A Modern Polish Fable for the Young and Young at Heart

A man was riding his bike along a quite country road in Poland one day and stopped in the shade of a roadside forest for a drink of water.

Looking into the forest, he notice that one of the trees was paying very special attention to him, it leant toward him and the branches appeared to be beckoning him forwards.

Intrigued, he leant his bike against a nearby tree and stepped into the dappled shade of the surrounding woods.

As he approached the friendly tree it began to speak, and though the language  was strange to him,  somehow he was able to understand, and this is the story the tree told him.

Many, many years ago, long before your Grannies and Grandad's were even born, there lived in these woods a Polish woodsman, named  Peter Woodaxery (except in Polish the "W" is pronounced as a "V" and Peter is spelt Piotr).
Even though he was a woodsman who chopped down trees, he was someone who also loved the trees, and only cut down ones that were sick, or in danger of choking the trees close by, which would  cause consternation among the various tree families of the forest, and so the trees loved him in return.
One day. long long ago, men came from another country and talked of cutting down lots of trees and taking them away to sell, many miles away. Piotr was very upset, but knew  he was powerless on his own to stop the destruction.

He walked around the forest talking to the trees and telling them what he had heard and before too long a plan was hatched. The trees, every single one in the many forests of Poland , agreed to work together and repel the invaders.

As the marauding woodcutters walked into the forest with their axes, the trees seemed to be in their way all the time, when they tried to step around a tree, the branches would suddenly flick around and knock them over, or a branch would come crashing from the top of a tree and cause mayhem in the invading columns.

Behind the front line, Piotr and his small band of woodsmen, ran through the forest tracks that only they knew, and kept the defending trees informed of where the next attack was coming.

After several weeks the invading woodcutters withdrew and returned to their own lands empty handed.

Today in Poland, thanks to Piotr Voodaxery and his band of helpers, all trees in the land are cared for, the trees are happy and much of the country is covered in lovely forest that helps keep the environment  clean and healthy.

This could have been Piotr the Woodsman's Hut

And in one particular forest you can see a tree that looks like Piotr, is 600 years old and tells it's story to anyone who is lucky enough to pass it by.

The Piotr Tree

"Doevee Zenya" Poland

About Scrabble. . In a charming retro cafe (named Vinyl Cafe) we saw a scrabble set. Game on, as they say. My first hand dished up three Z,s,a J, a W, a U and an A.  And when I did get to put down jazz, it scored only 4points. So glad we did not buy a new travel set in Poland.

After 600 Kim's on the flat, today we did a real hill. Up to 700meters, a kindly road through lovely beech forest. Of course the great things about hills is that they go down again, we free wheeled for so long I thought we must be down in the Dead Sea, cool air inflating my shirt, and filling my shorts.

Gypsy Don showers with hose poked through the fence next door to the Fire Station where the camp was set up on our last night in Poland.

When  I was about 8,9 and 10 we spent some holidays in Wales. Mum told people that we were gypsies, going where we pleased, camping in an old canvas tent and asking farmers for place to stay. Free as birds we were, the gypsy Gee,s,  What would she say about the way Don andI carry on, taking the idea of a gypsy life to another level. Eating funny food, not washing for some days on end and biking in very foreign places (but not selling clothes pegs)The funny thing was that when gypsies came to the door of our suburban house to sell lucky heather and clothes pegs, Mum could not get rid of them fast enough, and we had lots of clothes  pegs of unsuitable design.

A delight. In Wraslav (Wroclaw) we found ourselves sitting on a wide white terrace, eating nice food and watching the crowds, on such a hot day, enjoying the delights of a huge pool. About 100 fountains played into the pool, and people got hooted by security if they ventured too cap. On the hour music filled the park, and the fountains played, upwards, sideways, in short. Bursts and high squirts, all in time and sympathy with the music. A treat.

Val's snippets Week 1

Of Poland I expected sausage, mosquitoes and beer. none have disappointed.

Cake is also plentiful, with one exceptional, world class, ever to be remembered fruit tart.
SAKS, (spontaneous acts of kindness) have  been plentiful, almost exhausting.

A stand out SAK was by Ludwig. After many trips across the farm yard bearing gifts he saw me cleaning my teeth.  Back he hurried with a big mug of warm water for me to rinse with.

Delights ??

Surprisingly the traditional dresses thrilled me, first we saw the old ones, amazing rich colours, lime green magenta burnt orange and turquoise woven in to stiff fabric, glowing vertical stripe.  The weight was shocking, and a similar apron was worn over the top. And this was everyday wear. Then we found a shop, jammed full of totally faithful reproductions, a room of pulsating colour. They are very expensive, and clearly valued today.

Shopping. 

Well judging by the dress shop windows, I won't be buying fashion in Poland. But I have got some Ecco  sandals at a very fair price.

A tiny plastic bowl is "best" buy, now known as the bath. Camping in people's gardens is fun, but we might not be offered   a shower, or even a toilet.

