Snow melts, water freezes

All the snow that settled between the middle of December and the end of February had to go somewhere! Once waterlogged, the lower-lying ground between ul Trombity, Kórnicka and Dumki was ripe for localised flooding, which promptly froze up - the temperature fell back below zero on Thursday night. Above: the water level of the wetlands at the end of Trombity rose until the neighbouring field was flooded too.


Above: The field on the corner of Trombity and Kórnicka by the tracks. Ice still too thin to stand on.

Right: The area of wetlands between ul. Dumki and Trombity has extended greatly, spreading right across to Kórnicka.

Below: The football pitch, demarcated by tyres, pretty much entirely under frozen water.

The Station With No Name

Today's print edition of Gazeta Wyborcza carried an uncompromising article about the couldn't-care-less attitude of the Polish state railway PKP to its passengers. Here's my little local contribution to the gripe; W-wa Dawidy station (below). This must be the only regularly-used station in Warsaw, maybe in the whole of Poland, maybe in the whole of the European Union, which doesn't have a SINGLE sign indicating where you are.

I've mentioned this before; this is entirely pitiable. W-wa Jeziorki has but one (almost as useless when you bear in mind that the commuter trains using these stations are over 125m / 425ft long). Stations should have at least three large nameboards so that passengers can easily notice where they are.

The uselessness of the shelters can be seen from the fact that there's a uniform layer of snow all around them. Glass has long gone, two-thirds of the seating has been destroyed. Compare with this photo of Castle Bar Park station in West London, a similar distance from the centre of the capital city. This happens to be a branch line, while W-wa Dawidy is on the main Warsaw-Radom-Kielce-Kraków line, serving 72 trains a weekday. Castle Bar Park serves 64 a weekday, and just two-car sets (rather than the three or six car sets that serve Dawidy).

Below: Look at the standard to which this station (the nearest to my parents' house) is maintained. (Click on image to enlarge.) Two fully-glazed shelters; six station name-signs; four loudspeakers for passenger announcements; a help-point, indicator boards conveying the destination and due time of the next train; a ticket office manned during rush-hours; a bus stop facilitating multi-modal transport. W-wa Jeziorki has a bus stop and one name-board, W-wa Dawidy has neither. Castlebar Park shows the standard that PKP PLK SA (the infrastructure operator) has the meet if Poland is to have European-class rail transport.

Over the past 20 years, Poland's railways have inched from the 1950s to the 1960s. There's still a vast amount of catching up to do. The most important is to start running the railways for the benefit of its passengers (or 'customers' as they are now infuriatingly called in the UK!) and not for the railway workers and their unions. Timetables should reflect the working day of the average commuter, and not that desired by the train crews.

The whole point of the EU's structural and cohesion funds is to ensure that similar standards of infrastructure exist across the European Union, for the good of all its citizens. While some upgrading can be seen using EU funds (Warsaw to Łódź, Berlin to Moscow corridor, new rolling stock), Warsaw's suburban stations are as dismal as they ever were.

Dogs begin to bark, hounds begin to howl

One less than pleasant aspect of walking around Jeziorki is being barked at by dogs as you pass by. This is something that happens rarely in Britain as one strolls through leafy suburbs; walking from one end of ul. Trombity to the other, I'm barked at by dogs from at least 12 houses (from memory). In most cases the dogs will come charging across the front garden to hurl themselves at the front fence or gates furiously barking at you.

On the gates, there will be signs - Zły pies (bad, or angry, dog), humorous ones carrying a veiled threat, such as zły pies, gorszy gospodarz (bad dog, worse owner/householder) or an outright challenge; below an illustration of a doberman's head, the words Ja dobiegam do furtki w 3 sekundy - a Ty? (I can reach the gate in three seconds - and you?). I find this sign an insult aimed directly at me. Myślisz, chamie, że mam jakiś kolwiek zamiar wejścią na Twoją żałosną pozesję? Grubo się mylisz.

One neighbour further along ul. Trombity expressed his displeasure at owning a dog that (in a civilised and thoughtful manner) refused to bark at passers-by.

When barking at you, its tail wagging, a dog is saying 'Come here and go away' at the same time. I find this deeply annoying. "You barkin' at me? You barkin' at me? Then who the hell else are you barkin' at?" I have my way of dealing with barking dogs behind fences when returning home at night suitably refreshed... Works with moles too.

All of this aggression raises stress levels in passers-by, even those 99.999% who have absolutely no intention of breaking and entering into homes. These barking dogs and the signs on the gates are indicative of low levels of social trust.

In London, it's the norm to be able to walk right up to the front door of houses posh or poor. In Warsaw, most houses are (as is ours) behind high fences, with locked gates; front doors require a plethora of keys to open, and sophisticated security devices and instant-response teams from security companies will be round in minutes should the alarm go off.

Poland has lower rates of burglary than the UK* and Warsaw much lower rates than London. Cause, or effect?

