Poland's sleeper train services for summer 2025

Yesterday saw the introduction of minor timetable changes to Poland's railway timetables. This has an impact on sleeper-train services for the summer holidays. Since the major December change, it's just been adjustments of departure and arrival times, but notably one entirely new service has been added, so we're back to six (plus the international Chopin service which departs from Warsaw Central at 19:52 for Vienna, Munich, Prague and Budapest after splitting up in Kraków).

Excluding the Chopin, we have two pairs start/finish in Warsaw (to/from Świnoujście and Jelenia Góra); two pass through Warsaw (Gdynia to/from Zakopane and Kraków to/from Kołobrzeg), and two that bypass Warsaw altogether (Przemyśl to/from Świnoujście via Wrocław, and Prague to/from Gdynia via Wrocław). Last year, two of the six trains were operated by InterCity with new sleeper carriages, the remaining four were TLK (Twoje Linie Kolejowe, the cheaper brand). This year, two of the TLK services were upgraded to IC; one TLK remains, one has been changed from a sleeper service to an ordinary train that travels by night.

Let's look at the five pairs of domestic sleeper trains in detail with summer 2025 times. I'll start with my personal favourite that I've used many times over the years.

IC 18171 Uznam Warszawa Wschodnia - Świnoujście (dep. 22:27 arr. 07:17). An InterCity, rather than a TLK service, with the newer sleeper carriages. It leaves Warsaw later than in the winter timetable, calling at Szczecin Główny on the way, arriving at 05:28. The Uznam gets you to the western Baltic beach resorts in good time – it passes through Międzyzdroje at 07:03. And it runs all year round.

IC 81170 Uznam: Świnoujście – Warszawa Wschodnia (dep. 22:04 arr. 07:01) is the return service. Leaving a minute later than in the previous timetable, and arriving ten minutes earlier in Warsaw. The train is already in the platform well ahead of departure time, so passengers can board early and get themselves comfortable before it sets off. The sun sets over Świnoujście at 21:38 on Midsummer's Day, so you'd be hard pressed to get from the beach to the station after seeing it!

Taking the Uznam there and back from Warsaw in summer gives you the best part of 12 hours on the beach. With a hotel or apartment from Saturday to Sunday, you can get a full weekend of Baltic sun-and-sea having worked Friday, and be back to the office first thing Monday morning.

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Here's another train that I've used many a time.

IC 16170 Karkonosze: Warszawa Wschodnia – Jelenia Góra (dep. 23:24 arr. 06:39). The Karkonosze, only goes as far as Jelenia Góra in summer (in winter it continues to the mountain resort of Szklarska Poręba), calling in at Wrocław Główny (04:15) and Wałbrzych Główny (05:53) along the way. Upgraded to an Intercity (IC) train in December. If you have an early business meeting in Wrocław, my tip is to sleep on to Wałbrzych, change there to take a local train back, which will give you another couple of hours of rest. Otherwise you'll be spending all that time in Wrocław Głowny's McDonalds until your meeting.

IC 61170 Karkonosze: Jelenia Góra – Warszawa Wschodnia (dep. 21:30 arr. 04:56). A useful sleeper connection from Wrocław (passing through at 23:20). Having travelled by night from Wrocław to Warsaw on a multiple-unit Dart train, seated in a normal seat in a normal carriage, I can say – never again. Pay the extra and travel lying down. So much better for the spine.

It's sad that the Karkonosze only runs between Warsaw and Zielona Góra during the summer months,  depriving summer mountain-hikers the chance to get there by night train in summer.

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IC 38170 Ustronie: Kraków Główny – Kołobrzeg (dep. 21:47 arr. 10:53). Year-round seaside-special for folks from Poland's south, calling at Kielce, Radom, Warsaw East and the Tri-City on its way to the resorts of Ustronie and Kołobrzeg. You can use this train as a nocturnal connection between Warsaw Central (dep. 01:57) and Gdańsk (arr. 06:01) and Gdynia, though with four hours between the two cities, you'll not get quality sleep time. Upgraded last year from a TLK to an IC, so better rolling stock. Also, it visits Warka (01:10) and Piaseczno (01:30), Warsaw West and Warsaw East on the way. One of Poland's longer night-train routes, at 887 km.

IC 83171 Ustronie: Kołobrzeg – Kraków Główny (dep. 19:29, arr. 08:25). Passing through Warszawa Centralna at 03:45. The train is a useful nocturnal connection for Varsovians needing to be in Kraków for early business meetings. Departs Warka at 04:34 in time for breakfast in Kraków.

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TLK 35170 Karpaty: Zakopane – Gdynia Główna (dep. 21:40, arr. 08:12) From the mountains to the sea, 848 km. The last of the TLK sleepers; not upgraded to IC status. Fans of old-school rolling stock can still experience the veneered wood, moquette upholstery and clunkiness. The Karpaty also functions as another nocturnal connection between Kraków, Warsaw and the Tri-City (dep: Kraków Główny 00:45, calling at Warsaw Central at 04:23 and arriving in Gdańsk Główny at 07:45). The Karpaty takes the Częstochowa-Piotrków Tryb. route rather than serving Kielce and Radom. 

