Warsaw

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So, shortly after completing my last blog entry on the bus to Warsaw, I received a wonderful phone call from the woman I originally spoke to at Munich airport regarding my lost luggage. It had been found! Of course, I was on my way out of Germany by this point, so the woman arranged to have it delivered to my hostel in Poland. I gave her the address, thanked her for making my day and did my little in-head victory dance.

I was originally intending to just get off the bus in Warsaw and rock up to some hostels in search of somewhere to stay, so it's lucky I pre-booked! Everything happens for a reason, eh?

The bus ride was pretty straight-forward, again, very unlike any in Asia. We had regular toilet stops (even though there was a toilet on the bus) and passing through passport control at 11pm was a breeze. I arrived in Warsaw around 10:30am, and hopped in a taxi to my hostel.

My first day in Warsaw was rather boring. I just hung out at the hostel, waiting for my luggage and taking grannie naps. Plus, it rained all afternoon, so wouldn't have wanted to be out, anyway. That said, with the smell wafting from the bathroom, being in wasn't much more appealing, either.

I went to bed with a bit of a headache and woke up at 3am with a full-blown migraine. Heaving with nausea and unable to handle any lights, I fumbled around in the dark for my painkillers, knocked two back, and laid in bed close to tears, willing the pain to subside. After almost an hour, I started to feel a little better and managed to doze off.

I woke up around 9am and, still feeling groggy, stayed in bed until my room mates had showered and left. I dragged myself out of bed, got ready and set out in search of the laundrette, as per the hostel staff's directions.

Well, I wound up at a dead-end, searching for a way to cross the metro line. Seeing a well-dressed man on a cigarette break from a local office, I said, politely: "Excuse me, do you speak English?" Giving me a dirty look, then walking past me, he grunted: "No speak English. I speak Poland." I was so shocked, I didn't think quick enough to tell him what an ignorant w*nker he is, and that I hope he steps in dog-sh*t on his way home.

Marching on, I found my way across the metro line and to the shopping centre the hostel guys had recommended. Once inside, I approached a woman sitting at what I assumed to be some sort of information desk, and asked: "Do you speak English?" Uninterested, she said "No" and turned her back on me. At this point, I began to hate Warsaw. The people make or break a city/country for me, so Warsaw - and, indeed, Poland - was not shaping up well.

Feeling rather down-trodden and even a little angry, I tried my luck one last time. Strolling into an empty soap shop, I asked the young woman at the counter if she spoke English, and she replied "Yes, a little." Letting out a huge sigh of relief, I asked for directions to the laundrette, made a mental note of what she told me, and thanked her profusely for her kindness.

I eventually made it to my destination, and was met with yet more non-English speakers. Shame on me for not at least learning the basics of Polish. Luckily, another customer queuing behind me was able to provide translation, and I successfully checked in my clothes. I nearly vomited at the price, though: the equivalent of nearly £100! Obviously, it wasn't your bog-standard Dot Cotton-style laundrette, but a proper dry-cleaners. Having no other options at my disposal, and already having spent fifteen minutes unpacking and sorting through my clothes, I swallowed the cost and paid. Then I made myself feel better with a raspberry smoothie-type thing, topped with whipped cream. As you do.

I found a bench in the sun upon which to sit and enjoy my smoothie, when a cheerful-looking middle-aged woman sat down beside me, and uttered something in Polish. Truly apologetic, I told her that I don't speak Polish. To my surprise, she started speaking in (albeit, broken) English! Her name was Danushka, and it turns out that she lives in Lodz, the same place that Matt and Mawa are from. She works in a school in Warsaw, and her sister lives in Florida. We chatted for quite a while, although I don't think she understood much of what I said. Then, we said our goodbyes, and I set off in search of the Warsaw in the Google pictures.

After walking for what seemed like ages, the sky turned grey and I gave up and took a taxi back to the hostel. Since the dry cleaners didn't do underwear, I got busy with hand-washing my undies, then took a grannie-nap. Cos that's how I roll.

Waking up around 6:30pm, I rushed to get ready and set out to Plac Wilsona metro station to meet Mawa and her sister, Margaret. It was fantastic to see Mawa again, after two years! We took the metro to Ratusz Arsenal, then strolled through the old town. Now, this was the Warsaw I'd been looking for.

During our walk, we saw the football stadium which housed the 2012 World Cup (also known as the giant swimming pool, due to its water log issues!), as well as architecturally beautiful buildings. Warsaw was completely demolished during the Second World War, and therefore rebuilt shortly after.

We stopped at a cute little restaurant and I enjoyed a modest meal of Camembert and cranberries, washed down with a cup of tea. Then we wandered along the cobbled roads of the now lit-up old town, and along the inside of the old city walls, all the while, I snuggled into my pashmina, questioning how the day could be so hot and sunny, yet the evening so cold.

After yet another sad goodbye (travelling seems to be full of these!), I set off back to the hostel, where I laid awake til the wee hours, unable to sleep as a result of my late-afternoon grannie-nap.

I woke up late on Wednesday morning and sampled the fried version of my beloved pierogi. Not as satisfying as the boiled version, I must say, but the accompanying tea went down a treat. Then I chilled in the bar, reading, before setting out to Dworzec Gdanski to collect my laundry.

