Happiness is a spring memory

 

So, as so often seems to happen here, after a sometimes dreary and cold and wet end to winter, spring arrived overnight.  The horizon-to-horizon grey clouds bugger off and fluffy white ones appear, and growing patches of blue sky break them up.  The leaves appear on the trees and are no longer green shoots but full blown foliage.  The yellow and grey and pink buds appear between the leaves and if you're lucky and in the right place you might see the odd bee lurching from flower to flower.  The sprawling patch of grass next to our block, a mud patch and waterlogged since November and used by dog owners - not all as conscientious as we are at picking up their mutt's leavings - for exercise and more, dries up and lo and behold there is green grass sprouting, studded everywhere with big patches of yellow headed dandelions and capped daisies. 

There are birds around, too: not only the dreary grey and black crows and pigeons that never abandon the city, but smaller sparrows and housemartins and others appear (and I'm not a twitcher, so they may be the wrong names for the birds now flitting around in the sun).  If you are really really lucky, and live somewhere with bushes and trees in a garden (rather than window boxes on a balcony) - say, in a villa in one of the city's outer suburbs, or a segment (that's a terraced house for my English readers) in a more inner suburb, or, like me, have a plot (dzialka) on a development of them (they are basically allotments big enough to put a small cottage on with power and water, and it's my bolthole from the smoggy city): ours borders the main airport and is close to the main ring-road that gives motorway access to all points of the compass (the Baltic coast to the North, Berlin and the Channel coast to the West, Ukraine and beyond to the East, or hot and sunny Croatia and beyond to the South) but is a surprisingly quiet oasis -  you could even see something exotic.  At our plot this weekend, we saw a hedgehog snuffling around in next door's plot, and believe she had a family of babies in a big patch of weeds between us.....it was something I haven't seen for many many years. Probably since my childhood 60 years ago in my dad's back garden, in fact.

It's a time to pack away the warm winter clothes and dig out the shorts and sandals.  It's a time to get out and about a bit, away from the virtual prison cell of your apartment: there is only so much pleasure from being confined to 70 odd square metres, no matter how cold and damp the weather, and warm and cosy the flat, when the view from the front window is a busy main road and from the back window the enclosed quadrangle garden of the block and, immediately opposite, partly concealed by curtains, your neighbour's front room.  Sure, in winter you can still get out for a walk, no matter the rain or fog or wind or snow - but, Christ, sometimes it's hard to derive much pleasure from doing so!

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I'll tell you story to illustrate this sudden change.  

In 2002, I was deep into my second year working on a project here in Warsaw.  I was settled into an apartment, beginning to make friends with local people rather than project and work colleagues.  I was trying to make a new life for myself in a strange new country where everything was very different, the language incomprehensible (as it remains still to my addled old brain), still not many years on from throwing off the shackles of Communism.  It had been a brutal winter, I recall, the snow had fallen deep and crisp and even in late October, piled a metre and more deep in the city itself and deeper still out of town, and remained thus until the end of March, assisted by temperatures that often dipped into the -20C range and a bitter wind blowing in from the East (and there are few natural obstructions between here and the Urals to slow it down and take the edge off it).  

I recall one morning walking from my apartment to the Metro, due East of me, into the teeth of the howling wind, and it felt as if my very eyeballs froze: certainly my beard and moustache did, much to the amusement of a work colleague who lived close to me and met me at the station.  My overcoat and cap, designed and manufactured to the standards of the average British winter, were hopelessly inadequate, as were the suit trousers and Oxford shoes I still wore to the office.  It took me til 11:30 to warm up and stop shivering.  Over the next couple of evenings, helped by a close (local) friend I invested in a local winter wardrobe, and what it lacked in style it more than compensated for in efficiency.  Some of it I still have - the black waterproof and quilted parka with fur-rimmed hood, a couple of pairs of thick woollen gloves and scarves, and a tweed, fur lined pilot's helmet complete with ear-flaps - but thanks to global warming or climate change (whichever term you prefer) winters are warmer now and I seldom have the need to wear any of it.

Anyway, by the end of April, the temperatures had got up to a balmy +9 or 10, the snow had gone and we were now suffering a wet early spring.  It was dreary and rained pretty much every day and was worse than any wet spring I could remember.  Awful.  At this point, one of my new-found local friends and his girlfriend invited me to the coast for the early May Bank holidays.  In Poland there is the traditional May 1 holiday, common to all Eastern European countries, and then another on 3 May that celebrates the country's Constitution Day (signed in 1791: feel free to check Wikipedia for more on this important historical event).  In a good year, when the 1st falls on a Tuesday and the 3rd on a Thursday, these essentially mean an extra week's holiday - unless of course you work in a shop, drive buses and trains, or work in essential services like hospitals, the police and so on.  In 2002 it was close: May 1st fell on a Wednesday, the 3rd on Friday, so Monday and Tuesday were work days.  As we weren't heading back until the Sunday, I booked the Thursday 2nd as vacation and looked forward to the trip.

On the last day of April, the day before we were due to leave, it was cold and wet and not in the least bit seaside weather.  I watched the rain running down the window and said to my friend. "Is it really worth going tomorrow?  Look at the weather, it's awful!"

My friend laughed.

"Don't worry, tomorrow is May 1, the weather will be better.  Summer starts."  

I had no answer......

The next day, sure enough, the sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature in the high teens, with a good forecast for the next week...  

We set off for the coast.

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We were staying at a hostel place in the Baltic port of Rowy.  I had never been there before, but it was a beautiful little place. with dozens of brightly painted little trawlers tied up preparing for sea, or returning laden with fish (mainly cod and halibut).  There were plenty of restaurants selling this fish, grilled to perfection, with fresh salads, lovely chips and cold local beer.  I hadn't eaten the Polish version of fish & chips before, and although totally different to what you get in Margate or Brighton or wherever your local chippie is, it was delicious.  There were also many souvenir and discount clothes outlets, and several excellent bars - a typical Polish seaside village in fact.  I love 'em.