TLK 53170 Karpaty: Gdynia Główna – Zakopane (dep: 19:56, arr: 06:38) On the way back from Gdynia to Zakopane, the Karpaty leaves Gdynia at quite an early hour for a sleeper service, passing through Warsaw Central at 23:35 and arriving in Kraków at 03:26. This means Krakovians can get home after a late night in the capital. The Polish mountains are connected to the Polish sea by night train again – but unlike the Szklarska Poręba service, this one runs all year round.

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Now the sleeper services that skips Warsaw altogether. This is the IC 83172 Przemyślanin: Świnoujście – Przemyśl Główny (dep. 19:07, arr. 08:39). The Orient-Express of Polish train journeys, a full 1,019 kilometres (612 miles) all the way, linking the south-east and north-west extremes of Poland. Thirteen hours and 22 minutes. A mid-evening start from Świnoujście, but there's a gastronomic wagon (restaurant car) attached. Given the nature of night trains, moving from your compartment to the restaurant means having to arrange this with the sleeping-car attendant. The carriages are delivered to Świnoujście station an hour or so before the departure time, so you can leave your stuff in your sleeping compartment, and dine en route to Szczecin Główny (20:31) before returning to your bunk(s). The train also calls at Poznań, Wrocław, Opole, Kraków and Rzeszów on the way, thus serving six of Poland's 16 provincial capitals. A proper InterCity train with modern sleeper carriages, superior in comfort to the stock used on TLK night connections.

IC 38172 Przemyślanin: Przemyśl Główny-Świnoujście (dep. 19:20, arr. 09:01). The south-east and north-western extremes of Poland linked the other way.

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Finally, there's one extra night train/sleeper service that's been introduced in April – the EC460/IC460  Baltic Express, which runs from Prague (Praha hlavní nádraží) to Gdynia Główna via Wrocław, Poznań and Gdańsk. The  service departs Prague at 18:51 as the EC460, arriving at Wrocław Główny at 22:47, Poznań Główny at 01:23,  and Gdańsk Główny at 04:51. Once over the border into Poland, the train's designation changes to IC469.

Running back to Prague, the IC461/EC461 Baltic Express leaves Gdynia Główna at 23:16, passing through Gdańsk at 23:40, calling at Poznań at 02:49, Wrocław at 04:24, crossing the border to arrive in the Czech capital at 09:06 as the EC461 (the train's designation changes at the border).

The EC/IC460 and IC/EC461 Baltic Express services have sleeper carriages all the way and a restaurant car is attached between Wrocław and Gdynia. The trains are composed of a mix of České dráhy and PKP rolling stock. Apart from this pair of night trains, there are three more pairs of Baltic Express services linking Prague and Gdynia that travel through the day.

Make the most of this, the most ecologically friendly form of travel. Go to bed in one city, wake up in another – result!

This time last year:
It's my money and I'm not intending to spend it

This time three years ago:
As I walked out one midsummer's morning

This time ten years ago:
Central Warsaw rail update

This time 13 years ago:

Poland's night train network

This time 14 years ago:
On a musical note

This time 15 years ago:
Standing stones

This time 18 years ago:
The year nears its zenith

The miracle of metabolism

The sun shines down upon the face of the waters, photosynthesising the simplest forms of aquatic life – the base of the food chain that ends up in an Atlantic salmon (Salmo salar). Farmed for food by Homo sapiens, the prime cuts of this species of fish are mostly consumed by humans, while lesser parts end up in tins of cat food. Now, Wenusia is a fussy eater, and since she moved in with me on 5 January of this year, she has roundly rejected all forms of meat- or poultry-based nutrition. She eats only only eats salmon or tuna, which she does with gusto. Even cod or whitefish she turns her nose up at. Now, I don't know how cause-and-effect works here, but the sixth of Jan being a public holiday in Poland, and all the shops being shut, the foundling Wenusia had to be fed with what I had in the cupboard and fridge, namely smoked salmon, tuna in olive oil from a jar and Greek yogurt.

Since then, her favourite cat food is Dolina Noteci Premium bogaty w łososiu ('rich in salmon') and Purina Gourmet Gold tuna mousse. These are accompanied by Lidl's own-brand Coshida dry cat food rich in fish protein, which offers the satisfying mouth-feel crunch of rodent bone. Wenusia also loves thick, rich, creamy Greek-style yogurt.

On finding something in her bowl that she doesn't like (turkey, beef etc), Wenusia turns around through 180 degrees, tail towards the bowl, and proceeds to walk sideways in a circle around the bowl, scraping repeatedly at the ground with her paw, as if to say: "I treat this food as though it were my own excrement". 

