"I, I can remember... standing by the wall”

It’s interesting that every single train station in the former eastern bloc is a dump. Szczecin is no exception, with a lack of information about trains on the actual platforms, unclear signs (a ridiculous division of platforms into tracks), and drunks loitering everywhere - the entire place permeated with a smell of stale urine (since it costs something to use the toilet, the average drunk will take a piss at a random location round the station).

Oh, and there is the issue of punctuality with the trains. Thanks to lateness, I missed the connection to Berlin at Pasewalk, and was forced to sit out 40 mins for a slower service. I went for a walk.

After all the money poured into reunification, the former DDR, still feels like the former DDR. People here still cultivate the art of the mullet and dodgy moustache. Having said that, there are definitely regional variations, as the white-trash kids are a lot more ‘hip’ than their Polish counterparts. Instead of the dirty tracksuits, it is more likely that they will be wearing cams. Instead of shaven heads, they will have a funky ’do’ with colour laced through it. And there will be coloured piercings in funny places.

Housing-wise, Pasewalk is an interesting mix. Parts of the medieval fortifications have been re-built, and there are nice paved roads with sidewalks. The tastless DDR-era 3 storey housing estates that dominate the town have also had a bit of money spent on making them look friendlier. There is a square in the middle of town, flanked with 19thC houses, that seems altogether too large in proportion to the rest of it.

Near the station, it’s a different story. There is a large derelict hotel, and the house next to it also seems derelict. There’s still plaster missing from WWII bullets. Posters advertising gigs of bands with names like ‘Satanic Slaughter’ adorn the walls. Further up, there’s a an undertaker and an urn specialist on the other side of the road. Then there’s the butcher’s – possibly the only butcher’s shop in the world that serves coffee and beer. What’s more disturbing, is that people seem to be constantly partaking in these services as an active part of their social life.

In Berlin, I got myself to the outer burbs and ran to the Georgian embassy, knowing I had only an hour thanks to the missed connection. The pleasant man at the embassy told me that I had to come back the next day anyway. But I thought I’d interrogate him first. Good idea, as it turns out that the Berlin embassy doesn’t issue visas to non-residents of Germany. He told me to get my visa in Turkey.

For some reason I found all this incredibly amusing. Germany is a funny place. The park on the way to the embassy had a DDR-era statue, 19thCentury gates and an enclosure with 2 sheep and a goat. There were three nursing homes in the area which surrounded a sports oval. The trip back took 5 hours thanks to shitty connections.

Means to an end

Most people tend to associate the place with striking dock workers in the early 1980s. Last time I’d been to Szczecin (Stettin), it was to see the old town and castle. I remember enjoying the experience. This time I came on a mission to sort out 3 things: buy a copy of Ryszard Kapuśćiński’s „Imperium”, buy a sleeping bag and buy some travellers’ cheques. Thus I was exposed to a different side of the city.

The train ride was full of overdressed uni stundents. Denim, too much make up and Britney-style fake tan fluid are a big thing here. According to my way of thinking, if you have bad skin, then such ‘beauty practices’ will only accentuate the fact.

On the main shopping streets, capitalism seems to be burgeoning, with a vast array of things for sale. Outside of that, the city is still pretty grim. More often than not, the plaster upon buildings is somewhere between black and grey, with bricks showing in places. Some buildings are still peppered with bullet holes from WWII. There’s heaps of young guys with shaved heads in tracksuits who obviously have little to do.

I got the book pretty easily. The sleeping bag required a visit to 3 different shops. The travellers’ cheques, involved being told to go to another branch of the bank, where a bimbo woman, with all the airs of doing me a huge favour, called 2 other branches to see if they had any cheques. Result: they had about $200 worth, stashed away in a safe somewhere.

Mutant eggs and the end of the world

Back in Pomerania, things have slid into place involuntarily. Turns out I can get an Armenian visa at the border for half of what the embassy in Warsaw was asking. The Georgian embassy in Germany only wants 10 Euro for a visa and no letter of invitation. I don’t need a visa for Kyrgyzstan. I can apply for an Uzbek visa any time once I have an invitatation. I can get the invitation by email.