The beach, as every one I've ever visited on the Baltic coast, was golden sand, swept clean and not a pebble in sight.  Being the Baltic, the sea was bloody freezing (no surprise this early in the season: while remaining chilly, it does warm up as the summer progresses) so I settled for a paddle and that was quite enough, thank you very much.  But my mate, the weekend's host, was mad enough to dash in for a quick swim, in and out in about 30 seconds flat.  The following summer, on a similar weekend at another resort close to the German border and a bit later in the year (I think early July?) I emulated him, and was mortified when one of the girls in our group managed to drop my towel in a big puddle of sea-water, which made getting dry an interesting experience.

We travelled out of Rowy for a couple of day trips. Close by is a national park that has the biggest moving sand-dunes in Europe, so of course we paid it a visit.  The dunes are indeed colossal, Saharan in scale, and climbing to the top hard work.  But the views from there, across another picture perfect sandy beach stretching that weekend deserted as far as the eye could see, were well worth the effort.  Rolling and sliding back down the face of the them to get to the beach, while possibly dangerous, was fun as well.  

Another day we drove westerly to another fishing village, called Ustka ("mouth" or "little lips" in Polish, depending on whether you trust Google Translate over local knowledge). Very similar to Rowy, it was the usual mix of bars and fish restaurants and souvenir shops, and a host of campsites and great value (i.e. cheap) b&b places to stay.  And of course a superb long, clean and sandy beach.

It was a great few days, we ate too much excellent food and drank more than was good for us, and enjoyed a lot of fun and laughter.  

And in almost twenty years, I've never returned to either place - and it's my loss.

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Now it's time to plan, things to do.  The dzialka needs a lot of work, flower beds need weeding and tidying and re-planting, and a rockery needs building and planting in one corner.  The grass needs weeding too, and cutting and in places re-seeding.  A roof repair on the tool-shed.  Some of the boundary fences need attention as well.  

We have trips to plan and organise, to other parts of this country. Maybe some further afield, to Germany and Switzerland and England, if funds allow. Perhaps even back to Rowy and Ustka....

That would be nice..

Future Travel

 

Now, here is an interesting piece on the BBC News "Future Planet" page: it raises questions (as the title suggests) about how we would cope in a world where flying is a thing of the past.  It takes a scenario where the only way to meet the emissions targets agreed at various Climate Forums, like last year's Glasgow gathering, is to enact an immediate, global ban on all flying,  Sure, it's a highly unlikely scenario, not least because I frankly cannot see a political landscape any time soon where there will be a total agreement on doing it: too many countries are locked into a dependence on aviation in order to survive and compete in the global economy with any hope of success.  Island nations like the Seychelles, the Maldives and those in the Pacific are prime examples.  But something drastic will be needed if humanity is going to come even close to achieving the 1.5% mean temperature increase limit by 2050 that was agreed, in order to stave off a climate catastrophe that will affect every living thing on this planet.

What would a flying-free world look like? - BBC Future

I'll leave you to follow the link and read the article for more information and some surprising statistics.  While there is perhaps little new or surprising in it (those statistics aside), the article does make some interesting points I hadn't considered before: for instance, if we don't need vast airports like Heathrow and Schiphol and JFK and countless others around the world, all of which have really good transport connections and support infrastructure already in place, what are we going to do with them if there are no more flights? What about the tens of millions of people, from pilots to toilet cleaners, whose livelihoods depend on an aviation industry?  And their families.....  

But I'm not going to even attempt to get into all that - simply because I'm not qualified to consider doing so.  And even if I were, a single personal opinion, especially that of an ageing ex-pat retiree in Poland, is not going to affect the outcome of all this.....it's way above my pay-grade, as the saying goes.  I would go as far as to say there is not one single person alive who is capable of coming up with all the answers, and mankind being what it is, finding any kind of consensus, especially a lasting one to confront a global, life-or-death issue, just ain't gonna happen.  At least until it's too late.

But I can still comment and give my personal views, both on flying and some of those alternatives.  And how they might affect me in my future travel. 

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As someone who has spent most of this 21st century travelling for a living and nowadays merely for pleasure, I do have a bit of a vested interest.  In those 20 odd years, a rough calculation based on the number of airmiles racked up on various airline Frequent Flyer rewards programs suggests I've travelled somewhere north of half a million miles by plane.  I've included here many flights on airlines that either do not have Frequent Flyer programs or I don't belong to theirs.  For an average of 40 weeks a year I was making a minimum of 2 flights a week, around Europe, to the US, the Middle East, Africa and Central Asia.  Oh, and a few times to the Caribbean and once to South America and back. And those were just the work flights, paid for by employer or client.....  There were holiday trips too, around the Med and to Egypt once. I can't be bothered to dig out all my diaries and try to count them all, but the total number must be in the thousands.  It's a helluva lot of carbon emissions, anyway, and I'm sure dear Greta would give me a clip round the ear.....

And mostly I enjoyed it all.  I was lucky, and had very few mishaps on all of those journeys.  Lost baggage only a couple of times, no more than a handful of cancellations and only, from memory, a couple of missed flights (one of which was my own fault).  A lot were in Business Class, which was always good but never in the 5-star luxury accommodation offered nowadays by the likes of Emirates, Qatar Airways, Qantas and the other real long haul specialists.  I never had a proper lie-flat bed for a start, and never managed to bag a pair of pyjamas to go with the branded slippers and amenity kits.  But mostly, it was Economy (why do American's always insist on calling it Coach?), especially the holiday trips that I paid for myself.  Mostly they were comfortable enough too - with a few exceptions (notably a LOT flight to JFK in an ageing and rattly Boeing 767 that featured the ancient blue plastic-tube headphones and one small screen per three-seats, and an awful Delta Airlines flight from Cincinnati to Paris in the middle seat of the central row of 4, sandwiched between two exceedingly fat and - sorry! - smelly and flatulent Mexicans who wouldn't even let me out to the toilet for nearly 7 hours....).  

