Gdansk Station
I had a few days and a few bob to spare so I flew to Gdansk (above). I got in early early, so I hung around in the bright, pretty little airport until a bus (on time, of course) appeared that brought me to Gdansk Glowny and then on to Elbąg. Now, Elbąg is in the boonies, which was just what I wanted. And, just as well, as the weather went well up on the Richter scale in the end and it was easier in less touristy places.
Elbąg River
Like much of Poland, Elbąg suffered seriously over the years. As somewhere in the eastern part of Northern Poland, it was squeezed in the cultural/political/military//linguistic jam sandwich that was East Prussia. Accordingly, it took quite a hammering when Boris came back west to repay Fritz for Operation Barbarossa. It has a pretty Old Town these days and, like any Polish cities I’ve visited, a good public transport systems and safe streets.
The coat of arms of Cardinal Michael Radziejowski (Michał Stefan Radziejowski), who served as the Bishop of Warmia from 1679 to 1688
Before the weather went to hell in a handcart (36-38-much too fresh for me), I took a trip to Olsztyn. Note: you are never stuck for a ‘z’ in Polish. There is always one lurking around the corner. And another appearing where you least expect it. Olsztyn is one of those classy medieval cities and a pleasure to wander around. I visited, on advice, an ecclesiastical museum which told me a lot about culture overlaps in the region.
Bydgoszcz – Brda River
I spent the last few days in Bydgoszcz, partly because nobody else much did, which suited me. It too had suffered from the last war and had a severe mauling. But I could see it was on the way up. There were plenty of new buildings, renovations and, as usual in Poland, a clean, safe, efficient tram and bus system. I scarcely heard any English or German on the streets though I heard some Russian, here and there. My hotel was slightly out of town, venerable like myself, and had a great little restaurant attached with non-touristy, tasty grub, especially the soups.
My magic moment was walking across the bridge above and hearing an accordion player, an older man, playing Whiskey in the Jar. I smiled when I passed (didn’t have any coins on me, now that you ask). Then my feet ground to a halt a few metres away from him. Not only was he playing Tin Lizzy’s Whiskey in the Jar, but at one stage in the rendition he played, note for note, good old Eric Bell’s guitar solo, from the early seventies. I took it as a good omen of something or other.
And when I flew out of Bydgoszcz (enough with the zeds already) from the tiny, tidy little former military airport, I was already planning my return visit to the hearty harmony of Poland. Onward to more unpronounceable, lovely Polish cities and towns!