Crossing the Polish-Czech Border (Part IV of IV)

I was starving and really needed to use the loo. The village of Stříbrnice looked like a ghost town, its houses following my every move as I walked down the only street. I looked left and right but couldn't find a spot to relieve myself. A word on a wooden house suddenly caught my attention. I stopped in the middle of the road and read it again: 'Piwo.' That's the Polish word for beer. I took out my Czech phrasebook and looked under the 'Eating and Drinking' section. Sure enough, it's the same word in Czech for beer. I made for the door in long strides. My fingers were inches away from the door-knob when my body just stopped: slumped on the deck  beneath me was a massive saint-bernard. The dog stared at me in a disturbing way, like it was taunting me. I almost considered running for my life, but then thought better of it - I would probably not have gotten very far before the dog would jump me, bite my ankle off and run away with it. Instead I took a deep breath, gathered myself and reminded myself that saint-bernards typically save lives and don't bite off human ankles. Under the dog's disturbing stare I reached for the door-knob, carefully opened the door, slid inside the house and quietly closed the door behind me. 

The place seemed to be a rustic restaurant/grocery store: there was a counter on my left, food supplies were stored on shelves behind the counter and a cooler packed with all sorts of drinks stood nearby. An elderly lady sat at the table nearest the door, on my right, and a married couple sat one table down. They looked at me in confusion, perhaps wondering how I managed to walk past the saint-bernard unscathed. I broke the silence by greeting everyone in Czech: 'Dober-Dan.' The elderly lady stood up and walked past me to the counter. I set my gear on the ground, took a seat by a wooden table and leafed through the menu she handed me. As expected: it was all in Czech. What's more (and as expected): the woman didn't speak a word of English, French or Arabic. I took out my Czech phrasebook and looked under 'Typical Local Dishes' section. While I studied my phrasebook she spoke to the married couple. All of a sudden I hear a man's voice address me in perfect American English, "do you speak English?" 

That was completely unexpected. Stříbrnice is a village with only a handful of houses, one grocery/restaurant and one church. A disabled person walking with a cane can walk from one end of town to the other in 10 minutes. I figured there'd be no English speakers in the village. At best, someone would know a word or two. Yet, here was someone that addressed me in fluent English. It turns out that this man is a manager in a metal factory in the city of Ostrava, in eastern Moravia. He worked for some time in the United States, has numerous friends and business associates from the United States and travels quite often on business trips to different corners of the world. On weekends he leaves the city with his family to his cottage home where he, his wife and child take things easy: like go out for walks in nature, breathe in the mountain air and enjoy a good lunch at the one restaurant in the nearby village of Stříbrnice. I just happened to be at the same place on a weekend and as they were having lunch.

Naturally, I told him and his wife about my hike and gave them a brief summary of my life. Right away the man related everything to the elderly woman who turned out to be the owner of the establishment. "This is a huge event!" he said, "Here in Stříbrnice they never get to meet anyone as cosmopolitan as you!" He ordered a traditional Czech meal for me: goulash with bread dumpling and beer. After we talked for a while he said I must try a traditional Czech liqueur and ordered two shots of Slivovice - plum brandy. We chugged them down, talked about America, city life, country life, travelling... He mentioned wanting, at one point in his life, to travel just as I'm travelling: "when I was younger I wanted to drop everything and travel - to see the world." He shrugged and gestured with his chin at his wife and child who were in another room, "but now I can't. At least, not like how you're travelling..." We talked some more as I ate. During our conversation I remember covering the left-side of my head with my left hand to keep my hair down because, after being confined in a ski hat for so long, it stuck out to the side like a wing. Half-way through my meal he ordered another two shots of Slivovice. He raised his glass and said: "you will sleep very well after this." We cried out "Nasdroviye!" (cheers!) and chugged them down. 

Eventually came the time when he and his family had to leave. We shook hands at the front door. I wished him and his wife well, they wished me good luck on my journey and walked out. I sat back down in the now quiet restaurant. As I finished up my meal, it suddenly dawned on me that I don't know the man's name. During the one or two hours we spent talking to each other never once did we ask for the other's name.

*   

My head felt really light. I was merry by the time I finished my meal. Before he left, the man with whom I drank two shots of Slivovice helped me book a private room for the night in the grocery/restaurant. Dinner and breakfast were also pre-ordered. I showed the elderly lady the sentence in my phrasebook for the bill so I could pay for lunch. She replied in Czech, paused then walked to her counter and waved at me to come over. I slowly followed. Behind the counter she pointed to her computer monitor. I was expecting to see an electronic bill but instead I recognized the Skype user interface. And the monitor suddenly talked to me: "Hi, this is .... I'm talking to you from Los Angeles. Let me know what you want to say and I'll translate it to Czech." What with my light-headed state of mind, I seriously thought I was trippin'. I gave in to my delusional thoughts, sat down on a stool and chatted with the monitor. 

