Day 4: Kraków to Ogrodzieniec

I've been to Kraków several times, so didn't feel the need to sightsee: I was keen to get on the bike, especially as heavy storms were forecast for late afternoon.

I even got a rather dramatic text message warning me of power outages, floods, and the inadvisability of sheltering under trees: it didn't state the sender, though I suspect it was booking.com's cheery way of letting me know I was in their thoughts.



So I was out early, northwest past the inbound commuter traffic, sometimes managing to find pleasant back roads through the forest (pic). Why be on a main road when you can enjoy such tranquillity amid birdsong?

Because the back roads didn't join up and only ever lasted about half a kilometre before they got muddy, that's why, and I wanted to get to my lunch stop before the heavens opened.

So I mainly stuck to the main road (pic), which though busy had either a wide shoulder or a footpath.

I'm not sure of the legality of footpath cycling here when it's not specifically marked as a cycleway. So I decided to chance it, and when a police car passed without stopping to advise me otherwise, I took that as a sign that it's OK.

To be fair, the police car was doing 90mph with its siren going, so they may have had other priorities.



Lunch was in Olkusz's rynek ('market square', pic), just the sort of ordinary town I like passing through, because it's so ordinary, so gives a genuine feel for the Real Poland. Plus it was misty and beginning to drizzle, so I could carry on without being worried about missing out on any postcard views or tourist sights.

By half one it was raining steadily, but I was near my destination, Ogrodzieniec, and heading through pleasant woods (pic).

The guesthouse didn't open till 4pm but I was looking forward to sitting in a cafe or bar and drying out while reflecting on the day in my notebook.

On arrival I found Ogrodzieniec has no cafes, and the bars were all shut.

Miles today: 40
Miles since Polish border: 136

Day 3: Kasina Wielka to Kraków

The promised day of sun and downhill proved one of drizzle and tedious climbs. Neither accuweather, nor the BBC website nor yr.no got the weather right. However, Polish TV seemed on the money (and I was pleased to see my rule of thumb vindicated: the worse the weather forecast, the more the presenter smiles, as if trying to make up for it).

And how openstreetmap's fantasy elevation profile prediction of mostly descent turned into mostly granny-ring upward grind, I'm not sure. But it was a good day, starting with lovely countryside and ending with everyone's favourite Polish city.



The first couple of hours was lovely flat riding through more landscapes that could have come right out of Scotland (pic), especially given the clouds and the light drizzle. The giveaway was that the village pizzerias didn't offer a deep-fried option.

After gliding through the village of Szczyrzyc (pronounced as it's spelt), I was startled to see that the village of Raciechowice (ditto) had a fine wooden church (pic) that was the start of one of the many Ways of St James to Santiago de Compostela.

I knew that western Europe was criss-crossed with various middle-ages pilgrimage routes that converged in Santiago, one of which (the Vía de la Plata) we cycled last month.

But I had no idea the network was as dense out here in Poland. Evidently the Church had huge influence over the pre-Enlightenment world. Who knew? Anyone who, unlike me, did history, I suppose.

My route took me through Wieliczka. Its famous salt mines – which include a huge astounding cathedral carved out of the solid rock way down in the tunnels – I'd visited before, backpacking in 2009, but this time I could explore the town's fine parks and buildings by bike.



From there it was cycleways that excitingly criss-crossed busy tram tracks all the way to Kraków. Again, I was pleased to be on my mountain bike. The tyres are wider than the tram rails. I crossed over the Wisła river into the centre by this new ped-bike bridge (pic), though not so new that it isn't already weighed down with those pesky love padlocks.

And so to Kraków. I first came here in 2009 and was enchanted right away – partly because I could afford a central-square beer even at tourist prices, and despite a late drunk arrival in my hostel dorm managing to misappropriate one of my only pair of shoes. In a freezing November.

I've been several times since, fortunately finishing with the same quota of footwear I started with, and always been delighted.

But this time was much better, because I was on a bike.

