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.