Stratford, East London

 

 

I don't know east London that well.  Areas like Bow and Whitechapel, Hackney and Stratford, East and West Ham are just names on a map (either the good old A to Z, Google Maps or the Tube network). I've heard more about some areas than others.  Bow for instance: it's common knowledge a true Cockney is born "within the sound of Bow Bells" - at least according to local mythology.  And Whitechapel was where the unsolved Jack the Ripper murders took place in late Victorian times.  West Ham has a decent enough football team that provided three key member of England's 1966 World Cup winning team.  And Hackney Marshes is part of football folklore, home to 88 full sized pitches hosting 200 odd matches on any given weekend, a place that in times gone by was crawling with club scouts trying to unearth the next Martin Peters or Geoff Hurst or Jimmy Greaves.....whether they still do so, given how much development has been lavished by professional clubs on their academies, is questionable.

East London, and Stratford in particular, was also a place to drive through: coming from Kent the A2 through the Blackwall Tunnel deposits you in Blackwall, part of the London borough of Tower Hamlets (formed of the old boroughs of Poplar, Bethnal Green and Stepney).  Keep driving northeast, through Stratford, and eventually you hit the A11, A12 or A13, all heading into Essex, and eventually the 11, morphing to the M11 beyond Leyton, up past the M25 and Harlow, through Cambridgeshire to the Norfolk and Suffolk North Sea coasts. Or you could pick up the old London Ring road that circles inner London, and further out the Road to Hell, the M25, that will link you to the M11, the M1, the M3, and M4 (amongst other major roads) and thus speed up your drive to pretty much anywhere in the country.  Even with the M25 gridlocked, as it often is, it's quicker than driving across Central London - and cheaper now that fees are charged to reduce traffic there (the hated Congestion Charge and even more disliked Ultra Low Emissions Zone charge, introduced over the past few years to reduce traffic and get knackered old petrol and diesel polluters off the capital's roads....but since when have successful Green policies been popular?).

I've driven through it many times, and travelled by coach and tube or mainline train, but always to get somewhere else.  It always looked grubby and dark, inhospitable and downright dangerous, and not somewhere to stop for a stroll.  

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But all that has changed.  Over the past 30 years or so - since Thatcher drove construction of the Canary Wharf business district on the Isle of Dogs, London's very own Wall Street-on-Thames - the area has been cleaned up and gentrified, and nowadays is a sought after area in London's obscenely expensive property market.  It must be good, because my second son, an Alphabet-employed whizz-kid with impeccable taste (he's my son, so that's to be expected, right?) bought a place there....but I'm getting ahead of myself a little.

London hosting the 2012 Summer Olympics also gave the area a huge boost.  Wasteland was turned into a sparkly new development, with a 60,000 capacity sports stadium as its centre-piece (now the home a re-located West Ham United) sitting in a nicely designed and green park that houses the obligatory Olympic Rings installation, the velodrome for cycling events next door to another complex housing the Lee Valley Hockey and Tennis Centre.  Beyond that lies good old Hackney Marshes, linked to the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park via a couple of graceful bridges, and the River Lea runs through the parkland.  There is a wide network of foot- and bike-paths running across the land and round the entire perimeter.  

The surrounding area was also very well developed.  The Athlete's Village, once the Games were finished, was converted by the Council into essentially a new town, known as Stratford City (very grand!) that includes a big and modern shopping mall (Westfield), adjacent to an expanded Stratford Station (a confusing hub for a selection of rail, tube and bus routes) and a brand new Stratford International station that is home to Britain's only existing high-speed train lines that serve the Channel Tunnel and Kent Coast lines, although the international services from Eurostar no longer stop there - a victim of Covid cuts, apparently.  This whole new complex and parkland is labelled East Village.

Then there is  old Stratford, reached from the new Stratford City/East Village area by a big old bridge with steps (the moving ones never seeming to work) down to the old and shabby Stratford Centre shopping mall and yet another, even more confusing, entrance hall to the station, that at least houses a manned ticket office rather than being reliant on a variety of (often broken) ticket machines.  Strolling around this area looking for Santander bank (eventually found hidden by scaffolding) is markedly different to Stratford City.  It's older, of course, and shabbier, with fewer road signs - which didn't help my search - and alive with people crossing the roads every which way, largely ignoring the pedestrian lights and dodging between honking cars and buses (the traffic is heavier and hence slower moving, than in Stratford City).  The shops in the mall are also scruffier, not the sparkly designer outlets and large department stores of M&S, H&M, Diesel, Foot Locker and the rest that fill Westfield, but smaller stores, budget supermarkets like Lidl and Sainsbury's, a string of fast-food outlets like McDonalds and Burger King and Taco Bell, all mixed in with a selection of cheap and cheerful market stalls.  They're both lively malls, but with different clientele - older and somehow poorer looking in Stratford Centre, younger and more prosperous looking in Westfield. 

 

But in both malls, and in the streets, the crowds showed the multi-national multi-cultural society of Stratford and the East End of London very clearly.  Afro-Caribbean, Middle Eastern, Sub-Continental and Asian are all heavily represented, with white Anglo-Saxon/Caucasian seemingly in the minority.  I know people who would be upset, even angry, at this population demographic, but to my mind it's a tribute to the area, the city and the country that, historically, people of all nationalities have been welcomed and (by and large) become a productive part of British society.  Not so much nowadays, perhaps, but that's a discussion for another day and another essay.

The housing is also different.  Old Stratford is still terraced housing mixed with older mixed shop or office premises, with flats and bedsits above - slate roofs, pillared entrances, red-bricks and all. I haven't scoured the area, admittedly, but I haven't seen any gardens to speak of, as you would see in typical suburban areas, but then this is very much an inner city community with space at a premium. They may well exist, of course, hidden away in streets I haven't seen.  

