Public Transport in Poland. Well. What can I say. My first month here, all was good. Buses arrived on time, sometimes a few minutes late (as you would expect anywhere in the world), but generally reliable and I could expect to arrive at school on time with ten or so minutes to spare.
But then. It snowed. Heavily. Which, you know, I didn’t think much of seeing as I’m in Poland. But apparently, when it snows heavily in Poland, everything goes wrong. My first experience of this was standing in the snow for half an hour, waiting for a late bus. Once I resigned myself to the fact that it was not coming, I figured I could wait the ten minutes for the next bus. And sure enough, ten minutes later I walked onto a packed bus, late for a thrilling (can you sense the sarcasm?) two hour block of German. Then I saw it – my bus, forty minutes late, totally empty, and overtaking us.
So, I dealt with that. I thought, okay. No big deal. I missed out on German. I was okay. I knew how to use the buses, knew the time-table for the 900P, 900L and 901 routes. I knew that they were always five minutes early at my stop, or totally late. I knew that I could get off at the start of the tram line, and save myself a walk to school, or the train station if need be. I knew where to get off, which drivers checked tickets religiously, and the easiest places to catch it home from.
The Tuesday after my first incident, it happened. They changed the bus routes and the time tables to go with it. Routes were combined, separated, stops removed, stops added, times changed. I was standing at Galeria Dominikanska (the local shopping centre), when I realised. My bus was ten minutes late, which is a rarity when leaving from the city, when I noticed the large group of Poles gathered around the time table. Cameras in hand, phones by ears’, stressed looks pasted across their faces. I pushed my way through the crowd, and saw the fresh yellow sheet sticky – taped across the faded white sheet of paper I had come to rely on so much. Great. I had to wait another 40 minutes for a bus, which, in all likelihood, was going to be packed to the brim. It was. Combining two routes and changing the times was taking its toll.
After speaking to other exchange students, I soon worked out no other routes had been changed. As yet. Relieved, I took the number five tram to the end of the line from the train station. Saturday, I planned to go to Lucy’s house to get ready for a night out. I took a bus in to the end of the tram line, no problems there. Wait ten minutes for the number five tram to the train station. I get on a virtually empty carriage. Listen to my too-old music on my bashed up iPod. Watch the tram go past Kzięse Małe, Praktiker, Pl. Wrobleskiego, my school, Galeria Dominkanska, Podwale… Wait, Podwale? Okay, it must be going a different way. I’ll just wait. Bad idea. Twenty minutes later, tears in my eyes, cell in hand (flipping Americans and their vocabulary, okay, mobile in hand), and legs shivering, a kind old Polish lady asked me something in Polish, to which I responded with “Nie rozumiem po polsku. Angielski?” (I don’t understand Polish. English?). Well apparently, this lady did not speak English. At her confused look, I proceeded to ask, “Gdzie jest Dworzec?” (Where is the Train Station?). “Ahh”, she said. “Chodz.” (Come). So, obediently, I followed. After four (yes, I said four, cztery, empat, quattro!) trams, multiple checking of route maps, walking across many obscure road crossings, and multiple texts to Lucy (from Mexico) and Julia (from New York State), I saw it. Arkady. A shopping centre I had been to but once, yet I had been there. I knew where I was. I could have kissed the lady I had been following. Relieved, I attempted to tell the lady I knew where I was now. But no, she insisted on walking me the whole way to the train station, where she was rewarded with ten złotie and a red vested koala bear.
Later on, I was relieved to learn that, no, I was not going crazy. Yes, the tram had stopped at Dworzec on Friday. No, the same tram had not stopped at Dworzec on Saturday. Yes, the tram tracks outside Dworzec were being ripped up. Yes, many trams were taking detours and hence, less trams went to Dworzec.
The next Monday. I get to sleep in. Class, thankfully, doesn’t start until 8:50. In order to get there in time, I take the 8.08 901 bus from the end of my street, get off at the tram terminal, take either a number 3 or 5 route tram. Simple. So, I get to the bus stop with five minutes to spare. I turn on my iPod and lean against the bus shelter. Ten minutes pass, with no bus as of yet. The Poles around me begin to get anxious. Constantly checking phones, rugging up children that little bit tighter. Snow begins to fall. Students walk into the bus shelter, warmth radiating from the many bodies. Timetables are checked and double checked. More people arrive, ready for the next scheduled bus. A lady gets off her phone, tells everyone something in Polish, people nod and stay where they are. One hour later, yet another group of people come to wait for a bus. Cars stop on the side of the road, carting off students to school, businessmen to offices, the elderly back home into the warmth. Another forty minute later. My iPod goes flat. Three scheduled buses have failed to come. I decided to wait for the next bus, and if it does not come within ten minutes, I would go back home. So I wait, the bus shelter gradually emptying of impatient Poles. Ten minutes later, no sign of the bus. I sigh, gather up my bag, put my phone in my pocket and walk in the direction of home. When I get to the corner, I glance at the road. Two pale blue buses drive by, half empty, with the digits 901 flashing on the side.
Great.