It was chucking it down when I arrived, so the only sensible option was my usual arrival strategy: a pricey but unmissable pint of Żywiec (pronounced as it's spelt) in a bar overlooking the main square, watching the tour groups and horse-drawn carriages, and listening out for the hourly trumpet call from St Mary's Church (pic).

Na zdrowie!

Miles today: 34
Miles since Polish border: 96

Day 2: Zakopane to Kasina Wielka

A delightful day of local wildlife such as frogs (ish), storks (ish), dinosaurs (ish) and elephants (ish), fine scenery that could have come out of Scotland, and plenty of pleasant downhill riverside cycling.



This was where I stayed last night (pic): a lovely, cosy little wooden chalet hostel in the woods on the edge of Zakopane. The only soft sounds you could hear were birds chirping, insects humming, and soundtracks of YouTube videos being watched on phones by everyone else in my dorm. Hmm. Do Young People know about earphones, or is that old people's technology?

Anyway, I cycled out through Zakopane, enjoying the typical sights of the region: local wooden architecture, the backdrop of the grand Tatra mountains, and nuns (pic).

Perhaps she was off to play a medley of songs at one of the town's many wooden gothic churches, or the Shrine of Our Lady of Fatima in Krzeptówki.

That's the place that was built in thanks for the survival of Pope John Paul II (a Pole, of course) from an assassination attempt in 1981.

In which case I'd like to hear what would rhyme with, say, 'Karol Wojtyła', 'Mehmet Ali Ağca', or '9mm Browning semi-automatic pistol'.



There were a couple of animal statues which were never quite explained, and which I don't quite think fit in to the traditional pattern of Podhale ('Polish Highlands') style: a dinosaur hatchling and an elephant (pic).

More traditional is the żabka, 'frog'.

Not the amphibian, but the convenience store which is proving as useful and amiable as 7/11 stores did in our Taiwan End to End.

Very, in other words – a frequent, reliable and always-open option for sustenance on the road (pic).

Vanilla and chocolate pastry plus double espresso for under a quid!



The next surprising animal was this flock of storks north of Nowy Targ (pic). Not real, obvs, but part of the display of a centre selling garden models such as hedgehogs, sheep, mushrooms, etc. And – yes – gnomes. My personal hell would be full of gnomes. Morris dancing. To Supertramp. In a certain B&B in Newport, Wales.



There was some climbing today, most of it a medium-strength haul up and out of Nowy Targ, with my last glimpse of the Tatras (pic). The road was quite busy, and I was glad I had (a) a rear-view mirror and (b) my mountain bike, because I could see when to avoid the HGV approaching from the rear by dodging off to the bumpy gravel shoulder. Not as scary as it sounds. But it does sound very scary.

However, much of today was spent freewheeling down quiet, well-surfaced lanes by the side of rivers through pretty villages. Lovely stuff.

Here's one of the traditional wooden churches in the town of Mszana Dolna, now a museum (pic).

However, I was more interested at the time in my view of a delicious local cafe's cheeseburger, served in that friendly Polish way by a smiley young woman clearly impressed and amused by my Polish.

Smacznego!



By 3.30pm I was in my destination of Kasina Wielka (pic), a scenic village in a landscape rather reminiscent of the Scotland around Pitlochry or Inverness. Though you'd be doing well to get a beautiful, clean, modern ensuite room with a kitchen and with sweeping views in a farmhouse villa there for £13. And, indeed, such smooth side-roads...

Miles today: 42
Miles since Polish border: 62

Day 1: (Poprad to) Łysa Polana to Zakopane

I found out last night that there's a local bus for €3 from Poprad up to the Polish border (48km, 950m of climb) that takes bikes free, so a decision made itself. Eastern Europe seems pretty casual about bikes on things: there was no special area but nobody seemed concerned that a large amount of vintage ironmongery was blockading the gangway (pic).