The Stratford City East Village, by contrast, is a very modern and smart looking conurbation. The blocks surrounding the parks are mostly three, perhaps four floored modern boxes, each apartment with a balcony (some tiny Juliets, others big enough for a couple of chairs and a table), in streets with names reflecting their Olympic heritage - Peloton Way, for instance, that runs past my son's flat up to the velodrome.  The flats, to judge from my son's which I think is typical, are pretty well appointed: which is to say a good sized living area, a kitchen/dining area, one or two bathrooms, and two to four bedrooms. The blocks are in a network of quiet roads and cul-de-sacs, with parking spaces and underground garages, and a scattering of small local shops and supermarkets.  I dare say other amenities like doctor's surgeries, dentists, schools and so on are there too, but I haven't noticed them.  The population is again multi-cultural, but younger.

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I've spent the last week looking after my lad's apartment and it's been fun.  

I had a set of Nordic Walking poles for Christmas and I've made good use of them in the Olympic Park and the Marshes, getting my steps in in the chilly sunshine.  I've seen many families taking their exercise there too, enjoying their Festive break, walking a variety of dogs, kids on sparkling new bikes and scooters, electric skateboards and roller blades - but not one other person using poles like mine.  I admit to receiving some funny looks....  

 

I've taken the obligatory photos of the Olympic Rings, and various competition areas like the velodrome, the panorama across the park towards the stadium and impressive (but weird) ArcelorMittal Orbit tourist attraction close by, and the ducks paddling along the river Lea.

 

 

 

I've wandered around some of the 88 football pitches and the low slung but modern changing facilities and idly wondered how you can recognise what pitch you're playing on, given the apparent lack of any identification markers by their sides.  I used to play on a similar multi-pitch facility back in the day, in Tonbridge, where there were perhaps ten pitches laid out, and that was bad enough with the little numbered pegs by the corner nearest to the changing rooms.  But I suppose you get used to it....

I've ambled around Westfield Mall, window shopping and browsing the shelves in the two good and sizable bookstores that are there without buying anything (I have a big backlog to read back home that was increased by another three at Christmas) and sampled the coffee and lemon drizzle cake at the Starbucks stall.  They tasted exactly the same as they did at any other Starbucks outlet in any city in any country that I've used Starbucks - a lot of them! - and for me that's a Good Thing.  I've shopped at Sainsbury's in the old Stratford Centre and found the selection of Cornish pasties, pork pies, sausage rolls, scotch eggs, breads, chocolate and Polish kabanosy (chains of long thin smoked sausages) satisfactory and competitively priced. 

And I got lost in Stratford Station travelling via a very scenic and indirect route (courtesy of the Network SouthEast ticketing app) that routed me to Gravesend via Abbey Wood and Dartford. What it didn't specify was that to get to Abbey Wood I would need to change trains at Whitechapel.  This means that to travel east you first need to travel west.....  Not at all obvious, and I asked no less than six staff on three platforms before I got on the right train - thus adding over half an hour to the trip.  Far easier would have been a simple one-change routing through London Bridge using the Jubilee Line then Network SouthEast.  New technology, eh?

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So it's nice here, and I've had a good trip so far, with another week to go.  I plan to go into the City later this week, to meet up with a couple of old friends, and at Kings Cross seek out Words on the Water: it's a rather fine converted Dutch barge moored on the canal five minutes walk from the station that has been converted to a new and second hand book shop, complete with armchairs and settees to rest on while choosing your purchase, a coffee area and, on deck in good weather (not likely this week unfortunately), live music.  Now that is how books should be sold.....

The East End isn't at all what I expected, and Stratford (whether old, City or East Village) an interesting place.  Would I live there?  Nope.  It's still an Inner City area. and I'm a country boy at heart.

But I'm happy to visit.

One year on.....

 ...and still the slaughter in the Levant continues unabated.

Today is the first anniversary of the Hamas atrocity in southern Israel, in a kibbutz a couple of miles from the border with Gaza. Over a thousand Israelis, men women and children enjoying a music festival, lost their lives.  A further 200+ plus taken hostage.  It was by any criteria an appalling act of terrorism by Hamas. Anyone in their right mind, no matter their nationality or religious beliefs, would condemn it - and did.  The Israeli government vowed to respond in kind and get the hostages home, and governments world-wide made supportive comments. A couple of weeks and it will all be over was the general feeling. 

Well, no actually.  A whole year has passed and over a hundred hostages are still being held in Gaza.  Talks between the two sides for their return have ground to a halt.  Others were found dead amid the rubble, and some shot dead by IDF troops in friendly fire accidents.  My sympathy, as with everyone else's, is with the victims and their families, who are all suffering unimaginable pain, with no apparent end in sight.

Two thousand victims.  It's a lot.  BUT they are not the only people to suffer, not by a long chalk. 

 

Gaza itself, for years nothing less than a heavily fortified concentration camp (to all intents and purposes), strictly guarded by IDF troops that restrict access to everybody, not just Palestinians, with its citizens denied full democratic rights, has been reduced to a wasteland.  Over these months a continuous air and artillery bombardment and land incursions have reduced something like 80% of it to piles of rubble.  Housing, schools, universities, even hospitals have been destroyed. Over two million people have been rendered homeless. men women and children, living on the streets under whatever shelter they can find, lacking basic sanitation, food and medical supplies.  They are moved from safe area to safe area, and each time, sooner or later, that area becomes unsafe and they are moved on as another bombardment starts. To date, over 42,000 Palestinians living in Gaza have lost their lives according to statistics compiled by UN agencies and others like the World Food Program and International Red Cross.  Most of them are women and children, civilian non-combatants with no known link to Hamas or its aims.  I make that at least 35 Palestinian deaths for each Israeli victim in the atrocity last year.

The numbers do not take into account the aid workers of several nationalities, nor the medical staff and press who have lost their lives trying to save Palestinian lives and bring comfort and aid to the refugees.  None of these people had any connection whatsoever with the Hamas terrorists. 

