The Dreba Heating System

Lesackowje was the first introduction into real Poland I thought about in terms of nests of storks on chimneys, cheap good local food served by promising and willing middle aged women interested in shady strangers when we arrived at the small town train station with a local small restaurant. „Forget about the Danzig black woolen caps, Nazis and Copenhagen style torch shit and Pommerian German idiots there“ I thought, „let’s move to Old Poland and eat local with the maid and feed the storks and maybe stay there to write at the beach.“ The woman running that small restaurant in a laid back Polish small town was the first Polish person not totally annoyed at my shere existence as a foreigner resp. Alleged Serbian Zentralverwaltung spy or Sorbian jew, that’s what they always think about me – simply nobody told her that bullshit so far. So she remained kind. She opened her pots and pans and showed me all delicacies inside which I ate with delight because it was homemade Polish cooking of the best. Borscht, Bigosh, and Gefillte Teigtaschen and Goulash with cabbage. She made herself available as a fine woman watching out for the last man in her life who was not standing around in old jogging pants with one hand in one pocket and a bottle of beer in the other hand while licking his moustache with his tongue instead her and shouting KURVA to anything unusual.

I decided not to touch that line because she was a bit too much on the housewife side and showed an eye disease that I had seen last time at the Iranian-Pakistani border in 1981– no more white was visible but just fire red spotlights shining in the dark. I tried to ignore that as well as the housewife style courting and flirting and remained interested in her cooking arts reflecting that perfectly when I had to move suddenly to a small private bus outside that was driving to Dreba with a quick but serious ‘see you again’ to her. Dreba, one of the famous Polish sea baths, still in old fashioned style with wooden houses, a romantic beach and old ships in an inner city harbour. I was going for that Kitsch then, believe me.

In that 20 seater bus I was placed in front near the driver so anybody could watch and control me and my contemplated idiotic behaviour as a Serbian spy, Zentralverwaltung professional burglar and rapist of Polish virgins or arty homosexual or whatever they imagined, that goes without saying. After an hour long ride I was discarded at the forgotten and rotting railway station of Dreba and anybody of our eight people traveller community dispersed as quick as the wind before I could ask any question, like: „Do you know any room around for me to stay – but very cheap please“. I walked with my backpack through empty windy village streets and passed signs with „Rooms for rent“ at wooden houses. „No!“ were the only anwers I got shouted through the intercom „no have, finished“ until I reached an open restaurant near beautifully restaurated old ships from the 17th century lying in a small Baltic harbour, surrounded by high mobile phone towers with huge and many transmitters in different forms on them, I counted three of them in Dreba center alone with its maybe three thousand souls and when I went nearer to the tower at the restaurant I could feel its energy by hissing in my ear and headaches slowly gaining strength. In there sturdy and red faced fishermen freshly arrived from a catch ride and an obviously gay owner so eagerly to help me I couldn’t believe it.That was Poland as well. He took me with him and jumped with me outside to friendly flap his arms in almost any direction to show me the beauty of all and everything: „Off course we have nice accomooodaaation for you: the Blue Oyster Bar, Restaurant, Grill and Spa cum Hotel just 20 minutes from here“. „How much?“ He phoned somebody with is cute bordeaux red smartphone and told me a ridicoulosly high price. „But you get your balls emptied out, you get a nice one hole woman there!“ the crowd shouted behind us „hahaha, KURVA, this is available there!“ „What about the restaurants and hotels over there at the harbour?“ I pointed in the direction of the ships and the other cellphone tower. „No all closed, they do not open at all, maybe in summer“ I grabbed my bag and left followed by laughter of the crowd and the annoyed and disappointed looks by the restaurant owner.