The woman I spoke with is the sister-in-law of the lady that runs the grocery/restaurant. Again I talked about myself and again she remarked that me staying at her sister-in-law's is quite an event as they're not used to receiving cosmopolitan people. She talked about her family, her brother and his daughter who will soon get married. I asked her to convey to her brother and sister-in-law my congratulations. She duly translated my message for them while they stood next to me around the monitor.

            

Crossing the Polish-Czech Border (Part III of IV)

The room at the chalet was thin and rectangular. Two single beds following each other were set against a wall, in front of two large windows without curtains looking out on endless snow. I had goulash for dinner and went to bed with my clothes on. The heater warmed up the room some, but it was still uncomfortably cold. Besides, I didn't want to lose any time the next day - I wanted to get up and start the hike to Śnieżnik, the peak of the massif, then, from there, onto to the village of Stříbrnice in the Czech Republic.

The sunlight woke me up in the early morning on day 2 of the hiking odyssey. For a second I didn't know where I was, my mind expected to see the breezy pictures of bamboo leaves that lined the bedroom of the apartment I rented in Wroclaw, but instead it saw the interior of a dingy coffin with cut-out windows on the side. Then everything came back to me - the pain in my traps reminded me of my lunatic plan. I wondered if someone could give me a ride to the village of Stříbrnice, but remembered I hardly had any cash on me to pay for the ride. Besides, the peak is only 500 m away - yes, I'll have to walk up an incline to get there but, afterwards, it should all be downhill. I pushed away my blanket, swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat down for a while, thinking.  

I felt hungry. I reached for the plastic bag in which I kept the food supplies for my hike, grabbed a snickers bar and tore off a piece with my mouth. A vile smell suddenly wafted up from the bag. I looked inside and found my bananas have gone rotten. They were in a small plastic bag inside the larger one with my food supplies. On one of my breaks the day before I had a banana and put the peel back in the bag - I forgot to throw it away. Shoving the rancid smelling supplies bag away from me, I faced the wall and chewed furiously on my snickers. 

The chilled air outside cleaned any leftover trace of sleep or laziness. My body shuddered - I felt instantly alert and ready to go. In the distance I could see a mist that hid the peaks of mountains. Icicles clung all over the chalet like Christmas decorations on a pine tree. After taking a few pics I saddled my gear on me, took one last look at the chalet before giving it my back and walked through the steam from my breath, towards the thick of trees that hid the peak.

*

It took me about an hour to walk the 500 m and finally reach Śnieżnik. The summit was barren of trees and was thrashed mercilessly by a furious wind. On my right was a row of tall sticks firmly planted in the ground and that ran down one side of the hill. it was so windy on the peak that the icicles formed on top of those sticks pointed horizontally. To my left was a viewing point. A person in a red jacket stood there alone, looking through binoculars at the panoramic scenery around him. I set my gear down and took in the view, staring at the horizon and other mountain peaks in the eye. 

According to my hiking plan, I had to follow a green marker for a trail that runs on the mountain range. A few hundred meters away this trail should connect to another that leads down the mountain into the Czech Republic. However, everything on the peak was buried under snow! I took out my compass, found the direction the trail should head towards and walked there to look for a sign. Buried in snow was something like a distance-marker that had a hint of green on it. I brushed off the snow and saw the full green hiking trail marker. Beyond that were rolling hills and thick snow. There were no footprints or other signs to show a used path. I walked on the snow for a while, just to test it out. The snow reached almost up to my ankles and there was no other marker to confirm I was on the right trail. 

The situation didn't look good - I could go off of my compass and educated assumptions, but I didn't want to take any risks. I looked at my map again. There's another hiking trail that heads down the mountain from Śnieżnik on an Easterly direction. I returned to where I set down my backpacks and took out my compass for another reading. East happens to point in the same direction where the tall sticks planted in the ground head towards. But there was no marker on those sticks. 

So I climbed up the viewing point to ask the man in the red jacket for advice. I greeted him in Polish, spread out the map in front of him on a sheet of snow, pointed to Stříbrnice and to where the tall sticks run down the hill. The man looked in his mid to late 50's, his mouth twisted in a grimace that showed discoloured and crooked teeth. A stubble covered his thin face and a water-drop hung on his nose. He asked if I spoke German. Even when I told him I didn't he went off in a long-winded monologue and pointed to different peaks on the horizon with his gloved hand then pointed at the medals that hung on his chest. One of the medals had the insignia of the Russian flag while another medal had that of the Chinese flag. I couldn't recognize the rest and didn't understand what they represented. After his long monologue died down I pointed again to Stříbrnice on the map and to the tall sticks. He nodded. I thanked him and hurriedly walked off to my gear. 

Looking back over my shoulder one last time before walking down the hill, I noticed the man in the red jacket went back to his binoculars, surveying the world around him as if watching over his land.