International law and UN Charters provide for nation states to be able to respond to terrorist attacks like that on last October 7, provided the response is targeted and proportionate.  Clearly this has not been the case: a ratio in excess of 35:1 can never be considered either "targeted" or "proportionate".  For me it's nothing less than mass murder.

It doesn't end here, of course, because Israel has shown no sign of easing up in its revenge actions. It has now turned its attentions to Lebanon, its northern neighbour that harbours another militant (for which read terrorist) group, Hezbollah. This is a close ally of Hamas though much stronger and both are armed and trained by Iran. Israel has launched attacks on Lebanon, first through an apparent covert operation that led to a couple of thousand pagers used by Hezbollah members for communication to explode.  As well as maiming and blinding the owners, innocent passers-by, including children, were killed.  Not content with that, air strikes on villages and towns in southern Lebanon, allegedly hotbeds of Hezbollah actiivity, have led to many more deaths and an exodus of over a million refugees - warned by Israel to evacuate or "face the consequences".  The capital Beirut (a city I spent a year working in and thoroughly enjoyed some 15 years ago) is now overflowing with people seeking safety - and is predictably now itself under attack.  More deaths by the day...

Iran has responded by launching missiles at Israel, whose air defence, its Iron Dome provided and funded by the USA, destroyed most of the incoming and kept casualties to a minimum. Israel is now considering launching an attack on Iran, perhaps targeting the country's oil infrastructure and nuclear facilities. 

 

There are fears that the entire region is going to be dragged into this slaughter.  The US has already pledged its "unswerving support" for Israel in its "self defence".  Britain and the EU, though perhaps less forcefully, have done likewise and issued their own warnings to Iran. Putin has so far said nothing but for years has been backing and arming Iran and its allies (like Hamas and Hezbollah) and no doubt is quite happy to see the West drawn into the conflict.  Would he order Russia to take action if that happened, given the Ukraine conflict?  God knows. but he is mad enough.  And if he did, how would the West - the US, the EU, Britain, the NATO Alliance - respond?  And what of Iran's and Russia's other allies, China and North Korea?

I have no idea how this is all going to end, but without doubt it's a tragedy and a conflict that could have been avoided or ended, but for the stubborn vindictive leadership from both the main combatants.  For the first time in my life, I am genuinely fearful that we are close to a Third World War. 

The Grunwald Monument

 

The Teutonic Knights (more correctly, the Teutonic Order) was a German Catholic company of knights founded during the Crusades in the early 12th century, and under the control of the Pope. It was initially based in Jerusalem from whence, through conquest and bloodshed - copious amounts of each - it spread throughout the Middle East and ultimately through northern and eastern Europe. At its peak it controlled a trading empire that stretched around almost the entire Baltic Sea coast. By the late 14th century, at the height of its power, it was the dominant European force and incredibly wealthy, ruling that huge territory from a network of massive castles spread thoughout the coastal towns and cities it controlled. Their castle at Malbork in Poland remains the biggest of its kind in the world when measured by square meterage and is a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the countries most visited tourist attractions, housing a museum, extensive grounds and a hotel within its massive walls.

Making an empire that big and maintaining it is no easy task, especially given the animosity and, perhaps, hatred felt by conquerers from the ordinary people in the lands they had absorbed. This was certainly the case within the eastern Baltic area, where the proud peoples of Poland and Lithuania rebelled against Teutonic rule, and in 1407 launched a war against the Teutonic Knights to regain their lost territory. The conflict came to a head in 1410, at the Battle of Grunwald, where the massed armies of Poland and Lithuania, led by the Polish and Lithuanian rulers, King Władisław II Jagiełło and Grand Duke Vytautas respectively, allied to several groups of vassals and regions of their countries, as well as a number of groups of mercenaries from countries even further afield (including today's Ukraine and Belarus) engaged with the Teutonic Knights led by their Grand Master Ulrich von Jungingen. It was one of the biggest battles ever fought in Medieval Europe, with Polish forces numbering up to 39,000 men and the Teutonic Knights up to 27,000 men.

The conflict took place on 15 July 1410, and no accurate number of dead and wounded has ever been calculated (record keeping not being considered important in those times). What is certain is that the Grand Master and most of the senior Knights were killed, and the previous invincibility of the Order destroyed. It continued its trading activities until its final disolution in 1810, but never again with its pre-Grunwald strength and power. The battle is still celebrated every year with mock battles and chrch services at Grunwald, and also in Ukraine and Belarus.

 I had been aware of some of this history for some time, since I read Norman Davies' superb two volume God's Playground: A History of Poland (which deals in detail with the battle and its aftermath) when I first moved to Poland twenty-odd years ago, and Malbork castle has been close to the top of my Places To See In Poland List ever since, but I still haven't managed it. I've been past the castle several times, on trains between Warsaw and Gdansk (the track runs right past it) and it is certainly a very impressive building still. Maybe next year...

There are also excellent and informative Wikipedia pages dedicated to the Knights, the Battle itself and some of the leading participants, with maps and diagrams describing the entire bloodbath - they are for sure worth a look (and I am indebted to them in preparing this essay).

Anyway, back in May this year, I was fortunate enough to spend a weekend in Olsztyn and the nearby rail junction town of Dzialdowo visiting friends, so on our way home we took a detour to visit the Grunwald monument. It was a nice drive on a hot and sunny Sunday afternoon, through rolling farmland, dotted with pretty villages and forests. It's a nice part of the country. The Monument and battle site stands on its own, a few kilometers away from the surrounding villages, and from the specific route we followed it appeared quite suddenly on our left, with little forewarning. 

