Fifty years on, Stella-Plage, my last kolonia

Fifty years. Rites of passage. The summer of 1969; I had just finished Oaklands Road Primary School and was ready to start my secondary education at Gunnersbury Grammar School in September. But first, I was about to leave my zuchy (scout cub) gromada (pack) and be inducted into the 3rd London Polish Scout Troop, Błękitna Trójka.

My last kolonia (summer camp with the zuchy) was in northern France, in the resort town of Stella-Plage. The kolonia was based in Maison Maternelle, a former maternity hospital that had been bought by the Polish community of northern France between the wars; the Polish scouts and girl guides  (harcerki) from London would holiday here. Indeed, my parents spent part of their honeymoon here in 1952.

My family first came here in 1967 with friends; I was to return in 1969 for the kolonia in which I would be pasowany (inducted) into the scouts (harcerze). I would return again in 1971, '75, '79 and '80 - and it became a place very close to my heart.

The beach, long and wide and sandy, stretched from Le Touquet in the north to Berck-Plage in the south. Back in those days, Hitler's coastal-defence bunkers still overlooked the beach. They stank of urine and exuded a cold threat even on a hot sunny day. Extensive pine forests flanked the town of Stella-Plage on either side, with a sweet aroma of coniferous resins. Sand yachts would often race up and down the beach when the tide was out.

Below: a group photo of the zuchy, taken by my father; so many familiar faces here - Stan and Adam who were to start at Gunnersbury with me weeks later and stay there for the next seven years; my brother near the front there, and there's my father's dentist for the last 20 years or so, Andrzej and his twin brother Ryszard; there's Rysiek, AdTheLad and both his brothers, boys from my class in Polish Saturday school; and a few here who moved to Poland after 1990 – faces, memories. I'm not in this shot, neither are several more boys who were soon to become harcerze in Błękitna trójka. Photo taken by my father.

Fifty years. The Rolling Stones were no. 1 in the pop charts with Honky Tonk Women. Ford had just launched the Capri (my father would later have a 1.6 GL in red; we'd return in it to Stella-Plage in 1971) and London Transport had just launched single-decker, one-man-operated E-buses (E for Ealing), the E1, E2 and E3, with a flat-fare, turnstyle payment system (6d adults, 3d children).

This was the cusp of two ages; the sixties, in black and white, were yielding to the colourful seventies; glam rock, Hot Wheels, tank tops and stack shoes. Childhood was giving way to adolescence, primary school to grammar school and cubs to scouts.

It was a momentous time, I could feel the changes coming on. Changes that come in waves, roughly ten years apart. In the summer of 1979, I'd finished my studies at Warwick University; in the summer of 1989, I was visiting Poland just as communism was toppling; and by 1999 I was living permanently in Poland.

This time six years ago:
Grodzisk Mazowiecki's pretty station

This time seven years ago:
Exorcism outside the President's Palace

This time eight years ago:
The raging footsoldier - a story about anger

This time nine years ago:
Graffiti and street art 

A conspiracy to celebrate

It's that time of year again. The economy is given a massive boost as human beings turn into consumers, driven by a tight deadline to buy food, drink, clothing and durables - gifts for one and all - to consumer together on one given day of the year. This day, we conspire to believe, is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ in Bethlehem, Judea, in 0AD. [As it happens, the historical figure of Herod died in 4BC.]

The news that the Sultan of Brunei has banned Christmas because it could undermine Islam is news precisely because Xmas has long lost its associations Christianity with the majority of the Western Hemisphere, having become a festival of secular consumption.

There is no evidence whatsoever that Jesus Christ was born on 25 December. Indeed that date was only first put forward by the Church authorities in the 3rd Century. Shepherds watched their flocks by night in Judea between the spring and early autumn. The probable reason the early church opted for the day because it coincided with the Pagan festival of Yule, and the passing of the Winter solstice - celebrating the fact that by 25 December the day was no longer getting shorter - but extending in length. And so just as many early Christian churches were built on the sites of Pagan worship, so its festivals held on days associated with Pagan celebration.

The historical authenticity of Jesus Christ's birth as narrated in the nativity accounts of the gospels of St Luke and St Matthew is doubted by most scholars. Features such as the birth taking place in Bethlehem ('Royal David's City') were written in by the Evangelists to square with Old Testament prophecies relating to the coming of the Messiah.

