Travels in the van 2023: Poland Part 1 of 2
Tuesday 29th of August
A day of motorways
The adventure begins for me as soon as we get in the van, but we don’t even get as far as the next village when my mobile phone addicted brain reaches out and finds nothing. As we start out again, I have a quick chat with the Vet about the new cat worming drops, a quick consultation with my mum, who is out and about, and has left her phone in the back of a taxi. (Both phones now happily reunited with owners), I send the customary WhatsApp message to the family to mark our departure.
The now familiar route South-East on post bank holiday quiet roads to Folkestone is hassle free, we even get an earlier slot on the chunnel.
The new to us route guidance app ‘Waze’ recommended to us by Mike at Parkrun last Saturday, is a joy to use and for once we negotiate our way to the right motorway from Calais without going round in circles. This may be because we are doing a different to usual route from here.
There is no dramatic change in the landscape between the flat coastal plains of North-East France and North-West Belgium, the border marked mostly by the change in language. The view is a stream of tall buildings with steep pitched roofs in the countryside, between water towers, modern industrial estates or tower blocks and fields of cows. Occasionally there’s a glimpse of an interesting building or colour; an old green barn, a house with powder blue shutters, a yard full of jaunty orange cherry-pickers, looking as if they having a wild party.
The driving, when it’s my turn, is subtly different in France. There, I’m always struck by the etiquette of pulling sharply back into the right-hand lane after overtaking, even if you cut up the car or lorry you’ve passed, usually because a faster car is tailgating you irritably. It’s more relaxed in Belgium, although the roads today are full, the services too, of lorries heading in both directions.
We know we’re only a third of the way to Poland after 10 hours on the road as we pull into the services west of Antwerp. Early night, early start. This evening, we watch the cars and vans making fly-by pit-stops on the way home from summer holidays. The parents reaching for their cigarettes as soon as they open their doors, and the children sleepily tumbling out for a wee – none of them make it as far as the building (t’s 80c to use the facilities, you do get it back as a voucher) The gap in the fence to a leafy path might not be the attractive cheaper alternative they think, if they saw how many travellers and long lorry drivers have had the same thought.
Wednesday 30th August
You learn a lot of things driving for 13 hours across northern Europe. About yourself and how world works. I swear I’ve never seen so many lorries in my life. Some moving and the same number parked up along the way. This is a major route from the docks at Antwerp west accross Europe. One question that occurs is, how do they get enough exercise? I know, they don’t. It’s been two full days of driving. I managed to get a quick session in the morning we left. (7 minutes of a HIIT (High Intensity training) workout and 20 minutes of yoga) more preventative than anything, as I’ve been carrying a hip-flexor, quad, IT band injury for a few weeks and sitting down is the worst. I was dreading the sitting/driving, but it’s been fine. I manage a feeble HITT of sorts, once we reach our Polish campsite, not wanting to break my 235 day streak.
I also learn how to master the cruise control/automatic braking, without losing speed when overtaking. The German Road etiquette is more a kin to the Belgium than the French with regard to tailgating/cutting in, but I can confirm that with no upper speed limit on German Autobahn, is it is usually very shiny black Mercedes BMW or Audi estates that come out of nowhere, usually in convoy and make you feel like a wuss ambling along at 70 mph. This is also true in Belgium and Poland. They look like Secret Service agents on a mission.
We’ve been taking it in turns one hour on one hour off today. Richard has found an app that assesses the quality of your driving. Apparently, jointly, we are in the top 4% of users, although he seems to be reluctant to tell me if there’s a difference between us both. We pass the passenger time watching the change in the landscape, getting our competitive Wordle out of the way and listening to respective audiobooks on headphones or ‘Something rhymes with purple’ communally. I’m reading a book which is part historical fiction, half forensic crime about an atrocity in Poland in 1941. The history is well researched and the forensic science, but there are some really awful bad sex bits that seem to have been edited in to add to it unnecessarily. Richard is reading a biography of W.H. Auden.
We meet nice people along the way. The lad who is an International Business student ‘helps’ me with the coffee machine at an early morning service station where he is working. The friendly German Muti who serves us coffee at the next. The staff at the hardware superstore who resolve the language problem with the Gaz cylinder refill process, and a double act with a Ukrainian refugee with a bit of Polish and a bit of English who translated between us and the jolly campsite attendant at our late arrival at Jelena Gora campsite – much easier when we both remembered the translate app on our phones.
