Katowice to the Netherlands

Finally, a bus picked us up and drove to the Polish border. Border control took about two hours, they really took their time. But I didn’t care, because they played a movie on the in-bus television screen. It was a Russian remake of the action movie “commando” (1985), called “День Д”(Day D), brainless entertainment.
It took only a few more hours to Katowice, where I arrived at 3am Polish time. A very unfriendly man sent me away when I asked to stay in the small bus station’s waiting room. Shame on him, one week before Christmas. So I walked to the “Katowice” hotel, an ugly highrise near a roundabout, and the concierge let me stay in the lobby. I sat down on the decent yellow sofa and almost fell asleep. As my dozing was noticed, he tickled my shoulder and told me that I could stay there, but not sleep. I didn’t want to torture myself trying to stay awake, and at about 7:30 I left the building. In a cafe, after a roll and a cup of coffee, I woke up and started my day. They let me leave my backpack there until noon, and I walked the city of Katowice, which was, as my host later affirmed, quite uninteresting. Streets, a cemetery, concrete buildings from the eighties. After picking up my backpack I spotted a man with a violin under a viaduct. His awful howling (he really couldn’t play) mixed with the traffic tumult and I decided to ask him if I couldn’t play a little. So he gave me his violin, and old instrument which wasn’t bad at all, and I started playing Beatles, Bach, Vivaldi, Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, Smetana, and some Christmas carols (he had some scores written on paper). I enjoyed it a lot, and played for about two hours. Many people donated and a little dream had come through for me: helping an unable vagabond musician with making money. He liked to give me something, though, and I walked away with 10 sloties and a bar of chocolate.
I had a simple meal in the centre and met my couchsurfing host, Maja, whom I could connect to immediately, and we got involved in a good conversation that lasted until very late that night, and cheered us up, to the extent that Maja thought she would die laughing, and I replied “Well, than I write on my blog: Since my host had passed away the next morning, I had to find my way to the station all by myself, which was not easy.” We had the same macabre sense of humor.

The next morning I got up at six and went to the airport. There was nothing to worry about, it was all too easy, and I wrote a few lines over a good cup of coffee in the departure building. The flight to Eindhoven was two hours. I decided to hitchhike to Tilburg, where my dad lives, and believe me, that was very, very easy. The first driver who stopped at entrance road of the highway A2 took me with her, and I arrived eary afternoon. I started to walk home and by coincidence saw my dad in his SUV – I was just in time to go buying a Christmas tree together…

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Katowice to the Netherlands

Finally, a bus picked us up and drove to the Polish border. Border control took about two hours, they really took their time. But I didn’t care, because they played a movie on the in-bus television screen. It was a Russian remake of the action movie “commando” (1985), called “День Д”(Day D), brainless entertainment.
It took only a few more hours to Katowice, where I arrived at 3am Polish time. A very unfriendly man sent me away when I asked to stay in the small bus station’s waiting room. Shame on him, one week before Christmas. So I walked to the “Katowice” hotel, an ugly highrise near a roundabout, and the concierge let me stay in the lobby. I sat down on the decent yellow sofa and almost fell asleep. As my dozing was noticed, he tickled my shoulder and told me that I could stay there, but not sleep. I didn’t want to torture myself trying to stay awake, and at about 7:30 I left the building. In a cafe, after a roll and a cup of coffee, I woke up and started my day. They let me leave my backpack there until noon, and I walked the city of Katowice, which was, as my host later affirmed, quite uninteresting. Streets, a cemetery, concrete buildings from the eighties. After picking up my backpack I spotted a man with a violin under a viaduct. His awful howling (he really couldn’t play) mixed with the traffic tumult and I decided to ask him if I couldn’t play a little. So he gave me his violin, and old instrument which wasn’t bad at all, and I started playing Beatles, Bach, Vivaldi, Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, Smetana, and some Christmas carols (he had some scores written on paper). I enjoyed it a lot, and played for about two hours. Many people donated and a little dream had come through for me: helping an unable vagabond musician with making money. He liked to give me something, though, and I walked away with 10 sloties and a bar of chocolate.
I had a simple meal in the centre and met my couchsurfing host, Maja, whom I could connect to immediately, and we got involved in a good conversation that lasted until very late that night, and cheered us up, to the extent that Maja thought she would die laughing, and I replied “Well, than I write on my blog: Since my host had passed away the next morning, I had to find my way to the station all by myself, which was not easy.” We had the same macabre sense of humor.

