Roadspill

TIMEWARP!!! More from the Great Baltic Border Expedition... please adjust your watch.

Thursday, July 10, 2003
Somewhere in the Baltic Sea
Heading towards Poland

The alarm sings its horrible wake-up song. Beep-beep-beep! It is a sound that I don’t think I will ever get used to. Who is the demented human who devised the hell that is the alarm clock?

6:00am, the digital numbers cheerfully tell me. Our schedule has us pulling into the Polish port of Swinoujscie in just a few hours. The trip must have been uneventful, as I slept solidly throughout the night.

The shower is small and cramped, but the water is fresh and hot, so I can’t complain. It is an odd thing to be taking a shower on a boat. But this certainly beats what the poor folks who don’t have cabins are going through. Curled up on the floor in dark rooms, they save a few bucks by enduring a night of discomfort. True, many of them simply cannot afford cabins – but still, spending all night on the hard floor of a Polish ferry is not something that sounds like a good time.

I have brought my small travel radio with me, but I am able to pick up only static. This is probably due to being encased in the steel confines of the ship. For fun, I fire up my mobile phone. I was able to get service until I went to bed last night, but there is no service this morning. We are probably too far from land. Testing this theory, I glance out the porthole and see nothing but blue sky and water.

I feel the ferry rolling slowly from side to side now. It is almost comforting, and I am thankful that I have never had to deal with seasickness. Iron guts, I have. Once, in Nova Scotia, I was in the most God-awful storm off the coast. The little boat I was on was tossed like a garden salad. And while I thought I was going to die, my innards remained calm. It was then that I knew that I could take anything.

We all meet in the ferry restaurant and are treated to a wonderful breakfast buffet for only 50 Danish Kroner. As we chow down on the standard breakfast selection, Poland comes into view. And so does Germany. Swinoujscie is right on the German-Polish border, and from the ferry, our eagle border freak eyes can see the vista between the two countries.

Getting off the ferry is difficult. People trying to cut in front of each other and a back-up due to Polish customs and immigration. It is around 8am, and we were originally hoping to see the border between Poland and Germany up close. Unfortunately it looks like we may not be able to. We have to drive clear across Poland today, and the only way to get to the German border is to take a ferry across the harbour. The closest ferry is apparently for locals only. The other ferry is several kilometers away.

A bald, smiling officer greets us and stamps our passports in record time. As he is doing this, we are treated to the site of a couple of dogs humping away. It is made more entertaining because the humper is humping the humpee’s leg.

We drive to the local ferry in hopes that we can get aboard. And, we do! There are no signs saying that this is a local ferry, and no one seems to care. It is free as well. This border expedition is starting off in fine form.

When we arrive at the land border between Germany and Poland, we park in a rather large lot that is filled with many horses and horse trailers. There is a steady stream of folk crossing the border in both directions on foot. And a few crossing with bicycles. No cars. The border here features a wide vista made of raked sand. On either side of the vista – at least 10 metres across, there is a low fence. It is not very intimidating, nor should it be, considering that this border will all but disappear in a year or so. We are only about a kilometer from where the border enters the sea. I am hoping we get to see this, as it is a rare sight to see a beach divided.

There are the requisite frontier warning signs. We all take pictures of these. Since we’re ahead of schedule, we decide to make a quick dash to Germany. I slow things down because of my Polish visa. The papers are in order, but visas always tend to bog the proceedings. By the time I get into Germany, Anne and Mike have already crossed the street and are in the line to return to Poland. Behind me is a not very pleased crowd of Polish workers who are now queued up to get into Germany, thanks to the Canadian with his damn visa.

We immediately cross the road, and head back into Poland. We get in line quickly, heading off a large group of Germans that are rushing towards the passport control area. This popping in and out of Germany – for literally moments --must look very silly on the computer screens of the border officials. They say nothing. I wonder why they allow only bikes and people to cross here. There is a nice 2-lane road, and traffic could easily cross. I’m sure it will next year.

I have now pissed off a large group of Germans as my visa once again brings the line to a crawl. German officials stamp me out of Germany and then I have to wait at the Polish booth. There is a delay as they deal with the visa – a long delay. The line of angry Germans stretches as far as the eye can see – Holland, I think.