Since giving birth on Saturday, Wenusia has been eating for six; night and day (especially night), she badgers me to crack open another tin of salmon-flavoured cat food and sprinkle the dry crunchy stuff on top. This mélange gets converted into milk; the little ones are chugging away non-stop.  

From sunlight to cat milk, the miracle of metabolism is amazing to me. Metabolism is the conversion of the energy in food to into the energy needed to run cellular processes and to construct the building-blocks of life. A perfectly honed food chain, an ecosystem of supreme efficiency, ticking along nicely, with human intervention required only to produce and distribute the fishy cat food. 

Below: penultimate phase in the process of converting sunlight into Felis catus. Kittens two days old. Wenusia has to expect another six-plus weeks of this.

Below: out-of-the-box drinking. Wenusia emerges from her birthing box to hydrate.. Very important.

Watching the litter grow, with each kitten putting on some 10 grams of weight a day, I can do a simple calculation as to how much cat food Wenusia needs to convert to keep herself functioning as well as generating the milk needed to turn into muscle, bone, tissue and skin once inside the kitten.

UPDATE, evening of Tuesday 17 June. The kittens are three days old, and putting on weight nicely. My initial assessment: they're all male. [Click on image to enlarge, then right-click to open image in new tab for maximum enlargement.]

This time last year:
It's my money and I'm not intending to spend it

This time three years ago:
As I walked out one midsummer's morning

This time ten years ago:
Central Warsaw rail update

This time 13 years ago:

Poland's night train network

This time 14 years ago:
On a musical note

This time 15 years ago:
Standing stones

This time 18 years ago:
The year nears its zenith

Mammalian motherhood

Unlike me, Wenusia has read nothing about cats giving birth, yet she is proving an absolute natural at it. Her instinct, my intelligence, our intuition. Did she know she was about to become a mother? Right up to the end, with five kittens inside her, she didn't look massively pregnant, and was still able to jump up to the parapet outside to be let in (a leap of over a metre). She must have felt great biological changes going on within her – to what extent did she know she was carrying five live kittens in her womb?

Lila's last-born kitten, Bonus, didn't make it, dying of a lung infection at the age of ten days. Lila sensed that he was weak, and tried several times to discard him from the birthing box, carrying him upstairs by the scruff of his neck and depositing him under a bed. Despite a visit to the vets, he succumbed. I was worried that this might prove to be the case with one of Wenusia's brood, but all (so far) is well. 

She is a caring mother. After a hearty breakfast this morning, she asked to be let out for a poo (she doesn't like to do it indoors, despite the presence of cat litter in the bathroom). I opened the kitchen window, she jumped out into the garden and disappeared for a few minutes. I could hear her five kittens starting to get anxious, so I went outside and called out to Wenusia. On hearing me call her, she emerged from the bushes, charging at top speed towards the front door. She is living responsibility. No one but her can keep her offspring alive. And she knows it – instinctively and intuitively.

Equipped with six nipples, Wenusia is capable of feeding her entire litter simultaneously, but not every kitten can easily latch on at the same time. Fights occur. A roiling scrum of kittenhood. The orange tom (named Czestuś for his late namesake) is particularly assertive, striking out with his right paw at any sibling between him and his milk. Despite being born second from last, he's the largest of the litter, weighing in at 118g this morning. Wenusia ignores the squeaky squabbles, stretched out in supreme contentment. She can see that no one is going hungry, and while some are stronger than others, there are no outlier weaklings in the pack.

Wenusia is a proud and protective mother; when she sees me hovering over the birthing box, her forepaw arches over the five feeding kitties; but she looks at me with a gaze that expresses accomplishment, she is purring continuously as she lactates. How could I deprive Wenusia of the satisfaction and completion of purpose in the role of a mother?

At what stage in evolutionary history did viviparous mammalians develop lactation, separating them from egg-laying reptilians and birds? I looked this up with AI. Apparently, proto-mammalians secreted antibacterial fluids to bolster the immune systems of their young as they emerged from parchment-thin eggs (the amniotic sacs I saw in yesterday's deliveries are vestigial reminders of eggs).  Over a period of 200 million years, this evolved into mammary glands.

It is amazing how animals know what to do. No teaching, no theory, no practicing – just doing it right first time.

This time last year:
Qualia compilation – Isle of Wight, summer mid-1960s

This time six years ago:
Quantum jumps, quantum luck and the atomic will

This time seven years ago:
Under the sodium

This time eight years ago:
"Further progress? Hell yes!"

This time 17 years ago:
The 1970s and the 2000s

Kitten time again!

Well, an unexpectedly early pregnancy – and a quick one. Feline gestation is normally 63 days, Wenusia sprinted through it at a rapid pace and this morning delivered three black-and-white kittens. And she's very young; still a kitten really. When she adopted me five and half months ago, she was around ten weeks old. So a mum at around eight months. She'd not even shown signs of coming into heat (ruja) – the plaintive caterwauling associated with a desire to mate.

