Poland | All That Wanderlust

Liban Quarry, Kraków, Poland

Posted on June 19, 2012 by jaxom88

One of the eeriest and forgotten places in Kraków, the Liban Quarry should first and foremost be a place of remembrance for the victims of the Nazi labour camp that created here during Kraków’s WWII occupation. Later, the looming rusting towers were built here as part of Spielberg’s recreation of the Płaszów concentration camp in the film “Schindler’s List” to lie dormant amongst the overgrown abandon that permeates there today.

From the nearby site of Kopiec Krakusa (Krakus Mound), the scale of the site become apparant with deep limestone cliffs. The leftover buildings from the film act as an echo for its history. Initially ran by Liban and Ehrenpreis, two successful Jewish families; during 1942 and 1944, it was a penal site for young Poles during the Nazi occupation of the city. Over 800 youths did forced labour here. Now, the site is slowly filling with water, and wildfowl are retaking it as a nature sanctuary. Yet, whilst the modern additions are constructed, as they slowly rust and creak into oblivion, they are still evocative of what happened previously- creating a sense of unease as you walk around charred buildings and bent wire below the watchtowers.

Accessing Liban- How to get in

There are two routes to the quarry. One suggested by In Your Pocket to says ” following a trail from Krakus Mound toward Podgórze Cemetery along the rim of and into the quarry. My route would be to go into the Cemetery itself and go to the far end. There, there are low fences that can be jumped and can lead on the path that goes round the quarry. Alternatively, you could try your luck from ul. Za Torem; though there is nothing unlawful about being in the quarry, city employees of have been known to deny entry or ask people to leave. I exited by heading towards the main entrance and by going down a small footpath that ran parallel which puts you to the left of the main entrance.

Let me know what you chose to do.

Note- The towers themselves are fairly stable, though they are not maintained and do move. Some access to the towers has already been destroyed.

Medyka-Shehyni, Polish-Ukrainian Border Crossing

Posted on April 7, 2012 by jaxom88

Due to the city’s proximity to the border (It’s about 12km or 7 miles), we decided to catch a bus to the crossing. We were informed that the bus station was found next to the train station by an underpass.

The Border Buses are located here

The bus station was going through some resurfacing work so mud and gravel made up the road and by the signs near a small kiosk, the mini-buses nearby were our route. Groups of old men, smoking copiously made up our entourage. We greeted one; his moustache matched his leather coat. “Granitsa?” (Polish for “border”) He nodded, without taking his cigarette out his mouth and gestured at the group of mini-buses, without specifying. After some time, he stamped his cigarette out in the mud and got on one, gesturing at us, and the groups of people clutching plastic bags of stuff. The bus should cost around 2.50/3 PLN.

Holes were cut out of the backs of headrests and even the seat itself. Small plastic bags were stuffed into them; like the ones you see in Airports- punters had obviously tried to smuggle stuff over. Following the Wikitravel advice on the subject, we sat in the back and held our bags- We didn’t want to get caught up in anything. The bus drive was swift and we ended near a supermarket and a carpark; filled with vans. People had set up tables selling their wares; babcie stood with their covered heads, declaring loudly that their vodka was cheap. We strode past, going down a long path lined by a green fence. This was the crossing itself.

The path never seemed to end, but all of a sudden, it bottlenecked and it was full of people with bags and bags. Black plastic bags roped tight, tied to another black plastic bag. A small shopping trolley of bags. A man holding a massive telly straight from the shop. With some quick observation, we quickly realised what was going on. With it being Easter in Poland soon (Ukraine uses the Orthodox or Julian Calender) and not in Ukraine, these were Ukrainians getting their shopping before the Polish shops shut for the weekend. And what shopping! Bags of instant cappuccino and face cream were obvious but the black plastic bags that smelled of fresh meat and cheese stood out. These were items they were taking back to Ukraine to sell. Everyone was standing still chatting. From the snatched bits of conversation (that we understood) the border was shut for a bit.
Then, it wasn’t.
Everything kicked into overdrive as EVERYONE at once shoved their way to the front. Now, it was everyone for themselves. Everyone has to pass through a turnstile and the bulky bags and suitcases being carried were too big to fit, but obviously, it was worth trying. Shopping trolleys rammed into your legs, small old women trying to get through under your arms and elbows went flying. We shoved and shoved. People bellowed Ukrainian curse words into your face. The Polish border guards watched in horror (or amusement?) as 50-something people all shoved to get through a single turnstile. Time dragged as shoving, pushing, went on en masse. I stood on the precipice of stepping into the turnstile when a woman lifted her 4 bags over me and into my face as an attempt to get through; just as a old lady was lifting her bag of pork and beef under my armpit. I jumped forward, grabbing 2 of the woman’s bags and taking it through the turnstile (There was no way she would fit with all 4) and leaving them on the floor. She screamed at me as a thief and I waited patiently for Amelia. As the lady came through, I handed her bags back. She showed little emotion. These people are refered to as “ants” by locals. It became obvious why.

We stood in the dead-zone and collected ourselves. I saw a large “Welcome to Ukraine sign” (in Ukrainian) and thought, “That will make a nice picture”. I took the photo and thought nothing of it. Until I looked forward and out of a guard box, two men: one was short and dressed like an archtypal Bond villian and other (with the gun) strode towards us. We wasn’t happy. “No photos here!” he said (in Ukrainian or Russian). He demanded our passports. My only thought was “I have royally screwed things up”. He then demanded my camera. I offered to destroy the photos (in broken Polish). We went through my photos on my SD card, and he would say “destroy” or “next” (luckily, destroy is similar in Ukrainian to English). (This explains why I have no photos of the border crossing) He asked me questions, such as “Where is that?” to a photo of Krakow or “Who is that?” to a picture of Ellie. He then asked if Amelia was Ellie, to which we denied. After what seemed like forever, he handed the camera back and sent us on our way- tail, very much between my legs. Tip- don’t use your camera.

