Welcome to Warsaw.

I have almost finished the first diary of my travels, and have now bought another. I came across a small market, it was a sanctuary, wonderful to find as it provided a little more warmth than the streets. One of the stalls at the back of the tent on the side of the road housed warm woollen jumpers, gloves, arm warmers, and diaries. The lady told me the diaries were hand made in Istanbul, wow I thought, they are beautiful, I spent at least 5 minutes maybe 10 sifting through the diaries, which one should I buy? The right diary is important to me, if it is boring, I wont write in it, it has to be special. I chose a diary, and moved on to the arm warmers, these I was told were hand made in Nepal; now I know the diaries being handmade in Istanbul is bullshit, but I had my heart set on one anyway, and bought it. I did not however, buy a pair of arm warmers. I should have, not for they were anything special, they were rather dull and usual looking, but, as I will mention a few more times below, it was bitterly cold.

Extract from my [new] diary. 26.11.11

“I am so terribly scared to write in here, for fear of making a mistake, or scrawling my hand writing into an illegible mess. Never the less, it is always more important to write something messy down, than nothing at all. To get another coffee and sit here longer? Or to get up and fight the bitter cold of the lonely streets outside? It is only mid-afternoon but the light will fall soon, and the cold streets of Warsaw will be plunged into darkness once more. Compromise one more coffee, then some more exploring…. There seems to be an entire generation of people missing from the streets. I am just having a little trouble working out which one. There are so many people my age, from 20-30 I mean, and a lot of older people [not old people], in the 50-70 age bracket. Barely any young children, school age, and their parents are missing also. Everyone is beautifully dressed, but not really sporting colour. It is orange with black, or pale blue/ grey with black. And more brown then you can poke a stick at. Every time someone opens the door I get a terrible chill, all the war from my seat to my scarf, unpleasant to say the least. I am quite possibly the only red haired person in Poland, and unfortunately hats and beanies the like do not suit my face. I wonder if the gorgeous Zara have something that will fend the bitter cold? I have formed a love-hate relationship with couples holding hands. It is such a beautiful sight to see; love,  friendship, and hopefully happiness – this world needs more love, more friendship and certainly more happiness. But I am envious- not jealous. I do not know these people, but envious of their closeness, their companionship. Something I have been missing in these past months. I met a girl last night, at the hostel, we started with the usual “how long have you been travelling for?” I said “almost 6 months” she said “just on 5 months.” It turns out we left Australia on the same day. I wonder why I added 2 weeks, and she took 2 weeks off… off to Zara to find a hat.

After a few hours of being unfortunately lost in the ever darkening streets of Warsaw, I have found refuge in a warm quiet restaurant a few doors down, and across the street from my bed. Do things always remind me of my family and dearest friends? Or only when I am a million miles away?

Dusk is my least favourite time of the day. It hasn’t always been. I had no issue with it back home. Back at the castle however… when the mist rolls in it is dreadful. Some days I watch as the mist rolls up the driveway, slow and thick to engulf us whole. When the sun goes beyond the horizon, and the darkness follows in the steps of the mist and through the castle, it is like a scene out of a Stephen King book. Not that I am brave enough to read any of his books. It is a scene that even the best directors in hhollywood wish they could create. Dusk today was no better. I left the wonderful little café; which will be impossible to find again- as I was lost when I found it. I walked in the opposite direction to which I had come, a recipe for disaster in itself. I left my map on the table. As I walked away from anything I recognised, I found a square, a market square, with stalls selling cheese and hot wine, scarfs and beanies and more arm warmers. The square; surrounded by houses; tall buildings, apartment blocks, beautiful. Across from me was a very sad looking Christmas tree. The tree was probably three people tall, and missing some much needed limbs. The sun went down ever so slowly, that before I knew it, it was almost pitch black. I had my iPod on, very softly – as I still wanted to hear the sounds on the street. A man approached me suddenly, asking for money, he first asked in Polish and I apologised, quickly and quietly just said “English” and proceeded to walk, he didn’t look desperate but he said, “Polish gold, money.” That was when I realised the unexpected gloom of the street I was on. Why does a great neon sign advertising AXA feel like home? It wasn’t yet complete darkness, it was only 3, or 3;30pm. The flashing sign I say indicating it was 7 degrees was definitely lying. I hurried along to a major road. I found a Starbucks. I was surprisingly a long way from the beauty of the Old Town, and the security of Nowy street, where I am housed. Yet, it was very clean, but still terribly cold. I couldn’t escape the cold. Starbucks now symbolised safety, help with a map- where am I, warmth and another coffee- and certainly no longer the consumerism it had symbolised when I found the cute traditional café only 2 hours earlier. I finally located myself on the map. I was walking in the right direction, and I was still on the hunt for a hat. As I walked on, road works and feelings of helplessness were setting in. my terrible sense of direction and the cold, the concrete and the darkness were beginning to terrify me. Who would miss me? Who would see me go? It would be 48 hours before anyone realised my disappearance. And then what? How would they find me? Warsaw is a big place. I have no phone, and no one at the castle has contact details for a next of kin for me. Then,  the comforting face of consumerism once again.

I wish someone had taken my photo here today. The loneliness of solo travel seldom hits, especially when living in dorms, but I would own many more self-portraits; in front of “this church” or “that statue.” I will be heading back to the hostel soon, when I finish my tea. No hat was bought today, maybe tomorrow? Hats look silly on me anyway. The 116 bus just flew down the road, that’s the ‘Chom-something’ bus. Feels like home. Makes me miss James. I look forward to someone saying that name to me again. Exhaustion is setting in. I don’t know how much more of this I can take”