At the Baltic sea trainstation I was greeted by the typical polish plain cloth police officer, an elderly thin woman, who mumbled something about „Zentralverwaltung serbische Schweine alle Polinnen ficken deshalb seid ihr wieder da ihr Schweine - central authority of Serbia Belgrade sent his pigs again to fuck all Polish women that’s why you are here again“ and that nothing else but that the blond receptionist aka the hotel I have stayed in had phoned the Polish police that I did not want to add 30-50 Euros to my hotel bill for screwing the recptionist and so I was slandered by them as a Serbian burglar and thief and rapist. Sent here by the former Yugoslawian government, the Titoists.
She followed me in the train about 100 km walking around my seat to make sure I did not bang another „receptionist“ in the train or that „She just does not know what I am about“ a typical move and expression by distraught AOI officers these days, and she even changed the wagon because I did to try avoid her by changing those polish railway cabins and wagons. There is nothing worse but an elderly Polish woman from the authorities not being screwed and then being informed that a single foreigner does not want to screw a receptionist and is not a real „Schwabski“ as they call the Germans but with hidden Slavic-Indogermanic heritage that could make you „Zentralverwaltung“ and „horrible Serb Criminal“ at least if not worse.
I saw her escaping in a small town railway station after harassing me in two or three wagon of Polish railway by sitting next to me with eye contact and stretching her legs in my direction. Polish transport is the one with the most surveillance cameras in the world I guess, impossible to avoid being on camera all time while travelling and the most annoying electronic harassement caused by myriads of those cameras and microphones build in at least in all trains and busses in Poland not to speak of the Extra Strong WIFI they have with extra strong amplifiers by KURVA Electronics Ltd.. Illegal in the European Union off course as their Polenboeller that are extremely loud but also may destroy your fingers. Because even they do not want to have a tribe around that stumbles out of Polski busses with red swollen faces and inability to behave as a human with intact brain cells for at least twentyfour hours because of intense hissing in the ears and swelling of the brains. Crossing the borders to Czech Republic where this completey absent in transport at the moment means getting out of a constant unpleasant rain shower with lightnings hitting your scrotum or labia.
Travelling to Gdansk, the „beautiful renovated and renewed pearl at the Baltic sea by Polish masters of art“ was an idea that creeped into my mind by reading the online Schmuckstuecke, the shining diamonds of Tony Wheeler from Lonely Planet, the once oracle and compadre of all travellers in the eighties who then turned into a terrific persiflage of himself by advocating the most greasy Hochglanz travel writer and publisher of all times leaving Baedecker etc. far behind. I congratulate him though to that move because I know anything else would have bored him to death and killed off more good places. Move on like that Tony, I worship you and Tucker, cheers! Take the piss of us all and the next ravellers generations, you earned that privilige, I would do the same!
Arriving at Gdansk railway station after a thunderstorm of hissing and bistering noises in my ears and heat waves in my face and being on tape for the next generations of Polish entertainment I approached the column of taxidrivers waiting outside and: I found an intelligent one as you could find in almost any town on earth helpful finding accomodation and he drove me without moustache to a den like hostel in an area outside the center that looked exactly as the Deutsche Wehrmacht has left it 1945. „60 Szloty for a room but only one day! Tomorrow you change room, many reservations!“ „Ok I said, that is cool, thank you“ I said full of gratitude and wholeheartedly because I imagined myself standing outside in Gdanks being kicked out of the railway station as they close all down to ‘keep unwanted people out’ by watching the taxi driver beneath me stealing 20 Szloty I had laid on the receptionist desk as a Köder to check them out at the beginning of the short conversation. While she was watching. Off course. „Oh, that is a good one,“ I thought „ Let us see what will happen tomorrow, when I have to change room due to reservations in my palace suite here“.
„Reservations“ are the fetish in Western and Eastern European Union territory these days no matter where you want to stay and even if the house is empty. It is not much more then a psychological twist to undermine any customer who comes along and look for a room to stay be making him beg, deny any friendly service and attitude and maybe have the right to steal from him or rob and harass him straght away. He is an undeserved being, an undefined fuckstick on wheels in case and has to be watched closely and destroyed by demand. Because if you „reserve“ these days, that means that the police knows you are coming by your „smartphone“ technology or just your good name in an email and are able to spread some rumors about you personally before you even have arrived. Or declare you a pillar of society, because you are a well known friend of the police or even better: an informer! That is called Western democracy and security against islamist terrorist who are lodgig for free in Western refugeee camps in millions but not so far in hostels and hotels.
Then she, the co-stealing receptionist, this one did not want to screw me at all with her pussy but completely, and she showed me the torture chamber for tomorrow: an empty room in the basement without window, a cellar with just one bed on a concrete floor to which I had to change tomorrow because of „reservations“ in my room with window upstairs and one bed on a concrete floor. Andjez and Piotr were both looking inside when I observed the alleged future crime scene for tomorrow in that dungeon from „Hostel“ the series downstairs. „Thank you very much for your offer, I said, I will take that room tomorrow for sure“ and made my way thru the grinning receptionists and her two smiling coworkers and went to my palace upstairs to park my luggage and to explore the famous restaurated town af Gdansk, where a whole generation of Polish restaurators have shown the full extent of their art – wellknown from churches in the West.
