Cold dough and a rainy night...

The last few days have been really chilly, but bright and crisp. In quiet corners, the frost glints off piles of litter in the weak autumnal sunshine. On the way to work the sun is reflected in the windows of the flatblocks by the park, a vivid orange glow cutting through the willowy trees like fire, so bright it hides the stark grey concrete of Salford's slums.

At home the annual problem of how to keep the house warm is upon us again. During the summer I sealed the gaps in the floorboards but that doesn't seem to have done much good. I'm thinking of bringing the hens in at night to keep the kitchen warm, but where would we put the penguins then?

This problem of a cold house plays havoc with some of the things we try to make. Trying to keep milk warm to help it curdle and make some cheese is almost impossible, I just can't seem to maintain a level temerature other than 'cold'. Recently, I made some bread and in order to get it to rise I had to be a little bit inventive. Necessity being its mother and all that. So I have started laying a blanket down in the spare room (the only warm and dry room in the house), on top of which I put a hot water bottle filled with, well, hot water. Around this goes the bread tins and tray with dough and the whole lot is covered with a clean dry tea towel. After twenty minutes, half an hour, I go up and move everything round so the warmth gets to all sides. It looks a bit odd but the bread rises ok, eventually, and it comes out of the oven looking like it should. Now all we need is a bigger kitchen, with enough space to knead the dough without having to move things out of the way before, during and after the pummelling process.

A bigger, warmer kitchen. How lovely. Dream on...

Bless my woollen socks...

One of the changes I have made in recent years has been to try to do something positive at times like Lent and New Year. Instead of attempting to give up or cut down on things, I endeavour to learn something new, or set myself tasks that require a bit of effort throughout the year and not just for a couple of weeks after Christmas.

In November 2008 I, with the aid of my mum’s instruction, a stitch book and a couple of You Tube videos, taught myself to knit. Despite being left-handed (and male) I managed to create half a dozen mobile phone covers, a hot water bottle cover and a scarf made from Shetland Wool (the same Shetlands I would shear later in 2009). I joined a knitting circle, but have limited my involvement with them after the snobby, slightly unfriendly atmosphere I found at the monthly meeting. Although I still ask for bits of advice, on the whole there are plenty of other sources I find more ‘user friendly’.

All this waffle is leading to my New Year’s resolution for last year, 2009, which was to attempt to knit a pair of socks. Wool and needles were duly bought and no fewer than four attempts were made to get started but I persevered and gradually a sock-shaped creation emerged. Interrupted by gardening commitments throughout most of the summer, one and a half socks sat neglected until recently, when the nights drew in and gave me an opportunity to get back to them. They certainly aren’t perfect, any close inspection will reveal their flaws, but they are made by me. I feel chuffed I was able to manipulate five needles, turn the heel and Kitchener stitch the toe and it has given me confidence and an urge to do more.

These were, of course, supposed to be for Agnieszka but somewhere in the measuring I made a mess and they don’t fit. But I have some more wool from Woolfest to knit her a nicer pair and I have, for me, some Hebridean / Blue-faced Leicester wool for a pair of welly socks to keep my feet warm.

With only a few weeks left before the end of the year, I will have to find something new to try for 2010, but I am sure I will keep up with the knitting.

Back to Blighty...

So we arrived back in Hull on a bright Tuesday morning and took advantage of the day by driving up to Bridlington. By 8.30am we were stuffing our faces with a full English (Agnieszka) and a full veggie (me), washed down with milky coffee, in a sea-front greasy spoon. From there we waddled off to the beach for a walk in the early morning sun before heading up to Flamborough for a stroll along the cliffs.

By the time we got back to Farnworth, around five o'clock that evening, we'd covered almost 2100 miles in the previous two weeks. It felt like longer and it felt like we'd never stopped moving. We saw a lot of places we hadn't seen before, some we probably wouldn't want to see again, we'd met plenty of people and we'd been exposed to various set-ups with regard to holiday homes, farming enterprises and agro-turystyka holdings. It has given us a lot of food for thought and, while we think we narrowed the search for a house down, the problem still exists: what do we do for money? More precisely, what do we do for regular income? We would need jobs, at least part-time and while I would go back to teaching, what would Agnieszka do? That's why a bigger city is a better bet, but there the property is more expensive, so living away from town is cheaper but raises the problem of getting in and out for work / cinema / shopping. So we have plenty of things to consider before we can even think about getting animals. Who would look after them? Would they be trustworthy? Would they do it properly? Questions, questions.

