The party bus is coming: Eastern Europe Festive Party Trek - Part 6, the end

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

KRAKOW

Our hostel in Krakow was interesting, to say the least. The stairs continued for centuries, with most of us on floors 3 and above. I finally saw the benefit of my backpack after watching many of the group struggle up the stairs with their wheelie cases. Hot water was temperamental, as was the heating system. The decor, while not to everyone’s tastes, was interesting (and frankly, I kinda liked it). Each room, instead of a number, was named after an actress or character from the Art Deco era and was subsequently decorated with images of said actress, usually involving full frontal nudity.

Who doesn’t like their walls adorned with boobs?

We arrived in the afternoon and relaxed a little while before it was time for dinner. My roommates and I whiled away the time looking up Taylor Swift’s romance history and which song related to what fling. It was educational.

On the first day of the tour, I realised I had cocked up the dates thinking it ended on the 2nd and had booked my flights for that day. Upon realising that I needed one more nights accommodation, I had tried to book into this hotel but the online system wouldn't accept my card. Quite out of character, I decided I'd figure it out when I got there and that's what I did. Turns out I wasn't the only one who needed a room for the night, and so Peter and I grabbed the last available room which housed 4, and decided it was so cheap that if we have to pay for the extra beds then so be it.

Phew. So now I was sorted.

It was then time to head out to dinner. We put on ALL THE CLOTHING (because it was a little bit on the chilly side) and set off into the centre of Krakow for the first time. What we saw was the centre square, raving - a New Years Eve Eve party, apparently in preparation for the festivities that were to happen the next night. This started to get us excited - the music, the lighting displays lit up the sky. 

On the menu tonight for me was traditional Polish dumplings. The service was questionable (Sasha: May I have mushrooms with my vegetables? Everyone else got mushrooms. Waiter: What do you want me to do about it?) but the food very nice. Harry kindly bought our table a round of vodka and the night got started.

Na zdrowie!

Following dinner some of us wanted to see a little bit of the Polish nightlife (although gently, of course, being that we were saving ourselves for New Year's Eve). We landed in a club, grabbed some more vodka and apple juice and sat down. Sitting down is not what we wanted to do, so we stood awkwardly on the completely barren dance floor.

Later, I was told that some of the more enterprising members of our tour bribed the DJ with a glass of top shelf whiskey to stop playing his dreadful music and to put on GirlTalk instead. Needless to say, the dancefloor was instantly packed and hopefully the DJ felt like a twat.

The niggle was starting, though. The scratch at the back of the throat. I knew I was getting sick and was both surprised that I'd made it this far without getting sick earlier and annoyed that it was about to be as NYE approached. I downed some more of my Vitamin C tablets that I had thoughtfully packed in anticipation and tried not to think about it.

***

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

KRAKOW

Next morning we started the day with a very early walking tour. I again had struggled to sleep - and the members of my room had slept in their coats as our heating was so awful. It was difficult to get up, but I didn't want to miss out. My throat was burning but I tried my best to ignore it.

Never worked out what the little symbol
on Thursday meant.

The temperature this morning was something along the lines of fucking cold. We had been warned, and so we all donned, again, ALL OF THE CLOTHING (for me it meant 2 pairs of pants and 3 pairs of socks and 2 pairs of gloves). Krakow, in the "early" morning light (it was 9am but the sun was only just rising), was beautiful. It had a lovely pastel haze to it like a fairytale, and when we were up high looking over the Wisła River, the pale blue sky seemed to sparkle. The ground was covered in a fine layer of snow, both eerie and peaceful in the parklands around the city centre.

That morning glow...

At the conclusion of the tour, we made our way to the Jewish Quarter but the lack of sleep, partying and cold finally caught up with me. I left the troupe in a cute little cafe - where we had ordered hot chocolate and cake, being 11am, but the locals were lining up the vodka - and made my way back to the hostel for a much needed lie down and nap, in preparation of New Years Eve that night.

Time to get ready. Happy Hour had been extended by an hour and so we were meeting earlier than originally planned. Pretty dress, donned. Two pairs of pants, on. Coat, multiple gloves, beanie, camera. Set to go. 

