June 06-09, 2005

Poland is really...different!

"Toalety panie,prosze?" This means, "Where is the bathroom?" in Polish. This little phrase which I have learned by heart has been very useful lately as I seem to have a bad case of the runs! Yes, you have guessed it.

I am the furthest north I have been on this trip, in chilly Poland.

Cartoon legs running toward the restroom

Poland took me completely by surprise. I had a picture of a cosy, rural country a bit backwards compared to some of her other Central Europe sisters. However, Poland shocked me as soon as I entered it. I decided to take the day train from Prague for two reasons. First, I wanted to be able to see the landscape. Secondly, night trains between the two countries are notoriously dangerous because of robbery. Apparently Poles themselves avoid taking them for this very reason.

Poland certainly seemed to rub me the wrong way at the beginning. When we crossed the border, the Polish immigration officer adamantly refused to give me an entry stamp on my passport. How mean! The train journey seemed long, 9 hours. My traveling companion for the day, an older Czech gentleman who spoke excellent English kept me entertained with stories from his life. Pleasantly old-fashioned, he insisted on putting my bulky backpack on the rack and nearly died of a heart attack doing so.

Polish officers looking over tourist papers

A view of yellow flowers in the foreground with trees behind

The contrast between the two countries, the Czech Republic and Poland was strinkingly apparent as soon as we reached the frontier. The countryside was of course equally pretty on either side but the Polish towns and villages that we sped through revealed a great deal of visible poverty. None of the colours and of the picturesque beauty of Czech communities. Sad looking houses, daunting apartment buildings reminiscent of "rabbit cages", all in neutral tones, lots of drab concrete, rusty metal and the odd somber looking church. The general effect was one of dismal despondency and the monotonous, grey drizzle falling incessantly from the heavy sky did not help.

Flowered country fields with small village scattered along the hillsides in the background

Country church on main street of small village

Apartment building in poorer section of town

I arrived at Warsaw's Central Train Station at dusk. The train station is an enormous, awe-inspiring affair with many passages and labyrinths. It took me a while to find my way out. Many suspicious looking people, most drunk or stoned, were lurking around. Lots of police, too. They appeared to be just as menacing. I felt unsafe. I hurriedly changed money (at a horrible rate) at a "Kantor" and exited this monstruous building. Outside night was rapidly falling. I had a map but needed to be oriented. Who should I ask? There seemed to be no "normal" person around.

The Warsaw Central Train Station and parking lot

Who should I approach? One of these weird characters roaming around ready to cut my throat or one of the assassin-faced policemen? I opted for the representatives of the Law. I walked toward one of them timidly. As soon as I opened my mouth to blabber a few words of English, the officer turned angelic. His piggish face broke into the sweetest smile under the crew cut and cap and he pointed me in the right direction.

By then it was completely dark and it started pelting rain. A deluge. I ran all the way, a good fifteen minutes, pulling my backpack on wheels on the cobble streets while clutching my soaked map in the other hand. I got to the hostel wet as a rat, out of breath but in one piece. As soon as I was given a bed, I fell asleep soundly.

The next day, I felt better, much refreshed, ready to face Warsaw (Warszawa). Once again, I was wrong. I was not ready for this monstruous, tentacular, overcrowded, deafening, ugly metropolis. I just stood there frozen, completely overwhelmed. Everywhere mammoth characterless buildings, overly wide busy avenues, huge advertising signs, rattling trams, honking buses and cars, hideous underground passages transformed in shopping areas and graffiti everywhere. I could not get over the gigantism of the "Soviet Style From The Socialist Era" architecture. Everything looked massive, graceless and unfeeling!

Warsaw Old Town Square as seen through cafe roses

Bravely, I decided to walk to the Old town. Fortunately, I left the commercial district behind rather fast to enter pleasant and more peaceful surroundings. Tree lined average-sized boulevards, elegant baroque or renaissance buildings, quiet gardens, ornate churches until I reached Castle square.

As you may know, the city having been entirely destroyed by the Nazis during the Second World war, the heart of Old Warsaw has been entirely reconstructed. The result is amazing; it looks so much like the 'real thing', so much authentically old that it has been added to UNESCO's list. The Rynek Starego Miasta is a marvelous sight, the size of a pocket hankerchief. Small, compact surrounded by pastel hued buildings with delicately decorated facades. A tiny, colourful market sits on the cobbled square. You can hear an old bearded man with a pointed hat playing the organ grinder. Pigeons, unafraid are fluttering everywhere, hoping for crumbs. Children are scampering about, throwing fire crackers maybe in the hope to frighten the immobile statue of the central fountain constantly murmuring liquid tales.

Warsaw Old Town Square, called Rynek Starego Miasta, with mermaid statue

Then I strolled around the Old town district, away from the crowds. If I were to live in the capital, this is where I would want to be. It was almost deserted. Very quaint, with cobbled courtyards, splendid architecture and a myriad of trees, gardens, churches and statues.

Warsaw Monument honoring Polish Jews killed

Then I went in search for Jewish landmarks. Jews had it particularly hard in Poland. They were decimated. No much is left of their presence in the capital. I saw the striking Monument to the Warsaw Uprising, marking the rebellion and then the destruction of the famous ghetto. I am preparing myself for the extermination camps of Aushwitz and Birkeneau

in a few days.
I have noticed a lot of Catholic priests and nuns in the streets. They look well fed, prosperous and the clergy gives out a sense of power in the way they handle themselves. Catholicism has a strong hold here.