We go back to Poland at Christmas for a week to visit Agnieszka's mum and see some friends. Talking it over with them might reveal some answers but, for now, we have to sit tight until house prices here rise a little. Only then will we have a bit of capital to invest in another house but this time I want to do it right, with a big garden, somewhere we can grow old and enjoy living.

When I am in work and feeling a bit off, I think of this picture and remember being deep in the forest, looking for mushrooms with the woman who has made my life so wonderful. Thank you, Agnieszka, for the holiday and, indeed, for everything!

In the low, low lands of Holland...

Rotterdam to be precise, where we arrived after a solid, eleven hour, drive from Szczecin. I love the continent but bloody hell 'it's a long, long way from here to Clare...'

Another city and here we were with no map. Thankfully the signage was good and we managed to get to the car park at Erasmusbrug with no problem and from there it was a ten minute walk to the hostel. I'd like to say Hostel ROOM was a pleasant place to stay but it wasn't. We should've know by the jar on the reception counter labelled 'free earplugs'. It is the noisiest place I have ever stayed, not just the echoing floors and banging doors but also the screaming and shouting that went on on the Saturday night. Whoever it was, I hope you tripped and fell in the roadworks outside and hurt yourself.

Rotterdam itself is bright and flash and completely without character. Flattened between 1939-45 it rebuilt itself using concrete, steel and glass. Only one area, Delfshaven, has been rebuilt to look how it would've done a hundred years ago but where Amsterdam and other Dutch towns have charm, because ordinary people live in streets like this, this part of Rotterdam is filled with antique shops, sculptors, bronze workers. It looks manufactured and un-lived-in and, on a damp Sunday, that's exactly what it was.

The best bit of the stay, for me at least, was the hour's boat trip along the river and around the docks. The biggest port in Europe, third biggest in the world after Shanghai and Singapore, Rotterdam handles 420 million tons of goods a year. It's visited by 80,000 ocean-going ships and 120,000 inland vessels that chug up and down the rivers and canals of mainland Europe. I only remembered these few facts but there were plenty more as we glided past the various havens and docks, avoiding container ships, tugs, water taxis and cruisers. Not since Hong Kong have I seen so many ships and boats in such a small space.

On the Monday morning we decided to high-tail it out of town and, after consulting a map in a bookshop, decided to head from the beach. On the way we called in at Brielle, parking in the car park of an underground supermarket.

After a quick browse we headed into town for one of the nicest surprises of the holiday: an authentic Dutch town. We entered the town through a gap in an earth bank, crossed a small canal and there found a market in front of a line of shops.

A walk beyond this revealed some charming streets and, to Agnieszka's joy, plenty of people on those chunky, clunky, sturdy bikes without brakes that the Dutch are so fond of. Here we just wandered contentedly for an hour or so, looking in wondows and browsing in shops, before heading back to the market and a sit down with a coffee and one of the best apple cakes I have ever tasted.

For the rest of the afternoon we meandered through the countryside, calling in at several towns and villages that I can't remember the name of. For some reason all the garages we tried were without diesel and it became a bit of a panic as time ticked on, to get the tank filled up. Luckily we found one in the end but, with only a quarter tank left, I had visions of us returning to Hull and having to pay English prices. As it was, we got it for less than a pound a litre.

Chilling on the beach in the shadow of Europoort...

Sun, sea, ships and Szczecin...

It may well be that one of the more difficult to pronounce places could become our new home. It could have been worse, we could have picked Skrzeszewo, Dżwirzyno, Chrząszczewo or any one of a hundred others but in the end we were both very impressed with Szczecin. This is despite arriving in rush-hour traffic, having to negotiate a one-way system in an unfamiliar city, and arriving at the right place on the (tourist office issued) map to discover the map maker had confused Twardowskiego (where we wanted to be) and Tarczyńskiego (where we actually were). Luckily the receptionist at the hotel knew her stuff and could guide us to Hotel Marina, only a few minutes away and slightly off our map.

It's a very basic hotel, but the reception staff were lovely and helpful, and after dumping our things we headed out to see the town, opting to walk to get our bearings. The first thing we noticed was how busy it was, even on a Thursday, and the second thing was how many cukiernia (cake shops to you and me) there were. There was one on every corner and a couple in between. I've never seen anywhere with as many places offering cakes, sweet buns, pastries and the amazing thing was that, depsite the amount of business they seemed to get, we didn't notice any fat people. We did, however, notice a few drunks as, on the way back after pizza and a wander, we strayed a bit off our route and went along a couple of streets that seemed to have scuzzy-looking alcohlics outside every shop and doorway. This continued as we headed back to the hotel, with an arguing couple, her pissed off, him just pissed, and a staggering bloke trying, and not having great success, to make any progress up a fairly steep street.

