It is Wednesday and a natural break in my trip for an early posting of this week’s story.

We are leaving Warsaw. Yet another whirlwind visit.

When we arrived yesterday, I found it depressing. We were dropped off in the city center. The area is dominated by the Soviet-era Palace of Science and Culture. It was once named after Josef Stalin. It just screams Cold War architecture.

We were given an hour to find lunch. I wasn’t hungry and went searching for a museum or something. The phone was no help. There was nothing under “Art Museum.” I let my feet take me around the “Dark Tower” area.

Nothing.

A fancy shopping mall with glowing Western-brand shops did offer a nice men’s room.

Then it was time to head back to the rendezvous with the bus.

‘There’s something wrong with this city,’ I thought. ‘I don’t like it.’

The local guide got on board. A mature woman with reddish blond hair.

“We are going to the Old Town where nothing you see will be real…”

I didn’t understand.

“That church is where Chopin’s heart is. (The rest of his body I visited in the cemetery Pere Lachaise in Paris last month.) He requested that his sister return his heart to Warsaw.”

We were dropped off and followed the guide onto the cobbled streets.

“All these old buildings are not real.”

The castle, the cathedral, the old shops…

“Let me show you.” She had a thin travel guide in her hand. She opened it to a page which showed the column with King Sigismond atop it—in ruins.

“I wrote this book, and I will have copies for sale after the tour. My grandfather took most of the wartime photos. My other grandfather was killed in the uprising.”

This is what the square looks like today.

“85% of the city was destroyed by Hitler. Everything you see has been recreated since World War 2.”

She led us down the Brewers’ Alley. The Cobblers Square. The Farmer’s Market.

She advised us on buying souvenirs.

“Later. Please. I will give you time to shop. Only purchase amber from shops that display this ‘Certified’ sign. Otherwise you may be getting plastic. And don’t buy from places like this,” she told us as we stopped before a garish souvenir shop. “When I go to China, I buy Chinese goods,” she said, pointing to junky magnets and stuffed mermaid dolls. “You are in Poland. Buy Polish goods to support the local economy.”

Eventually, it began to sink in. This wasn’t a Disney-facsimile ancient city. It was a recreated heritage. Once torn down by Fascists in systematic acts of genocide and cultural erasure.

She took us into a museum, and we were seated in a theater. A 20-minute documentary started. Black and white. An idyllic Poland between the wars. Happy people. Crowded cafes and picnics. Lovely architecture. Boat rides and bicycling.

Then 1939. The Blitzkrieg. Six years of war. The Communists participated from the east. Stalin likely thought his pact with Hitler would gain the Soviets more land and security. The Poles were pinched between two murderous dictators. The 2nd and 3rd most successful mass murderers of all time. (Mao is #1.)

It was later discovered that the Soviets had carried out a secret mass extermination of Polish prisoners—23,000—in the Katyn Forest.

The Poles staged two Warsaw uprisings. The first in 1943 involved the Jewish Ghetto—walled off with stone and barbed wire to keep the Ghetto inescapable. Systematically, Jewish populations were taken and shipped to extermination camps. (A large stone memorial depicts this scene—”The road toward extermination.”) Twice the Nazis were chased from the Ghetto. Their third return came with utter annihilation. Every building was blown up.

The second uprising was citywide in the summer of 1944. There was ostensible Soviet support for the Poles, but it was a false flag. The Russians had their own motives for the uprising to not be so successful that the Poles would win their country back.

The Soviets and the Poles had a common enemy—Germany—but were working towards different post-war goals: the Home Army desired a pro-Western, capitalist Poland, but the Soviet leader Stalin intended to establish a pro-Soviet, socialist Poland. It became obvious that the advancing Soviet Red Army might not come to Poland as an ally but rather only as “the ally of an ally.”

It was the beginning of the Cold War.

Postwar genocide continued under Stalin in Ukraine and the Soviet satellites in eastern Europe until 1980, when the trade union Solidarnosc was formed in the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk. Lech Walesa, the union leader, won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1983. Cracks were appearing in the Iron Curtain. By 1989, Solidarnosc had enough power to force elections—the first since 1947. Walesa became President of Poland in 1990.

Solidarnosc is commemorated in Warsaw as well.

Back to World War 2.

Hitler retaliated the uprisings by systematically destroying the entire city. His fury was so rabid that he wanted no two stones to remain together in Warsaw.

“This the Barbican. The medieval gate. None of this is real, however. It was recreated brick by brick.”

Tears had welled up during the film.

Of a pre-war Warsaw population of 1.2 million, 800,000 had been killed.

By the time we had gotten to the remains of the Ghetto (nothing—just a park and a museum and a couple memorials), I was drained emotionally.

So much pain. So many ghosts.

We passed Madame Curie’s birthplace.

The National Library.

“Where objects like Copernicus’ works are stored.”

The Supreme Court…

Eventually, we were dropped off below the Dark Tower to find our own dinner. I bought a copy of the guide’s book and asked her to sign it. She was very flattered and told me it would be worth a lot one day.

The mermaid is the symbol of the city. A fairytale beginning.

I found a sidewalk cafe with a view of Mordor. A liter of Polish beer. Potato leek soup with some chunks of blue cheese tossed in (don’t up your nose—it was wonderful.) From the menu, I chose the most exotic offering. Dalmatian Pljeskavica. I have no idea how to pronounce that beyond “extraordinarily delicious.”

It was about a pound of chopped steak with savory melted cheese inside. When I cut into it, the cheese began flowing out like creamy lava. I couldn’t not finish it. I regretted the last painful piquant bites.

A member of the tour, Japanese, I think, came to the edge of the sidewalk enclosure.

“You drank all that?” he asked incredulously, indicating the liter mug.

Quick thinking, I replied, “It is just the same as two half liters…”

We will drive three hundred miles today. To Vilnius, Lithuania, where we will blessedly spend two nights. There will be a break from the 180-300 mile daily drives. We will be on the road for likely 10-11 hours, including lunch and “comfort stops.”

To kill that much time, I feel lucky I can write these things—even if there’s too much hubris involved. Beyond that, it is still “record keeping.” A slice of life—this time focusing on a budget bus tour through northern and eastern (western) Europe.

The road we are driving on is often narrow and winding. When we cross into Lithuania, we will only be a dozen miles or so from the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad—the little chunk of Russian territory some four hundred miles from the rest of the country.

Warsaw reinforced the memories of the horrors of the Cold War that I was re-taught by the older guides who lived the experience in Hungary and Czechoslovakia when I visited there a couple of years ago. (Read the 2 blogs after the linked one for the entire trip.)

I came to respect the city that rebuilt itself like a phoenix—brick by brick, stone by stone.

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Copenhagen—the Tour Starts

Sunday morning began with a bang. While we were on the sidewalk waiting for the bus, our luggage by our sides, “THUNK!”—two silent electric vehicles collided in the intersection 50 yards away. The two cars silent no longer for the moment of impact. No idea whose fault it was. The intersection appears uncontrolled in every direction.

I’m glad we are leaving. The Best Western was stifling. There’s no A/C in Scandinavia apparently. We are told it is usually cool enough, and it is a “green solution.” The guide said the current heatwave (“Global Warming”) is unusual. Though the temps have had highs in the mid 70s and the lows around 60, it has felt much warmer. No clouds and the northern sun nearly directly above us beats down hard. Sunrise is around 5. Sunset 9:30. My room faces east, and the early dawn warms the room quickly. Even with windows cracked open as far as they’ll go, the room never cools off. The second night, I discovered a table fan in the top of the closet. It blew over me all night.

Another discomfort is the subway (metro) stop is about 100 yards from my room. It runs 24/7. So, I had earplugs in and pillows on my head both nights.

The subway was very convenient to the hotel, however. It was only about 5-6 stops from the city center. It was easy to use (even for me.) You buy a ticket at a self-serve machine, and it spits out a paper card. Fare dodging is strictly enforced. I was challenged 3 times to produce my pass. Fortunately, I had paid for the correct number of zones and/or the time on my tickets had not expired.

Being asked to produce my ticket once was weird. Three times bizarre. Maybe I don’t look trustworthy. Maybe tourists are targeted—hoping they are more likely to misunderstand or make mistakes.

Another benefit of the hotel was it was near the beach. A ten-minute walk and I was there.

That’s the bridge to Sweden in the distance.

The tour began Sunday morning. We picked up our local guide at Tivoli Gardens. (Tivoli Gardens is more amusement park than anything else now. Kind of a 19th-century Disneyland with lots of rides and interesting boutique restaurants. There are still a lot of plants and flowers and trees, but the “gardens” must have been replaced by thrill rides and concessions long ago.)

The first stop was the “required” Little Mermaid. It is located northeast of the city center on the strait between Denmark and Sweden. She’s on a rock quite close to shore. She’s been vandalized numerous times in different ways.

The guide related the Hans Christian Anderson original version of the tale, which is quite different from the Disney version. Stuff about her “immortal soul” and so on. I’ll let you look up the synopsis here.

She is a very popular tourist destination, so it was good to get there early. Later in the day, she will be mobbed by selfie takers and video travel bloggers. She is such a tiny frail thing.

We had a 45-minute break after our guided tour. I’m glad I had two days to tour on my own. This morning was a whirlwind and didn’t do the city justice. I went to a Buka bakery and had my third danish of the trip. It was a tebirkes bun. Poppyseed and sweet richness. It still felt a bit warm, as if it had just been baked.

I ate it as I walked back to the square to meet the bus. We are heading south to catch a ferry across the Baltic to Rostock, Germany.

We drove south through the island of Zealand and crossed to another island—Falster. It has a long peninsula at its southern tip. That’s where we are now. Driving onto the ferry to cross the Baltic.

The guide in Copenhagen quipped that Denmark was teased by other Nordic countries about its poor ski teams. “There are no mountains in Denmark.” Indeed, the trip here was all flat and mostly farmland. She also said the country has something like 500 islands, most of which are uninhabited.

The ferry is pretty bizarre. A real mix of humanity. Bikers in exotic “buccaneer” garb. Bicycle and hike trekkers. Families eating foot-long hot dogs, their campers down below. Fat people bingeing on the all you can eat buffet.

Shops selling—what you expect aboard a ferry? People are crazy. What could you possibly want to buy in a shop aboard a ferry?

Maybe I’ll go look. I wonder if they have hoodies?

Turns out the shops are kind of like airport duty-free shops. Perfume. Booze. Bulk candy.

Everyone killing a couple of hours before the driving begins again. It’s high summer, and there are lots of kids onboard.

I bought a Danish beer, Carlsberg—”Probably the best beer in the world” written in relief on the glass bottle—mostly to pay for my seat in the restaurant. When I first came up from below, I sat outside on the aft deck. But I think I have had enough sun. I even bought sunscreen.

It is cool crossing the Baltic. Check that off the list.

Our instructions are to be back on the bus below on Deck 3D at 3:10.

Rostock at 3:30. Disembark. I think we will be first off. We were first on.

The steel wall in front of the bus is actually the “bridge” from the ship to shore. When we docked, it dropped down, and we drove onto land.

Customs? It’s the EU. But our guide said to have passports ready. Weird. We didn’t need it though. Soon we were on a highway—an autobahn?—cruising south through pine forests.

We are driving to Berlin. Arrival depends on traffic. But it is summer and a Sunday.

I wonder what’s going on at home? What books am I not seeing at the warehouse?

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We finally docked. About 25 of us, including the driver, were trapped in a stairwell to deck 3. The door to the deck wouldn’t open no matter who pushed the green button. I guess it was a security thing to keep people away from getting into the space where all a lot of cars and bikes were parked.

Driving south to Berlin, the guide begins a monologue on the microphone. Data about Germany…

“Germany shares borders with 9 countries.”

“…1000 kinds of sausage in Deutschland. 7000 beers. 3000 kinds of bread…”

It is 4 o’clock. We might get to Berlin about 7. Then getting our luggage to the rooms. Then we are on own to find dinner.

I’ll look for a Bier Garten.

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Monday

I feel sorry for the real tourists in the group. Berlin for them meant a three-hour bus tour this morning. We met back at the pretty lame B&B Hotel. We were just dropped off for an hour of lunch and/or shopping.

I don’t need either.

So I looked for a coffee shop that wasn’t packed. Einstein.

I opted for the Berlin Zoo this morning. It was a 15-minute walk. When I was here almost two years ago, I nearly went in. But with time constraints, I felt I couldn’t do it justice. I’d had 3 full days in the city on that tour.

The Berlin Zoo in Tiergarten is one of the top zoos in the world. Many endangered species that went extinct in the wild were saved because this zoo had specimens in captivity. Conservation breeding made it so they could be reintroduced in the wild now that humans better understand their place in nature—sometimes.