To find that UNESCO spectaculum I had to cross some giant highways build thru the middle of Gdansk as if they were airport runways without airport and any chance to break thru to the other side, no crossings whatever, flanked by housing complexes of the sowjet area who were the only intact structures with a human touch I have seen so far in Gdansk. But I did not say yet that the Russians were and are right in their opinion about the Poles – I leave that paradigmatic shift to others.
I climbed over a low fence to cross the giant road and some tram lines to reach the inner city of Gdansk because I could see no possibilty to cross it legally within the next 2 kilometers and balanced over some rails and small roads as many as if they had reconstructed the Auschwitz ramps here in the middle of a pride of the EU town. „What the hell is that,“ I thought, „who on earth is able to construct such a devilish set of obscenities in a Europea town, is the the Chicago meatpacking area or what did they try to tell us again whom and what they really lile?“
But suddenly I was out, in an old narrow lane, a little bit medieval, as if out from the movies and faced a giant joyride wheel illuminated by blue light and sorrounded by the most Kitsch music from some Braoadway musical imaginable and lined by imitations of US chain fastfood stalls for about fifehundred meters.
Since I was still quite new to modern day Eastern Europe lifestyle I was about to ask the other idiots around if this was the brothel area of the US Marines but something inside me made me stop because I felt some cold anger and attack mood around me and I looked up and around into crew cut and blond and medium blond Seitenscheitel faces that looked too clean and empty for my taste and the women with their blond pigtails and edgy movements to Arian for a Slavic scenery to feel well. But those were the innocent bystanders of the Gdanslk amusement scenery since sturdy muscular and tall men with black woolen caps were moving around almost everywhere and they stopped a Polish car that tried to leave the paking lot by blocking it with three of them. Just standing close to the Stosstangen front and back and blocking the drivers door with their legs so the car could not move without driving over the front or back men. The driver tried to open the door but could not because it was slammed back with full force by one black cap immediately. The men said nothing and the thin, young driver and his independent style looking girlfriend were just sitting inside the car like frozen and did not move anymore. The police was sitting in a car maybe fifty meters away and behaved if nothing was happening. I did not want to get involved at all and kept absolutely quiet against my nature because these people here, and not only the black hat SA were absolutely dangerous.
Have you seen „Hostel“? Well, that is where they should recruit more actors.... I moved quickly into the renovated and restaurated area and saw dozens of flickering torches as in Copenhagen New Haven in front of exactly the same restaurants as in Copenhagen: Pizzerias, Mexican, Seafood, French, bla bla when suddenly a sturdy black cap approached me with full marching speed and stopped maybe twenty cm before my face: „Polski, Polski?“ he shouted. I could not believe my ears but remained cool, calm and collected and said „No!“ and moved on. He hesitated for a second and moved away in marching speed into another direction and I walked along ín leisure time speed checking out restaurants Copenhagen style. As if a gay city designer has imitated that style, what a surprise. I decided that Italian was the least horrible since no Polish cuisine was availabe in that famous restauration scenery that lacked any genuity so far and went into an open Italian restaurant and was immediately kicked out again by „Closed, closed!“ and fingers pointed at the exit and found myself back in the main square there when the same blackcap came along in marching speed, stopped twenty centimeters in front of my face and shouted „Polski, Polski?!“. I did not answer this time and walked away cool, calm and collected but felt a litle bit harassed by a force I did not realized before yet: the AOI maybe and decided to reactivate my adventure modus and moved out of that beautifully restaurated old part of Gdansk just a bit to the real life shoestring areas where the real locals eat and live „really“. That meant maybe fivehundred meters to one kilometer away because the restaurated part of Gdansk, the former Danzig is not particulary large and is about to be build up and renovated as a whole – in the future maybe.
So there were real streets nearby, without Restauration Kitsch and flickering torches from Copenhagen were local people walked on real sidewalks and some smaller restaurants were locals were sitting in and I decided again to visit an Italian food stall restaurant for a pizza and a salad and walked straight in, watched by two Polish young woman with black hair behind some kind of reception desk. I sat at an empty table watched by about ten or fifteen other guests, only Poles, as far as I could make it out and checked the menue. Nobody came to take the order after fife minutes, no one came after ten minutes, no one after twelve minutes. I decided to walk to the two recptionists who were serving food to other tables to order a fucking Pizza and salad. They pretended not to understand a word I was saying – that is quite common today in the EU but nevertheless they aquired a hitherto unknown new quality in that. „Pizza Vesuvio and one Insalata Cappriciosa“. Empty staring from a white face surrounded by black straight hair. That style resembled the „black scene“ or metalheads from Germany a bit. „Pizza Vesuvio and one Insalata Cappriciosa, if you are so kind“ I repeated and she said „No service for you here, we can make you wait outside and take away“ „What did you just say?“ „No more no more, no more food, closed, no more food“ It was about 8.30 and new guests were arriving and taking seats. Nobody said a word and stared at me so I went away spitting on the floor outside of that SA canteen barrack and went away very quick because „KURVA“ it shouted from the entrance after that little spitting attack.