Our first stop was an open bar and buffet. Both delicious and dangerous, and probably a multitude of other words beginning with 'd' ("drunk" being a good one). Straight to the bar: vodka. Then some more vodka. Then a bit more vodka. Then SHOTSSHOTSSHOTS of vodka. Then a buffet dinner. Then SHOTSSHOTSSHOTS. How about a vodka? Wait, is that a tray of shots? I'll have one. Ok, I'll have 3, thanks. What? We're leaving? Quick, SHOTSSHOTSSHOTSSHOTS.

Did someone say Pub Krawl?

Too hard, too fast was the order of the evening. Our next stop was a trendy but expensive club with a raging dance floor. Our arrival shot, poured directly into our mouths as we walked through the door (could have been stronger, just sayin') set the tone and we sweated and wiggled the next little while away. It was getting close to midnight, so the next stop was: fireworks.

We pushed our way through the crowd. The crowd forced itself back against us. As I have wont to do, I managed to get myself separated from the rest of the group. I found myself up against the barrier, with hundreds if not thousands of Polish people behind me, pushing me against the barrier. I pleaded with the severe Polish policeman to let me through the barrier as my friends had gotten inside the square. He looked at me, and turned away.

"Climb under!" said the young Polish man behind me, as I turned to watch another climb under, get grabbed by the throat by the policeman and pushed roughly up against the barrier. "I don't want to get arrested in Poland!" I yelled back to him, and stayed firmly on the barrier.

Then the pushing began. From behind, I was being shoved. At first, I was terrified, then I realised what was happening - the crowd was trying to break through the barrier. I stood on the edge and let the wave of people behind me push until the barrier collapsed - and I ran through, right into the centre of the crowd, just seconds before midnight.

I heard English spoken behind me, and I turned to the strangers. The countdown was on (in Polish of course:

Dziesięć

Dziewięć

Osiem

Siedem

Sześć 

Pięć

Cztery

Trzy

Dwa

Jeden

(N.B. I clearly just looked them up..)

The stage erupted with fireworks as the crowd went crazy. Fireworks, let off - I imagine illegally - were blasting from my left while the sky lit up to my right. I hugged the strangers behind me and, after the lighting display, turned to find my way back in the hope of seeing someone I knew.

Happy New Year!

Low and behold, I managed to run into everyone and gave big hugs all around.

The next part of the evening, frankly, was not so good. Our final club didn't have that same happy, welcoming vibe and instead felt sinister and angry, and after a short while inside I had to find my way to the ground level and some fresh air. Emotion overcame me here, and it wasn't long before most of the group felt the same and we decided it was time to return to the hostel.

At the hostel, we sat around chatting for some time and were regaled with possibly the most impressive Anaconda rendition I've seen (was this filmed?). It was soon sleepy bed times, and thus it was New Years Day - and 2015.

***

Thursday, 1 January 2015

KRAKOW

Ouch.

Not surprising really, I wasn't functioning at my highest potential the next morning. Many of the group were leaving first thing that morning, and I thanked my lucky stars for my unintended cock up and that I didn't have to face a train/car/bus/plane ride right at that moment. I looked at my phone and spotted a message from Harry saying he'd be heading off soon. It was 8.30am, so I hauled myself out of bed and decided that I would say farewell to those who were on the way to leaving.

Feeling rather poorly and bleary, I hugged quite a few goodbye, many with promises to catch up in London, others with well wishes and a hope that we might meet again one day on our travels. The tour was over, disintegrating, vanishing. No formal so long, adieu or goodbye, just…dissolving.

About half remained in Krakow, and so it felt like the tour could kick on just for a little longer..it wasn't over quite yet, was it? Today I took it desperately easy. After shifting my things out of the room, I went out for a walk. Krakow, quite simply, was a ghost town. The snow had melted to brown sludge and slippery ice, and my shoes filled completely with freezing water. My hungover self found its way to a Polish Maccas (honestly guys, Maccas is so cool in each country, they all do it differently!). I ordered something I couldn't pronounce, and slowly chewed.