It was a great period in my life, and I came to love the whole thing about flying - the airport Lounges, the different planes, even the security lines (with the possible exceptions of JFK, Mexico City and Tel Aviv), the sometimes crap food, and most of all the destinations themselves when eventually you get there.   Nowadays, because of retirement and Covid, I mostly see airplanes from afar, but even then it gives me a tingle of excitement when I see something special.  

A month or so ago I went for a long walk over to my dzialka, which is close to the airport, just for the exercise.  It was a misty day with a very low cloud base, and as I walked alongside the airport's boundary fence I could hear a big plane coming in and very close.  It suddenly burst through the clouds, not much more than 300 metres away, and at a height of perhaps a couple of hundred: an Emirates 777-300 coming in from Dubai, the airline name painted in big black letters along its belly, gliding serenely down to the runway, engines throttled back.  Before I could fumble my phone out and switch to camera mode it was gone, hidden by some trees, as it touched the tarmac (I heard the faint tyre screech) and reversed-thrust to slow down and stop. It was majestic.....

Try as I might, and I understand the issue surrounding emissions and how bad flying is for the planet, I simply cannot imagine a world without it. 

Nor would I want to see it.  I miss it.

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The BBC article covered alternative solutions to flying, the most popular and probably most practical and quickly achievable being High-Speed Trains.  There are already hundreds of routes scattered throughout the world, with more opening constantly - although interestingly there is not a single HST service in the entire gas-guzzling USA.  The closest thing there to what we would class a high speed train - that is, one that operates at speeds in excess of 200kph - , at least that I'm aware of, has only been open a year or so and runs from Miami to Fort Lauderdale in Florida, and for regulatory reasons does not achieve that speed, even though technically capable of it.  In fact, the American rail system is a bit weird, remaining dominated by freight trains, with even the most important passenger trains (like the Amtrak Trans-Continental services from Chicago to LA, New York to Miami and so on) are stopped to allow slow moving freight trains to pass, leading sometimes to service delays of several hours for passengers to endure.  How can HST services cope with that on shared tracks?  The country is still firmly wed to fossil fuels - cars, long distance Greyhound buses, huge freight lorries and of course airlines are all favoured over rail. There is little to suggest anything will change soon, despite their climate pledges.

Europe is quite blessed in this regard, with a network of HSTs, including an ever-increasing number of sleeper services, in most countries that are all linked by the Eurail network to allow journeys from, for example, Inverness in Scotland to Palermo in Sicily on a single fare taking less than 2 days.  Sure: not ideal for business travellers, but if you're in no hurry, then it's a great start (or end) to your vacation I would say.  That route is, of course, an extreme: Eurostar does London to Paris in a couple of hours, Deutsche Bahn Berlin to Munich in a similar time, SBB Zurich to Zug in an hour, Geneva in a couple.  Shorter distance journeys, city centre to city centre, are often quicker by HST than by air since there are no journeys in traffic to the airport, no security lines and passport checks to delay you (at least, within the EU Schengen travel zone).  With the train accommodation typically including tables of some kind for all seats, power points and wireless internet connection, in both First and Second class, working on your journey is perhaps easier than on a plane.  The fares are cheaper, too (though sometimes not by much).  And in most cases, out the window is the most beautiful scenery that you simply do not see from a plane at 40,000 feet, even on the clearest day.  The only way to appreciate any country is from ground level.

I remember years ago, when Eurostar first ran services, I spent a few months shuttling between London and Paris a couple of times a week, and there were always people beavering away during the journey. There were few mobile phones (and those that were around were the size of house-bricks) and no wifi then, and not a laptop in sight, but work was still being carried out.  On my first trip, travelling with my boss who had piles of papers spread across our table before we had even pulled out of Paddington, I focused more on the views out of the train window and contemplating Life, The Universe and Everything, enjoying the novelty of catching a direct train to Paris without a 90 minute ferry trip in the middle.  My boss was not best pleased and delivered an almighty bollocking in front of a carriage full of people....  I didn't travel with him again.  But on a more recent trip (though still ten years ago now) there were laptops a-plenty on display, my own included, and everyone jabbering away on mobiles - as indeed was I, a couple of times.  I still enjoyed the journey and kept my laptop resolutely packed in its bag, a solo traveller with no pressure or guv'nor peering over my shoulder and checking up on me.  Much nicer.

Given the train option these days, I would choose it over plane every time, when given the choice  - but unfortunately this is a bit tricky from Poland.  The country is not yet part of the Eurail network, which can make booking tickets a little tricky (the PKP website is slow, clunky and offers only a restricted destination choice). As an example, pre-Pandemic I planned a trip to the UK and thought it would be fun to go from Warsaw to St. Pancras by train.  I couldn't add the route on PKP's website, so went into the Central Station here to the Intercity booking office (now closed....).  The only way I could do it was to buy a ticket to Berlin, then buy a separate ticket there for the rest of the trip. Doing this would cost more (Polish fares are cheap, denominated in zloty, but the remaining fare payable in euros would be higher).  I checked the Deutsche Bahn website where I was able to book the entire Warsaw to London St. Pancras trip, for a single euro-priced fare (that was indeed quite expensive).  The situation remains the same two years later.

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Long distance buses are another alternative, and one that has flourished for donkey's years in the US with its huge Greyhound network.  Similar services are now growing in popularity across Europe, too, with highly competitive (i.e. cheap) pricing.  Most of them are bookable on-line, very easily, and are run by a swathe of private coach companies (as opposed to national carriers) most of which seem to operate on the Low Cost Carrier airline model.  Essentially, they are RyanAir on the Roads.  

