Donkey visits Poland

- My birthplace, where I lived the first two years of my life!!!
:)

I would have been lucky to have spend two hours there. I'd like to have seen more of Białystok ('Enemy of £omża!' someone said). I caught a few glimpses of some interesting looking buildings, but I haven't found out more about them yet. I do know it was the birthplace of Dr. Zamenhof, inventor of Esperanto (does anyone still bother learning it? It's too easy!)

- I recommend the Branicki family Palace, two Catholic churches - one in a neo-Gothic (?) style, the other, the Farny church, in a modern style, one Orthodox church; a large inner city park called the Planty; and a few good restaurants and bars, opened up late; lots of pretty girls. At least that's what I remember from my last visit, a few years back.

The 'enemy of Lomza' phrase may be just imperfect English; perhaps it should be: 'Lomza's rivals' (re: the regional status rivalry).
:)

Walked the grounds, but couldn't get in for the place was being renovated.


On the same day as the Branicki family Palace, we walked around one of the churches...


Now that you mention it, I did notice a few :-)

- I think the house where he was born has a commemorative plaque. There is also a nice memorial. Forget Zamenhoff! - Did you know Izabella Scorupco (in my humble opinion, one of the most beautiful sexiest actresses) is from Bialystok?

:)


- In communist times it was the site of a medical school. The palace originally belonged to the magnate Branicki family. I am not sure whether Casanova spent any time in it, when he was hosted by the Branickis and had an affair with one of the ladies?

If we ever meet in Bialystok, Shawn, I'll know where to take you for the night of Belvedere, singing and, perhaps, something else....
;)

lol. They are all 'Śledzie" anyway, right? Just don't call your host that, Osiol when you visit them next time :) you too Puzz.

You may have to run for your life if you refer to anybody from Bialystok, £omża or any town from that region 'śledź' - I don't know the origins of it.

Maybe the same as my region was (is?) known as "kieleckie scyzoryki" hehehe

The one door we were able to access (on the left hand side of the driveway) led to a corridor. Inside the corridor, was a number of bulletin boards. Posted on the boards were Medical Student's marks from their exams. It would appear that it still has a connection with the medical school.


Cool.


Only after much Belvedere.


Still very happily married to a lovely Polish Gal :-)

PS. If I remember it right, in the vaults of the older Catholic church (not the Farny) are some ancient coffins (of the Branickis?).

This was the church we went into...cannot find the exterior shot of it though. I remember it was quite dark inside and there was a steep set of steps leading to the entrance.

Recognize this fountain?

• 
  Church in Bialystok
  
• 
  Bialystok Rynek
  

- The Bialostockie sledziki? :)

(To the English speakers: it's untranslatable; literally it means: Bialystok herrings; in Polish it's pronounced in a way poking fun at the Bialystok accent, particularly the way the word 'sledzie' is pronounced).


- See my above explanation of the origin of the nick. In Bialystok folks are alleged to speak in the soft manner in which the word 'sledz' is being pronounced by the Eastern Borderland Poles, such as Lvovians (in the pre-WWII Poland).

You're exaggerating with this running for one's life, Eurola. The Podlasie people are quite good-natured and peaceful.
:)


- As for the church, I think I bungled it up: the old church is the Farny church (or the Fara, as they call it in Bialystok), whereas the younger church is the St Wojciech church. I can't be sure which church you visited; was it the one in the middle of the city - that would be the Fara - or the one more away from the centre, closer to the train station?

As for the fountain, I think I recognise it. It's in the city Square, near Lipowa street, the City Hall (also a nice old building), and the Army Museum, isn't it?

It was walking distance from Branicki.


Tak! I hope the title didn't give it away...
There is a nice wine shop right across from the fountain (oddly enough with one of those nice looking women) where I always manage to find a wine I like...

- Absolutely. And so not far from, ahem, the Farny church.