The next morning I got up at six and went to the airport. There was nothing to worry about, it was all too easy, and I wrote a few lines over a good cup of coffee in the departure building. The flight to Eindhoven was two hours. I decided to hitchhike to Tilburg, where my dad lives, and believe me, that was very, very easy. The first driver who stopped at entrance road of the highway A2 took me with her, and I arrived eary afternoon. I started to walk home and by coincidence saw my dad in his SUV – I was just in time to go buying a Christmas tree together…

Katowice to the Netherlands

Finally, a bus picked us up and drove to the Polish border. Border control took about two hours, they really took their time. But I didn’t care, because they played a movie on the in-bus television screen. It was a Russian remake of the action movie “commando” (1985), called “День Д”(Day D), brainless entertainment.
It took only a few more hours to Katowice, where I arrived at 3am Polish time. A very unfriendly man sent me away when I asked to stay in the small bus station’s waiting room. Shame on him, one week before Christmas. So I walked to the “Katowice” hotel, an ugly highrise near a roundabout, and the concierge let me stay in the lobby. I sat down on the decent yellow sofa and almost fell asleep. As my dozing was noticed, he tickled my shoulder and told me that I could stay there, but not sleep. I didn’t want to torture myself trying to stay awake, and at about 7:30 I left the building. In a cafe, after a roll and a cup of coffee, I woke up and started my day. They let me leave my backpack there until noon, and I walked the city of Katowice, which was, as my host later affirmed, quite uninteresting. Streets, a cemetery, concrete buildings from the eighties. After picking up my backpack I spotted a man with a violin under a viaduct. His awful howling (he really couldn’t play) mixed with the traffic tumult and I decided to ask him if I couldn’t play a little. So he gave me his violin, and old instrument which wasn’t bad at all, and I started playing Beatles, Bach, Vivaldi, Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, Smetana, and some Christmas carols (he had some scores written on paper). I enjoyed it a lot, and played for about two hours. Many people donated and a little dream had come through for me: helping an unable vagabond musician with making money. He liked to give me something, though, and I walked away with 10 sloties and a bar of chocolate.
I had a simple meal in the centre and met my couchsurfing host, Maja, whom I could connect to immediately, and we got involved in a good conversation that lasted until very late that night, and cheered us up, to the extent that Maja thought she would die laughing, and I replied “Well, than I write on my blog: Since my host had passed away the next morning, I had to find my way to the station all by myself, which was not easy.” We had the same macabre sense of humor.

The next morning I got up at six and went to the airport. There was nothing to worry about, it was all too easy, and I wrote a few lines over a good cup of coffee in the departure building. The flight to Eindhoven was two hours. I decided to hitchhike to Tilburg, where my dad lives, and believe me, that was very, very easy. The first driver who stopped at entrance road of the highway A2 took me with her, and I arrived eary afternoon. I started to walk home and by coincidence saw my dad in his SUV – I was just in time to go buying a Christmas tree together…

