The train to Lublin had arrived right on time, but at first sight I didn't realise it was an intercity train. Although the carriages showed off a fresh lick of green paint, it screeched and groaned into Warszawa Centralna like an octogenarian with a pending hip replacement. Noisy and dilapidated though it was, the romantic in me was enchanted by the "Hogwarts Express" style compartments, openable windows, and the navy-uniformed conductor. It was just like I used to read about in my Enid Blytons when I was a child, and nothing like the sterile, super modern trains of Western Europe. I got on, and realised I had no idea what the compartment protocol is on this type of train. Do you have to ask if there is an available seat or just plonk yourself down next to someone that doesn't look smelly or about to launch into a long-winded description of their recent colonoscopy? Since my ability to ask in Polish about seat availability is absolutely nil, I opted for the plonk option. Thankfully some gallant Polish gentlemen helped me hoist my pack up to the luggage rack and pretty soon the navy-suited conductor (with big brass buttons!) opened our compartment door and demanded "Tickets please" (I assume). Once my interrail ticket had a hole punched in "Day 1", I settled in with my thick Larsson, resting my eyes occasionally on the countryside and peering anxiously at the signs every time we pulled into a station. Apparently the Polish do not see fit to mark all of the train stations with signs, apparently assuming that if you got on the damn train in the first place you already know where you are going. This was worrying, but I figured that Lublin being the capital of Malopolska (Little Poland) the signage for it would be not only existant, but capitalised, headline size and in bold type. And so it proved to be.
At the exit of the Lublin train station, I found the backpacker's dream - an enormous sign containing a street map of Lublin, which I immediately began to study in the hopes of locating my hostel. After a good few minutes of staring at the map and muttering, a nice Polish lady standing near me asked me in English if I needed any help. I admitted that while I had managed to locate my hostel on the map, I couldn't figure out where the train station was. She showed me, and then asked me how I planned to get there. When I told her I was going to walk she said "It's late, and it's going to get dark soon. The walk will probably take you more than half an hour. Wouldn't you prefer to take a taxi?". I hadn't felt unsafe at all in Poland, but when the locals tell me to take a taxi because it's getting dark, I bloody well take it. She advised me not to take the taxis at the station (too expensive) so she called a taxi from her mobile (she wouldn't use mine), took the trouble to explain to the operator exactly where I was going, that I didn't speak Polish, and where to pick me up. In short, my saviour in a skirt and red lipstick. We chatted a bit, she was commuting to Lublin for work, from Warszawa I suppose, but before I got a chance to find out anything else, her taxi whisked her away to her weekday hotel/home. My taxi came and took me to the hostel. You would think we wouldn't be able to communicate, but it's amazing how much you can achieve with only "Yes", "No" and generous use of facial expression and tone of voice. The taxi stopped, and I asked "Tak?", which means "Yes", but using it to mean "Is this the place?". The driver replied "Tak" in a definitive and authoritative tone of voice, which I took to mean "Yep, we're here". It really drives home what you always hear about 80% of communication being non-verbal.
The hostel guy was also lovely, English a little broken but more than adequate. The Polish have incredibly good English, but even when they don't they make up for it with lovely manners, warm smiles and good intentions. The hostel was very depressing, had all the style of a juvenile detention centre from the 60s:
However, all I wanted at that point was a shower and a bed, and for the measly sum of 30 złotys (just over 7 euro) the hostel provided me just that. And I was almost alone in the entire building, which, while adding to the general creepiness of the place, meant I had a dorm room all to myself, which, in my many years of travelling, I have realised is a luxury not to be sneezed at (or snored at).
At the exit of the Lublin train station, I found the backpacker's dream - an enormous sign containing a street map of Lublin, which I immediately began to study in the hopes of locating my hostel. After a good few minutes of staring at the map and muttering, a nice Polish lady standing near me asked me in English if I needed any help. I admitted that while I had managed to locate my hostel on the map, I couldn't figure out where the train station was. She showed me, and then asked me how I planned to get there. When I told her I was going to walk she said "It's late, and it's going to get dark soon. The walk will probably take you more than half an hour. Wouldn't you prefer to take a taxi?". I hadn't felt unsafe at all in Poland, but when the locals tell me to take a taxi because it's getting dark, I bloody well take it. She advised me not to take the taxis at the station (too expensive) so she called a taxi from her mobile (she wouldn't use mine), took the trouble to explain to the operator exactly where I was going, that I didn't speak Polish, and where to pick me up. In short, my saviour in a skirt and red lipstick. We chatted a bit, she was commuting to Lublin for work, from Warszawa I suppose, but before I got a chance to find out anything else, her taxi whisked her away to her weekday hotel/home. My taxi came and took me to the hostel. You would think we wouldn't be able to communicate, but it's amazing how much you can achieve with only "Yes", "No" and generous use of facial expression and tone of voice. The taxi stopped, and I asked "Tak?", which means "Yes", but using it to mean "Is this the place?". The driver replied "Tak" in a definitive and authoritative tone of voice, which I took to mean "Yep, we're here". It really drives home what you always hear about 80% of communication being non-verbal.
The hostel guy was also lovely, English a little broken but more than adequate. The Polish have incredibly good English, but even when they don't they make up for it with lovely manners, warm smiles and good intentions. The hostel was very depressing, had all the style of a juvenile detention centre from the 60s:
However, all I wanted at that point was a shower and a bed, and for the measly sum of 30 złotys (just over 7 euro) the hostel provided me just that. And I was almost alone in the entire building, which, while adding to the general creepiness of the place, meant I had a dorm room all to myself, which, in my many years of travelling, I have realised is a luxury not to be sneezed at (or snored at).
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