I strolled around town and imagined myself sleeping outside in empty old train waggons standing around with some cute paintings on them. Going back to Lesackowje was impossible in the evening, I had checked that out for that on my way and how I would wake up in the morning or not, half frozen and robbed and made my way when an alcoholic stumbled next to me throwing empty bottles around „Hey, where is a hole to sleep for little money“ „Kurva, take Majestic hotel, just around the corner, very cheap“ I found the place after another enquiry with drunken youths renovating a pizza parlour who were laughing their asses off about me „pay for the woman as well, hahahaha“ and finally I entered a typical Polish middle class two or three star hotel with a man and a woman sitting at the reception desk. „I have room, for how many weeks you want?“ I was astonished, "oh just for a night at the moment or two or three" I said to the female receptionist accompanied by a male guy who was grinning and smiling the weasle style. It was just 70 Sloty for a real 3 star suite with huge TV, bar, Kingsize bed, wardrobes, aircon, writers desk, huge bathroom, everything for seventeen Euros a night plus breakfast for another fife. The rat was to big to be not smelled but I was riding high on hope that time still even when realized that there were just not enough people to make that work at all for that prize but 

I liked the lower middle class touch to it, made me feel at home it resembled early vacations with my parents in Spain in the late sixties and early seventies with greasy servants in cheap shiny suites serving Brits and Germans in much too cheap vacations in the middle of the worst dictatorship of Europe then. Franco was all over it and everybody liked it because it was a threat to the young peoples revolution at home and he made it really greasy aorablewith cheap booze, sangria bombs and bucketsand nobody ever questioned it. I am still astonished about that, I could not believe it the as a child when I saw longhaired students chased along the streets in Tarragona by fascist police and beaten up brutally. „solo estudientes, solo estudientes“. That was taken as an excuse for everything also among the Brit crowd there. „Just torture and kill them, Look how easy it is.“ After 1975 ist was all just history. Nobody in Spain had anything to do with it, they were all „Movida“ and an ultracool scene crowd. That was a masterpiece of Verdrängung ever in history.

I worshipped that room I had with a view to the far away Baltic Sea over flat Kachubian land and took the most Polish of all Polish breakfasts with pastrys and strange creams as a challenge among upper working class Pole families and lower middle class couples and some bleak single male figures staring at me when the women began to talk about me at my back. I could feel that uncomfortable energy and the change in their voices to whispering. But I did not give a fuck about it then, I thought I could conquer them with my art and my good manners.

„Our breakfast is from 8 to 10“ he was tapping on my shoulder heavily at 9 o’clock sharp when the maid was taking everything away and everbody was quickly leaving the dining hall when they were fleeing with the food back to the kitchen leaving everybody and everything empty. „How about dinner, my friend“ he asked me laughing. „Yep, that is a good idea, when is that, between 9 and 10 in the morning?“ „KURVA, he laughed, you are a joker by heart I like that, what about women, do you have any wishes?“ „Well I take dinner then“ I said to calm him down „Ok, that is 30 Szloty very good, pay me now“ I gave him 30 Szloty and he handed me a leaflet in Polish. I went out while he was laughing his ass off when I passed the reception desk where the receptionist stopped me and said „Your dinner at 3.30 today and pointed to a handwritten paper sticked to the hotels information desk saying „ Dinner 3.30 to 4.00 O’clock“ „Well who is coming to a dinner at that time“ I said and got no answer. „I change to late dinner then with all the other people, right“ „what, no understand“ she said. „Well I do not think there is dinner at 3.30 here, maybe teatime and I do not want to have teatime, because I am out, ok? So please change your reservation to dinner time, what time is dinner?“ „Dinner is from 18.30 to 20.00“ „Ok then, see you there“ and I left.

I strolled around town and was still laughing about the performances of receptionists and their boss who established himself more and more as a pimpy figure with obscure charactre flaws but funny all the way with his old dinner jacket but I was laughing my way along empty alleys, an empty but nice old Baltic harbour and was wondering why nobody except a few locals stayed here. Not a brilliant and breathtaking beauty of a sea town but still charming and full of old memories, I thought when I passed another „cell phone tower“ that was equipped like those from pictures I had seen from Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo: in military style but there was no army around and nothing to protect. But they were silent that day and no hissing, summing and buzzing around. It was early in the season but the emptiness of the place was astonishing and I figured it as unusual. There were camping grounds everywhere, situated in the woods of that place, inviting for a long term stay, fish in the sea and some fishing boats left for a catch. I passed the surveaillance cameras like eyes of insects in that romantic small town. Even at the beach some of them looked as if a hornet or wasp has lost one of its eyes and were fixed in a modernist structure above us that sticked out outlandish in that old fashioned atmosphere. Somebody seemed to be very interested in nearly empty main roads with old fashioned street lights where half of the businesses were closed and likely remained closed forever. I saw one structure like a stand alone concrete tooth at the outskirts of Dreba that attracted my attention because it had an outlandish sterile aura around it even from a distance at one kilometer.

