Only Lovers Will Survive
I. For love and for sorrow
Two years ago the world was in turmoil. We had just emerged from COVID restrictions and begun to adjust to the new-normal. I'd been selling and spinning records at the local consignment shop between caregiving shifts, and working on exploring my family tree in my downtime at home.
My tendency to want to obsessively absorb things was then kicked into high gear towards Ukrainian culture when I picked up a Soviet-era “Ukrainian folk choir” record and fell in love with the melody of the first song, an old Christmas carol. This led me to the singer Tina Karol and her bopping rendition of the same tune, and deep down the rabbit hole of the post-Soviet Ukrainian music scene.
As I watched the flood of Ukrainian refugees into neighboring countries like Poland, I felt like there was something purposeful calling me there to witness this moment in history. It helped pull me closer when I realized my family’s roots extended back from Ukraine into Prussian-era Poland.
When Tina Karol announced her tour would be coming to Warsaw, that sealed the deal. In late October of 2022 I booked tickets for a 9 day whirlwind of Poland, and on November 28th I arrived after a delayed flight, and with nonfunctional cel service to Warsaw, just in time to find a way in to my Hostel, take a shower, and stumble in to the back-end of Tina’s show.
I couldn't have showed up at a better time to capture exactly the kind of historical moment that I was looking for, as the entire audience sang along to an old Ukrainian standard, “Two Colors.” The lyrics of the song were inspired by a red and black shawl the songwriters saw a woman wearing at a social gathering. One writer asked the other if he'd seen the stunning shawl, to which the 2nd man replied in a kind of trance, “The red is for love, and the black is sorrow.” The two writers then locked eyes and immediately left the party to compose their classic tune.
As Tina led the crowd in a sing-along, she stopped dead at the last chorus, and said something to the effect that the two colors were now the colors of Ukraine, blue and yellow, for love and for life. I had no idea what she was saying at the time, only that the crowd erupted.
Anyhow, here is that moment. Thankfully I captured the last half of the song, from an optimal position where the voices of crowd and performer were in perfect balance. I feel blessed to have been there.
After I caught up with my Ukrainian super-crush in Warsaw, I spent the next day exploring Łazienki Park and Warsaw’s oldtown. I didn't even realized at the time that what I was looking at was a reconstruction from the complete and deliberate ruination of old Warsaw by the Nazi occupiers.
At one point I may have gotten lost somewhere in Muranow, where the ghetto once stood. They say it is a deeply haunted place. The new residential construction that happened there after the war was built from the ashes of buildings where entire families were burnt alive, cowering in collapsing basements. They say the ashes of the bodies of those never-exhumed victims were baked into the new bricks themselves. What a morbid horror. I'd be haunted living there too.
The next day I left for the small city of Pabianice. Located next to the larger city of Łódź, Pabianice is its nearby little neighbor the same way Puyallup is to Tacoma here in the Puget Sound, with Warsaw as Seattle about an hour and half’s drive north-east.
I knew basically nothing about Pabianice until I got there. All I knew was that my 4th great-grandfather Christian Banko was born there, the son of the 5th great grandparents whose childhood villages I bicycled out to last year. But it wasn't until the night I arrived at Pabianice that I Googled some history on it and learned the story of its own Jewish ghetto.
The next day I made one of the few video production attempts of that quixotic journey and filmed a walking tour through the streets of the oldtown in Pabianice that became the ghetto. Eventually it was liquidated to the larger one in Łódź, and like all Jews throughout Poland more than 90% subsequently perished in the Nazi death camps. Even before they left Pabianice there were already atrocities being carried out upon them, with tales of infants ripped from mothers and tossed aside in ditches to die, and numerous people perishing of exposure as they waited 2 days in an outdoor stadium in cold rain. It's a nightmare no matter where you look.
That being said, there's not much there today to point towards that nightmare. The only plaque that exists within the ghetto is to say that the synagogue once stood on the spot where a storage garage now stands. I didn't even catch it when I was there.
There is a local man now who has done much research on both the Łódź and now the Pabianice ghetto, and is spearheading an effort to get historical markers installed in the Pabianice ghetto and surrounding related areas like that stadium whose location I am still unclear on. I hope to get a chance to exchange some correspondence with him, if not get a chance to meet up, when I return to Pabianice this fall.
I am intending to revisit all the locations here in this video I shot on my first walk through the ghetto, as well as making a stop at the Jewish cemetery when I arrive on All Souls Day. There are some stunning tombstones that have had their original painted appearance restored that really tell the story of the Jewish culture which once existed here.
My goal as a filmmaker, in both Warsaw and Pabianice, it's to try and convey these stories without a verbal narrative of any kind, just pure music and imagery, like I've done with my videos so far. It's about the most difficult way to tell a history lesson, but I am excited by the challenge. One simple visual narrative device I intend to employ is the old “hold up a historical picture of a since demolished building in front of the place it once stood” chestnut. That combined with museum footage intercut with location work. Beyond that I'll just be looking for any immediate concrete or impressionistic frame of reference I can find.
I discovered a Pabianice-born composer whose piano work really conveys exactly the energy I'm hoping to capture. I also found a piece by a Jewish composer from Poland that seems appropriate and respectful for the cemetery. But that is future business for future times. I have much more I intend to share with you as my current pre-production process unfolds.
I feel like if ever there was a time in the history of the world to ponder the horror of the Holocaust and of any kind of genocidal event, that time is now. I knew when I went to Poland I would inevitably run into this history, I just didn't realize at that point how it would run into me. I was still focused primarily on the ongoing war in Ukraine at that point.