  

 There is a big car and coach park that at that time was quite empty, so we were able to park in splendid isolation a few paces from the gift shop, cafeteria and toilet block. We didn't use the cafeteria but spent some time looking at the stuff in the gift shop. Replica Polish knight costumes and helmets in a variety of sizes, up to and including adult XXL, were hanging on rails both inside and out, and many replica swords, proper metal ones as well kid's plastic toys, were in a kind of umbrella stand: the best of them was, on closer examination, actually an umbrella - I'd love to see someone try to take it on London's Central Line to the City on a wet day. There were, too, many postcards, fridge magnets, coffee cups, beer mats - all the usual tourist tat - and quite a big selection of hard- and soft-back books dedicated to the battle, histories of the Teutonic Order and of Poland, but not a single volume was in English. I found that very disappointing, considering the importance of both the site and the battle.

 A little further along the block, next door to the obligatory Church, was the entrance to the Monument site itself. This is a quite extensive park on the green rolling hills where the battle took place, and throughout the park are scattered various monuments. These not only commemorate the battle but also other notable historical sites and events from more recent Polish history. Most notable (to me, at any rate) is a monument, essentially a pile of rubble, that commemorates an action taken by the Nazis during the War. To them, the Teutonic Knights were heroes, examples to their own dreams of conquest, and when they occupied Krakow and made it their administrative capital in 1939 a statue and momunent celebrating the battle of Grunwald was a target and duly demolished. Its replacement at Grunwald uses rubble taken from the city post-war, and it is labelled accordingly, describing what happened in Krakow and why.

 A little further along the block, next door to the obligatory Church, was the entrance to the Monument site itself. This is a quite extensive park on the green rolling hills where the battle took place, and throughout the park are scattered various monuments. These not only commemorate the battle but also other notable historical sites and events from more recent Polish history. Most notable (to me, at any rate) is a monument, essentially a pile of rubble, that commemorates an action taken by the Nazis during the War. To them, the Teutonic Knights were heroes, examples to their own dreams of conquest, and when they occupied Krakow and made it their administrative capital in 1939 a statue and momunent celebrating the battle of Grunwald was a target and duly demolished. Its replacement at Grunwald uses rubble taken from the city post-war, and it is labelled accordingly, describing what happened in Krakow and why.

 At the top of a rise and overlooking the battlefield is a big paved area that depicts the place as it would have been in 1410 from that particular view point. There were three or four hamlets, not much more than individual farms but expanded now to small villages and towns, more or less atthe corners of the battlefield and depicted by small blocks representing their buildings. Marked clearly were the pre-conflict locations of the various combatant armies, cleverly done to indicate the size and numbers of each army. Each muster was on an elevated spot of land, so to fight the armies would have had to charge downhill and meet in the natural bowl of the fields. Here and there single points indicate where major turning points of the battle happened - the key one is probably the spot where the Teutonic Grand Master met his end, leaving his forces leaderless and doubtless demoralized. With the battle plan as a guide, finding the spot was easy: it's marked now by a single large stone with an engraved plaque commemorating the incident, and lies in a small dip in the rolloing countryside, close to a fence separating the Memorial site from a vast field of btilliant yellow rapeseed plants.

 I stood in the middle on the hollow at the centre of the battlefield and surveyed the battlefield from the perpective of a participant, looking around. It was not hard to imagine what it must have been like (I've seen many movies where the kind of bloody hand-to-hand fighting that must have occurred is depicted...some good, some bad), nor to have an inkling of the terror and uncontrolled bladder and bowel voiding that probably happened as the yelling and cursing participants clashed arms there in the summer sun, nor to feel the pain of limbs suddenly severed, heads crushed and bowels ripped out. But perhaps I have a particularly active imagination, because no-one else in our party seemed to be so moved...

We spent perhaps an hour wandering around, then returned to the car park - a couple of coach loads of tourists had by this time arrived and more cars, so the place was getting more crowded: we probably had the best of it, as it had been quiet and mostly empty to allow for free and undisturbed thought - , and headed home.

 The Grunwald Monument is the sort of thing Poland does very well. Perhaps because of its turbulant past, the country remains very aware and proud of its history. Its literature is full of works that relate to the way life was back in the day, the epic poem Pan Tadeusz, set in a manor house in the glory days of the old Polish-Lithuanian Confederation that was at the time the biggest such alliance in the whole of Europe, is probably the most famous example (it remains still a mandatory text in schools and Polish kids can recite entire segments of it word perfect). Lists of its past monarchs, good and bad, are equally Must Have and form the basis of many a tv quiz question (rarely answered incorrectly).

 Other Poles who have gone on to make their mark in the wider world - like the astronomer Mikołaj Kopernik (Copernicus), the composer Fredric Chopin and the scientist Marie Curie - are revered. Even places of tragedy are still respected - the tragic but resepctful museums at the concentration camps of Majdanek and Auschwitz; Wolfschantz, Hitler's bunker deep in the Mazurian forest; even Chopin's birthplace and childhood home (a small unassuming cottage in rolling farmland west of Warsaw) are fascinating and well-travelled detinations that tend to receive as many, sometimes more, Polish visitors than tourists and are worth the journey and admission fees.

Grunwald is rightly celebrated as a major victory that altered the future of Europe itself, and deserving of the splendid Monument that commemorates it - and the site is well worth the trip.  

Travellin' Bob's Cruise 'n' Views

 

Hooray!

First trip of the year booked - back to Switzerland for some walking and relaxing in the clear mountain air in August, admiring the stunning Alpine scenery, and using the country's brilliant rail transport system to explore some new places.  I'm staying with My Beloved's cousin again (he hosted me a couple of years ago, and it helped my recovery from a bad post-Covid depression) but this time My Beloved is accompanying me.  We can't wait - now I need to hit my Fodor's Swiss Travel Guide and figure out where to go on our rambles around possibly my favourite country.

It's the first real holiday she and I have had since the kids came along: I discount our long weekend in England last autumn, as it was to attend my sister's funeral, so not really a holiday (though it was great to spend time with my sons back home and their families, even if only for a few hours).  Our last unencumbered vacation was twenty years ago, to Hurghada in Egypt, and it was terrific, despite my Rainman ability bringing the first showers (and heavy ones at that) to the town for seven years - at least according to the barman in the hotel, but I suppose he may have been joking...  Since then, as our family has grown, we have enjoyed vacations in Spain (twice), Crete, Portugal and Croatia, as well as various seaside and skiing resorts here in Poland, and of course many trips back home to England, and they have all been great and have passed the travel bug onto our kids. 