On the way back, I got caught in the rain, which lasted most of the evening. I just curled up in bed and read my book, before desperately trying to get a good night's sleep on that uncomfortable bed.

On Thursday morning, I woke up bright and early, showered and lugged my backpack downstairs to check out. Realising how cold it was, I changed from my funky Nepalese pants to linens, had breakfast, then set out by taxi to Centralna Station. "Why?" you ask? Because the one and only Brandy Bear was back in town! Since having spent five weeks with Matt during our TESOL course in Cadiz, back in 2011, he has remained high on my favourite person list. So, I was ecstatic to hear that he was arriving back in Poland to visit family, and that our paths would cross.

I've missed B's voice, being called Sticky (or Sticks) as if it's actually my name, and hearing him say the word 'f*ck', which always tickles me! We spent a few hours in Starbucks catching up and laughing, and BB was the perfect gentleman; carrying my backpack around for me, bless him. And then, all too soon, our time was over; B had to catch his bus to his hometown. But not before delivering the fantastic news that he might be in London next month. Woop woop!

I took a taxi to the hostel that B had booked for me - an HI place - and was shown to a six bed dorm, which I ended up having to myself. It was lovely and clean and the communal bathrooms smelled fresh. Why i stayed in that smelly hole for three nights when I could have been here is beyond me. Anyway, I relaxed for a while, then set out for a very late lunch (or early dinner) and to find the Warsaw Uprising Museum.

After a delicious Quattro Fromaggi pizza and warm cookie dough with ice cream at Pizza Hut (yeah, I'm a greedy b*tch), and grabbing some snacks for the forth-coming bus journey, I made my way down to the Warsaw Uprising Museum.

The museum was opened in 2004, the 60th anniversary of the uprising, and occupies a former tram power station. The idea is that visitors are lead through a chronological history of Warsaw's uprising, but wrong turns are easy to make, so I skipped a few years, then backtracked, repeated sections, and so on. Along with a multitude of photographs and documentary footage, there are also dramatic sound recordings, such as machine gun fire. Unfortunately, I chose a busy time to visit (Thursday evening) and was swamped by school kids and middle-aged women, and the constant chatter, laughter and running around made it quite difficult to focus on the information plaques that I was desperately trying to read. I know kids will be kids (well, teens), but surely the teachers should keep them under control, purely out of respect. They were hardly visiting a jungle gym, after all.

I watched a number of documentaries, which showed photos of the conditions and happenings during the Nazi rule. Horrifying stuff. I took a peak at the replica underground printing press and radio station, and wished that I was able to read the many displayed letters that had been sent back and forth between loved-ones. It's a shame they don't provide translations for at least some of them. There was even a little boy's diary on display, which I would love to have read.

After a while, the hustle and bustle of the place became too much, so I grabbed as many of the free information leaflets as I could find (mainly to take home for cousin Chris), and made swift my exit. Clearly it was peak time, and therefore not the best time to visit.

Later, I walked back to the hostel and chilled in my dorm, reading and catching up with people online. The most talked-about topic on Facebook and all UK news websites right now is the tragic murder of British soldier Lee Rigby, killed in Woolwich in broad daylight, by two sick f*cks, who claimed to be acting in the name of Islam. Woolwich is next to my hometown of Plumstead, in South East London, so my Facebook newsfeed was full of local friends and family paying respects, expressing their anger, and, of course, hating on Islam. That's right, let's blame the whole religion for the disgusting act of just two so-called Muslims. Anyway, I'll stay off my soap-box for this one, but my heart goes out to the late soldier's friends and family, particularly his little boy. RIP Lee Rigby.

Later in the evening, I was stuck listening to the sounds of teenage school groups running up and down the hallways, burping, giggling, shouting, screaming, and laughing. At one point, some lads tried opening my door (which was locked), then knocked and ran away. It was an annoyance, but they're kids, letting loose on a school trip; who am I to spoil their fun?

Later, when the noise had died down, I popped to the toilet. There was a mother in the bathroom with two young girls, one of whom said hello to me in Polish. I smiled and said hello in English. On my way out, both girls turned to me and said "goodbye!" in English. I of course replied and gave them a huge smile, then went back to my room, thinking how sweet and considerate kids really can be.

I woke up at 5am to ensure I'd get in the shower before the students invaded, then went back to bed for a bit, before taking a taxi to the bus station.

Before I close, I just want to mention something I've observed during my time in Warsaw: pigeons are way fatter here than in London, or anywhere else I've been for that matter! Warsaw pigeons certainly ate all the pies. That is all.

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Photos

Pierogi
Delicious dumplings!

The National Stadium
Aka: the giant swimming pool

Comments

[Frank]

awful
You mean people in Poland don\\\'t all speak English? That\\\'s mighty rude of them.

[Cagney]

Clearly you are misunderstood, Frank. My issue was not with Polish people's lack of English; it was with the utter rudeness of the select few I came across. And, had you actually read the blog properly, you would have seen that I pinched myself for not having learnt any Polish. Apologies for not having made that more clear for you Frank, but thanks for commenting!