Overland Tales

All the work I'd got behind me had given me the taste for travel again, so I started my Winter invasion eastwards, jumping a train heading to the German border town of Frankfurt-an-der Oder, also known as "the even shitter Frankfurt". When I had visited eight years ago with two friends and a tent we had found it to be a grey, featureless and generally deprived place. The highlight of our visit - for two of us, anyway - was when a random crazed local on the street attempted to strangle the third one of us. It was that bad. When I arrived I wandered out of the vaguely familiar station and approached a stranger to ask directions to the river, taking care to cover my neck just in case. She was pleasant and helpful. Could things have changed? Indeed yes. Whilst still not high on any tourist's list, the town seemed to have improved. It was still Soviet style, but had been dolled up a bit. The public spaces had definitely been given a makeover thanks no doubt primarily to West German taxes. I strolled down the main shopping street, the scene of the aformentioned attempted strangulation, and over the bridge into Poland. Back then the bridge had been manned by moustachioed German border guards; now the positions were abandoned and had been so for several years, with Poland having joined the European Union family in 2004, so I walked unhindered into a new country. Frankfurt-an-der-Oder's Polish counterpart was ever duller save for a few prettied-up buildings on the riverfront, and so I didn't linger, instead boarding a train eastwards to Poznan. I knew precious little about the place except it was popular for trade fairs, which general is a coded message for "a fairly shit place" (see: Hannover). It took a while to grab accommodation. The first place was far too pricey; the hostel, further out, was closed; and my third choice full. Luckily, the helpful receptionist there recommended some guest rooms above a restuarant which were small but modern and clean, with telly and en-suite. Next day I struck out to visit Poznan's main square in the daylight. It had pleasantly old buildings, although whether they were restored or original was hard to tell. Travelling had taken a step up since I crossed into Poland and it took me a while to catch up and adjust. In all my previous destinations I could speak English, French or German to get my point across. Here English was spoken, but less so. So when I obtained my onward ticket to the unpronouncable town of Wroclaw (apparently something like "Vrotswahf") from the provincial and very Polish train station in Poznan I relied on the old favourite "write down your destination, the date, a one-way arrow and no. of tickets along with a sensible amount of cash" and hoped no Polish questions were asked. They weren't, and so I had my ticket to ride. Easy peasy! Polish trains are of the "cheap and slow" variety. I had plenty of time to put my feet up, read and watch the Polish countryside pass at a snail's pace on my journey down to Wroclaw. It turned out to be a nice city, sprinkled with pretty buildings and churches. The centrally located hostel had a nice vibe and I was chucked in a room with a friendly Irish bird, over here to get her nashers fixed up on the cheap. One of the many great things about Poland - to add to its friendly, reliable people - is that free wifi is everywhere. This tempted me out of the hostel and into the pubs and restaurants. Working and drinking? What a great idea! You can't do *that* back in the office... From Wroclaw I headed on to the Polish jewel that is Krakow. At only a few hundred miles from Prague, I had gone the long way round somewhat to get there. The train - apparently an "express" - took its time, stopping everywhere. At the hostel I met a chap called Roy, the only other occupant of the dorm. He was a friendly British chap who was easy to talk to; we were both old farts and very much on the same wavelength. We headed out that evening for a few beers, a chat and a kebab - how typically British - and popped into a nightclub for the highlight of the evening, seeing three old Polish guys in shirts and ties dancing to house music and loving it! Krakow was gorgeous, I discovered as I toured its sights the next day. It had a huge town square, seemingly a church on every corner and a regal castle high up on an embankment. Like most Polish cities, though, it does suffer from appalling driving and a severe shortage of parking. As I headed to the train station today I tried not to laugh as I saw one driver reversing straight off a high curb, pulling their car's front bumper clean off in the process. I took an IC train to Warsaw, probably double the cost of a normal train, but it was quicker and comfier. I arrived at rush hour, which is never the best time to form a good opinion about a place. I dodged the hassled commuters as I passed ugly grey concrete block after block and navigated traffic jams sprawled over crossings to the hostel. Still, I found a convivial German-style brewhouse to relax in for the evening, sipping home-brewed beer and tapping away on my laptop. Warsaw had a nicer side. The road stretching up from the hostel to the university was lovely, decked out in Christmas lights (the Orthodox Church celebrates the festive season way past December - most, er, unorthodox to us). The road had been pulled up for reconstruction so the building-site vibe took away some of its grandeur, but the Town Square it led to (presumably rebuilt after the levelling Warsaw got in the Second World War) was a delight with ornate buildings, quiet little side alleys and a hushed, relaxed feel. Tourist-free, i sat near a couple of homeless chaps, blending in quite well, until I pulled out my laptop and added "Warsaw Town Square" to my list of office locations so far.