Last year when I returned to Poland I had digested a lot of more of this historical context. Perhaps it was inevitable that the day I flew back was October 7th. I was so delirious by the time I left on a canceled and rescheduled flight, I didn't even catch the news of what happened in Israel/Palestine until a couple days later, after crashing from jet lag and food poisoning. Needless to say it really felt like the whole world was going to Hell in a handbasket, and it still does. Both the war in Ukraine and the war in Gaza continue unabated, while violence seems to be engulfing America as well. These are dark, desperate times, folks.
I feel compelled to revisit Pabianice this year and try to tell that story in my obtuse way, and maybe somehow reflect an understanding or at least examination of how these horrors can ever occur, then and now. In the meantime here's the initial video I shot there a year and a half ago, with a fresh Hania Rani soundtrack. Peace and blessings.
1: Warsaw
Late last summer I made my 2nd journey to Poland, arriving in Warsaw Monday, September 18th on a beautiful sunny day. I'd booked a room at the AB Hostel for 2 days, and in a brilliant stoke of luck it turned out to be a 5 minute walk away from the Warsaw Railway Museum, with Monday the day that entry is free there. I'd recently seen a picture of the big green art-deco streamlined steam-engine that lived there and fallen madly in love, so it was a delight to visit it in person.
Artur Zawisza Square, where my lodging was located, has an interesting history. It was originally one of the old city's toll gates, the Jerusalem Gate, named so because of the "New Jerusalem" Jewish settlement that once existed outside the city along this road, but was later abandoned as its inhabitants moved in to the city. The old Krakow Road led south from there.
Artur Zawisza was a Polish revolutionary who was a notable participant in the November Uprising of 1830-31 against the occupying Russian forces. After the failed rebellion, he fled to France for 2 years with other Polish exiles, but then in 1833 decided to return to Poland. He visited his family, wrote his will, was captured by the Russians, and was executed by hanging in the square that now bears his name.
The next day turned to drizzle and then dumped buckets of rain, but this fit perfectly with my plans to visit the National Museum in Warsaw and soak up some phenomenal artwork on its free Tuesday entry. Featuring masterworks from around Europe from the Middle ages to the early 20th century, it was the lesser known Polish artists that really blew me away, with the era of Polish realism capturing light and atmosphere in truly remarkable ways...
A bowl of zurek, a traditional Polish soup made from fermented rye, from Bar Mleczny Lindleya really hit the spot and gave me the perfect fuel for my museum fest.
I decided to end this video with a bookend from my journey, when I looped back to Warsaw for the final full day of my adventure on October 5th. I hopped off at Warsaw Central train station after an express ride from Krakow and walked around the corner to visit The Palace of Culture and Science, Joseph Stalin's gift to Warsaw, derisively-affectionately called "Stalin's Erection." It was the first skyscraper in Poland. Now Warsaw is vying to be the skyscraper capital of central Europe...
At any rate, it is certainly an impressive structure, and it gives you one heck of a good view of the city. In fact, it's often said it gives you the best views because it's not in them! To me it's a fascinating example of the atheistic Soviet attempt to elevate the human spirit to the heights of religious iconography, which is especially fascinating to witness in such a steadfastly devoutly Catholic country.
After that I took a trip to the heart of Warsaw's oldtown, remarkably rebuilt from the rubble the Nazi's had left of it at the end of World War 2. This clip here is the first part of that journey, I will revisit the oldtown in more detail in a later episode...
2: Olsztyn love, Gdynia sunshine
After 2 days and nights in Warsaw I headed out. On the way to my tram connection I stopped in the Church of Saint James, Poland's iconic Black Madonna gleaming proudly from its facade. Although construction on the church had begun in 1911, it wasn't completed until after World War One was over. That war weighs heavily on the church’s artwork, with the stained glass windows depicting soldiers and tanks along with more typical saintly figures. Despite how spooky some of the art is, the vibe of the church is surprisingly peaceful and comforting.
I said my prayers and hopped my tram, getting off at Warszawa Gdańska train station, where I caught a train north to Olsztyn, a lovely little city with a charming old town. The early-15th century Saint James Cathedral is particularly stunning. I got a room adjacent to the town’s medieval gate at the Hotel Wysoka Brama, which was a perfect location and a great value for $19 a night, even if the shared bathroom shade was totally busted in the men's showers, with the window looking directly out on the square below…
I'd hoped to have time to visit the 14th century castle museum, but it proved to be too tight on just a single overnight visit. I did manage to get a few exterior shots of it before I left town. Nicolaus Copernicus resided there for a time, working out some astronomical calculations on the walls. His statue keeps watch across the castle bridge into town.
From Olsztyn I headed north to the Baltic coast of Gdynia, one of Poland's youngest cities, built as a new port hub for the newly re-independent Polish nation in the 1920s. I arrived on a perfect late summer day, and managed to enjoy a brief dip in the Baltic Sea.
A large steel cross overlooks the Port of Gdynia from Mt. Kamiena. A free funicular tram takes you up and down from the top of the hill and into the city, where there was all sorts of summer fun still going on day and night.
The next evening the weather had turned a bit rainy, but I decided to brave a trip to neighboring city Gdańsk. I repeated a maneuver I'd stumbled upon during my brief visit the previous year and made my way up to Mt. Gradowa to get a good peak at the old city. We'll end this episode up there, with the 19th century fortifications looking particularly spooky in the rain.
3: Gdańsk at night, Hel on 2 wheels
When I first came to Gdańsk in late 2022 the train station was closed for renovation. Thankfully when I arrived late last summer it had just recently reopened. It's a lovely classic space with some subtle modern touches, a fine entry point to one of the most beautiful old cities around.