The next crossing point was a small hut. Here, the queue was non-existent. We handed our passports over. It was supposed to be a simple check, visa (stamp in passport) and done. The border guard could not understand the passport. She asked for my name- I said it. She asked for nationality, I said it (in Polish). No luck. She tried scanning it as an Irish passport (because she understood the Northern Ireland part), which got a big no-no from the computer. She brought a guard over, who didn’t know better. She walked off with my passport into another room. At this point, a queue was forming, including the lady from before, which started cursing us for holding up the line. She came into the hut with a dictionary into Ukranian and tried to translate my details in Cyrillic for the database. The guard from the camera debacle laughed through the glass and the Bond villian General stood in the way of the border, blocking any escape route. Eventually, she stamped my passport and we were allowed through. The general stepped aside, and we were allowed into Ukraine.

Passport stamp from Shehyni. Border crossing into Poland at Medyka. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tips

Don’t take photos in the dead-zone.Without basic Polish, he was very willing to take my camera away and he probably took pity on us, so don’t take that risk.
If the shoving to get through the turnstile, say “tourist!” or “Nie rozumiem!” (“I don’t understand in Polish). They usually toned down the vivacity of their shoving.
To speed up the Ukrainian crossing, you could translate your name into Cyrillic. We did this for our first names (not taking in account that “United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland” doesn’t translate very well)

Now, all we needed was a bus to L’viv. That was easier said than done.

Next Post…

This is Part 3 of a journey to Ukraine.

Part I – Planning

Part II – Przemyśl

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Przemyśl, Poland

Posted on April 6, 2012 by jaxom88

The Belfry

I find sitting on a train gives you some time to read up on a destination before you disembark. The descriptions all said the same- Przemyśl sits on the edge of Poland’s border with Ukraine, but this is a recent situation. Previously the city was part of a voivodeship (a county) which was lead by L’viv (then L’wow) when that was part of the Polish empire. Only after the Soviet Union took the city from the occupation of the Nazis in 1944 has it sat on the precipice of the two nations; an action which stripped it of much its former glory until the Soviet Union fell in 1990. A lot of history bore down, like a shadow on the place long before we arrived on a rattling Polish train, with its worn down red leather seats and wooden floor) into the station itself.

Map of the city of Przemyśl

The contrast of the station to the trains was startling. A a ornate interior with a glorious cream exterior that echoed larger stations in Kraków in it’s 18th century design, with a Parisian twist with the Car Park outside on it’s doorstep. The first square we came to (on Franciszkanka ul.) sat quiet; the morning bluster had yet to begin; it had barely began to crawl. You felt as if the obligatory statue of Jan Pawel II was waving scriptures at yourself. A faint mist hung in the air, like the hours post a storm. I guess that’s when we were visiting the city- after the metaphorical rain-clouds had finished and people were left with puddles to traverse. In this small square, is the Clock Tower where (randomly) there is a Museum of Bells and Pipes. We ventured in further and the streets narrowed with tall churches.

Unlike Krakow’s (and English villages) churches which seems to be the focal point of an area, the churches here blended in with the furniture, with only the large welcoming staircases to distinguish them from the apartments at ground level. Nothing was awake at 9am, but it conveyed the idea that it wouldn’t either as we reached the main square (Rynek). The rows of trees that crossed across the space were leaf-less and black and the cobbled floor was itself, cobbled from different size bricks in a scatter-gun mosaic. Most interestingly, it’s slanted which almost makes you forget it is a square. Surrounding the square were the typical Polish design (i.e- nothing at the bottom, all upstairs) that lacked the heights of the as before-seen churches. The tenement-houses date from the 16th and 17th centuries, but were rebuilt in the 19th century.

The Rynek of Przemyśl

As it was the beginning of the Easter weekend, there was more life when people started going to church. In countries where religion has started to become less obvious, the sight of a river of people walking to church; some old, some young still is evocative. With the morning mist still hanging as we looked down from the Zamek (Castle) (That was built by King Kazimierz the Great in about 1340 but had been reconstructed in a renaissance facade) on the hill, one could feel something spiritual.
Unless that was the tiredness kicking in. Legs heavy, bag heavier, we sagged.

Note- I apoligise if this leads to someone not enjoying the delights of this place- we were shattered.

Never doubt the power of coffee

We loaded ourselves with coffee, in the only place open at this hour. A nice warm interior and the weight off our back helped steel ourselves for what we needed to do- work out a manner to the border. We started searching (after two kavas) for a nice place to have food, but there was only Milk Bars and Pizza restaurants (everywhere you go(!)) open so we settled in for some hearty bigos and pierogi.

Ready to leave this border city, we couldn’t leave without seeing the bells next to Przemyśl Cathedral. The cathedral was originally built in a gothic style in the 15th century, but (like most churches in Europe as fashions change) was restyled in the 18th century was rebuilt in a baroque style. It’s belfry loomed out and shaped the town’s panorama. Best of all, was the addition on the side of massive bells in a special arch. They were operated by a crank, and rang alongside the bells in the Belfry. But as the bells chimed in the new hour, we would be heading to ventures new, and that involved crossing the border into Ukraine…