But now they are grown to their late teens (my youngest turns sixteen next month) and can fend for themselves, the shackles have come off and My Beloved and I are planning to spend as much time as we reasonably and economically can doing stuff and going to places we want to go to, to please ourselves and no-one else.  Hell, I'm 71 now, and though fit and well, with the best will in the world I'm closer to being forced to slow down because of age and infirmity than I was when we met, so we are determined to make the most of the years we have left......  I figure I can look foorward to ten to fifteen years before I have to pack the passport away and start a sedentary life of memories and reflection.

The world (or at least Europe) is our oyster.

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But there are some things we won't be doing.  Top of that list, for me at least, is cruising.

I've always been shy, finding it difficult to mix with strangers, and in my youth I have no doubt I missed out on a lot of, shall we say, interesting experiences due to my constantly being tongue-tied with the opposite sex.  I still find it difficult to relax in social gatherings, unless I know everyone there well....and inevitably that is rarely the case.  The year of depression I suffered, largely as a consequence of both catching Covid (twice) and struggling to find my place in the world after retiring 18 months or so prior to the Pandemic, taught me through some conversations with someone with psychology qualifications that my shyness was deeper and in fact showed that I was an introvert.  It was a relief to know, and in the couple of years since my recovery the knowledge has made things easier for me - although I know social gatherings will always be problematic.  But I can happily live with that: during my Travellin' Life spending hours solo on planes, trains, buses and automobiles, and days and weeks alone in hotels, I found that I am happy with my own company and don't need to be surrounded with other people to be happy.  A good book or two, some decent music playing somewhere in the backgound, good food and drink is quite sufficient, thank you very much.

So the thought of being cooped up with perhaps several thousand complete strangers for a week or two, no matter how luxurious the ship, no matter how interesting the itinerary, no matter how high the quality of both entertainment and cuisine, makes me shudder!  I know, I know - how is that worse than staying in a big hotel in some beach resort, you may ask?  Simple: in that situation I can hire a cheap and scruffy little car from the local Hertz and go off somewhere for the day, away from the crowds.  The fact is, I like to choose where I go and when I go there if I'm on holiday, not have someone dictate ir to me.  I have no wish to get up early for breakfast to then spend the rest of the day either sitting on a coach full of people to get to a Roman ruin or a flea market or a cathedral somewhere, and then traipse round in groups from other coaches, before having to pile back onto the coach to go somewhere else to do it all over again and get back to the ship.  And the same next day.  Or the next...  

Then there is the dress code issue.  It seems to be the rule to dress for dinner - shirt, trousers and jacket mostly, and a cocktail dress for the ladies, or more formally - which is to say tux and bow tie or ball gown, depending - in the case of Cunard.  Call me a Phillistine if you like, but doing that, for me, is complete overkill.  Again, I'm on holiday and I want to relax and chill out, and there is no way I can do that when I'm done up like a dog's dinner.  Give me self catering on my balcony, or a sea front pizza house or something, where I can wander in in my shorts shirt and sandals and enjoy some basic local cuisine over a glass or three of the local brew without feeling people are looking at me because my tie is crooked or my shoes not mirror shiny.

I'm not a swimming pool person - I tend to sink like a stone - so the multiple pools with or without a selection of water slides and a couple of hundred sun loungers that are available on the average cruise liner hold no attraction for me at all.  Nor does the zip line running the length of the shopping and cafe street that doubles as a disco and runs down the ship's centre.  Nor do the small and cheap inside cabins sans windows (I do like a view when I relax with my nightcap and a good book, watching the sun set over the blue sea, or rain running down the glass, more likely with me).  Nor indeed do the bigger and hence more expensive outside suites and cabins that offer balconies and the views I hanker for at a heinous price.

Just not for me!

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That said, I might be tempted by a river cruise, down the Rhine or the Danube or wherever.  For a start, the typical cruise boat only holds around 100 passengers: much easier for me to cope with. The itineraries seem more flexible, with fewer excursions (most of them optional) and the dress code more relaxed.  Sure, it's a much slower journey, the total distance travelled being far less than a cruise liner in the Med or the Carribean might do in a day, but that's ok: at least you have views on either bank to keep you interested  while you progress, certainly far more than God knows how many miles of open sea all around without another vessel in sight.  

The cabins all have windows (so natural light), even those at water level, and without lacking any amenities.  No pools or noisy discos or zip lines, and not much more than a piano bar in the dining room in the way of entertainment, but there's nothing wrong with a decent Piano Man - just look at Billy Joel or Elton John, who had similar humble beginnings (though in pubs and bars on land, not on water).  

It also means that day stops at towns and cities along the river for excursions are in my view typically less stressful, less reliant on bus transfers, and departures not dependent on a tide. Tieing up at a small riverside town with the opportunity of wandering at your leisure, exploring shops and museums and cathedrals and parks at your own pace, maybe offering the chance of a bike ride into the surrounding countryside, is much more to my taste.... 

Maybe I should give one a try sometime, once I've saved a bit of pension (they tend not to be cheap - the same as everything else these days).  If I do, then I will be writing it all up here.

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Oh, and a final disclaimer and credit.  I've never been on a cruise ship or river cruiser in my life, but have friends who have done so and do it regularly.  Good for them!  My opinions are all based on numerous videos about cruising (sea and river) that I've watched on a couple of You Tube channels: Tips for Travellers (Gary Bembridge) and Emma Cruises (Emma Le Teace - think I spelled it right) - they're both very entertaining and informative, and in my view give a good, warts-and-all picture of cruise holidays.  Thanks, guys!

