To Warsaw

We had made it to Poland. The sun was shining and the roads sealed - except the 10km we rode from the border crossing in the forest to the first village.  We both felt a little surprised that the baltics were over and we had arrived in "mainland" Europe. Things felt different for some reason and we couldn't quite pin down what that was, but there was no point dwelling over that,  we needed to get some local Złoty and buy some treats from a polish supermarket!

Poles in Poland!

Neither of us were too sure what the vibe on freedom camping in Poland was, so our first night we found ourselves a nice spot in a forestry block down some dirt roads that may have had some form of 'no unauthorised access' signage, although it was a little hard to decipher, and set up camp. No one jumped out at us, and no one even came by until the following morning when Calvin was crouched over a hole attending to some morning business. Impeccable timing!

We were aiming for Warsaw and set a vague route along back roads and cycle ways hoping to enjoy some of the newly formed and opened Green Velo route that follows the length of Poland's eastern border. On our way to finding the elusive Green Velo route we bumped into a fellow cycle tourist from Lithuania - Valdis. We joined forces and rode together to the town of Augustow. Not only an enjoyable man to talk and cycle with, he got us onto the Green Velo route, shared his favorite mildly alcoholic, malt drink "Kwas" and introduced us to a delicious spread made of pig fat with chunky crackling. Valdis only had the weekend to cycle and was heading back to Lithuania that afternoon so we waved goodbye after a picnic lunch and continued on our way popping on and off the Green Velo route. We were treated to quiet back roads and some very interesting riding through a wetlands reserve which at times we got rather intimate with.

Our picnic lunch with newly aquired friend Valdis

Cracker with fat and crackling spread. Delicious!

Wet riding through the wetlands

Our campsite that night was along the edge of the wetland area in the small town of Wrocen. We enjoyed a mozzie free night (until sundown) and a basic sink wash as the showers were an additional cost. Calvin got a little carried away and took to washing his under carriage before being caught with his pants half down when an old lady walked in on him. Timing has not been his strong point in Poland.

A day of back country riding, through cornfields and sand roads, brought us to the city of Lomza for the night. We set up camp at the local harbour campsite by the river. At around 9pm, when we were nicely nestled in the tent after a hot days riding three young Polish cycle tourists arrived and promptly set up their tent 50cam from ours. This has proven to be quite common in Europe. Where in New Zealand we look for a spot that will give us the most privacy, Europeans appear to clump themselves together in some sort of pack mentality.

The varying roads to Lomza:

Not sure what is road and what is patch repair

About 2km out of Lomza Kate came to a halt on the hill leading out of town. She turned around only to realise she wasn't wearing her gloves, and in fact there was only one glove sitting on her rear panniers where she had left them when heading into the supermarket that morning. Kate's lost glove will forever be in our memories and we really hope that it found a Michael Jackson fan who will embrace its potential.

We really struggled to find campgrounds in Poland, or places to freedom camp, so that night we stayed in a Agroturistica - a house near farmland. We arrived to an empty house, but after a local woman made a phone call for us, a French speaking Dutchman arrived to let us in. We had a room in a huge wooden house, and there was no one else there. While he was showing us around Kate's bike fell over, her kickstand finally giving in to the weight of the bike and bending entirely in half. The man obviously felt some kind of responsibility, and no matter how much we insisted it was a piece of junk and we had planned to replace it in Warsaw, he insisted, with the help of a phone call to his daughter in Amsterdam who spoke English, that he wanted to get a a new one. We told him it wasn't necessary, and off he went. As Calvin set about removing the stand a German couple arrived, Anya and Frieda, with their 7 year old daughter, Alexis. They were very chatty, and after returning from a quick supermarket shop, Frieda insisted he had made too much food and brought too much beer and vodka, and that we had to join them for dinner. Who could say no to that offer! As we ate, drank and became merry, the Dutchman arrived with a new kickstand. Turns out the one he brought was brilliant.

Our lovely accommodation for the night. New bottom bracket time for Calvin

Out with the broken and in with the new!

Rush hour

On our last night before Warsaw we aimed for one of two campgrounds 40km out of the city so we would have only a short ride the next day to get maximum time with Calvin's sister (Anita) who was flying in from Edinburgh for a long weekend. We rode up to the gates of the first campground and thought it looked a little strange, so continued on to the next campground 500m down the road. It didn't exist, so we rode back to the first one. It was set up with many cabins, a huge playground, a swimming pool (that we weren't allowed to use), a conference centre, a huge dining room, and... prayer rooms. But it was the nuns and the priest that were the dead give away that we were staying at a Christian Camp. We were the only ones in a tent, and the only solo Travellers - everyone there was either on a summer camp, or helping the nuns raise money for poor families. Although we were blatant outcasts, everyone was kind to us and the nuns were over excited to hear about our travels.