Devastated during WWII, many of the classic tenement houses of old Gdańsk had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Thankfully much work was done to recreate the old world charm while subtly but significantly modernizing the rebuilt spaces. With shortened depth footprints to incorporate more green space (and parking), new buildings were often built with a single apartment spanning across the facade of 2 false fronts, recreating the classic skinny building look while providing a spacious wide modern interior. Look for the windows that perfectly line up between 2 buildings and you'll know you're looking at one solid modern building.
Anyhow, once you make it to the long market street of the old city the vibe can't help but sweep you away. There's something about that Baltic Sea air that really seals the deal. And that fountain with Neptune is classic, an iconic symbol for Gdańsk like the mermaid is for Warsaw.
The next morning I rallied my efforts to hop a train up north to the Hel Peninsula, the little Cape Cod-esque arm of Baltic coastal Poland. What is today a destination getaway has deep military roots going back to the 1920s, then later being a big part of the focus of Nazi Germany's first invasions in 1939. Even today there is a continued active military presence along the peninsula, along with the campgrounds and cabins for rent.
I decided my best bet to explore this history and experience the scenic beauty was to rent a bicycle in the 2nd to last town, Jurata, and return it in the town of Hel at a related rental location. This worked out quite well, although the lack of suspension on the bike made for a rough ride at times, and the actual return location in Hel turned out to be super vague and then they just swung by in a box truck. Ok, that works.
Along the way I found a military museum tucked back a little ways from the highway, with a big old bunker and all sorts of guns. What made the biggest impression on me, besides seeing kids bounding about, swinging from massive gun barrels, was the small gauge railroad line, something straight out of my deepest dreams; the fork in the trainline especially gave me some strong deja-vu.
Once I got to Hel, riding past a park dedicated to the work of a local carver, I came right upon a military parade or ceremony of some sort. From there I went to the waterfront and grabbed some delicious herring from a food truck and explored more weird old military sites. The amount of underground bunker tunnels open to explore is pretty nuts, and more than a bit eerie. One little bunker has been setup as a historical recreation, while others are just littered with ruins to trip over in the pitch darkness...
A word of advice: bring cash to Hel. Half of the places don't take cards, and they are usually the best places. I could have gotten some truly awesome ice cream/gelato/sorbet from a bear in the woods, but because of not having the bucks on me I missed out and had to settle for soft-serve by the sea. Still pretty satisfying though. Poland loves icecream. There are "lody" shops everywhere, maybe more than coffee shops...
The large domed building on the pier is the terminal for the ferry that goes from Hel to Sopot and Gdańsk. I'd hoped to take it back that day, but there just wasn't time, so I watched the last ferry leave and softly sighed.
Later back in Gdynia, after listening to a woman playing some Ukrainian folk songs I recognized on accordion at the train station, I took a minute to admire a beautiful tragic sculpture, dedicated to Gdynians displaced during WWII. It shows a mother and her two children fleeing with a cart laden with their meager belongings while their dog sits and looks on longingly, wondering when they will be back. Perhaps never. Just the look in everyone's eyes is heartbreaking, dog included. I managed to grab a fuzzy shot of a guy sitting next to the dog, making a good stand-in for the missing patriarch of the family, like a soldier or ghost returned from the war...
The next day I packed up from my cozy Gdynia apartment, with it's shared kitchen that hosted the efforts of a whole gang of lovely Polish women talking and laughing and whipping up amazing apple coffee cakes and gazpacho soup... They really were the best, but it was time to say "do widzenia" and make a final hop to Gdańsk before leaving the coast.
Mt. Gradowa was a whole nexus of activity that morning, with some kind of power walk for the cancer cure rally taking place, complete with bounce houses for the kids. It was a lively scene, the total opposite of my prior spooky nighttime visit, or for that matter my very first visit, topped with snow in December 2022.
From there I made another trek through the old town before departing for charming little Starogard Gdański, but we'll leave that journey for next time...
The statue of King John III Sobieski upon his rearing steed in Gdańsk’s Drzewny Targ park traveled it's 7 ton self all the way from Lviv, Ukraine.
For most of Poland's existence Lviv had been the Polish city Lwów. Its post-WWII absorption into Ukraine’s borders and the mass expulsion of the Polish population that came with it is one of the crueler cuts to the cultural legacy of Poland…
Lwów was the revered king’s birthplace in the 17th century. He would establish his military mastery in the great battles against invading Swedish, Russian and Ottoman forces that defined that mid-century era of Poland, then go on as king to lead the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth through its last great peak of prosperity and stability.
Anyhow, in the post-war communist era it was decided that, rather than resculpting the 1896 monument’s features into that of a Ukrainian hero, Poland's hero king would be returned to the modern borders of his homeland. For a while he rested at his Wilanów Palace in Warsaw, but before long he made his way here to Gdańsk. From the looks of things now, you'd think he'd always been here...
The second noteworthy statue belongs Duke Swietopelk II, who goes back to the city’s Teutonic roots in the 13th century, and is as revered in Gdańsk area lore as John III Sobieski is in Greater Poland's history. You'd figure then that he's definitely been here for a good while, but this statue wasn't unveiled until 2010!
I squeaked past St. Mary’s Basilica rather than fighting the tourist throngs to witness its treasures. Instead I got my peace and blessings in at two slightly smaller churches.
The Basilica of St. Nicholas, next to Swietopelk II the Great’s statue, is filled with remarkable carvings. ⅓ of the church was curtained off for renovation, but the remainder was so sumptuous it probably would have been overwhelming in its full glory. I can safely say that it has been here for a remarkably long time as Gdańsk’s oldest church, with roots dating back to the 14th century.
St. John’s Church is almost as old and proudly shows its bare-brick scars, having been reduced to a burnt out shell in WWII. Reconstruction efforts began shortly after the war’s end, but it wasn't until 1990 that regular services were once again held. The atmosphere of light within it is a treasure in itself.
