Send the St Bernards!

I had a slightly different experience from Michael Dembinski of Poland's sudden drop in temperature and heavy snow yesterday. One of the downsides of being a mobile teacher is you do spend an awful lot of time travelling. I spend a minimum of 15 hours a week on tube, train or bus. My first class on Monday required me to walk to the Imielin tube in Ursynow and then up to Politechnika then straight into a building well placed by the exit: no problem there, although the heavy snow was coming in laterally and got into one's face somewhat (I feel my Barbour tartan hunter may not have been designed for this meteorological experience).

See these street workers trying in vain to shovel the snow on the street:


The Metro here in Warsaw is extremely fast and there hasn't once been a delay or interruption to the service. The Underground on the other hand... I recall that during last year's winter freeze in the UK the Northern Line was all over the place, I presume because at each end of the line the trains emerge into the open where the problem begins.


Building works are hampered by the cold, and I guess that all foundation works for any building can only be done from around April to October. Here some finishing work pavement by the new Kosciol at the corner of Dereniowa and ul. Indiry Gandhi are being done under cover of a little tent.


Walking back down ul. Indiry Gandhi the tube I was quickly losing sensation in my dangly bits, although it was hard not to be impressed by just how much snow had fallen in such a short space of time and how utterly beautiful the ordinary becomes under its munificent blessing. A bowl of leek and potato soup made at the weekend revived me and it was back out at 14.00 to take the 503 up to Zeran. The bus handled the snow well but the slow progress was caused by cars fishtailing all over the place. I only discovered recently that winter tyres are voluntary, not mandatory, in Poland, and clearly a few people hadn't got around to changing them over.

After an hour on the bus I was still only on Nowy Swiat, which is a cross between a Mayfair street and Oxford Street (for a great analysis of what is wrong with Nowy Swiat, see this blog). So I decided to cross over to the tram spot north of Centrum Metro and take the 18 which terminates at Zeran.

Big mistake! Battling through the newly laid snow was knackering and by this stage my scheduled class was nearly over. After arriving at the tramstop I waited for ages for any tram at all and feared some wypadek had caused a problem with the service.

The author taking a picture of himself as a momento mori/for would-be rescuers to use to identify his corpse.

It was whilst waiting at the tramstop that I met two new sound effects that are likely to become familiar over the coming months: the stamp of boots and the glottal snorts of strangers as their noses drip.

The 18 finally arrived, completely packed. Fortunately although as I am English I am unable by my very nature to push in front of anyone in a queue by trick or coincidence years on the Underground have taught me the value of the sharp elbow in getting onto tightly packed trains. Funny how we English consider ourselves a 'spatially reserved' people but that all disappears when we need to get onto the tube: and yet we accuse Europeans of being jostly types.

Having spent at least 30 minutes outside without moving I was losing body heat fast: fortunately for the first time ever the enforced body contact with Babcias and businessmen  (and tak, od czasu do czasu, an attractive lady) was therefore more than welcome. At Zeran I struggled into the wind, which was now picking up, and finally made it to my lesson, after over two hours of travelling, straight to drink two large mugs of hot tea and begin the class at last. 

The works currently going on at Most Grota Roweckiego make this last section of my Monday journey particularly difficult as groups of passengers alighting trams and buses and going under the bridge are reduced to walking down narrow duckboards in complete darkness.

Dark coloured clothing abounds with the occasional coloured hat or scarf saving the day. I feel vastly inferior to many of the men who seem to wander round with just a beanie hat on as a nod to the weather and no scarf, without boots and in normal Autumnal jackets. But then, less than 6 months ago I was in South Africa in shorts and T-shirt whilst locals went around in fur coats and gloves, so I suppose it's all relative. But the clothing adds to the feeling of gloom....

...which, luckily, I am rather fond of at this time of year. All year round sunshine would kill me spiritually.


There's something oddly attractive about the mix of colours on the roads  when heavy snow falls and is then removed and the roads gritted. It ranges from pristine white on the verges to gun metal grey and then to a churned almost ochre brown, as if a child with an extremely limited but powerful set of crayons has gone to work on a map of the city with God's authority and permission.



It's slightly harder to be so hyperbolic about the situation when it gets transferred onto the bus, of course. No wonder my orthopaedic surgeon in Warsaw is so good: the city is now a morass of slippy hazards that I am sure will lead me at some point to falling 'gluteus over mammary.'

But all that said, for all mine and Michael's journeys yesterday might have been different, our conclusions are the same: I love living in Warsaw and the beauty - and the difficulty - of life here. I am glad I came and I intend to stay. You have been warned!