And yet, and yet, Christian, agnostic and atheist alike in the West conspire with one another, along with many other, non-Christian parts of the world, that 25 December should be that day that peace and goodwill prevails among men, and the weeks before that date be spent in preparation. Retail spaces are decorated with sparking lights, sparkle suggesting the snow (singularly missing at the birth of Christ in Judea) and the stars in the night sky.

Recent inventions such as the Christmas Tree (19th Century Germany, from Pagan roots), Santa Claus (St Nicholas, whose feast-day was 6 December), red-nosed reindeer and elvish toy-makers from Lapland are bolted on with abandon. The Golden Age of the Christmas Hit Single (the 1970s) blurs the Victorian and Pagan past; before long Wizzard's I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day will become a carol. One day my grandchildren will believe that Noddy Holder out of Slade was a character from Dickens. Canonical Christmas - adding layer upon layer of ___ to the ritual - from the Gospels' manger, star, wise men, shepherds etc, via the Santa, his sleigh, nocturnal visits down the chimney, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, through to 1970s pop music. And now Mariah Carey. It's all too much.

Getting ready for Christmas in the corporate world means a flurry of activity from early September (when the world gets back to its desk after the summer holidays) to mid-December, when business stops for a round of Christmas parties. During these 11 weeks, 40% of all the work in the year gets done in the Western Hemisphere. And then - barring the retail and hospitality sectors - it generally stops until early January. "Lazy old Britain takes fortnight off for Xmas" stories grace the pages of the Daily Mail and Daily Express.

Here in Warsaw, over the past week and half I've found myself walking huge distances each day - between meetings and shopping and drinks dos and home. Last year, I logged 56 units of alcohol a week throughout December - nearly three times the recommended amount and 'danger level' according to the National Health Service. But then "Christmas comes but once a year", and with the New Year a return to relative sobriety.

On Wednesday morning I set off to the UK for the annual marathon (Luton Airport - Ealing - Derbyshire - Manchester - Derbyshire - Ealing - London Airport). Not a week that can be defined as a rest. A few days off in the New Year, back in the office on the 4th, day off (Three Kings) on the 6th... the Christian calendar, overlaid on top of the Pagan one, sets the tone for the darkest days of the year.

Życzymy udanych zakupów = We wish you successful purchases, to quote the captain of my WizzAir flight to London Luton.

This time last year:
The Mythos and the Logos in Russia

This time two years ago:
Going mobile - I get a smartofon

This time three years ago:
The end was meant to end today (remember?)

This time four years ago:
First snow - but proper snow?

The time five years ago:
Dense, wet, rush hour snow

This time six years ago:
Evening photography, Powiśle

This time seven years ago:
The shortest day of the year

This time eight years ago:
Bye bye borders - Poland joins Schengen

Kraków tops city-break destinations ranking

If you know Kraków, not really a surprise - this is now officially the European city that most Brits want to fly to for a short break. Coming number one out of 45 destinations in Which? magazine's ranking of city-break destinations within a three-hour flight time of UK airports, Kraków finds itself ahead of Paris, Rome or Barcelona. Also in the Top 50 - at number 37 - is Warsaw. Surprisingly, there's no Gdańsk or Wrocław, cities which I think are even better city-break destinations.

Let's take a quick at the Top Ten:

1. Krakow, Poland 
2. Munich, Germany 
3. Prague, Czech Republic 
4. Berlin, Germany 
5. Valencia, Spain 
6. Barcelona, Spain 
7. Budapest, Hungary 
8. Vienna, Austria
9. Seville, Spain
10. Tallinn, Estonia

Final score then - Spain 3, Germany 2, Central Europe 5. Notable, I think, is the absence in the Top Ten of anywhere in France or Italy - but then surly service and over-priced restaurants and hotels are to blame.

The Which? ranking was based on 4,585 reviews from Consumer Association members in the 12 months to August 2014. Low-cost airlines such as WizzAir, Ryanair and Easyjet have brought the prices of travel to hundreds of European cities to within those of domestic rail or air travel. Proximity of airport to city centre is very important in such a ranking; if you're going anywhere for two or three days, you don't want to spend several hours in transfer from some ridiculously far-flung airport (Paris-Beauvais, Brussels-Charleroi and Frankfurt-Hahn spring to mind). Here, both Kraków-Balice and Warsaw-Okęcie are well located, though Warsaw-Modlin... well, if you've got a spare two hours to kill...

