Even My Mam's Got Talent!

My holidaying friends, and their fridge, are all now back from vacation mode. Consequently I was round at their house on Saturday, watching the astonishing Poland’s Got Talent (or MAM Talent to use the Polish TV Channel’s name; hence the truly horrendous title to this piece of rambling dribble) - beamed in via Polsat on a satellite dish that looks suspiciously like something that should be residing at Gatwick Airport. Unfortunately, it’s getting close to the final so the truly bizarre acts have long gone, but even so, there was still enough entertainment to pass a couple of hours.

We were offered a pudgy child performing a death rock anthem – imagine Bonnie Langford in her Just William days doing Ozzy’s Paranoid and you’re on the right lines. Two blokes did a strange take on a mime act with sound effects, and another man had managed to graft computerised drums into his shoes, so that he could play percussion by jumping up and down a lot. Er – ok. Then there was a sort of circus trapeze outfit disguised as a Tarzan, Jane and gorillas act that was followed by an inevitable acrobatic rap dance troupe that jumped up and down a lot to a noise that sounded like a plane crashing into my kitchen cupboards. Then we had a young female singer called Anna Teliczn who sang a ballad in perfect English – very nice – and ended with a boy who wants to be a girl, or a girl who wants to be a boy, or maybe a boy who is halfway to becoming a girl. With a name like Madox, the jury is still out, and either way, his / her social worker has their hands full. I thought Madox was a relaxing bubblebath, but I could be wrong. He / she / it sang Stop Before You Break My Heart – too late, the damage was done.

There are three judges – Malgosia is an actress who would be our Amanda Holden; Kuba is our Simon Cowell but looks like a very young Chris Evans so rather loses the edge, and then we have Agnieszka, a middle aged rock chic – sort of Bonnie Tyler or Suzi Audi Quattro. She must be our equivalent of Dannii Minogue / the good looking Geordie from Girls Are Loud or whoever the hell we have – I get confused. Keeping everything ticking over is Ant and Dekski who compere the show. So it’s not as if the producers have copied Britain’s Got Talent, no way.

The judges panned young Anna, presumably because she is young, pretty and could sing. They gave Madox glowing praise and the promise of a great Susan Boyle future. People power won through, though – the public voted Anna through to the final, and the judges then had to choose between Madox and the Mime Nutters. Strangely, after all the hype, they chose the Mr Beanski act, leaving Madox even more confused than he / she / it already is – so Madox left without a place in the final, but with a nice bag of toiletries. For him. Or her. Whatever.

As I like to be open minded and let people chose for themselves, here are the main performers, brought to you by courtesy of the MAM Talent website.

This is Anna singing a song I recognise, but can't remember the name.  Sorry for my less than in-depth research here:

This mime act can't be described, so you'll just have to watch it, -unless you've got something more urgent to do, like ironing your shoelaces.  I'll understand, really.

And here we have Far From the Madoxing Crowd - this must be the Georgina / George that Enid Blyton wrote about all those years ago on Kirren Island.

If you’re still with me, and I don’t blame you if stopped reading this before I broke your heart some time ago, then I’ve already invited myself up to watch the final, so watch this space for more exciting details.

Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

Day 5 – 18th July

My all too brief holiday was coming to a close; this evening we would all fly back to Stansted together and resume life in Brown’s Britain. However, the flight wasn’t until late evening, which left a large chunk of the day to pack in a bit more activity. We were due to meet up around 09:00 to go into town, Jaworzno, which in reality turned out to be around 11. I kept myself busy during the long wait playing with Viki the gorgeous Alsatian in the garden. Finally, the car rolled up and off we went into town.













Jaworzno was formerly a major industrial provincial town in southern Poland, with five coalmines, a power station and all the necessary industry that serves them. Now all but one of the mines has closed, and in my 2005 visit the neglect as a town slides into depression had been evident. Four years on, the change is incredible. Aided by a massive EU grant, the town is being regenerated, and all around the centre signs of the rebirth were in progress. It’s incredible; other EU countries manage to bag these massive cash handouts, while all that Blair and Brown came home with from their beanos to Brussels were stupid rules about cucumbers, which are then enforced to the point of death.

The building work began with demolishing the pits, and building a new bypass around the town on the old railway line. The picture above is the site of the former Town mine, but you'd never know that now. The streetlights mark where the access road into town will come from the new and completed bypass.