Now, I haven't taken a trip yet, because although you travel on a luxury coach (I use the word "luxury" advisedly...), it's still a coach, even if there is a bit more legroom and a toilet on board.  I also have a dodgy back, two dodgy hips and two dodgy knees (though my ankles are fine, thanks) so the idea of spending 24 hours or more in a bus seat with limited recline does not fill me with enthusiasm.  That said, the prices can be so low that I am tempted to give it a try one day, just for the hell of it.  FlixBus, for instance (the biggest service provider in Poland and operating throughout Europe) was at one point, a year or so ago, offering a return fare from Warsaw to London Victoria Coach station for just twenty euros..... They were practically giving the things away.  There were of course booking conditions attached (I can't remember what they were I'm afraid) but still.....seems like a bargain to me.

Recently I found a vlog on YouTube by a middle aged couple from Birmingham who record loads of coach trips and post the films on line.  This one covered a journey from (if I remember correctly) Riga in Latvia to London Victoria via Warsaw, and it certainly opened my eyes.  They were on a different carrier (I think Eurolines) and on an older coach and it was a tough trip of nearly two and a half days (of which the Warsaw - London leg was just under 23 hours).  There were regular fuel stops that allowed passengers to dive into the garage to buy supplies for the next leg, crew changes, roadwork detours and traffic delays - and LONG toilet queues.....  The seats were comfortable enough, allegedly, but not for a decent sleep, so our two travellers arrived at Victoria exhausted, an hour late having missed their connecting bus to Birmingham and facing another three hour wait and the cost of an additional ticket....   

So I'm not at all convinced buses offer a good alternative to flying, unless you're a) very fit indeed, with no joint problems, b) happy to take a couple of days or more to get somewhere, and c) skint and unable to afford something better.  At least, for now...

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But the good old car will remain an alternative, especially if you don't want to mix with a lot of strangers in an enclosed space for a couple of days and you have a low-emissions electric or hybrid vehicle.  These of course are growing in popularity as their prices drop and battery charges last longer and take less time to carry out.  And there is still work to be done on that score, as well as providing the support infrastructure - for instance I don't know of any service station in the Warsaw area that has a number of charging points alongside the petrol, diesel and LPG pumps.  And once those difficulties are resolved, I remain unconvinced it's for me.

For a start there are the aforementioned joint problems.  More importantly, I'm over 70 now and my night vision, even with decent glasses, isn't what it was.  Nor are my reflexes.  Quite simply, I don't enjoy driving any distance these days, especially on the wrong side of the road surrounded by idiots who think mirrors are for applying make up, indicators are a Christmas decoration, the number on a speed sign the lowest allowed, and are still not sure what that clock thing on the dashboard with numbers on it that stop at 180 is actually for......

That said, there are some nice drives to be had.  The one from home to the Baltic coast for our holiday has improved immeasurably since the motorway network exploded in time for the Euro 2012 football tournament we hosted, and improved further with completion a few months ago of the Warsaw ring-road that feeds the city: the closest access for me is about a kilometre from home.  The travel time has effectively halved, and depending on which resort you are going to there is some lovely scenery to enjoy.  

Further afield, in 2018 we holidayed in Croatia and took the car.  Once we hit that same motorway we stayed on it (though in the opposite direction) all the way through the Czech Republic, Austria and Slovenia, through some beautiful mountain scenery into Croatia and the coast.  Even with traffic (July, peak holiday season) it could take less than a day each way.  We broke our journeys in each direction, overnighting in Bratislava going and Vienna homeward bound, and it was thoroughly enjoyable.

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Finally, there are ships.  Given that most of our planet is covered by water, they will always be a vital part of our transportation network, and even now carry the majority of freight around the world.  It's difficult to see any real alternative to do that, nor any way to speed it up.

But in terms of leisure travel - which is, after all, my concern these days - the waterways, whether sea or river, offer a huge variety.  Cruising is big business, but I'm not sure I'd enjoy it......  Being in a plane or even a coach or train for a few hours, going to a holiday destination where I can follolop on the sand to my heart's content for a couple of weeks is one thing.  Being cooped up on board a huge ship with several thousand other passengers for the same amount of time is something altogether different.  Even when the ship has 15 or 16 floors, several restaurants, casinos, pools, gyms, bars and live entertainment in plush theatres.  I wouldn't want to "dress for dinner" for a start - I don't put on a jacket and tie at home before I eat (except on Christmas Day) so I'm buggered if I want to do it every night because of some rule or tradition.  Nor do I want to be tied to specific meal times and restaurant tables - no, I want to eat where I fancy and when I'm hungry.  I'm on holiday, not at school!   What about excursions, to see something on the places you dock at every day or so?  Well, some might be interesting, but by and large I want to take my time, amble around, go where I want and look at what catches my eye, not what someone else tells me I should see.  And perhaps come back again the next day to have another look.  No, all this regimentation, all this forced enjoyment, is not my idea of a good holiday - perhaps I'm just a bit anti-social?

River cruising might be an option though: it seems a good deal less formal and less regimented, the ships are much smaller, catering for not much more than 100 people (so not even a plane-full) and travel at a slower pace.  And always within sight of land on calm waters......  A couple of weeks on the Rhine or the Danube might be interesting, lots of lovely scenery on both banks, interesting towns and cities to explore (and at my own choice, since the excursions are apparently not mandatory and there is generally a bit more time with no tides to catch for departure, and a shorter distance to the next stop).  Something to consider at any rate.

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Anyway, we shall see in due course I guess.  2050 seems a long way away still - I will turn 97 then, assuming I live that long, so my travelling days are likely to be long gone!  And in the meantime I'll carry on making my plans, going to new places and old favourites (as often as I can at any rate) and no doubt recording a lot of it on here.

Beauty and the Beast

 

The Mazurian Lake district in north east Poland is one of Europe's great secrets, despite being one of the country's premier holiday destinations.  I've been there a few times, including a week's sailing with some friends during which I managed to break my elbow (but wasn't aware of it for a couple of days.....a story for another day!) and each time I've discovered more to like.