- We could treat it as a starter....
;)

I found it on Google Earth, it was Farny :-)

- I abstained from searching about Bialystok on the internet, wanted to recall on my own as much as I could. I'm realising I forgot so many things about the places I used to stay in, not just in Poland....

:)

Osioł's Previous Adventure Part 2
Still not in chronological order

We'd been in the car for most of the last 24 hours and we were not far from our destination, £omża. It was Sunday morning, and we could see people, families, heading for church. Then, in front of us, I saw a man, obviously a priest from what he was wearing - pretty much the full works. The car slowed down.

"Hide the vodka. Move up. Make room." I was ordered. The car stopped and the priest got in as I sat uncomfortably ontop of a pile of coats and a half drunk half bottle of vodka. I dared not move too much as the young priest sat down and the car took off once again. I'm not sure what he would have thought if he had seen it. I imagine he would have given us a good talking to.

As it was, he gave us a good talking to anyway. For the next twenty minutes, Grzegorz drove, Darek was fairly quiet (for a change) and the priest talked and talked and talked. I didn't understand a word of it. That is, until I heard someone introduce me as their English abductee. "Hi." he said, as he shook my hand. I tried to politely return a "Dzień dobry." to him.

After we dropped him off, we stopped at a roadside cafe for one last beer of the journey.

Osioł's Previous Adventure Part 3
Actually, so far this has run in sequence.
The lady in the shop seemed pleased to see Darek again after the previous few months he had spent in England. Typically, he did a lot of talking. 'What is going on here?' was something faintly going round my mind in the background quite a lot of the time, but now was a time where this thought came to the fore. I looked down for a moment at the slippers I was still wearing. I had thought we were just going out to sit on the balcony, but no - we had walked down the road, round the corner and into a small shop.

'What is going on here?' Actually, I already knew the answer. Piwo! Two bottles of £omża Mocne left the fridge, were opened on the counter and one was thrust into my hand.

Round the back of the shop there were a couple of wooden benches, a parasol and a grape vine. There were five or six blokes, most of them quite old sitting round. All of them drinking. I noticed that we weren't the only ones in slippers. One of the guys there, Darek told me, was an architect, but he didn't look like he was doing any architecture at the time. Another had also worked for a time in England, but was also back home.

Darek introduced me. One of the guys spoke to me in German! I responded by putting on a comedy German accent and saying 'Ja... nie rozumiem!' The next time this happened, I had learnt a better way of saying 'I don't speak German.' but I think my first response was the better one.

Osioł's Previous Adventure Part 4
This is where it becomes apparent that chronology is not my strong point.
The team at work had gradually settled down to the same four blokes every day. They were all Polish from this agency, and although they had a ridiculous distance to travel every day, they all seemed to enjoy the work. It must be, at least in part, something to do with the great outdoors, working with nature and the fun of getting to drive golf buggies.

I had been picking up on Polish phrases for a while. It started with numbers as they're an easy thing to start with. After numbers came a few simple commands - the next job is... please go to... finish that first, and so on. Then came the swear words. They're always easy to remember.

One day, it had been decided that on Friday afternoon, we'd all sit round in the car park, under the trees, drink a bottle of vodka and eat some Polish food. Shamefully, only one of my English colleagues dared to join us. The others made their excuses and went home as one bottle, then another, of Polish vodka emerged from the back of their car, along with Polish bread, Polish mustard and Polish sausages.

From what I remember, we had a splendid time, and I carefully took my bike the long way down footpaths on the way home rather than go anywhere near any roads. I hasten to add, the driver that day did not have a drink. I think I must have made up for his abstinence.

On Monday morning, I heard the news 'In two weeks, me and Darek drive to Poland. You are coming.'
'What?'
'You agreed on Friday!'

Should I have been making this a bit shorter? I have another 5 chapters or so.

No, keep going. Reads a bit like a novel, but it’s interesting. Perhaps more of your personal observations and feelings to spice things up.