Then work began on the town itself. Honestly, they’ve got no idea. Here in Britain we dig up the town first, cause 3 years of congestion and chaos, and ten years later, belatedly put in a bypass once all the work is done. The main thoroughfares in Jaworzno have been dug up, and roads, pavements, streetlights and even the sewers are being replaced at the same time. This revolutionary idea means that as soon as the road is laid, the water board don’t need to come along and dig it up to build new sewers – like I said, they’ve got no idea. Gordon, get over there and show them how to make a real pig’s breakfast of Government projects! And don’t feel obliged to hurry home, either.

Apart from the construction work itself the biggest single difference in town is simply colour. Previously, the town centre apartments were all finished in an austere grey concrete, presenting a dowdy and bleak appearance. Work is now well underway to repaint these buildings with pleasant green and yellow shades that blend in well with the surrounding trees and greenery. It makes the town much more attractive and welcoming. Here's an example:

Above: 2005, and the grey flats look austere and forbidding from the exterior.
Below: 2009, and with complete reconstruction going on beneath
them, the same blocks are now colourful and contemporary.

I continued walking around town and saw it looking more vibrant and prosperous than my last visit, it's surprisng what a lick of paint and a tidy up can do to brighten a place up a bit.

Another street undergoes regeneration.

The sombre grey has been banished under colourful exterior paint.

This photo shows the before-and-after effect very clearly. What a difference!

Like so many European towns and cities, Poland devotes ample land to parks and open public spaces. Jaworzno has compact, but inviting parks with leafy green avenues down which numerous benches are provided for locals to meet and chat the day away. They are very quiet and restful, and with many riotous colours of the immaculately maintained flowerbeds to catch the eye. They are a great place to try and eat an ice cream cone before it melts and dribbles down your hand before dripping all over the ground in the +30°C heat. My hosts managed to eat their cones with quiet dignity and not a dribble to be seen; mine looked like I’d stuffed my face into it. I have no idea why this was; perhaps I had ultra-fast melting ice cream. I half expected an old lady to fish in her bag, bring out a hanky, lick it and then rub my face, as mothers are prone to do in order to embarrass you in your youth. This, is one of the worst memories I have of being 17.

Park Life

Fortunately, no old ladies took pity on me, and probably thought I was a tramp. I made it to the public toilets (remember those?) and cleaned myself up ready for a stroll around town. The northern end has not seen any redevelopment work, other than the building of a new library, and was much as I remembered it, with the large church dominating the triangular junction.




Just off this junction, my favourite tavern remains in business, calling itself simply Fart. I do hope that is a suggestion and not an instruction; I bet it gets lively on a Saturday night. If actions speak louder than words, I’ll give it a miss.

The biggest disappointment, although inevitable given the passage of time, was the virtual disappearance of quirky, classic East European cars and vehicles, and their replacement with standard Euro boxes. There was a time when you could be dropped into a city, and work out roughly where you were simply by observing the cars and buses. From Paris to Prague, or Manchester to Minsk, countries used vehicles that had as much national identity as the buildings and the food. Or do I just need to get out more?

In 2005, around every forth car was a delightful Fiat 126, built under licence and known as the Polski Fiat. These tiny, tinny cars were powered by a hairdryer on steroids, and came with such luxuries as … no, actually, they didn’t. Their introduction paved the way for mass-market transportation in Poland in the way that Lada’s did in Russia and buses did in Britain, unless you had all day to coax your Morris Marina down the street and back. Despite the flimsiness of the Polski Fiat – and we’re talking about the structural integrity of a yoghurt pot – the cars coped exceedingly well with Poland’s hot summers and bitterly cold winters, with temperatures regularly down to -30°C. That’s chilly enough for a monkey to re-evaluate where he places his spheres of brass. Basically, there was nothing to the Polski Fiat, so nothing could go wrong that couldn’t be fixed with an elastic band, a hammer and vodka. Not surprisingly, these cars outlasted their contemporaries by a couple of decades – not bad for a mobile food blender.

This was the best surviving Polski Fiat that I came across, in remarkable condition for its age.

Other stalwarts have all but vanished; I didn’t see a single Trabant, and even the homegrown Polonez has all but disappeared. Vintage buses with curtains at the windows have been replaced by large, modern, fast designs that look the same as everywhere else from Sweden to Spain. Of course, this kind of progress is as necessary as it is inevitable, but for the visitor, it is another example of encroaching standardisation that is chipping away at national characteristics across the continent.

