After two days off my motorcycle I was looking forward to getting back on the road. It was going to be a long day; I had to ride over 600km to reach Kraków in Poland. Leaving Berlin I was filled with equal measures of excitement and apprehension as I started the next leg of my journey. I didn’t know what to expect when I crossed the Polish border. Germany was somehow very familiar to me, and I felt secure there. Poland was totally unknown, the language completely unfamiliar and I knew very little about rules and customs there… but I was excited, very excited.
Not long after leaving Berlins’ city limits I had to get some petrol and the nearest was in a small village some miles of the autobann. Driving through the East German countryside was such a pleasure, the roads are flawless and the scenery stunning. I passed through a couple of small and impeccably maintained villages to get to the petrol station, from a distance they looked like model villages they were so neat, tidy, and colourful. It’s at moments like that that I take a deep breath and remind myself how incredible this journey is and how lucky I am to be here.
With the tank filled and some supplies for the next leg of the journey on-board I headed back towards the autobann. The German – Polish border was about an hours drive and I expected my next stop to be inside Poland… exciting!! I should have appreciated the first class road I was riding on a little more, things were about to change quite dramatically.
There was little evidence that I was approaching the Polish border until I turned a corner and there it was. The autobann fanned out into six or seven lanes that led to old and abandoned customs cabins that looked unfriendly to say the least. The old customs complex was vast with lanes dividing over and over that led to rows of inspection booths where I imagine Polish border Police thoroughly inspected every detail of everyone hoping to cross the border. Riding under a huge canopy that covered the road as I passed through thought the complex I started to wonder why it was here at all… surely Poland and East Germany were both Soviet controlled and wouldn’t have any need for international customs borders?
I didn’t get to ponder that question for very long. Almost immediately the road surface vanished and I found myself riding on what looked ancient concrete with gaps and potholes looking dangerously close to being wider than my front wheel. Suddenly my focus was trained almost exclusively on the road and it seemed the key to survival was to avoid falling into a hole. Apart from gaps in the road the surface was incredibly uneven and I could feel the motorcycle shaking as I negotiated my way deeper into a seemingly uninhabited Polish countryside.
After 50km or so the road dramatically improved as I moved onto what looked like the beginning of a new road network. The relief was immediate, I settled back into the saddle and looked out for somewhere to stop, eat and check my bones for fractures. I expected to come across a old petrol station or maybe a village but to my surprise I passed a shiny new 10m high sign for McDonald’s. Although I wanted this trip to be full af local experiences, food and drink I have to admit I was relieved to find food that was familiar and predictable after the road I had just travelled.
Back on the road my next stop was Wroclaw. The outskirts of the city resembled a run-down out-of-town industrial park with rows of warehouses, factories and retail outlets of varying sizes and states of repair. Getting closer to the city centre I passed a large Soviet WWII cemetery, the entrances flanked by armoured tanks with their turrets pointing towards the sky. Moving closer to the centre the traffic and streets closed in around me. This was a busy city! For the first time I felt vulnerable and unsafe but I carried on deeper into the city;Â I wanted to see its famous river, bridges and cathedrals… I probably wouldn’t be back this way for a long, long time.
After a late lunch in a small cafe I was back on the road, this time to Kraków. Once back on the highway I realised I was running low on fuel, my trusty GPS gave me a list of nearby petrol stations. No were on the highway, and I decided to head to the nearest one just in case the data was out of date. Leaving the highway I rode down a tiny country lane for what seemed like 20 minutes before coming to a small village. I was fascinated by this place, it was so old and well-preserved, like a page out of the history books. The church was, I guess, Russian Orthodox with huge golden domes perched on top of ancient towers. The streets were paved but dusty and the houses looked well maintained but unchanged since they were first built. I rode slowly through the village, taking everything in until I reached the petrol station, the closed petrol station! This was not good. My GPS identified the next petrol station in the next village. Fuel was running very low so cautiously I set off only to be deposited at the other side of the next village opposite an empty field. Getting worried now, and my GPS promised me that the next village had a station so without any other choice I set off. Third time lucky I thought when I saw what looked like and Esso sign in the distance. It wasn’t Esso but another petrol supplier BUT it was petrol. The station was basic and down a short but steep dirt track. My feeling of relief turned to disbelief when I pulled up in front of a pump and noticed that the pump display was off and there wasn’t anyone about. I thought for sure it was closed, just then the door of an anonymous container close to the station opened and an angry looking young man with a shaven head walk purposefully towards me. He glanced at the registration of my motorcycle and politely asked me, in English, how much petrol I wanted.
I breathed a sign of relief, not only was I getting a tank of petrol but I wasn’t going to get mugged! The tank was almost dry, he put in 14.9 litres of petrol, it’s a 15 litre tank… that was too close and I couldn’t afford to let the tank run low again. He asked how did I want to pay, I suggested credit card, he nodded approvingly and I followed him to the container that he emerged from earlier. Inside the container was a well stocked, air-conditioned modern shop. We could have been in a busy service station in Dublin or Paris, it seemed a little surreal to think we were in a container in a dusty field on the outskirts of a tiny village deep in rural Poland.
It took me quite a while to get back to the highway but finally I was back on the road and with a big lesson learned!!
I stopped a few more times at service stations and lay-bys. It was getting late and I wanted to get to Kraków at a reasonable time so I was conscious of how long I spent resting. By the time I entered Kraków it was past 8pm. I had to find my hotel and secure the motorcycle for the next two nights. My GPS did a wonderful job of getting me to the right street but a woeful job of counting as it deposited my at the wrong end of a very long street. After cruising the street a couple of times I found my hotel. It was an interesting building, set back from the street and of a classic ’70’s design. The interior was original and thoroughly uninspiring but there was a nice comfy bed with my name on it and that’s all that mattered.
Checking in was interesting. The woman serving me spoke English, she seemed to listen to my question but her answer seemed to belong to a different question. so I’d ask the same question is a different way and I’d get another random answer. The only question I got an accurate answer for was directions to my room. I’m convinced that’s a technique she has perfected over the years to stop people asking her questions, it worked like a treat with me and off I went to check my room.
I had to park and secure my motorcycle before I could completely relax and at the rear of the hotel was a car park operated by a private company consisting of two tough looking women. I parked on the pavement and enquired about the cost of parking a motorcycle. The answer was the same cost as a car. This I could not accept; car=4 wheels, motorcycle=2 wheels. I think Orwell would agree that in this situation 4 wheels bad, 2 wheels good. But they weren’t having it. The price was fixed. I argued but wasn’t gaining any ground and had to concede defeat. At least my motorcycle would be safe and I could forget about it while I enjoyed Kraków.
It was getting later, almost 10pm before I left the hotel, and I made straight for the Main Market Square for dinner. This old square was stunning at night. It is huge, the size of a football pitch and more, and it is surrounded by cafes restaurants and bars. The restaurant I choose had a great view of the square and the food was just perfect for the end of a long day of adventures on the road. I spent a few hours over dinner pouring over my guide book for tomorrow will be all Kraków!