God is definitely not on our side - he supports the s#dd#ng French

In the World cup Group G matches last night France, who had not previously won, had to beat Togo by a margin of two goals to be sure of qualifying if South Korea (won one, drawn one) held Switzerland (won one, drawn one) to a draw. Both France and Switzerland won 2-0. So much for the power of prayer.

Travels to Poland II

In the last ten years or so I have visited Poland five times, flying three times and taking the coach and train once each. On a sixth occasion I tried to let the train take the strain, again, but Eurostar and signalling failures combined to ensure I missed my connection at Brussels, and had I caught the next train to Poland I would have arrived in Katowice well after everyone else had left for Szczyrk. So I gave up and came home. Did Eurostar give a damn? I'll let you guess.
The fares I paid, in the order I paid them, were: plane, £300; train, £200; coach, £90; plane, £180; plane, £80. Can anyone make any sense of that? Sensible advice, however, is never travel to Poland via Eurostar - you'll pay twice as much as the air fare and may be left stranded in Brussels.
My latest visit was in June this year (2006). My Polish hosts had previously suggested I bring my wife, or a daughter, but these have been unable to accompany me because the symposium is held during school term. It has also been suggested I bring a friend. Two years ago I went alone and, because I was mostly left alone, this year I invited a mate - a local bellringer. I checked this would be OK, and my Polish friends were most enthusiastic. They said they would arrange some sightseeing. I mentioned my mate had expressed an interest in seeing Auschwitz and Krakow, and I would be very happy to see either again. Before I booked the plane tickets I checked to ensure I would arrive in Katowice at a convenient time, we decided on June 9th. I was told we would be met at the airport and given a lift to the university hotel. On the Tuesday we were due to leave they would arrange for a car to take us from Szczyrk to the airport.
Three days before our departure I received an email asking if I was arriving on the 8th, as we had arranged, and informing me everyone was very busy organizing the symposium and could we make use of "a convenient bus service from the airport to the centre of Katowice" and come to their Institute of Chemistry unassisted, otherwise they would "have to send someone from our team to collect you from the airport". I reminded them our arrival date was the 9th, not the 8th, and their story changed. Now it was very difficult to meet us because they were holding PhD examinations. They would arrange for a taxi to take us to the university hotel.
I was somewhat pissed off and expressed this somewhat forcefully, reminding them they had said our arrival time was convenient. I also requested, if we were to be taken straight to the university hotel, that they suggest a place we could eat on the Friday evening, somewhere we were likely to find staff who could speak English; a map showing how to get there would also be very useful. I made a point that on the previous occasion I had been dropped at the hotel I could not find anywhere suitable to eat - most places had been closed and I had ended up buying bread and cheese in a supermarket and eating in my room for two days. They sensed my displeasure and agreed one of their staff would pick us up and take us to the Institute.
This duly happened as planned. At the Institute we attended brief meetings to (i) discuss the future of the journal I worked for, (ii) to discuss plans for the next few days, and (iii) to make fun of the English language. The main instigator of the last was a retired German professor who had been invited to be an external PhD examiner at the Institute, had subsequently been found to be unsuitable, but who had turned up anyway. I had met this chap before. He is the type of guy who is a legend in his own mind - whatever anyone else has done he has done it first, more often, and better. This man could bore for Europe. At the end of the meeting the bore s#dd#d off and we were taken for a most enjoyable meal by our hosts (result?) to soften us up before informing us they would be unable to take us sightseeing because they were taking the German bore instead. Did they invite us along as well? Did they f##k. Not that I could have tolerated a whole day with him.