After finally crossing, I hear half the German nation sigh a breath of relief. Or was it disgust?

Back in Poland, I take some more pictures of the border installations as Peter, our driver, tries to get us all back in the van. This must be like being a father with 8 crazy and uncontrollable kids.

In the van there is dissention. Some of us want to check out the beach border (me), and some of us don’t. In situations like this, the only way to decide is by voting. And, using democracy, we change our itinerary to include a quick visit to the beach.

Peter drives in the general direction of the beach, following a road that parallels the border. When we near the water, the road we are on comes to an end in a large parking area, surrounded by woods. There are a couple of small campervans parked here. And, upon further investigation (namely, spotting a huge H painted on the pavement) we deduce this to be an old helicopter-landing pad.

We walk through the brush along sandy trails. This used to be the old Polish-East Germany border. I wonder what it looked like back then? How severe were the frontiers between former Warsaw Pact members?

The trail leads to a large sand dune, and suddenly, we are at the border. The sandy vista continues to back to where we crossed earlier and to the water’s edge. There are barbed wire fences on both sides of the vista, but they are more rusty than threatening. Polish and German border markers can be seen in both directions. Sitting on a sand dune only 20 meters away, are a pair of German border guards. They are watching us from their van, probably wondering what the hell we are doing. There are no Polish guards to be seen.

We wave to the German guards and follow the Polish fence as it undulates with the sand dunes. There is a bit of a turn in the direction of the vista when we get closer to the water. The beach is quite wide, and the fences bisect it and continue out to the water. There are frontier warning signs that we ignore. The fence is quite rusty, and probably won’t be here once Poland is part of the EU (and the Schengen “no borders” agreement).

The beach fence is pretty cool, and we all shoot plenty of film to capture this. Is it a strange sight because beaches are usually though of as happy fun places, and an ugly barbed wire fence is quite the juxtaposition. My photos of this fence will be placed online soon. But, for an example of such a border, check out Brian Rose’s Lost Iron Curtain site. Scroll down to the 10th picture on this page: Lost Border.

Back in the dunes, we strike up a conversation with the German border patrol. They are friendly, but will not let us take pictures of them (to hide their identity). They are friendly and walk right up to the Polish fence. They explain that most of their work involves stopping criminals from sneaking across. As we say goodbye, we hear the two stroke motorcycle engine of an approaching Polish guard. The Germans head back to their van, and we start heading towards the helicopter pad.

Back at the ferry crossing, we are stuck in a huge queue. It looks like we will not make the ferry being loaded, but the 2 boats seem to make the trip quickly. As we get closer to the front of the line, a ferry worker glances at our license plate and freaks. NO! He yells. Playing the role of stupid tourists we offer our confusion as to what he is saying “no” to, even though we know that this must really be a local ferry and he has discovered our foreignness. Playing dumb doesn’t work.
No!
Pointing out that there are no signs saying locals only doesn’t work.
No!
Pointing out that we came over on this ferry doesn’t work.
NO!
In fact, it appears that the only word he knows is “NO!” And he will not even enter into an argument.

We are kicked from the queue and are forced to drive 8km to an alternate ferry. Traffic is light, and we make good time. The alternate ferry is also free, so we fail to understand why one is for locals only. Pain in the ass policies left over from socialist times, no doubt.

We’re headed east on and stop in Swidwin for lunch at the Restauracja Bajka. Bajka is Polish for fairytale, and the food sure is! I order Ruskie pierogi, Cena (a black current drink) and tuck into my first real Polish meal on this 3rd visit to Poland.

Back on the road, we continue our long journey east to Kaliningrad, Russia. We pass the little red flats of Chojnice. There is some money here: new lights, roads, and cars. We are south of Gdansk, where Solidarity first took hold in the shipyards. This used to be Germany at one time, and Gdansk was called Danzig.

I am sitting in the front of the van and Hans Peter is driving. We engage in a great discussion of modern European history. He tells me that to learn about modern Europe, you must study events from one of two starting points. 1920 or back in the 1800’s. All the movement of peoples and the effects of wars and crumbling empires fascinate me. You’d think that none of this would ever happen again, yet, is the EU not just another empire? Is the US not engaging in imperialistic strategies? Think of the massive changes just since 1989. And not just in Europe. History is happening all the time, but always, it seems, in the background. Only when you look back do you see it.