The town tour ended up at the apartments of my hosts for a good pre-flight meal and drink to say goodbye. I really must say that despite some lethargic timekeeping and the odd strange decision, my hosts looked after me extremely well throughout my brief visit to their homeland, and I saw and experienced many new activities that I would otherwise have easily missed. Their families in Jaworzno were incredibly hospitable, warm and generous. Even after four years since my previous visit, I was received like a member of the family and greeted effusively on each occasion we met. Only my actual hosts spoke English, yet despite this, with a smattering of words and phrases plus sign language and facial expressions, it was possible to maintain an animated conversation.

Naturally, I wish to return, as there is still so much to explore, and so many places to visit, or even revisit. I would like to take some longer rail journeys while the older style trains are still running, as this is by far the best way to experience the passing scenery. I’d prefer to go out of season as the heat proved to be uncomfortable most of the time, and it would be great to see the country in a different season; say spring or autumn. So, with thoughts of a future visit already in my mind, I had to bid a reluctant goodbye to Poland; it was time to go home.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Day 3 – July 16th

Barely had my head hit the pillow when my alarm went off. No, no, no, no, no! Well, yes, actually – rise and shine – if not capable of shining then a dull glow would suffice – because at 07:00 we were due to leave for the long car journey to Zakopane, located at the foot of the Tatras mountains that form the natural border between Poland and neighbouring Slovakia. It would be a long trip of around 3 hours, so I got some hot tea and a bit of breakfast down my neck and waited for the car to arrive. Despite last night’s terrific thunderstorms, there was no evidence of this anywhere. The sky was blue and clear, and already it was 25°C and humid.

The car duly arrived at 7-ish; well, let’s be honest here – 8:00. I clambered into my allotted space in the back seat, which contrived to provide even less room than a Ryanair 737, and by the time we hit the motorway that would take us the first part of the trip, the combined effects of a stuffy car, late nights and occasional imbibing meant I drifted off to sleep, waking up briefly during particularly exciting driving manoeuvres to see if we’d crashed. Having ascertained we hadn’t, I drifted back to sleep until we bounced off another lorry.

Snapshot of route, using Google Maps.

In this fashion I passed the first hour and a half, by which time we’d bypassed Krakow on the motorway and were now heading south on Route 47 towards the Tatras. There were few notable towns along the route, so progress was steady; although traffic built up steadily the further we went. The scenery began to change as well; the rolling plains and undulating countryside that I could see at the start of the journey were becoming progressively more hilly, with mountains visible in the distance. Small villages flashed by, all with well kept postcard types houses and immaculate and colourful gardens. From my vantage point in the back seat, which equated roughly to travelling in a wheelie bin, I couldn’t see an awful lot, but what I could see certainly looked attractive.


Around five miles outside of Zakopane we hit a traffic jam, and spent the next hour or so in a queue of cars and coaches that inched forwards foot-by-foot. Zakopane is a major tourist destination in Poland, and attracts 2.5 million visitors a year; not just from Poland but practically everywhere. That’s a lot of people for a town with a population of 28,000 to support. The locals do not want their only road into Zakopane from the north (which is more or less the only way in) widening to dual carriageway status, which is totally self defeating. They want the tourists and their money, in which case – provide the infrastructure. The answer seemed to pass us by as we gently steamed in the immobile car – several trains trundled past on the railway that runs parallel to the road, each depositing it’s wise passengers into the town a good hour before we arrived. If I have the chance to visit the area again – and having only scratched the surface, would love to do so in the future – I’ll come in by train and use public transport to get around.

Eventually we arrived in town and parked up. At last I could get out of the confined car - oh, the relief! For all the tourist invasion, Zakopane is a pretty town. It is busy all year round, as it hosts winter snow sports such as skiing, snowboarding, ice-skating and, for the romantically inclined, horse drawn sleighs. When winter ends, visitors pack away skates and skis, and explore the other opportunities available in the region – mountaineering, hiking, cycling, river rafting or just good old fashioned sightseeing. It was the latter that we were starting with, ascending nearby Gubalowka Hill. There was a choice of walking up (about an hour) or taking the funicular railway. To get to the station meant negotiating a tourist market, selling all the expected tat, plus hunting equipment, homemade cheeses and pickled mushrooms. The cheese is strong and rubbery, but the mushrooms are nicely flavoured, and indeed I brought a jar home. Rather bizarrely for a tourist town, a number of sellers are hawking real live puppies, many of which are St Bernards, a breed that has links to the mountains in the area. I can’t think of anything less appropriate to sell to tourists, but presumably the ‘Ah, it’s so cute’ mentality kicks in. Can’t wait to see some idiot trying to get a St Bernard onto a Ryanair flight as hand baggage.