Outside the waters still churn by the old mill buildings, even if the wheels and the industry they once drove are long gone. Still, with just the right amount of sun in your eye, you can easily slip back in time a few hundred years for a split second or 2. History here remains alive between the glare and the shadows.
Thanks to the efforts it took to bring back this city from beyond the brink of ruin, and are going on to preserve it, it still stands today in all kinds of weather to inspire further reveries.
I had to pull myself out of this fairy tale and get back to the train station. My next journey was calling me towards old familial stomping grounds. First step on the stomp: Starogard Gdański.
Having just written a short novel about Gdańsk, I will just say that Starogard GD charmed the heck out of me. Landing just in time for the light of the magic hour to offer a highlight of golden glow, it felt like stepping back in time to some Polish equivalent of Norman Rockwell’s wholesome small-town vision. The old factory presents a scene of post-industrial decay, but it does so with such… poetic soul. The place twinkles with it. And Mr. Tasty makes a great hamburger.
It seems a handful of famous Polish stars have emerged from Starogard GD in modern times. In order to capitalize on this the city has created a mascot named Gwiazdek whose cartoon figurines pop up around town without much context. Turns out he's here as Starogard's star child, representing the potential that you too could have in birthing the town's next celebrity. Settle here, where stars are born! I can't deny the appeal of such a dream on a sunny summer day...
On the way out of town I passed through a park that looked out on the medieval Church of St. Mathew. Before long I got entranced by a goose and was off in some strange woodland trail that may have held ancient ritual sites. I found my way through along the creek to the side of the highway and back to the station, although I seem to remember finding another path into the realm of a lost and forgotten palace where I stopped and rested my bag on the overgrown garden wall. Before I knew it the entrancement was complete and I'd caught my train to Chojnice and gotten off two stops too soon in a tiny village 20 miles from nowhere. Thankfully there was still one last train left that day...
t's a good thing I got the last train to Chojnice, they only run twice in the morning and twice in the evening.
I'd visited Chojnice the year before but it was a nearly incoherent experience thanks to a stalled train that took an extra hour to leave the station, followed by bad GPS coordinates on an out of service phone. I arrived deep into the evening darkness and ended up stumbling through the snow onto a laundromat and getting my washing done, using their wifi connection to figure out where I was and call folks back home. Beyond that I managed to get hold of a giant chicken kebab and vacantly watched some World Cup back in my room. I never did see the old-town.
I decided to make up for that this next time around. I booked a room at the Sukienice Hotel on the corner of the oldtown, a suite in fact. It was more space than I needed for an overnight stay, but it was comfortable and affordable.
What else looks comfortable and is completely free to feast your eyes on is the attire of the scantily-clad beauties that ring around the fountain in the main square. The sculpting of these statues is truly phenomenal. You'd think you were looking at the work of some famous Polish master from antiquity, but this fountain was the culmination of an effort to restore and revitalize the old square in the 1990s to its pre-WWII glory. Nicely done.
Much like Olsztyn, the medieval town gate really defines the character of the place. Once the birds have had their run of town for the morning, the gate acts as a central vortex. If you're gonna bicycle around town, you gotta go through the gate. You'd be a fool not to.
My bicycle adventure was still another town away from beginning. I only had this one overnighter to make the most of Chojnice on foot. I stopped in the Basilica of the Beheading of St. John the Baptist, an incredible mid-14th century church, praying for peace, love, and a smooth journey on.
After chatting in the park with some new friends and struggling with a change-eating pay toilet, I was rewarded by the flowing forces with a free, freshly cleaned restroom outside the train station, and a painless journey to the smooth serenity of Człuchów’s lovely lakes. Above them rose the spire of the town's medieval castle. While less than half the original complex still stands, what remains sure does strike a strong pose. Before the entrancement of the lakes is upon you, it's that castle tower from the train station that first casts the spell.
The next morning it was the fog that summoned the wave of entrancement. I'd been prepared for this possibility when I'd done visual research, and I basically ended up recreating pics I'd seen on Google of someone crossing over the swamp boardwalk on a similar morning. That makes it sound less magical, perhaps, but to me that's the kind of pre-production that makes the work feel more like lucid dreaming when it manifests so smoothly…
Across the wetland was the park that contained the castle grounds. People appeared from the mists on their morning jog, others just out for a stroll. Up the hill stood impressive wooden recreations of defensive weaponry, tucked behind the remnants of an old fortification wall. Not far beyond them the castle stood tall and proud, its tower almost disappearing into the fog.
Fortunately for my plans, the fog burned off and the sun came out and it was a brilliant day for a bicycle ride. This was why I'd come here, I'd discovered their bicycle rental was the best place to take off from to get way out there, beyond the cities and the towns, to the twin villages of my ancestors. After tracking down a cash machine to get the funds for the cycle deposit, I pet the super-sweet supermarket store cat, grabbed the right size bike with the least wonky looking seat, and rode out around the backside of the castle park before I spit back out to that ever busy highway at the entrance of the town.
From there I found the back roads and dirt trails that would take me the scenic route to and through the country, past a dirt-bike motocross park that was sadly inactive at that time, and then shortly later the funkiest little po-dunk amusement park.
In-between, as I approached the next highway to cross, my seat came loose and popped up at a 30 degree angle. Thankfully I was able to loosen, straighten, and tighten it back down with my bare fingers in a mostly sufficient way, but it would come to haunt me later, as I raced the setting sun and the clock to get that $100 deposit back. But that part of the adventure will have to wait until next time… In the meantime, who the heck is this wooden dude?