A day out in Olsztyn

 

I fancied a day out, a change of scenery from that out of the window. It had been a stressful couple of weeks, what with one thing and another, and to be honest I was feeling the heat (both metaphorically as well as the 27C outside). My Beloved was of course at work, but the kids were home to keep an eye on our four legged friends. I'd had a couple of good rambles through my local forest in recent weeks and didn't want to go there again, so decided to hop on the Metro and head to the north end of the M1 line, which on Google Maps looked to lay a couple of kilometers from both the Wisła river and a similar forest. A different part of town, so why not? I packed some sandwiches and a bottle of drink in my backpack, my current read, a notebook and pen, and headed off.

I read the book on the train, still not quite sure where I would end up, and then, as we pulled into Świętokrzyśzka station (about half way) did a Harry Bright and decided, quite spontaneously, to go elsewhere, further afield. So I hopped off at Dwórzec Gdański station, and went to look at the departure boards at the adjoining mainline station. If there were no suitable trains due, I could always go back on the Metro and return to my original plan.

In the event, I had the choice of two trains, both leaving within 10 minutes. The first was to Modlin, but apart from the airport, a Ryanair stronghold, there looks to be bugger all there, just another small Polish country town. The second, leaving a couple of minutes earlier, was a PKP Intercity service to Olsztyn. On the edge of the Mazurian lake district, on a sizeable (but still comparatively small) lake, I had never been there. But a mate of mine had holidayed there a couple of times at a hotel on the lake, and had waxed lyrical to me about the place, in particular its Old Town and lakeside harbour.

Decision made, then - Olsztyn it is.

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I tried to buy my ticket at the machine, and queued for a couple of minutes behind a pair of giggly schoolgirls, possibly bunking off for the day in the good weather. They wandered off eventually and I quickly plugged in my journey details, and waited, card in hand, for my ticket price and payment options to come up. Instead, I got a mesage telling me PKP were unable to calculate my fare and I should go to the Ticket Office. No time for that, so I walked briskly up onto the platform as the guard was checking both ways to shut the doors and signal the train could go. I waved at him and quickened my pace (not quite a run, I don't do that) and to his credit he waited for me. I asked him if I could buy a ticket on board and in flawless English he agreed, so I hopped on and off we went.

I followed him through the WARS Buffet Car to his on-board office and I bought my ticket - one way 37zl (I had asked for a return, but it was a Lost in Translation moment and he sold me a one way, but I didn't notice until later) - a good bit less than I had expected. He wished me a good day, and I headed back through the brand new train to find my allocated window seat. The train was quite full, but I had a double to myself and settled in to enjoy the ride. The journey was set to take just over 2 hours to cover a couple of hundred kilometres with 5 intermediate stops.

A good part of the route followed the main high speed line that runs up through the Tri-Cities to Gdynia, branching off at Dzialdowo to meander through the rolling wooded hills on the edge of Mazury, through Olsztynek, to my final destination. Much of this final part of the ride was along a single track line, through small villages of a handful of houses and what may even have been request stops on the line (basically a concrete platform with a rudimentary glass and metal shelter like a bus-stop and no other building ), over unbarriered crossings of farm tracks, the train's horn parping every few minutes to warn of its approach. There had been half a dozen incidents that year where drivers had decided to run the risk and been hit by a train, with fatalities - Polish drivers really can be quite stupid. But this train had no problems: indeed I saw no cars or other vehicles close to any crossing, and indeed few signs of life anywhere, just a couple of combine harvesters working on the far side of one field we passed, and a tractor with a wagon load of freshly harvested grain passing through another field a bit further along.

After Olsztynek the view from my window became a bit more suburban and less rural, and we were soon clearly approaching the end of the line. I had been expecting a smallish lakeside port, with water views through the trees and sailboats dotting the lake. Intead we came to a smallish city, built on a continuation of the hills we had been traversing, with apartment blocks and shopping malls and small industrial units flanking the track, and not a sign of the three lakes that surround the place on Google Maps.

Then we pulled into Olsztyn Główny station, and day's challenges started.

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The place was a building site. One of the four platforms stood empty, the rest, once we had stopped, were occupied with more intercity trains heading off to I didn't see where, and the tunnel under them to the exit was also blocked off for repair work. So we all had to walk across the tracks, in front of the big diesel-electric locomotives, to leave the station. Although there are fewer in operation these days as PKP renews its passenger fleet, these beasts remain to me impressive machines, and hauling a rake of the heavy, old style carriages I prefer them to the newer EMU and Pendolino rolling stock for my rail journeys. They may be slower and the ride much less comfortable, but they are full of character.

In keeping with the work going on, the Ticket Office and overcrowded Waiting Room were housed in four interlinked portacabins, and I joined the International Tickets queue to buy my return to Waraw: first challenge. The middle aged lady who served me looked blank when I asked for a ticket to Warsaw, and in my rudimentary Polish I apologized: she pointedly ignored me and turned her head away. Lovely. Fortunately, a young girl at the next window noticed, and helped me with my purchase. Not the best introduction to the town....but at least I could get home now. And oddly the ticket was a little cheaper, 35zl this time. Even combined, the total ticket price was way below my original expectations and in my view, given the comfort and service quality of both trains, great value. No doubt my OAP status helped....

Outside the station the construction works continued onto the station forecourt, and I looked around for bus and tram stops, but especially for a street map: I had no idea whereabouts in town I was, and no idea which way to go to find the lake and harbour area. A couple of hundred yards away, beyond a sizeable roundabout, stood a McDonalds, next door to a bus stop and across from a tram stop, but there was no trace of a street map at the station. I wandered across to the McDonalds, and asked a few people if they spoke English: every one of them looked terrified, mumbled "No, I'm sorry" or something similar and ran off in the opposite direction. At the fifth attempt, a guy told me in halting English (admittedly better than my Polish) that I needed to go up the hill past the station and after two bus stops I would find the Town Hall (he called it by its German expression: Rathaus) and I should ask again there.

