Kickstart 2014

I awoke from my sleep by a hand shaking my leg. The train conductor was checking in for another ticket, and I pulled my hand rudely into my leggings and found the small pouch containing the travel essentials; ticket, money and passport. I gave him the ticket with a yawn on my face. I glanced out of the window and stared into the magnificent landscape; the red sun was slowly climbing over the misty fields on the Polish countryside. Suddenly I was struck by a bad wave of worry; why couldn't I spot my camera bag on the chair? Before falling asleep I had placed it under my head as a pillow, and now it was nowhere to be found. The wave of worry turned into an unexpected scream from the bottom of my lungs. The train conductor took a step backwards while I became filled with panic and anxiety, even tears streamed down from my eyes. In despair I searched the entire compartment, but without any further luck. Between my cries I explained the situation to the confused man in front of me, and he obviously didn't speak English. With all the non-existent patience inside of me I had to hand gesture that my camera was stolen. He shook his head and rolled his shoulders, with an expression saying "What am I supposed to do about it?".
"Nie," he repeated several times and continued his ticket check further down the corridor.

My hand was shaking while attempting to light the cigarette in the open window outside of my compartment. Smoking ban were already infiltrated on Polish trains, but it was not followed by anyone; at all times someone would stand by the window or in the toilet with cigarettes, not even trying to cover their crime. The young man I had taken notice of before falling asleep stood up and said something in Polish. I had no idea what he was trying to say. The previous night I had noticed him because of the rocked up style, and the fact that he was sleeping on the floor. Military pants, long dark hair and a band t-shirt ruled, together with a worn out green backpack that had been used as a pillow.
"English?" I cried, and he shook his head.
"Deutch?" he asked, and I shook my head.
The tears just didn't want to stop, and I took long drags of my cigarette. A hand was softly placed on my shoulder, and before I got to think twice I threw myself at the stranger, hugging him intensely and crying on his shoulder. He seemed a bit surprised about my move, but was petting my back of sympathy.

After a few minutes I managed to calm myself down, and slowly could let go of the stranger. We lid another cigarette, and figured out that I was able to understand some German, while he could understand English. The conversation continued like that; he spoke German and I spoke English. He joined me back in the compartment.
"Wada?" he asked and held out a bottle of water. I accepted, and suddenly remembered I still had a full bottle of wine in my bag from the previous night.
"Vino?" I asked, and the entire bottle went down in a matter of 30 minutes. The conversation went on about technology, lazy students that don't read books anymore, lack of imagination after the screen entered our daily lives, nature and other opinions. He turned out to be a freelance journalist who spent most of his time writing about students with ambitions and student groups. He told me he had to get off the train on the following station, which gave us eight minutes. We both pulled put pen and paper, and exchanged Facebook IDs, smoked a last cigarette and wrapped it up with a great hug before he walked out of my life. I sat down with a smile on my face, and thanked higher powers for letting in such a positive person to my life when I really had felt the need of a friend. 

Finally arriving in Krakow I rolled my bicycle out of the train station, and in front of me I was met by a chaos of buses, cars, people, bicycles, roads and shops. I really had planned the route, but realized in a matter of seconds that I hadn't even thought about how I was going to exit Krakow city.

I locked my bicycle up outside the train station and wandered into a shopping mall in search for a map. I managed to buy a map over the entire Poland, which also contained enlarged maps over the big cities - but obviously none of those cities turned out to be Krakow.

Just go for it. Just choose a road. You're gonna get somewhere, regardless. I thought to myself. I got up on my bike and loaded my mindset to adventure mode.

NORWEGIAN/NORSK:

Jeg våknet brått av en hand på benet mitt. Togkonduktøren var der for nok en billettkontroll, og jeg dro hånda litt uhøflig ned i tightsen min og dro opp mappen med de tre P´ene; penger, pass, papir. Jeg rakte ham togbilletten og tok i ett gjesp. Utenfor vinduet var den røde solen på vei opp over tåkelagte enger langs polsk landevei. Brått kjente jeg ett stikk i magen: hvor var kameravesken min? Jeg hadde lagt den under hodet mitt som en slags pute før jeg blundet av, og nå var den borte. Stikket ble til ett uventet hyl. Konduktøren hoppet nesten bakover mens jeg ble grepet av panikk og tårene fosset nedover kinnene mine. Jeg letet febrilsk i hele kupéen, den var ikke noe sted. Hikstet fram hendelsen til togkonduktøren som ikke kunne engelsk, og hulket videre. Med den ikke-eksisterende tålmodigheten som fantes i kroppen min måtte jeg prøve å rolig gjøre gester om kameraet mitt som ikke var der lenger. Han rullet på skuldrene og ristet på hodet.
”Nie.” gjentok han flere ganger, før han tuslet videre nedover korridoren.

Hånda mi skalv da jeg prøvde å tenne sigaretten min i det åpne vinduet utenfor kupéen. Røyking på polske tog var ikke lov lenger, men det var det ingen som egentlig brydde seg om; alle gjorde det. Den unge mannen jeg hadde kikket litt på kvelden før reiste seg og sa noe uforståelig på polsk. Jeg hadde lagt merke til ham ettersom han sov på gulvet og hadde en røff, rocka stil over seg. Militærbukse, langt hår og en band t-shorte regjerte, sammen med en slitt grønn sekk til pute.
”English?” hikstet jeg frem, og han ristet på hodet.
”Deutch?” spurte han, og jeg ristet på hodet.
Tårene og hikstene fortsatte, og jeg røkte sigaretten fortere og fortere. Jeg kjente en beroligende hånd på skulderen min, og før jeg visste ordet av det hev jeg meg inn i brystet hans og klemte ham. Han virket litt forskrekket, men begynte å forsiktig stryke meg på ryggen.

Etter noen minutter roet jeg meg ned, og trakk meg forsiktig tilbake. Vi røykte enda en sigarett, og kommuniserte oss frem til at jeg forsto greit tysk, og han forsto greit engelsk. Samtalen fortsatte slik; han på tysk og jeg på engelsk. Han ble med inn i kupéen min.
”Wada?” sa han og rakte meg en vannflaske. Jeg drakk, og husket at jeg hadde en uåpnet vinflaske liggende i veska fra kvelden før.
”Vino?” spurte jeg, og vi slukte hele flasken på under tredve minutter. Praten gikk om teknologi, studenter som ikke leser ettersom ting er visualiserte, mangelen på fantasi hos unge takket være skjermen, natur og lignende. Han viste seg å være en freelance journalist som engasjerte seg for studenter med ambisjoner og studentgrupper.
Han fortalte meg at han skulle av på neste stasjon, noe som ga oss åtte minutter. Vi fant begge frem penn og papir og vekslet Facebook brukere, en siste sigarett og en god klem før vi skilte veier. Jeg satt meg ned igjen med ett sukk, og takket inni meg for at en så oppmuntrende sjel hadde stukket innom livet mitt når jeg mest trang det.

Vel fremme i Krakow beveget jeg meg ut fra togstasjonen, og foran meg lå ett kaos av busser, biler, mennesker, sykler, veier og butikker. Jeg hadde vært så innstilt på ruten min. Men hvordan i alle dager skulle jeg komme meg ut av selve Krakow by? Jeg låste fast sykkelen min og dro inn på kjøpesenteret som befant seg sammen med togstasjonen for å finne ett kart. Selvfølgelig valgte jeg ett kart over Polen som inneholdt ekstra kart over de fleste storbyer – men ingen av storbyene var Krakow.
Bare sykle en vei. Ett sted kommer du uansett, tenkte jeg med meg selv. Jeg hev meg på sykkelen, og var klar for eventyr.