Wenusia, who has been visibly pregnant for around three weeks, spent last night outdoors and came in at half past eight this morning; she was not interested in her food, she was very clingy, wanting to be near me all the time, and was vocalising loudly. [Again, Gemini AI was very useful and accurate in telling me signs of an imminent arrival of kittens.] 

I pointed Wenusia to her birthing box, which I'd prepared a few days ago. I'd accustomed her to the concept, letting her crawl in and out repeatedly. This time, she went in and stayed in. Shortly after ten am, she gave birth to the first kitten. I opened the box and found the cat alive and and a kitten also alive at the same time. Take that, Schrodinger! Then, a second arrived 45 minutes later, and the third half an hour after that. 

Below: mum and three kittens doing well. 

Life is miraculous. To witness three feline births, to see Wenusia realised in motherhood, purring contentedly two hours after delivering the first kitten, all three suckling away efficiently, is quite something. A wondrous experience. It's over 12 years since I last witnessed such an event. Outside, the sun is shining and the blackbirds are singing a joyful chorus. In my bedroom, I can hear the squeaking of new life.

UPDATE 14:45-15:00

In quick succession, out pop another two. Amniotic fluid, placentas (five eaten), blood, damp cardboard, wet, bedraggled fur and squeals. Mum and five kittens doing well (no sign of a runt in the litter).

UPDATE 19:00. Weighing in at between 80g (the last-born) and 103g (the first born).

UPDATE: 19:45. Nine hours after giving birth to the first kitten, and after eating five placentae, Wenusia leaves the birthing box to eat. She wolfs down an entire 85g tin of Purina Gourmet Gold tuna mousse bought for the occasion. While she's scoffing her meal, I snap the babies. All are well.

The future? That's not for now. Let's just be in the moment; relish the new life.

More soon.

This time four years ago:

The Morning Road Walked

This time 11 years ago:
Poppies in bloom, Jeziorki

This time 15 years ago:

Historical photos of work in progress on the S79

This time 18 years ago:
The year nears its zenith

Awaiting the asphalt: from Chynów to Piekut

I'd read about this on Gmina Chynów's website; the winning tender had been announced for upgrading the stretch of ulica Spokojna ('Peaceful Street') from the point where the asphalt ends all the way to Piekut, a distance of about 1.8km. The job had been broken down into two contracts, from the edge of the existing asphalt at either end to the border between the two villages. Within six weeks of announcing the winning bid, work begins. I can't imagine such a tempo in the UK!

Below: the third of June, and road signs announce the beginning of the work at the Chynów end.

Below: the scope of the project marked in red on OpenStreetMap.

Below: levelling the ground east of the level crossing. The road is being widened by a metre or so at either side as well as being properly hardened.

Below: for locals, temporary inconvenience. But once complete, a cycle ride from Piekut to the shops in Chynów will become so much easier; end-to-end asphalt rather than a beat-up dirt track, muddy in spring and autumn, dusty in summer.

Below: plenty of dumper trucks running to and fro, carting discarded soil and vegetation to a fallow field between two orchards where the spoil is held (see further down).

Below: looking along the road towards the edge of the forest towards Piekut. Top level of the old dirt track has been scraped flat and is awaiting gravel and then the asphalt.

Below: a low-loader truck used for ferrying plant to the site, parked up alongside orchards. To the left, the field has been given over for storing soil and vegetation removed from the roadside. Quite a pile.

Below: the Piekut end, where the asphalt restarts at the edge of the village.

Two days later, the aggregate that will form the layer under the asphalt is delivered, and piled high alongside the soil and vegetation. The latter has been through a wood-chipper.

I scale the highest heap, which is about six metres high. From the top, I have an excellent view. You can see the road running through the middle, the village of Piekut in the distance, and to the right of the warehouse, the yard where road-building plant is left overnight. In the foreground, a modern orchard, with apple trees under hailstone-protection netting.

It will still be many days before the job's done, and I intend to ride its length on my motorbike once its open.

This time two years ago:
The sounds of summer

This time three years ago:
My działka - powered by the sun

This time five years ago:
Poland's town/country divide explored

This time nine years ago:

A long walk to Czachówek

This time 11 years ago:
Half a mile under central Warsaw, on foot

This time 12 years ago:
Dzienniki Kołymskie reviewed

This time 13 years ago
Russia-Poland in Warsaw: the worst day of Euro 2012

This time 13 years ago:
Thirty-one and sixty-three - a short story

This time 16 years ago:
Warsaw rail circumnavigation

This time 17 years ago:
Classic Polish vehicles

This time 18 years ago:
South Warsaw sunset

Letters to an Imaginary Grandson (IV)

If there's one story that we all buy into, one narrative on which we can all concur, it's that certain pieces of paper possess an intrinsic value; pieces of paper that can be exchanged for goods or services. Or converted into zeros and ones that do the same thing. Money. We all agree what a 100-złoty note is worth in terms of what can be bought with one, and that a 200-złoty note is worth exactly twice as a 100-złoty note. We all agree that is better to have money than not to have it, and that it's worth having a lot of it. Money is a proxy for status; what it buys signals your supposed place in the status hierarchy. Money, then, is serious.

