To Wroclaw!

I had stayed in Krakow for about 10 days altogether. Mostly I just relaxed, read, studied Polish, took nice walks, and saw the sights. Notice, I didn’t mention party. Yes, I had a decent respectable life for my days in Krakow, but for the last night I decided that I would go out with a bang. It worked out perfectly that there was a group of 10 beautiful Irish girls staying in my hostel that were happy for me to join them for a night of clubbing. They were all college friends from Trinity College in Dublin on a weekend party trip. They were…umm, how should I say…airhead, high-maintenance kind of girls, but friendly and fun.

I was just hanging around in the hostel common room glancing over my Teach Yourself Polish book when three Englishmen came in and struck up a conversation. They were staying in the cheaper hostel downstairs, which shared the same management and reception. They were nice to me, but hooligans nonetheless. We had a beer and then they went to buy more. They gave me a couple beers and Lay’s paprika flavor chips. Their plan for the evening was to drink as much as possible and make slimy comments to and about pretty women, and they were already off to a good start in the hostel common room. I didn’t want to join them, but they cajoled me into it, saying “Come on Tim, come out with us tonight. You’ve never had a night out with British boys. We will show you how to do it. It will be great.”
I gave in but said only for an hour, and only one or two pubs. Well it turned out to by much longer, because I had trouble getting rid of them. It was still early for going out, maybe 9-10pm. We went into a nearly empty pub and they wanted drinks as fast as the bartender could pour them. One after another. Then the biggest hooligan of the trio (the other two were actually pretty nice and respectable) started talking shit, you know friendly jokes. Stuff like which country speaks proper English, USA or UK. I go right back at him, pointing out his poor grammar, and then saying something like “oh you’re from London; you must be a Man U fan.” Don’t say this to a drunken Brit, it won’t go over well. He promptly showed me his tattoo of his favorite team’s logo, Crystal Palace. He also wanted to fight me. His friends calmed him down. Then this guy gets all friendly again and makes me sing football chants with him, and he tests my memory of the words. They are all horrible things about Germany. One is about English planes shooting down German planes. Another has the line “and if you are from Germany surrender or you die.” I took my leave from these guys at my first opportunity and found the Irish girls at a club. We got a hookah and some drinks and then danced a bit. I got back to the hostel kind of late.


I wasn’t quite in top form in the morning, but I had business to take care of. I had to get a train to Wroclaw this day. I managed to get the ticket in the morning. It was good for any train to Wroclaw for the next 24 hours and they left approximately every 2 hrs. I decided I would go to the hostel and chill out, have a snack, and chat with this really cool girl who worked there. She grew up in Texas, but her parents are Polish immigrants and she returned to Poland for University. Anyway, I decided to take the 1:47 train. I was drinking my juice and drawing some great doodles in the guestbook chronicling my love of Krakow. I totally lost track of the time. I looked at my watch and it was 1:30. It took at least 15 minutes to walk to the train station. I grabbed my bags and said goodbye before setting out, walking at a blistering pace with my heavy bags. I didn’t know where the platforms were, or even which platform my train was leaving from. I found a platform, which had a train. I asked a woman in a uniform if this was my train, speaking in charades sign language. I only understood that this wasn’t it in her long reply. I saw only two other trains in the station so I set out for them. It was 1:46. I had one minute to catch my train. None of the signs under the platform have the name of the city I’m headed for. Only one of them is leaving at the time on my ticket, to Jelenia Gora. This name sounds vaguely familiar from my guide book, and I think it is in the direction of my city. I run up the stairs and see a man in uniform about 20m away looking up and down the train. He is the only person still standing on this platform and I pause, heart racing, and look him in the eye as he blows a whistle. I make a move to a door on the train and pull it open and hop on. Less than 2 seconds later the train starts moving. “Oh shit, I really hope this is the right train. I may have problems. I’m so stupid. I could have just waited 2 hours for the next one and would have been certain to ride the right train,” I scold myself.

I know my ticket is for a seat. I’m in the sleeper section though, and I don’t know which direction to go, or even if it is possible to move between carriages. I begin walking through the train and pass a girl. I show her my ticket and ask where to go. She barely speaks English and is just as clueless as me. I keep walking and find some seats a few cars ahead. I’m carrying heavy bags and sweating a lot. I find a section with a few open seats and enter. I’m pretty worried at this point. I decided just to wait until the ticket inspector comes to find out if I had taken the right train and sat in the right section. It was a very suspenseful 30 minute wait. When he came by and checked everyone’s ticket. He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary when he looked at my ticket so I gave a big sigh of relief.

