Day ≥17: Berlin

After a few days mixing writing work with exploring Gdansk, I still had five days to spare. So I took a train to Berlin. I had no plan, but I had a bike, which is all you need. This post covers those five days.



The first morning I cycled across Tempelhof, on possibly the world's widest cycle path (pic). At over 100m from side to side, it's wider than some Sustrans routes are long. Certainly smoother. It's probably the only cycle path visible for space. It's even, as my hardline cycle-campaigner chums might describe it, almost wide enough.

The mighty breadth is down to its being a runway. Tempelhof was an international airport (the destination of the famous Air Lifts) until its closure in 2008. The entire area is now a vast (and well-used) leisure park, runways, access ways and all. It's a strange feeling, taxiing along on your bike and turning into the wind ready for take-off.

I also collected a few of the postcard sights from the saddle, such as Brandenburg Gate (pic).

It's a focus of national unity – playing a heavily practical and symbolic role through the splitting up and reunification of Germany, for instance – and was the place where the German football team staged their victory ceremony after winning the World Cup in 2014, so obviously there's no English equivalent.

However, my main project for the stay was to cycle the Berlin Wall Cycle Path. It traces the course of the barrier which separated East and West Berlin from 1961 to 1989, and – astoundingly – it's just over 100 miles long.

I took three leisurely days to do the route, mindful of maximising my chances of morning kaffee und küchen from Germany's tempting bakeries. Coming back from the stage ends, and returning the next morning, was easy thanks to Berlin's underground trains all taking bikes.

Fares were very reasonable, especially as sometimes the ticket machines didn't work at the non-barriered stations and there was no onboard staff to buy a ticket from.

Very few sections of the Wall are left. Some is preserved at the Wall Memorial on Bernauerstrasse, which also has one of the two or three remaining watchtowers (pic).

It's hard to think that, for most of my early life, this street was a scene of wretched separation, oppression, and shoot-on-sight paranoia.

About the most traumatic thing that happens here these days is Chinese tourists photobombing your selfies.



The longest stretch remaining is at Mühlenstrasse, called the 'East Side Gallery' because of the murals (pic). I liked this one of Karl Marx. Personally I'd have used his witty 'I wouldn't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member'.

In the urban parts of the Route, the position of the wall is often marked by a double line of bricks (pic).

But that was only the final obstacle: the 'wall' was actually a double wall, consisting of a first fence or wall, then perhaps 100m of flat floodlit ground full of booby traps, trip wires, anti-tank devices, soft earth, upturned spikes, before the final 3m high wall.

The old joke about the East German Pole Vault Champion becoming the West German Pole Vault Champion, though a good gag, wouldn't quite work in practice.

As soon as the athlete vaulted the first wall, they'd land in the strip, and would have been shot dead by the dozens of guards.

So, not very funny, really.



Most of the Wall wound its way through quiet countryside, and you can vividly see where the 'death strip' was (pic). For perhaps 80 of the 100 miles, you cycle along flat, smooth tarmac, following the old service road: it's very much like a railtrail, apart from the 90-degree bends here and there where it had to follow the arbitrarily drawn East-West border.

The patrolling GDR soldiers must have been bored out of their minds watching for escapees. At least they had each other.

To watch, I mean: soldiers tried to escape too. And, in this paranoid dystopia, they were being watched in turn, by secret police.

Add in your networks of paid and unpaid informants, and it seems half the country was spying on itself. No surprise they didn't get round to tarmacking those patrol roads. In a few places it's still the original cobbles (pic), and if they could only go as slow as me when they were chasing fugitives, it's a wonder more didn't escape.



To the south-west, round Potsdam – clearly an agreeable sort of place – the Wall had to wiggle round various lakes (pic).

This is the nicest bit of the whole trail, popular with leisure riders; round here the Wall was sometimes only a few rolls of well-guarded barbed wire, sealing off grand old villa houses in the East from the edge of the lake and its Western water, which must have annoyed those who had a boat out on the jetty that they couldn't reach.



There's more picturesque waterside cycling along the route north of Spandau (pic). (A whole generation can't think of that place without mentally adding '...Ballet'. I'm not one of that generation.)

This was an utterly delightful part of the route. I was filled with a sense of tranquillity, as well as with coffee and cream cake from a friendly Sunday morning cafe back in the town.

Well, that's about it for this trip. I have a final day free in Berlin tomorrow, which is just as well, as I have a ton of admin to do before flying back home on Tuesday, so I probably won't be straying far from the hostel.

I've had a wonderful time and many memorable experiences, making my way ‐ with my bike ‐ from Albania, to Montenegro for Tim's birthday gathering; from there by train and bike through Serbia, Hungary and Slovakia; cycling the Polish End to End; and finishing here in cool, vibrant Berlin, by cycling the Wall Trail.

The trekking bike proved exactly the right choice for the trip, given the range of surfaces I had to cycle over, and made it through everything with no punctures, mechanicals or significant problems.