PS.
Reading Polish Jewish thread gives me a bit of a head ache. This is refreshing.

Osioł's Previous Adventure Part 5
long ago in a galaxy far, far away...

The kitchen table was covered with home-smoked meats and sausages, hard boiled eggs, sliced tomatoes, pickled cucumbers, mugs of black tea and black coffee. It was delicious and all a bit much to deal with. Darek hadn't seen his family for so long, and his level of swearing seemed to diminish for once. His wife hovering to provide whatever seemed to be required. The dogs were still running round excitedly.

When you're not really sure what to say to anyone and your brain is tired from sitting on your arse for so long, dogs are just what you need. You can talk to them in any language and they don't seem to mind, even if these dogs only understood Polish fluently. German shepherds are intelligent dogs, so at least one of the two probably picked up on what I was saying.

I watched how everyone else was tucking into their food - when to start, how much to use your fingers, whether or not it's okay to just lunge across the table for something. Trying to gauge the right kind of level and avoid making any faux-pas. Luckily there were no particular suprises, especially once the half-finished cup of coffee was suddenly replaced by a bottle of beer.

But all too quickly, Daerk's elder son, who had been eyeing up Grzegorz's right-hand drive car, got the word that he could borrow it. 'You are coming for a drive.' he almost ordered me. It had got to a stage where I was happy just to eat, then relax with a beer.

Next thing I'm suddenly in a car with Daerk's son and two of his mates, being driven at great speed out into the countryside. They had all learnt some English at school. Sebastian probably knew his English from paying attention at school, whereas Marcin's English probably came more from computer games and South Park, particularly the swearing to make up for forgiveably badly-constructed sentences.

The Animal Museum was apparently our first destination. It was an almost deserted building under some trees. It contained drawings, pictures and cabinet after cabinet housing various animal and bits-of-animal specimens. 'The Dead Animal Museum' I called it. But one of the first things we encountered was a stuffed bear, reared up on its hind legs, with a growly sort of expression fixed on its face for the rest of time. I jumped between its mighty arms and pretended it was attacking me, accidentally causing it to rock slightly on its plinth. (Bears in the wild don't normally have plinths do they?)

Quickly, a couple of pictures were taken, which came out blurred from the speed of the bear's attack, from how much we were all laughing and from the dinginess of the room. 'Yes it is a bit. Let's go.' so away we went.

There is an old underground bunker complex in one of the hills above £omża - all dark, falling down and obviously used by local kids for somewhere to go and drink and get up to all the things they are not supposed to. I seem to remember some drinking occurred at about this time.

Pretty soon we'd moved on to the centre of town where I bought a new pair of black jeans and a couple of tee-shirts and possibly more beer. They were nice guys. They welcomed me and threw me into some odd situations wher the best way to deal with it was just to be as insane as I like to be. They had a good laugh listening to eachother trying to speak English, and possibly wondering who this strange bloke from England was, but at least he allowed himself to get attacked by their local bear and seemed to enjoy the local beer. (You could possibly swap the words beer and bear in that last bit and it would almost make as much sense).

'No more beer now. We have barbeque. There is more beer there.'
'Fantastic!.

Osiol, thanks for the laughs. You are a great story teller. Have another beer, write some more! :) Who is Grzegorz?

Thanks, Osiolek. It's a brilliant stuff. You're a really good writer.
:)

Thanks for your compliments.


Maybe he will feature in the next part.

Part 6

'Gregor is no good man.' Darek shook his head.
'What did he do?' I asked, wondering why Darek always called him Gregor when talking to me.
He had stayed for the barbeque on the day we arrived, then driven on to his home town. The idea had been that I would stay for three days with Darek and his family, then another three days with Grzegorz and his family.

'I call him... No answer. I call again.. No answer...'
I thought about how one of their friends in Slough had entrusted Greg (the usual name for him amongst us English) with a big handful of money to pass on to his family. This man had also been trying to call Grzegorz, and had also been calling Darek repeatedly, asking after his whereabouts.