It took me probably twenty minutes to walk to the place, past at least three bus stops, and I walked into the Reception area, and again asked if anyone spoke English. A lady said she did, and I asked her the same question: how do I get to the harbour and the lake? She shrugged her shoulders, and said, "I no know." And returned to her coffee and magazine. Again fortunately, someone had overheard, this time a bloke probably close to my age, wearing grubby blue overalls and sitting in a small room who had wandered over to listen - whether security or simply a slightly nosy caretaker I have no idea. But he told me what I needed to know at least.

It turned out the lake was a good 6km away, but I could walk straight down the road outside, in the direction away from the station, and I would find it.  Easy.  Off I went, in no particular hurry. I was enjoying the views of actually quite an attracive little town. The station, despite its name: "głowny" which usually signifies the main station in the town and is normally very central, was clearly off the beaten track, because all the shops were small units like you see in most apartment blocks: the odd patisserie selling bread and cakes, some kebab and pizza shacks, several chemists (the apteka is the most common variety of retail outlet in the country by a big margin: they are everywhere) and some cheap looking clothes and shoe shops. None of them were from national chains and I didn't see a single mall of any size all day, which is most unusual here.

I walked for the best part of an hour, then came to a t-junction: now then, do I go left or right? Still no street map to be seen, and even the junction lacked a sign to tell you what was in which direction. I came to the conclusion that Olsztyn must be a very insular place, and everyone who lived or drove there knew exactly where they were. Not in the least tourist friendly. I pulled out my phone and booted up the Google Maps app - no internet connection. I looked both ways, crossed the street and decided to turn right, on the basis that it was downhill and therefore any water flowing nearby was likely to be going that way, to the lake. About 100m along I came to a stream: it crossed my path under the bridge, but appeared to be flowing the other way.....

The hell with it: not possible, must get new glasses, downhill is the right way.

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A kilometer later I came to another roundabout, this one with about 5 roads flowing through it and not a tram in sight (but several buses criss-crossing it, some of which were apparently going to the station: I made a mental note of the service numbers in case I got lost). I crossed when the light gave me right of way, and had to jog the second road as the lights changed back against me ridculously quickly, given the length of the crossing, and looked around again for a map. There was one across from me (a shorter distance and I made it at a stroll) and close to it a small tourist information ccentre - this is more like it! I ambled over, looking around the little narrow lanes running away to one side, with attractive old buildings on either side of them. The tourist place was closed and locked, with no notice of opening hours - it was only about 1:30 and a Thursday and still summer (although not peak season) so I was a little surprised. Okay then, back to the map.

It was big and colourful, and showed a network of roads and small parks and notable buildings (the police, a museum, an art gallery), but not a sign of a lake anywhere. I looked more closely, and tried to trace something familiar: the You Are Here elipse that all such maps (including the one on Google) was clearly visible, and the road layout looked about right. But of the two roads on the map that bracketed the You Are Here marker, neither carried the same road sign as the ones on the actual roads - even the one I had just spent a half hour following was missing. Most odd.

I stood there for a moment, then thought the hell with it - keep heading downhill (at least it's easier than walking up!) and that little narrow street looks a bit Old Towny......

Mind made up, I strolled away from the useless tourist map towards one of the narrow and picturesque roads across the car park.

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It turned out to be a good choice. A narrow bridge crossed a small stream burbling away downhill, through overhanging trees and with a couple of ducks paddling against the current, and at the end of it stood a small statue. It was very pretty and despite its proximity to the bus crossing quite peacful. I looked around and saw, across a small car park, a narrow strreeet, apparently cobbles, leading up between two old looking buildings - very much the typical entrance to a Polish Stary Miasto (Old Town) in any settlement larger than a village.

The little road ran up a sharp incline, on either side of which was a selection of bars and restaurants with a variety of chairs and tables and branded sun-umbrellas, and the odd souvenir shop or newsagents. I checked some of the menus: all offered a typically tourist selection of traditional Polish fayre (chicken or tomato soup, pierogi dumplings with meat or cabbage or mushroom fillings, pork or chicken cutlets fried in breadcrumbs with fries or mashed potatoes and coleslaw), plus pizzas and an assortment of pasta dishes, ice creams or fresh fruit for dessert, and a wide range of local beers and soft drinks. All at reasonable prices. I was tempted, but still had my packed lunch and really wanted to find this harbour, so I moved on.

It was indeed a Stary Miasto, though whether the main one or part of a group (for want of a better description) I'm still not sure. It was quite small, so I tend to think it was one of a number scattered around the city. In any case, it was indeed a pretty area, perhaps 100m on a side, cobblestoned, with an imposing (but by Polish standards small) church in the centre. More restaurants and souvenir shops lined each side, but here were mixed with a small number of popular clothes stores, grocery shops and the inevitable apteka. I spotted a patisserie in some shade (the day was at its hottest, 27C or thereabouts and not a cloud in the sky and I was feeling decidedly sticky), so some refreshment seemed a good idea. It was: a fine cup of vanilla latte and big slice of a beza (meringue) cake topped with fresh fruits and whipped cream cost me 20zl (about four quid) - excellent value and delicious.

My Beloved called (as does regularly every day) and was a tad gobsmacked to find me in Olsztyn rather than at home looking after the animals - but happy that I was having fun. She also suggested I called a close friend of hers who comes from the town if I needed any help....so, as I was a bit lost, I did that. Ania (the friend) was, bless her, a bit flustered because her English is not fluent (but much better than anyone else in Olsztyn, at least on the day I was there), and once we had figured out where I was, gave me directions to the nearest couple of lakes, between which is a station where I could catch my train home without hiking all the way back to the Głowny terminus. Happy days! Armed with the sms she sent me with the directions, off I went again.

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It took me perhaps 10 minutes to get lost. This was nothing whatever to do with Ania's directions, but simply down to my own incompetence.

