Szczęść Boże, my arse

After all the trials and tribulations of the past few months it was with a feeling of great happiness that I departed these shores for a week and a half’s holiday in Poland. Time to relax and spend with Agnieszka is indeed a precious thing and, although it was over much too soon, I certainly enjoyed it while it lasted.

After four days of almost solid rain, it was not without reservations that we set off from Katowice railway station around 9am on the Sunday. Here's the strange thing about PKP: no matter which train you take from there to Krakow, be it the express or the local, it always takes an hour and a half. Anyway, we were in Krakow half hour before our next train which was enough time to find the right platform before settling in for the three and a half hour trip to Zakopane. As we got nearer to our destination, and all mountains were hidden under low cloud, the train started pulling into stations, then leaving in the direction it had just arrived from. This happened half a dozen times and was a bit odd, but no doubt the driver had some time to kill and, trying hard, almost managed to get the journey time up to four hours.

It wasn’t raining when we arrived, but started not long after. After several attempts were met with shrugs from unhelpful drivers, we found a minibus to take us to Osiedle Krole, where we were staying at number 33a. No street name, just the number and area. Our driver was ok and let us out at the right place and off we stomped to find our accommodation. There were no signs and we were disheartened to find the numbers starting under ten and then, at a T-junction, no clue as to which way we needed to go. We asked at a shop and they helped us out and we walked along a narrow road, lined on both sides by large timber houses (and where, late one night we witnessed the aftermath of slaughter; several men standing round the carcass of a pig which had been strung up on a beam just inside the door) and accompanied by the smells of silage, sheep and resin.

We’d almost given up finding the house before it went dark but eventually we got there, entered the gate and were greeted by a small yappy dog, intent on harassing us. As I turned round, the dog tried to bite my ankle and as I let forth with a stream of expletives, one of the nuns (for it was with the sisterhood that we would lodge) appeared out of nowhere, smiling and trying to translate my flurry of four letter words. After reassuring herself that the dog hadn’t bitten me, and thus avoiding any adverse publicity, we were shown into our ‘B&B’. The line of pump bags on the wall started the bells ringing and this was not helped by the box of toys, miniature toilets and sinks and the news that downstairs is a kindergarten. Private, of course.

We were led upstairs to our room. ‘A very good room,’ I heard the nun say, as she opened the door and showed us in. ‘Good for what?’ I wondered as my gaze took in the room in a millisecond, because that was all you needed, it was so small. She left us to it and we dropped our bags on to the narrowest of single beds (of which the room contained two. We, however, squeezed into one. Partly to keep warm and partly because I was afraid of the crucifix over the other, especially after cursing their dog). The table and remaining armchair were soon covered with stuff and we then left to get into town to see what there was to see. You couldn't see anything from the window anyway as the cloud was too low.
Arriving back we realised that after dark, things could get a bit tricky. It was pitch black and there was the dog to worry about. But once inside things weren’t too bad. The old woman in the next room was very chatty and informed us that all the paths were muddy and that it hadn’t stopped raining for a week. Mountain walking holiday weather it wasn’t. There was, however, absolutely nothing to do so 9pm found us huddled together for warmth and falling asleep.
The next day we found no hot water in the bathroom and the most meagre of breakfasts – no coffee and only fruit tea. Where the hell was my morning caffeine? In addition, as we were sat nursing warm cups of weak tea, there came a thunder of sorts and it was several seconds before I realised it wasn’t a landslide or thunder, but the thump of little kids’ feet on the floor up above. Przedskole was in full swing. By the time we came to leave for a day’s walking I was fuming and calling the ‘hospitality’ all the names I could. Luckily for us, things moved up a gear and when we arrived back that evening, a different nun met us, said they’d been worried that we hadn’t returned, informed us there was plenty of hot water and wished us good night.

Although at first I was unhappy with the lodgings, they did improve gradually throughout our stay. Except for the singing and thunderous stomping. On our last morning we were brought a steaming dish of eggs and mushrooms and no-one said anything when they caught us making sandwiches from the breakfast offerings. We had, after that first night, plenty of hot water, no-one bothered us or tried to convert us to any kind of religion and when we wanted to pay for our stay it took twenty minutes to track someone down to give them the money. It wasn’t the most convenient of places to stay, but it was quiet and relaxing in a way. To get away was the most important thing, as well as to spend time with my wife, for this it was perfect and for this I definitely thanked God myself.