Language, well place names look like your worst nightmare Scrabble hand,  no way. To pronounce them it seems. I did ask for three beers, and......  Got three beers.

Just had a rest day in Wroclaw, quite a bit of time spent at the. "Apple" store sorting out my new 'device'...(an I Pad Mini). I have just about stopped hoping it would be stolen.

That's me cheers Val

The People
Ludvig was out feeding the chickens when Val spotted him.

We were on a sometimes sandy bush track cycleway, the bodies were looking for a place to lay and he had a nice face. Greeting him in Polish, then asking if he spoke any English, the answer was "Nyet", so Val pulled out the trusty notebook with a polite request for somewhere to put up our small tent for the night written out for us in Polish. Problem was Ludvig did not have his glasses with him, so Val lent him her's, this was a source of merriment and the first indication that he was a good bloke.
Handing back the glasses he signalled to us "Wait there" and dashed off into the farmhouse. Five minutes later he emerged with a young woman who we think was daughter or daughter in law, and who also spoke no English, but the friendly message was "Yes, put your tent up here, right in front of the house".

As we proceeded to unload and set up camp, Ludvig, busy as a bee, kept arriving with armloads of bottled water, a big mug of frexh milk and half a dozen slices of bread. We'd no sooner indicated our appreciation for his kindness, when he reappeared with a small metal stand with a wooden top, indicating this was to be our table. On each visit he would chat away at us in Polish, with big smiles and wildly  gesturing  hands and arms. Just when we thought all gifts were complete, he appeared around the corner of farm shed, dragging the remains of  a three seater lounge suite. "Chat chat chat, mumble mumble mumble, smile smile smile". A small round stool to complement my camp stool completed the furnishings, then it was time for the  bathing charade.

Val and Ludvig

"Whoosh, whoosh" sounds and scrubbing motions were followed by an invitation to follow him.
This was a dairy farm, a very modern large barn for housing the cows stood at the back of the farmhouse, we entered through the milk vat room, behind which was a small bathroom containing shower and toilet.
He showed me the milking set-up, a walk through semi circular race which would have held eight or ten cows with a pit for the milking staff in the centre. I am not good at charades, so all my gesturing to find out how many cows he milked evaporated in thin air, but I think 40 or 50 at most. (All the dairy farm areas we have been through have cows housed and in some cases they were out in the paddock on tether chains for a spot of sun and a feed of fresh grass.)
It was great having a hot shower and power for charging up our battery bank .
A vehicle went past along the track making a little dust and next thing Ludvig appeared with a garder hose suggesting we might like to water down the dusty track alongside our tent. "No, no , it's fine we are very happy" we gesticulated in reply.

After a good nights sleep, only disturbed four or five times by Ludvig's canine collection, who even though they'd been introduced and had benignly lain around our camp in friendly fashion, seemed to suffer from memory loss each time they awoke from doggy slumber and felt obliged to raise the ten minute alarm woof, which started off as full panic, then faded off into "Shit, I've made a mistake, but I won't admit it" coughing style woofs, then quite for an hour or two.
We emerged from tent in morning around 6.30, and began to unload the food pannier, when around the corner appeared, yes Ludvig, calling and commanding with waving arms that we come to the house for breakfast.

A Man's Kitchen

His kitchen showed very strong indications that he was in sole charge. Sitting us down at the table, he buzzed around like one of the miriad flies present,( you know how they like dairy farms) making chut chutting sounds and telling us all along what he was offering  us. Each time he appeared and put food on the table he would lean down and blow the flies off the food, which in spite of Val's fastidious aversion to flies on food, had us both in fits of laughter.

Breakfast consisted of bread of course, homemade butter and cottege type cheese, a strip of smoked pork brisket, which had a 25mm layer of fat each side of a 12mm strip of meat, so there was a bit of trimming required.




The gourmet highlight in the centre of the table was something resembling a lemon tart, but though shrivelled and dehydrated almost to the point of petrification, was still most attractive to the flies and hence was subjected to  "Methode Ludvig"   fly clearance on several occasions. Fortuneately Ludvig left us to our own devices and sat outside the kitchen door on a stool with hands in a bucket of food scraps and other secret ingredients, making a mash for the chickens, so did not see the sparing way we picked at our food. I did, in a fit of bravado -as I am won't to do - take a bite of the lemon slice, but the leftover, along with teeth marks ended up in the chicken mash bucket.

Ludvig was a fantastic host.

The Road

We've travelled on all sorts of road surfaces, had to push our bikes through thick sand - most of the soil in Poland has a big percentage of sand it seems - but for the most part we have hummed along on some really good surfaces, with little wind, the weather is warm to hot, yesterday 31 degrees.

While we had heard bad reports on drivers in Poland, we have found them very courteous and safe.  People  of all ages, in and around the villages and all points between are riding bikes, tractors with all imaginable implements are trundling along and so drivers are used to waiting a safe opportunity on narrow roads to make a safe passing move.