Being devoid of feelings, I was able to brush these sellers aside and arrive at the station without buying anything. The funicular railway looked inviting, and during the four-minute journey to the top, we glided through a row of fir trees that provide a natural avenue. Views from the car were excellent, as it features large windows all around. There is no driver, so a wonderful view is possible from the front as you ascend.



Gubalowka is another tourist plaza, selling everything that is available at the bottom, but as you may have forgotten to buy a fridge magnet, or missed the traditional Polish dolls, or had to think twice about a wooden spoon with ‘Zakopane’ written on it, here you are presented with another opportunity to purchase them. How thoughtful is that? Should you stride past all this onto the terrace, you are rewarded with the real reason for the ascent – magnificent views over the valley, 1123 metres above sea level (3684 feet) with Zakopane nestling at the bottom.

The weather was now starting to turn, with thick grey clouds rolling in over the mountains, just when I wanted some good scenic views. Thanks a lot. Here's a selection from a brief walkabout.

Picture perfect view, looking towards Zakopane and Poland to the north.

To the south, Slovakia lies across the Tatras.

Several mountain trails begin at Gubalowka for the more energetic type of tourist, and these are the best way to see the great views as well as work off some of that Polish hospitality! We had other plans, though, and joined the queue for the Rynna, a 750-metre downhill toboggan ride; essentially a dry bobsleigh run. Each person has their own individual toboggan that has a single control, simply being a brake lever that is centrally mounted in the floor. Pull up to slow down; press down to release and go faster.

This is the start of the Rynna; speed and adreneline soon pick up as you descend.

The brakes are a little past their prime on some toboggans, so don’t expect anything adventurous like slowing down or stopping – but you are guaranteed a fast and exciting descent around the twists, turns and hairpin bends of the circuit. Toboggans reach up to 40 kph, which is incredibly fast when you’re sitting on what amounts to a plastic tea tray hurtling down a metal chute. At the bottom of the course, you’re now halfway down the mountain (or all the way if your brakes failed completely). It’s a long haul back to the top, but not to worry – you remain in your toboggan and an attendant hooks you up to a sort of chair lift that tows you comfortably back up the hill adjacent to the funicular. At a bend at the top, the cable is released allowing you to crash into the toboggan in front. The trick is to extricate yourself and leap clear before the next toboggan rams you from behind. Otherwise, you emerge from your toboggan in an undignified display of flailing arms and legs, and end up falling flat on your face in front of the chortling crowd who are waiting for their turn. Do I really need to tell you about my egress from the toboggan? No, I didn’t think so. Just as long as I get my share of the royalties when the clip ends up on You’ve Been Framed Making a Total Idiot of Yourself, we’ll say no more about it.

We’d now exhausted the possibilities of the Gubalowka, apart from another tourist rip-off. Should you not wish to purchase your own St Bernard puppy, you can compromise and have your picture taken standing next to a fully grown one (here’s one we prepared earlier) with a small child who had clearly just come straight from an audition for Oliver. The photo is then digitally modified, so that you and the St Bernard, plus the Artful Dodger, are standing halfway up the Tatras in deep snow; presumably awaiting the arrival of the helicopter rescue or possibly Fagin. It’s difficult to work out what’s going on, really. Instead of this, we adjourned to the funicular for the descent. This time I was prepared, and nabbed a front seat to have a go at videoing the ride down the mountain. I’d not used video on my camera until this holiday, but it seemed as good a time as any to start, as I was trying so many new activities this week. (Position mouse over video screen for controls).

How relaxing was that? At the bottom we once again negotiated the souvenir stands, Andrex puppies and a new type of con that hadn’t been seen previously – card trick ‘magicans’ who were conning the crowd for cash, with the help of several easily identified fixers placed within the crowd pretending to be tourists. If you’re going to pretend to be a tourist, it’s a great start to look and dress like a tourist, and not as though you’ve just finished a 12 hour shift on an oil rig. Just a thought. They wouldn’t last five minutes against Del Boy; honestly, talk about amateurish ways of extracting cash from the gullible. After ten years of New Labour Government, I know when I’m being fleeced.