Whoever that wooden totem was I last encountered represented the end of any signs of settlement after leaving Człuchów. From there I began navigating the dusty latticework of dirt roads that cut through the forests.
There was one last village to pass through between the trees, cute little Biskupnica, with its 1885 granite-walled church that I wish I'd had time to visit, although being a village church on a weekday it was most likely closed.
Through the woods I went, sometimes struggling to maintain control on tracks so dusty they were almost like fine sand. The only traffic I encountered was a tractor with a trailer behind it. Otherwise it was just me and the trees, although the woods lined with moss suggested a seemingly endless land where faeries and mice and other small things magical and mundane might dwell. Signs of logging operations were scattered throughout the woods. Occasionally I heard the sound of a chainsaw coming from a side road.
After a ways I could see a change in the atmosphere and realized there must be a lake nearby. I clambered a bit down the hillside to investigate and confirmed my suspicions, although I quickly gave up on finding a way through the brush. Fortunately just up the road was a little driveway down to the lakeside.
Lake Olszanowskie, whose depths reach nearly 20m (60 ft), is one of a handful of lakes in the area carved out by melting glaciers during the ice age. In these times it looks like a fine place to go fishing.
I had to stop and ponder if my ancestors may have fished its waters. It was a quest to see where they'd come from that brought me out here to the middle of nowhere. I was close enough to their villages by this point that the idea of my 5th great grandparents gazing out from this same shore seemed like a distinct possibility.
Finally, just past the lake, I caught my first glimpse of the farmland that surrounded the old family haunts. Before long I'd emerged from the forest completely and was making my way up a slab-paved road lined with trees that, while not particularly mighty, looked as if they could have stood there for at least a couple centuries, if not the over 250 years back that my kin were born.
There was one last small cluster of trees that enclosed the road in what seemed like woodland again but it almost immediately opened upon the outskirts of Łoża, birthplace of my great great great great great grandmother Maria Worner in 1769. It was a Germanic village with a Germanic name then, but I can't seem to find that name now.
The large red-brick building that makes the biggest impression was built 21 years later. It appears to have been part of an estate at some point, with what looks like the old house now repurposed as part of a decent sized modern farm operation.
It's a bit further west of there where I suspect the original Germanic village sprung up, on a drive that looks to have made a complete loop. The ruins of one old house greeted me from the bushes. I snuck back as far as I felt I could, saw the old path through was overgrown with nettles and brush, briefly met a horse and then got scared off by a barking dog and made my retreat. It was a fun little adventure.
My next expedition was a diversion just up north to check the remains of an old estate in the village of Gockowo. I had no idea exactly how off the beaten path this journey might be until the beaten path completely disappeared in front of me, swallowed by a swath of grassy field.
The estate wasn't much to see, and posted signs made me nervous to get up close and explore, so I found my way down a tree-lined paved road heading south to Wyszechy, birthplace of my great great great great great grandfather W. Johann Banko in 1755. Someday I'll pay to rediscover its Germanic name, for now I have to save my pennies for the next adventure.
Wyszechy, unlike Łoża, has been built up substantially with the typical communist-era tenement flats that litter the country. There are two small stores in the village, and one tiny chapel on the outskirts. There used to be an estate house here too, but it was left to fall into total ruin and has recently been completely cleared away from what I could tell, nothing but nettles. There was also a beautiful old barn near this estate that could be seen on Google’s street view. When I saw it online I remembered dreaming of such a place years before. Alas it too was recently torn down, replaced with a boring new barn.
After giving up on the estate location I made my way to the little chapel. I sat behind it and said some prayers before having the rest of my lunch. It was now dinner time.
There was a slightly haunted looking spot I'd seen people out walking their dogs by; finding it now deserted, I went to investigate. Again that overwhelming dream deja-vu hit me. I'd definitely been in this place before, somehow. Perhaps it was some genetic memory that bubbled up in my subconscious. Or maybe it was this moment beamed backwards in some non-linear paradox. Stranger things have happened.
Further up the path I found the “free hugs” gang hangout. It looked as if a monster with an oversized head had smashed its way through the door. Inside was all manner of ridiculous graffiti, most of which appears in the video but some was too offensive to highlight and I'll just leave it at that…
At this point I'm doing the math on how long it will actually take me to get back and, crunching numbers of how long it took to get there, I realized if I didn't haul ass immediately I'd get back to late to return the bicycle on time.
Racing tractors, dogs, trains and the setting sun, I diverted slightly and somewhat blindly from my original route. As the twilight descended on Biskupnica I heard a woman chuckle as I rode by. Before me was the last patch of wilderness. I was almost there. It was impossible to see where I was going without phone light.
Suddenly I was shocked to emerge from the darkness of the woods onto a real paved road again. I slammed on the breaks hoping to avoid an accident and ended up slamming my right knee on the handlebars. This injury was a painful but surmountable handicap for the rest of my vacation.
Oh and the seat had come loose at least 7 times over the course of this return trip.
But doggone it, I made it back to the bicycle-renting hotel at 7:58 pm. The front desk woman didn't speak good English like the one that had rented the bike earlier. I gave up on getting more money back than just my $100 deposit, left and said thanks to the moon that I didn't injure myself more severely.
The next day it was time to head to the end of the line. I packed up from my cozy loft and went to spend some time in the main square of town before leaving. No sooner had I sat down when this obviously drunk dude with a duffle bag who spoke no English decided he wanted to be my... friend? It was kind of aggressive, in a heavy pat on the back way. It seemed like we were almost getting somewhere, but he took off in the end muttering “f*** off!” It was… disorienting. Fortunately I found a nice restaurant with a beautiful isolated outdoor patio to enjoy a hearty steak, potatoes and cabbage roll meal.