So we spent Saturday wandering around Katowice. After having failed miserably to find an English newspaper at the railway station, something I had achieved successfully several times during previous visits, we searched for a decent bar and, after an hour or so, found one selling 300-millilitre bottles of beer, 5.6% alcohol, for something under £1.50 each. Result. After a few of these, and a snack lunch at the same place, and a few more beers, we returned to our hotel to sleep it off before heading out for dinner at the place we had eaten the previous evening (and where we had noticed English on the menu - if you see what I mean). The place is called Tatiana. Highly recommended if you are ever in Katowice. A huge menu and superb food. It's in the pedestrian precinct.
Next day we packed and set off for the Institute of Chemistry and the coach to Szczyrk. We saw another guest of the Institute being picked up and given a lift by a member of Institute's staff. Did she have spare seats in the car? She certainly did. Had anyone offered us a lift? Had they f##k. I was beginning to wonder what I had done to upset them.
While we were being driven from the airport to the Institute I had asked what time the coach to the symposium would depart from Katowice. Eleven a.m., I was informed. When we had reached the institute one of the symposium organizers advised arriving at 10:30 a.m. Yet another subsequently suggested 10 a.m. We calculated the average and arrived just before 10:30. The bus was waiting. Empty. When others started to climb on, so did we. We waited. Gone 11 we were still waiting. The professor organizing the symposium came to tell us the bus would be leaving at 11:30 "on the dot". That was at 11:10. The coach left ten minutes later.
On arrival at the hotel in Szczyrk we dumped our rucksacks and headed for the bar. It was closed, despite a notice on the door saying it opened at 9 a.m. We decided instead to drink some whisky we had bought 'duty-free' at Luton. My mate went off to get a glass (there being only one per room). He arrived at my room a couple of minutes later with no glass. "I've got the bar open," he said proudly. He had telephoned reception, ascertained English was spoken, and asked when the bar was opening. On being told it was open, he had informed them it was not. It would be open in a few minutes, said the receptionist. We returned to the bar. It was still closed. We waited a few minutes. It remained closed. My mate was becoming a trifle impatient. We were both very thirsty. We headed for reception. "The bar is still not open," said my mate. A telephone call was made. It would open in a few minutes, we were informed. We returned to the bar. It was still closed but opened almost immediately. They were selling draught beer, 5.6% alcohol, at £1 for 500 millilitres. Result. After a few of these we had lunch and then a few more. After a nap to sleep it off we had dinner, and then a few more beers. That was more or less how we filled our time on Monday also - with the addition of a small walk in the mountains before it got too hot and a barbecue in the evening. At one of the meals on the Monday we were asked why we had not been at the disco on the Sunday night. "I don't do discos," I said. "And we weren't told about it anyway," said my mate, not quite sotto voce.
Tuesday, and time to leave, and the arrangements had changed yet again. No longer was a car to take us directly to the airport. The head of the Institute was taking us back to Katowice in his car and would show us where to catch the bus to the airport. No one was 100% sure where the bus stop was but, hey, it had to be somewhere. I was beginning to have doubts we'd get to the airport at all - let alone on time. To be fair, the head of the Institute did find the bus stop, but decided instead to ask his son to give us a lift to the airport. For that we were very grateful. While we waited for him we drank 300-millilitre bottles of beer, 5.6% alcohol, in the Novotel bar for something under £3.00 each. These prices seem as sensible as fares to Poland.
Despite a few more beers at the airport, and yet another very fine meal, I don't think I'll be travelling to Poland again.