It was dark when we got back to the room and, opening the door, we thought someone had come in while we were away and installed a huge television. Thankfully it turned out to be the view of the floodlit football pitches behind the hotel, but for a split second there was panic in the ranks.

Friday dawned bright and cheerful with an early morning sky tinged with yellow and orange but without a cloud to be seen. The mushrooms were drying nicely on the radiator and after a very welcome shower with hot water (as opposed to the lukewarm dribbles we'd experienced in Rekowo and Wilczkowo) we headed down the hill to explore and we jumped on a tram to take us into the centre where we had coffee and a pastry before heading down to the river.

Like Gdańsk but nowhere near as famous, Szczecin is a big ship-building centre and port. Although it is miles from the sea, it sits on the Odra / Oder river, accessible to the Baltic by a canal. You could see just by looking at the river how important ships and shipping are, there were boats everywhere, from small pleasure craft and larger passenger boats to the almost obligatory dockside restaurant and then, further in the distance, container ships and the cranes of the dockyards. With the sun out, sparkling on the top of the water, it was more than pleasant to wander along, watching the fishermen and taking photos. We stopped to make a sandwich on a bench overlooking the river and absorbed some rays before wandering back down to the catherdral.

Sitting on a hill with a view of the river, the cathedral is an imposing structure and inside is just as impressive. We particularly liked the carvings of various scenes that appear along the walls and in chapels, mainly becuase they portrayed everyone with chubby faces and double chins. A welcome change from Adonis poses and sylph-like maidens. Perhaps the carpenters and wood-workers were more accurate in their portrayal, or maybe fat people aren't just a product of the modern age.

It was as we were inspecting this triptych, sniggering quietly about chins, that we were beckoned from a doorway. When we went over to see what the old guy wanted, he asked if we'd like to go up to the tower. We said yes, and then were promptly told how much it would be. Tops of towers are not my favourite but I overcome any fears because I love looking at places from on high and the 8zł we were charged was, in fact, money well spent. On three sides of the tower, huge panes of glass allowed views across the town and, the bloke said, we should even be able to see Germany. As the border is only about 10km away, we weren't as impressed as he thought we should have been so when we got back down to the ground, he wouldn't let us back in to the cathedral and made us walk around the outside and enter the front door again.

Looking towards the city centre, Germany just visible in the distance...

Although, like so many other towns and cities across Poland, the centre was badly damaged during the war, what remains or has been restored makes for interesting viewing. While some parts contain drab communist concrete blocks, the centre reminded me of east Berlin, with big rows of apartments and courtyards. Public buildings are impressive and grand and the whole city has an air of confidence. Maybe it was just the sun shining, but we definitely warmed to the place.

The naval academy, looking out onto the river and as impressive from the back as this view from the front.

The ratusz, or town hall, looking more like a hospital than a shiny bum's paradise...

One of the main streets and a city gate at Plac Brama Portowa...

A city water pump that still works, although neither of us was brave enough to test the water...

Some of the buildings off Mariacka, lovingly restored above, full of ways to get off your face below.

And finally, how a good fruit and vegetable stall should look. It was at one similar, earlier in the day, that we bought half a kilo of plums. They were only small but very sweet and juicy, the flesh falling off the stone. We hadn't walked more than a few paces when we decided we should get a few more so back we went for another kilo. Needless to say, they didn't last long.

I think it is safe to say we both really liked Szczecin. It was vibrant and modern, clean and proud, plus it has a cake shop every five yards. It would take a bit of time to get to know properly, to figure out where all the important government buildings are but we were gladdened by a survey in Gazeta Wyborcza that rated Szczecin fourth out of twenty towns in Poland. So perhaps the next time we're here will be to have a closer look at some property and see what there is for us both work-wise. The future looks bright.

Round, round, get around, we get around...

Because this holiday was, essentially, a touring holiday we passed through several towns, only stopping for a couple of hours to check out the facilities (mainly to find sweet buns for breakfast and sweet ripe plums for any time of day) and see what they had to offer. In some cases, Słupsk springs to mind, we couldn't wait to move on, but in other places, whether it was because the sun was shining or they were close to the sea or they were simply pleasant places to stroll around, we would have liked to sit at a pavement cafe, sipping coffee and people-watching for an hour. The fact that most cafes were closed didn't help us there, but we had an enjoyable mooch around a few nice towns.