The countryside itself is stunningly beautiful, comprising rolling, densely forested hills, carved out by the glaciers' retreat at the end of the last Ice Age.  The land is agriculturally rich, with mile after mile of corn and sunflower fields, and pasture land where cows and horses and sheep roam.  Going in the late summer, in August, when the sun is shining from a cloudless blue sky and the temperature rising to the high 20sC is to see the land at its best.  Fleets of combine harvesters roll through the fields, harvesting their crops, and the network of narrow winding roads that serve the region are sometimes blocked by traffic tailbacks following patiently (give or take) behind slow moving tractors hauling flat wagons piled high with big rolled hay-bales.  Atop telegraph poles and farm-cottage chimney stacks and lower trees are big unruly stork's nests, their occupants surveying the passing traffic carelessly, and preparing to set out on their long winter migration to Africa. Sometimes, if you're lucky, you may see a group of half a dozen or more of them, strutting around in the freshly cut fields on their spindly legs, squawking at each other, for all the world as if they are discussing when to leave and what route to follow - which indeed they may well be: who knows?  By September, they are all gone, to return in the following spring.

As you drive along the roads, enjoying the ever changing greens of the forest branches that often arch over the road in a living canopy, you will see on one side or the other a lake, big or small, its crystal clear water sparkling invitingly in the sunshine, the forest often coming right down to the water line.  Little villages are scattered around, built on the lakeshore, many with campsites and kayaking centres and raggedy old buildings housing little shops and restaurants serving delicious regional cooking and strong beers at sensible prices.  Many of the lakes are linked by a network of rivers and canals that allow kayaks and bigger boats to navigate between them in an endless procession (at least in summer).  

The region has an area of roughly 10,000 sq.km, and has 2,000 lakes, dwarfing its English counterpart.  It is an idyllic part of a country that has many other beautiful regions - notably its Baltic coast, with lovely sandy beaches and a chain of vibrant resort towns and villages stretching from the German border to that of the Russian Kaliningrad enclave; its mountain ranges, the Beskidy and high Tatras, bordering the Czech Republic and Slovakia that offer good skiing; and of course the vibrant historical cities of Warsaw and Kraków, Poznań and Gdansk - and the more I see of it, the more I consider it the jewel in Poland's crown.

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But it has its darker side, too, as do many places in this historically most embattled European country.  For years, Mazury was an integral part of the old Prussian empire, and a battleground in its wars with Russia and Austro-Hungary, and the old Royal Poland.  For the last two decades of the 18th, the entire 19th, and first two decades of the 20th centuries, Poland itself didn't exist, having been dismembered and Partitioned by those three Empires.  It had a brief resurrection between the First and Second World Wars, although Mazury remained part of greater Germany (Prussia) and shared its ethnicity, before being overrun in 1939 by Nazi Germany from the West and Stalinist Russia from the East, and Mazury only returned to Poland by a gradual process as its demographic evolved during the post-War years.

There are memorials scattered throughout the region, and here and there small and well-tended cemeteries commemorating its past.  I recently visited one on a quiet Mazurian road, kilometres from the nearest town of any size, at the peak of a small hill surrounded by forest and cornfield.  It was small, less than half the size of a football pitch - perhaps not much bigger than a penalty area - , dating from the First World War, and a plaque advised it held the remains of German and Russian troops. 

There were less than 50 stone crosses arranged neatly, all bearing the names of the German victims, the officers at the bottom end and sheltered by trees overhanging the graves, the other ranks at the top closest to the quiet road and open to the sun and elements.  In the centre was a tall engraved cross, and in one corner, by the officers, a life sized statue of the Virgin and Child.  Not a single cross bore a Russian name.  But the place was clean, the grass recently cut short, and surrounded by a freshly  painted tubular steel waist high fence with an entry gate and well maintained steps.  Inside there were a couple of park benches facing each other either side of the central monument.  It was a peaceful place, and as good a resting place for the poor sods buried there as I could think of.

Later that day we went to an altogether darker place, that came close to changing the course of history one sunny day in August 1944.

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By then, the course of the War had turned decisively against Hitler, the D-Day landings had happened and British and American troops were en-route to Berlin. In the East, the Russian Army was advancing through what is now Lithuania towards Poland and on to Berlin - it had already reached Warsaw, where it parked on the river and watched the slaughter of the failed uprising play out tragically on the opposite bank. The writing was on the wall, and the madman retreated with henchmen like Göring and Himmler and Bormann to his Eastern fortress, the Wolf's Lair, to plan the final defence of the Reich. Meanwhile, a group of senior staff officers led by Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, a decorated war hero maimed in battle and confined to desk duties, was planning to overthrow Hitler, seize power and sue for peace. The plan culminated in von Stauffenberg attending a staff briefing with Hitler and other leaders at Wolf's Lair carrying with him a bomb. The assassination attempt failed, Hitler was only lightly wounded, von Stauffenberg and his staff officer, who had attended with him, captured and executed the same day. He was just 36 years old. Over the ensuing weeks, the co-conspirators were all systematically hunted down and shot or hung, frequently with their families, wives and children, in a brutal act of revenge. It has been estimated that nearly 5,000 people died as a result.

What has this to do with Mazury, this idyllic forest and lakeland? Simply this: the Wolf's Lair is situated deep in the forest close to a small village called Gierloż, itself 8km from the Mazurian town of Kętrzyn (then known by its Prussian name of Rastenburg).

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Wolfsschanze, to give it its German name, remains hidden away and off the main tourist routes through Mazury. It's down side roads, at least the route we took, currently under repair and covered with loose gravel and dirt, almost unmade roads, that meander through the forest past isolated hamlets and farms. You arrive at the front gate abruptly, round a bend in the road, at a cross roads marked with a big sign announcing your arrival. The road from the opposite direction may be better....