Travels to Poland I (Part 4)

My hosts also took me to Krakow, a beautiful city, much of it built by Italian architects during the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and, fortunately, completely unspoiled by the war. I have been lucky enough to visit twice. The huge market square, market stalls with unbelieveable amounts of inexpensive amber for sale, the university, the Jewish quarter, and an atmosphere I have encountered nowhere other than Vienna will for ever remain in my memory. If you ever have the opportunity to visit, take it.
I was hugely sorry when, on Friday 8th, the time came for my return to the UK. I was accompanied to the (correct) bus station and found my coach without trauma. The return journey was, as might be expected, similar to the outward trip, but with a few, memorable, differences.
The best was the double seat I had to myself - the bus was less than half full.
The second was a very pleasant stewardess and a supply of Polish beer. I only had enough Polish cash left for one bottle. I was distressed when I discovered this, but very soon had reason to be grateful. After quite a slow journey through traffic jams the coach stopped on the outskirts of Katowice and picked up two passengers - a slim and very attractive young lady and her very fat and very repulsive wailing child. They had clearly been visiting the lady's parents, who had accompanied them to the bus stop and then accompanied them to their seats at the front of the coach, despite protestations from the driver who was, by then, presumably very late because of the jams. The brat seemed to be wailing because he was leaving his grandparents, who had clearly been spoiling him something rotten - they were stuffing him full of chocolate as I watched and, before finally being persuaded to leave the bus, gave him a whole load more with which to stuff himself on the journey. This he must have done with some enthusiasm because the slim lady suddenly rushed, fat brat in arms, from the front of the bus, heading for the bog. She did not make it. Just as she reached the the top of the stairs which led down to the bog the kid erupted like a chocolate volcano, covering himself, the stairs, the walls of the staircase, the bog door, and much of the slim young lady with runny yellow-brown goo. If the mouth had been pointing in my direction I also would have been well within range. I was very lucky indeed.
To be fair to the lady, she braved the dripping walls and the slimey stairs to take the slimey, dripping kid into the loo, and remained there with him for some time. When they re-appeared she had clearly removed most of the goo which could be scraped away, and given them both a wash, but their clothes were still very soiled. They made their way sheepishly back to their seats. The slim young lady made no attempt to devomit the staircase. Neither did anyone else - presumably because there was no high-pressure hose available. Which is why I was glad I had not been drinking loads of beer. When the time came for the lady and brat to alight they were wearing completely different outfits. I still can't decide whether I wished I had been sitting somewhere near the front of the bus. Would the undoubted excitement of watching the lady change her outfit have compensated for the urge to throw up whenever I saw the child? Would it all have been worthwhile had I been able to throw up over the kid?
To add insult to injury, one of the videos on the way home was about an American kid that fell through a hole in his back garden into an underground cave, and about wailing mums, anguished dads, and heroic rescuers who finally retrieved the bastard. Yeuk.
For obvious reasons the journey home was broken by toilet stops at occasional cafes. To save time the ladies queued for the loos and the gents p#ss#d up against the nearest wall. Must have been quite a sight. I was glad I had not poured vast amounts of beer down my throat and had to request p#ss-stops every ten minutes.