But I was on holiday. The weather was still hot and sunny. The food was good. I liked the local beer more than I liked some of the other Polish beers I had tried. Most of all, I liked the people. Worrying about Grzegorz was, at the time, something I just couldn't be bothered to do. 'Let's have a beer.' I suggested as a way of solving some of the problems we faced. This usually worked, but Darek was wearing his worries on his face - I could see it, and for once he opted instead to pace up and down, watching the phone, waiting for a call.

The only calls that ever came were from their friend in Slough. But eventually, we did sneak off for a beer.

It was only when Sebastian, his lovely girlfriend and I had gone to buy a pair of shoes - I needed a new pair - that I really thought about it. This time Sebastian was driving his girlfriend's car and I thought 'If Grzegorz doesn't appear, how the hell do we get back to England? Sod it! I'm on holiday! I think I'll go for brown shoes this time.'

Recognising numbers is one of my better skills in Polish, but Sebastian still had a habit of beating me to it and taking the money off me and handing it over. Obviously, I'm not going to be as fast as a Pole in this respect, and recognising all the different notes and coins takes some getting used to. But I stayed relaxed about it. If that's what he wants to do, I'll leave him to it. Although I never had any problems when buying a sneaky couple of bottles of £omża Mocne in the shop around the corner.

Grzegorz never called. We never saw him again. Is it really worth running away with someone else's £1000? He is still a wanted man.

Part 7

Bartek, the younger of the two sons, did not have a girlfriend at the time, so he spent more of his time hanging round with his mates. I went out drinking with them a couple of times and I was slightly suprised how little they drank in comparison to both Darek and some of the older generation I knew, and to myself and my mates when I was in my late teens and early twenties.

The first bar we went to was a wooden construction in the main square in the town centre, with most of the tables and chairs out in the open. Each of us went to buy our own beer, usually one at a time, rather than the practise I am more familiar with where everyone has to catch up with the fastest drinker in order to be in for the next round.

£ukasz spoke very good English, although with a funny accent compared to everyone else I knew. Partly, I think this is because he made more of an effort to imitate the many and varied English vowel sounds. He had a habit of trying to translate everything they were all saying, and this did become a bit jarring after a while, when I wanted to just sit there and listen, regardless of whether or not I understood what was going on.

Later on that evening in another establishment, Bar Pod Koniami (not Bar Pod Osłami!) we had a slightly unwelcome inclusion to the group. A man, probably in his early thirties, had decided to join us. Although we we all slightly drunk, he was more so. Just from what I could see, it looked as though he fancied Marcin. £ukasz returned from the bar and the translation commentary started up again. 'I can't translate what he is saying. It's disgusting! I don't even want to tell you what he's saying. That man is horrible!'

I'm sure it would have been possible to translate, but there is so much that can be guessed that it wasn't entirely necessary. However, £ukasz, with his strange brand of cigarettes that are thinner than usual, his mannerisms and his soft voice, all came together to make him appear somewhat effeminate. Not only that, but this was something Bartek had joked about before.

I tried to take a few photographs of everyone that evening. I don't like to use flash as it tends to flatten the image and make the eyes red. Without it, pictures tend to have a more natural look - they can be lightened later on. The main problem with this technique is that the slightest movement anyone makes causes it to become blurred. If the movement is in the hand that holds the camera, everything is blurred.

I decided to get the dodgy man to take a picture of the rest of us. 'Simple - you just press that button there...'
Not simple! A worse photographer than even myself.

The evening seemed to finish just when I thought it was getting going, so we stopped off at the twenty-four hour garage so I could buy just one more bottle. Why greeting the ekspedientka with a friendly 'Dobry wieczor, pani!' caused so much giggling from everyone else is something of a mystery to me. Did I use the wrong grammatical case or something? I don't know! I thought it corresponded perfectly to my 'Good evening, madam.' or 'Good evening, miss!' that I would use in the same situation back home.