Kamień Pomorski: the town hall is all that remains, apart from a clunky cathedral, of an old town here. Last year the town hit the headlines as several people died in a social housing block which burnt to the ground. Drunks and smokers are not a good mix especially when combined with lax fire security and escape routes. A very sad episode and families are still waiting to be re-housed, almost a year after the tragedy.

Trzebiatów: a very nice place on the banks of a river we never found the name of. A small lively town we remembered for several reasons: a pretty square; a charismatic bee-keeper who sold us some raspberry honey and entertained us with stories; a post office staffed by a morose and rude 20-something girl.

Kołobrzeg: where the breeze coming in off the Baltic was relatively warm, compared to a few days previously, and the clouds had gone, revealing bright blue skies and warm sunshine. These beach chairs, leżaki, are invaluable for this type of day, keeping the wind off but letting you sit comfortably in the sun.

The car park at one of the well hidden entrances to Wolin National Park. Basically a wide space among the trees. Apart from a chattering class of nine or ten-year-olds and their teachers, we were the only people wandering along the banks of the lake, through pine and beech forest, to a large stone at the edge of the water. As we got back to the car after a lovely walk, where we saw a white-tailed eagle that may have been a seagull, it started to rain and from out of the leaves came about half a dozen frogs and toads.

Although it only has a small permanent population, Międzyzdroje was a bit more lively than Łeba was. It was also much more like a seaside town should be: pier, beach, amusements and the centre was very clean and looked-after. So it should considering the amount of people that descend on it during the holiday season. Even on a dull day in October the cafes were open and people were wandering about. When I spotted this Blackpool-type board on the grass next to the 'promenade for the stars' (like Hollywood's walk of fame but smaller and with people you've never heard of), I knew we had to have a photo. Agnieszka took some convincing but, in the end, got a very nice man to take a photo.

Finally, instructions on the wall of the public toilets in Międzyzdroje: washing your feet is forbidden.

Wakacje część 3: Small town, big stink...

From Koszalin we again headed back up towards the coast and then further west. The landscape subtly changes as you go this way, with villages appearing more neat, farms more prosperous. The typical set-up is a farmhouse, flanked by two barns, a style I have seen before in eastern parts of Germany. It was to one of these that we headed for another three night stay. Agnieszka was horrified to learn it was the house of the sołtys - the village chief if you like - but he seemed ok, busy as he was with the beetroot pickers, potato harvesters and road marking workmen who were also staying there.

Compared to Rekowo, the room was lovely apart from the incredible smell of Old Spice. The source of this was a plug-in 'air freshener' but the place reeked of middle-aged man. We were grateful, however, for this a day later when they decided to empty their cess pit and a stink of a different kind pervaded the room. Until then I unplugged it and we tried not to breathe. In the bathroom, the function of the bowl under the sink became obvious once you ran the tap and 75% of the water dripped into it. Someone, surely not a plumber, had tried to fix the leak using a cement but apart from making it look messy, it hadn't stopped a drop. The kitchen, across the yard, we had to share with all the workers, but it was functional enough to cook a bit of pasta and soup, although we had to keep hold of our dishes and pan in case someone walked off with them. Breakfast was taken in the room because it was so much less hassle.

Our first trip took us up to Pobierowo, another deserted summer-only town with a fantastic white sandy beach. The sun shone, the wind had dropped and the walk along the beach was lovely, topped off by a huge flock of cranes flying overhead, possibly heading to Wolin and the lakes there, or the river area around Szczecin. We never found out where they landed but it was fantastic to see them gliding across the blue sky, calling intermittently to each other.

In the middle of town we found this place, trying to cover all angles and cater for every type of customer, whether they want drink, food or entertainment and dancing. Some people obviously can't cope with the plethora of choices, as the graffiti in the bottom left corner shows; the frustration apparent in the crude sentiments expressed...

Further along the coast, and part of the poorly-signed Wolin National Park, is a stretch of cliff described by the guide as 'unique along this coast, except for one other near Gdynia'. On a damp and rainy day there wasn't much to see, but it was nice to get out of the car and wander along through the trees to a wartime look-out post and viewpoint. Apart from the sound of the sea, far below, and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, there was pretty much no sound and it made me think how lonely sentry duty must have been here.

