Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside...

Sometime earlier in the year, June I think, we queued at Central Station until one in the morning in order to buy cheap tickets to go to Gdynia, on the coast. They were ridiculously cheap, 15zł or three quid, each way. We booked a place to stay and then sat back and waited for the weekend to arrive.

So it was on Saturday morning that the alarm went off at 5.30am and we got up, showered, coffeed and out for the 6am bus to town. I assumed it would be quiet, being Saturday and all, but the bus was packed with people obviously, judging by the number of bags and suitcases they had with them, heading for the station. We were crammed in a spot by the door and being rocked by the motion of the bus when I spotted a space and we headed for it. This was our first mistake. We were rewarded by the stink of an unwashed, or possibly never washed, body. No wonder there was room near the man dozing on the seat. He reeked. I mean, really hummed. He was possibly homeless but was not badly dressed so it isn't definite. We had to endure the pong for almost fifteen minutes before the doors opened and we dived off the bus at Centralna, gasping great lungfuls of slightly fresher air.

Inside the station was the usual chaos but our train was at the platform and we were able to board it and found our seats quickly. That's where we stayed for the next four and a half hours as we trundled across the northern Polish landscape towards the coast. The recent rain had turned the withered and yellowing fields into a rich, lush green and now and again we were able to see the tall white figure of a stork, standing watch in a field. When we reached Gdansk the train pretty much emptied, but we remained, only alighting a half hour later in a wind-swept, drizzly Gdynia.

The weather didn't look up to much, cloud and some wind-blown dampness, but we decided to walk to our digs. We took directions off a friendly old woman, and headed up a small lane, wooded on one side. The sound of the sea reached our ears and seagulls were mewling overhead. After a couple of minutes of checking numbers, we found the place we were staying and rang the bell. The guard dog watched us intently, its tail wagging slowly. A big, walrus-moustachioed man in shorts and sandals waddled out and gruffly greeted us. We were taken round the back of the house and, as he unlocked a door in the wall, I had a fleeting vision of being housed in a coal cellar, with no lights or windows and only the mice and spiders for company. As it turned out, it was a large basement room, complete with small bar in one corner and two sofa-beds, made up for guests. There was a small kitchen with a washing machine (which would later rumble and chug its way through a very long washing cycle) and a bathroom. A small portable tv sat in one corner. We would later find out it had only one channel and was showing footage of the Sopot festival, taking place only five miles away. A smell of damp wafted through the rooms but it was clean and, after a small argument about how long we were staying, we were given a key and left to our own devices.

As soon as we ventured out we got wet. The rain started to come down heavily, so we went back inside and waited while the shower eased. After ten minutes it stopped and we took a small path down to the front. That's when the heavens opened. And I mean a deluge. Within a minute or two we were completely soaked and had to make a dash to a nearby restaurant. The girl on the desk was obviously amused at our soggy state, but we dripped all over the nice clean floor and the coffee was good so we didn't mind too much. As we drank we watched the rain lashing down and then, almost as quickly as it had started, it stopped. A line of lighter sky showed under the grey clouds and while the sun didn't come out, it stopped raining. That's how it stayed for the rest of the weekend.

We trudged soggily up the front to the pier at Gdynia and after a walk on the beach, amused ourselves with the sign on one boat, the gunship 'Błyskawica', which had a post office on board. This was, the sign said:

"Open in the hours of ship's accessibility to visitors. Retail of post stamps at the ships booth. Stamping the postal matter with an occasional date marker."

I wanted to get my postal matter stamped with an occasional date, but it cost too much just to do that, so we just sniggered at the sign before moving on. We heard the beat of a drum and saw that some boys were practicing in their Dragon boats. Two boats attempted to race, but half-heartedly, the crews wishing they were with the others on the quay, standing around drinking beer. Taking that as a cue, we decided it was time for food and repaired to a small cafe on the front, sheltered by a plastic screen so we could sit outside. We got fish, chips and stung. The menu said the fish was 6zł per 100g but I think they must have weighed it when it was still in the boat as the bill came to some astronomical sum. It was nice though, despite the bones.

On the Sunday we walked down the beach to Gdynia Orłowo. It felt good to be near the sea, to hear the waves and to listen to the screech of the gulls: no cars, no sirens, no buses... At one point we had to go into the woods that back on to the beach as the tide was too high to get around the headland. Almost immediately on heading into the trees we saw an owl which silently glided off a tree stump and flew deeper into the woods. This was probably my favourite bit of the whole trip, the walk along the beach (marvelling at the strange frutti de mare which had been washed up by the storm: apples, onions, a cauliflower, a leek...) and then through the forest, views from the crumbling cliffs and then emerging once more onto the beach. The only downside being the amount of litter that is strewn along the sand: cigarette butts, bottles, plastic cups and other assorted debris. If the Baltic resorts want to attract more visitors then they need to address this problem quickly and efficiently.

After a quick coffee we jumped on to a train to Gdansk to see the Dominican Fair, held every year in August. What a disappointment. The last time I visited this fair it was amber, amber, wood crafts and amber. Now, it seemed to be a cheap version of a crappy Sunday market: bras and knickers (do Dominicans wear thongs?), jeans and other clothes, plastic crap and odd 'crafts' that are mass produced in some sweat-soaked Chinese factory. On one street there were some nice, homemade glass pieces, some carvings and, of course, amber jewellery, but on the whole it was cheap plastikowy gowno and full of pushing and shoving Warszawiaks, not looking where they're going. All in all it put a bit of a dampener on the day. Gdansk has changed so much in the few years since I first arrived on an overnight train from Berlin (again, to cascades of rain). Then you could get real coffee and toursits were still a bit of a novelty. Now, they're everywhere and Gdansk offers fifty variations on a cappuccino instead of a standard cup of pick-me-up. The one cafe we did find that had regular coffee on the menu had a broken machine. They could offer us tea only. What good is that when you've been tramping round a market for a couple of hours?