That was enough fresh air for now. I returned to the hostel, feet almost numb, and thankfully my room was ready. Straight for a lie down.

"Dinner at 7 tonight if anyone wants to join?" was the shoutout in our Busabout Festive Trek's Facebook group. Sweet. About half had stayed at the Hotel Deco, and the other half had ventured elsewhere around Krakow. Unfortunately we all couldn't get a table in the one place (the strangely empty restaurant being "full") but half ate there, and our half wandered around til we found a place that would seat so many. We settled on a restaurant named Chopin (that played beautiful..you guessed it..Chopin music the whole while), followed by sundaes at Maccas. Of course. Best way to end an evening.

And that was my New Year's Day, folks. It was the first NYE that I had celebrated in a number of years. And now the first day of January was complete, my cold was well and truly set, and I had one more day to go before returning to reality.

The city was gently covered in icing sugar.

**

Friday, 2 January 2015

KRAKOW

I had intended to get up at the butt-crack of dawn and go to the salt mines, but my cold and sheer exhaustion led me to decide that "I'll return to Krakow one day, I'll do it then" and so I spent yet another morning at leisure. After checking out, I joined Nicola and Tamara for a yummy soup lunch with the most incredible hot chocolate I think I have ever tasted. I went to pay, and realised that I still had no memory of my PIN, and that I had run out of cash.

Naturally, I panicked a little, as I realised I had to somehow get from the hostel to the airport. Tamara kindly paid for my meal (for which I owe you, and I promise it'll get returned! It's in writing now) and we bid our adieus. I stood in the square and wondered what the hell to do. I started dialling my bank. I was on hold for 6 minutes. I was panicking, time was ticking away, I had no money and I was freezing cold. I suddenly had the brain wave to pool the remaining money I had in other currencies into Polish money so I could pay for my transfer to the airport.

Go me! This worked perfectly and so I rushed back to the hostel, said so long to the remaining lovely folks and then jumped into the waiting car.

I could relax a little now. I had plenty of time, enough money to pay for the fare, all of my belongings and I was on my way to the airport. Once there, the remaining Polish money went towards a bottle of the honey infused vodka and a sandwich that I promptly dropped onto the floor. While in the airport, I booked my Stansted transfers (again, stupid me hadn't done it previously, but thankfully it was only my PIN that was locked and not my whole card). With little ado, I popped out the other side of Stansted and made my way home (not without the Circle line actually changing direction on me, though, which resulted in me scurrying out at the next stop and getting back on again, in the original direction).

The depression was overwhelming. I knew how silly it was to be so sad, but it had been such an epic whirlwind of an adventure - my first proper tour - that to stop, still, on the tube, watching the same ads flash by, with the same weirdo staring at me in in the corner, and the haughty girl opposite, just made me sad. I reminded myself over and over that I was in London, for fuck's sake and that perked me up a little. 

I was homeward bound, and home was London.

***

CONCLUSION

I wanted to take a moment to reflect on some of the things I learnt on the trip, both about myself, my interactions with people, what I like, don't like and how I like to travel. I think it is good to look at an experience and see what you have learnt from it, good and bad, so you can be better prepared for the future.

Things I learnt:

• Socially, I'm a strange creature. I love people, and love talking to people, but I found the sheer number overwhelming. This is something I look forward to working on (rather than limiting myself to small groups). I also found myself hanging back and just watching.
• Tours are a lot of fun, but you don’t spend enough time in any place. Luckily, I have the luxury that I can pop back over to Europe any time I like and revisit any cities that I found particularly appealing.
• Budapest is beautiful and my favourite city.
• I never will be able to ski again.
• It is possible to eat too much meat and too many potatoes.
• I'm too old to drink that consistently. Nah, who am I kidding, that ain't gonna stop.
• I’m gonna make London’s winter my bitch. After so long at minus temperates, London is positively balmy.