* Burglaries: 12.7 per 1,000 in the London Borough of Ealing (2008/9) compared to 4.3 per 1,000 for the whole of the Warsaw Agglomeration in 2009 (Warsaw + nine surrounding poviats or districts). London boroughs range between 7.2 (Richmond upon Thames) to 16.8 (Haringey).

Frequent flying civilises the nation

"Would Mr Lopez travelling to Madrid please proceed immediately to Gate 43, where your flight is boarding". How often we hear phrases like this, yet the Tannoy announcers at Luton, Doncaster, Liverpool or East Midlands are seldomly heard hurrying a Mr Burak who's travelling to Rzeszów or a Ms Pietruszka flying to Bydgoszcz. This is because a) Poles do not wish to bring shame down upon their nation, and b) because Poles, when flying, are hyper-punctual.

Often I'll turn up for a UK-Poland or Poland-UK flight before the check-in desk has even been announced. The plane, let's say, is due to take off at 19:35, so check-in opens at 17:35. I'm early; so I have a good chance of being at the head of the queue. But no idea as to which of the 40 check-in desks it will to be. Then, at precisely 17:34, a vast queue suddenly materialises out of thin air in front of desk 28, and a minute later, it is announced that this is indeed the the desk for Warsaw, and I'm 153rd in this queue. You see, like me, Poles are hyper-punctual. Hurry-up-and-wait is in our genes.

It's been nearly six years since the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland opened its labour market to Polish migrant workers. In that time, I've witnessed an amazing improvement in the levels of civilisation shown by Poles flying 'twixt Poland and Britain.

Gone (thank God!) is that dreadful, vile, cramped cattle shed at Okęcie called 'Etiuda'. Terminal 2 is wonderful, and even though the cheapo flights check in at Terminal 1, the departure gates are in T2, modern, comfortable and world-class. Waiting now takes place in a spacious lounge, seated on seats (and not on the floor). Passengers arrive sober as as new-born judges. Back in the mid-2000s, the guys flying to England would turn up at the airport in states of extreme refreshment after drinking all night, and would continue to do so inside the terminal and even inside the aircraft, supping their own tins of Warka Strong all the way to Luton. So that's one thing we can thank jihadi terrorism for - an end to drunken louts bringing booze on board. And of course Franek and Sebek are too cheap to pay €4.50 for a tiny can of low-alcohol Heineken from the trolley.

I once overheard to Brits at Okęcie quipping that priority boarding Polish-style is determined by the sharpness of their elbows. Today, although there's a hurry-up-and-wait rush from the lounge to the gate the very second the gate number is flashed up on the screens, the queue forms in an orderly manner; parents with children manage to get on first; the elderly and infirm are no longer trampled on.

Back to punctuality. At gates like the ones in Okęcie's T2, where there's ample seating, Poles will stand up and form an orderly queue to board the plane a good 20 minutes before they're actually asked to do so. This show of social harmony and cooperation makes perfect sense; a plane boarded early will take off early and land early. Last night, my 19:35 WizzAir flight from Luton to Okęcie had 'boarding complete' status at 19:19, we landed half an hour early.

And - dare I say it - is clapping when the plane lands a thing of the past? This unique characteristic of Polish passengers, to break out in spontaneous applause as the captain is applying the thrust-reversers, is initiated by second-time flyers and joined in by first-time flyers. The regulars just look at one another in resigned embarrassment at the gaucheness of their fellow countrymen. Now, the revolving-door nature of Polish migration (or rather 'long-distance commuting') means that there are ever-fewer first-timers who feel the need to join in a burst of relieved clapping to cheer the pilot for getting us down safely, even on routine flights that passed off entirely without incident.

"If ju ol kam from wiledż klep jor hends,

If ju ol kam from wiledż klep jor hends,

If ju ol kam from wiledż

End ju newer bin on erplejn

If ju ol kam from wiledż klep jor hends!"

And now my tip for getting the seat of your choice on a low-cost flight that doesn't allocate seating. Most low-cost flights are not connected to the terminal via sleeves. Instead, passengers board buses to get to the aircraft. Here's what you do. An Airbus 321 or Boeing 737 aircraft (as used on 99% of all flights between Poland and the UK) take around 150 passengers. That's around two airport buses worth. Don't be in a rush to form a queue. If you can estimate the number of people standing in front of you, aim to be the last person getting on the first bus. Last on, first off. Then hare across the apron before everyone else, up the stairs to an empty aircraft, and nab that prize seat, 2F flying out, 2A flying home for yourself.