A new sort of entertainment now beckoned – finding a room for the night in town. This wasn’t easy, akin to pitching up in the Lake District in the school summer holidays looking for a nice B&B. The huge crowds evident in the photos with this article demonstrate the problem. We approached the task scientifically by calling at random guesthouses and asking for a room. This got us nowhere, so my hosts began phoning the numbers of each place we passed and making enquiries. Eventually, we got one – it was tucked away from the main road down a long drive, but still very close to the centre. Now this worried me. Firstly, I have a knack of finding truly awful places to stay overnight – the kind of place run by Nora Batty with light switches on timers, baths only permitted on Fridays, notices saying ‘One sheet of toilet paper per day, per guest, use both sides’ and the sort of mattress on the bed that you never, ever, inspect too closely; you know the sort of thing. Secondly, I was concerned that with every hotel absolutely heaving in this busy town, why would one so near the bustling centre be empty? Could it be because it was run by the Polish arm of the Bates Family, or maybe Basil Fawltsky? We’d soon know.

Well, it turned out to be a charming place, called Hotel Liberta, and I can thoroughly recommend it. The room was basic but spotless, en-suite and breakfast was included. There was also a communal room where you could make tea and coffee etc should you require it. We went to retrieve the car, although irritatingly, my hosts kept phoning around trying to secure a better deal. This was madness; it’s not Dragon’s Den! Honestly, some people just don’t know when they’re well off. We had a lovely hotel, in a great location and time spent trying to do pointless deals to save a couple of quid on an already cheap (by UK standards) hotel was wasting time that could be used for seeing things. Get over it. So, the car was recovered from the car park, and brought to the Liberta. After a quick clean up, we set off on foot to discover the town itself.

Zakopane has a principle tourist orientated street, Krupowki, so you can guess what it was filled with. I soon narrowed the entire street down to just four types of business:
Eateries, of every conceivable variety.
Shops selling ski equipment.
Shops selling tourist tat.
Shops selling ski equipment and tourist tat.

That was it. The street is pedestrianised, and was absolutely packed with jostling visitors. Street entertainers performed at regular intervals, ranging from mildly interesting to the bizarre. My favourite was a seemingly ordinary busker playing a guitar and singing. He had a large sign that I had translated and which read, ‘I am mental. I need psychiatric help. I am saving up to go to a special hospital. Please help.’ Now that was just inspired, and, regardless of his state of mind, he was an accomplished musician. He was no more mad than I am, but that’s not much of a recommendation, really.

The sight of all the on-street eateries made us all hungry, so we stopped at a pleasant looking café with an outside terrace for a late lunch. I wanted traditional Polish, and ended up with a large potato pancake stuffed with a sort of stew that was as filling as it was tasty. All food is made from fresh ingredients, and you could certainly taste the difference.

After lunch, we ambled back down Krupowki and headed towards our next adventure – a trip to Kasprowy Wierch. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but it involved walking around for half an hour looking for a bus station, followed by a manic mini bus ride to somewhere a short distance from town. As we alighted, I spied a cable car station. Ah ha! This looks like fun. In one day I’ve done a funicular and a bobsleigh for the first time; now I was to make my debut in a cable car. Which just goes to show how full and exciting my life has been to date.

Preparing to depart on a magic carpet ride to the sky.

As the weather was closing in and it was getting quite late we had the car to ourselves. Already the top of Kasprowy Wierch was shrouded in cloud, but that just added to the excitement. Our driver appeared and we set off. I was surprised at just how smooth the ascent was; the sensation was of gliding and the only time I felt motion was when the car would pass one of the huge gantry supports. We ‘flew’ up the mountain, most of which was densely forested. In some areas the lumberjacks had been in and cut down swathes of trees, presumably for construction, as wood is widely used for housing in southern Poland. Hats off to the men who do this work, by the way. It certainly isn’t for the faint hearted. With no vehicular access whatsoever, a long and arduous climb is required just to get to your patch. Then the trees must be chopped down, trimmed up and fastened to horses for the descent. If, after all that, you find that you left your sandwiches at home, you’re going to be more than a tad upset.

The station appeared more quickly than I’d expected, but this wasn’t the terminus, it was merely the way station at Myslenicke Turnie – a sort of halfway house. Here we alighted, crossed the station and waited for the second cable car that would carry us to the top. It wouldn’t just be taking us, however. We watched in interest as a crewman fitted a thick hose to the bottom of the cable car and began pumping. It transpired that all water supplies for the restaurants and meteorological station at the top are supplied by the cable cars. Water is pumped into the first car, and at Myslenicke Turnie, pumped across to the second car. On arrival, the water is then pumped again into holding tanks. Ironically, all the water that undergoes this journey fell as rain on this very summit and had made it’s own way down to the bottom. If they left the lid off the tank, maybe they wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble.