*            

I couldn't be any happier - there was a proper sign that indicated the direction to Stříbrnice and the trail was all downhill. What's more, people were hiking up in the opposite direction. Each time we greeted the other with 'Dobry Dan' (hello in Czech). At one point I spoke with a hiker - he confirmed that I was heading in the right direction and, out of curiosity, asked where I came from. I answered by pointing a finger up to the Śnieżnik peak.

It got warmer the further downhill I went . The sun brightly lit the villages scattered in the valley below me. The gravel road changed to a windy street I shared with cars, squeezed between a tree-covered hill on one side and a drop to a stream on the other. There were no hiking markers to check whether I'm on the right trail but I kept on walking, happy to be going downhill and in such wonderful weather. 

After a while I saw small houses and a sign that I couldn't make out posted by the road. Aside from the few people busy in front of a barn there was not a soul around. The sign by the road became legible: it read Stříbrnice. Euphoria lifted me off the ground: I made it - I hiked to the Czech Republic from Poland. I instinctively pumped the air with my fist. And when I walked past the village sign, I did so with my fist held up high in the air.                

Crossing the Polish-Czech Border (Part II of IV)

As challenging as it must sound, crossing the border on foot was quite straightforward. It's not like I had to figure out my way in the wilderness, at the mercy of the elements and predators wanting to gnaw at my bones. There are hiking trails that run across most (if not all) of Europe, going over plain country and through inhabited areas. These can also cross borders into other countries. More so, on the trails are chalets for pit-stops or longer stays. All I had to do was follow the colour-coded sign for the correct hiking trail.

 The town of Międzygórze is at an elevated altitude on the Sudetes mountain. A stream rushes down past small gable-roofed lodges and waves of trees run up hills and cliffs that surround the area. The bus drove through town and stopped at the far end, where nature seemed more wild and crowded out most of the sunlight. At the bus station I took out my hiking map of the area and my compass to orient myself. There was a sign nearby indicating the direction to the Śnieżnik peak. The weather was sunny but cool. It was around noon - I had about 5 to 6 hours to go before sunset. I strapped my large backpack on me, hooked my smaller day-pack to the front and made my way.

   

The hiking path started off as asphalt road and later changed to gravel, always heading upwards in an incline. On the gravel path I walked near the same stream that runs through town and noticed a light white sheet that covered trees and shrubs on the other bank. The same sheet was also on my side of the river. This caught me off guard: I completely forgot that there usually is snow on a mountain! Fortunately, though, I was dressed properly: I had on hiking shoes, hiking pants, enough layers to keep my upper-body warm and a ski hat to cover my head and ears. Not having seen snow in such a long time, I stopped to take pictures...

It didn't take very long for the "Oh shit - what did I get myself into" moment to happen. I reckon it was about the time when I stood in front of a very steep cliff that rose to the sky. There was no way around it - I had to hike up. About an hour passed from when I left the bus station and already I had taken a couple of short breaks to give my back a rest. Hiking up that incline with over 20 kg of weight on me felt like a stunt waiting to go wrong. But rather than waste valuable time analysing the situation I looked for a good foothold and pushed myself up. 

I took it slow - real slow. I synchronized my breathing to the beats of my heart and maintained a pace that allowed me to keep on moving forwards consistently, carefully and without exhausting myself. The method worked: as long as I maintained my pace and took a break whenever I felt the straps eating into my shoulders then I made consistent progress. Sure enough, the further up I went the more snow there was. A curtain of tall trees on my right blocked the view, but when there was small gap I could clearly see the horizon and the mountains surging over the land. There were other hikers going up and down the same trail carrying very light gear if anything at all. Most gave quick glances my way as they walked passed me. Once, while I took a break, an elderly couple going the opposite direction tried talking to me. Sadly, they didn't speak any English. The man smiled, pointed at my heavy bag and said: "Śnieżnik?" I nodded. He gave me a thumbs-up and walked away. 

Hours later, and after climbing a gruelling steep hill, I reached a chalet that's 500 m away from the Śnieżnik peak. I couldn't go any further. My shoulders screamed in pain and my left arm trembled badly. I set my backpacks down on the snow and breathed heavily. Two men were shovelling snow outside the chalet. One of them walked up to me - a tall, big guy in a yellow jacket and yellow ski hat - and asked me a question. Out of breath, I asked (in Polish) if he speaks English. The big man in the yellow jacket called his colleague over. This fellow looked younger and, in quite good English, asked: "are you looking for a room?". I was shocked at finding someone that spoke English at this altitude in Poland. It turns out that he worked in the US for seven years, doing odd jobs in different states. When the economy started to dive he returned to Poland and continued doing odd jobs. He's in his forties - said that after two weeks he'll be heading to Northern Europe to look for a job, but his dream is to go back to the US. Eventually we returned back to the question of whether I wanted a room. I was too exhausted to go on and, in any case, the sun was going to set in a couple of hours - better call it a day. The English-speaking fellow helped me carry my backpack. He slung it over his shoulder and nearly fell over as he screamed: "shit - this is heavy!"