Pesky kids!

Osiol, you had a really interesting time in Poland. Besides, the way you narrate - it is just so great. You could write and publish some 'short stories', you know.

(bad boy Grzegorz). Not a typical behavior, but sh&t happens.

Got through to part 4 Osiol - will do the rest later. Somehow, this image of you and the priest in the back of the car, both with slippers on, finishing the vodka supply has appeared in my head, and doesn't want to disappear again :D

Part 8

We had left work at half past four. I was jammed between Darek and Bartek on the back seat, with Grzegorz in the front and Jurek behind the wheel. His foot was off the accelarator more than on. The M25 should be in the book of world records under the world's largest car parks section. It took about 3 hours to get to Slough - a journey of about forty four miles (seventy kilometres) that should have taken about an hour.

It was uncomfortable, but I was having a laugh with Bartek about how many swear words Darek used. I taught him how to count in binary code with his fingers. Most people can only count to ten on their fingers, but this technique allows you to get as far as 1023. Take your shoes off and you can increase that figure to 1, 408, 575.

We moved forwards by a couple of feet and then stopped again. I heard the word 'Chuj' in some form or other from Darek. Bartek appropraitely indicated 1, 408, 576!

After a shower and a bite to eat and a load of faffing about in Slough, we set off for real, this time in Grzegorz's car. He was to drive all the way. Darek and I just had to help keep him awake.

---

I like ferry crossings. I've made many in my life. Most of those across the Solent, but a few across the English Channel - that narrow sleeve of water that makes some British people think they are somehow superior to everyone else. The vodka and beer we had drunk in the car sent Darek to sleep as soon as we found a suitable deck on the ferry where it wasn't too smart. My taste buds had been warmed up, so I grabbed myself another Leffe at great cost and headed outside with Grzegorz for a cigarette.

The wind was strong making it feel cold and threatening to take my cigarette papers and even tobacco with it. Other than a couple of trips to the bar, we spent nearly the entire crossing out there. We were both excited about the trip. It was the first time I'd thrown all caution to the wind and gone on such a crazy adventure. Grzegorz had other reasons to look forward.

Like most of the Polish blokes I worked with, his English was limited, but enough to get by in conversation. I remember talking about my previous trips across the channel and where I'd been. I remember Grzegorz talking about how much he liked Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd rather than that dreadful Disco Polo that Bartek had subjected us to on the M25.

I also remember that I was getting quite drunk.

Calais and Dunquerque rolled by. The cars and the freight rolled by. The darkness rolled by.
'We're in Belgium. We can sleep.'
'Idę do krzaki.' I said in my bad Polish, before using Belgium for the only thing I ever use Belgium for.
The alcohol was finally enough to cut through the excitement of travel and let me get some well earned unconciousness.

finally, I realize now what was the original idea behind Manneken pis!




(osioł, it's "Idę w krzaki")

Thanks. I knew it was wrong, but it's often better to get it wrong and raise a smile rather than say nothing and appear uninteresting. If you're really lucky, somebody tells you what you're supposed to have said.

I once had a holiday in Amsterdam. It was a trip with the art department from school when I was in my last year. I drank loads and loads of cheap whisky that did me no good whatsoever. We weren't supposed to stop in Belgium, but there was an emergency stop for me to visit the public conveniences. I fell out of the bus and staggered to the toilets.

"Whatever you do, don't lock the door."
Click!
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Part 9

When travelling by coach, you just have to accept it will be uncomfortable. There's never enough legroom, you're bag usually spends most of the jounrey on your lap because someone else has already filled the overhead storage. You're either wedged in by the window or your legs are stuck out into the aisle with other people's bags in the way and people trying to step over you.

I continued up the aisle, knowing I wouldn't find a window seat. It was over half full of passengers and the rest seemed to be full of their bags. 'How many sandwiches are these people going to need for the journey?' I thought. As I approached the back of the bus, I was running out of choices where to sit.