Photos of Jean Paul II are everywhere. He appears to be revered like an icon. I have noticed a lot of Catholic priests and nuns in the streets. They look well fed, prosperous and the clergy gives out a sense of power in the way they handle themselves. Catholicism has a strong hold here. Photos of Jean Paul II are everywhere. He appears to be revered like an icon. You also always see people deep in prayer when you enter a church. The only new element is the sign saying to turn off your cell phone!

The outside of a Kabab Bar with happy smiling chefs next to the Express sign

Fast food is popular here, too. However it is less evident than in the Czech Republic. The most popular junk food dish seems to be Kebab. It is like being back in the Middle East. The open air kiosks are held by locals or Arab immigrants; the latter are usually quite friendly and curious of me. When I bought my first Polish kebab, the owners, a couple from Yemen, were in the mood to chat.
"Where are you from? You look like you live in the USA with your cap. You are American?"
God forbids! "No, I am not. I am French from France but I live in Canada."
"French from France! You look like Yemen woman. Have a little more of spicy sauce! And I give you a nice kawa (coffee). A present from us."

I thanked them, promising myself I would visit their country some day. Polish proper restaurants are a lot more affordable than Czech ones. I am slowly becoming a "meat and potato woman". I have had garlic soup, Polish soup with dumplings or white sausage, stuffed chicken and parsleyed potatoes. A trifle heavy but quite palatable. The desserts are as delicious as they look. Lots of pastries made with apples and cream. As to the coffee it is no longer "sock juice" as we say in France. It is strong, foamy and fragrant.

I have had my share of frustrations in Warsaw. Among others, it is plum impossible to change travellers cheques at any bank. Finally I had to go to the other end of town, to the one and unique Amex office in Poland. Needless to say that I got enough to last me for the whole time I am in this country.

Yesterday, I left Warsaw with no regrets for Wroclaw, a much quieter city five hours away on the fast train. The journey was uneventful. The passengers in my compartment were grim faced and unfriendly. No chilvarous older

gentleman to haul my bags onto the rack!
Wroclaw train station is an interesting sight. It looks more like a small castle than a train station. The town around it is busy and ugly like the commercial part of Warsaw but in a less daunting scale. I walked all the way to my hostel situated on Cathedral Island, a lovely area by the Odra River, dotted with 14th century brick churches. I had a pleasant stroll and visited the superb nearby Botanic Gardens while waiting for the hostel to open. The check in time is usually 5pm in Poland.

The temperature in Poland is also a little of a shock. Cold and very humid. It is more like an October kind of weather. Today, however, when I woke up the sun was streaming through brightly. It felt like spring. All the colours looked fresh and new. I first went to the covered market housed in a gorgeous old brick building. Had breakfast there in the early morning. The place was already bustling with activity. It reminded of Vancouver Granville Island Market. Lots of fruit, vegetable and a profusion of flower stands along with specialty shops.

After that I took a stroll along the river on my way to the Old Town. While ambling, I noticed a small lane bordered by tall white flower bushes at the back of a house.

Happy women surrounded by flowers at the Wroclow Market

Barge on the Odra River which winds through Wroclaw

It was barely visible, running really close to the water. I decided to take it despite the fact that it was practically unmarked. I entered a deep wood that led me right to the river shore. There quite a few solitary fishermen who did not even notice my presence. The views of the river were breathtaking. Barges cruising along, old houses covered in ivy on the other side. I walked and walked hoping that I would find a way back up without having to retrace my steps. Finally, I came across a set of stairs. They took me to a huge fence and an imposing gate. Two of the bars of the gate had been forced on each side to make an opening big enough for a person to go through.

I suspect that some of the fishermen had come through there! So I pulled in my stomach, went through but my daypack got stuck! Finally I managed to extricate myself. When I looked around me, I realised that I had entered some kind of garden. A number of elderly people seating on benches in their housecoats were gaping at me. I had landed in some kind of clinic for old age pensioners. I beat a hasty retreat.

Wroclaw Old Town Square showing the back of the City Hall

The Old Town Square was a delight. Really vast, the second largest after that of Krakow, it is probably the most attractive place I have seen so far in Central Europe. It did not have the gothic arcades found in the Czech Republic but the vibrantly coloured and wonderfully ornate houses and buildings were simply superb.

I like the red brick churches, build in Medieval times. They have glittery stained glass windows set on fire by the occasional ray of sunlight. Otherwise most of the inside looks dark and mysterious. Other churches also dating from the 14th have no stained glass. Built in graceful arches inside, they are bright and luminous and in two colours: creamy white and deep red. A wonderful blend.

My favourite landmark was the Gothic Townhall. At first I thought it was a church, until I saw the geranium at the windows. Never have I seen such elaborate craftsmanship: exquisitely chiselled stone frames around the windows, sculptures adorning the roof and the walls and a magnificent gilded clock in the front.

St Johns Baptist Church overlooking the odra River

Staying in youth hostels is an interesting experience always bringing new surprises. In Warsaw, in my dorm, we were four: an American boy studying in Finland, one Japanese man living and teaching in Paris for the last ten years and a Polish girl about to go on missionnary work in Africa! Nationalities blend and borders are becoming inconsequent. In Wroclaw, the youth hostel has also a posh hotel section. This morning in the hall was a flock of older German ladies with round little hats and tweed outfits. Also I was surprised when I woke up to find two Polish business men complete with attache case and trench coats ready to leave for work. They had spent the night in a bunk bed like me.

So this is it for Poland.

I seem to have a love and hate relationship with the country. Tomorrow, I am off to Czestochowa (a mouthful for a name... I will not even attempt to pronounce it!), a smaller town dear to the Poles' hearts because it is where the Black Madonna performed a miracle.

Click to continue the journey...