Today's walk took me to the top of Jasień (1,053m above sea level). This time, I took the right trail and after some 90 minutes I made it to the top. No tourists anywhere, just the occasional... bilberry picker (
below).
Below: here's what they are looking for -
vaccinium uligunosum - the northern, or bog bilberry.
Borówka in Polish. Sold by the roadsides for 9-12 złotys a kilogram jar, a hard way to earn money given the time taken to get to the meadows where they grow.
Below: cornflowers and daisies in the mountain meadow on the western slopes of Jasień. Another gorgeous day in the Beskid Wyspowy, and another 1,000m peak conquered.
A propos of bilberries. The other day, while eating lunch in Gruszowiec, I saw two old ladies selling jars by the roadside. A big red brand-new SUV on Kraków numberplates pulled up. A big fat rich man in his 40s lowered the window of his air-conditioned vehicle and asked the women: "
Po ile borówki?" (how much are the bilberries). Fifteen zlotys, they replied. At this, he took umbrage. "You thieving old bags! How dare you? What kind of a sucker do you take me for?" His tirade became more florid and pointless. He drove off in a rage, tyres squealing, having achieved nothing. How typically Polish, lose-lose from the very outset. The correct course of such a dialogue would have been: "How much are the bilberries?" "15 zlots a jar." "15? I'll give you eight." "Eight? We've spent hours picking these from the highest meadows! 13." "13? I'll make it ten." "11.50 and the jar thrown in free". And a deal done. A no-win confrontation scenario is concocted, adding to the general 'two Polands' social divide that plagues this country.
And back to Dobra.
Right: Our guest house (one of the houses in the complex) seen from the riverbank, where the children spend the day in a shallow pool between small waterfalls. Something about this scene that reminds me of
childhood holidays in Northern France - Maison Maternelle, Stella-Plage, in the Pas-de-Calais.
Below: here's what they are looking for - vaccinium uligunosum - the northern, or bog bilberry. Borówka in Polish. Sold by the roadsides for 9-12 złotys a kilogram jar, a hard way to earn money given the time taken to get to the meadows where they grow.
Below: cornflowers and daisies in the mountain meadow on the western slopes of Jasień. Another gorgeous day in the Beskid Wyspowy, and another 1,000m peak conquered.
A propos of bilberries. The other day, while eating lunch in Gruszowiec, I saw two old ladies selling jars by the roadside. A big red brand-new SUV on Kraków numberplates pulled up. A big fat rich man in his 40s lowered the window of his air-conditioned vehicle and asked the women: "Po ile borówki?" (how much are the bilberries). Fifteen zlotys, they replied. At this, he took umbrage. "You thieving old bags! How dare you? What kind of a sucker do you take me for?" His tirade became more florid and pointless. He drove off in a rage, tyres squealing, having achieved nothing. How typically Polish, lose-lose from the very outset. The correct course of such a dialogue would have been: "How much are the bilberries?" "15 zlots a jar." "15? I'll give you eight." "Eight? We've spent hours picking these from the highest meadows! 13." "13? I'll make it ten." "11.50 and the jar thrown in free". And a deal done. A no-win confrontation scenario is concocted, adding to the general 'two Polands' social divide that plagues this country.
And back to Dobra. Right: Our guest house (one of the houses in the complex) seen from the riverbank, where the children spend the day in a shallow pool between small waterfalls. Something about this scene that reminds me of childhood holidays in Northern France - Maison Maternelle, Stella-Plage, in the Pas-de-Calais.
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