A girl was curled up by the window with her bag at her feet. For a moment it looked like two seats were vacant. So I sat down. I peered out of the window and could see Darek outside, talking to some random people as per usual. More people boarded. Some of them had to awkwardly step over my legs as I awkwardly tried to move them out of the way.

I dozed off quite soon. It had been a big night from which to recover. I woke up as we entered another town. Quite soon we had stopped to pick up a few more passengers. The girl was still curled up looking out of the window. I was envious of every person I could see outside having a cigarette. After some time, the door closed and we started to move.

I sat awake, thinking about all the things that had happened - the food, the drink, the people, the bear attack, about the disappearing Grzegorz, about what Darek had said about having to change coach somewhere.

The next town was bigger and it took longer to get to the bus station. The girl was still staring out of the window. I looked out of the window, up at what I assumed to be the bus station building. She was looking down at what was going on below.

Suddenly, she turned round to me and in a small, broken voice, started speaking. I could see tears in her eyes. She looked young, probably only about eighteen or so. I apologised for my lack of Polish. 'Jestem z Anglii. Gdzie idziesz?' I tried asking her. She told me she was going to London. It was her first time leaving Poland on her own. 'Don't worry.' I told her and smiled The tears seemed to have stopped.

Then she pointed out of the window and said something else I didn't understand. I looked down to see not only a large pile of bags accumulating on the pavement, but something that looked like my bag there as well. My heart began to race. 'If I don't come back, good luck.' I chased after my bag. There it was with the others piled up by the side of the coach. I rescued it.

I rolled and lit a cigarette and looked around. Other people were standing around with cigarettes looking cold-faced. There were a few emotional farewells over by another coach. I looked up at the coach I had just been on. I couldn't see through the windows, I couldn't see the girl. I had the feeling of life throwing people around - they don't know where they're going, or sometimes why.

Two cigarettes later I had the second coach to board. It was the second of four coaches in a thirty two hour journey. I suppose all the ups and downs broke the monotony, but I still wished we had Grzegorz, his car and a supply of vodka to keep us going.

Available in all good bookshops, price £19.99 in hardback.

Another good read Osiol :)


If you go to WH Smith you'll get it for half price ;)

Great - I want to know what happens next!

Donkey Visits Poland volume 2

Part 10

'We go now,' said Bartek. 'To our shop. It's not a shop.'
I frowned.
'You will see.'

We scrambled through some waste ground behind some factories - mostly derelct, and ascended a slope of long grass and young ash trees that had probably been growing since the area had fallen out of use, I guessed some time in the early to mid 1990s.

At the top there was the concrete shell of a building. It had no floor, just sand and broken beer bottles. 'This is the toilet.' he told me, pointing to what may have once been a cupboard. It may have once actually been a toilet, but was now a dark corner strewn with more broken beer bottles. I looked at his trainers, somehow clean despite the terrain we had been crossing. I looked at my new brown shoes. Was I displaying some sort of English sartorial elegance or was I just a bit old?

He told me how he and his mates often went there to drink. He didn't like the way so many bottles had been smashed - they had made quite a collection, but it looked like someone had been shooting them. There was even a board supported by piles of bricks that had proabably been used in this wayward activity.

I sat down on the window ledge over-looking the slope we had just climbed. Through the opposite hole that had once been a window I could see a flat area, possibly tarmac, that looked just as unused as everything else. So I looked down at the wildflowers and the derelect industrial buildings below.

We drank our bottles of £omża Export. I wondered where they might be exporting this stuff to. You don't find much more than Żywiec and Tyskie where I live.

I put my empty bottle down, he threw his out of the window and it disappeared into the trees. 'Aaaagh!' I made the sound of an animal being stuck by a flying bottle. 'Wiewiórka!' He looked at me with a kind of 'You know the word for squirrel!' expression.