I spent two and a half hours wandering around the ancient grounds.

It was wonderful. I got there when it opened at 9. Only a handful of people entered with me at the Lowentor (Lion’s Gate.) I turned left, and there was the rhino habitat. They must have just put out their breakfast. One was munching happily a short distance away.

Another was feeding just a couple of feet away from a fence I could access.

That made the whole trip to the zoo worthwhile.

But that was only the beginning.

Lions. Tigers. Bears.

Species I had never heard of, and I was a zoology major in college.

Reptiles. Birds. Apes. Elephants. Peccaries.

Sand cats? Really. It looks very much like a domestic cat but is adapted for desert life.

I walked around the world in those 150 minutes.

Some people find zoos objectionable. The bad ones are. Institutions like this raise consciousness. How else would kids know about exotic animals? Pictures on their laptops?

When we arrived at the hotel the night before—close to 8—I hurriedly got my “key” (a six-digit code) and dumped my stuff in my room and headed out. There WAS a Biergarten nearby. 10 minutes, in fact. I was starving and thirsty.

The Schleasenkrug Biergarten was perfect. It is in a forest park—perhaps the Tiergarten?—overlooking the Landwehrkanal. Picnic tables with umbrellas are everywhere. They are each numbered. You pick one out and go to a counter in a hut-like building and order. The options are handwritten in German “shrift” on chalkboards. I was a bit frazzled and had some trouble deciphering.

I “vanted vurst” but didn’t see it.

Maybe it was at the Grill a little distance away. I ordered Wienerschnitzel and Bier. The pork was served atop wonderful sprawl of Kartofellen Salat (potato salad.) They give you the bier but bring the food to your table.

Heaven.

The frustration of hours in the bus and nearly three hundred miles was washed away by the wondrous draft beer. The food was like a fantasy.

The walk back to the hotel was also fantastic. Woods. A footbridge over the canal. A small waterfall. And a dirt path along Strasse des 17 Juni.

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Monday, we are on our way to Poland.

Crossing the border, there is a huge backup of traffic on the other side of the highway trying to enter Germany from Poland.

“Looking for immigrants,” the guide tells us.

Hundreds of vehicles—mostly tractor-trailers—going for miles back into Poland on the other side.

We crossed into Poland with no wait. No passport control.

Add another country on the list.

Germany seemed to be all pine forests along the highways. Poland is farm fields.

We will be in Poznań soon.

“Poland was born in Poznań,” the guide announces.

“St Martin croissant. Filled will almond and white poppy seed. Only available in Poznań by certified bakers.”

Crossing central Poland, the land is flat and agricultural. Fields of hay and corn and occasionally short stocky sunflowers. Far different from the eastern Germany we drove through, which was mostly pine forest.

This is another historical European crossroads. Much of the area was once East Prussia. Gdansk was Danzig until the end of World War 2. Poznań was Posen. Kaliningrad was Konigsberg. (Kaliningrad is a little chunk of Russia now—separated from the bulk of the country by about 400 miles of Lithuania and Belarus. The German population was expelled by the Soviets in the 1940s.) Konigsburg was home to fantasy writer ETA Hoffman and philosopher Immanuel Kant.

This has been a disappointing trip so far, but I guess I could have studied better to know what to expect. Lots of driving. Then a few hours tour. Then a hotel. Begin again tomorrow. But we are covering a lot of miles and eight countries by the time it will be over.

We have a “comfort stop” every couple of hours. At the last one, I heard an unusual birdsong. I turned on my Merlin app and it was a Eurasian Blackcap.

Last night because of the construction and then a car/truck accident, we didn’t get to the hotel De Silva in Poznań until just before 7. The included hotel meal was at 7. Fortunately, they had a decent bar. The gin and tonic adjusted my attitude very well. After dinner, our guide, Anna, a Hungarian, offered to walk anyone who wanted to join her into the old town. I didn’t know what to expect, but the last thing I wanted to do was sit in my room. We followed her like ducklings, and in about ten minutes, we were in a Renaissance-era town square. It was like a fairy tale. The sun doesn’t set until 9:30, so there was plenty of daylight. It was like a large Italian piazza, but instead of the center being open, there was a row of stunning pastel “townhouses.” Their facades have many different colors as well as various features and depictions on the facades.