Every day I go driving with my grandfather through the forest. It’s been 5 years since I’d driven manual but I’m. doing ok. Slowly I’m learning that the windscreen wipers are on the right side of the steering wheel and the indicators are on the right. Been eating lots of Chernobyl-eggs. The past three had two yolks each.

A Personal Record

To realise where one is in life, it pays to keep a record of one’s undertakings and achievements. Hence this particular entry on bureaucratic inefficiency.

The day began well, with a visit to the Embassy of Armenia. Upon getting there, I was pleased to find out that the embassy had moved. By the time my cousin Michał and I found the embassy, there was already a queue of 30 Armenians outside getting immigration papers sorted. After half an hour, 2 people emerged from the building. 2 went in. According to my calculations, I would miss my train at this rate, so I moved on.

The queues in the post office all numbered about 30 people each. It looked as if the Post Office had installed a number-based service system, yet this wasn’t working. Anyhow, it was social security pay day, and who would have throught that the Polish postal service would be responsible for providing the hand-outs.

I stood in the que and had chat with a pensioner who’d just turned down a job offer – cleaning for 25 hours a week, on a monthly wage of $100USD. Her grand daughter was working in a supermarket having completed an economics degree. After 30 minutes in the que, I was given two forms to fill out.

I did this and stood in another que. Behind me were two normal-looking women in their late 20s who were picking up social security benefits on their way to court. Yet when they opened their mouths, they both reminded me of the white trash schoolgirl in „Little Britain”. Quote of the day:

„Jeśli mnie kurwa przydupią na maksymalny wyrkok, to nie będę na synka pierwszej komunii.”
„If they fuck me with the maximum jail term, I won’t get out in time for my son’s first communion.”

At the end of this que, I was told that I couldn’t send my parcel because the woman didn’t have a scale big enough to weigh it. The woman didn’t have a ready answer when I asked her why the sign by her counter said that the counter catered for parcels.

In the third que, I talked to another disgruntled pensioner – a butcher by trade, who’d recently also refused an absurd job offer. His prospective employer owned 3 brand new Mercedes and complained about making no money.

This guy blamed Jews for his problems:

„Panie, jak żyd w sądzie, i żyd w rządzie, to wie pan jak to tutaj jest...”
„Sir! When the Jew’s the judge, and the Jew’s the government, you get what we have here.”

Finally, after almost 2 hours in ques I sent the parcel. The woman at the counter said, „you should have jumped the que.” I apologised for not realising how things ‘got done’ in Warsaw.

Saturday Sun

When I got to Warsaw, my father recommended that I contact his friend Mr. Michałowski and have a chat about the Caucasus and other bizarre places that only nutters would want to visit. So I did... and he told me to come walking today with the Polish Walkers' Club PTTK on the outskirts of Warsaw in Podkowa Leśna.

Mr. Michałowski rocked up in a bizarre Mongolian fur hat, and immediately reminded me of the Communist Partisan dude in the Harrison Ford war movie I've forgotten the name of. Turns out that he's on a completely different planet, which made our communication difficult at times, given that my personal planet is a few solar systems away from his. Anyway, a cool guy. A gas pipeline specialist, he's written 12 books, been practically everywhere, and has stayed in Chechnya as a war correspondent. He told me I should visit so that I can see happy snaps of him with Maskhadov and Basayev.

I asked him to elaborate about Chechnya, but he told me:

"When you find out that your mother was a slut, or that your grandfather was a traitorous spy, you don't want to talk about it. In the same way I don't want to talk about what people who are related to me culturally have done to the Chechens."

He also went to Tuva a few years ago, and got a severe beration for knocking over a ceremonial drum during a shamanic ritual. He fell sick afterwards, then upon returning to Poland found that his house had burnt down on the same day he'd knocked over the drum.

He's got interesting religious views too:

"Based on culture and geographical location Poland should have adopted Islam."

The whole walk was about 15km, following a vague narrative linked to the life of the Polish writer/scientist Ossendowski. This dude was pretty cool too, as he wrote over a hundred books and travelled all around the world, including a trip to Mongolia/Tuva. A chemist by trade.

I also met a professor of Hydrology on the walk, who went for a few weeks to measure water in Lake Baikal. After the walk, some of us ended up at the nearby house of a doctor and gynecologist couple. We got drunk and ate nice cakes.