As a child, an inordinate amount of the pocket money that my parents would give me each week would get spent on confectionary. All forms of sweets and chocolates, ice lollies, bubble gum and fizzy drinks. The result (though I was too young to link cause and effect) was an endless succession of trips to the dentist for fillings and extractions. Painful. This ended as soon as I stopped wasting money on Fruit Gums, Mars Bars, Cadbury Dairy Milk, Spangles, Crunchies, Flakes etc. Spending thruppence or sixpence at the sweet shop several times a week was a bad thing, then. 

Pocket money spent on toys was money better spent. On Facebook, I follow many accounts for diecast collectors and builders of plastic models. (Not that I'd spend money on buying these today; merely looking at photos gives me a satisfying pang of nostalgia.) The plastic kits taught me some (not many) craft skills; as a child, I was gluing together a plaything rather than constructing a historically accurate model. Still, I learnt much about Spitfires and Lancasters.

Childhood pocket money was spent as it was spent; there was little sense in hoarding it in a piggy bank as I never had any ambition to buy anything bigger than a Series 6 Airfix Kit or a large Dinky or Corgi toy.

Real money started for me in 1974 with my summer-holiday job as a 16-year old, working in the canteen at Beecham's (which later merged to become Beecham Smith Kline and is now Glaxo Smith Kline). The job paid £18 a week (or £170 in 2025 money). With inflation, which was 16.0% in 1974 and 24.2% in 1975, it made little sense to save. Money from this and all subsequent holiday jobs in warehouses up and down the Great West Road and industrial estates in Hanwell or Perivale was all spent on going out and on clothes. While still living with my parents, I was financially independent in that I never had to ask them for money – that was important for me. 

I was a student at that golden time when the government covered your tuition fees and paid you a student grant. In my first year at Warwick University, I actually managed to save some money from my grant and from Christmas, Easter and summer-holiday jobs. My post-grad studies at City University, London was funded by my parents; there was no student grant and my holidays were spent on internships. But I landed a job as soon as I'd finished, and after a year of earning a regular salary, my parents convinced me to do a really smart thing.

Buy a house.

The year was 1982, and house prices were still within reach of someone who'd just started work. I was earning £5,700 a year, the house cost £28,500; my parents chipped in the 10% deposit. [In today's money, that salary was £20,260, the house was £101,304 – a five-fold multiple.] Paying the mortgage was tough in the first years. Getting married helped. But essentially, buying a house as soon as I possibly could was a really smart move. Initially, my friends laughed at me: "How's the mortgage, Mike?" Soon enough, the London house-price boom kicked off. Within three years of buying my house, similar mid-terrace properties were going for £50,000-£55,000. Today? Around £500,000.

Subsequent investments in property have all worked out well for me. And they worked out well historically. Many people who lost real estate in Poland because of WW2 and communism got them back after 1989, whilst money tied up in stocks and shares or in bank deposits were wiped out by war or rendered worthless by inflation.

It must be stressful being retired and not having a place of your own, having to find the monthly rent or service charge on a flat from a pension. Having freehold ownership of your own place is a huge financial comfort in old age, peace of mind. Even a shed on a piece of land that belongs to you, out in the sticks, is better than renting.

This time last year:
Poland's sleeper-train services – summer timetable

This time two years ago:
Conscience, consciousness and sensitivity

This time three years ago:
Little annoyances and optimising one's life

This time four years ago:
The 13th thirteenth

This time five years ago:

Ghastly June day in London

This time six years ago:
Perfect weather week in Warsaw

This time seven years ago:
Further progress is unimaginable

This time eight years ago:
Baletowa reopens as rail works move on

This time nine years ago:
Polish doctors in UK offer new healthcare model

This time 14 years ago:
The closure of the Góra Kalwaria-Pilawa railway link

This time 16 years ago:
My blazing bus pic gets on front page of Gazeta Stołeczna

This time 17 years ago:
Storm clouds rising

Country sky, city sky

Early June, moving along. Shady days. It gets dark now just before nine, but there's not been much sunshine over the past few days.

Below: clouds threaten to dump rain on my walk, heading south from Chynów towards Krężel and Michalczew. Fortunately, it stays dry all the way out (and back by train).

Below: a rare sighting of a Koleje Mazowieckie push-pull loco running light. This is the class of engine (EU47) attached to the double-decker 'accelerated' trains (the ones that stop at only more important stations). These services run on the Radom line on Mondays to Fridays, so seeing an engine on its own on a Sunday is a great surprise.

Below: trackside scene looking from ulica Kolejowa ('Railway Street') towards the orchards south of Widok. Note the flock of woodpigeons on the medium-tension electricity wires.

