs, and went to find my gate (remember, this was a connection flight so I didn't have to check in.)  Suddenly, after about a half-hour of being in the airport, the screen said my flight was cancelled!!!  Can you believe that shit?!  I went to the Air France desk, along with the other members of the flight, and was told by the lady at the desk that "the pilot didn't show up.  He was sick or on vacation, she didn't know."  I was fuming by this time, but she gave me a lunch voucher to use at the airport and a hotel voucher, which came with a dinner and breakfast voucher.  She told us that the next flight tomorrow would be at nine a.m. and that our baggage would be on the plane and meet us in Warsaw.

We (the stiffed travelers) waited outside on the curb for three hours for the shuttle to take us to our hotel.  Three hours.  Every so often a shuttle bus for a different hotel (or set of hotels) would come by and stop; we'd run up and ask them if they were going to our hotel.  Of course they would say no.  It didn't take long for us to ask, "Are you going within walking distance of the hotel?"  They would again reply that they weren't.  Finally, thankfully the shuttle bus arrived and spirited us to our destination.  I saw in anger and rage that our hotel was RIGHT NEXT to allllll the other hotels, to which these other shuttles were going.

We all got our rooms and I collapsed into bed at around 6:30, missing dinner, which started at 7:30.  I still regret not being able to get my full amount from that voucher.  I did use my breakfast voucher, and the breakfast was actually quite good (being a continental breakfast.)

Our flight to Poland was fine, but the assholes left my baggage back in Paris.  They couldn't even put it on the place after more than twenty-four hours.  It was Christmas Day at this time, but they did deliver my baggage to my door the very next day.

There are many tales such as these.  I can't recall every fat, disgusting person, next to whom I've had to sit (I tell about that horrific Russian lady in one of my first posts.)  I hope one day to rekindle my love of the actual activity of traveling from one place to another, but until then, I'm stuck in economy class.  I'm doomed to loose my luggage and circulation in my legs.

I actually like airplane food.  (It's the last thing I enjoy.)

Back to Basics

Well, I'm back in Poland.  The more I travel via bus or plane, the more I despise it.

Poland in winter is the grayest thing ever.  In Warsaw, where most of the buildings are concrete, it's even more so.  Right now the sun is just rising and shining beautifully in my eye, and the clouds are scarce.  It aims to be a beautiful day.

Trains

Trains in Poland are a mixture of rotting infrastructure and cutting modernism.  Like the I.C.E trains in Germany (I have ridden no better train), a super-fast, modern InterCity zips about with the riders in comfort.  But most, and cheaper, trains stick the old compartment-style car (personally, it's my favorite) with no enforcement on the non-smoking rules and bathrooms that would make any hobo gag.  Riding to Gdynia (a 9 pm train that took five hours) taught me how packed a traincar could get.  Riding back taught me how miserable it can be to travel.  I found a flea that very same day I arrived back in Warszawa.

The trains go most everywhere (not to Kazimierz Dolny) and places the trains don't go, the buses do.  Since there is a lot of construction on the rail lines, it can be faster to take the bus, sometimes several hours quicker.  While most trains are not the most modern, there are not without creature comforts.  The express train to Krakow offers a small snack and a free drink (tea, water, coffee, juice, etc); however, it's only on the way from Warsaw to Krakow and not the other way around.

Warszawa Centralna, to me, is beautiful building.  One of my favorites in Warszawa.  It's imposing, reminiscent of a more communistic time.  It's great, sweeping wings spread out majestically.  Inside is a wide open hall, and underneath is a maze of tunnels leading to the tracks.  It's really quite something.  In the inner hall they even have a crackling intercom system that is just so… rustic.  Most Poles hate it and most agree that it's hideous.  I feel somehow drawn to it.  Walking across that great inner hall always feels like an adventure.  It's flanked by smaller stations which service region trains.  I've never been in them.

Warszawa Centralna

On occasion, I can get lucky and sit in a empty compartment.  Two benches to choose from, with enough room to mostly lie down.  Other times, I'm stuck with a smoker.  Traveling with different people in a compartment can be tough.  In the summer, someone might close the window when you want to open it, and close it when you want it open (same with the door into the compartment.)  In the winter, it can be worse.  Women having hot flashes have no restraint in lowering the window to cool off, even though you are obviously shivering and suffering from hypothermia.