Finally, thank you to our tour guide Carlos and driver Chris, for getting us around safely, securely, informedly and drunkenly. Thank you to the people I met, the friends I made: those that I will see again, we'll chat over a bevvie in a London pub, yeah? And those that are far away and may never see again - I wish you all the best with all your adventures. You'll always have a couch to crash on wherever I am.

Be good. Hugs and kisses,

xx

Morning light photography boner

The [party] bus is coming: Eastern Europe Festive Party Trek - Part 5

Tuesday, 30 December 2015

AUSCHWITZ

We left Zakopane in a bit of a hush. Before beginning the festivities in Krakow, we stopped by Auschwitz. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle this. With the little bits I know about my heritage, my mind was doing cartwheels. I’ll try to enunciate my feelings but I am sure it is going to be a poor substitute (and some I think I will keep to myself because I don’t think I can put it down, flat, in words).

The landscape was as sombre as the mood. Monochrome as far as the eye could see; black trees dipped in white and frosted houses. Occasionally, a yellow or pink painted home brought relief from the stark landscape. 

By lunchtime, we reached Auschwitz. Our guide was a stern Austrian lady. She laid the facts bare, no mincing of words, no shying away. 

ARBEIT MACHT FREI

Work sets you free. 

These are the words that greeted us as we stepped through the gates into Auschwitz I.

Let me paint the picture. It was -7C. The sun was shining bright but the air was bitterly cold. The ground had a thin covering of snow. We stood, huddled, faces tucked down towards our chests inside our scarves and collars. Fingers curled up inside our gloves, stuffed into our pockets. Gently moving from foot to foot to try to warm our bodies up, our feet becoming leaden from the cold.

It was sobering, being as cold as we were. Knowing that 1.2million people stood where we stood, colder. Freezing. Unbearable.

Over 110 thousand shoes, a tiny portion of what was found, 3800 suitcases, most of which bore the names and date of birth of the owner - including children - in case their possessions got “lost”, 7,000kg of human hair

The museum, constructed from preserved prison blocks housed enlarged pictures and the personal effects; the shoes, hair and suitcases, the spectacles and the prosthetics, the kitchen utensils and the shaving brushes. We saw bedroom quarters for those who were strong enough to work, the torture rooms, finally ending with a pass through the last remaining gas chamber, before walking slowly back past the main entrance and that sign.

ARBEIT MACHT FREI

Work sets you free. 

From Auschwitz I, we returned to our bus and a short drive later, we were at Auschwitz II, or Birkenhau. The ground was covered in snow, the sun setting behind the rows and rows of chimneys - almost all that was left standing other than the train tracks. Here we stood on the platform where so many people were to learn their fate.

Men to the left. Women to the right.

I don’t feel like I can do the experience justice, putting words down on the proverbial paper. You have to see it to understand it. I also don’t want to go into detail as I feel I am far too ignorant, still, to try to be an authority on what happened.

Sadly, one of the main things that stood out for me was the disrespect displayed by others. I saw people, none from our group, with selfie sticks or posed in front of what was once electrocuted barbed wire. The prisoners would douse themselves with water and throw themselves against that barbed wire to end it all. 

We left Auschwitz quietly and it was not long before we were in Krakow.

***

I wanted to keep this post by itself because then Krakow becomes full of revelry as we ramped up for New Years Eve.

xx

Auschwitz II - Birkenhau

Sun setting over the rows of chimneys

The train tracks and the platform

The party bus is coming: Eastern Europe Festive Party Trek - Part 4

Sunday, 28 December 2015

BUDAPEST - DONAVALY - ZAKOPANE

Begrudgingly, I hopped back on the bus to depart from darling Budapest. I wouldn’t have had such a heavy heart, however, if I had known what was to come. Before long, I realised we were again crossing three countries which I proclaimed loudly to all and anybody who would listen.

Time for a slash and dash and now we were in real snow country. We piled out of the bus (eyes straight ahead, directly to the bathroom, we’ll look at the snow later) and, regrouping outside the bus, marvelled at the whiteness around us. Some on our troupe had never seen snow before and while it had gently fallen elsewhere, here we had a thick fuzzy white blanket thrown over the countryside, the trees, the buildings.