When I got nearer it turned out to be a non-confessional church or kind of temple made out of rough concrete and set just into the ground like it was a spaceship that has just landed. I could not believe my eyes in catholic Poland. There was construction rubble lying around, concrete remnants and a concrete path to the entrance through rubble and wasteland of that building and a billboard in front in Polish with a blue European Union flag saying it is their project. I went inside and there was a group of pupils led by a teacher who stood up one after the other and said something that sounded like an exclamation or an oaths. I looked for the holy water containers and could not find one but another billboard claiming that this church is a kind of standard prayer house for all and everyone with a universal background what ever that meant. I went out without being touched at all and made it home just right in time to hear that dinner was just finished because it was just eight o’clock. Well it is seven on my watch I said, yes, but time is different in Poland he said smiling. „Ok I will take an extra large breakfast for free tomorrow.“ They were looking at each other and were not amused and I said:_ „Well you spared 10 Sloty with that because breakfast is for 20!“ KURVA the man said and the receptionist shook her head -she couldn’t belive what I said. „You give me 10 Sloty more now!“ „Why the hell should I give you 10 Sloty?“ „You know you idiot, KURVA, what an idiot“ The man began to laugh and started rubbing his thumb between index and middle finger smiling with empathy for my situation“.“ Yeah “ I said, „for 10 Szloty what do I get?“. Both looked down at the reception desk and did not answer so I got the fuck out of there in town because I felt a little hungry and found one night shop in the centre that was open with loud music bursting out of it and the usual suspects hanging around. 

That was the main attraction of Dreba and its official nightlife, called „Bogota“ and the owner with fake Rasta dreads was standing outside acompanied by a little sleazy looking young woman who immediatley went after three young guys who walked in the joint. Inside was nothing but a normal Kiosk night shop with packed wurst and beer and crisps and cheap industrial cheese and cigarettes. But it was her, she was the attraction, she tried to go down on me immediately with intense cheap flirting but the Polish way: everybody was watching at her sweettalking to me in smalltalkish to check me out and I was so idiotic that I responded because I was ready for a quicky on the next seabath toilet when the three crewcuts began to swear and talk loud about „KURVA“ and „Schwabski“ and this and that and she smiled at me without any sense or empathy when I said „Yes thanks for that but I will leave to my hotel and maybe meet the receptionist what do you think?“ „Haeh?“ Nobody understood a word that was pretty much clear so I paid in peace without getting my teeth smashed in, she smiled like she had missed something but was not sure what and I left with some Polish curses thrown at my back in half mute. At home I was even afraid to jerk off with all that eyes around me and my alleged sexlife but I really wondered how the breakfast would be.

Breakfast was as expected the usual Polish display of heavy loads of pastrys and unknown creams in many containers plus a display of wursts for any stomach but quite delicious when I realized that the older women were staring at me and talking about me in the most derogative way and the moustached men were smiling. I was not a competition anymore, I was outed, I was down and out by most probably the most ugly rumors about me I could ever imagine, leaving the Serbian rapist and burglar of Zentralverwaltung Belgrade far behind. I did not care about things like this anymore in a good and empathic manner but switched to quick reaction mode: I farted loud across the breakfast table of an middle age couple next to me with a horrible wife with glasses and that made them shut up. I learned that trick in Germany with annoying AOI agents over there and the therapy of disgust works out quite often as a surprise – but then leave quickly in elegant motions and do not stop. I passed the reception and the receptionist shouted „Give me ten Szloty“

I took ten Sloty out of my purse and gave it to her and she continued raping her Smartphone as if nothing has happened and I passed her saying „Thank you lady, that was good“ and made my way to town.