It may be heavy and slow, it may be stiff and creaking a bit more than it used to, it may be old, cheap and unfashionable, but by gum it works, it's reliable, and it does the job perfectly well.

Funnily enough, all that applies to me too.

Day 16: Hel

With the business part of the trip completed, today was a fun add-on: a trip to Hel and back.



Hel is a resort village at the end of a 30km long sand spit that juts out south-east from Poland's northern coast into the Baltic. On a map the spit resembles Spurn Point, my favourite place in Yorkshire, and hence the world. It's much larger though, and with the benefit of a road, segregated cycle path and railway line all the way to the end (pic).

So don't worry about being stuck: there are many ways out of Hel, including three dozen trains, several buses and the odd ferry, every day.



The village itself is pleasantly touristy, with plenty of promenade places to eat and drink. I'd originally planned to cycle out and get the train back, but with strong south-easterlies forecast, it made sense to get the train there and cycle back. Not before I'd explored the very end of the spit, though (pic), which gave fine views of a dim blue-grey smudge on the horizon which might have been Gdansk, or possibly Gdynia, or maybe gdirt on my glasses.



There are several cycle routes marked on tracks through the woodland on the spit's bulbous end, and apparently a leisure route for recreational tank drivers too (pic).



The road to Hel is paved not with good intentions but pinkish-grey setts, making a much-recommended cycleway all the way along the spit (pic).

The southern half goes through woods, without any sea views, and gets a bit gravelly, but the northern half is pleasant enough. Today it was very busy with cyclists, most of them evidently under-researched, labouring the other way into the headwind.



I stopped for refreshment at a little seaside lody ('ice cream') stall en route (pic). I suddenly felt the need for a couple of scoops on a cornet. I'm not sure what gave me the idea. Something subliminal perhaps.

Back on the mainland I got a train down to a baking hot Gdansk (pic), where I'm about to hole up for a couple of days to attend to writing commitments.

Yes, I do actually do some work sometimes.

Miles today: 22

Day 15: Gdynia to Jastrzębia Góra

The final day of my Polish End to End was the hottest, sunniest day of the trip so far. It started with yet more miles of mostly decent urban cycleways, continued with rough and unready tracks through country parks with lots of other leisure cyclists, and finished up at Poland's most northerly point, overlooking an azure Baltic.



Setting out early from the hostel I happened upon the start of the Gdynia Gran Fondue 2019, or perhaps Fondo, with thousands of cyclists competing over 80km or 134km.

The various category starts, excitably counted down by the compere, were great for my Polish numerals. Though some of the numbers are so long they obviously have to say them very quickly to get through them in time.



Route-finding out of the city wasn't too bad, thanks to the mostly good network of cycleways (pic), but road closures for the Fondue and haphazard signing complicated things. Shops and bakeries were closed for Sunday morning too, even the branches of Żabka.

To judge by the many services that had dozens of congragation members standing outside, the staff were all at church.



The signed bike route took me through several places that tourists never usually see – building sites, car parks, derelict factories – and gave me glimpses of local fishing villages too, such as Rewa (pic), where you could amuse yourself by hunting for the signage that you obviously missed somewhere because you'd come to a dead end.



Eventually I recovered the route, R10 indeed (pic), which wound its way prettily through various conservation areas and wildlife zones. The tracks were very bumpy – dirt roads, uneven concrete-slab access ways, gravelly farm lanes – so after an hour I decided to go back to the tarmac alternative. Unfortunately they were even worse.

Finally, at Puck, I was on good quiet roads, and even a good railtrail for a few miles.

And I collected another for my series of 'amusing Polish warning road signs': this one (pic) of a car experiencing the unlikely mishap of collision with a steam locomotive.

(There are still, amazingly, some normal mainline scheduled steamers still running between Wolsztyn and Poznań, so there may be a potential Mr Toad/Ivor the Engine encounter there.

But sadly, they look like they'll be phased out at the end of 2019.)



And so to the end of the trip, at the resort of Jastrzębia Góra, Poland's most northerly settlement, on cliffs overlooking the Baltic coast. It's the obvious finishing point of an End to End, as it has a monument (pic), the Gwiazda Północy ('North Star'), marking the official furthest-up bit of the country, as determined by the maritime office in Gdynia in 2003, evidently.



Here's my bike as far north as you can go in Poland (pic) without seriously compromising the drivetrain. It's the official end of the End to End...

...though not the end of this trip of course. I glided from Jastrzębia Góra 10km along a good cycleway, downhill and with a tailwind, into Władysławowo, my accomm for tonight.

Tomorrow I'll cycle to Hel, partly because it's a lovely and much-recommended ride 20 miles to the end of a narrow sand spit, partly because well, who could resist a Journey to Hel, knowing that there's a range of trains, buses and ferries out of the place?

But for the purposes of this post, that's the...
END OF THE POLISH END TO END.