You are in the middle of the forest - the open fields receded a few kilometres back. Turn right and you are at the entrance of what is now a good museum, and pay your admission fee (car, two adults, one child, 65zl - call it £10), pull in and park: there is ample space. There is a wooden shed that rents headsets with a guided tour in about four languages and the usual guidebooks (again in multiple languages), and next to it a big sign that gives a detailed map of the site and its position in relation to the immediate area and more generally Germany c.1944.

The site covers an area of some 8 sq.km of forest, while the headquarters complex itself covers some 2.5 sq.km. It's a big place. The complex contains nearly 30 separate buildings, including offices, canteens, troop barracks and a railway station, as well as half a dozen concrete monstrosities that were the personal bunkers of senior Nazis like Himmler and Göring and Bormann, with the biggest of them all reserved for the Führer himself.

When the site was abandoned ahead of the advancing Russians, German troops were tasked with destroying the site and used high explosives to do so, and by and large did a pretty good job: most of the buildings are reduced to piles of rubble, though the bunkers, especially Hitler's, are still outwardly largely intact though badly damaged. The forest is reclaiming its own now: many of the wrecked buildings are being covered in a carpet of ivy and grass and weeds, and trees and bushes are growing from their damaged roofs.

The network of paths that wind through site have been re-surfaced and the stroll round them all takes the best part of two hours. We only did the highlights (or maybe lowlights?), in particular the Hitler bunker, which is the size of a parish church with walls several feet thick. I wandered around taking my photos, as did everyone else, and found myself trying to imagine the place crawling with Nazi stormtroopers, staff cars, supply trucks and so on, rather than the crowds of generally solemn tourists. I wondered how many people had died during its construction: how many slaves worn out and shot when their strength failed; how many local girls brought in to satisfy the whims of their Nazi "masters" and then discarded like so much trash. And how many millions more in concentration camps and gas chambers and on battlefields as a result of the plans devised and ordered there under the summer sun and autumn rains and winter snow......

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It's an interesting but ultimately fruitless exercise, to consider how the world might be now had the assassination attempt been successful instead of a failure. With Hitler and his henchmen dead or fleeing (probably), presumably Churchill and Roosevelt and Stalin would have accepted a German surrender and negotiated a settlement. At least it would have saved another 9 or 10 months of slaughter across Europe, and hence saved countless lives.

Perhaps the Russian rampage West would have been halted in its tracks, and prevented the country's annexation of so much of Eastern Europe, the evils of the Iron Curtain and terror of the Cold War. Perhaps many of the region's current ills, in places like Poland and Hungary and the former Yugoslavia could have been avoided, the nationalist rantings of the grey and dangerous old men currently in power strangled at birth by a more meaningful and equitable post-war settlement. Maybe the European Union, born out of the chaos of re-building the Continent, would not have been needed.

The memories of what plans were hatched by the beast Hitler amid the beauty of the Mazurian forest all those years ago, and their human and financial cost, are already fading, just as the scars of the construction and subsequent destruction of the Wolf's Lair are being covered by nature's own healing process. In another 100 years, assuming the climate crisis hasn't put an end to us all, it will all be gone, a distant memory of times gone by. 

The stuff of legend.....

Mikołajki - a lakeland jewel

 

The restaurant, Bella Italia 2.0, is in a prime position, right on the promenade running along the waterfront past the rows of sail- and motor-boats moored in the hot August summer sunshine.  The prom was thronged with people, strolling and laughing and talking, looking at the many stalls selling the usual gifts: hippy beads and leather bracelets, assorted fridge magnets, coffee cups in blues and whites adorned with representations of yachts and seagulls and the resort's name, and piles of stuffed toys, genuine fake Ray-Ban sunglasses and cheap straw sunhats.  Many were enjoying delicious ice-creams, less delicious hot-dogs and kebabs and pink candy floss.  Young girls paused by stalls where teenage girls platted fluorescent green and yellow, blue and purple hair extensions, the youngsters tearfully trying to persuade parents to let them have some too.  At others, equally youthful stallholders sold henna tattoos of dragons and scorpions, and tribal marks like Justin Bieber.  Everything was, of course, at inflated prices, but what the hell - it's a holiday place, closed for six months a year.  

It was a good restaurant, and we were given a perfect corner table for 8, by the open full-height window to enjoy the views as well as the food.  I took some photos of the panorama of bobbing boats and whizzing jet-skis and the chugging replica pirate ship that, despite the three masts, bowsprit and fake cannon, was diesel powered as it headed into its berth further along the prom, its day of pleasure cruises over. 

The place was packed, to be expected given its position, and our host had secured us the best table: she was a favoured and fairly regular customer in its parent establishment in a street further back from the promenade, so knew the owner well.  2.0 hadn't been open too long, but had clearly gained a good reputation already - and as it turned out with good reason. The food, as our friend had promised, was excellent, well-cooked traditional Italian fare, good wine and locally brewed ice-cold beer, served quickly and efficiently by friendly smiling staff.  We stayed there well over an hour, eating and drinking, chatting and laughing, before settling the very reasonable bill and heading off for a further stroll around town.

As I watched the beautiful red sunset, I decided I liked this place very much.

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We were in Mikołajki, the holiday capital (if not the administrative one) of Poland's Mazurian lake district in the north east corner of the country. It had been a hot sunny day, so we had stayed at our friend's house in a town some 100 kilometres away until late afternoon, still recovering from the previous day's extensive and tiring canoeing expedition elsewhere in Mazury, before driving back to this area as the temperatures cooled.