I passed by the one and only Turkish food stall run clearly by orientals who seemed to serve anbody with Döner, even without SA badge or Ritterkreuz or blond Seitenscheitel or with Polski Legion of Honor embleme and that was crowded with customers for take away food or stand by eating. „Here all go who can not go indoors , you know“ one Pole told me when I moved in. I decided not to take part in that and and check the imitated US fast food stalls ad their happy Polish -Arian crowd to order a Pizza. They made me a Pizza I could eat half standing, half sitting at a crowded stand table that was so horrible with the most disgusting cheese ever and maybe fife centimeters thick with solid grins by the owners for solid fourteen Euros a small beer included. Watched eagerly by the guests indoors who looked as if they were just relaxing from a Nazi meeting in Eastern Germany but were as Polish as they came and enjoyed the Broadway Kitsch music as well.
I ran home with a solid heart burn from the industrial cheese imitation and was woken up in the dark before dusk by bright lights inside my pension room and loud noises outside from a happy couple, a pimp and his whore who tried to tell me „KURVA!“ by hitting against the walls in the next chamber that I was done. I was hiding there though till it was not dark anymore and the owner called me down, shortly after he switched on his „extra strong WIFI“ with amplifiers constructed by „KURVA Electronics Ltd.“ at about 7.00 that made solid headaches after 30 minutes and any further stay upstairs unbearable: „you go now in other room downstairs, ok for next night,ok?!“ „Yes off course, because you have reservation in my Palace Suite“ I replied, „Yes very bad no reservation from you“ he replied when I grabbed my prepacked travel bag and got the hell out of that hole leaving the key on the floor just in front of the entrance door. Nobody followed me, that is not the Polish way to follow you, not at all. If you leave a town where you profoundly misbehaved by not screwing receptionsts or not allowing being robbed with a friendly smile and a tapping on your shoulder, you are gone. Until the next town.
I moved to the railway station and that took a while because in Gdansk you can not cross roads that easy and you walk from one construction site to the other. In the railway station I asked for a ticket to Dreba, an old fashioned baltic sea bath: „Dreba please,one way“. „No way to Dreba, njet, no Dreba“ but nobody was willing to sell me a ticket at any desk or information counter at Gdansk railway station. I tried the old chubby ones with curly hair from Dauerwellen or the young and kinky ones: I was sent forth and back and nobody was speaking anything but Polish except „No way to Dreba, njet, no Dreba, njet njet, njet “ I decided to let slip my good manners and anything I knew about travel safety after running thru the station about twenty times and shouted: „you fucking Polish bitches you Kurva idiots what the fuck is wrong with you here?!“ I then ignored any waiting ticketlines and queues and what ever bullshit the display in the so called civilzed world to make you feel a sheep and not a client and approached the person next to the Polish receptionist women portrayed as travel experts for foreignes and interńational journey and asked him in my softest tone, behaving like a real gentleman: „can you tell me anybody here in that office of complete analphabetic idiots and potential Nazis who is able to even pretend to speak anything but that mothertongue of yours or is even able to understand „ticket Dreba“ you bloody disgrace of the international tourism industry?!“
Immediately I was invited to sit down in front of a full bearded men who told me politely : „I am just issuing a train ticket to Lesackowje Sir and from there is a private bus running to Dreba every 30 minutes“ I could not believe this change of attitude in the office and I got my ticket within 2 minutes with a time table for the journey and best wishes not to stay in Gdansk any longer than necessary because it is ….....full of xenophobic nationalists as they call them, or the dumbest Nazis as I call them. He looked at me smiling as if he was the only person who was able to save my sorry ass there. And he was right because when I stood on the platform with my ticket to Lesackowje in my pocket some sturdy men with black woolen caps were looking for somebody obviously because some of the ladies at the ticket desk had complained about a foreigner who had insulted them as Polish analpabetic bitches another passenger told me in fluent english. „You should not let this person give a free pass“ I told him „That is a disgrace for any international traveller to hear something like this, I was always served as a king by the Polish people, you should arrest that bastard on the spot! Here they are as in Tunisia where I spent my last holiday“ He could not believe what he was hearing and turned red and shouted: „What did you say, KURVA, you bastard, we are not fucking Tunisia here, fuck off!“ „Yes Sir, I appreciate your concern“ I said and climbed into the train to Lesackowje and left him on the platform from where he stood in bitter silence and despair about me. My train left the platform in Gdansk and the black caps arrived on the platform staring at the end lights of the disappearing train.
Copyright 2018 by Ronald C. Kaiser
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen