More impressions of Poland

In the Market Square, Gliwice

The evening we arrived in Gliwice, we couldn't find a bus to take us the last stretch to the village where we were staying,Gliwice-Łabędy, so we took a taxi instead. It was a very pricey compared to public transport, but at least it dropped us at the door of the hotel. Actually, to call it a hotel is a slight misnomer; it was really a kind of dormitory for travellers. There was no restaurant, no room service, no WiFi in our room and the only extra was a coffee machine in reception that broke down on day 2. Never mind, it was fine: clean and functional.

We opened the window, which like most of those in Poland these days, was heavily double-glazed, and were met by an unlikely blast of what sounded like local music from the great outdoors. A street party? A local festival perhaps? After all, it was the first of May, and given Poland's eastern European and communist history, this sounded probable. As we were far from the city lights, we decided to don walking shoes and go out looking. What we found was indeed a street party with plenty of local people enjoying the night air. Children ran around (it was well after 10:00pm) and dogs did doggy things in amongst the tables and benches. Barbecued food was on sale at the absurdly cheap price of 1 zloty a piece (about 25 euro cents) and at one of the stalls, there was beer available in plastic cups. I'm guessing if you wanted vodka (traditional, you understand) you brought your own as the bar wasn't selling alcohol. The local music had changed by now to the Polish version of hip hop or Trance, so we decided we'd seen our bit of local colour for the evening and wandered off in search of the canal.

I should mention that the reason we were staying in Gliwice-Łabędy was to attend the celebrations marking the opening of a new marina. Koos had contacts at the old one there and we'd been told there would be festivities over the weekend. As it happened we never found it, but on the first night, we were still optimistic. We walked through the dark streets, which were only occasionally lit by street lamps. There were other people out walking too, but it was quiet and intensely peaceful.

Crossing over the main road and then into the old station yard, I felt myself entering a Koos photo. This was the atmosphere of so many of his night time images - the mist hung over the rail tracks; solitary lights spread pools of brightness that emphasised the still, lonely magic of the scene. The crumbling station house and signal box emerged re-painted from the same sodium palette, instead of their normal colours. And the hush, the peace, it was almost tangible.

Leaving the yard with a sigh, we crossed over the level crossing, walked under the viaduct of a second track and within seconds found ourselves on the bridge over the canal; and not only this, there was a double lock as well, one of which was undergoing repairs. In the evening of course, all was still deserted, but we couldn't believe our luck. To be staying so close to our own kind of heaven: railways, canals, level crossings and locks all in one place! I know, I know. The 'odd couple' is what we are, but this has long been our idea of the perfect place to live. We walked back through the now empty streets to the hotel, refreshed and very happy we'd arrived in this place.

The next morning, the misty magic had dispersed and everything was bright and sunny; the station yard was busy and at the back we discovered a thriving small café and flower shop, as well as a delightful antique store. This was a lovely place to poke around as it was crammed with furniture and bric-a-brac. In fact, it was more like a cheerfully disorganised charity shop for old stuff than a real antique store. It also had a fantastic mural of a train bursting through the wall (see photo below).

People were coming and going and the workers who were now busy on the lock were shouting noisily to each other as builders so often do. The whole atmosphere was lively with Saturday morning traffic and normal life. There was a vibrancy to it all, which was great; however, it was so different from our evening walk, I could barely believe it was the same place.

Thriving flower shop and cafe

Antique shop with its gorgeous mural

As we looked along the canal on the other side of the bridge, we saw a small flotilla of pleasure boats. Surmising that this was the 'fleet' going to its new harbour home, we followed the canal towpath for miles in the hopes of finding the new marina. We never got there as after what turned out to be six kilometres, we decided we'd had enough. The way was beautiful though and the tree lined canal a picture of tranquillity. On our other side, there was a huge lake. At one point, we stopped to look at a site where some interesting looking dredgers were parked - wonderful photo material - but a man approached us, waving and shouting. Clearly were were not supposed to be interested in these things and absolutely not to take 'fotografia'. This is one area that the Poles seem to be rather sensitive about. Normal tourist photography is fine but they are very suspicious of any interest in machinery installations  or official buildings - perhaps a reference to their relatively recent soviet influenced past.

At the end of the path, we found a conveniently placed bus (actually Koos knew it would be there), which took us to Pyskowice, a delightful town north west of Gliwice where we had excellent coffee served by very friendly staff in a café looking out on the sunlit main square (sorry - long sentence unavoidable). If you google Pyskowice, you can see images of how charming it is!

