6 a.m. in Boleslawiec, Poland

A weeping tourist sits on a park bench…this is her story

     Transportation infrastructure in Poland is almost as bad as the population’s ability to adhere to the rules posted in trains. So… I spent countless hours on trains and in stations where chainsmokers ignored all etiquette. My tired eyes burned and I imagined cancer cells multiplying in my lungs. I refused to sleep, after a dramatic warning from an older woman to always keep my hands on my luggage as thievery was rampant. Although she addressed me in Polish, which I don’t understand, her hysteria and accompanying actions made her meaning very clear!

     Finally, I was on the last of the four trains, blissfully alone. I hid my suitcase so I could hurry to the little bathroom. As I walked down the narrow hall with seating compartments on one side of me and the black nothingness of night out the windows, I realized I was the ONLY person in this car of the train. The empty, brightly compartments with their vacant benches facing each other, swayed with the gentle rhythm of the train speeding through the night. Back with my arm around my suitcase I still did not dare sleep, feeling that I would miss my stop in a country where I understood not a single word!

     When the train screeched to a stop, I gathered my tired confidence, left the train, and found the ticket window. I would be able to relax when I knew I had all that I needed to return to Prague the next day in time for my flight home to Minnesota. I approached a fatigued-looking woman and said quite clearly, “Prague. Tomorrow.” She shook her messy hair, scowled,  and said “no.” Assuming she had not understood, I gave her another chance to smile and accommodate me. I clearly printed “Prague, November 21” and slid it under the window to her. She scowled, she shook her head and she spat “no”, including a subtle eye roll this time.

     I left, disheartened. I was not yet defeated but feeling very near it. I guessed what  direction the center of the town might be in. I wheeled my little red suitcase down block after block of empty sidewalks. There were some shops, not open, and some homes, all dark. The hour was early and Boleslawiec clearly had no hotels. Exhausted,  with no ideas and nobody to consult, I sat on a bench in a triangle that would be grass in the Spring. Right now, however, the bare branches of the trees and the dirty snow were a perfect background for a bit of weeping.

     Cleansed of self-pity, I rose from the bench and slowly made my way down the sidewalk. With careful reading I spotted a sign which, mercifully, proclaimed that a tourism office was nearby. I followed the magic indicators to a tidy office with large glass windows through which I could see a woman at the counter busy with her computer. I read a sign which said they were not open yet and she looked up as my face fell. Immediately, she strode to the door, unlocked it and welcomed me in, using English! She calmly proceeded to solve all of my problems!

     Problem number one was the inability to make a train reservation for the next day, My savior, Catarina, was as surprised as I had been about the train station refusals. She pulled up a full list of railway schedules and discovered the dilemma. I could get to Prague but not within the 24 hours necessary to get me to the airport. With short train trips to obscure stations and multiple hour waits for the next connections, a three hour car journey was, at minimum, a 14 hour train trip! Catarina’s solution was to hire a driver to take me to Prague the next day. I would be picked up at my hotel and delivered to the airport all for less than $100.

     That leads to problem number two. I had no hotel from which to be collected. Until I walked the city the next day I had no idea where the hotels were located. Catarina not only knew about hotels but also had connections to an interesting man who ran a luxurious hotel. The local man had spent most of his life outside of Poland. He returned to Boleslawiec after a successful career as a mime, in Paris, and bought a magnificent old mansion. Converted to a hotel it combined all of the charm and beauty of a residence hundreds of years old with extravagant modern shower and bath. It had spotless expanses of new tile. It had as many pillows on a billowing king bed duvet as I have ever seen. The owner had picked me up from the tourism office in his own car and carried my tiny suitcase inside. He commanded the smiling receptionist to give me “the best room for the smallest price”. I am convinced that that is exactly what happened as I spent a very queenly night in my room and partook of a breakfast banquet the next morning for for about $80 total.

     I banished my fatigue with a long shower using the multiple showerheads provided. I pretended I had serious business to attend to in a separate office section of the room.  The chair and the desk both were older than the country I lived in. I mused about the giant painting above my bed which portrayed a tastefully naked young man with a garland on his head as his sole garment.

     Map in hand, I set out to find the pottery factory, producer of Boleslawiec Pottery. Decades earlier I had discovered a happy little blue and white polka-dotted pitcher at a TJ Maxx. It made me smile and soon I bought a small plate to keep it company and a bowl and dinner plates, platters, saucers…. I was so joyful in the acquisition of my pottery it, eventually, became the main decoration in our home. Having come so close to Poland on this vacation, I just had to see the birthplace of my treasures and the people that created such lovely items! I walked along the edge of town on a sidewalk adjacent to a modern road. I passed a large cemetery fairly dancing with bright flowers and, just at the front gate, a flower stand exploding with colorful possibilities for today’s visitors. Near the cemetery, up a tree-lined hill, I spotted a sign decorated in the same manner as my pottery at home! A few blocks later there stood the factory. It was not pretty, but posted on the drab wall was a sign for tours and I headed that way.

     I was the only person wanting a tour that morning. I was very likely the only tourist in the entire small city on that late November day! Still, Monica greeted me in English and led me on a trip through the wonders of creating beauty. I saw the pots in their pre-glaze nudity and saw how the background patterns were stenciled and how the hand-painted details were added by several dozen women at small tables in a large, bright room. I wondered if the women creating the works of art could afford to buy the beautiful things for their own homes.

     When I returned to my home, suitcase filled with art those women had created I would rediscover the small pieces I had purchased wrapped in socks and underwear and T-shirts. I would feel new appreciation of what goes into the products people like myself so easily buy.

     The next day my little chauffeur showed up in a small car wearing a small black hat on his head. He did not speak English and I did not speak Polish but I pointed at things and smiled as he took the back roads to Prague in order to avoid paying tolls. It was really a great tour!