One good thing is that Poland does not have a high amount of fat people.  You know those fat, hideous excuses for humanity that insist on taking up as much space as they can with their enormous, cellulite-filled asses?  The ones with tits the size television sets and whose every breath sounds like a ratty, old refrigerator's compressor?  Plus the random sounds that only a horse giving birth should make?  Well, there are not a lot of them here, which is actually a great blessing.

Skin Market

Over the weekend I went to the Baltic coast, to a tiny village called Gdynia. Little more than a gathering of ramshackle huts, it is still a nice place to get away from it all and join the many thousands of tourists that throng the beaches for miles.
The Tricity (Trojmiasto) consists of Gdynia, Sopot and Gdansk. Perched in the middle of Poland's Baltic coast, it's often a vacation spot for those who don't go to Greece, Spain, Turkey, Bulgaria or Croatia. A tiny peninsula, Hel (yes, pronounced like "Hell,") juts out and curves around like a little, feeble arm trying to give the rest of Poland a hug.

The Stare Miasto of Gdansk

I finished up my last lessons on Friday and took the 9:45 pm train for five and half hours. I had figured that with such a late train the wagons would be next to empty. Wrong. I was able to get a seat in a crowded cabin, and I was quite lucky since there were many more people stuck in the corridor. I sat between a guy in his twenties who spent a great deal of time looking at a porno mag that also had guns and weapons in it. Kind of like a "Chicks with Dicks" but instead of dicks there were articles on sniper rifles and heavy machine guns. The other guy next to me was about seventy, had bad breath and tried to make conversation with me in broken English. Between my broken Polish and his broken English we eked out a small conversation. He was joining his wife and son in some other town (I forget which,) he said he had lived in the US and was into Mathematics. He sometimes asked strange questions like, "What do you believe?" and if I understood when John Paul II spoke in Polish. I replied that I had never heard JPII speak in Polish, and maybe that made him think that I was a bad Catholic.
The train was very, very hot and I arrived in Gdynia around 3:15 am. Taking a taxi (which was overpriced) to my friend's house I arrived at around 3:30 or something. Bed time.
On the way back, it was worse. The train, which was the 11:25 pm train, was full before even getting to the station. I was forced into the corridor, right by the bathrooms. Most of the time was spent crouched in a two-foot wide corridor trying to balance and find a place for my camera bag. To my left a guy passed out and laid dowd, blocking the entire floor, and to my right a couple pretty much did the same. People going to the bathroom had to pass over all of us, but since I was "in that spot" where they didn't want to trample the couple and didn't want to trample the guy snoozing on the floor, I had to get up every time a person passed. The girl from the couple kicked me in the head once, talked loudly and smoked. Five-and-a-half sleepless hours on this disgusting floor. Katarzyna said it would be "an experience." Meeting the Pope is an experience; Flying on the Concorde is an experience; getting a blowjob from the Queen is an experience. This was hell.
What is there to do in Gdynia? Well, there's the beach. There's also a pleasant wood which has paths through out it, as it towers on eroding cliffs above the sea. It was so hot, so very, very hot.
One can walk on the beach from Gdynia all the way to Gdansk if you have the stamina. The water is greener than the water on MDI, and has more sea plants in it. Not really seaweed like kelp or bladderwrack, but more of the "matted hair" variety with some grassy looking thing. In places it turned the water into a "spinach soup" as Katarzyna and her friend, Agata, put it. I described it as an oil spill.
The next day we took the ferry to the Hel peninsula to a town called Jarnista or something. At the pier there was a naval band or something, with cheerleaders!!! How cute!! The band played and the cheerleaders had red and white pom-poms are did a whole routine with them. How precious. Going to the far side of the peninsula, we ended up on the Baltic sea on yet another endless beach full of people. Here the water is quite shallow and really clean. No seaweed or anything like that. The water might be a bit cooler (so I was told) and maybe bigger waves, but it was fine. The sand on these beaches is not like the sand on Sand Beach, which is made up of crushed shells. Here, it seems to be more salts, which is OK since the shells of Sand Beach stick to your skin and are more sharp-edged.
Two days in the sun on a fair beach, not bad.

The beach on Hel