Dominating the center was a gingerbread-like city hall, which rose high into the sky with fascinating features.

The perimeter of the square has a dozen or so large cafes with outdoor seating. All those buildings are also beautiful.

The ducklings soon broke into groups. I found myself with three retired women whose political views just couldn’t be contained. (The Biden news resonates over here.) I kept my mouth shut. They let me pick a cafe. Beer is the tipple of choice in this part of the world, with wine a distant second. It was a lovely cool evening, and the squat mug of “dunkel” was stretched out for an hour or so.

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To close this story out, I’ll return to Copenhagen.

But first I’ll set my current scene once again. We are in Augustow in northern Poland.

We are close to the Suwalki Gap.

It is a short border between Poland and Lithuania. To the east is Belarus and to the west “Russia”—it’s territory—the exclave of Kaliningrad.

Kinda creepy in some ways.

The bus stopped for lunch at a bucolic restaurant/private park. There is a Japanese garden. “Kids’ park.

I really can’t eat.

So, I’ll drink my lunch.

Kill an hour and a half.

And try to finish this week’s story early.

Last week’s story ended on Friday in Copenhagen, but it didn’t include the rest of the day (22,000 steps) and all day Saturday (25,000 steps.)

I left off at the Thorvaldsen Museum with several hundred statues by the sculptor—including Gutenberg and Byron.

When I stepped out, there was a convenient “pissoir” (outdoor urinal) on the sidewalk. I remember visiting Paris as a kid and these were everywhere.

Well, when in need.

It was late enough that I stopped at the 1723 Hviid’s pub—so old its floor has sunk a few steps below the sidewalk. A 301-year-old bar—how cool is that?

From there, I wandered through the square next to the Rathaus (City Hall.) A large statue of Hans Christian Anderson is seated by the street across, which is the Tivoli Gardens.

I paid about $40 to get in and was disappointed that it was more of a 19th-century Disney World than anything. A big crowd of young people were rocking to a Danish band (I think) which must be popular considering the size of the standing room only audience and their joining in the choruses of the band’s songs.

It was getting close to dinnertime. The place has so many cool restaurants—think vintage “cottages” expanded over a century. I couldn’t make up my mind, so I left the kids and families and rides.

I chose an Irish pub in the old town. Caesar salad and Guinness. I was so tired. Not adventuresome at all. So tired, sore and alone in Copenhagen.

I took the metro back toward the airport for the third time in one day.

The blog I’d sent off was pretty disappointing, but I can blame that on jet lag.

Saturday, July 20th, I awoke rested and made plans. Friday had been kind of a bust for all the ground I’d covered.

I checked opening days and hours on several sites I wanted to visit.

First was the Botanical Gardens.

Sadly, they were under a great deal of renovation. The enormous glazed Palm Haus was closed after I’d made the trek following signs to its entrance.

But the nearby Statens Museum for Kunst was worth crossing the street for. The Modigliani was my favorite.

The Aurora Borealis paintings were cool too.

From there, it was just a short hike to the Rosenborg Castle. I booked tickets on my phone and walked right in. The king, queen and princess were in residence, and they promenaded like ghosts among the tourist in the throne room.

It was a beautiful building, and the gardens (rose etc) outside added to the glory.

Sadly, most memorable to me was a practical-joke chair on display. 18th-century royal humor extended to embarrassing a guest who sat upon it with a puddle forming beneath it like you’d wet your pants. I suppose you “HAD” to laugh if you were the victim.

From there, I made my way across the city stopping for a “canal snail” pastry on the way. (Delicious.)

Then to another art museum. The Glyptotek. A lot of Rodin. Degas. A couple of Van Gogh. Manet… in a glorious if convoluted 19th-century palace.

Then down to the canal where hundreds were lying in various states of undress, catching maybe one of the very few sunny hot summer days.

I’d gone to the National Library 9 years ago, but something urged me back.

A modern architectural addition is added to the old brick building. The Black Diamond.

I found the Treasure Room and was rewarded with displays of Anderson, Kierkegaard and Tycho Brahe manuscripts. A Gutenberg Bible and other bookish treasures.

Soon it was time to take the Metro back to the hotel. (Come under suspicion of the ticket police for the third time.)

There was the introductory meeting with our guide and a dinner.

I think that gets us back to the last day in Copenhagen, the Little Mermaid statue and the ferry trip to Germany.