Once watered, we climbed aboard and headed for the top of Kasprowy Wierch. En route, I filmed segments as we rose inexorably to the clouds and present them here:

The clouds slowly swallowed us up totally, and it was quite a disembodied feeling to be floating in a sea of absolutely nothing until the station gradually appeared out of the murk. Upon exiting the car, we were greeted by a sign announcing that we were now 1959 metres (6427 feet) high – to put this in context, Ben Nevis is 1344 m (4409 ft).
And still, we weren’t at the summit, although this was a mere 28 metres further up. Having got this far, it would be rude not to. Halfway up, I was panting for breath. The air was very rarefied up here, and not something I’ve experienced before - I live in Lincolnshire, so altitude sickness is reasonably rare. It was a while before I got used to it, but finally, we had reached the top. It wasn’t the end however; nearby a chair lift vanished off into the gloom, although it was shut by now. In good weather it must be awesome.


We now stood on the very border dividing Poland and Slovakia, and the frontier is marked by small white posts with ‘P’ on one side and, yes, you’ve guessed – ‘S’ on the other. Welcome to Slovakia! Not that we could see it. Some pictures were taken, followed by more polite gazing out into the impenetrable murk, before we decided it would be a good idea to go and get some dinner.


Now, I mentioned earlier that during the walk up Krupowski, I’d observed that there was a huge choice of places to eat. By the time we got back there, it was night and the place humming. Many cafes and restaurants had terraces, and those that didn’t opened their doors and picture windows to entice diners inside. To help you decide, many offered live music in many genres from traditional Polish folk with dancing to Country and Western via Kareoke. I have never been so spoilt for choice in my life when it comes to dining.

As the host seemed to know exactly where we were headed, we strode purposefully up the street, passing each restaurant that seemed even more inviting than the last. Zakopane really comes alive at night, when Krupowki changes gear from selling tourist tat to becoming the place to party the night away. Almost at the top of the street, we were led into a square full of outdoor tables and chairs, and surrounded by individual stalls selling all the sort of barbeque stuff that we’d made ourselves not 48 hours earlier. Except that whereas we’d used good quality meats and cooked them properly, the kebabs (yes, really) that we were served consisted of the cheapest, gristle-filled lumps of meat that were more chewy than chunks of tyres served in a warm condom. It was inedible, and I was absolutely incredulous that in a street packed with restaurants, we were ‘dining’ at the equivalent of a Friday-night-after-pub-kebab van. To add insult to indigestion, we had to walk back past all the thriving, vibrant places that been rejected – all filled, I noticed with a touch of envy, with happy, contented and sated diners, listening to the music and watching pretty dancers. I could not have been less impressed as we returned to the Liberta and formulated the next day’s plans.

Some of the Polish folk dancers we didn't see.

The idea was to take a hike through the Tatras on one of the trails to Morskie Oko, a walk of around 6 – 8 hours but not unduly taxing – well, not all of the time. The views were said to be stupendous, and I could believe this, having climbed to Morskie Oko three years previously, but by an entirely different route. So, with that in mind, I took a much needed long and refreshing shower before retiring to dream about cable cars, funiculars, bobsleighs and of course, Polish girls. Which I might have done, had I not spent the night dreaming about food. Please sir, don’t give me any more!

A Hot Day in Krakow

Day 2 - July 15th

I awoke from the previous night’s festivities with a rather fuzzy head that I put down to the atmospheric weather conditions. Or maybe it was the beer. Either way, I needed to be up and at it, because we were going to the historic city of Krakow today. I was keen to be going because although I’d visited the city a few years ago, today I was travelling by train, and there’s nothing like continental train travel to make you feel like a real traveller. Foreign trains hark back to the age of Brief Encounter, an age when you could stand in a corridor and lean out open windows feeling the wind rush past your face; when trains had restaurant cars and conveyed sleeping cars travelling unimaginable distances across entire countries. Coaches had compartments and each compartment always had a dinky mirror attached to the wall, and sometimes a colour print in a frame – in case the scenery got boring? Our train from Jaworzno to Krakow was a Polish Inter-City service, and we clambered aboard after obligatory photographs and secured our own private compartment.

All aboard!

Not that we really needed it; most of the trip was spent hanging out of the corridor window, just watching the world go by. It was hot – over 35°C – and even at top speed of around 90 mph, it was still comfortable to lean outside the coach, although a sign above the window politely explained that it may not be in your best interests to do so. The sign was in six languages, as these trains travel far and wide – as far afield as Belarus, Ukraine and Russia in the east, and Germany, Slovakia and Czech Republic to the west and south. Our one-hour trip was a little more modest, but still a great experience nonetheless.