My belly full, I hiked out with the highschool kids and caught the train to Szczecinek, where I had just enough time for a scenic stroll around the south end of Lake Trzesiecko. I said hello to a familiar tower on the way back, having made an equally brief stop there the winter before, and prepared myself for the next long, weird, winding leg of my journey, leaving the beautiful rolling lands of Pomerania far behind…
Pt. 7: Strzelce Opolskie's Spirits
After my interlude in Poznan's torn-up old town (now thankfully finally restored to its former glory after years of re-construction), I caught something like a 2AM train to Strzelce Opolskie, just so I could see the old castle ruins as the sun rose. I think the effort paid off, although the resulting delirium would haunt me. It was the same way the first time I came here in winter 2022, after a sleepless night in a Krakow hostel. Delirium and S.O. go hand-in-hand for me, apparently.
Originally built in the mid-late 1500s, the castle was a lovely estate until the fighting of WWII found it burnt out to the shell that remains today. At one point it seems as if major restoration plans were in the works, but all that appears to have been completed is a single proud tower.
The castle grounds make for a lovely park, with the trees practically whispering to you of the times they've seen come and go. Follow them out far enough and you end up on a small backroad that takes you to a much more recent ruin, a tower built in the late 1800s called Wieża Ischl, named after the Austrian town of Ischl which contains the medieval tower it was inspired by. If you want to see what this tower looked like before it fell into disrepair, you can still go see that original.
The walk back was mostly farmland and fields, with some classic Slavic feet-beaten shortcut paths cutting across large empty fields and popping out near some apartments where the cats enjoy lying in the sun.
The most noteworthy feature of Strzelce Opolskie is the imposing 18th century prison, with armed-guard towers perched on stone walls topped with ringlets of barbed-wire. I read somewhere that the Nazis used it as a POW camp during the war. It's got ghosts, no doubt.
Across the street is a stunning little church tucked into a tiny cemetery, the Church of St. Barbara. Build in 1505 entirely without nails, it really is a remarkable structure to observe how it was put together. It's just too bad the restoration work inside has not been completed enough to allow one to admire it from within.
The other reason I wanted to get to town early rather than wait until mid-afternoon was to make it to the farmer's market, which is so vast and all-encompassing it's really closer to a flea market with a lot of fresh produce. I got a fresh peach that practically melted in my mouth, along with some super-dank raspberries.
The marketplace has been active for going on 500 years, having been around in some form before the castle was even built. It's a remarkable thing to think my ancestors must have shopped there, if not brought and sold their own harvests.
I'll tell you what, though, if you need a pair of pants for under $10, this place has you covered. 35zl ends up being about $8 for a selection of pants as far as the eye can see. And there was another seller with at least 1000 bras that was still packing them all up after the produce sellers had wrapped up and gone home. I don't think I've ever seen a pile of nothing-but bras that vast before.
I ended up getting some primo socks that have been steadily eaten by my dryer and some gloves that I donated to an anarchistic art project back home. I had $100 worth of cash leftover from the bicycle rental, which I was able to use in 2 of the 3 transactions, but would have been better off saving it for record shopping in Krakow, where I could have gotten the tax-free deal for dropping cash. Oh well. I wouldn't have this amusing video of folks making change for me if I hadn't spent it.
I'd snagged a little clip-on spy cam just so I could capture footage without having a camera out the whole time. It's probably not something I would do again, being kind of weird and invasive, but I'm glad to have had it for this project. I will note that it tends to turn blacks into purples for some reason, so a lot of those purple pants and shirts were actually black...
I went back to one of my favorite chill spots, the little man-made ponds on the edge of town, and enjoyed my fresh goodies and a sandwich I tossed together with some corner store fixings. I did *not* enjoy the Summer Pineapple Pepsi, which I knew would be weird and probably gross, but did not realize was sugar-free until I took a sip. The Black Energy drink was much more palatable. I think Mike Tyson may still be the pitchman for that product...
After the market wound down and I simultaneously amped up and mellowed out, I revisited my kebab stop from the prior year's visit, hoping to get a chance to shoot the breeze with the owner again, but it was just after high school had gotten out, with the place thronged by hungry teens.
I made one more stop in another beautiful old church, but I decided to save that for the opener of our next installment so this one wouldn't run long. For now I'll just leave off with a teaser of its exterior...
Pt. 8: Poetry and Chaos From Opole to Krakow, via Kedzierzen-Kozle
Truly the most distinctive building in Strzelce Opolskie, I had to take the chance to see the interior of the Church of Saint Lawrence, and it did not disappoint. Built early in the 20th century to replace a wooden church but in the late 13th century, it is a baroque beauty from a time when neo-gothic was more in vogue, that curves and flows with a sensuous, luminous energy. I realized as I departed that a funeral procession was about to take place there; no doubt it was a moving experience to mourn/celebrate the departure of a beloved soul in such a space.
The journey to Opole was relatively uneventful, with no missed stops and not too many teens crammed into one car. I stayed fairly close to the train station at Hotel Weneda, which was a bit pricier than most of my other lodging at $59 a night, but that was for the privilege of a full spa/sauna, and the facilities did not disappoint. I settled in for the evening and got my hot tub soak on, then ventured into the heart of the town the next morning.
I should note that it was laundry day and I had no real outfits left when I went out. I did however have a pair of leggings I'd worn once, with some sport shorts over the top, and an old army shirt I'd cut the sleeves off and worn as a vest.
And so I ventured out to explore Opole looking like an indiscernible entity from lands unknown and went to see what the rivers and bridges of this place had to say, and what classic Polish rock records I could find in the music capital of Poland.