I noted that the Golden Era of low-cost flying is slowly coming to an end. The weak have fallen by the wayside. SkyEurope's gone bust, CentralWings became charter-only and has now collapsed back inside its parent LOT, RyanAir and EasyJet are both too cheap to fly from Okęcie now that that cattle-shed Etiuda's closed. We're now being threatened with low-cost carriers (i.e WizzAir and that's it) being moved out of Okęcie to Modlin. Now Modlin, 45km north of Okęcie and 50km north of my house will take as long to get to from home by public transport as it takes from fly from Warsaw to London. And by taxi it will cost as much to get to as the flight from Warsaw to London. So I'm not cheering the development of Modlin on, if WizzAir goes to Modlin that will be the end of cheap flying.

Kensington

London is often regarded as 'a city of many villages'; one of these is Kensington, to where our London office has recently moved. Above: click to enlarge the photo; just look at the colourful flowers in bloom outside the Churchill Arms. A sight unimaginable in wintery Warsaw!

London's real character is to be found away from the main streets with their fast food outlets and franchises that could be just anywhere in the UK. Take a turn into any side street and the urban pace of life slows down somewhat. Those double yellow lines spoil the visual ambience somewhat.

Left: High Street Kensington, lovely mid-19th C. architecture.

Below: evening, Kensington Church Street; almost every shop along this street, from Notting Hill Gate to the north to High Street Kensington to the south sells antiques or fine art.

A week into Lent

Holding up well. Caffeine withdrawal headaches very low-level this year; a few weeks back I exchanged a huge dose of caffeine administered via two heaped scoops of Lavazza Qualita Oro in a cafetiere for ever-smaller doses of instant coffee until just before Lent I was drinking essentially hot water with a light brown colour. No meat, no alcohol (the easy bits); cheese (especially Montgomery's Cheddar bought mail-order from Leopolis) I miss immensely. Plenty of fresh fruit, tomato juice (and Fortuna's excellent WW+ vegetable juices with chilli or ginseng).

Exercise - sit-ups I over did on Day One, charging into 30 in my first session, thinking it was easy, then repeating this number in the evening and the next day - disaster! My stomach muscles have only now recovered from the onslaught. I begin again tomorrow - more gently. Press-ups are better. Day One I felt my upper torso weighing down against puny biceps; I just about managed ten, this morning I did 12 no sweat.

I've been going to bed earlier too. Lots of new thoughts going through my mind, which I shall expound upon presently - consciousness and flashbacks, memory and observation - and more lucid, vivid dreams.

My first Lenten recipe: King prawns in coconut cream with rice and spinach. Method: Heat some olive oil, fry up sliced hot chilli peppers and garlic, through in shelled prawns (15-20 per portion). Add 150g coconut milk, stir thoroughly. Throw in some pre-boiled Basmati rice (Tilda the best brand), and some leaf spinach that's already been stewed for a while. Cook for 8-9 mins. Garnish with fresh corriander. Et voila!

Top: Misty winter's morning, waiting for the snow to clear the fields. The structure under the middle tree is an outdoor privy put up for the builders of the house to the right. These wooden outhouses are called 'Sławojki' in Poland, named after the pre-war prime minister who ordained that these be built in rural parts for the good of the nation's hygiene.

A month before spring equinox - let's move the clocks forward now!

Today we enjoyed ten hours and 17 minutes of daylight. The sun rose at 20 to seven and set a minute before five. The day, two months after winter solstice, is two hours and 43 minutes longer than the shortest day. Comparable to late October, two months before winter solstice, when the clocks go back for winter.

Why not put the clocks forward next weekend (the last one of February), rather than wait until the end of March? We'd be getting an extra hour of daylight in the evening, making us all feel that spring is just around the corner. Apart from the psychological benefit, it would also save money and reduce carbon dioxide emissions as we'd be switching the lights on an hour later.

What about the mornings? Well, the sun would rise at 07:40 rather than at 06:40, which is the case in late October just before the clocks go back. Not a problem. More on the subject of energy-saving time here.

My own body clock is adjusting to the changing length of day; I'm waking up earlier and going to sleep earlier.

The above pictures were taken in our garden after a day of sunshine, a night of frost and a preceding night of rain. The snows are slowly melting, but there's a brittle crust of ice, almost thick enough to stand on, on top of the snow cover. It's still deep enough to go over the top of my snow boots. In the drifts, the snow is almost knee-deep.

The waste piles up

Because of the heavy snows, it's been over two months since my last trip to the recycling point*.

And the waste has piled up. Segregated plastics, glass (clear and coloured) and paper/cardboard. Today was a lovely blue-sky day, entirely unpredicted by the weather forecasters, so a good opportunity to load up and head off to the tip (below).

And what a mess met our eyes. The recycling point, operated by Remondis, is in Nowy Podolszyn, at the bus loop. Snow and ice have been moved aside so that the buses could get round, but it was all piled up where the recycling containers sit. So they were just placed on top of heaps consisting of icy grit (or gritty ice). The locals who'd taken the trouble to bring their litter here rather than just dump it in the forest had a hard time to get to the containers. Result - vast amounts of rubbish just left willy-nilly on the ground.

* For the record: we disposed of 252 glass bottles and jars. Nine weeks' worth!