To add to the delays, on the journey back it took four hours to pass through customs on the Polish/German border, mostly, it seemed, because we had to take our turn in a huge queue of heavy lorries. We arrived at Victoria on time, however, so clearly this delay was expected.

Travels to Poland I (Part 3 - the serious stuff)

On Thursday 7th my hosts "played truant" from the their own symposium and organized a trip to Auschwitz for me and two other non-Polish speakers - German and Japanese professors. This was some experience. You almost expect to turn up and find the place under a black cloud, with no flowers growing, and no birds singing, but from the outside the place looked just like an ordinary barracks, which, indeed, it once had been. The only indications of its history were remnants of once electrified barbed wire (with signs saying 'stop' in German and Polish in front of it) and the sign 'Arbeit macht Frei' over the main gate, which was beyond the main car park (which contained booths selling photo films, ice creams, etc. - the usual tourist stuff). Inside, what a difference. Many of the 28 barrack buildings contained exhibitions devoted to different aspects of camp life, or to the nations whose subjects had been incarcerated. The walls on both sides of the corridors of almost all these buildings were lined with photographs, three deep, 50 or more to a row, taken by the Nazis, of the camp prisoners accommodated in the first few years. It was chilling to wonder how many, if any, of these had survived. In later years there had been too many prisoners to photograph and they were identified solely by means of tattoos. In the final months many were transferred directly from the trains to the gas chambers.
When the Russians liberated the camp they found sacks of human hair in a warehouse ready for shipping to the German textile industry. This hair (much of which has been shown to contain traces of cyanide) had been unpacked, and was exhibited in one of the buildings. It filled a case approximately 50 m long by 2 m wide by 1.5 m deep. And this was only the stuff that hadn't been sent away from the camp.
It is difficult to describe the atmosphere around these and other horrors. Here and there were notices saying that " ... at least twenty thousand prisoners died in this room ... " or " ... an unknown number of prisoners died in this area ... " and requesting visitors show respect by maintaining silence. Needless to say, these notices were ignored by many. The Japanese guy in our party, clearly a keen photographer, had to take a snap of every gory detail - gas chamber, crematorium, gallows, etc., etc - perhaps he was studying technique. He must have taken well over 100 photos, and often the 'silence' of the most sombre areas was broken by the whine of his camera rewinding. Some tourists were wondering around with camcorders going full time, others couldn't be bothered to turn off their mobile 'phones, and in one courtyard in which an unknown number of Polish prisoners had been shot or hung I even saw one pair sitting on an outside window sill eating their lunch.
The visit ended with a 30-minute film. For me this did not have the same impact as walking through the buildings - it was the sort of thing seen many times on newsreels and TV programmes about the war. Clearly, though, it had a very traumatic effect on the two Poles in our party - and they had seen it many times. On my two visits to Poland it has seemed to me there is barely anyone alive in Poland whose family has not been affected by some Nazi atrocity or other. For example, one member of the family of the symposium organizer had been sent to a concentration camp and not seen again; she had, incidentally, also lost a relative on the American liner sunk by a U-boat early in the war. Another member of the staff of the department had lost all members of her family but one.