From there, another bus took us Gliwice itself.

A lovely walk along the canal

Peace and tranquillity

Gliwice is a jewel of a town. At the moment, its outskirts are in upheaval as they are building a large arterial road through it, but the centre remains untouched by this mayhem. It is really a gorgeous place with architecture showing quite a strong German and even Flemish influence. We wandered round, enjoying the scene and taking photos. The church too was spectacular: unbelievably ornate with rich carvings and paintings. There had obviously been a wedding earlier, as it was decked in flowers and hanging ribbons that gave the central aisle a very festive air.

Marke square Gliwice

The gorgeously ornate church in Gliwice

By this time, we were pretty tired, so we walked slowly back to the bus stop and headed on a now familiar route back to Gliwice-Łabędy. Feeling positively Polish as we clung to the seats and smiled at our fellow travellers, it already felt like going 'home' and my affection for the area was growing. Getting off the bus, we walked to the Biedronka supermarket, which was luckily by the station, found ourselves some food for supper and headed back to our no frills hotel. Day one was over and we were very content.

Hotel in the Burbs

Poland - a country in a state of flux

On Friday 1 May, we arrived in Poland at Katowice airport, a small, but bustling terminal thirty one kilometres from the city itself. It was dull and drizzly that day, but it was the start of a fascinating five day adventure during which I experienced so many impressions it's still hard to absorb them all.

One of the regions numerous charming old trams

I've always pictured Poland as being cold and grey, decrepit and forbidding; an image built up from memories of war films and photos, all of which seem to depict the country in winter for some reason. True, Koos has often been there in winter too, so this impression was confirmed by his snowy photos of trams at dusk, dark streets slick with rain and people wrapped like well-padded immersion heaters.  I really didn't know what to expect except somewhere rather bleak, and our arrival to grey, damp and cool conditions threatened to support these ideas. But not for long - luckily!

The following days were mostly sunny and warm and our wonderful Rambler 5 day public transport tickets took us by tram and bus over an incredible distance - all for a grand outlay of just 10 euros each. We did try the train to Krakow, but even a snail would have got there faster, so we came back by bus instead. I asked Koos why we didn't buy return tickets on the train. Now I know. They don't sell them…probably because one way is enough for anyone's patience!

One of my favourite things:  deserted stations. This one has
brand new platforms but the station buildings
are quite derelict

Poland is a country in transition. I loved its beautiful towns - Gliwice, Bytom and (of course) Krakow, but also the areas of crumbling decay, all of which are destined to be improved and renovated. There is a huge amount of building going on; however, at the moment it all seems a bit haphazard. Just as an example, all the railway platforms are brand new, but many of the stations themselves are dilapidated in the extreme. 

Old or new rails - I'm not sure which!

The station cat: she was so sweet I wanted to take her home

Another draw was the old mining areas and the quiet suburbs around them where most people have their own charming, informal gardens full of flowering thorn trees.

A working mine outside Zabrze

Then of course there are the waterways. The Gliwice Canal ran just behind the station of Gliwice łabędy where we were staying. It was first on our list of places to visit as we'd intended to go to a festival in the marina there. We never quite made it and saw the boats disappearing off down the canal. After a 6km walk, we gave up trying to catch up with them, but didn't really mind as the peace of the tow path was soul food enough.

You'll never keep me from the water for long. This
is the Gliwice Canal seen on our first day

Old industry seen from the Gliwice Canal

The Polish people we met were helpful, kind and welcoming in the nicest possible way. They appeared quite reserved, until contact was made, but then the warmth of their interaction seemed very genuine. Having said that, we were helped quite spontaneously on several occasions when we couldn't figure things out, and that was lovely. I enjoyed every encounter we made.

There is so much to tell, I can't do it all in one post -  so I'll save the rest for another post or two, but I'll finish with a photo of Gliwice town square, one of the most beautiful I've seen in a long time.

Gliwice town centre. I liked it even more than Krakow

The state of being exotic... to a degree

Here in the Netherlands, I'm often told I'm "so English."

"Hmm," I reply. "Is that not good?"

"It's nice, it's just that it's so you," is the usual answer. Okay.

But I start to doubt (as you do). How is it something supposedly good can sound…well… you know…a bit dubious?

Then I start to wonder. What if I were something more exotic, like, say... Italian, French or another latin flavour like Spanish or Portuguese? Would it be more appealing?

