To Hel and Back

Tuesday we went to Gdynia to see the Baltic Sea. Naturally, on our one day to enjoy the seaside it was raining. When I opened my suitcase to get my umbrella, it was gone. Poof. (Wizzair??) By the time we had walked several blocks from our hotel to a grocery store that sold umbrellas, I was quite damp. And cold. We marched on to the train station. 

This is actually a photo of the train coming into Gdynia on our way back to Gdańsk. It will have to do.

Half an hour later we were in Gdynia. 

Sticking out into the Baltic sea from north of Gdynia is a long thin peninsula. At the tip of this peninsula is the fishing town named Hel. If you had been here, you, too, would have been determined to go to Hel. There are two ways to get there — by train and bus — a journey of two hours — or by a passenger ferry. We figured we'd go counter-clockwise and make a circle, taking the ferry to Hel, and then coming back to Gdynia by bus and train. 

Alas, there is a long walk from the Gdynia train station to the docks.  Longer than I'd anticipated. The fact that we stopped on the way for a cup of coffee and a croissant had NOTHING to do with the fact that we got to the docks just as the ferry slipped away. Darn. Zach dashed across the docks trying to get a photo of the ferry, which had the word SMILE painted on the stern.

But hey! Gdynia has its own Tall Ship!  Look at this:

And, there on the dock, a monument to Joseph Conrad:

And a whole series of stand-up cardboard figures promoting bicycle riding, with a real bike in front:

Reason #6: You can eat everything.

Reason #4: You can get around. Or something like that.

Back at the coffee shop — a most wonderful coffee shop — we summoned up our courage and decided we still wanted to go to Hel. 

We hiked back, in the rain, to the train station. Off we went to Hel. The bus trip which followed the train was particularly interesting.  It turns out that the peninsula, which I had imagined as a long strip of wilderness, is dotted with several towns. School was letting out in these various places as our bus came rolling through, and kids kept getting on and getting off the bus. (I noted how quiet they were in comparison to the rowdy kids from Black Hawk and East High when they ride the Madison Metro after school.) In between the towns were lovely, lacy forests. I wished I could walk through them. Finally the bus arrived in Hel.  Of course, we got off a stop too soon and had to walk several blocks super-fast to the docks to catch the ferry — that very same ferry we just missed in Gdynia — for its return trip from Hel to Gdynia. On the way, our walk took us past some very attractive little guest houses near the docks. They are so charming and well-kept! I’m telling you this in case someone suggests you go to Hel. It would be a lovely two or three-day vacation! I’m not kidding! No photos here; my camera was nearly out of battery.

Did I mention it was raining out?  Did I remember to also tell you about the wind? It was windy. And cold. And raining. Zach would have liked to stand outside on the deck of the boat, but all passengers were required to sit inside, behind blue-tinted windows. We got a front seat at a table near the window nearest the bow of the boat. It only took about two minutes to understand why we were locked inside! White caps came flying over the rail and slammed against our window! Pow! Again and again and again. Pow!

This reminded me of the year when the Karfi almost didn’t make its last trip from Rock Island to Gils Rock, the year Vicki and Shaun and Bill braved the violent waves to get home. 

So there we were, crossing a bit of the Baltic Sea, figuring that my grandparents and Zach’s great-grandparents had no doubt left Poland in that same sea in 1905 and 1910. Was it raining when they left? Was it cold? What were my grandmother’s thoughts as she looked back over her shoulder at a country she would never see again?

The ferry crossing took little more than an hour. First thing we did when we were back in Gdynia was to slide into a restaurant near the docks and order beer and fried cod, fresh from the sea. Oh, boy, mighty fine.

As we walked back to the train station, I looked at the various buildings along the road. They looked like they were probably built in the 20th century; very few looked like they were older than that. Did our grandparents walk down this street on their way to the docks?  Were any of these buildings here? Did their eyes see some of what we see now? What was it like? Forgive me, Grandma and Grandpa, for never asking you questions about that fascinating part of your lives. [Note: Later I learned that Gdynia was built between the first and second world wars. My grandparents left Poland in 1905 and 1910. Not only did they never see Gdynia, they probably got on a ship in Holland or in Germany. And how did they make that overland journey? I’ll never know.]

As we wandered the streets, Zach pointed out that he’d seen the word, “Lombard,” everywhere. Why? When I opened my eyes and started looking for for the word, I had to agree. Many storefronts in both Gdańsk and Gdynia are labeled LOMBARD. 

We puzzled about this. For me, Lombard is the name of a Chicago suburb. For Zach, Lombard is a street in Baltimore. The only other connection I could think of is Lombardi, a region in northern Italy. Looking at the various stores advertising “Lombard,” they seemed to resemble pawnshops.  But why would they call them “Lombard”? So, back at the hotel, we looked it up. It IS a pawnshop! Back in the middle ages, a non-profit type of pawn shop was begun in Lombardi, Italy, by Franciscans who thought up a just alternative to profit-making loans to help the poor get access to money.  So — the circle is unbroken! We've been to Hel and back and we end up with the Franciscans.