Wroclaw

Most Erasmus programmes and summer universities and whatever exchange of young international people usually end with tears, hugs, and sincere promises to keep in touch and visit one another. And as the cliché goes these genuine attempts often enough quickly disintegrate and only the occasional birthday wish on Facebook survives. It is just rather hard, once out of the world that separated you from normal life for a while, to keep the ties that were so very strong at the time. Yet, in my experience, the friendships that do survive the test of time and distance have the potential to only grow stronger and more resilient. At least that is how I feel about my trip to Wroclaw the past weekend when visiting Edyta for the first time in three years’ time.

Excuses for this rather long absence were bountiful and mostly relate to Edyta’s more than two years in Afghanistan. Plenty of catching up to do indeed, but first things first. The craving for my favourite dish had slowly been mounting over the previous weeks and was readily satisfied within an hour of touching Polish soil, as I got served a big bowl of Zurek (not the drab in the picture) in a snug little restaurant bordering the pretty market square in the centre of town. To stay with Polish traditional dishes I ordered a decent plate of Pierogy as a main course. It seems that eight years after our Erasmus the Polish still have not adapted the way of preparing dumplings as Stefan and I used to in our Ligota dormitory (i.e. frying them) but the units were tasty nonetheless. Along with a pint of Tyskie (what else) I could already tick most boxes of must-do’s for the weekend, and plenty of flashbacks to autumn 2006 made for the occasional melancholic gaze.

After dinner Edyta took me to a shopping mall and 2.0 Tesco -that were very similar to the giant unit I recall from our shopping in Katowice- to gather supplies for the weekend. In Gabriel’s “night tourism” style Edyta showed me the most random corners in the suburbs of Wroclaw by taking at least a wrong turn every other time, a turn of events which was rather enjoyable be it not for the quickly reducing supplies of petrol and battery for the navigation unit. At home the decision for a glass of wine before going to sleep was easily made, although in the end it was only at four o’clock in the morning after a bottle of wine (each) that my head touched the pillow. The next morning I felt remarkably good and eager to go out. My body must have recalled that being back in Poland takes a bit more stamina when it comes to handling alcohol and gladly so I was pretty much hangover-free. The proposed pint of beer at two in the afternoon however, after a decent uphill hike of an hour and a half, did come a bit early though and I rather settled for a soup that was made of the lining of the stomach of a cow (?). This broth tasted slightly better than it smelled and I was happy to eat at least a third of its contents before deciding that I wasn’t really hungry anyway (see picture). A few photographs at the grassy mountain top next to some medieval unit and off we went again, an hour and a half downhill, jumping from spiky rock to unstable stone on my paper-thin Allstars while Edyta happily booted down in her sturdy hiking shoes.

That evening we were joined by Marta and after sharing a bottle of Vodka at home between the three of us it was time to hit town. Once at “Embassy” we were joined by another blast from the past as Magda sat down with us to ignite lively flashbacks to our summer university of 2011 in Messina. I half-heartedly joined in the rather uncivil custom of downing Jack Daniels shots yet the effect was all the same and a few hours later I found myself dancing in a shady basement-based club somewhere in downtown Wroclaw. Notwithstanding a few black holes and blurry phases in my memory the most delightful events of the evening fully stand me by and it was without much trouble that I could join in with the others recalling the numerous funny happenstances of that night. Something not entirely anticipated upon that afternoon was the increase of sleepers by 33% as a friend of Edyta was apparently so fond of the Jack Daniels shots that he couldn’t be left on his own after the club closed at four in the morning. The resulting endeavours to get him in bed and asleep were only rewarded when two chunky sleeping pills fed to him by Edyta kicked in and left us with about five hours of sleep to make the next-day hangover as bearable as possible. Alas the wide variety of shots, long drinks, beers and cocktails were apparently a bit more of a challenge to my kidneys than wine alone and indeed the Sunday was a rather quiet one. Lying in the grass by the river shore, being warmed up by a surprisingly pleasant and radiant Polish sun, I largely abstained from the conversation the others were having as my Polish was not quite up to the challenge (my Polish vocabulary comprises approximately 10 ill-pronounced words). Another brief afternoon nap and some party-rehearsing stories later most of the Sunday had passed and I made my way to the airport, rather regretful of leaving Poland after only so short a time (although the weekend in a way felt like a week or two). Whereas the last time I flew from Wroclaw airport the entire infrastructure was still in the make for the EC football in 2012, the city now boasts a cool and modern air hub. The lounge chairs in the departure hall made for a fitting last hour, as did the traditional rainy reception in Dublin make for an appropriate beginning of another working week!

Balleyconneely

Windswept white beaches, rocks that seem to have been scattered by a giant’s hand, half submerged bog land and lakes that are not really lakes but rather giant puddles from weeks of rain; the peninsula of Balleyconneely in Connemara is rough and mesmerising in a dazzling way. Regardless of the storm that battered the Irish west coast over the past weekend we hiked the interlinked beaches and withstood the rain and wind while exploring the area by bike. Well, regarding the latter I should say “I”, as the others opted for a warm fish chowder in the local pub while I pulled one of the sturdy mountain bikes out of the shed. While the wind pushed me forward I took turns left and right, often ending up in dead-end tracks that led to nothing but the sea. The road would just end in a crumbling conclusion of concrete and tarmac, with weed-grown rocks rising up from the bog all around, while the cold salty sea of the Atlantic Ocean nibbled hungrily at whatever piece of Irish main land it could get its hands on.

The “others” was a rather dynamic concept this weekend, as my company varied in size from one to seven different people, coming and going at various stages. The house we were staying at belongs to Padraig’s brother, but as he spends most of his time in the States, Padraig enjoys the privilege of a fully equipped holiday home at his disposal whenever it is not rented out. The main eye-catcher of the quarters is a huge window overlooking the bay; triple-glazed and moving ominously when the wind is gathering its full force against it. The curious sensation of seeing your mirror image move in the dark night while the wind is howling outside make you wonder how the glass has always withstood such forces of nature. Well, let’s say one gets used to the feeling.

Huge soft beds, clean freshly laundered sheets, and the absence of an alarm clock bar the scents of fried bacon drifting underneath the bed room door make for a relaxed start of all three days spent at the cottage, while the Lonely Planet’s overview of “all countries in the world” combined with said astonishing view make for the perfect in-house occupation. In addition to the energising outdoor activities, the lovely food we have been enjoying, and the excellent company, I could not have wished for better!

Whereas it was just Padraig and myself on Thursday night, we were joined by Eoin and Germot, along with John, the following evening. They all had their own curious stories of how to reach their final destination of the day, but all in all it was the five of us enjoying Padraig’s pasta. While my nationality wasn’t the only feature that distinguished me from my companions we nevertheless had an enjoyable evening and plenty of wine to guarantee a good night’s sleep. The number of eaters nearly doubled the following evening with Louise and Andrew joining in, as well as Melanie, a French couch-surfing neighbour with whom I got along great from the start. It seems I have another address to come back to! The contrast with Dublin, or any city for that matter, couldn’t be bigger, and I reckon I will be back wandering Balleyconneely’s beaches this summer, inhaling the healthy sea air, day-dreaming about a life on the roads with nothing but a backpack for belongings.