I'm 25% French, I am…what if that were more like 75%…or 100%? And if I spoke with an alluring accent? Would being "so French" sound more of a compliment maybe?

Have any of you ever wanted to be something more exotic? If so, what would you like to have been?

Memories and musings

Do you remember things that went on around you in your childhood? I was musing about such things the other day, realising how much life has changed in the past fifty years. We are so automated now, we've almost forgotten how to do things manually.

The prompt for these mental meanderings was an old ship's washing machine, a tobbe that one of my neighbours in the harbour gave me a few years back. I've never had time to restore it, although I've long wanted to. Koos, however, decided he'd waited long enough for me to do something and took the task on himself. The tobbe was something he remembered from his childhood on board his father's commercial barge. This kind of 'machine' was what his mother used to do their washing. She used outboard water and he recalls 'helping', although whether mum saw it that way might be something else. Theirs was a slightly different model from this one, but the principle was the same. As you can see, it really is a lovely old thing.

Old tobbe washing machine with mechanical
driver.

Inside the tobbe, or tub, is a four bladed paddle that fits on a central pipe, through which the rod of the driver passes. Using either a small motor, or even a bicycle to operate the pulley wheel on the driver the rod turns, and the paddle is activated in a to and fro action inside the tub. The laundry is thus agitated (physically, not mentally of course). I can just imagine being a child and wanting to help with this too!

Koos has made a fabulous job of restoring it, as it was all in pieces and in a sorry state before he started. I just wish I'd done it as I love restoring old things.

Here's a photo of his father's barge. You can see the tobbe just next to the wheelhouse.

What I do remember is helping my own mother wring the wet washing out with one of these:

Clothes wringer (courtesy of ebay)

I enjoyed doing this and watching the water pouring out of the wet laundry. We're now looking for one here that can go with our tobbe. I'm not sure where we'll put them as the Vereeniging is far too small to house such a bulky system, but at least we'll be equipped if all power goes phoom!

Another thing I remember loving as a child was watching the piano tuner. My mother had a beautiful grand piano given to her as a 21st birthday present and it had pride of place in our lounge. The piano tuner used to come about three times a year, and I used to stand and watch him adjusting all the pegs and strings with his tuning tools. Being an intensely shy child, I never asked him what he was doing, but it was a very restful activity to watch. 

I also liked being cook's assistant. My favourite jobs were whipping cream (watching it thicken always fascinated me), making custard and sauces, and doing scrambled eggs. I think I just liked the transformation process from liquids to almost solid forms - strange child that I was! Later, when I lived on the farm in South Africa, I loved making butter, which is a similar process. So clearly, the fascination continued. These days, well, let's say the kitchen is not my favourite place...

Do you remember any special activities as a child? What did you enjoy doing most?

Faith restored….

And no, I'm not talking religion here, but bear with me for a bit of a yarn before I get to the point (what's new, yes?).

Okay, so last Thursday I took the bus to work - not an unusual occurrence, I should say, but something I haven't done for a few weeks. That being the case, I took the opportunity to do some reading while the bus negotiated the inevitable traffic jam on the bridge into town. As often happens when I read, though, I was so absorbed in my book, I nearly missed my stop, and had to rush to get out in time. It was only when I got to the university entrance that I realised I'd left my handbag on the bus. Yes, I did.

A traumatic emotional eruption of some magnitude ensued. At least 9 on my personal Richter scale. This was my nightmare scenario coming true.

I don't think I've mentioned it before, but for some years I've had a recurring dream about leaving my bag in a classroom in a building with a maze of corridors and rooms. You know the type. Anxiety in extremis. In my dream, I can never find the room where I have been teaching and I usually wake in total and utter panic. The realisation it's just a dream sometimes takes time to sink in, but the relief is immense.

My real life version was, however, even worse, as the bus had gone on its way and I was convinced I'd never see my bag again. This was no dream and I wasn't going to wake up.

I've had a few experiences like this before since I've been here in Europe: twice my bag was stolen; once my purse was snatched; and another time I dropped my phone on the train without noticing. On none of these occasions have I been lucky enough to get my things back. What it meant each time was an exhausting, frustrating and expensive process of replacing passport, cards, driving licence, car papers and keys, not to mention one cancelled trip to South Africa.

So here I was again, this time wide awake and sweating with the knowledge of what I'd lost: passport, car papers, driving licence, keys….sound familiar?

