Try saying that when you’re in a hurry!

The Ryszard Majchrowski bakery has been in operation since 1945, and is one of the last remaining traditional bakeries with wood fired ovens in Northern Poland.

This morning, the locals (and two Australians) were willing to stand in a queue for more than an hour, waiting for their chance to buy some of Ryszard’s famous bread.

The excitement mounted as each customer emerged, bearing huge bags of loaves and rolls. Knowing nods rippled down the ever increasing line and our English interpreter – also patient in anticipation, told us, ‘this is the best bread you will ever taste.’ And still we waited, along with the local policewoman who joined us – time to spare? Keeping a watchful eye on the interloping Aussies, perhaps?

When our turn came we were served by an extremely busy shop assistant, (the only shop assistant and we suspect, original owner of said bakery). Using my best Polish I ordered Chleb Ziemniaczany and several Chleb Pszenny rolls. Excitement was high among our waiting friends.

Of course, bread such as this required a quick visit to Kat at the local Spar, to pick up jam and soft cheese. She could barely contain her excitement when she saw us at the checkout … but she did.

You are wondering, as we were, about the quality of this mystical loaf?  It did bring back memories of the joy of cutting into a tank loaf or double high-top as a child. Only the bread today was particularly disappointing, and now we have heaps of it…..sigh. But still, there were small mercies: we did get out of the Spar gate without Kat’s assistance.

Yes, Mr Vidler – if only we remembered the Vegemite, it might have improved the taste of our daily bread – and help us eat our way though some of our recently purchased stockpile.

Such is travel. You can’t win ’em all Farquhar! And now – onto our next Polish adventure …

So many people in the last few months, when told that we intended to travel around Poland, responded with bewildered silence. Then, after an uncomfortably long pause, enquired politely; “Have you got family in Poland?” Nobody entirely believed me when I told them my surname is actually Evanowski and that I was born in Bilowicza. Perhaps they have become too familiar with stories of Rosewood? Needless to say, our fifty minute trip yesterday from Copenhagen back to my homeland was not without its challenges.

Full of anticipation and jet lag sleeplessness, we arrived at Copenhagen airport at 6:00 in the morning for the scheduled 8:30 flight to Gdansk. The plane was fully loaded ready for takeoff – then nothing happened. The pilot finally announced that engineers were on their way to inspect a part of the navigation equipment. Perhaps she too was dubious about visiting Poland? Was it a premonition  – a sign to note?  After some time, we were instructed to disembark. As is the way, in another country, we had no idea what was happening, the Danish system as mysterious as someone choosing to holiday in Poland it would seem.

The flight wasn’t rescheduled, it was cancelled around 11am. We were all offered the choice of a refund, or a lunch voucher (generous enough to buy a pre- prepared pre- packaged sandwich with dubious fillings) and a 2:00pm flight to Gdansk. Like a magnet, Linda spotted a fellow traveller in the coffee line and we spent the six hours of waiting to ‘take off with Michelle from Melbourne. The world is small.

There’s always a sense of relief when you manage to negotiate the rail system in a country where stations all appear to have similar names – impossible to pronounce and therefore impossible to seek assistance from locals who look with scepticism as you ask for directions. After all, how does one pronounce – Gdansk Wrzeszcz? Two trains, a thousand steps and several coded gates and we arrived in our Airbnb – deceptively smaller than the photographs had led us to believe but clean, quiet and with a view to a forest of yellowing autumn trees.

Of course, food beckoned and we met Kat who works at the local Spar supermarket. She made it clear that holidays in Poland are ill-advised if you can’t negotiate the self -serve check out. Her eye rolls were spectacular as we attempted to locate items like plums, shallots and raspberries … on screen, in Polish. The pinnacle for Kat was when we became locked in – unable to escape the gate letting people out of the store. We discovered all too late that one needs to zap the docket’s bar code to gain release to the outside world. When we eventually discerned the system, we had a pile up of frustrated shoppers behind us and lost docket angst. Kat did release us but with the withering look that says, ‘Why are you on holidays in Poland?’ Its a question many have asked.

But, a day wandering the cobbled streets, entering one of the ubiquitous Catholic churches, finding a coffee spot – Len’s with a decent flat white on offer and sharing a traditional Polish lunch at Bar Turystyczny … established in 1956, and the woman tending the check out today may have been waitressing at the opening! Like her great niece, Kat from Spar, she is a woman of few words and very direct language.  In answer to ‘Could we have a menu?’ she replied, ‘No.’

With my Baltic heritage I can speak at least three Polish words very fluently. However, perhaps because of subtle differences in dialects, some in Gdansk tend to struggle with my Polish pronunciation at times. Nevertheless the Poles here are clear in communique …  we love their country, their ways… after all, we Evanowskis need to stick together. 
Oops, better let you go, Kat, there’s another Polish holiday maker who is locked at the gate to Spar.

As a young Rosewood lad, the flashest form of transport I ever experienced was the Wigan’s new Holden HR Premier. It was an automatic, and they had added seat covers and an aerial. I suspect Barry Wigan may still have the HR to drive around Rosewood. That said, for a trip to Europe and back, I do think that Singapore Airlines is perhaps a better choice.

We got into Copenhagen at 7:30 in the morning but couldn’t check in until 2pm. I suspect that Queen Mary had heard that Farley and Lady Cunnington-Smythe would be in town- the airport arrival was fast and efficient, the trip to our hotel to drop off bags was easy, and the metro into town was simple to navigate. Once we arrived in the city centre however, we soon realised that only the Danish Royal Family and international bankers can afford to live in Copenhagen. The price of everything is quite extraordinarily expensive.

The Levis I was wearing cost me $85 at Hannah’s, in Copenhagen the same jeans  at a department store were almost A$500. A regular flat white is between A$20-$30 – our caffeine addiction is on hold until Gdansk. If we had have sold our children into slavery before travelling, we may have just been able to afford a restaurant meal. Fortunately jetlag dulls appetites and wandering around taking photos is a very cheap past time. And, of course there was that promise of Mary’s invitation pending.

Like all good tourists in need of good food and somewhere to sit we found our way to the National (Royal) Library and took in a tour of its national treasures (including an original Guttenberg bible and a display of Kepler’s notes and calculations) – along with lunch that surprisingly provided us with a few coins change from A$100.  We swam off the meal in the hotel’s faintly heated pool and collapsed into the frenzied sleep of the jet lagged. But, Gdansk beckons – with its Polish food at Polish prices.

I am really looking forward to seeing how much Poland has changed since we were last there in 2015. I’m looking to taking our cameras wandering Gdansk – a city we haven’t seen before. And I’m looking forward to buying a meal that costs less than the purchase price of a small car, even if Queen Mary did prefer that we stayed longer in Copenhagen…

Better let you go Mary, we have a plane to catch. Of course we will be back, later in November – so keep those Tasmanian home fires burning in anticipation …

FC-S