Back in Wilczkowo we took a turn around the pond, where silver fish jumped in the evening glow and little dogs barked with a volume out of all proportion to their size. Most of the farms and buildings seem to be used and looked after, with only one or two in need of repair, and there was easy access to the forest where once again we went on a mushroom hunt. It became more and more difficult to dry any we found as, with the weather warming slightly, the heating got switched off.

A typical barn and conker tree. Because conkers are inedible and schoolkids go to school to learn and not whack lumps out of each other's knuckles, there are always piles of conkers on the floor around these trees, plenty of which made their way back to England.

Foraging in the forest.

 A perfect specimen, picked and eaten (or occasionally dried) in under two hours. Smaczne!

Wakacje - część 2: From semi-luxury to school trip surroundings…

From Smołdzino we made our way westwards, taking a circuitous route to have a gander at the countryside and towns on the way. Would anything be suitable for us? Affordable? Close enough to town? If so, which town? The first town we came to of any size, on the way to Smołdzino, was Słupsk and we left as quickly as we could. Despite having a reputation for some fine churches, the traffic system and centre of town was horrendously confusing and very busy. It was with some relief that we left the place behind (we would encounter the sign-free, Manchester-like centre on the way back and curse it some more), only calling at a Leclerc supermarket to stock up on bread, sausages and fruit juice before high-tailing it out to the coast.

As with Łeba, Darłowo, and its outlet to the sea, Darłowek, were empty windswept and freezing. A drive round Darłowo revealed a closed town centre and a visit to the beach consisted of a brisk walk, hiding behind a wall to look at the waves crashing over the harbour wall and then a sharp exit. Tree branches littered the roads and huge puddles made driving difficult, especially when a Kubice wannabe thought it ok to over-take on a blind bend.

From Koszalin we took a very nice winding road, lined with trees showing off their amazing autumnal colours: from green to yellow, orange to red and brown. We had decided to stay on what was advertised on their website as a ‘farm’ in Rekowo, about 20km south of Koszalin. When we arrived, the family were in the middle of preparing for a wesele and we were quickly shown a room as far from the house as possible. Luckily the heating was on and we were able to dry off slightly. I can honestly say this is the first time I have taken a pair of slippers and a pair of wellies on holiday and was glad of them both at different times while we were away. Our room had two single beds and two sets of bunk beds and was next to the ‘bathroom’ and ‘kitchen’. Agnieszka had to go and ask for both a gas bottle and a couple of pans as otherwise we’d have had nothing to cook with or on. For most of the time we were there, we played swat the mosquito and follow the cobweb as the place was rampant with both. Bare walls and draughty floors completed the authentic rustic ambience.

I wanted to stay here because their website said they kept goats and I thought it would be a good opportunity to talk to people about living and working in rural Poland. Unfortunately, the herd of goats turned out to be one old nanny with wonky tits, half a dozen geese, a small paddling of ducks, six damp sheep and a flock of mangy-looking hens. None of these seemed to be particularly cared for, the geese and ducks struggling to cope with the high sides of a makeshift pond and the hens being kept in until dinner time. Even the sheep weren’t very friendly, with one individual intent on staring me out every time I looked out of the window.

To add to this, we asked on arrival, and on leaving, for twaróg but couldn’t get any (‘I wish you’d asked yesterday’) and got excited about some home-made plum jam that turned out to be off. While it was a lovely setting and the houses / buildings very nice, I got the feeling they were half-arsed about all the did there and only kept the animals because it was a draw for school groups in the summer. Maybe they are different people in the summer, with some bright sun and long days; in October they were as miserable as sin and a disappointment of a place to stay.

Out for a walk in the forest nearby, we got caught in (yet another) brief but very heavy shower. After it had cleared the light was lovely. On the way back to the digs, we met a couple of young scallywags heading towards the forest, one with a loaded duvet cover slung over his shoulder. Inside, we assume, was the knock-off chandelier that we were offered. Quite what we'd do with it out in a field was a mystery, but we think a large house is now without any lighting in their main room.

In contrast, Koszalin was a very pleasant town. Admittedly it was Sunday and, as such, deserted (except for the church of course) but it had a nice feel and looked like a fairly nice place to live. The square was a bit of a let down as I had expected a few cafés and shops but on one side is the main road, on the other the town hall and flats on the remaining two.

Still, it was a very enjoyable wander for a few hours. It has everything we want from a town: shops, opportunities for work, a cinema, a station, and is not too far from the sea or forests. The countryside round about is rolling and rural, with plenty of forests and fields and the occasional lake. Prices too are reasonable once you get out of the centre of Koszalin. I warmed to it and was nicely surprised. Anywhere that has a 'potato institute' (whatever that is) is fine by me.