Katowice to the Netherlands was originally published on Meandering home

Katowice to the Netherlands

Finally, a bus picked us up and drove to the Polish border. Border control took about two hours, they really took their time. But I didn’t care, because they played a movie on the in-bus television screen. It was a Russian remake of the action movie “commando” (1985), called “День Д”(Day D), brainless entertainment.
It took only a few more hours to Katowice, where I arrived at 3am Polish time. A very unfriendly man sent me away when I asked to stay in the small bus station’s waiting room. Shame on him, one week before Christmas. So I walked to the “Katowice” hotel, an ugly highrise near a roundabout, and the concierge let me stay in the lobby. I sat down on the decent yellow sofa and almost fell asleep. As my dozing was noticed, he tickled my shoulder and told me that I could stay there, but not sleep. I didn’t want to torture myself trying to stay awake, and at about 7:30 I left the building. In a cafe, after a roll and a cup of coffee, I woke up and started my day. They let me leave my backpack there until noon, and I walked the city of Katowice, which was, as my host later affirmed, quite uninteresting. Streets, a cemetery, concrete buildings from the eighties. After picking up my backpack I spotted a man with a violin under a viaduct. His awful howling (he really couldn’t play) mixed with the traffic tumult and I decided to ask him if I couldn’t play a little. So he gave me his violin, and old instrument which wasn’t bad at all, and I started playing Beatles, Bach, Vivaldi, Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, Smetana, and some Christmas carols (he had some scores written on paper). I enjoyed it a lot, and played for about two hours. Many people donated and a little dream had come through for me: helping an unable vagabond musician with making money. He liked to give me something, though, and I walked away with 10 sloties and a bar of chocolate.
I had a simple meal in the centre and met my couchsurfing host, Maja, whom I could connect to immediately, and we got involved in a good conversation that lasted until very late that night, and cheered us up, to the extent that Maja thought she would die laughing, and I replied “Well, than I write on my blog: Since my host had passed away the next morning, I had to find my way to the station all by myself, which was not easy.” We had the same macabre sense of humor.

The next morning I got up at six and went to the airport. There was nothing to worry about, it was all too easy, and I wrote a few lines over a good cup of coffee in the departure building. The flight to Eindhoven was two hours. I decided to hitchhike to Tilburg, where my dad lives, and believe me, that was very, very easy. The first driver who stopped at entrance road of the highway A2 took me with her, and I arrived eary afternoon. I started to walk home and by coincidence saw my dad in his SUV – I was just in time to go buying a Christmas tree together…

Vilnius #2

My second day in Vilnius began with a simple breakfast together with the cleaning ladies. They were really working too hard, vacuum cleaning the community room several times, and doing my dishes, despite of a paper on the wall that read

Your mum doesn’t work here,
so wash everything you use by yourself.

I pointed at it, or at the Lithuanian translation of it, and earned a proper smile.
In our hostel was a young man, more like a boy, who was using the internet all the time. He looked a little bit strange and it annoyed me because I wanted to work on the computer he was using.

I went for a walk again, explored more of Vilnius’ Old Town, saw some beautiful churches actually. An interesting aspect was the blend of styles. There was a church with gothic as well as Byzantine elements that looked like a fairy tale building. As I went inside an old woman gave me strange looks – because I hadn’t bought and lit a candle, I discovered soon afterwards. The lord wants to be worshipped, and that means to be paid for.

A cafe engulped me shortly after that, and I wrote a couple of pages under influence of very good coffee. Later on, I went back to the cafe I had been the other day and ordered the soup of the day again. At the table next to me, an illuster trio had an interesting conversation. An older Russian with a grey beard, a middle aged Lithuanian man that looked a little bit like the killer in No Country For Old Men, and a little fragile lady, sitting between the two literary colossae and asking them about their opinion about the play they had just seen together. The Russian talked about the impossibility to translate Tchechov, and the younger man about the plays he had staged recently, and that the youth was spoiled of course. They had a funny term for it, vidiots, ie. idiots watching only video, with an ever narrower frame of concentration.