Thursday 31st August
Waking up somewhere, when you’ve arrived in the dark, is interesting. This is a sweet little campsites with a dozen pitches, caravans to rent and apartments in a block on a sloping hill. The entrance is through a small supermarket carpark. There is a single facilities block with a kitchen, indoor and outdoor dining area for anyone to use. Two toilets, two showers each for men and women, all clean and compact. Tall trees behind the slope to the east. It had been raining when we arrived, the grass growing through the purpose-built parking surface muddy. The forecast is rain until 11 am, so we take time to arrive properly. There is a slight autumn chill so I try out my sleeping bag suit and it’s perfect.
Keen to stretch our legs and explore, after two days of driving, we head East through town, bewitched by the vernacular architecture. We easily find the cycle path that takes us back the river Bobr around lake Jezioro Pilchowickie. There is big hydroelectric dam, but even so, the river and forest have an ancient folktale feel. I wait to be lured into the water, that’s so close to the path, by a mischievous water sprite. The trees are more benign, their roots anchoring them to the crags that tower steepily above us. We reach a ford. I dither, watching to see how Richard fares. I take off my shoes and socks, my brain and body conspiring against my courageous heart, as it often does on bike rides. I take the first step. Richard shouts ‘we’ve gone the wrong way!’. He’s scouts back. I stop a moment, stilled, just me and my trusty steed in a forest glade. The path we follow takes deeper into the fairy kingdom, so narrow, winding, it’s impossible to ride. Deep green moss all around, drawing us deeper into its heart. The spell is broken. Wood spirits become spiteful as they fail to catch us, the branches hang lower, the mud stickier in one last attempt to bind us tight. We’re out. the path re-joins the cycle track.
The ride, though not a long one, is physically hard. just as I congratulate myself for riding without e-assistance, a steep climb on gravel has me reaching for the button. By the end of the ride, which involves a full workout pushing my bike up steep off-road tracks, as well as smooth, open-road descents - I leave it on.
Friday 1st September
I seem to sleep better in the van and we’re up early and have a 9.30 start. Villages and hills. The air is clear and we are in the region which is a ski resort. At the end of the summer, it’s still busy with busloads of tourists. It’s great to be on a bike and descend through little towns and villages full of life. Is it summer that makes it look so idyllic? They seem to be building new houses, side-by-side with the old, generations of people. It’s people, there are people and children everywhere, bringing these places to life.
Saturday 2nd September
We are ParkRun visitors this morning at the Norwegian park across town. Good fun, but I am aware of biting insects and will pay for it later.
I finish the book I’ve been reading. ‘Winter journey’ by Diane Armstrong, apart from the bad sex interjections, which were thankfully few and far between, it will certainly linger. The author was a Polish Jew who survived the Holocaust and lived in Australia. She’s also written her family history. It’s a fictional account based on extensive research. partly based on an incident, well several, in Polish villages In 1941. The ultimate message or lesson is that humans are capable of great cruelty and also great altruism, whatever nationality they are, and all humans have an instinct to ‘other’ and to be racist. A constant tension betwen tribalism and belonging.
When I visit the Jelenia Gora local museum just round the corner from the campsite, I have high expectations. The building is modern on the reviews effusive. It is well laid out, the local history part is interesting, but I’m now highly attuned to wondering how the pre-and post-war era will be handled. Unfair perhaps, as Poland and this area in particular has a long and complex past and my focus feels very narrow. But the scant mention in the pre-war section, records Protestant and Catholic populations. No mention of the Jewish population. This sent me off on a dig around the Internet. There was a declining Jewish presence, (evidenced by two Jewish cemeteries no longer here) probably due to the pre-war Germanic decrees and restrictions which meant many decided to leave while they could. But there is a good research article on it which is more informative. Postwar, there was a Jewish committee coordinating support for the survivors of concentration camps, who arrived after their liberation, and an arising complex issue. When German citizens were expelled by the Soviet controlled regime which took over, the status of German Jews became an issue. It all makes grim reading.
Later I have pulled myself out of a darker mood and remember the message of the book. This morning’s Parkrun group was small but perfectly formed. 32 runners and a warm welcome as always. It really is a brilliant example of a force for good in the world.