I was doing some individual coaching that morning, so when I arrived in my student's office, I threw myself on her mercy. First things first, I took over her phone and cancelled all my bank cards - a reflex action I am now horribly used to. Then I looked up the bus company and called them to report the loss in the faint hope someone might hand it in. A very nice woman took the details and said she would let me know.

My next task was to look up how to replace my passport if I didn't get it back. The British Consulate in Amsterdam no longer does them, so I knew I'd have to apply to the UK. My heart plummeted even further when I saw the plain, stark truth. It would take "at least" eight weeks to replace, they said. Splosh, gurgle, sink went all my plans for travelling in the coming months. European countries might have no borders, but to get any kind of ticket to anywhere interesting, you have to have a passport.

But then my guardian angel came to the rescue. My 'student', who is in fact an events organiser at the university, is a real life angel, not to mention a wizard when it comes to charm offences. She patted me on the back, winked, picked up the phone and performed what can only be viewed as a miracle. Calling the bus company again, she persuaded (or rather cajoled and coerced) another very charming girl to contact the driver of the bus I was on. I don't know exactly how or what happened (it was all done in rapid fire Dutch which I was too dumbstruck to understand), but it seemed he'd found my bag and the bus company girl told my angel that if I stood at the same bus stop at precisely 11:42, he (the driver) would hand it back to me. I could hardly believe my ears. Was this really true?

Sure enough, half an hour later, I was waiting at the stop when I saw the bus approaching with 'my' driver waving and smiling at me though the windscreen. The doors opened, I jumped on board and he gave me back my most important worldly possessions - intact, complete and with absolutely nothing missing.

I was so incredibly relieved, I kissed him. He was so incredibly surprised, he blushed beetroot and promptly drove off with a big grin. Luckily I'd managed to hop off the bus again before he screeched away or that might have been another calamatous story.

But, with this kind act I have to say my faith in humanity was restored. Isn't it just a wonderful story? In a large, notoriously brash metropolis like Rotterdam, this personal service really made my day, week, month and year so far.

So now of course I'm very curious as to whether I will continue to dream the dream. I'd love to believe it's over, but knowing me and my penchant for inventing things to be anxious about, I'm not sure…. What do you think?

Window Shopping

This last weekend, we made a brief excursion into northern France, a region I love. Unlike most people, I have no real desire to make for the south despite the very clear attraction of sunnier climes. I have discovered that on a miserable day, everywhere looks drab - even the beautiful cities of the south west - but when the sun shines as it did for me, the north is lovely too. And it's still France with all those cultural attributes that I find so appealing about the country of my grandfather's birth: the colourful exuberance of the French language; the enticing smells of early morning bakeries; the long, relaxed lunch breaks; and the way whole families go out together even quite late in the evenings.

Our overnight stop was in Maubeuge, a town many might avoid as its architecture is predominantly fifties to seventies. I, however, like it immensely as here it has many features that are almost Art Nouveau, and having learnt to appreciate this era from my architect father, I am intrigued by the quirky disregard for standard proportions and perspective.

Banking by design

Lauding the Lord in concrete and glass

This aside, I was fascinated by the High Street shops. As quirky as the town itself, I spent some time peering into shop windows and wondering how such businesses keep afloat with their somewhat unusual stock. First up was a shop that seemed to trade in shoe repairs, keys and second hand buckles. The first two I could understand, but the buckles were something else. Everything in the window seemed a little old, in fact, but inviting all the same. Had it not been Easter, I would certainly have gone inside to have a sort through their shelves.

Buckling up in Maubeuge

Then there was the furniture shop with rather classical and ornate chairs at odds with the post war architecture. And the dress shop where the clothes on display did not seem suited to the trends favoured by the local populace.

Classical satin stripes

Modish Maubeuge

But the best shop window of all was the local patisserie, whose bakery was busy even on Easter Sunday morning.  I stood with my nose pressed to the window watching the (tasty) young baker mix dough and form rolls ready for the morning rush to buy petit dejeuner. The smell was divine and it all looked so wholesome. And so French.

The bakery at the patisserie in full swing
 on Easter Sunday

I am an unashamed Francophile, so this was food for my soul, but for all that, I did not miss out on a few of Maubeuge's more obviously charming nooks and crannies. The town is not most people's choice of a place to visit, but I'll leave you with this lovely arrangement of steps, walls and rooftops and the obligatory lock on the river Sambre. 