We stop for a snack and coffee break in Czersk. I have no Zloty for the bathroom or for snacks. Dilemma: use the credit card for water and snacks? The amount would be so small. In the end, Hans Peter saves the day by putting my goodies on his card with the gas purchase. As we are not spending much time in Poland, there is little need for Zloty. The gas station has a cute bear logo, and a large stock of porn and booze for the trucking crowd.

Later, we are flying down the Ebling – Koenigsberg highway. Koenigsberg was the German name for Kaliningrad city, the capital of the Russian territory of Kaliningrad. More history is here: Kaliningrad - Wikipedia.

The highway was originally built by Hitler. More info is here: Elbing-K?nigsberg Autobahn. The highway has overpasses that are built for 4 lanes, even though the road is 2 lanes. We follow it as far as we can. We pass the last exit, but continue to head north to see where it will go. Old German Autobahn ends. We continue! There are new-looking destination signs that are crossed out. We think that maybe this highway to Russia will once again be re-opened at the border. We’re curious about the border too… and are determined to follow the road all the way to the frontier. Unfortunately, as we continue, the road conditions worsen. Then, only a few miles from the border, large piles of sand block the road. We can go no further. If time permitted, we might walk to the border, but it won’t happen today. This section of the highway is noted on some maps (but with a road closed symbol) but not others. My map book in Vancouver shows it as a functioning road on both sides of the border, but without a border crossing. If we had made it to the Russian border, this is what we would have seen.

We turn around and head back through a tiny village that sports a massive empty factory. One of dozens that we will see. The power lines dangle from pylons, the windows are broken, and it has been left to rot.

Further down the dirt track we are on, we come to a small river that has a dam and some sort of generating station. There is a car parked there, but the whole installation looks abandoned. It might have been a power station for the abandoned factory.

A small bridge crosses the river, and it has a very old warning sign that shows the symbol for “no tanks.” The weight of a tank would probably destroy the bridge. This reminds me of being in Bosnia in armoured personnel carriers – and crossing bridges that had a weight tolerance of less than half the APC weight. The Canadian military guys thought this to be hilarious.

We are in the Braniewo area, just south of the Russian border. And we’re lost. We find some friendly locals and ask them how to get out of here. They show us the way. On the way back to civilization, we pass a massive military installation (with numerous radar dishes). This would be Polish, and they must be keeping track of the Russians.

8:45PM. We’re at the Polish-Russia border. Again, this is the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad, not Russia “proper.” It is still 100% Russian territory. We come to the divided village of Szczurkowo, Poland. The Russian half was flattened long ago. The houses are distinctly German in style. The road is terrible and there are no controls to be seen. A young boy heads in our direction, probably wondering what the hell we are doing. We wave at him… and explore the border fence. This is rather boring, so we drive off to the east, along a road that parallels the border. As we continue, we see that the Russian border markers (about 2 meters tall and red and green striped – with a lovely plaque attached) are coming closer to the road. There is no barrier fence and a visit to the Russian frontier is very tempting.

Despite the worries expressed by some of the group, Harry, Mike and I walk across a bit of scrubby field to the border. Nothing can be seen in Russia, other than the trees. I wonder if this is some sort of purpose or plan. So far, from the Polish side of the border, we have seen no signs of life on the Russian side.

The three of us get brave. There are Polish and Russian markers facing each other. I walk to the Polish one, and look to see if there are any Russians lurking about. Between the two border markers is a small white marker that denotes the actual border. I touch it with my finger. Then I run around it, effectively entering Russia illegally. The others do the same. We giggle like schoolgirls.

Back in the van, we are continuing our long journey across Poland. We’re tired and hungry. I have a hunk of kolbasa in a nameless village.

Many hours later we arrive at our destination: Augustow, Poland. The Hotel Warszawa is a nice place, and after checking in, we all take a beer in the pub. On the television is an English language movie. In Poland, rather than subtitling, they dub films. But they only use one voice for all the characters. It is brutal.

It is 2:22am by the time I pull the covers over my head. Another day of border chasing has come to a close.

-30-