Watching the world pass by on our way to Krakow

Once we arrived at Krakow, my hosts had decided to visit Krakow Zoo, not something that I was overly enthusiastic about as I’m not a great fan of zoos. They remind me of prison visiting days (not that I’ve ever had the pleasure, or even Her Majesty's pleasure, I hasten to add), but simply that the idea of incarcerating animals, especially large, agile animals, behind bars in a concrete pen doesn’t seem very fair. The only animals that should be locked up in cages and gawped at are teenagers and politicians. I can watch David Attenborough nature shows on TV until the cows come home, so to speak, because they’re filmed in their natural habitat, living their normal lives – well, until something bigger comes along and eats them – but looking at these clearly bored beasts pacing up and down their cages in a climate far removed from their natural homes doesn’t sit well with me. It would be the equivalent of incarcerating humans in a strange and hostile environment, while strange animals lined up to watch them looking back – a bit like a visiting McDonalds in Romford.

Still, that was the itinerary, so we emerged from the railway station into the huge city square of Krakow. A brand new glass and chrome shopping centre called Galeria Krakowska, still under construction, dominates one side, and whilst impressive in a size-is-everything kind of way, it just doesn’t sit too well with the surrounding architecture which is full of character as the pictures show only too clearly.

Galeria Krakowska to the left and Antyki Galeria Obrazow to the right - which do you like best?

Not that architecture was on my mind as I crossed the square; the place was full of stunningly beautiful Polish girls, all lithe, tanned, toned and dressed in skimpy summer outfits that showed off all their best features. I have visited various Eastern Bloc countries and found beautiful girls in all of them, but I can crown Poland as the capital of girl-world, and Krakow is the undoubted jewel in that crown.
There was no grunge, no muffin tops or size 28 bodies squeezed into a size 12 dress that looks like a duvet stuffed into a bin-bag that is part and parcel of everyday life back home. And lest you think that this is outrageously sexist, I can assure you that Polish girls take great pride in their appearance, and when you meet them for the first time, will ask two questions – ‘How do you like Poland?’ followed quickly by ‘And what do you think about Polish women?’ It is a very refreshing attitude, and I can only put their appearance down to a healthy lifestyle of fresh, homemade food, plenty of exercise – they walk more than they drive – and of course they don’t all go out and get smashed on 18 pints of lager and Red Bull followed by a kebab on a Friday night. Over the last few years I’ve had the pleasure of working with a large number of Polish people, and made some very good friendships amongst the community. So I reckon I’m qualified to make such statements.

A photo that sums up my visit - beautiful buildings, blue skies,
old trams and young women. What more could you possibly ask for?

I managed to get across the square without dribbling too much, and try out another new form of transport – the traditional street tram. This would take us to Cracowia on the city outskirts, where we would need to transfer to a bus for the trip out of town to the zoo itself. As a self-confessed transport aficionado, this mode of travelling was an added bonus. Alighting at Cracowia, the heat had been turned up a notch and sweat was just rolling off, aided by high and unpleasant humidity. The 20-minute wait for the bus was like a sauna, and there was just no air anywhere. Once it arrived, the bus was crowded and I managed to get a place just inside the doors, but squeezed up tightly against them.

This had the added attraction that everytime the bus stopped and the doors opened, I fell out – but the benefit was that I got a breath of air in doing so. The journey to the zoo was about 20 minutes, but felt much longer. We piled out, and went straight to the kiosk to buy cold bottles of juice to drink. That’s better!


As I’ve said, zoos don’t impress me much, so let me say here and now that Krakow Zoo is the best example of its genre I’ve ever seen. Really, it’s more of a huge area of wooded parkland that happens to have a zoo within it. Everywhere is spacious, well designed and laid out, and considerable thought has gone into designing large enclosures that aim to recreate natural habitat. Fair enough, it’s still a prison, but whereas most zoos resemble Guantanamo Bay Rest Home for Misguided Terrorists, Krakow is the animal kingdom’s Travelodge (apart from the dump at Dartford, but that’s another story).

Unfortunately, the heat had the same effects on the animals as it had on humans, and many of them were hiding away in their living quarters, or lying listlessly in the shade provided by the surrounding trees. The selection of animals was impressive, and they all looked healthy and well cared for. The entire place was spotless and looked as though real passion goes into maintaining it; also the World Wildlife Fund is involved in schemes to protect endangered species. My favourite part of the day was feeding time for the three sea lions; there was a huge fully-grown male, a smaller female and a one-year-old pup. The keeper went into the enclosure, and threw them fish whilst fully interacting and playing with them; it was a great show and a real crowd pleaser, without demeaning the animals with any of that performing seal type nonsense.