Here's the only pic you'll see of me until the end (pic). I will try to have a haircut before then. I'm at the bridge that marks the Slovakian–Polish border, the southernmost place you can cycle on-road in Poland, and the ride proper started right here. With a 200m climb straight off, I soon wasn't smiling quite as much.



Plenty of downhill as well, though, and it was a very enjoyable glide with the Tatras filling the horizon, and occasional oncoming leisure motorists filling my side of the road by overtaking unwisely. I was soon on the outskirts of Zakopane, Poland's touristy ski- and summer- mountain resort, admiring the traditional wooden buildings (pic).



Zakopane itself (pic), I was assured by my Polish hostel inmate Tomas last night, is 'just like Fort William'. Hmm. My prevailing memory of Fort William is sitting in Wetherspoons waiting for the rain to stop, but here in Zak – which I explored by bike all afternoon – I was able to find an equally inexpensive place to eat and drink and dodge showers in the shape of a bar mleczny, the traditional Polish canteen ('milk bar').

After ordering you simply have to wait for your order number to be called out. My order number was 95, ie dziewięćdziesiąt pięć (pronounced as it's spelt). Luckily my fish was still warm and my beer still cold by the time I worked that one out.



You really come to Zak to do hiking trails, but I won't have time for that. I did however have the time to visit the Karol Szymanowski museum (pic), dedicated to the Polish composer of famous works such as, er, um, you know, that symphony and the, erm, concerto.

Anyway, I'm in a cool little hostel – a cosy wooden chalet on the edge of town conveniently close to a branch of ubiquitous 6–23/7 convenience store Żabka. The chain sells lowest-common-denominator stuff – vending-machine coffee, pre-pack sandwiches, cheap pastries – so it's clearly right up the cycle-tourist's street.

Miles today: 20
Miles since Polish border: 20

Day 0: Poprad

A day off in pleasant Poprad today, before the bike ride starts tomorrow. I spent it doing an easy but very scenic hike in the Tatras in the fine company of Dewi, my hostel inmate.



These are the High Tatras (pic): 2650m peaks in a compact range just a few miles across, and conveniently accessed from Slovakia's third city. They feel very alpine: you could be in some upscale part of Austria or Switzerland, especially when you look at the price list of the chalet restaurants.

But then getting food and beer along a trail up to 1500m with no road access isn't straightforward, and indeed it's one guy's full-time job hiking up several times a day with a rack of four full beer crates on his back up, and the same down, but with empties. I doubt Deliveroo comes here.



It was a spectacular and very rewarding five-hour round trip (pic), from the electric train station at Starý Smokovec up to Zamkovského chata (Zamkovsky Hut) – at 1475m, the lowest and easiest alpine hut in the Tatras. Back in Poprad, we celebrated in the way the locals prefer to eat: with a cheapo pay-by-weight meal in the local mall's food court canteen.

It's the big World Cup match tonight – Great Britain versus Slovakia in the ice hockey, the country's No 1 sport – so I might go along to a local minipivovar and not really understand what on earth is going on but enjoy cheering for both teams anyway.

Day ≤-1: Tirana (Albania) to Poprad (Slovakia)

This post summarises the three weeks before starting the Polish End to End, making my way up from Albania by train and bike.

I'd been planning the Polish E2E schedule when my friend Tim (who I cycled Taiwan with in 2017) proposed a get-together of friends in a villa in Montenegro to celebrate a special birthday, the sort where you need a safety briefing for fire because there are so many candles.

Rather than fly back to England and fly back out again, I decided to start in Albania, go from there to the Montenegro thing, then make my way overland to southern Poland by a combination of train and cycling. What could be simpler?

Well, quite a lot actually, like the Riemann Hypothesis or Polish grammar or Brexit. In general, international trains don't take bikes, which means taking some slow local trains and cycling over borders (always fun because you queue-jump past the cars).

Add in the closure of some lines for works (north out of Belgrade) and it all got rather tricky. But in the end it was a pleasant and quirky, if leisurely, way to get from Tirana, in Albania, via Montenegro, Serbia and Hungary, to Poprad, in Slovakia and near the Polish border.