I had been to the town once before, the best part of 20 years ago, when I had a long weekend sailing with a group of friends.  We had come into port on the Saturday morning to pick up some much needed supplies (not all of them alcoholic), and I had managed to slip getting off the yacht, much to everyone's amusement.  But not mine: I had landed flat on my face, my full weight on one arm under which was the unforgiving concrete promenade.  I was in a lot of pain and discomfort, but did my best to hide the fact. I got through the rest of the weekend with the help of Tyskie beer and aspirin, then we went home as I was off to work the next day.  I flew to Zurich, the pain still throbbing in my elbow, and when I finally got to the office excused myself and headed to the nearest hospital.   The x-ray showed I had fractured my elbow, a lovely clean crack in the ball joint of my lower left arm.  They plastered me up and told me to come back in a month to have the cast removed, further x-rays, and hopefully physio. It all went well and in a very short six weeks all was healed.  But it was not a good memory of Mikołajki, and I still haven't lived the incident down.

The place lies at the centre of a channel linking two of the area's larger lakes, to the north west Tatry, to the south east Mikołajskie which in turn connects to Lake Sniardwy, the biggest of them all. The town has thus been a tourist destination for pretty much as long as there has been a tourist industry, and remains one of the most popular destinations, not only in Mazury but in the whole of Poland.  

It's a well deserved reputation, because it's a lovely place, full of night life, good restaurants and bars, shops and plenty of accommodation at all price ranges. There is a constant stream of vessels arriving and leaving the port, because many of the lakes that comprise Mazury are linked to form a navigable network, including feeder streams for canoes.  It's a quite wonderful area for a holiday, come rain or shine: given its location, the weather is not always the hot and sunny conditions we enjoyed this year on our visit.  On my original trip, all those years ago, we had hot sunshine, windy overcast and pouring rain, all within the same week, and enjoyed the sailing through it all.

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The town has changed somewhat since then, and now boasts more of everything.  Most eye-catching is a new pedestrian bridge, Most Wiszący Mikołajki, that spans the channel, towering over the water and the surrounding streets and buildings.  Floodlit at night, it is spectacular and offers panoramic views across the town and the channel out to the lakes at either end.  I snapped away, trying to do the view justice: the picture at the header of this piece, looking towards Tatry, is probably the best of them.

At either end of the bridge are more souvenir and fast-food stalls, and a cobbled footpath led us back into the old town square. We were in time, in full darkness now, illuminated by dull street lights and the neon signs of bars and pubs and open store doorways, to catch the end of a live concert by what I believe was a local group - and very good it was, too.  I can't remember their name, but we looked them up on Spotify on the drive home and enjoyed more of their music than the couple of songs we had caught live.

There was also a local beer festival with stalls selling a variety of local beers, but I gave that a miss - way too inviting for my own good!  We checked out a few gift shops and my daughter bought me a new hippy-bead necklace to replace the one I broke sometime in the past - I can't remember exactly when, but I think during the Pandemic on a rare trip out. I love 'em.

Then we strolled back to the car, and headed back to our lodgings after a lovely day out.  It's a place that I liked first time around, and like even more after this visit.  I really is a lakeland jewel, and I can't recommend it enough.  I must return for a proper look around at some point, to see more of the town and the beautiful countryside that surrounds it - perhaps next year.

A woodland walk

 

So spring sprung last week - at least for a couple of days.  The clouds rolled away, the sun came out into a fine blue sky, and the temperature reached the high 'teens.  And about time too.  After a cold and damp winter with not a lot of snow, the view outside my windows improved and green grass instead of brown mud and puddles became the order of the day.  The trees scattered around the grassy spaces between the blocks across the road, that had been sprouting green shoots for a while, suddenly had leaves instead.  All very nice.

And time for a walk.  Somewhere other than the surrounding neighbourhoods, somewhere there is more greenery than grey concrete.

Las Kabacki then.

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Rezerwat przyrody Las Kabacki im. Stefana Starzyńskiego - in English, the Stefan Starzyński Kabaty Woods Nature Reserve, more colloquially known as Kabaty Forest - is a sprawling woodland on the southern edge of Warsaw, its closest entrance perhaps 3km from my flat.  It sits close to the location of the pre-War village of the same name, swallowed by the city's growth into the suburb of Ursynów, where I live.  It's a lovely place that I've been to often, both biking and hiking, with a plentiful supply of rough-cut wooden benches, some with log shelters, kilometres of cycling and hiking paths, a picnic field with several bonfire pits for grilling, adjoining a sports and cultural centre and botanical gardens complex.  In summer, it's a very popular day out. 

The park is no Ashdown Forest or Peak District, certainly no Joshua Tree, in size or scope, but it holds a wide variety of trees, including oak, pine, aspen and elm, some of them well over 100 years old, and an abundance of wild life. Birds include buzzards, kestrel, tawny owl, green and black woodpeckers, and animals number deer, wild boar, badgers and hedgehogs, as well as tree frogs and grass snakes - at least, according to the authority that is Wikipedia.  I've seen nothing myself, except vast numbers of dogs, most of them on leads, but heard plenty of different bird calls and scuffles in the thick undergrowth between the trees. 

I've checked a number of sources other than Wiki, and interestingly nowhere have I found any information about the size of the park. Walking from east to west, in no particular hurry, has taken me the best part of two hours, suggesting possibly 8km, while going north to south has taken me at the same kind of pace about half that - but of course the wood is not a regular shape and I don't think I've used the longest axes either way.  In any case, given its proximity to suburban Warsaw - in many places there are blocks of apartments within 50 or 100m from the trees, and on other borders villas are under the eaves of the forest - it's not a bad size.  The nearest Metro station, Kabaty at the southern end of the M1 line, is within sight of the forest, and about a 400m walk from the nearest entrance, skirting the train maintenance depot that at its southern side is overhung by the forest.

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The park was once much bigger, a wild wood topping at its eastern edge an escarpment running down to the Wisła river, so once must have been most impressive, but the inevitable growth of Warsaw has swallowed a good portion.  What's left was purchased on behalf of Warsaw from private ownership in 1938 by the city's mayor, after whom the park was subsequently named.  When the Nazis took control after the 1939 conquest that sparked World War 2, Starzyński was captured and executed.  The Home Army used it as a hiding place for much of the conflict, but their oppressors conducted massacres and mass burials of Poles during late 1939/early 1940 as part of a brutal campaign to exterminate the Polish intelligentsia: over 200 victims were claimed. 

