Back in Warszawa I was drained of energy; it had been two weeks of unforgettable vacation and now that it was time to leave all my body wanted to do was sleep. I trudged from the train station to the hostel, had a shower, and fell directly into bed.
Of course, having gone to bed in the early evening, the next morning I woke at about 5:30 with my bags already packed and ready to catch my plane, which wasn't until the afternoon. I decided to venture out and take my last look and walk around Warszawa, and, with some luck, I would find an open café somewhere where I could exchange my last złotys for much-needed caffeine. Needless to say, hardworking as the Polish are, not even they are going to open a café at 6 AM, so I wandered the streets until, just after 7 AM, I finally found my Holy Grail - an open coffee shop. Elated to finally have a place to sit and read, I walked in to find two men, one youngish and one middle aged, talking to the baristas. What a complicated coffee order, I thought, as the conversation went back and forth. Suddenly, the two men turned around and walked towards the door. I must have looked clueless, because the young one turned to me and said, in English, "Don't bother. The coffee machine's broken". To say I was dismayed would be an enormous understatement. My legs were weary, my eyes were drooping, and the smell of roasted coffee beans was making me drool. But instead of settling into a poufy couch with a poufier cappuccino, I had to head out for some more aimless wandering. Or I would have, were it not for the eternal kindess and friendlyness of the Poles.
"Come with us," said the young man. "We'll drive you to another coffee shop. With a working machine".
I wasn't sure if I should get in a car with two men I had met twenty seconds ago, and my hesitation was clear on my face.
"Don't worry miss, we're taxi drivers."
By way of proof, he motioned to the two taxis parked outside. I got into one and the middle aged man drove while we chatted. Not surprisingly, he spoke perfect English. Sure enough, five minutes later, we were outside another café of the same chain, and went inside to make our orders. My companion insisted on paying for my coffee and pastry, and we sat down together to exchange life stories. We chatted amiably for about half an hour, until coffee break was over and my knight in shining coffee beans had to get to work driving people around Warszawa. I couldn't believe that even in such a busy urban centre, perfect gentlemen (and women) abound who don't think twice to help poor caffeine-deprived tourists. They give their time and money without wanting anything in return other than to spend a special moment with a total stranger. It is really magical, and more than anything I saw or did while I visited Poland, the kind, warm, open, endlessly generous spirit of the Polish people is what I will always remember.
Of course, having gone to bed in the early evening, the next morning I woke at about 5:30 with my bags already packed and ready to catch my plane, which wasn't until the afternoon. I decided to venture out and take my last look and walk around Warszawa, and, with some luck, I would find an open café somewhere where I could exchange my last złotys for much-needed caffeine. Needless to say, hardworking as the Polish are, not even they are going to open a café at 6 AM, so I wandered the streets until, just after 7 AM, I finally found my Holy Grail - an open coffee shop. Elated to finally have a place to sit and read, I walked in to find two men, one youngish and one middle aged, talking to the baristas. What a complicated coffee order, I thought, as the conversation went back and forth. Suddenly, the two men turned around and walked towards the door. I must have looked clueless, because the young one turned to me and said, in English, "Don't bother. The coffee machine's broken". To say I was dismayed would be an enormous understatement. My legs were weary, my eyes were drooping, and the smell of roasted coffee beans was making me drool. But instead of settling into a poufy couch with a poufier cappuccino, I had to head out for some more aimless wandering. Or I would have, were it not for the eternal kindess and friendlyness of the Poles.
"Come with us," said the young man. "We'll drive you to another coffee shop. With a working machine".
I wasn't sure if I should get in a car with two men I had met twenty seconds ago, and my hesitation was clear on my face.
"Don't worry miss, we're taxi drivers."
By way of proof, he motioned to the two taxis parked outside. I got into one and the middle aged man drove while we chatted. Not surprisingly, he spoke perfect English. Sure enough, five minutes later, we were outside another café of the same chain, and went inside to make our orders. My companion insisted on paying for my coffee and pastry, and we sat down together to exchange life stories. We chatted amiably for about half an hour, until coffee break was over and my knight in shining coffee beans had to get to work driving people around Warszawa. I couldn't believe that even in such a busy urban centre, perfect gentlemen (and women) abound who don't think twice to help poor caffeine-deprived tourists. They give their time and money without wanting anything in return other than to spend a special moment with a total stranger. It is really magical, and more than anything I saw or did while I visited Poland, the kind, warm, open, endlessly generous spirit of the Polish people is what I will always remember.
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