Travels to Poland I (Part 2)

Two aspects of the coach trip I almost overlooked - the in-flight entertainment and weird customs.
Most of the time the radio was playing (mostly English) pop music with the DJs' language changing seamlessly from English to French to Belgian to Dutch to German and, finally, to Polish as the journey progressed. The volume was low and did not interfere with reading or low-level mental activity. Suddenly, however, shortly after crossing the Channel, the volume increased sharply. After a while I noticed this and, wondering what the Frogs were up to now, looked up to determine whether anyone else was as irritated as I. Thus it dawned on me the music had given way to a video show. This comprised three videos in rapid succession, on screens smaller than that on my PC. One was at the front of the bus. As I was sitting approximately two thirds of the way back it was about as useful as my trying to read a book at arms' length with no specs. The other screen was just behind me and on my right and I'd have been able to see it quite conveniently had my neck been a couple of feet longer and contained several universal joints. None of this was a problem, however, because all the videos were dubbed - you could hear the first few English words of any sentence and this was then drowned by Polish, spoken by the same male voice, irrespective of whether or not a male, female, or child was speaking, and at the same loud volume, irrespective of whether a gunfight or tender love scene was in progress. (Quite a lot of Polish TV is like this.) One of the videos was Seven Eternities of Brad Pitt. I remember no details of the others. This delight continued for approximately six hours, but I suppose I can be grateful I was spared Polish hysterics at the antics of Mr Bean.
Weird customs.
The customs at Dover and Calais showed no interest in us, neither did those at the France/Belgium, Belgium/Holland, or Holland/Germany borders - we just sailed through. EC rules, OK. An announcement on the ferry had instructed those carrying any food to dump it over board, owing to the foot and mouth disease rampant in the UK at the time. It was apparent on the continuing journey that no one took any notice of this crap. The customs on the German/Polish border was something else - perhaps they still thought there was a war on. We stopped. There was a delay. The Gestapo came on, inspected passports, and pronounced everything satisfactory. Another delay. Then the Polish lot asked for all the passports to be collected. Another delay, then these were returned apart from those of three passengers, all from the same family, with which there was a problem. This family (typical slobs like you see all over the UK - thick fat skinhead bloke in a vest, dumb blonde wife in tears, kid wot thinks it's fun to run up and down the bus banging on the bog door) was escorted to an office where I was hoping, no doubt in common with everyone else on the coach, they would be summarily executed, or at least tortured a bit. It was not to be. About an hour later they were escorted back to the coach. They didn't even look as if they had been soundly beaten. Or even slapped about a bit. Perhaps the cops could bear their company no longer.
We were then all ordered to wash our hands. This was another F&M precaution, rather than a counter to contamination by slob families or gay blokes with big arses. Can you believe it? No foot-baths or showers, no bag searches for illicit nosh, no strip searches and internal examinations - just wash our hands. We trooped from the bus, sprayed our hands with antiseptic by pressing a button on a dispenser, then rubbed our hands dry - there were no towels. Then, at last, we were off again. The total delay at the border was approximately two hours.
Twenty four hours on a coach sounds like hell, but honestly it was not that bad. The return fare was only approximately £90. If it again comes to a choice of coughing up ca £300 for an air fare or £180 for the train, I know which I'd choose. OK, so deep and satisfying sleep was difficult to come by, but a two-hour nap after the car drive from hell resulted incomplete rejuvenation.
Next day, I guess I must have been picked up from the hotel and taken to the Institute of Chemistry, probably by the driver from hell, but I can't say I remember too clearly. Perhaps something horrible happened and I blanked it out completely. Anyway a coach was laid on from the Institute to the hotel in the mountains where the symposium was being held. On arrival I dumped the rucksack, found a bar for a couple of litres, then went back to the room for the French Open on Eurosport. Later that evening was the opening banquet where, as during the rest of my trip, I was treated as guest of honour. Then it was back to the bar. I was bought as much beer and vodka as I could drink and was rarely allowed to buy a single drink, let alone a round.
The symposium proper started next day, but as most of the presentations were in Polish I gave them a miss. The first two working days were pretty similar - excellent breakfast, slob about, walk in the mountains (every sodding farm house, and there were many, had a sodding big dog that barked at me in sodding Polish), couple of beers, excellent lunch, French Open, read a bit, more beer, afternoon tea, you know the sort of thing - a right drag. And things were even better in the evenings. Tuesday evening was a barbecue with what was described as 'mountain music' as entertainment. Sounds awful, especially as I couldn't understand a word, but they were excellent musicians. One guy was wearing a small cello as one would a guitar and playing it with a bow. Ever seen anything like that? Again the food - it included barbecued whole pigs - was excellent and the beer unlimited. When it got cold we did a runner to the bar and I was treated to several approximately half-pint glasses of what I was told was a mixture of apple juice and vodka. This also was excellent. From the taste it was clearly not straight apple juice but I did assume the vodka content was minimal. I later discovered it was 1:2 vodka/apple juice. This might explain the mother of all hangovers next morning.
Wednesday evening was another banquet; this time the music was provided by a local gypsy group, who again were excellent. One of the performers, clearly no older than sixteen or seventeen, had an superb voice - world class. Doubt he'll ever be well known, though. Shame.