Sunday 3rd September
Again as I congratulate myself for increased gravel bike skills, storming up a steep track with confidence and level two e-assist, I come a cropper on a sharp cold like chunky stone surface. It’s slow motion again, my back wheel goes, and I go down too, turning my front wheel instinctively to right the bike, but instead, overdo it and narrowly avoid a small drainage gully, which would have added to the indignity. I go down on the knee which usually escapes damage. I am bloodied but otherwise uninjured. Once again, my courage and skill level realign to ‘cautious and risk averse’ for the rest of the day which impeeds progress. It’s my least favourite kind of track: loose, large stones, rutted and steep. Downhill is worse, as I’m too heavy on the brakes to be able to go fast enough, and my hands tire quickly. At this moment I long for tarmac and plod on walking until I am confident and ready to ride again.
The landscape on this ride is open fields through a valley. We see a lone deer, standing as still as a statue by the river. So still that we double back to see if it is real - it is. Then through highland pastures, the road oak-lined with huge acorns for my treasure collection. Clear air before a forested trail. In an attempt to find a smoother, lower gradient downhill, we come down a quarry/forestry road with light, clay mud. An alien landscape with milk coffee coloured puddles. There are all sorts out mushrooming; families, young men with huge baskets and elderly couples. I wish I was sure enough to collect them without an identification manual.
On our way down a fairytale castle appears out of nowhere, we only stop for a cup of tea and end up having lunch.
Recovery takes up the afternoon and evening. The washing machine is active and gentle yoga on the cards.
Monday 4th September
Moving on day. we say goodbye to Jelenia Gora with a couple of photos of interesting industrial heritage as we leave.
We are heading to Zamek Ksiek the big castle on a crag in lower Silesia, made famous by Hitler’s occupation of it towards the end of the war when he became obsessed with tunnels and bunkers.
The geopolitics of the area are complicated, Polish German Russian Polish territory. The self-guided audio tour is excellent. It relies heavily on the diaries of Princess 'Daisy' Pless nee Cornwallis-West, who married into German aristocracy, Hans Heinrich XV von Hochberg, from her own British dynasty. It’s a story of wealth and connections, with an undercurrent of scandal and bad behaviour. The chef in this household of the family of five family members and 300 servants. He’s also a photographer, so the exhibition and storytelling is well documented. The 19th and 20th century aristocracy in Europe was so interconnected, as it probably still is today.
We drive to Wrocław, listening to the excellent ‘Cold War Conversations’ podcast in which Tom, a man who was born into the post-war Soviet era in this region, which gives a very different family history story.
Family history storytelling is a thread that’s running through my head Diana Armstrong‘s historical fiction novel, her Jewish family biography ‘Mosaic’, Daisy’s diaries and the podcast.
Tuesday 5th September.
We look for a route along the river to ride the 5k into Wrocław centre, and find a ‘unusual things to do in Wrocław’ page on Google as a guide. We come past sign for a firing range and hear shots coming from behind a a low modern office building. We’re anticipating a problem getting past asecurity guard on the edge of a mysterious compound, the other side of the road, as Richard has seen a comment on the route-making app. We approach the barrier, try to translate a sign, when a large, ponytailed guard eventually appeers from behind his desk, with his boot laces undone and an unapologetic stern demeanour. ‘Niet’ he says. Richard carries on talking to him softly in English and deftly shows him the route on the app, explaining that we simply want to access the river path. To my astonishment, he stands back and waves us through. We joke that he will put a call in to the firing range, saying that some fresh, live targets are on their way.
The ride is glorious. Summer is making a comeback in the wild marshy riverbank is full of seeds and flowers. There’s a woman standing so still in the marshland she looks like a sculpture in a flowing dress, until she moves her head and arms in a gesture that greets the morning, a flower in one hand - she is a river witch for sure.
We cross the river bridge to the other side and meet a crocodile of 6 to 7-year-olds on bikes, following the teacher along the path which leads past the zoo. We follow the excellent bike track which takes us past what looks like an adult study group. As we pass, we come across an area with a model of the estate where riding through, and stop. This is a thing. It’s a replica of the estate. There’s a café nearby so we take a coffee stop and ask about the area. I’m in heaven. It is WUWA, a modernist housing project from the early 20th century. The young man hands me a book about the project from a cupboard. It’s fascinating and when we leave I ask if I can buy it. He says ‘you can have it’. We cycle around it. It’s been renovated and conserved and the book has interviews with the inhabitants as well as the architects and other stakeholders. I am thrilled.