There was still the same scenery but more people around the hotel were watching me and seemed to be annoyed because I obviously raped somebody yesterday night in the Bogota Kiosk or whatever I did allgedly and I disrespected already two Polish pimps with different outfits and allures. „Well done“ I said to myself, that is going to be interesting because I really did not want to pay for sex at that time. In „town“ there were still no tourists, just very few locals under dozens of cameras and even the gay owners restaurant with the happy fishermen was closed so I wandered to the beach with more surveiiillance cameras of the police were some lonely fishermen were absolutely ignoring me. I felt for a moment that this could be a real scenery at the baltic sea and I remembered Guenter Grass and „Der Butt“ and his passion for Baltic life and the Kaschuben when I passed another surveillance camera at the beach where absolutely nobody interesting ever walks along for any law enforcement agency of the world, no illegal aliens could ever land there, no drug submarines from Colombia ever in sight, the Innuit liberation front was silent since eighthundred years when Greenland was warm and green no more and I decided to find out what was going on. There were dozens of homes with the sign „Rooms for rent“ and all deserted or the owners declined any knowledge that they have ever rented out rooms to strangers when I approached a small round Plaza with a cosy but busy looking restaurant which I entered and: it was nice, the owners polite, the prices moderate and the waitress delicious. She was in her late twenties, blond and liked men, that was obvious and the first on /off criteria that weighs profoundly. Women who are not really into men have to be avoided when it comes to rock and roll otherwise it s just a sceneplay and empty game without paying money. But there is also the lesbian option for the real man of the world sometimes, if he knows certain things others don’t. They are or at least were sometimes trying to escape their lady masters, their Ehefrauen and lesbian circles, and then want the sign of a man on them and in them, that means being banged really hard and when they come home they all KNOW what she did because the man is shining through her skin in an unknown glance and they are all so annoyed that she is special from there on. And when you run into them at that stage it is mostly hot wet sex you can not believe but still lacking something, because she is not really into men but the best bet ever if you do not like prostitution.

That always annoyed me, prostitution or girls behaving like prostitute in an attempt to turn men on, because it is a trade between consenting adults and not LOVE even if love shows only as a quickie in a dirty backstage toilet of a music club, but it is LOVE in some form. Whores can be great when it is time in the life of a man engaging with them really and they know what it is what drives the men to the whores: it is about time to be with them and share their lives for a while becasue they have something to offer other women do not have. Thai ladies are the best I know in that respect, they do not play a game when they are really good but it is something else and sometimes bonds are established that are way beyond anything else concerning men-women relationships. Konkubinat maybe? That term is as close as possible but not IT precisely in the oriental spheres. And when your whorish time is over, when your time in space with them has passed, you will return to normal life and when you go back to them you will be just a client and nothing else has ever happened. Don’t worry, it was good, just go, take it with you and they will not complain but be friends for life.

But that girl was something else compared to the receptionists who did not know how to sell their asses to strangers, she was extremeley sensitive in her ways and the absolute opposite of a common whore. Being into men totally so that anything could happen, from taking money when she is disappointed to fulfilled marriage. And that is the thing that matters, it is the fuel in that scene of communicative art that develops when two people really meet. I ordered a decent meal and it was served with an intriguing smile but without any attitude and or second thought. I ate, behaved politely, put away my notebook I was writing in before and that was easy because no members of the KURVA cult were there and no receptionist type women nor squarehead Polish couples cursing me for being not a Pole or being a Serbian dick. Even the AOI could not be seen I thought. What a mistake. When I paid the bill I left her some Szloty in a little wooden box she put on the table and she just turned away with it saying „thank you“ but left something behind that turned both of us on and that only happens when it is not only a theatre or game of her. That is the secret.