The Daily Mail - not known for its pro-Polish sentiments - covered the story two weeks after a lovely puff-piece evidently paid for Polmos Białystok (which helicoptered the Mail's journalist from Modlin airport to Białowieża, thus sparing her readers any potentially embarrassing descriptions of overland travel between Warsaw and eastern Poland). The result was a glowing review of the national park, hotel, restaurant, and of course Żubrówka bison-grass vodka.

All good PR for Brand Poland, which is clearly on an upswing these past 25 years. As long as the government doesn't start throwing public cash at trying to improve things...



Thanks to Bob for flagging up this monstrous waste of taxpayers' money. It is hopeless. Not least because the English, with their finely tuned ears for accent, will immediately spot that the child brought in to do the voice-over is not a native speaker, thereby destroying the entire premise. Look, it's "fah-thah", not "fudderr".

This time two years ago:
Rzeczpospolita publishes infamous 'trotyl' Smolensk story

This time three years ago:
Wilanowska - south Warsaw transport hub

This time five years ago:
Powiśle on a cold, clear autumn morning

This time six years ago:
Okęcie "to remain Warsaw's only airport"

This time seven years ago:
Searching for autumnal perfection

A return to Snowdon

It was a soft day yesterday - slight drizzle, cloud - not beach weather. So Eddie and I headed up Snowdon as we did last year, this year taking a slightly more challenging path - the Watkin Path. Named after Sir Edward Watkin, Victorian railway entrepreneur, chairman of the Great Central Railway, the man who attempted to build London an Eiffel Tower where Wembley Stadium now stands, the man who had a crack at building a Channel Tunnel in the early 1880s. This ascent up Snowdon is the highest in terms of climbing (over a kilometre), the start of the track not too far above sea level.

The Watkin Path starts on the A478 by Plas Gwynant, not far from Sir Edward's summer chalet. After ascending through pleasant woodland, we come to a gate, which doubled for the North West Frontier in the British film comedy, Carry On Up The Khyber. Eddie is looking for the plaque marking this film location - sadly, someone must have half-inched it.

Below: After an hour and half's climbing, we're looking down on a helicopter flying over Llyn Glaslyn lake. The first part of the walk was not too bad.

The track started to get steep beyond this point, and we found ourselves scrambling with hands and feet over loose scree - not the best of surfaces for climbing. At the same time, the mist descended on the mountain top - you can see the visibility in the photo (below). The fact that several other people were also journeying up the Watkin Path made it easier for us. Plus, we'd done it before, last year, coming up the Rhyd Ddu Path, which joins the Watkin Path some 400m before the summit. Today I stand atop the highest peak in Wales - yesterday I was swimming in the sea. Góry i morze, panie, w jednym urlopie.

After dining on Cornish Pasty and Welsh cider ('Taffy Apple' brand - very good) at the restaurant on top of Snowdon, we had a good rest, visited the summit, and turned to make our descent. Below: the mist began to clear as we set off down. In the distance, a boulder perched on some rocks. How did it get there? We're over 800m above sea-level at this point...

It was a long walk - some eight miles there and back, at the end of the day my pedometer registered over 23,000 paces, the bulk of which was the ascent and descent of Snowdon.

It was a hard walk - not too hard, but not something to be done without experience or supplies. We started off in one layer, then donned as second as we climbed above 600m, then as we entered the mists, we put on waterproof jackets. The paths up Snowdon can be dangerous in snow and ice, with high winds or in thick fog, which can descend with very little warning. Sir Edward Watkin, devised this path in his retirement, while Prime Minister William Gladstone went halfway up the path to mark its opening in 1893. Gladstone was 83 at the time. The Victorians were a tough breed; much tougher, I fear, than the British are today. On Snowdon today, I felt the dead hand of nanny state lift for a few hours - here you take health and safety as your own responsibility.

This time two years ago:
On the eve of Warsaw's Veturillo revolution

This time three years ago:
Getting ready for the 'W'-hour flypast

This time four years ago:
A century of Polish scouting

A return to the Llyn Peninsula

Very limited access to mobile networks and wi-fi, so a brief holding post for the time being - on Saturday I arrived with my son in Penrhos on North Wales' Llyn Peninsula for a week. My brother and his family are staying nearby. More to follow as bandwidth permits. Photos prove good weather (for now at least!)