On we go - Wrocław is delightful. There’s hardly any traffic and we wind through the cathedral Island along cycle tracks to all the interesting, old and new places. Over lunch, we read up about the Jewish community in the German community and pre-and post-war populations. We’re a stone’s throw away from the restored White Stork Synagogue. The Square outside it is where the Jewish community were rounded up, and likewise, the old railway station whose platforms and filled-in tracks are now a collection of pop-up bars and deckchairs. We cycle along the tracks a few hundred yards, imagining the scene. The Market Square, University Mathematical Museum with its sundial collection and rooftop views are impressive, but I’m not sorry to head back to base after a day on cobbles.
Tuesday evening is Dark Angels evening online, this is the first one after an August break. I enjoy the communal writing opportunity, responding to prompts. I find myself writing about a compulsion to uncover the past and then trying to be generous to mosquitoes.
Wednesday 6th September
A calm day breaks. Despite moving camp from a small family run site (it’s in the back garden really, a big back garden with very good facilities, but the most expensive we’ve stayed at ever) to a large parkland site closer to the city, by the Olympic sports stadium belonging to the University . It’s the busiest yet, but peaceful. Listening to the children using the playing fields, the tram is passing by and birdsong, it’s much less claustrophobic than the last. I have a leisurely yoga session and a satisfying bike cleaning session while Richard get some work done for a meeting later. We are planning to head into the city for supper, so we take an easy leg-stretcher along the river. It’s 530 as I write this and the usual plink of cutlery and wine corks popping starting to reverberate around the campsite. We head into the city centre through the big park at dusk, there has not been a hint of menace or anti-social behaviour at all. Just a couple of sleeping alcoholics taking shade in the leafy forest. There are plenty of people about, young couples pushing pushchairs, groups of friends strolling about, kids comimg back from sports practice. We choose a restaurant with plenty of people sitting outdoors and I take the plunge and have Pierogi: potato and curd dumplings with golden onions, it’s good. After 8 pm, the town square is heaving, we cycle around and then head back avoiding the park after dark, although probably unnecessarily. The traffic around Wrocław is remarkably light and we get back to the campsite in time to see a late-evening ultimate frisbee training session which always reminds me of Hannah.
Thursday 7th September
We head to Lidl to top up on groceries as we depart Wrocłav and head back to the countryside. We’ve been close to the Czech border the whole time, but now it feels closer. We’re in the area where ‘Drive your tractor over the bones of the dead’ is set. It’s a book we read in book club a couple of years ago. I found it morally compromising, as a murderer’s escape is celebrated because of who they murdered. I think I will re-read it, nowt hat I have been here and have more aware of the complexity of the place. Another lovely quiet campsite, nice pitches around the lake with ducks and moor-hens. There is a restaurant/bar terrace, which must be lively peak season. We’ve not had one with poor facilities or disappointing showers. Hoorah for Polish plumbers! My expectation of campsites was low, and if I’m honest of Poland. Stories of communist-era restrictions and oppression – the struggle for democracy and population preferring to leave, are clearly outdated. It could be that we’re seeing the best of it, as one would if touring beautiful campsites back home. It feels vibrant and positive, full of young and old, industrious and thriving. The weather is magnificent and is exaggerating this positivity maybe. Back in the countryside the villages are alive with people, old structures next to new, layered and textured communities. I have noticed though, as someone who makes eye contact, nods and smiles at everyone I meet or pass, there is more reserve here than elsewhere. A blank look, or no look at all is as common as nod or a smile, which is unusual. Perhaps it’s a case of keeping your head down and minding your own business. We enjoy an afternoon ride around the base of the mountain north of the campsite and come back to peace and tranquility.