Below: ulica Kolejowa looking south towards the level crossing on ul. Spokojna. That dot on the asphalt is a distant pheasant.

Below: I spot this hare making its way across the road south of Janów, before it crossed the railway track and disappeared into the Watraszew forest. Before long, the bells of the church in Michalczew start calling the faithful to Mass; several cars pass this way.

And into town. Below: Stalin's gift to the Polish people glowers over Pijana Wiśnia, run by Ukrainians and playing Angolan Kizomba dance music on Fridays. The only drink served is wiśniówka – cherry vodka. A weird concept, but it works (there's three Pijana Wiśnias in Warsaw).

Below: Plac Grzybowski. The sky is beginning to bruise. To the left, the Church of All Saints, where my father was christened in 1923. To the right, the Cosmopolitan Twarda 4 tower.

Below: ulica Grzybowska. Changed beyond all recognition since my father's boyhood. Sky like from a zombie apocalypse.

This time last year:
A vote for Europe

This time three years ago:
Savants, UFOs and psychic abilities

This time four years ago:
A proud moment

This time five years ago
Rail progress - Krężel to Chynów

This time ten years ago:

Aberdeen, dour city

This time 12 years ago:
Fans fly in for the football

This time 14 years ago:
Cara al Sol - part II

This time 15 years ago:
Still struggling with the floodwaters

This time 16 years ago:
European elections - and I buy used D40

The time 17 years ago:
To the Vistula, by bike

This time 18 years ago:
Poppy profusion

You can't reduce away the magic

Yes! Here it is! Something so routine – the daily walk – and, of a sudden I catch it, I grasp hold of it, I live it, I document it. This is it... The magickal moment. Don't let it fade! Relish it with every sense. The warmth of the sun's rays on my skin. The scents of a late-spring evening. The blackbirds' banter. The familiar sights, familiar over lifetimes. Life on Earth.

Take a look around... Between Grabina, Grobice and Adamów Rososki, the sun getting lower in the sky.

This is the joy. Cement it in my memory. To the end of this life and into the next ones. Nostalgia for the present. 

The moment passes. "Magical moment/the spell it is breaking". I walk away and look back from the distance. At the bottom of the hill I turn around to look back. One of the XII Canonical Prospects. 

Below: a few seconds later, I turn and catch this young male roe deer between two orchards. I still have the long lens on the camera; we stare at one another momentarily, the deer turns and darts off to the right.

I track down the source of the scent to this flower, which back home Google Lens identifies as Philadelphus coronarius (sweet mock orange or jaśminowiec wonny). Wikipedia describes it as being "valued for its profuse sweetly scented white blossom in early summer". The air is full of this perfume. It is beautiful. Imbue qualia with meaning.

Heading home, my phone notifies me of a number of YouTube podcasts that might interest me. One grabs my attention: Sabine Hossenfelder talking about qualia! This I must listen to! Ms Hossenfelder (1.7m subscribers), is, along with Neil Degrasse Tyson and Sean Carroll, a great science populariser, with a talent to explain complex concepts. All three, however, share one major flaw – they are materialist-reductionists, for whom the slightest whiff of the spiritual is anathema.

I listened to her podcast – twice; I'd recommend it.

She says: “the 'hard problem of consciousness' is the idea that even if you understand  all the physical processes in the brain,  you still haven’t explained why experience  feels the way it does. This philosophical view made qualia seem almost mystical, cut off from scientific investigation. I’ve always thought this is bullshit. You can measure what’s going on in the brain." 

You can indeed. But you can't equate neuronal activity to consciousness. So what that you can match the neural correlates of brains of people seeing the colour red? I'd compare that to those scientists who, in 1952, after Urey and Miller famously turned inorganic compounds into organic compounds, claimed that science has just discovered how life began. And therefore there's no need for any metaphysical explanation for abiogenesis (the leap from non-life to life). It's one thing to create organic compounds out of primordial soup by passing high voltages through it, it's quite another to create the simplest single-celled organism that will feed and breed. It's one thing to say "roughly the same thing is going on in human brains when they see red" and another to say "we can reduce complex emotional responses, feelings, memories and qualia down to electrical currents passing through the brain". 

To my surprise, the overwhelming majority of the comments under the video gives Ms Hossenfelder a right good kicking on this one. The magic of what it is to experience life cannot be reduced away by physicalism.

This time three years ago:
Blues and greens of early June

This time six years ago:
This land is my land
[when I bought the orchard adjacent to my dzialka]

This time nine years ago:
Preening stork

This time 12 years ago:
Preserving meadowland – UK and Poland 

This time 13 years ago:

Poland's transport infrastructure progress

This time 14 years ago:
Cara al Sol - a short story

This time 15 years ago:
Pumping out the floodwater

This time 16 years ago:
To Góra Kalwaria and beyond

This time 17 years ago:
Developments in Warsaw's exurbs

Farewell, beloved grapefruit.