The record store is in a funky box of a mall and the owners speak no English, but they are wonderful people and will help you any way they can. I got some great new-wave records from folks like Brygada Krysys (Crisis Brigade) Republika, and Lady Pank, the last of which was signed by one of the members. Oh and I snagged Opole's own hard-rock heroes TSA's first head-banging effort.
After a couple mellow days there I headed off towards Krakow, or at least that's what I thought I was doing. Somehow I hopped on the train to Bielsko Biala instead, which was rather ironic since I'd actually initially booked that mountain town as my next stop, but switched to Zakopane instead. Woops. Should've stuck to the original plan.
I didn't discover the mistake I'd made until the train engine started smoking just like the scene from Planes, Trains and Automobiles and we pulled off at a train platform where there was nothing nearby but a dinosaur sculpture garden. I was pretty clueless of my predicament until I approached a younger couple who I figured would speak English who got me pointed in the right direction instead of hopping on the coming bus in the wrong direction.
My crux point to get back on track was the small city of Kędzierzyn-Koźle, where I got my traditional day of chaos meal at the local Kebab shop, chased a squirrel through the park, and said my prayers at the local church where mass had just ended.
Back on track, I prepared myself for the expected chaos of Krakow Station as I road the journey out between cars, having had a glitch in getting my ticket before the journey that turned into paying twice. Woops. But hey, I road almost my whole journey out that way the year before!
There were numerous other people riding in a similar fashion in the nearest exit point, and when we pulled into Krakow the car lurched enough I got flung to the back directly between two of them. Thank goodness for that gap! I broke one of the 3 eggs I had left, but not someone's face.
I thought I had successfully learned the route that would bypass going through the Galleria mall to exit the station and at least cut half the chaos, but I got lost first before I found that classic exit path past the old station building, so don't take this video as a guide because it's all chaos and editing tricks...
(Oh that reminds me, Kędzierzyn-Koźle has a motion picture museum, hence the film-camera sculpture.)
The poetry of old Krakow is truly a special thing. I'll have plenty more to say about that next time. This is just the getting there part.
Pt. 9: Wawel ala Krakowial
My travel delays getting to Krakow had cost me the luxury of settling in comfortably before I set off on my first mission, to get a shot of Wawel Royal Castle before sunset looking across the Vistula River. I just barely made it, with the absolute peak moment of light hitting the castle as I crossed the bridge to the other side.
I got a pretty nice view when I finally found my way down to the riverside, milking the shot for all it was worth while watching people stroll by on both sides of the river.
Ah Krakow. A romantic spot indeed. Still, some of my favorite people to watch are the solitary souls one sees, more likely locals than tourists. I'm generally an oddball outlier as a solo traveler.
If there's something to be said about the vibrant beauty of the old town after dark that hasn't already been said, let me know. Just go there and see for yourself. I didn't even try and capture all the market stalls open late in the old cloth hall that dominates the center of the plaza. Sometimes you have to choose your moments; Krakow can easily be stimulating to the point of exhaustion.
I'd already been going hard and harder for a few days by this point, so I finally went back to my funky lodging a block away from the old town boundaries to wind down.
The place I stayed in had an antique skeleton-key lock for my own door. It was rough but charming, with a few shades of paint on the walls alternating with bare plaster. My conundrum came when I attempted to bathe and found the claw-foot tub/shower had neither curtain nor plug. I was really jonesing for a soak at that point, and after hunting a bit I finally found the perfect-sized round soap bar to fit the tub drain. I couldn't enjoy it for an extended period since it was a shared bathroom/toilet, but it was sufficient.
The fact that such a funky older building even still exists is a testament to the lucky fate of the old city. Krakow was spared the devastation that so many other major Polish cities suffered in World War II. There are conflicting stories as to whether or not the Germans had mined the city in their retreat, with a particular Soviet general long taking credit for saving the city, but… that story was ultimately discredited, as I recall. The truth seems to be that everyone just liked the city too much to want to destroy it.
The feeling of Krakow as it wakes up in the morning is something special. Perhaps it is the feeling of the same heart that has continued beating for going on 800 years now, a heart that was not broken like so many other beautiful European cities that had to be reborn from the ashes of war. Rather than feeling hectic, it feels truly alive, and blessed to be so. I will always carry that feeling with me now…
Pt. 10: Kazimierz to Zakopane
Krakow is a place with so many layers and corners, alcoves and causeways, it's impossible to ever see them all, making it a city worth numerous revisits.
My first adventure there was an overnighter in early December, lightly dusted with snow. Last year the early October weather was almost still summery.
Taking advantage of the warm, dry weather was key, so I set out to explore the Kazimierz neighborhood, whose iconic balconies featured prominently in the Krakow ghetto scenes of “Schindler's List”.
Even though the historic ghetto itself was not in Kazimierz, but another neighborhood nearby, the Jewish presence was deeply entrenched here. The Old Synagogue still stands as a clear testament to that history, built sometimes in the 15th or 16th centuries. Now it operates as a museum rather than an active place of worship, a testament to the decimation of that Jewish community.
Kazimierz has more to offer than somber reflections, in fact it does have a Jewish cultural presence that is particularly felt in the music community which preserves the Klezmer tradition for the delight of tourists. It also has 2 of the 3 best record stores in the city. I snagged a record by Polish reggae-punk group Izrael that sounds like what would happen if the Clash had reduced Sandinista down to 1 LP of pure skunk. I also scored Hania Rani’s first instrumental album, from which I'd been borrowing soundtrack elements while I produced rough cuts of these clips on-the-go.
Across the bridge from Kazimierz I stopped at a Syrian grill to see how their offering compared to both the typical doner kebab as well as the Syrian grill we are fortunate to enjoy back on Vashon Island. It proved to be a completely unique experience to either, with a heavy dose of parsley reminding me of some Mediterranean flavors.