The landscape getting whiter and whiter.

We were headed towards Donavaly, back in Slovakia. We climbed up and up with the landscape becoming more and more monochrome. The occasional brightly painted yellow house stood out from the black and white backdrop of dark trees dressed in white. Here, I made a beeline for the husky sled rides, which, while short, was enjoyable. The puppies were bouncing with energy and affection, and I took some time to have a pat and gaze into their amazing blue eyes.

Little puppies pulling my phat ass

Here, I think the trip caught up with me somewhat. I stood in front of the ATM, fingers poised to enter my PIN, when my brain churned to a standstill. PIN, gone. Vanished. Unrecoverable. I had quite a bit of cash still on me, thankfully, but this would prove to be somewhat inconvenient for the rest of the trip.

Our time in Donavaly drew to a close, and we piled from the freezing air back onto the warm bus. Up and up, ears popping as we ascended the hill, we were now driving our way towards the snow village of Zakopane, Poland.

Gorgeousness is what awaited us when we alighted the bus. Thick, pillowy blankets of snow, fluff falling steadily from the sky like glitter, glinting in the light of the street lamps as it settled in our hair and on our scarves and our noses, a rogue snowflake sometimes headed [directly] into an eyeball.

Our lodgings in Zakopane were a little different to the others. Our entire troupe was given a chalet of our own with many steps between the ground and my shared room. It was divided into bedrooms, unlike a hostel, and this was a nice little bit of semi-privacy. What this accommodation did lack, though, was reliable hot water. And by now we had landed in the coldest part of our journey. Brrrr.

After a lie down, it was time for dinner. We piled out into the snow and, after Chris the bus driver precariously got us out of the driveway, we drove our way across the town to Karczma Przy Mlynie.  And what a dinner it was. Pickles, lard and bread adorned the tables when we arrived and we hoed in, starving. We all went a little too hard on the bread, and also spread the lard a little too thick. Next, came some potato dumplings - here we were told that soup would be arriving next, and that the mains would follow. Excuse me, pardon? Mains..what? Haven’t we just… It dawned on us how much food we were about to be subjected to, and we pulled back, saving ourselves for the plethora of food to follow. Gently going forth on the dumplings and the soup (curse us, for going so hard on the lard!), we were then presented with meat.

Meat, meat and more meat. Did I mention meat? Two massive trays were placed on our table of 8 - enough meat to feed 15 people. We lamented our greedy ways and gingerly picked at the artery closing platter in front of us. Embarrassingly, we barely touched the sides and there was a large amount left over, but it was utterly delicious. Many different kinds of sausages and chicken and beef and every other kind in between, Polish dumplings and the rest. We ate until we could eat no more…and then dessert.

I feel I talk about food a lot. Food is one of my favourite things in this world - I feel there are only a couple of great, uninhibited, unabashed pleasures - with food being one of them.

We rolled down the stairs at the conclusion of our meal (I, for one, was grateful for the baggy woollen jumper I had opted to wear) and while we waited for Chris to arrive with the bus, listened to a rousing Polish troupe on 2 violins, piano accordion and double bass lift the roof in the front foyer. I particularly enjoyed how the lead violinist held his violin down on his chest to allow himself the ability to sing, and sing loudly, at the same time. Dressed in their traditional filigreed (and tight) white outfits, this was an enjoyable conclusion to the dinner!

Back out in the snow glitter, and never one to say no to trying a local drinking establishment, a few of us joined our guide at a little bar not far from our chalet. What to get? That was the question. We were in Poland. Vodka seems to be the right choice. Ahead of us, Simon jumped straight in a bought a honey infused vodka. Why not? I thought, and bought a round for myself and 3 of the other girls.

“32 zloty,” the rambunctious girl behind the bar said.

“32? What?” I was flabbergasted. Amy next to be did the maths (because I dropped maths at the first available opportunity).

4 vodka shots at 32 zloty, that’s 8 zloty each.

4 zloty = roughly €1 (1 euro).

That’s about €2 per shot. Now let’s put that back into pounds.