A little further round from that was a place called mini-zoo, which was an enclosure consisting of animals that are commonly kept as pets in the UK – rabbits, guinea pigs, Shetland ponies plus goats, pigs and even black sheep! No cats, thank God. The rabbits and guinea pigs had their homes, but were free to wander around the whole complex, which of course delighted the children. Feeding goats, donkeys and sheep was permitted, and they were all jostling for (noisy) attention to get a bit. It was a nice feature to include in a zoo.

By mid-afternoon the temperature peaked at 36°C and we were just too flaked out to do much more. Time to return to town. This involved another, less crowded bus journey, followed by the return tram into the centre.

Riding a Krakow tram; the locals don't seem to mind tourists taking pictures!

We took a walk around the city centre viewing the main market square with the world famous cloth market (Sukiennice) followed by the castle and riverside, but quite honestly, it was just too hot too really enjoy it. Krakow is a lovely place to visit, packed full of interesting places to explore and see, but we really just went from one ice-cream vendor to the next, interspersed with bottles of juice. I would love to return once again, but I would prefer to visit out of season to really enjoy it. Here’s a snapshot of the walkabout:







Back to the station, where tickets were purchased, and then to the platform to get the train. But which platform? Polish stations list departing trains, but only give the final destination with no calling points. Individual platform monitors were helpfully blank, and station staff non-existent.
We waited on a random platform for a northbound train; when it pulled in, it was a very crowded all stations commuter service to Katowice – not ideal. My hosts decided to return to the ticket office and elicit some information from the sales staff. This was a long walk, followed by a long walk back, once the relevant information had been grudgingly supplied. The train was due in 20 minutes or so, but then an announcement on the tannoy system – oh, so you’ve woken up, then – said the train would be around half an hour late. Simultaneously, a long express train glided in a couple of platforms away. It was a sleeper train going all the way to the popular Baltic seaside resort of Kolobrzeg, but conveyed ordinary seated coaches as well.
More to the point, it was calling at Katowice (the coaches all have destination boards on the sides that list principal, but not all, intermediate stations). This meant it had to pass through Jaworzno, and might even stop! So, another long trudge across to the platform, and an interrogation with the train attendant who confirmed that it would, indeed, stop at Jaworzno. Excellent!

We boarded the train, which was due to depart at 19:14. At around 7:10, the original Jaworzno train rolled in adjacent to us and waited for passengers. I expected it to leave first, given how late it was running (40 minutes by now), but no, the authorities had a better idea. We would leave first, seeing as this train was travelling much further. Unfortunately, no one bothered to tell the driver, who was in the canteen, or McDonalds, or sat on the toilet reading the paper - basically anywhere but his cab. So, both trains sat in the station doing nothing. Some passengers began gambling, and dashed across the tracks to the second train, which now looked as if it would leave first. Then our driver turned up and powered up the locomotive; the signal went to green – and still we sat there. We now had to wait for the guard! Eventually, at 7:35, everyone who was working on the train managed to get themselves aboard and with a long whistle, we were finally off, leaving the passengers who’d gambled on the other train getting priority a little disappointed to say the least. My hosts were divided about how reliable Polish trains are, but the general opinion was that the railways are run in a fairly relaxed manner, and because the schedules aren’t particularly demanding, late trains can easily make up lost time if the driver is in a rush to get home.

Well, our driver thought that he was Stig in a reasonably priced sleeper train. We positively belted along on our exhilarating journey, and Jaworzno appeared all too soon.
During the trip, large storm clouds had gathered ominously over Jaworzno, and by the time we’d walked to the bus stop outside the station, we were caught in torrential rainstorm that later turned to a violent thunderstorm with impressive displays of lightning. The rain was so heavy that the nearby city of Katowice was badly flooded. Despite the storm, the heat and humidity didn’t dissipate, so we arrived at our restaurant for dinner in a rather hot and wet state. We were dining at Restaurant Olymp – a Greek Tavern, which isn’t what you immediately expect to find in Poland. The families of my hosts all met up here, so there was a good party atmosphere over an excellent Greek meal, which rounded the day off very well. Then back to the apartment for more drinks before hitting bed in the early hours – only a few hours sleep was permitted, because tomorrow we were off on a two-day journey into the Tatras Mountains...