My own concentration dropped below productivity level, and I left. Back in the hostel, I ran into an older and balder man. He introduced himself as John and repeatedly added “Hallelujah!”. He carried a guitar with him and sang enthusiastically for Jesus. We walked through Vilnius together, in search of something small to eat, and we ended up in a 24-hour supermarket where we found nutella. For those familiar to it, it makes you feel really good…

Vilnius #2

My second day in Vilnius began with a simple breakfast together with the cleaning ladies. They were really working too hard, vacuum cleaning the community room several times, and doing my dishes, despite of a paper on the wall that read

Your mum doesn’t work here,
so wash everything you use by yourself.

I pointed at it, or at the Lithuanian translation of it, and earned a proper smile.
In our hostel was a young man, more like a boy, who was using the internet all the time. He looked a little bit strange and it annoyed me because I wanted to work on the computer he was using.

I went for a walk again, explored more of Vilnius’ Old Town, saw some beautiful churches actually. An interesting aspect was the blend of styles. There was a church with gothic as well as Byzantine elements that looked like a fairy tale building. As I went inside an old woman gave me strange looks – because I hadn’t bought and lit a candle, I discovered soon afterwards. The lord wants to be worshipped, and that means to be paid for.

A cafe engulped me shortly after that, and I wrote a couple of pages under influence of very good coffee. Later on, I went back to the cafe I had been the other day and ordered the soup of the day again. At the table next to me, an illuster trio had an interesting conversation. An older Russian with a grey beard, a middle aged Lithuanian man that looked a little bit like the killer in No Country For Old Men, and a little fragile lady, sitting between the two literary colossae and asking them about their opinion about the play they had just seen together. The Russian talked about the impossibility to translate Tchechov, and the younger man about the plays he had staged recently, and that the youth was spoiled of course. They had a funny term for it, vidiots, ie. idiots watching only video, with an ever narrower frame of concentration.

My own concentration dropped below productivity level, and I left. Back in the hostel, I ran into an older and balder man. He introduced himself as John and repeatedly added “Hallelujah!”. He carried a guitar with him and sang enthusiastically for Jesus. We walked through Vilnius together, in search of something small to eat, and we ended up in a 24-hour supermarket where we found nutella. For those familiar to it, it makes you feel really good…

Vilnius #2

My second day in Vilnius began with a simple breakfast together with the cleaning ladies. They were really working too hard, vacuum cleaning the community room several times, and doing my dishes, despite of a paper on the wall that read

Your mum doesn’t work here,
so wash everything you use by yourself.

I pointed at it, or at the Lithuanian translation of it, and earned a proper smile.
In our hostel was a young man, more like a boy, who was using the internet all the time. He looked a little bit strange and it annoyed me because I wanted to work on the computer he was using.

I went for a walk again, explored more of Vilnius’ Old Town, saw some beautiful churches actually. An interesting aspect was the blend of styles. There was a church with gothic as well as Byzantine elements that looked like a fairy tale building. As I went inside an old woman gave me strange looks – because I hadn’t bought and lit a candle, I discovered soon afterwards. The lord wants to be worshipped, and that means to be paid for.

A cafe engulped me shortly after that, and I wrote a couple of pages under influence of very good coffee. Later on, I went back to the cafe I had been the other day and ordered the soup of the day again. At the table next to me, an illuster trio had an interesting conversation. An older Russian with a grey beard, a middle aged Lithuanian man that looked a little bit like the killer in No Country For Old Men, and a little fragile lady, sitting between the two literary colossae and asking them about their opinion about the play they had just seen together. The Russian talked about the impossibility to translate Tchechov, and the younger man about the plays he had staged recently, and that the youth was spoiled of course. They had a funny term for it, vidiots, ie. idiots watching only video, with an ever narrower frame of concentration.

My own concentration dropped below productivity level, and I left. Back in the hostel, I ran into an older and balder man. He introduced himself as John and repeatedly added “Hallelujah!”. He carried a guitar with him and sang enthusiastically for Jesus. We walked through Vilnius together, in search of something small to eat, and we ended up in a 24-hour supermarket where we found nutella. For those familiar to it, it makes you feel really good…

Vilnius #2 was originally published on Meandering home