Well done bike! No mechanicals, no punctures, no problems. It's been another highly enjoyable trip: often quiet and scenically mundane, as I expected.

But often there was surprisingly good cycle infra, pleasant people in ordinary little villages and towns who were mildly amused at my enthusiasm for their country and language, cheap beer and cheap places to stay (often of very good quality – the places to stay, not the beer), and some beautiful historic town squares that were an utter delight to sip a lager or two after a day's ride.

I'll always remember Zakopane's scenery, Kraków still stunning in the rain, Częstochowa's piety, Łódź's vitality, Toruń's elegance, Chełmno's lovely square, Gdańsk/ Sopot/ Gdynia's bike-friendly buzz, and the elation of completing.

Thanks bike, thanks Poland. Dziękuję bardzo, do widzenia. I'll be back.

Miles today to Jastrzębia Góra: 35
Miles today total: 45
Total miles from Polish border (Łysa Polana) to Northern Star (Jastrzębia Góra): 570
Total number of days cycled: 14
Wildlife spotted (alive): Eagle, deer, hares (x2), storks (x3), fleas (x lots)
No of punctures: 0
No of sunhats lost: 1
No of cartons of 'Danio' vanilla gloop for dessert: 12
Total cost for 15 days inc all travel, accomm, food, expenses: £425
Value: Priceless

Day 14: Starogard Gdański to Gdynia

The penultimate day of the End to End, and the day I finally set eyes on the Baltic. Today started with yet more flat, easy miles on quiet back roads through woods, and finished with an extraordinarily 35km-long run through bike-friendly Gdańsk on segregated cycleways. I knew I was close to the sea when I saw a sign for 'Baltic Restaurant', but I must be missing a good curry: I thought at first it said 'Balti Restaurant'.



This was the sort of thing for the first half of the day (pic) – similar to most of the days so far, but with the addition of a few slopes. In the hilly North York Moors, they don't bother to signpost hills anything less than 25%. In Poland, inclines are so unusual they even sign ones of 5%.

Poland is making great progress in putting in cycleways, and most cities I've been through have really pretty good segregated infra easing you into or out of the centre. (They haven't got the hang of dropped kerbs though.)

However, there's often puzzling bits too, which start or end nowhere (pic), presumably awaiting further expansion.

Unless the councillors here have been inspired by factfinding missions to the UK.

Many road signs can be puzzling too, unless you know a little of the language.

Wypadki is Polish for 'do not attempt to give motorists the V-sign while doing a wheelie'.*

Gdańsk prides itself as Poland's 'cycling capital', with good reason. For the last half of the day – over four leisurely hours, including refreshment stops, and about 35km from Pruszcz to Gdynia via Gdańsk and Sopot – I was entirely on good quality segregated cycleways: not single metre on road.



From Pruszcz I was on this canal towpath (pic). I didn't even know Poland had canals, never mind towpaths, but it does. Those high concrete sides and fencing don't make the waterway especially picturesque, but it prevents people fishing, which makes cycling a lot more pleasant...



The path took me right through central Gdańsk, past the main station (pic). I've visited before, and I'll be spending a couple of days here next week, so I didn't need to stop and 'sightsee' (ie from the table of a pavement bar).



At one point the cycleway passed this tank monument (pic), with my bike leaning against it. Weighing nearly 40 tons, with a maximum speed of 5mph, based on old-fashioned but reliable technology, difficult to manoeuvre, but virtually indestructible, my bike has served me well on this trip.

And so to the sea: my first glimpse of salt water since Montenegro, never mind since starting at the Polish border high in the Tatras two weeks ago (pic).

A long, long beach connects the shores of neighbouring Gdańsk, Sopot and Gdynia, and on this sunny Saturday there were plenty of people frolicking on the sand.

Not many swimming, though – it's as cold as the North Sea at this time of year...



The cycleway continued, on and on parallel to the beach, and it was chock with people on bikes enjoying a weekend spin, as well as a fair few inline skaters, wheelchair users, electric scooter riders, and people on novelty hire bikes, who were going even slower than me.



At the shiny resort of Sopot I stopped for a drink. It's a grand, slightly artificial-feeling place with a very long pier, but it's agreeable enough, and today was crowded with tourists. The expansive main square (pic) is dominated by the Grand Hotel, notorious as the place Hitler was staying when he started World War II in 1939. Wonder what he wrote in the visitor's book.

I couldn't resist a snap of the Krzywy Domek, 'Crooked House' (pic). See what I mean about Sopot? Fun, but a bit contrived. We have lots of genuinely crooked houses in England. As anyone who's seen my annexe knows.

Anyway, I'm in my very pleasant hostel in Gdynia – a modern and vibrant, but to me slightly bland, city that somehow has got itself on the cruise-ship circuit.

Tomorrow is scheduled to be the last day, when I finally get to the northernmost point in Poland. Meanwhile, apparently there's a football match on telly tonight...

*No it isn't. It means 'accidents'.

Miles today: 47
Miles since Polish border: 535