That’s £1.50 per shot. 

Polish vodka. It really is cheaper than water.

In hindsight, I should have bought more than 4! We stood with our vodka shot in hand, ready for the first sip. This was to be savoured, not thrown down the hatch. First sip was to the chorus of “Urgh”, and “Argh!” and accompanied by a shudder, followed by “Actually that tasted alright.” 

Second sip, much smoother. Tasty, in fact. The warmth could be felt seeping in through my belly and spreading through me. Beanie, off. Jacket, off. Woollen jumper, off. I was down to my singlet (and jeggings…I’m sorry for my crime against fashion) in snow country, sipping delicious, warming vodka.

Next up: herbata góralska (highlander tea). I thought it sounded a fraction Scottish but after some research, realised it is referring to the highlands of Poland (namely Zakopane). This is the perfect nightcap beverage, and certainly sent me into a cozy, warm, sleep, somewhat drunk state. But what is it? It’s tea (complete with tea bag, sugar and slice of lemon) - with a generous shot of Polish vodka. Piping hot, I stirred in my two sugars, squeezed my lemon until it could be squeezed no more, and settled back to let it cool down a little (after my first sip conveniently burnt my tongue).

It was a strange concoction - not something I would drink regularly but definitely a perfect night ender. The vodka infused its way through the taste of the tea, getting stronger you drained the mug. The heat from the boiling water sent my body temperature skyrocketing to maximum and I was quite looking forward to getting myself back out into the snow and the -10C.

Zakopane, you too are a pretty little thing. A reasonably early night ensued as tomorrow I was going to try my hand (or legs?) at skiing.

***

Monday, 29 December 2015

ZAKOPANE

I stood beside the shower, shivering, with my hand under the icy cold stream. I turned the tap one way, then the other. Freezing one side, frosty the other. Groaning, a quick APC later and I was down in the breakfast room, unable to open my eyes properly and stumbling around like I was horribly hungover. World, meet Morning Sasha. 

Today we were going skiing. I was both excited and terrified - for what I think is rather good reason. On the off chance you don’t know (which would be rare as I go on about it at length), I’ve had knee reconstructions on both my knees; the first was due to a skiing accident when I was 15. We were taught to snow plow, and then taken to the top of the mountain. I, like everyone, fell, but did so in such a way that I tore the crutiate ligament in my right knee in one go. Bam. Like that. My other knee I tore when I was 20, and it never quite healed correctly. Never-the-less, I was adamant I would ski and that I would be fine.

I donned my waterproof pants and stressed about how many layers I was going to need to wear. I took a couple of costume changes just in case and by the time we were on the bus, we realised how few of us were actually going to participate in any snow sports. 

Perfect little snowflakes

The snow fields were teeming with people, little ants up and down the mountain. ski and boot hire complete, I strutted outside (as there is no other way to walk when wearing ski boots) and we joined the enormous queue for the chairlift. All of us were panicking. Would we lose a ski? Drop a pole? Faceplant when getting off the other side? FALL OFF?

It was freezing up in the air. Literally freezing. I tucked my little face into my jacket and scarf and goggles and beanie and tried to take in the scenery (at the same time as breathing upwards to keep my nose warm). I curled my fingers up inside my gloves so the limited body warmth of my palm spread to my finger tips. What felt like an age later, we approached the end of the chairlift ride and I prepared for my dismount. I squealed as my skis touched the sloped ground and, scooped off the chair I careened gently to the start of the hill.

So far so good.

As soon as I started off down the hill I realised that I may not have what it takes to ski anymore. I told everyone to go ahead of me as I would have to make frequent stops. There were a few reasons for this:

• the pain in my knees was quite noticeable (and would get worse as the day went on)
• as a result of the surgeries, my knees (despite a lot of physiotherapy) turn inwards, which meant that I was constantly crossing my skis. I hadn’t thought of this until one of the girls mentioned it was why she didn’t ski and instead opted for snowboarding
• my sheer fear of falling over and damaging myself again

At the time it wasn’t so hilarious, but afterwards I likened myself to Zoolander.