The former power station buildings were full of rubble and asbestos. Climbing over some bricks to keep up with Bartek, we looked into a small room with a tattered flag amongst the rubble. He said something about communist times that I couldn't quite understand. I always get the feeling that if someone doesn't want to talk about those days, you don't ask them. In Bartek's case I didn't ask because of his youth, poor English and the fact he'd move on to another room and was talking about how this was 'Marcin's lounge!'

'Come on. I show you Marcin's swimming pool!'

God knows what it had been, but it looked like a health and safety nightmare. Two very deep, asbestos-lined tanks with some oily liquid in the bottom and a large rusty framework supporting some rusty steps down to a rusty platform. 'Marcin's swimming pool' he said again. Poor Marcin - the butt of most of their jokes - I have to admit that even I had joined in to some extent. It suits him - he knew he wasn't the brightest one, but was probably the most cheerful.

After climbing back up the steps from the Devil's bath-tub, we approached the centrepiece - a huge concrete tower that can be seen from all around £omża, from the upstairs in the house I was staying in and from the hills above town where we had gone on the first day. 'Great.' I said. 'Shall we move on?' It was just a dirty great lump of concrete - visually dominating, but you can't do anything with it. It actually seemed more dominating by it's omnipresence around town than standing below it.

As we walked back towards the shop for another beer to warm us up for the night out, we walked through a part of the factory complex where men in overalls were actually working and pushing trolleys around. They seemed to pay no attention to us - not even a 'Grrr! Pesky kids!' sort of look. 'Don't worry about them!' We walked on. We walked a kind of 'There's no reason we're not supposed to be here.' kind of walk.

I waited for Bartek to climb over the chain-link fence. I looked at the hollow brick building, the smashed windows, the flowers growing amongst the broken glass below. Then I jumped over the fence. Moments later, we were back in the shop, deciding which mystery brand of cigarettes to buy, but knowing that the beer had to be £omża. The label on the bottle really ought to have a dirty great chimney on it somewhere.

Part 11

The film stopped and the spare driver made an announcement. We were to stop for a fifteen minute break. The film had been good. I didn't know what was going on or what was being said, but other passengers were laughing from time to time. What made it good was that it was the first Polish film I had seen in Poland - when the television had been switched on in the house, the films were nearly always American, but overlain by the gentle deadpan of the narrator, speaking over all of the dialogue with the translation.

I rolled a ciagrette as I waited for a space in the queue down the aisle. Great! Someone from the seat behind mine getting something out of their bag and holding everyone up behind. I slipped off the coach and sparked up the moment I touched down. The sun was slowly climbing down to the trees on the horizon.

My legs needed a stretch, so I walked around the picinc area by the car park. Others just stood by the coach whilst one or two other people were also just walking to get the circulation going in their weary limbs again. I stopped to roll a second cigarette. There were swifts swooping over the field of wheat that lay before me like a golden sea. I watched them darting and glding, catching their evening meal of insects buzzing in the warm evening air.

I strolled on. There was a small building with a kiosk that was closed and some toilets. As I walked round, away from the huddled passengers, there was a young man wearing a hood and baggy jeans. He approached me and asked if I had a lighter. I dug into my pocket. I had accidentally walked off with three other people's lighters the night before. I offered him a lighter and told him it was his.

He lit a small glass pipe and offered it to me.

The swifts continued their aerobatic display. The corn swayed in the field. The sun skimmed the trees in the distance. The ash tree above me gently shook its leaves. The light was golden brown and the air was sweet.

I walked one more lap of the picnic area. The drivers finished their cigarettes and told us all to do likewise. I climbed back to my seat and back to the film. I still didn't know what was going on, but it didn't matter. The road was rolling along below and the darkening fields and woods rolling by into the night.

I estimate 2400 words here....

That equates to about 2.4 pictures. Where are the pictures???


So, was it tobacco like material in the pipe, or some other type of material? Did you inhale?