I had to leave the square by the way I had arrived (simple), past the little bridge and across the road onto the one I had come down originally (equally simple), then follow it downhill for about a kilometer and under a railway bridge by a busy road (straightforward). To my right and across the street was a station: I assumed the one Ania had told me about. I went to look, but the station name was not Olsztyn Zachodny (West) but something else. I retraced my steps, turned right under the bridge and followed the tracks looking for the correct one, through an estsate of newish looking apartment blocks. At the end, close to another railway bridge, I caught a glimpse of water.

It was indeed a lake, and a big one too, with a water sports centre, squash and tennis courts and a small jetty for sailing boats. On the water perhaps a dozen of these were scudding along on the gentle breeze, while a similar number of jet skis and windsurfers enjoyed themselves more dangerously. Backing onto the entrance a flight of steps led up to another small railway station - but this one wasn't Olsztyn Zachodny either. Now I was really lost....

Ania had told me the lake was close to Zachodny station, and I would see it on the left hand side as I came into town on the train. But here, the lake was on the right hand side. It was small lake, she had said, and this one was certainly not that - it must have been a good couple of kilometers to its furthest extremity, maybe a bit more.

So back towards town again, back through the apartment blocks to the main road, and back to the first station I had seen but from the other side. Slap forehead time: it was indeed Zachodny (I had read the wrong sign before - doh!). Good - now I know where I am...where is the lake. I still couldn't see anything, so as the platforms were elevated at the top of a high bank I climbed up steps to look from the better vantage point they offered. And there, no more than a couple of hundred meters away, through a clump of trees (that provided cover at ground level) was a small, long and narrow lake, on the left hand side as you head into town, visible from the train, clearly.  Bingo.

I had to go through a grubby underpass, littered with empty cans and sweet wrappers and things that looked decidedly unsavoury (but at least not smelling of stale piss, as so many underpasses do all over the world) and then across a poorly maintained road to get to the lake. It was pleasant enough, and much smaller and quieter. A new looking tarmac path followed the lakeshore, which was quite steep with only a few flat sandy areas to access the water, and covered with thick reed beds and assorted bushes. Every hundred meters or so, on alternate sides of the path, there were iron and wood-slat bench seats, each with an trash can adjoining it - in contrast to the underpass there was very little litter anywhere.

I walked around most of the lake, and saw many middle aged and elderly couples yomping along with Nordic walking poles, and the odd cyclist or two in the usual flourescent lycra shirts, tights and colourful helmets bombing along, doing their daily exercise. On many benches younger people were sunbathimg, reading or Facebooking on their mobiles with little real conversation (this seems to be normal everywhere nowadays, sadly), and on a couple of the sand banks ladies with young children were picnicking. I found a deserted bench in some shade, stripped my shirt off to cool down a bit, and munched my sandwiches, then, feet up, read my book for an hour or so. All was quiet and peaceful, despite the proximity of a railway line and busy road, and I felt very content.

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I spent a nice couple of hours there, just chilling out and reading and watching the world go by, then ambled up to Zachodny - I had a good couple of hours before the train was due, but the sun was going down quite quick;ly now and the temperature dropping. The station was more or less deserted, perhaps half a dozen people, and there was no waiting room, so I had no option but to go for another mooch around the neighbourhood. I didn't really know whereabouts I was, except that it was a good six kilometers, maybe more, from Olsztyn Glowny, all of them uphill, and the idea of hauling all that way to catch a train that was scheduled to stop here 5 minutes after its departure made no sense. I knew nothing of this part of town at all: it was clearly mainly residential (not a factory or warehouse in sight), so I felt somewhere close by there should be at the very least a supermarket where I could get some food (mine was all gone).

I turned left leaving the station, for no particular reason than that it was downhill, and ambled off. There was not much to see: a big church across the street and about 50m down the only building that wasn't an apartment block. The road curved right beside the church, and when I got there I saw it ran over a bridge, I assumed over trhe stream I had crossed earlier in the day and at a higher elevation. Just to my left there was a weir and the water rushed through in a white-water torrent, flowing quickly through a small park with swings and roundabouts under the surrounding trees. On the bank of the stream, where a right turn slowed the water's flow, stood a watermill on the side of what looked like a re-furbished factory. More to the point, above the river bend, overhanging the water, was a terrace holding some tables, chairs and the ubiquitous branded umbrellas. A bar.

When I got there, I settled at a table right by the water's edge, and checked the menu. There was not a lot of choice, at least as far as food was concerned, but the place was a micro-brewery and boasted an array of half a dozen of its own potions alongside the locally brewed (but nationally popular) Łomża and the ever populat Tyskie and Lech beers. I had just under an hour to kill, so settled for a big glass of the brewery's own IPA - and very nice it was too.

Then back to the station in the gathering darkness. By the time the train came in, another brand new EMU, it was pitch dark. When it stopped the door closest to me was the entrance to the WARS restaurant car - very convenient. I'd walked through these Polsh institutions many times over the years and they always seemed to be crowded so had never used them. One stop into its journey, this one was empty, so I decided to give it a try. A favourite travel YouTuber had recently posted a 50,000 Subscriber Q&A in which he stated WARS were his favourite on-board caterers (this from a seasoned traveller who had sampled train catering all over the world - Amtrak, Eurostar, Deutsche Bahn - you name it - so should know what he's talking about) - as good a recommendation as any.

I settled in with a litre bottle of Łomża and a Family Pack of Lay's salted ridged crisps, dug out my book - as it was pitch dark there was nothing to see outside - to enjoy the two hour ride.  Another couple of passengers joined me at separate tables, but it was very quiet and relaxing. I enjoyed it, and decided whenever I next take a long-distance train ride in Poland I will do likewise and sample the WARS cooked meu (which looks rather excellent and well priced).

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As the train pulled into Warszawa Gdanski station, bang on time, a twenty minute Metro ride from home, I reflected with satisfaction on a good day. Sure, I never did find the Olsztyn city centre and its apparently picturesque harbour area, but that gives me an excuse to make a return journey. What I saw of the place has whetted my appetite nicely.

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.