Except for me, I couldn’t turn to the right. My left leg, the most recent victim to surgery, was painfully weak and prevented me from putting the weight on it required to turn to the right. As a result, I had to wend my way down the mountain from the right hand barrier to the left, and then make my way horizontally across the slope to the right hand side again, before beginning the process all over again.

My first trip down was a bit of a process. I was thinking, “What have I gotten myself in for?”. I decided I’d try again, at least once, just to make sure (although I was a little scared of how much it would hurt). I again joined the long queue, got on the chairlift, froze, but this time I looked around and marvelled at the sheer beauty around me. White, as far as the eye could see. People little dotted ants rushing down the slope. 

I again disembarked the chairlift without hassle. This time, not feeling rushed, I took it easy down the mountain and found that I could move with much more easy now I had relaxed a little. I still had to stop often when my legs began to wobble - I wasn’t game to let myself fall - and thus I felt considerably more confident in my second descent. 

I waited at the bottom to see if I would spot anyone I knew. Before long, a cloud of snow to my left and I thought, I recognise that beanie. It was Liz, and she was there with Caitlin and George. All three were snowboarding, and zooming up and down all the slopes. I joined them with what was to be my last trek up the mountain.

And then the clouds parted and the sun made a cheeky appearance

We had a snack at the cafe at the top (a very welcome hot chocolate!) and found a few more from the tour - warming themselves with a few mulled wines. In hindsight, I might have relaxed a little had I had a mulled wine, but then again, the risk of injury would have been that much greater…who knows? It was rather cold, to say the least, and a little warmed by the hot chocolate I bid the table adieu and made my way down the mountain for the last time. This time I allowed myself time to stop and take some photos, and just enjoy the view.

Reflections

At the bottom, I discarded my skis and boots (obviously through the correct channels) and attempted to remember how to walk like a normal human being. I spent some time looking through all the little stalls and nomming on delicious treats. I marvelled at the perfect snowflakes that were falling here and pulled my scarf in tighter around my neck. I returned to the hire station and, meeting the rest of troupe, we eventually made our way back to the hostel. 

During the year, Zakopane has a population of roughly 30,000. But during the course of the year, the tiny town is visited by a staggering 2 million tourists. Partly due to the ridiculously inexpensive skiing coupled with the great slopes and snowfall. Therefore our way home to the hostel was very slow going. 

NB: Back at the hostel, I had the most ah-mazing hot shower. It’s almost a stand out in hot showers I’ve had in my existence. It was both hot and showery.

Tonight, we could find out own way to dinner. A group of us wanted to try the famous Meat Palace and after a short wait, was shown to our table. Cue a very similar night to the previous: a ridiculously enormous tray of meat (that was meant to only feed two but three of us could not even get close to finishing it). One thing I decided about Poland: it’s very shouty. In all of the restaurants, the waiters and waitresses yelled and stamped their feet and clanged at hanging bells. I wish I knew what they were doing but it made for a lively atmosphere.

Poland: a vegetarian's nightmare

We had originally considered going for a drink but we all ended up being too exhausted. On the way back to the hostel, the snow was beautifully deep and I realised I hadn’t made a snow angel yet. Throwing myself into the centre of the deep snow, I swished my arms and my legs and lay there, shivering, waiting for the photo. Only a gentle -10C and the middle of the night. Never was one for making good decisions. To be honest, The Marshmallow (my purple jacket) served me incredibly well throughout the trip: my upper half was rarely cold. So lying in the middle of the snow, my body and arms were quite happy but my two pairs of pants didn’t really cut it. By that point my legs were numb anyway.

That brought the gorgeous little town of Zakopane to a close. The glittery snowflakes, the blankets and pillow of white, the meat, the shouting, the vodka, the snowball fights and the wrestling in the snow. I may or may not have also eaten some snow (in hindsight I think it tasted minty because it came from a pine tree…). So long Zakopane, you’re another one I wouldn’t mind popping in to say hello to again one day.

xx

The snowiest of angels
(the zooming lines are snowflakes falling)