And much more fun than flying, and cheaper, even with the accomm.



It was my first time in Albania. I spent a very enjoyable couple of days there riding round the centre, which has a few decent cycleways, such as this one to a local reservoir (pic). The other side is lined with bars and locals buying 35p ice creams and beers. As I soon found to my delight.

Tirana is now unrecognisable from the grey, electricity-starved capital of misery under hard man of Communism Enver Hoxha. (Curious how men of power often can't keep the lights on.) It's bright, dynamic, and packed with lively and friendly bars, cafes, restaurants and bakeries. Colourful too, though that's partly the lavish graffiti everywhere.



To get to Montenegro I pedalled out to 'Tirana rail station', which has been moved out Ryanair-style to Vorë, 16km and a century away. We had to clear the sheep off the line first (pic) before the world's slowest train lumbered up to the lakeside town of Shkodër about 50km away. It took four hours. I could have cycled it quicker with a tailwind. There wasn't.

After a restorative evening of 35ps well spent in Shkodër, I cycled the next day across the border into Montenegro. This was for the week of festivities with Tim et al in Virpazar, and I'll remember it for a long time, particularly when I get my credit card statements.



We hiked up 1200m peaks, canoed on stunning Lake Skadar (pic), ate lots of local food, partied a lot, and went on a barely advisable tour of local wineries by bike.



I sneaked off one day to cycle the 30km of old road between Virpazar and Bar (pic). The route profile resembles a Bavarian pitched roof: the first half is a steady 6% gradient up from sea level to 800m, the second half a steady 6% gradient back down.

Magnificent views, and of course I didn't hesitate for a moment debating whether to ride all the way up and over back to Virpazar. I instantly decided to get the train.

After the Montenegro week I biked to Podgorica, and explored everything worth seeing, which took about twenty minutes. I then took the train to Belgrade, one of the world's most stunning rail journeys.

It's quite amazing how they engineered the line in such mountainous terrain, but were defeated by the problem of providing onboard bike spaces. They're certainly allowed, in fact there's a special cycle ticket, but with nowhere to put them, they go in the vestibule. My bike spent the ten-hour journey blocking the doors on one side or the other.

With the Belgrade–Budapest train out of action for line works, I took a bus to Novi Sad. Belgrade is rather hard and gritty, as was my bed in the cheap hotel there, but Novi Sad is a more cultured, laid-back, bikey sort of university town, with a fine Old Town buzzing with bars and restaurants.



A decent system of cycleways round the town too, one of which took me over the Danube to Petrovaradin Fortress (pic). It's dubbed the 'Gibraltar of the Danube', but I don't think it's that bad.



Anyway, a clanky local train got me up towards Hungary to the North Serbian town of Subotica (pic). I had been expecting a border-town dump with a few forlorn chemical factories, but it's actually an Art Nouveau gem (pic).

After exploring the centre's fine streets and feeling rather secessionist, I pedalled 30 miles or so to Szeged, back in the EU, from where I knew I could get trains fast enough that I might actually outlive the journey.

Szeged has some handsome architecture too, notably the twin-towered cathedral.

For the benefit of students think they are seeing double after a session in the many stylish pubs and bars, they've put up the word SZEGED to remind them where they are (pic).

Two fast trains got me to Bratislava, capital of Slovakia.

The Ice Hockey World Cup was on (spoiler: GB got relegated), and lots of people were carousing in the bars of the lovely Old Town wielding hockey sticks and wearing team shirts.

They weren't aggressive or fighting or anything, so they must have been fans not players.



After a morning spin alongside the Danube (pic) I took my final train, to Poprad four hours away.

So here I am in Slovakia's lively third city. I'm staying in a lovely little hostel-apartment – that building lower left (pic).

On Sunday I'll be cycling to Zakopane, which is not far at all.

In fact it's just the other side of those mountains.

Oh.