An appealing hidden stairway

The Sambre as it cuts through the town

Fifteen minutes of fame

I know I'm a bit late in blogging about this, but as you know I've been doing some down time, and as this incident happened before I re-surfaced, this has been my first opportunity to tell the story.

Some weeks ago, you may recall that hooligans following Rotterdam's Feyenoord football club to an away match against AS Roma went on the rampage in Rome and did no small amount of damage - even taking a chunk out of one of their ancient fountains. Then at the end of February, we received the news that the Rome club would be playing in Rotterdam and that the Italian fans would be congregating in our very own Oude Haven. It was also reported that AS Roma's followers were looking for revenge… not a happy prospect for those of us living on historic barges in the harbour.

So the day before the invasion I spoke to my neighbour, Pieter, about his plans. What precautions was he going to take, I wondered. He put down the length of wood he was holding.

"Hmm," was his first answer. Laconic? Maybe, but Pieter is never unnecessarily quick on the uptake and likes to ponder on the bigger picture before speaking. He stared into the sky.
"I'll probably just pull in my loopplank," came the rest of his reply. Eventually.
"Aah," I replied, also taking time to think. Since I didn't have my gangplank set up - it being dismantled for some work to its support structure - this could have implications of the watery kind for me. How was I going to get on board without taking a dip?
Pieter saw my concern (I'd probably paled visibly) smiled, and gently assured me he'd let me get on board after work before raising the 'drawbridge'.

Much relieved, I went ashore and took myself off to the local supermarket. As I was walking back round the quayside, a dapper young man bearing a notepad and clipboard stopped me. Speaking in Dutch he asked me if I'd be prepared to answer some questions about the forthcoming threat to our peaceful life. I looked round him just to make sure there were no sneaky cameras. I'd already shied away from one request to be interviewed for the local TV station, but not seeing any lenses lurking, I agreed.

The young journalist was from a well-known local daily paper. He asked me if I was afraid of what might happen the next evening. I hedged a bit. We'd never had any problems with football fans before - well not if you don't count the ones who got hopelessly drunk and thought they should go diving after the bikes, chairs, phones and shopping trolleys that regularly get hurled into the harbour during these events. But we were a bit worried about this revenge thing, I said. Was I going to go elsewhere? he asked. To this I responded with further hedging, but mainly because I'd run out of comprehensible Dutch by then. Luckily, he was the kind of person who likes to finish sentences for people (probably goes with the job), so I just nodded and smiled. By the time he let me go, I realised I'd only said just a few words myself, and he'd managed to fill in all the gaps.

Imagine my surprise then when the next day when one of my students waved the paper at me: "You're famous," she shouted with great glee. When I looked, I saw I'd been quoted 'verbatim' in an article about the upcoming match. I read the text with some amazement. I also couldn't help but be proud of what I'd 'said' in the article. It all sounded so fluent, so complete and so Dutch. And my student seemed terribly proud of my Dutch skills too. So much so that I didn't have the heart to tell her to what extent I (hadn't) contributed to the quote.

As it happened, the night of the football match was a very quiet evening in the harbour and there was no cause for any alarm. Police swarmed the quays and all the fans were collected after having a couple of drinks and were driven to the stadium in buses. AS Roma won, fortunately, so there was no need for them to go hunt the monuments. As I said to my students with a wink the following week, it was actually more peaceful than a standard student night out in the harbour. They just smiled.

Happy howlers

So I've been busy marking exams this weekend, and as always happens, there have been some real howlers in the students' assignments. We teachers have compiled a list of the funniest, and I've cried with laughter over them. For this particular test, they had to write a cover letter for a job application and I just love to think of what employers would say if they saw these gems (imagined employers' reactions in brackets):

1. I have been interned in the US for three months last summer (right, now that's a recommendation!)

2. I gained my Bachelorette diploma from an international school (what's that? Some kind of cheer-leading certificate? Oh no! He meant Baccalaureate!)

3. I would like to waste my valuable time at your company (oh, you would, would you? Well, we're not going to waste ours by employing you!)

4. I think I have almost enough knowledge to work for your company. (Hmm, almost enough?)

5. I have experience behind bars…. (are you by any chance friends with number 1?)

6. If you employed me, I would make suggestive comments… (I think you'd better team up with number 5!)

7. I can help promote customer intimacy and provide personal interference… (now this is just going too far)

8. I am therefore sending you two pages of my CV so you can read about my details further (OnlyTWO pages? How long is it? and is this just to tease us? Where's the rest?)

As I said in my last post…kids! Don't you just love them??