Once on the tram - although I am heavily laden with bag and laptop, I start to enjoy the trip. Even though only an hour ago I was literally dragging my self from bed to shower - the espresso has kicked in and my feet are tapping away, and I'm trying to avoid singing along and shouting "La Tristesse Durera" at my fellow Tram goers.
The Manic's pre-cobain crunchy guitars have become so refreshing. It's hard to belive that I used to know people’s whose CD collections stacked the Manics beside Poison, faster Pussycat, Guns N’ Roses and other assorted hair metal. I never saw much connection between Axl Rose singing “Bend over bitch I got a use for you” about some cherry red lipsticked blond and tales of socialism from welsh mining villages. It’s got my feet tapping anyway.
I briskly walk into Amsterdam central, walking quickly to the beat – late enough to spur me on but early enough not to be in an danger. When I’m on the train I suddenly realise that I’m going to a foreign country with a language I’ve never heard and a currency…. I have no idea if Poland have taken the Euro(I told you it was a late night). I think about asking the rest of my carriage, but remember that I’m no longer in Glasgow, where it would be acceptable to open a conversation with your fellow traveler with the line “Haw mate. You ken whit muni they yais in Poland???”. The Dutch unfortunately keep themselves to themselves. A quick check of my guidebook(I must be excited I bought a guide book) tells me that the Polish use the Zloty and there are 100 Grosy’s in a Zloty.
I arrive at Schiphol as Gold Against the soul finishes. I worry for a second that I’m going to have to be faced with a decision as to where my mood goes next, but it’s okay cos I scroll through the G’s on my iPod and go to Generation Terrorists.
The Manic’s are an oddity in music. They represented this non-macho non-cock rock, before (Or in Sync with) grunge coming across from Seattle just a few years before Britain would consider the lie of the land and put forward Liam Gallagher as their answer. This was just before my time, but I remember the photos of devoted fans in eyeliner and leopard skin. I’ve never really been sure why. Glam fans, Hair Metal Guitars, Socialist Lyrics and grunge like personas, but most importantly “get me to the airport” properties.
Schiphol(Or any airport) is a very hard place to stay “up”. Despite the Manic’s best efforts, the KLM people processing challenges me. I am determined not to let it get to me. The best way to do this is laugh at it. First step – it’s impossible to check in for a KLM flight at Schiphol without using the self service check in. No matter how much you try to tell the staff. They never believe me that my Passport is too traveled to scan. So I have to get them to help me, then it’s off to baggage check in, which is now run by 40 untrained and 5 trained rather than 30 trained staff. This is clearly a more economically sound process, except, I have never heard of, seen, stood behind or been someone who didn’t need one of the 5 trained staff to get my baggage checked in.
Rant Rant rant, One more. The people who seal their passports in a time locked nuclear bunker within their hand bag after they check in because they don’t realise they need it at PASSPORT control.
……and breathe out………
The other side of the security is much better. Everyone’s got rid of their bags, they are almost on holiday(Or at least doing business somewhere exotic). Now you just walk to your gate and get to wait while playing the people watching game. I sit about wondering if Polish people have a specific look. This assumes that all the people waiting have an end destination of Poland. All I can gather is that polish sounds more Russian than I expected, in that there is quite a hissy S’ and Z as they speak.
I’m on the plane, so I get to look through the phrase book and teach myself the basics:
Tak – Yes
Nye – No
Poproshe Beelet Poznan – A ticket to Poznan
Fyed non strome – one way
Dzien Dobrey – Hello
Djen Koo Yay – Thank you
All polish is phonetic – I’ve decided I’m unlikely to be writing much polish.
This is all completely useless when I get into Frederic Chopin Airport in Warsaw. I’ve been to his Grave(Paris), I’ve listened to his music, I’ve been to his holiday destination(Palma De Mallorca), and now I’ve been to his airport.
After finally convincing my Taxi driver that he was taking me to the train station and not all the way to Poznan, I get my first experience of Poland. The station ticket offices are a line of about 20 booths where above them is a magnetic board with all the times and destinations. It’s amazing. From here I can geta train to Moscow, Prague, Estonia, Brussels, Paris – Just about anywhere in the continent. I’m sure I could do the same from Amsterdam – but you rarely see it on one board in front of you.
I wait about 40 mins in a queue with 2 people in it. Soon it’s a case of
Do you speak English?”
Blank
“Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
Blank
“Poproshe Beelet Poznan”
“Youa want…..” “Ticket Poznan”
It’s clear – my polish is so bad that she decides that it’s better to pull out the little English she has.
It appears to work as I’m now the proud owner of something which looks like the Bank statement from a cashline machine and appears to my ticket.
Now, since the 40 minute queue made me miss my last train – I have 30 mins to wait. I go off and find myself some food. Another point and nod moment gets me something in a paper bag which has been wrapped as tight as a fish supper. I’ll keep it till the train. For the first time I get to sit down and get my moleskin out and write this stuff down.
Poland so far has been really really amazing –it’s an amazing feeling. It’s dirty, dull and rough. The lights seem to be set at 60% as if they are conserving electricity. Today – it’s dull outside and this just adds to a really grim atmosphere within the dull grey train platform. The trains add to the atmosphere, they look really old and functional. Shabby – but it looks like a good mechanic has been keeping them ticking over forever. It's really great being this far east - it feels so foreign to me. It's made me really look forward to Bulgaria.(I’m going in August) A language that you have no way of understanding, and different money really makes a difference. I remember when I was about 12 and everywhere felt like that. Now Europe has got so small, - it's a bit of a shame. (maybe I’ve just got bigger.)
Between looking at the map and seeing times, prices, and destinations – I’m ready to forget about the conference, exchange my holdall for a back pack and go off road. Names like Moscow, Prague and Gdansk seem so much more exotic than Brussels, Eindhoven and Franfurt.
Soon the train arrives and we have the shoving session to get into our little compartments. I’m thrilled to see some Cyrillic on the side. This gets my heart racing, old train, grey dirtiness, lots of people running around shouting in language I’ve never heard , and a train which is a connection from somewhere that uses Cyrillic script. Again it’s so much more exciting that seeing a Parisian FNAC bag come through Amsterdam or a local Newcastle paper come through Glasgow.
I sit and take in the sights while reading my guidebook, half in the hope that someone in my carriage embraces me as a foreigner and takes me under their wing. It doesn’t happen. I’m stuck with the sights. It’s disappointingly flat. Living in the Netherlands makes you crave elevation. Soon I learn to look past the flatness and you get these fleeting glimpses of polish local life. I see an old weather –beaten man in work dungarees walking a solitary cow along a dirt path, a farm worker forking hay and two cyclists ambling along a country road. This all exists elsewhere but for some reason it looks so quaint an rural. Maybe I’m high on the traveling bug. You see really old rusty tractors which work as well as the train I’m on despite their looks and their age.
Eventually I’m in Poland and one Taxi ride from my hotel.
I started out listening to the Manics, but I was through justa botu everything after that - a lot of the time, my iPod was off in order to get the aural experience of Poland. If anyone is really interested I was listening to Soundgarden with my hair down, wearing shorts and converse and supping a diet coke when I arrived at the Hotel. This seemed to not agree with the supercilious little man behind the counter. He threw the key at me. Maybe my father's tales in the late 80's about keeping quite refined when we are in posh hotels are actually true. I enjoyed getting up his nose anyway.
I look out my window for my first relaxed glimpse of Poznan. It’s a mixture of concrete communist functionality – very old weathered buildings and greenery.
I’ll explore tomorrow after my first long lie past 8am since......Hmmmm..... before I went to Scotland sometime.
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