I love grapefruit – specifically the pink variety; for the past few years I've been eating half a grapefruit daily and using the peel to brew me up my favourite tea. [Peel from half a grapefruit, two bags of Herbapol wild-cherry infusion, two bags of Herbapol raspberry-and-cranberry infusion, spiced up with a touch of ground cinnamon and ground cloves, in a large 660ml glass.] 

This has now stopped, given the nine-pills-a-day regime I'm on after my heart attack.

Grapefruit, eh? The first I heard of grapefruit and meds was at our school reunion; one of our classmates went on to be a part of the team that developed Viagra. He confided to us that half a pill is as effective as a whole one, and that a quarter of a pill washed down with grapefruit juice is also as effective as as a whole one. I am also hearing from people on medication for diverse medical conditions that grapefruit is to be avoided.

So I asked Google Gemini: "Taking the following pills, should I be eating grapefruit?" 

I listed the nine drugs one by one and received the following reply: "The most significant and potentially dangerous interaction for you is with Inspra (eplerenone). Consuming grapefruit with Inspra can lead to dangerously high levels of the medication in your blood, increasing your risk of hyperkalemia. Additionally, grapefruit consumption may significantly reduce the effectiveness of two other vital cardiovascular medications: Efient (prasugrel) and Roswera (rosuvastatin). These drugs are crucial for preventing blood clots and managing cholesterol, respectively. A reduction in their effectiveness could lead to suboptimal treatment outcomes and an increased risk of adverse cardiovascular events."

The recommendation was unambiguous.

"Given the strong interaction with Inspra, the following actions are strongly recommended: Immediately Cease Grapefruit Consumption: Given the critical and contraindicated interaction with Inspra (eplerenone) and the significant potential for reduced efficacy of Efient (prasugrel) and Roswera (rosuvastatin), the safest course of action is to immediately and completely stop consuming grapefruit or grapefruit juice."

So – given that the most significant and potentially dangerous interaction with grapefruit is Inspra, I re-read the leaflet enclosed in the box. No, not a single mention of grapefruit.

I ask Google to produce me a research paper about grapefruit and Inspra. The result is thorough and enlightening. In a nutshell:  "The primary mechanism underlying many grapefruit-drug interactions involves the inhibition of the CYP3A4 enzyme. Grapefruit contains specific compounds called furanocoumarins, such as bergamottin and 6′,7′-dihydroxybergamottin, which are potent inhibitors of the cytochrome P450 3A4 (CYP3A4) enzyme system." And: "CYP3A4 inhibition is potent and irreversible" Gulp! I've been taking Inspra and eating grapefruit for seven weeks! I am told to also avoid Seville oranges (the bitter ones that often feature in marmalade, and citrus peel in general, and to limit lime consumption. Sweet oranges and lemons are OK. And bergamot oranges*

Then I asked the AI to look at the Polish-language leaflet that comes with Inspra. It replies: "An examination of the Polish leaflet accompanying Inspra 25mg confirms that it does not explicitly mention avoiding grapefruit (grejpfrut) in its interactions, warnings, or contraindications sections. This can lead to questions for patients who may encounter conflicting information from other sources. Despite the absence of explicit mention of grapefruit, the Polish leaflet and the Summary of Product Characteristics (ChPL) for Inspra 25mg do include several crucial warnings and contraindications that are highly relevant to potential interactions, including those with grapefruit. These include: "The inclusion of 'concomitant use with strong CYP3A4 inhibitors' as a contraindication serves as an implicit warning against grapefruit. Grapefruit is widely recognized in pharmacological literature as a potent inhibitor of CYP3A4. Therefore, while not explicitly named, the leaflet's directive against strong CYP3A4 inhibitors encompasses the interaction with grapefruit. This approach suggests that the manufacturer may assume a certain level of pharmacological knowledge among prescribing healthcare professionals. However, for patients, this implicit warning may not be apparent, highlighting a potential gap between professional prescribing information and patient-facing materials."

Alarm bells here. The leaflet, if telling me nothing else about Inspra (eplerenon) should clearly say AVOID GRAPEFRUIT! I look for whom I should contact. Inspra is branded as an Upjohn product. The leaflet says I should contact Mylan Healthcare Sp. z o.o., and gives a Warsaw telephone number. I am put through to Viatris Trade (ul. Postępu, Warsaw). I get through to an automated message, which tells me to press '3' for enquiries about adverse medical effects. I do so. An American woman's voice informs me "I'm sorry, but the number you dialed has not been recognised." 

Son I phone the regulator, the snappily named Urząd Rejestracji Produktów Leczniczych, Wyrobów Medycznych i Produktów Biobójczych**, and get through to an intelligent human to blow the whistle on the bastards. Not only is there no information on the leaflet about avoiding grapefruit, but there's no direct contact with the pharmacovigilance department of the responsible entity for Poland; the leaflet needs to be reprinted with immediate effect.