The Bodies

Ironically, we are better on the bikes than off. Creaky knees seem to handle the riding better than walking which is fortunate.

Where Are We

In Wroclaw today, making great time and could only be a couple of days more in Poland, however we think we will stay here in this historic city for a couple of days at least.

Day One in Warsaw
Assembling a bike on the footpath outside an airport usually attracts the odd interested person, a question, even in a foreign language; often a look of astonishment, a couple of old farts down on their knees trying to work out which way up the rear derailer and twisted chain goes onto the bike frame, not here. In the USA one of us would take up a PR role to answer questions while the other got on with the job.

This is what a bike looks like ready to fly

The Road
Val did her usual good job of navigating us to our Warm Showers street address, we needed to get a few confirmations along the way and apart from me failing dismally to ride my fully loaded bike up a twelve step bike ramp, but only making step 6 and making a graceless landing back at the bottom with a grazed elbow and a wake up call on jet lag stupidity.

People
In general the Polish people on the street are very self constrained, hard to make any contact with,  a nod of the head and a smile from you, will earn  a blank stare in  return. By the same token, riding your bike on the footpath among pedestrians  is fine, there is an unruffled acceptance and co-operation from both parties.

Our Warm Showers hosts Anya and Bohdan were welcoming, friendly, informative, everthing  and more than you would expect from Warm Shower hosts. We stayed three nights, fell in love with their boxer dog Long John Silver - rescued from the pound with a broken leg - and left feeling as if we had known them for years. Both spoke excellent English.

Waiting for Anya on arriving in Warsaw

Anya farwells us loaded for the road.

We've only been on the for a couple of days and we have had two amazing contacts with the local country people.

Day before yesterday we were stopped by the roadside looking at our map when a man called from his car which was stopped at a red light, "Can I help you", He pulled off the road, came over and we then discovered that he was a local businessman who had just been to a meeting at the NZ Embassy, where he had met the Minister for Trade, Tim Groser.

It was my Silver Fern flag on the front of my bike that caught his eye. After introducing ourselves, Marcin  invited us to camp on his lawn a ride of 12 ks. His wife Agnieszka was an ex English teacher , he spoke very good English and is the Polish Agent for Canterbury Clothing Company among several other agencies and also owns and runs a rural produce Depot for Blackcurrants, Cherries, Apples and whatever else grows in this fertile part of Poland. I went out with and met a farming family harvesting their black currants with a very efficient harvester that stripped all the berries on one side of the row before turning and doing the other side. When I grew Blackcurrants we picked them by hand and I think made $100 from pick your own one year. Poland is a major producer of Black Currants.

Agnes and Val bonding

An introduction to Polish Dumplings

They were passionate about their district, took us to a Polish restaurant where we had a meal of tradional food. Then next morning a tour by car to Chopin's birthplace.

We managed to get on the road around 4pm, rode 20ks towards Lowicz the town of stripy clothing. Around 6pm we saw a young woman sweeping the driveway of her house and called out
 "Hello" in our new found Polish words.
 "Do you speak English" I asked as she walked towards me,
 "Yes I do".

The outcome was a hilarious evening camped in her Fathers garden, where she interpreted for her parents as we drank a beer and found out about each other. Her Mother ended up putting on the tradition stripy dress that had been in the family for more that 100 years, while her Father clowned a round cracking jokes in Polish.

The lovely Magde and intrepid cyclists

Magda also happened to be a high school English  teacher on holiday  from her home in Sweden with her partner and young daughter and staying with her parents .
Both of these "Roadside Angels" apart from the English Teacher commonality, were both pregnant.

Bodies
Still jet lagged and on day 6 we have only ridden around 80 ks

Sorry there are no photos, my Computer is not accepting any photos and we are looking for an English speaking IT person.

I found this great person named Marcen, in the town of Ozorkow,  he fixed the photo problem and we are now friends on Facebook.

Getting Ready

Time to blow cobwebs off the Blogsite and get back into the groove of bringing impressions from the bike seat to an audience that may or may not want to get out on a bike. The idea is not so much a travelogue, but stories of the people,  incidents (and inner feelings :-) that may give an insight into why we are once again putting ourselves through the wringer of exhaustion, extremes,  frustration, foul-weather, headwinds, headaches, heartaches, misunderstandings, mis-directions, braking, faking and taking (wrong turns). Sideways and backwards are not the ideal direction for cyclists.

One week from departure we are busy checking the weight of our bikes (this does not change much,but we always hope they may be a bit lighter), starting stacks of gear in the spare bedroom, making sure we have all the right cables for charging the various items of electronic gear that we carry. (I have more gadgets than Val of course)

This is what we are leaving behind, cruising on Solitaire back in the summer, of course this is a rather colder scene than when the photo was taken on a February sailing trip to Nelson, and of course is one of the attractions for heading to the Northern Hemisphere for a bit more summer.