I did not eat anymore in the dining hall except for breakfast because it was laid out for anybody and I sat there with my back towards the ugly toads that cursed me and complained of me of being a whorehead, scumbag, alcoholic and Serbian agent from Zentralverwaltung by hearsay and enjoyed that. Even without farting to them it was fun. The receptionist ignored me as well as the pimp in the office and I was sure that rumors had spread that I had raped all waitresses in Dreba because I could not afford the nice recptionists by Dreba hotel whore asscociation and being not member of local KURVA brotherhood. The Bogota night club also known as four squaremeter large Kiosk nightshop with industrial cheese and Tatra beer cum crisps served me without talking one word because I made my way to the one and only nice restaurant cum bar cum terrace cum grill in that soon to be ghost town, the „Pink Flamingo“ for decent food. That was a major breach of etiquette there and I knew they would let me pay. Just figure out how but meanwhile I was served another meal at the Pink Flamingo from another kind and brilliant black haired waitress with similar but not the same manners. When it is always the same with all girls in one place abroad, it could still be a hidden whorehouse but it wasn’t, it was just a state of the art old fashioned male female place of worship common once in our world everywhere and now almost extinct and watched by the AOI. I paid her the same tip as the other girl in that small wooden box and tried to explore more territory in the Kachubian wilderness of Dreba afterwards. They began to watch me even there with „knowing eyes“ that could not hide pure viciousness without reason and bored stupidity that was just lifted for a moment by the expectation of a prey in their hunting ground that could be hunted without remorse.

I strolled around town passing the enormous cell phone towers big enough for at least onehundred thousand mobile phone users in a town of maybe threethousand people and passed the EU turd of a building called church of universal ignorance standing like the last remnant of a bombed out culture that had to be forgotten.

It was dark and I opened the door of that temple and found nobody and nothing inside but placed myself on a bench there and waited for any inspiration because writing turned out to be uninspired and looked down upon in that place. „Do I have to be into whores and courting pimps ?“ I asked myself „to be regarded as a human beeing or a man here“ Nobody answered when somebody was slipping next to me touching my leg immediately. I looked into a female Polish face and saw nothing but hornyness and availabilty and curiosity so we kissed on the spot and did it right there in the dark of a strange concrete building, she moaned, asked for more and came very quick. „You like to stay her for longer?“ she asked. „Who the fuck are you?“ I asked her and she said: „I am from the municipality and we just wanted to know if you are gay or something weird like artist because you did not sleep with the women here.“ „I already just did and you were giving room and space to artists before, that is well known“ I said and she showed me an ID from some Polish authority with the name of the muncipality on it. “ So do you want 10 Szloty visitors tax or what is this about, do you know now who I am?“ „We just don’t know what or who you are „ she said and she went away without saying a word just covering her middle age ass with her panties and trousers. „As in the old times in Poland“ I said loudly „as in the old times, fucking anywhere without remorse!“

I went home and felt really good, undressed and fell asleep. At four in the morning I was waking up by enormous headaches and a loud and excruciating buzzling noise in my ear, my face felt swollen and hot, the whole room seemed to vibrate with a hostile energy. It was so unbearable that I dressed and watched out for the cause and heard other guests from the hotel running around in the floors. I opened the window and looked at the giant cell phone tower with its devices pointing into the direction of the hotel placed in an empty space, an empty piece of land, maybe searching for hitherto undetected new cell phone users in the open space of Kachubia.

I packed my travel bag on the spot and ran down the stairs and fled into the open into a snow storm in spring where the bussing remained until I was about a kilometre away at the bus stop where I waited two hours in the sudden cold and in the middle of heavy snow fall for the next bus to Lesackowje that picked me up as if nothing has happened. Strange people with baseball caps and small groups passing by trying not to look at me and disappeared, some in cars. In Lesakowje I unpacked my notebook at the railway station and was immediatley spotted by an angry looking police low ranking officer who stared at me „KURVA! „What the fuck do you want?“ I said and he turned away and I climbed into the next train to Warsaw.

Copyright 2018 by Ronald C. Kaiser