Wednesday, May 07, 2003
Another Long Weekend has passed. This is the confluence of May 1, or International Workers' Day (the European version of Labor Day) and May 3 - Constitution Day, the commemoration of the 1791 signing of the Polish Constitution. Warsaw practically empties as everyone who longs to escape from the city's baleful grasp does, and I was faced with the rising urge to stay put in this lovely town for the duration. After all, aren't holidays about getting away from it all? How is it a welcome break from the same-old-same-old if "it all" comes with you? Just like Summer weekends back in Jersey, when I stared slacked-jawed at the onslaught of bumper-to-bumper traffic that issued from Philly just to "get away from it all." I scoffed aloud, every time.
I was wrong.
We left Warsaw a day later than most so we avoided the crowds; I came to the Polish countryside relaxed and ready to boogie. We spent our days on the outskirts of the Mazury Highland in the northeast corner of the country. Specifically we journeyed to Augustov, again managing to avoid the bulk of the Warsiavians since Mazury's fame is founded mostly on its large aquatic expanse ever westward. But the Augustov region is gorgeous, with deeper lakes and (I heard) clearer. We kayaked the lower third of the Czarna Hancia River, reputedly the prettiest in P-Land. It's narrow and insanely winding and blockaded by numerous fallen trees and dead Russians but more than a little pretty.
I’d been expecting wide, wild waters and sheer cliff walls but I can't say why. Anything "sheer" or granite-like in Poland lies southward, but still I marveled that the "spectacular" river my Lonely Planet guidebook promised measured all of 5 meters from bank to bank. But the subtle hues of the wide farmlands, cascading stalks of weedgrass, and the enormous Augustov Forest finally overwhelmed both Gosia and me. It was magnificent - subtly understated. The kind of country one could blink and miss with scarce memory to refer to in later days, the kind of country that demands pause and reflection.
From southeast on the Czarna we looped west into the Augustov Canal and an endless series of tolled locks until we again approached the city. After the second lock we set camp upon a lush idyllic point. It was everything two weary urbanites longing for the restful excitement of the country could desire. Except.... I was less than prepared. Y'see, I had brought along my one-man tent, no more than a wind tunnel really, because I was fairly convinced I would never have convinced Gosia to camp in this, the coldest region of Poland. The polar bears roam all year, and Gosia had worn a jacket all day to foil their razor-sharp cuspids. The nights, even in May, often approach or reach the freezing mark. But camp she did - which meant I was regulated to the campfire, which I kept ablaze all through the long night. I had no sleeping bag, no mattress, just my second skin. But I was so delighted that she wanted to camp and camp willingly I would have done anything to assure her a night of warm, uninterrupted bliss.
The next day, after two hours of sleep for yours truly, grabbed in somnolent handfuls, it poured. But a pair of young kayakers up from the University of Krakow befriended us and offered us several large, thick bright blue garbage bags to cover our large, swollen blue selves and kayak. The moral of this story is despite the bucketing rain and the lack of sleep, I was in Heaven. Take me home, country roads...
That night and the next day were spent with relaxing walks and relaxing meals. Even the trip back to Warsaw couldn’t ruin my mood. 120 of us headed back for the Big City that Sunday afternoon, and when the state-owned PKP train pulled in it was already full from points further north. In its unassailable wisdom, PKP sent a train that was exactly three cars long - and the first one was the engine. We crammed in toe-to-toe. Later 50 more hardbitten types crowded in and we were butt-to-butt. 50 more and we were elbow-to-kneecap. Two hours later we changed trains and basked in relative luxury. Sure that one was SRO, too. But we beat most of the crowds, tucked in our shoulders, and slid ourselves onto what passes for plush comfort out in these parts.
And here we are. You know, many fleeing Warsiavians’ idea of a vacation is changing the venue of where they chose to get drunk, and certainly the people who shared the guesthouse with us in Augustov were no exception. But many more go to enjoy the natural joys of this country… Poland is sublime, filled with delights to satiate the soul and drive off the demons of despair. Let the train company bureaucracy rot in hell, me and my wife are just fine.
posted by mark 8:14 PM
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