AI can really useful. No bullshit, no making stuff up, no hallucinations in this case – just the science, with references and notes. 

Moral of the story: this blog post is a matter of record – should I go on to suffer any adverse side-effect resulting from seven weeks of taking Inspra 25mg while consuming 100-150g of grapefruit daily, the world will know why. And I know against whom I should take legal action.

* Bergamot oil is used to flavour Earl Grey tea. Something else I must avoid.

** URPLWMiPB, or Office for Registration of Medicinal Products, Medical Devices and Biocidal Products

This time last year:
Sixty-Six and Two-Thirds

This two years ago:
Marching for Openness and Normality

This time four years ago:
40th anniversary of the Osieck railway accident

This time five years ago:
Moonrise, Nowa Wola

This time six years ago:

Awaiting the Summer Sublime

This time nine years ago:
4 June - a date remembered for...?

This time ten years ago:
Corpus Christi, rural Mazovia

This time 11 years ago:
25th anniversary of Poland's transition

This time 12 years ago:
Poland's infrastructure progress

This time 14 years ago:
Wetlands in late-spring

This time 15 years ago:
Jeziorki's flood of floods: Puławska and Pozytywki

Jeziorki's flood of floods: Sarabandy and Karczunkowska

Jeziorki's flood of floods: Trombity and Kórnicka

This time 16 years ago:
Another time, another place

Letters to an Imaginary Grandson (III)

What do we know? And how did we get to know it? Let's start with the big picture. We know (rather than just assume, imagine, hypothesise or fantasise) that we live on a planet orbiting a star; our solar system being a part of a galaxy; one galaxy among a vast number that constitutes the known universe. We can but speculate how many stars there are in our galaxy or how many galaxies in the universe – or if this universe is unique, or one of many universes. And whether life is common across the universe, or rare. Or whether there is a spiritual realm, separated from the material one of atoms, molecules and forces. We know what we know – and what we don't know. The study of what it is that we know is called ontology. 

But how do we know what we know? The study of how we came to know what we know is called epistemology. Volcanos and thunder were once thought to be the result of divine displeasure; today they're known to be vents in the Earth's crust through which hot lava escapes and shock waves in the air caused by sudden thermal expansion of plasma in lightning. That knowledge was acquired by human curiosity, testing various hypotheses against one another over time, and the scientific method, using repeatable experiments to validate theories.

Ontology (the study of what it is we know) and epistemology (the study of how we know what we know) – Greek-derived words, of which there are a great many in our language – are worth bearing in mind, as they help structure our understanding of knowledge.

Ontology is about stuff like reality, paradigms, concepts, world-views. What exists. What is being – what is it to be. What are thoughts. What is our place in the Universe. Epistemology is the theory of knowledge, how we acquire knowledge, what are the limits of what we can know.

So – how do you know that you exist. Simple! You are aware of it. You are aware of your own existence. You are conscious of existing; you are conscious of being conscious. This is the most basic, the most powerful statement of fact upon which to ground your own personal theory of knowledge.

Be aware also of what you don't know; be aware of cognitive biases in your thinking that can lead to poor judgment, irrational decisions or illogical interpretations. Identify them; question baked-in assumptions that surface in your train of thought. The older you get, the more you actually know, the more you realise you don't know. Being aware of how much you don't know makes you appreciate what fields of knowledge you should grasp, what you need to do to fill the gaps, and what sort of knowledge is of practical value (an understanding of how electricity works) and what isn't (London Transport bus numbers of the 1970s). There are vast areas of knowledge where you will have gaps in knowledge that you're destined never to fill. Acknowledging with humility that this isn't important to you, and being aware of that decision. I shall never speak Hungarian, grasp calculus, or master technical drawing.

You will have to choose whether you see yourself as a specialist or a generalist – either able to talk with a superficial degree of familiarity about a subject for several minutes, to establish your credentials for erudition – or able to focus deeply on a few complex areas with an expert's knowledge.

The last man considered to have 'known everything' was either Gottfried Leibniz (1646 – 1716) or Thomas Young (1773 – 1829). By the time of the Industrial Revolution, it had become impossible for even the most gifted polymath to have knowledge that spanned all branches of human thought to any significant degree.

Be honest about what you don't know – don't bullshit, especially not to people who don't know any better. Do not boast about what you know – share what you know.

This time four years ago:
Consciousness, memory and familiarity

This time six years ago:
Classic Volgas, London and Warsaw

This time seven years ago:
Memory and Me

This time eight years ago:
Sticks, carrots and nudge - a proposal

This time ten years ago:
London vs. Warsaw pt 2: the demographic aspects

This time 14 years ago:
Rail chaos hits Warsaw

This time 15 years ago:
Hurting and healing: a certain symmetry

This time 17 years ago:
I no longer recognise the land where I was born

This time 18 years ago:
A wet start to June