Travels to Poland I (Part 1)

Saturday 2nd June 2001, up with the lark, 09:30 coach to Victoria, wait a bit, then on to the 13:00 coach to Krakow via Katowice. Thick bus driver doesn't understand the system and tries to rip off the wrong ticket, but gives it back before we come to blows. Perhaps he was hoping I would be happy to remain in Poland for ever. Actually the man had a point. The coach was almost full of Poles - no more than half a dozen Brits. My seat was next to a young (twenties?) Pole who seemed to feel he'd paid for my seat as well as his. I refused to budge and thus for 24 hours was treated to his rubbing his thigh and arse against mine. When the time came for a kip he curled up and thrust his whole arse at me. Perhaps he was hoping to get laid - he was dressed completely in white, bleached gelled hair, perfume, trainers - know what I mean? Anyway I was not tempted. Toward the end of the journey I discovered I could pull a lever and thus slide my seat approximately six inches from his, into the aisle.
Despite the Brits on the bus, all official announcements were in Polish only, so I had no idea what was going on except on the few occasions I overheard parts of someone giving a translation to an English couple some way down the bus. Early on I tried asking my big-arsed mate if he knew what was going on, but at that stage of the journey he couldn't speak English (miffed perhaps?), although much later he started conversing in good English about my reason for travelling to Poland. Perhaps it was because I pulled my lever.
Otherwise the coach journey was not too bad - even got some kip. Didn't pass through anywhere interesting - the coach did not pick up or set down passengers between Victoria and Poland.
Arrived Katowice Sunday, 14:00 local time, expecting to be met. In response to a request from my Polish friends I had enquired, when booking, where the coach would drop me in Poland - so they could await my arrival. In the event I was dropped somewhere completely different (the place looked more like a bomb site than a coach station). I did not know this at the time so I waited, and waited, and asked the occasional lost-looking Pole if he was looking for an IWD. None was. Indeed none seemed to understand the meaning of 'IWD' (where have these people been?) or knew a word of English, which was a problem, because my knowledge of Polish was similar.
All of a sudden the coach station was deserted except for me. I had a telephone number for use in emergencies and so sought a 'phone box. I had no Polish dosh, of course, not thinking I would need any at this stage - and notes would not have helped anyway. Luckily the 'phone boxes I found took cards. But they did not take any of mine. They did, however, talk to me in Polish.
"Ah," thought I, "you desperately need cash," so I donned rucksack and headed into what I hoped was the direction of the centre of town. My first bit of luck was to encounter one of the non-IWD-seeking Poles from the bomb-site. He screamed Polish at me loudly and pointed. I followed his finger and ended up at a proper bus station. "Ah," thought I again, my Polish mates would be here. They were not. It was the station for local buses. I wondered around the city looking for a cash machine from which I could obtain a Zloty or two. All were broken or closed. Tried asking some Polish fuzz if they could speak English. They could not.
The railway station was next to the bus station and here, second stroke of luck, I found a currency exchange booth open on a Sunday. Handed over my earth money and received Polenotes and a few coins. The station was awash with telephone booths. Would they accept my coins? Would they f#cksky (even though the piccies implied my coins were the correct value). Went to a kiosk and bought a chockie bar with a hugezlotynote and got some hugezlotycoins in the change. Third stroke of luck, these were accepted by the 'phones. Made a call and very soon found my mates - they had, of course, been waiting at a third coach station (at the address given to me by the booking office).
Terrifying drive to my hotel. My driver (whom I had met on my last visit to Poland) liked cutting corners and driving on the left side of the road (i.e. the side which would have been right in the UK). He had previously done this one dark night in Poland and driven at speed under a large lorry, which had no lights on, thus killing his wife and his sister-in-law's daughter, breaking his daughter's leg in several places, and ending up in a coma himself for six weeks (ripping off his face in the process and requiring substantial plastic surgery). And, can you believe it, he still cuts corners. And with his daughter in the car. He and said (beautiful, English-speaking) daughter later took me for a pizza. Nice meal, but I was glad to get out of his car at the end of the evening. Last time he drove me all over Poland. This time I did not have that pleasure again.

Travels to Poland - the preamble

I do some copyediting for a chromatography journal produced, in English, by the Institute of Chemistry of the University of Silesia, Katowice, Poland. (I took over the work from the English wife of a Polish Spitfire pilot!) To thank me for this work I have regularly been invited to a scientific symposium they organize in Szczyrk, in the Carpathian mountains. The plan is that I make my own way to Katowice, stay a night or two in a very pleasant suite in a hotel owned by the university, and then travel to Szczyrk on a coach organized to take Institute of Chemistry staff to the symposium. On the first two occasions I was entertained like royalty - driven everywhere, taken on several sightseeing trips, not allowed to buy a drink, etc., etc. The last couple of times I've been almost completely ignored - dumped in hotels, told to make my own way around, left entirely to my own devices. In Szczyrk this is not too much of a burden - the place is a tourist/skiing resort, some English is spoken, there are fine walks among beautiful, unspoiled mountain scenery, and the food, like everywhere in Poland, is superb. Katowice, on the other hand, is a typical industrial town in a mining area - the English equivalents are described as 'grim'. There I have found it almost impossible to discover a restaurant in which English is spoken or which has English on its menu. On my last trip but one I ended up buying food in a supermarket and eating in my hotel room for a couple of days.
These reports highlight my range of experiences. Apologies to members of The Drivel List (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Bellringing/) who have already read most of Travels to Poland I - if they don't wish to read it all again they should jump to Part 4, where there is some new material.