From there I walked 10 minutes to a bus stop where the bus to Zakopane would arrive. Or so Google said. The stop itself made no mention of such a trip. I was worried for a minute I was in the wrong spot, but then the bus came and I hopped on. Being a satellite stop I was unable to stow my gear below, so I jammed it on my lap for the next 2.5 hours.
In a perfect world I would have caught the train down to the old mountain town. But… that system was all torn up at the station, with no trains arriving or departing. So, bus it was. Not my ideal mode of travel. But it was pretty uneventful, and the views were quite lovely once the terrain started rolling.
Zakopane is nestled in the heart of the Tatra Mountains, with Slovakia immediately on the other side of the range. For the most part, Poland is a spectacularly flat land. The fields gently roll in some places, but the majority of the country is part of the Great European Plain. The mountain ranges which define much of its southern border are the major exception.
My goals in Zakopane kept shifting throughout my stay. Initially I'd wanted to go up the Gubalowka tram and ride down the gravity slide on the side of the hill. Then I thought I'd ride the gondola up to Kasprowy Wierch on the opposite peak, and look down across the border from the mountain ridge.
Ultimately I did neither, once again flummoxed by the lack of transparency in the bus system. This time I finally gave up and just started walking towards Kasprowy Wierch, knowing the gondola would be closed by the time I got there but determined to try and make it to the top.
I'd bought a souvenir shirt on the way with plans A and B laid out in graphical language: hike/drink. I grabbed a can of beer to bring with me to split the difference.
I should have immediately realized I'd be in trouble when I encountered hundreds of people descending and no one going up. I had just enough supplies on hand that I knew I'd be able to make it back with a light source, so I just kept going.
The most impressive bit of descent I encountered were two guys jogging down the most precarious paths on the mountain. One slip and you'd be lucky to fall as gracefully and steadily as Westley and Buttercup in The Princess Bride, although I suspect it would be more like Homer Simpson’s fall into Springfield Gorge...
When the peak was in sight and the sun was beginning to sink I went into off-road shortcut mode. I don't think it gained me a thing ultimately, but it was kind of thrilling to just go full goat for a bit.
Finally, after returning to the beaten path, there got to a point as the sun set, the clouds rolled in, and the wind whipped up, that I realized that pushing onward the last 20 minutes to the peak was really pushing my luck. I sat and surrendered to Plan B, thankful for the fresh shirt to change into after saturating the one I hiked up in with sweat
The woman who sold me the shirt warned me there were bears about, so I made weird noises and blasted Chopin on my phone on the way down. The path was far from smooth in places, often composed of big rocks. Without the light of my phone I would have eaten it more than a few times.
Zakopane was a bit of a plan B in my whole trip, so I'm glad I got a good hike out of it. Really, that's the better way than just being lazy about it. Those gondola rides sure do look gorgeous though…
Pt. 11: Wawel for Free and Warsaw Farewell
There's a lot of compelling corners in Wawel Castle; the most intriguing might be the most mysterious. The story goes that there is a "chakra stone" beneath the 11th century St. Gereon's chapel. The Catholic Church doesn't reconcile with this notion. If you wish to investigate this phenomenon, you are on your own.
Visitors to Wawel can see the place where chakra pilgrims have left hand grime on the white walls. When I arrived in the courtyard I felt as if an energy was subtly pulling me towards that spot. Another traveler had also felt that pull. He sat silently in the corner and vibed out for a while. I had no desire to interrupt his reverie, so I looked over the rest of the courtyard. Being pretty much out of money at that point, I was unable to purchase tickets for the tours of the cathedral where Poland's famous kings are buried.
Eventually my fellow chakra hound moved on and I had to try out the corner for myself. Hard to say exactly what I felt, but it was a compelling experience. I was able to slip my sandles off and just ground-out in a place that sure felt like it possessed some kind of elemental power. A middle aged couple joined me there after a few minutes. I think the woman may have slipped her shoes off as well.
My final mission in Krakow was to get to the last record store I hadn't been to yet, which rewarded me with a copy of Maanam's elusive first album, a brilliant Siouxsie-esque slab of hopped-up post-punk. Good folks there, too.
The next morning after breakfast I squeezed into the tiny but ornate Church of St. Thomas, consecrated in 1621. I'd had plans to visit more Krakow churches and chapels, but somehow this was the only one I got inside. Its subtle placement on the corner makes it easy to miss, but it's beautiful enough to be worth a visit.
Finally I made it back to Warsaw to bring this journey full circle and prepare for departure. I checked in to my hostel around the corner from the Palace of Culture and went off to check out the record stores in the area. Finally I found the most elusive album of my quest, the debut LP by Kult. I paid top dollar for it, but it was essential. I'd managed to amass a pretty brilliant collection of Polish rock at this point. The new wave scene of the early-80s was particularly great. Kult was one of the last bands to emerge from that scene, but they might be the greatest. Go catch a show, they're on tour now!
I don't know if there's much more for me to say about this journey. Warsaw's rebuilt oldtown speaks for itself. I did appreciate the teenagers who found a nice spot to sit on the wall. They were much less intrusive than the tourists. I didn't appreciate the American couple who provided occasional commentary during a Chopin recital. The big bread bowl of Zurek helped make up for that annoying experience.
My flight out was in early morning so I basically just stayed up that night at the hostel before I caught the bus to the airport.
I found myself looking for a way to wrap this up and started combing through outtakes for interesting liminal moments that landed on the cutting room floor, setting the result to Hania Rani's "Leaving".
Until next time...
Comments
Post a Comment