“Well, if I’m going to die on this journey,” I thought to myself, “It’ll probably be here.”

It was November 30th, 2022 and I was somewhere in Łódź, Poland. Two strangers were approaching on the dark and narrow path. There was no one and nothing else around. 

“Only lovers will survive.” Fully surrendered to my karma. Perhaps I’d come to test that assumption. I said a few “Nom myoho rengi kyo”s under my breath and embraced my destiny.

I had to remind myself it was only the jetlag that made it feel as if it were the middle of the night. That and the darkness. The sun had fully set by 5. It couldn’t have even been 6 yet. Besides, I always feel foolish when I get a “stranger danger” sense of panic. Sure enough we passed without incident and I continued along the path, hoping I’d find another train station at the end. 

I’d already caught one wrong train and then gotten off God-only-knew where, struggling to make sense of the four different connections I’d now have to make instead of two. The porter, when he saw the mistake I had made, had been more than helpful in breaking it all down for me, but in that moment I had gone beyond help and hopped off in a panic at the next stop. There was no station to speak of. My only hope now was to continue along the direction of the tracks to find a proper station to sort out the mess I’d put myself in.

Lesson one: study how the trains work. It’s not *that* complicated. But it requires paying attention. I had neglected to pay attention to the number of my train. I assumed it would be obvious when it arrived. I was wrong… 

I’d managed to make it straight from Warsaw to Pabianice the day before, although that initial train adventure had it’s own snafus. My first experience with trying to talk to a counter person was a Tower of Bable-esque experience, thankfully bridged with text translation tech that both of us could use to get messages conveyed between the glass. 

It was so loud in the Warsaw Central station I honestly don’t know if I could’ve communicated with her if she did speak English. My conundrum was trying to understand what to do with a Eurail pass e-ticket that said I had to book seats in-person. She ultimately told me the seats for that train were all booked out anyhow. The next train that would take me there was at the (IIRC) Warsaw Zachodna station. If I walked a block to the subway it would take me to that station. 

This was all conveyed with much difficulty and more than a little frustration, but I am truly grateful for her patience and effort in communicating with me. 

Thankfully by that point the nausea had mostly subsided. When I’d waited on the platform earlier I’d taken a gulp of water and then immediately projectile vomited it back up on the platform, in immediate view if thankfully not in the direction of three other people. I don’t think I even tried to apologize in Polish. Przepraszam, folks…

The journey from Seattle to Chicago to London to Warsaw had its own share of incidence. It was the weekend immediately following Thanksgiving. It was also the World Cup Soccer finals.  In Chicago we were told the British airways crew were “delayed in traffic.” Later when it came time to serve us our second in-flight meal an announcement came over the intercom that the flight crew couldn’t serve dinner because they had what appeared to be food poisoning. When we finally got to London Heathrow we all had to immediately rebook our connecting flights, and that was before the two hour shuffle through the security line…

Whatever the flight crew sickness was, by the time I left Warsaw 2 days later I appeared to have been similarly poisoned. I’d spent the night before in the Asian-style pod hostel (where you crawl into a cubby to sleep) sweating it out, tossing and turning all night. But the vomiting didn’t hit til I got up that next morning. 

All the way to the station, I’d try to take a sip of water and then have to barf in some bushes. When I got to the station my first instinct was to go find the right platform and just wait there and get on the train and not worry about “reservations required.” I rolled with this idea for a while, puking off the side of the platform a couple times until finally not making it that far… 

By the time I got to the 2nd Warsaw station I could stand to grab a bite from the small kebab shop built into the corner. I got something fairly basic and unspicy and it hit the spot. It was a much smaller, quieter, quainter little station than the modern main one. I finally felt in it to win it. 

The rest of the journey was without incident. I still had to remind myself it was before 6PM and not closer to 3AM like my internal clock and the deep darkness were leading me to believe. I walked through the shadows past seemingly endless nondescript apartment blocks, most built sometime in the Soviet era. Finally I rounded the corner at the mausoleum and hiked past the graveyard to my hotel, settling in for some world cup soccer and a British show where people date each other based on how they look naked…

The next morning I woke up early and wandered around the graveyard. There was a little church in the middle. I took a look inside and there was an old man praying – not in the main sanctuary, which was closed, but in a little room off to the side of the entrance. That must be common in Catholic churches. I have so little experience inside them it’s hard for me to say, but it seems that having that consecrated space for prayer is key. 
I didn’t want to gawk at someone practicing their faith so I could fully comprehend his purpose, or if he was perhaps even a priest… I didn’t feel like being a tourist in his personal business. It’s hard not to ponder looking back now, though. 

I was raised on the bible but never in any kind of tradition like Catholocism, so it is fascinating to see a faith run parallel to what you know yet have so many deep traditions unique to it. I’ve never lit a candle to a saint. Maybe he was doing so. Or for a departed family member. It was a cemetery, after all…

Later that day, as I wandered around the final hour in town, I cued up a downloaded Gene Clark playlist and found myself singing along to “Train Leaves Here This Morning,” which proved to be all too prophetic along my journey…

        “I lost ten points just for being in the right place at exactly the wrong time.” 

Initially Łódź was a smaller town near Pabianice. In time, particularly with the coming of the industrial revolution, it grew to be one of the biggest cities in Poland, with much of the textile industry centered there in the 19th and 20th centuries. When I got myself lost in Lodz I had no idea just how lost I was.  But I had a naive faith that got me through somehow. I called upon ancestors and departed friends to help me through this “guided misadventure”…

Eventually the dark path spit me out in a little neighborhood down a dead-end road. I wandered up the road and out to the highway. It looked desolate. There was an overpass nearby. At least five cop cars went flying past with their sirens blaring. I saw a sign that pointed to an airport and went the opposite way.

It was dark but I could see clusters of buildings. I saw a strip that was more lit up than the rest and decided heading toward it would be my best bet.

Now, you might be wondering why I didn’t try to Google map my way through this. The answer to that is lesson number 2: make sure you’re absolutely certain that if you buy an international minutes package for your phone that it will work in the country you are going to. I honestly thought I had done so. I was wrong…

Instead, I found myself entirely at the mercy of wi-fi, or “vee-fee” as the Polish say it. So I turned it on, desperately looking for an open signal to appear. As I approached the lighted plaza a familiar sight emerged: a Rossman drugstore… and there on my phone was an free wifi signal with their name on it! Knowing this was an advantage I came to rely on throughout the trip when I was desperate for a signal and found one of their stores. 

I gave blessings to my dear departed friend “Ross Man,” as seemed only appropriate. Then I discovered (on Google maps, now that I could access it) there was a tram-line stop directly across the street that would take me straight to the station to get me out of town…

The final test of the journey was one of patience, endurance, and timing, as the train leaving Łódź was 45 minutes late in arriving. I stood shivering on the platform for at least 40 of those minutes before I went back inside the terminal to warm up and see what other train I might catch instead. No sooner had I done so when my ears perked up and I suddenly realized, despite not understanding a single word, they were announcing the delayed train’s arrival over the loudspeakers. I quickly followed a couple burdened down with full luggage as we dashed back out to the platform and practically straight onto the train without missing a beat.

When I finally got to Częstochowa one of the first things I saw was a RIP graffiti tribute to someone. I let out a dark, morbid chuckle and felt grateful that it wasn’t going to be me. Then I gawked at a Catholic church before continuing on to my hotel and watching some more World Cup…