But, that said, we still had a long way to go and lot more places to see and any decisions will have to wait for a while yet, and if this is all there is to do on a Sunday, I'll need a pointy stick...

So pack up your sea stores, consider no longer...

After deliberating for a year, we finally sorted ourselves out and made plans for a trip to Poland. We left Farnworth on a drizzly Monday afternoon and scooted over to Hull, where the sun shone and the wind blew, to get the ferry to Rotterdam. From there it was just a little over 800 miles to Smołdzino and our agro-turystyka lodgings.

We were disappointed, however, to find that Pan Tadeusz (http://www.agroturystyka.pl/index.php?inc=kwatera&id=714) didn't have any animals. He keeps a few ducks in the summer, he said, but there was no sign of them in the yard and we didn't check his freezer. The farm across the road (where a 4x4 from Chapelhouse Suzuki in St Helens sat in the yard) had cows but, out for a stroll one evening in the chilly dusk, we heard one in distress. A young bullock, it was yarking fit to bust, and seemed to have a bloated stomach. The woman from the farm came out to see to it but apart from stroking its flank, didn't seem to do much else. Then, as we walked by, there was a thump and down it went. We think it must have died and was chopped up there and then as there was a lot of activity in the yard that night. In the end we didn't buy any twaróg from them, just in case whatever the cow had was transmittable...

We stayed in an apartemencik here, with views across to Smołdzino Las (the forest) and not too far from a little shop. The view from the window is obscured slightly by the fly netting, but gives an idea of how far from Farnworth this place was, and I don't just mean the mileage.
Obviously, with the forest so close, we had to go for a mushroom hunt. All along the A6 from the German border we'd seen gangs of spindly old men in threadbare coats and cloth caps, smoking like Russian factories, standing over buckets of freshly-picked mushrooms, waiting for customers. We had to have a go and, during a lull in the torrential rain, we wandered off for a couple of hours to see what there was. It felt so nice to be wandering in a 'proper' forest, as opposed to the bits of woods we have in England. I know that might sound a bit snobby, but you haven't been in a forest until you've walked for an hour, completely surrounded by trees, silent except for the wind sighing in the treetops, the occasional birdsong and the hacking cough of a bloke pushing a bike through the undergrowth, also looking for grzyby.
So this was our haul. We had them checked by Pan Tadeusz, who threw out a couple and advised us to peel one or two more. Then they were washed and chopped, with half going on some newspaper by the radiatoor to dry and the rest going in the frying pan with an onion and some garlic. Mniam mniam, picked and fried in under two hours. Can you get fresher than that?

Close to Smołdzino is the seaside town of Łeba, a place I have wanted to visit for some time as I heard it is very pretty, with a winter population of around 4000 people and a summer one of ten times that. It was windy and damp the day we visited, all the shops closed or closing after the hordes of summer. It is a pretty town, one main drag lined with shops selling shells, amber, smoked fish, shells, postcards, amber and shells. At the harbour, a flotilla of boats-cum-restaurants / bars were moored, creaking gently in the gale and empty of punters. The whole town was empty in fact. I don't think we saw more than half a dozen people while we were there.
On one of the postcards, this part of the beach is crammed full of people in bikinis, but in October we had the place pretty much to ourselves apart from a couple of brave souls wind-surfing. Back in town, we asked in the post office how to get to the national park and the woman was very helpful, breaking off from reading her magazine for just long enough to direct us to the nearest car park. The lives of celebrities obviously more interesting than two damp out of season tourists.

The reason for coming here was to see the shifting sand dunes that 'walk' between two and ten metres a year. It's an eerie place. For three or four miles you walk through leafy forest, passing halfway the former V2 rocket launching site, now a museum, before coming out into a wider picnic area. From there the dunes rise up above, white against a (for once) bright blue sky. The dunes are slowly encoaching on the forest and quite a few trees were dead or dying after being enveloped in sand. We plodded to the summit of the largest dune, no mean feat in the soft sand, and it was incredible. On one side: trees and the start of a lake; on the other, dunes as far as you could see and then, twinkling in the distance, the Baltic.

A truly amazing place. I think we would have explored more if the wind hadn't been so strong. Every time you tuned into it you got your face sand blasted, like an eco-scrub. The pair of us looked like we'd just come out of a sauna and we were only up there half an hour. After hiking the few miles back to the car park we headed back to Smołdzino and the warmth of our little apartment, where the smells of wet walking boots and drying mushrooms accompanied our evening.