Before we left we bought huge doughnuts, covered in icing, dessiccated coconut and filled with white cheese. Sounds weird, but very tasty. The train back to Warsaw seemed to take forever, but there were more storks, a couple of deer and plenty of green fields to stare at, thinking of the sea, the sounds and the smells and wondering when we'd be back there again. Maybe next time for good?

Holidaying Polish-style

Now that we're in the thick of summer, with temperatures reaching the low 30s and clouds a distant winter memory, all thoughts have turned to holidays. Every day on the tv come reports of holidaying Poles (the ones not desperate to leave the country and work abroad, that is) who are packing the Baltic coast beaches and queuing up to buy tickets which will allow them access to the top of mountains. However, you'll find most people on their summer break heading down to Castorama or Leroy Merlin, the do-it-yourself superstores, where the aisles are choked with men in t-shirts and shorts - and, naturally, socks with sandals - trying to explain patiently to their wives or girlfriends why THAT colour is no good for a bathroom and why EVERYTHING should be painted magnolia. Emulsion, and its application to interior surfaces, is big business for Poles in July and August.

I am, of course, no exception and have myself made several trips to the above-mentioned shops to buy DIY accessories. The result is that I have spent the early part of August painting the hall, kitchen and bathroom. I've put in a tiled splashback behind the sink and cooker; I'm in the process of fitting new lights to the bathroom and I'll finish by changing the bare bulb hanging from a wire in the hallway to a proper set of spotlights to illuminate the bookshelves. I've cleaned up any mess I've made and have removed any rogue blobs of paint from floor or walls where they shouldn't be and I'm pretty pleased that the flat looks clean and presentable.

For the first summer, this is a novelty, but I'm a believer in traditional summer holidays spent at the beach or in the mountains, not in the paint aisle and up a ladder. Next year, it's the Baltic!

Shop till you drop

Shopping is an experience in Warsaw. We are lucky to have a new, modern shopping mall within easy reach of the flat but sometimes we don't have time to go there and it's necessary to call in to the Carrefour supermarket in the Wileński mall in Praga. I like this mall because I know it's safe. I know it's safe because there's a little sign on the entrance: a pistol in a red circle that tells people they're not allowed to bring their guns in. Comforting.

Outside, when the Pope came, the supermarket set up a stall selling the most holy of accessories: water and biscuits. Other people sell strawberries, cherries, potatoes from stalls, or hang around waiting for buses, smoking foul-smelling cigarettes and scratching equally rancid armpits. Only 58% of Poles aged between 18 - 24 have a shower on a daily basis. This rises slightly for the 34 - 44 age bracket and then falls sharply to only 16% for the over-65s. Why? Communism. That's the usual excuse. Communism is the reason people don't wash. As logical as anything else here really.

Shoppers too, are worthy of note. Like the guy in the small supermarket near the flat. Dressed in paint-splattered white overalls, completely bald and with a huge walrus moustache he passed through the checkout, before ten in the morning, purchasing a French stick, a litre of tomato juice and a three-quarter pint bottle of vodka. Once through the till, the loaf was snapped in two to fit the carrier bag and off he went. Presumably back to work and several Bloody Marys...

On another occasion, I was behind a woman, at 8.30pm, in a city centre supermarket. She was middle-aged, well dressed. She had a small dog in her shopping bag and in her basket? One Domestos toilet freshener. At Wileński there is a woman who uses a green, plastic clothes peg as a cigarette holder...

The land that music forgot

After almost two months of hot, sunny, dry days, this morning was grey and chilly and rain has been seeping down from a leaden sky for the past couple of hours. I don't know where the time has gone since I wrote the last entry here. June was a blur, culminating in a trip to Katowice, and July was taken up with a teacher training course which, hopefully, will get me a better, more secure job. I'm not holding my breath though.

With the summer months comes the festivals. All the greats of yesteryear are now struggling to make a living, have to drop their fees and so make their way to Poland for gigs. So far we've had Guns n' Roses, The Cult and King Diamond. INXS are due in October. Star of the Sopot festival is Elton John. Who says dinosaurs are extinct?

So why this love of oldies? Is it because Poland can now afford to pay for these acts? Ticket prices aren't cheap, though, with most on a par - or more expensive - than they would be in England or Germany. The radio is partly to blame. Whichever station you tune to you get the same music. Like each station only has one cd - a compilation of 80s hits, plus a compilation of Polish singalong tunes. Favourites, played once an hour, or more, include: Remixes of the Police - Message in a bottle, Roxanne - Vanessa Paradis' abysmal Joe le taxi, the irritating singalong choruses of Finnish scrubbed-faced oiks, The Rasmus, Eurythmics, Jimmy Somerville... In a recent edition of one of the free morning papers, a survey was carried out asking who people would like to see in Poland. The results were frightening:

Lukasz, aged 20: 'Shakira.'

Katarzyna, aged 26: 'Jon Bon Jovi, Celine Dion or Eros Ramazotti.'

and Konrad, aged 21: 'The Rolling Stones.'

Thankfully, after Keith Richards, for reasons of his own, dived out of a coconut palm, the Stones cancelled their trip to Poland. But every day brings a new set of posters, advertising new acts, long forgotten in England, about to appear in Warsaw. It's only a matter of time before dinosaurs live again here...