From a rabbi to Robert Kubicka: A hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy (well, Spain, France, Switzerland and Poland) Part Six: pole position in Poland

Cheese fondue: easily the warmest thing in Switzerland

It took a while to find a friendly, helpful local (though some people live in Switzerland for more than six months before they have such luck so I should be grateful for small mercies) but eventually I did. He was willing to help and offered to take me to the nearest city. Unfortunately, that happened to be Lausanne and was six kilometres in the opposite direction to which I wanted to go.

A decision had to be made. And with time of the essence, I decided to accept his offer and then take a train to Zürich. Once there, I was confident of getting a seat in a car with mitfahgelegenheit, the German carpooling website, for the short journey to Munich. Failing that, I could always get the train but that was a more expensive option.

I enjoyed lunch in Zürich and managed to get a lift with a German girl through the aforementioned website. She was happy to talk but, after the border, I could no longer keep my eyes open and I drifted off to sleep.

At one stage I woke up and she was talking to me. I just responded with a couple of yeses and nodded straight back off to sleep.

I awoke in Munich, thanked her for the trip, and got on the metro in the city and raced towards the meeting point, prior arranged with my driver to Warsaw. I was panicking slightly, as I had texted him a couple of times without response. Thankfully he was at the meeting point and we were on our way at breakneck speed towards the Polish capital. Breakneck was an understatement. I asked him if he was familiar with Robert Kubicka, the Polish Formula One driver. He said of course in that inimitable Polish style. I said he made him appear slow.

Anyway, at this rate I was going to have little trouble making the next night's match. In fact, my new Polish friend was going to the match too.

We arrived in Warsaw at around two in the morning. He said, where exactly did I want to go? I said I don't know, somewhere with internet so I can book a hostel. He (sorry, I can't remember his name) said I could use his. Once inside his house he offered me his couch and I was one very happy bunny.

I woke up the next morning, had a shower and was just booking a hostel as my host said to me: "you can go now!" I thought, fair enough. I have used and abused his services enough and I was eternally grateful. I bid him farewell and chuckled to myself at the honesty of his statement in the morning as I hastily departed.

Warsaw: the stadium in all its glory, and in sunshine

I checked into my hostel, proceed to have a couple of beers and headed to the match. Once inside the stadium, I was astonished to find the kick off had been delayed due to a downpour. Initially, by an hour and, ultimately, by 24 hours.

Warsaw: so the closed the roof, of course, with the sun blazing outside

All that rushing, all that carry-on, and there was no need. The absurdity was even greater as the stadium had a roof. But they couldn't close it. Why? Because it was raining. To be fair, the locals were mightily embarrassed and when the game was played the next day, in bright sunshine, the roof was closed. Naturally. Welcome to Poland: the land of the illogical.

Up the Dorf

Dusseldorf: Look at those lights

 
When thinking of weekend breaks, Dusseldorf is not somewhere that immediately leaps like a salmon into the mind. More like a fat dog than a salmon (ok, ok, but you try and think of something that doesn't leap very well). Yet this is not fair. It is a pleasant city, with a good night life.

But what is it with those Germans and their towers. Forget the lederhosen, the large beers and the women with hairy armpits. They are just clichés. No. The real obsession they have is with those God-forsaken towers. Why are they so special in Germany that every major city has one? And they are drooled over like some kind of catwalk model. I'm sure there is a legitimate reason for this but given that I am not exactly a culture-vulture, it is beyond me.

Apparently Dusseldorf's is better than the rest. And why is this, I hear you ask? It's in the lights, so the locals claim. By some complicated calculation you can tell the time by counting the number of lit up dots. I cannot be bothered to go into it but trust me, it'll take you a while to work out what the time is. Even the DDorfers (I'm not sure that's how they are called but let's go with it) take around a few moments to work it out. As a result, it is then an unknown period of time later and the process needs to begin all over again. Maybe those Germans are not so efficient afterall. Nevertheless, even a homeless bum should, in theory, be able to work out the time. How nice. In England they’re lucky to get a shit soup at Christmas.

The Altstadt (old town) is nice and is the centre of the city's nightlife. By the way, it is described as old in a nice way. Not in a Welsh kind of 'old' where it is grey and stinks of piss. No, this is 'old' as in wise and thought-provoking. In fact, after several local beers lots of thoughts are provoked, as is the odd piss so maybe it's a mixture of the two.


There's a river too.