Friday 8th September
I take the time to do some Lakeside yoga which is very restorative. Our cycle route today takes us up Owl mountain. It’s quite a climb, but I have a little assistance. The down-hill should be fun, but the tarmac is breaking up and every now and then there are paved sections, little square cobbles. It makes for a bumpy ride and maybe that’s what colours my view of the little town we arrive at. As I look at the buildings, they seem more ramshackled than usual. Some in very poor condition but inhabited. Lots of windows boarded up for example and then on the second storey new windows. It’s a dark damp valley. We stop at a corner shop and my spidey-senses are alert to a few old-young men hanging about. The sun is warm, they’re in the shade, but I noticed the bottles half hidden. I don’t particularly want to hang about, but we get nectarines and the best cheese cake I’ve had in ages and sit under an ancient tree to eat it. I’ve been on a cheesecake mission for a few years. I once had perfection - thick, crumbly, plain, the kind that sticks to the roof of your mouth. I’ve been searching for the recipe ever since - this hits the spot, and it has sultanas. Eastern European cheesecake is the best. Climbing back out the dark Valley, we noticed a sign for tunnels and a secret missile cave. We stop to read the outdoor exhibition panels that tell of Nazi tunnels, forced labour, and Project Reise. Maybe that’s what’s hanging over this place.
When we get back, the campsite has exploded. There must’ve been four pitches occupied when we left, now the world has descended. Friday night is camping night in Poland it seems. The good weather has brought people out and by 9 o’clock all the fairy lights are twinkling.
Saturday 9th September
The campsite is busy this morning, but still tranquil. I return to the patch of shade to practice yoga by the lake and I'm thwarted for awhile by a weak phone signal. I could make it up myself, but eventually day 3 of the 30-day course I'm doing sputters into life. While I’m waithing, I converse for 20 minutes or so with a couple of 9 to 10-year-old boys, who are delighted to practice their English with me. “what shall we talk about” one asks. We easily fill the time, talking of friends and history and favourite school subjects. They teach me how to pronounce ‘Gen Dobre’ (good day/hello) properly. We’re moving on, closer to the Czech border for a few days.
Sunday 10th September
The old manor house, converted into accommodation and a campsite is another quirky unusual stop. It's very quiet here again, which can be disconcerting on first arrival, but quickly has a relaxing effect. This must be paradise for families with small children. The garden is beautiful there’s equipment and furniture dotted about. There is also an extremely inviting hexagonal wooden swimming pool. The interior has a hint of the institutional, like a religious retreat, but charmingly relaxed. The walls are decorated with interesting drawings, maps, and on display, an eclectic array of curios and the largest collection of owls than I have ever seen.
We’re ready for a ride and head east crossing the border to Czech for a while and then stumbling across a charming ruin with a restaurant and hotel in a half renovated part and a sunny coffee and cake terrace where the cheesecake is again irresistible and washed down with a glass of Prosecco - it seems rude not to!
We have a lovey funny conversation with a Polish couple who make room for us,. She’s a german teacher, he a landscape gardener. we have a long conversation aided by speaking into our phones on google translate and handing them round. They give us a great recommendation for another ‘restaurant in a ruin’, and give us their address and an invitation to call in if we end up in their town.
Monday 11th September
We have one more ride from the Manor house, a loop to Nova Ruda, before setting off once more, but stopping at the recommended restaurant for a fantastic lunch. It's clearly a thing, to renovate a manor house in stages. This is a rural hotel, and on this Monday, it's hosting a small wedding. We are the lucky few who benefit from the live piano accompaniment, as we dine alfresco in the lovely gardens. We've mostly been eating in the van, reasonably well, but this is a real treat. We make our way to Polancia Zdroj, to a little plain no frills campsite, inbetween a wood and a running track. We both swear we hear wild pig noises in the night.
Tuesday 12th September
Polancia is a spa town, full of big hotels and tourist shops. But we’ve been noticing a landmark as we've driven south east. It's Table Mountain, and the waitress yesterday highly recommended we visit. Ride we ride, taking with us walking shoes and extra sandwiches so that we can hike once we get there. To fortify us further re-sample, some delicious cheese pancakes, wash down with home-made lemonade at a little café near the beginning of the hike. Been a lot of investment in the cycle route and recreational area in the forest approaching Table Mountain it's really quite impressive. Table Mountain itself is not only a remarkable outcrop of boulders, it's a maze of walkways through spectacular chasms and rock formations. The engineering is remarkable, the views stunning. It’s so much more of a adventure than a conventional theme park. Nature and human ingenuity in concert and at its best. Such a contrast to the tunnels under Owl Mountain. It makes my heart sing.
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