Now I had to make sure I got off at the right stop. Trains only stop for a minute or two at each station and there is no announcement at the stop. I knew the trip would be around 5 hours. I was exhausted from staying out late the night before, but terrified to fall asleep because I would miss my stop. It wasn’t a very enjoyable train ride.

So I made it to Wroclaw dworek glowny (main station) and had scribbled down in my note pad the instructions to reach my dorm from the email my international exchange coordinator sent “no problem I think that is rather easy to get the Olowek from station you can just take the tram number 9 direction Sepolno you get off on 8 stop. The address of dormitory *called Olowek Plac Grunwaldzki 30 *the dormitory is very famous so it will be easy to reach it.”
Obviously this woman doesn’t know me well. I can set out on a simple journey and make it very difficult and get very lost. I found tram number nine and was attempting to buy a ticket from the automatic machine, but was unable to because I didn’t have exact change and the machine had no change. I didn’t care I need a damn ticket but it wouldn’t allow me to overpay for my ticket. I asked some young people what I was doing wrong and they had change and bought a ticket for me. They were so nice. They wouldn’t let me pay them back. I told them I was moving to Olowek and they said they were going that way as well. My stop was only two stops after theirs. Woohoo! Easy like I was told. We chat while on the train. They are students at another University, and they taught me a couple words of Polish and what foods I should try, which I promptly forgot. I got off at the second stop after they got off. I was not on Grunwaldzki, so I asked another person which way. They pointed and I went. I came to ul. Grunwaldzki and looked for number 30. “This neighborhood is really shitty,” I thought. I had been warned that the building was build in soviet style and was a bit run down, but this neighborhood was very dark and unwelcoming to say the least, and it certainly didn’t look like dorms. I arrived in the evening hours but I was told that there would be a reception to give me a key. When I found ul. Grunwaldzki 30 and went inside it was an apartment building with nobody in sight. I rang the first doorbell I came to, hoping that maybe this is how receptionists work in Poland, after all this country does things a bit differently, and in ways I don’t usually find agreeable. An old, angry voice barked through the door, “Slucham?” I know this is how to ask “what do you want?” I say in Polish that I don’t speak Polish, and then in English - I’m an exchange student wanting to move in. Silence…he just ignored me and went back to his business. Then the entrance from the street opens and a guy is dragging a supremely drunk guy into the building. They are both older, around 50 years. The drunken one can hardly stand up and they are yelling at each other. The sober-looking one starts pushing the drunk up the stairs, yells one last thing in his face and leaves. I also leave a quickly as possible. “Shit, what do I do? Where do I go? If I really do have to live here then I’m going to say fuck this I’m not going to study in Poland, I’m going home,” is what I mumbled to myself. I’ve got nobody to contact here. I consider consulting my guidebook to find a hostel for the night and sorting the rest out tomorrow. Again I’m cursing myself for not being more prepared for my inevitable tendency to get lost, especially for this dire case where I know nobody and have all my heavy possessions on my back. Well, I did see a big mall a couple blocks away. I could maybe find some internet there and I may find a phone number for somebody I can call for advice. I look for Wi-Fi in the mall by asking the young woman at information. She speaks no English…dammit Poland. She seems to understand ‘Wi-Fi internet’ though and says “Saturn.” I go to this electronics store and ask. They send me to the second level where I ask again, finally I found the person who speaks English. He tells me they don’t have internet, but the coffee shop across from the store does. I go there and find I have a contact from this university on Facebook. He’s been very friendly and gave his information and offered help to people coming, although he was away on vacation. I called him and told him what I was doing. He told me I had the wrong building, and I realized that I was looking on ulica Grunwaldzki 30 instead of plac Grunwaldzki 30. I had found that this asshole city had made the equivalent of an Elm Street and Elm Avenue right next to each other and I had confused the two. I sighed in relief and blushed with rage and embarrassment. I had to walk another half mile and was sweating, but finally made it to my building. It turns out I got off one stop too soon based on the advice from the strangers who bought me a tram ticket, then I had found the wrong street.

So when I got to the building I had more difficulty understanding what the receptionist was trying to tell me. It seemed important and I judged their message to be something like ‘I will stay in room 77 for one night and I will have to see building administration the next day before 5pm and they will make me move to another room.’ Whatever, they gave me a key and I finally had a bed to sleep on.