Below: the road winds on forever - beyond Llithfaen, the hills of the Llyn out on the horizon. It is evening, gone eight pm; the sun is setting over the Irish Sea.

Below: Porth Oer, the whistling sands. Beloved beach on the north coast of the Llyn, the tide retreating. The sea is very cold on the north coast - warmer on the peninsula's south and west-facing beaches, warm enough to swim. But not here, even on a hot day.

Below: the crash of waves, sand between the toes, the ragged, barnacle-covered rocks. At low tide, a second beach becomes accessible, a small sandy cove.

Below: seagulls getting increasingly confident on the presence of humans - a sure sign of breadcrumbs and crisps.

Below: on a training flight, an RAF Lockheed Hercules flies over a yacht race in Cardigan Bay.

Below: looking eastwards across the peninsula, The Rivals to the left, Snowdonia starting to rise on the right.

This time two years ago:
Our flight home delayed by over nine hours

Our Progress around the Sceptr'd Isle - Part 2

Christmas day, after church, and the traditional drive across the Peak District to my brother's house in Derbyshire. A very scenic route, along the A6 all the way. This stretch is certainly one of England's finest roads in terms of the landscapes and towns it passes. Weatherwise, pleasant, dry, sunny intervals. On the north-eastern slopes of the highest of the Peaks, there was a light dusting of snow. And very little traffic.

The A6 snakes its way over the Peaks

A characteristically December sky, Derbyshire

Late Victorian Matlock

Britain has a richness, variety and depth to it which makes it a fascinating place to visit. Acquainting oneself with the texture of reality of this country is richly rewarding.

This time last year:
Out and about in Duffield
and
Christmas Break

This time two years ago:
Boxing Day walk in Derbyshire

This time three years ago

Derbyshire in the snow

This time four years ago:

Derbyshire in the sunshine

This time five years ago:

Derbyshire in the drizzle

A car with character

I was delighted when the car hire firm Easirent offered me a Fiat 500 as a car in the cheapest economy price range. In the past, they'd rented me a Hyundai I10, a dull little vehicle with the charisma of a squashed cornflake box. Despite the manager's attempt to upgrade me to a Hyundai I20 as a token of appreciation for being a multiple return customer, I stuck to my guns and held on to the Fiat.

What a lovely car - once behind the wheel, I felt an immediate affection for the cheeky little vehicle, a feeling I'd never experienced before sitting in the driving seat of a hire car. For taking two people plus their baggage and the occasional third passenger, the Fiat 500 is ideal. It comes into its own on narrow streets, supermarket car parks and winding Welsh roads.

Below: here we are in Derbyshire, outside my brother's house. Plenty of room to squeeze in and out!

Below: 134 miles further south, outside my parents' house in West Ealing, London. Motorway driving in the Fiat 500 entirely comfortable.

Below: on a moonlit night, outside Hut 6, Penrhos, North Wales. The ideal holiday hire car if there's not more than two of you. Fuel consumption - average 50 miles to the gallon (5.6l/100km). This is the 1.2 litre engined version. The 900cc Twin Air is more frugal, though I suspect it may be not as comfortable on motorways.

The Fiat 500 has stop-start ignition - disconcerting at first as the engine just dies at traffic lights. As soon as you floor the clutch, it returns immediately to life, having just saved you fuel that would have burnt needlessly while idling. Another feature that came in handy was the air-con (once I figured out how to point the nozzles so my knuckles wouldn't freeze to the steering wheel). The panoramic roof was a bonus while driving through Snowdonia.

I love the dashboard. The rev-counter needle is coaxial to the speedo needle; with an engine this quiet, you can end up driving at motorway speeds without noticing that you're in third. Keep an eye on the rev-counter to ensure that it's somewhere clockwise of the speedo needle.

And another good thing about the Fiat 500 - it's made in Poland (Tychy, actually). Fitting then, that after the long drive to my parents' house in London from Duffield, I refreshed myself with a Tyskie beer - also from Tychy.

[UPDATE] Spotted today - there's zero road tax to pay on the Fiat 500 in the UK because the CO2 emissions don't exceed 100g/km.

This time last year:
Llanbedrog Beach and a farewell to North Wales

This time two years ago:
To the Polish seaside, by night train

This time three years ago:
Accounting for the past - 20 years on from PRL's fall

This time four years ago:
An introduction to fine British cheefef

This time six years ago:
Over the Peaks by bus