Oh, it's a long winding road

Day started with a listen to Martin Gore's solo album and it's ending that way. I thought I'd call all the relevant embassies in Berlin and ask them if I could apply by fax/post, then pick up my visas when ready.

Wishful thinking. No one bothered to pick up the phone at the Turmenistan embassy. The others all had pre-recorded messages in German. So, I wrote them all letters with a few basic questions and faxed them. Still waiting for a reply.

In summary, I've gotten nothing done over the past month and I'm incredibly pissed off and tired. I was hoping to head south to Kraków (Crakow) and Lublin, but given the current state of affairs, I will go to Szczecin (Stettin), get one of my German speaking relatives to call the embassies if there are no replies. If I can't make applications by fax/post, then I will have to drag my sorry arse to Berlin and back.

Further down the spiral

I rocked up at the Iranian Embassy at 9:30 am, hoping to submit my application. The dude in charge wasn't there. Unfortunately, there was no reading material to amuse myself with as I waited. Finally, he arrived, glanced over the form and told me that I had submitted the form too early - Iranian visas are only valid for a month. Great. To walk off the anger, I walked to the address of the Georgian Embassy, several blocks down. Turns out that there's no embassy at the address.

The day ended well. I met Marta - an Iranian language/culture student, who had lived there for a little while earlier last year. She told me about all sorts of fun things to expect and sold me her LP. Then the dudes from Sony's service centre rang and told me that the minidisk was fixed.

Out on a losing streak

The present state of affairs continued yesterday when I realised that all my clothes were in the washing machine. Had to spend half a day wrapped in a towel. Then, I cooked some soy chops which made a big mess when I threw them onto hot oil. Eventually, I walked 3 km in pouring rain to an outdoor supplies warehouse. Closed until today. Most of the embassies I emailed about visas had defunct internet addresses. None of the others replied. Finally got through to the Azeri embassy in Warsaw this morning. The man there seemed very pleasant. However, it turns out that I need an invitation letter despite the Lousy Planet's advice to the contrary.

Back on Allusion Street

Who would have thought that the street my cousin would live on a street named after an abstract concept. Only on the outskirts of Warsaw...

In any case, I thought I'd get things done today, with a nice early start, getting to the Islamic Republic of Iran's embassy. Feels more like someone's house than an embassy, which is fine by me. Then I get 2, 4 page application forms to fill out. Then I find out that I need 3 passport photographs. I have 2. So much for the relaxed atmosphere.

The search for a hair dresser begins. One happens to be right next to a photographer. Open since 1935. I get a haircut. The man knows how to do his job. My disdain for hairdressers drops a notch more.

The photographer isn't open yet. I stumble around the surrounding grey streets to kill time. I find the Azeri embassy, I fail to find the Georgian embassy.

Stepping into the photographer's studio, I feel like I'm in a time warp. All the waiting stools have red vinyl upholstery. She has certificates of merit for 15 years service. She only does black and white. I order 12 copies. She advises me to wait until Wednesday so that the contrasts in my skin tone look natural. Damn.

Severely irate at having to waste another 3 days, I walk to the city centre and go Lousy Planet hunting. I find Central Asia and The Caucasus... all above recommended retail price. I go to an Asian supermarket to look for okonomi sauce. No love. I eat cheap Vietnamese overlooking the Square of the Saviour and cut my gum with a chopstick. I miss the tram by a bee's dick.

Oddly, I'm no longer irate.

The cliche remade

11 pm, my uncle recieves this SMS on his phone:

Mrozu nima, śniegu nima,
Gdzie ta pierdolona źima.
Sanki kurwa zardzewiały,
Nary też się rozjebały.
Tylko deszczyk pada z nieba,
więc się dzisiaj nachlać trzeba

Frost there's none,
Snow there's none,
Where's the fucking winter gone.
Arsehole snowsled's come and rusted,
Ski's are also fucking busted.
Only drizzle from the sky,
Getting hammered must come neigh.

Sums up the weather.

We're sitting in the woodkeeper's house in the middle of a forest. After half a litre of vodka and it's a New Year. I get ushered outside and somehow end up with a double barrel shotgun and a box of shells in my hands.