We arrived in Warsaw on a bright yellow Simple Express coach, which cost just 18 Euros each for the 10 and a half hour journey from Prague. It was luxury bussing with air conditioning, free wifi, and those screens in front of every seat like you get on planes, offering all sorts of movies, tv shows, music and games. We were the only English speaking people on board - most seemed to be Polish, returning from holiday.
One of my favourite things in the world, is to be driven. I like looking out of the window. We seemed to avoid any major highways that might exist in Poland, and journeyed via Wroclaw through many small villages and down country lanes.
It was after midnight when we arrived at a surprisingly busy DW Centralny Station in Polands capital. On Google Earths satellite view it had appeared smaller, empty, grey and intimidating but the reality on arrival was much more comfortable.
A friendly taxi man with no scamming intentions (the cabs with the irrelevant mermaid pictures on the side are actually the most legit, run genuine metres and declare on notices outside and inside the car how much they charge per kilometre), drove us to the street he deemed nearest our "apart hostell" address. Further investigation proved our hostel was located in a gated courtyard, inaccessible without the right code to unlock the entrance. We loitered for a while, until we were able to sneak in behind another couple.
A small, balding, rotund, sweaty "security guard" in slippers, and with his wet shirt buttoned only half way, was insistently helpful - despite being apparently almost blind. It was a slow process to gain entry into an old and dimly lit questionable building - but somehow he eventually guessed the code to the door, lead us up five storeys of echoey stairways where hallway lights flickered - panting and pausing as he went, and banged relentlessly on the apartment door which matched the address we had. After about five minutes a bleary eyed, Slovakian girl with blue hair opened the door only to reveal more locked doors inside the apartment. The girl told us, in broken English, that we needed to call the landlord to get the combination to an exterior safe in which we would find the keys to our room. With no phone of our own and hope fading as the lingering security guard continued to try and unlock his mobile - holding it close to his squinting eyes, wiping sweat from his brow, breathing heavily through his nose, and poking out his tongue in concentration, we asked the sleepy Slovakian if we could use her phone...
By 1.30am we had obtained the code to the safe, found our keys and unlocked the internal door to reveal a beautifully modern, extremely clean, cozy and comfortable room. The shared bathrooms were similarly sleek and sparkling and a delightfully pleasant surprise considering the suspiciously ominous exterior. Unloading heavy backpacks after such a lengthy ordeal felt incredible - I felt so light I could fly.
It was one of life's most surreal moments. We were in Warsaw's old town, specifically at a pub called the Barbakan where they were serving beer by the litre for just 9 zloties (that's roughly two pints in one very large glass for one pound fifty.) It was 35 degrees and so humid my internal organs were sweating.
We were sitting outside, enjoying the calm - a much quieter place than Prague. More space. Fewer tourists. A couple sat at the table beside us. My Sherlock-like detective skills noticed the rings that said they were married, the backpacks that said they were travelling, the bump that said she was pregnant and the language they spoke that said they were French. (Without words one can form (possibly very inaccurate) stories from the characters they encounter.)
Clouds in the distance rolled closer and drew blacker. A single dollop of rain plopped on the table, but the sun still shone and the terrace was full. Guillaume suggested we go inside, where every seat was empty. We sat at a small table by the door. Six spaniards in tights formed a traditional flamenco band (minus the dancers), but they weren't playing - just drinking on the terrace. A rumble. Another. Rain. People trickled into the pub. The sound of chairs pushing back on the cobbles was followed by rushing punters holding papers, cardigans, chair cushions, whatever they could find - over their heads.
The heavens opened and torrential rain poured. The pub filled until nobody could move. Wet bodies everywhere - urged by the situation to wait-it-out with litres of beer. The Spaniards included. And they started to sing and pluck their instruments. Their volume rises as lightning strikes and thunder roars, almost in time to the music. People began to clap, strangers started talking. The French guy who'd been sat beside us outside stood alone looking around him, searching for his wife... Maybe seven minutes passed before she squeezed through the door, soaked to the bone, her pregnant belly prominent.. They hugged and laughed before smooching like heroes in an old black and white French movie. The flamenco band turned to perform just for them, people watched and cheered.
We spoke with the musicians over a beer. They described themselves as 'old students' touring Poland to promote their album during their summer break before exams. Only the Spanish (men) would wear tights in this weather.
Nearby our aparthostel was a market where we bought a small brunch each day. (Amalgamating meal times is essential for travellers on a budget.) Everyone of the extremely helpful, friendly vendors was tattooed and pierced with unnaturally coloured hair - all of which I believe forms a popular trend in Eastern Europe. We learned to say Dziekuje (thank you) which seemed to impress them as much as it impressed us!
We think the Polish are very humble and genuinely sweet and happy. But their history is not forgotten among locals and visitors alike. They have decided it is important to remember. We walked to the location of what was once the largest Jewish ghetto created by the Nazi's in World War II. An area no larger than 1.3 square miles was sectioned off by a tall, thick, guarded wall and held more than 400,000 Jews, many of whom died from starvation there. In the summer of 1942, 235,000 were sent to Treblinka extermination camp and later in 1943 the ghetto was liquidated and only a few survived. And this was one of many ghettos in Poland.
Small parts of the wall remain standing within a present day residential area, and are now a place for people to pay respects, pray, grieve and learn.
It hurts to realise this was just 70 years ago. How humans can do these things to one another is something I'll never understand. And still today, similar monstrosities plague the planet. I think pharmaceutical companies worldwide need to research extensively a cure for evil (or perhaps a vaccination injected at birth) as it is the biggest, scariest and deadliest disease in our world.
With peace, love, calm and concise communication and positive co-operation, we can focus on the bigger pictures together, make life better for everyone and combat global concerns with a powerful united front.
It will be the deepest human regret one day - the time, money and efforts spent fighting while our earth dissolved from under us.