 As a result, when strolling carefree along the paths it's not uncommon to come across a small plaque and cross marking a burial site, often to this day decorated with fresh flowers or candles in honour of the dead.  It's the Polish way.  The majority of walkers or cyclists probably don't even notice them: I had passed several by over the years on family walks or bike rides, but only discovered them on similar solo wanders over the past few years.  

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The numerous entrances to the forest have a variety of barriers, or none at all, but the one nearest home is unique in having a single track railway line, complete with a red STOP sign, perhaps 10m from the usual red-and-white striped level crossing style pole. It runs from the direction of the Metro maintenance depot at Kabaty, then swings right just beyond the forest gate in the general direction of the main lines that run close to the airport, but I have no idea whether it remains in operation. The tracks are in good repair, there is little in the way of grass and weeds growing between the sleepers, suggesting regular traffic, but in the times I've been across the track or in its vicinity along the forest border where it runs I've never seen any sign of activity.

On this day, the sun shone on a swathe of green grass (there is a small meadow used for picnicking and playing frisbee or some other game next to the crossing on the forest side of the rails) and onto the broad path leading under the trees. Usually when I've been there it's been quite crowded, but not this time. A couple of cyclists had passed me a few metres back, and I could see them both disappearing about a kilometre ahead, well into the wood, and a young mum was sitting on a bench a few metres in, feeding a baby. I ambled in, following the cyclists.

Within a few metres, all the city sounds, faint already since the entrance is perhaps a kilometre from the nearest busy street, had faded completely away, and all I could hear was birdsong and the faint rustle of the leaves in the light breeze. Now and again, the muted roar of jet engines signalled an arrival or departure at the nearby Warsaw airport. Living, as I do, on a main road from Kabaty to the city centre, right next to one of the Metro stations and with a Park&Ride-cum-bus terminal next to the block, the traffic noise, even on quiet Sundays, is more or less constant from about 5a.m. to well past midnight, so I relish the silence in the forest. This day was exceptionally quiet, because there were so few people about.

I strolled through the woods, happy in my solitude, and in the whole hour or so the walk took me I encountered no more than about twenty other people. Three or four cyclists barrelled past at speed, in both directions (as I've done myself), and of the rest most were men and women, in pairs or solo, mostly my kind of age, and the majority with Nordic Walking poles, striding along in the approved manner. I've often wondered why the addition of ski poles should make such a difference to a hike, but apparently it does - swinging both arms to operate the poles forces you to keep your body more upright, and the arm movements flex the arm and shoulder muscles to make them work harder. In conjunction with your leg movements, you're essentially giving yourself a full-body exercise rather than just the legs, building muscle, keeping the joints in legs and arms more supple, and burning more calories. Maybe I should invest in a set and give it a go......I don't see it could do me any harm!

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After perhaps an hour ambling along, I came across a particularly poignant monument. This one is not a simple small wooden cross with a couple of candles and a small commemorative plaque: it's a full scale shrine, almost an open-air chapel, and has nothing to do with the War. It marks the site of Poland's worst air disaster.

The crash happened on 9 May 1987, and claimed the lives of 172 passengers and 11 crew. The plane was a Russian Ilyushin IL-62M, the type that at that time, only a few years after Poland broke away from its Soviet domination after the Solidarity revolution, still formed the backbone of the LOT Polish Airlines' international service. It was a lumbering narrow bodied jet, with four tail mounted engines, looking not unlike the British VC-10, and was en-route to New York JFK. The doomed flight suffered an uncontrolled fuel leak that led to an engine fire and catastrophic loss of all control. The fire broke out shortly after take off, and the flight was diverted back to Warsaw, rather than to the closer Modlin and Gdansk airports, because it offered better firefighting facilities as Poland's main airport. The crew dumped fuel, but on its approach to the airport, all control was lost and the plane crashed to the ground on the edge of Kabaty Forest, perhaps 4km short of the runway - which must have been clearly visible from the flight deck - 25 minutes after take off.

The spot is now marked by a fenced off clearing perhaps 50m across, right next to a main foot- and cycle-path leading to one of the park's entrances about 200m away. Right by the back fence stands a simple wooden cross, perhaps 15m high, with a stone plaque at the base. On this day there were seven or eight votive candles burning in ornate glass jars. A couple of metres to the right there is a larger stone plaque engraved with the names of all 183 victims - it too was surrounded by candles in their glass jars. Another granite monument by the chapel entrance has a marble plaque engraved with the crash details. Within the site there are perhaps a dozen simple rough-cut wooden benches, allowing visitors somewhere to sit for a while in quiet contemplation.

I sat at one facing the block with the victims' names, and it was incredibly peaceful. The birdsong was still there, but somehow muted, and the wind had dropped so the leaf rustling had stopped. I tried to imagine what it must have been like for the poor souls sitting in the cabin of that airliner, and wondered what kind of message (if any) had been given by the crew: the passengers must have been aware something was wrong. And what of the pilots, wrestling to control the plane, and seeing the airport runway coming closer...... And then that headlong plunge into the trees...... But my imagination failed me completely: probably a good thing.

I don't know whether the shrine has been built and funded by the Polish government or the city's, or perhaps by public donation. But I do know that, especially in the summer when the sun is brightly shining and the trees are green and the birds in full song, it's a beautiful and peaceful place and a fitting monument to the poor souls who lost their lives that early summer's day. I hope the friends and relatives they left behind can take some comfort from that.

I sat there for perhaps 15 minutes, listening to the quiet, and munching a sandwich, thinking how transient life is, and how precious each day, and how fortunate I am to be still hale and hearty and surrounded by a loving family and good friends. Then I wiped away a tear or two, re-packed my bag, and headed happily home.