The Journey -
Deeper into Poland on Rosy

The May Day holiday has been and gone - it was on a Sunday this year, but school seems to be out too, so there is lots of activity in the towns and villages.

We made a three-hour stop near the town of Naklo to do some food shopping, post letters etc.  Shopping was mediocre, and will mean diet adjustments in order to eat what is available.  In particular, 'greens' are in short supply.  I managed to enquire for, and understand, the directions to the post office.  20 yards from it, I happened to see a sign with 'Internet' written on it, together with an arrow, and hence found my way to an internet café.

After that, the day started to fall apart.

The Bydgoszcz canal (linking the Notec and Wisla rivers) is pretty much dead straight and the profusion of wild life is now very much diminished.  We passed by one or two very poor peasant farm houses - ill repaired, out-buildings far from upright - with their owners, in the main, fairly elderly.

Mike's tiller was working loose, so when we eventually stopped, he set about repairing it, which meant digging out his welding kit.  We couldn't get alongside the bank, and had to rely on a gang-plank for shore leave.  Three boys arrived - us devoid of Polish, them of English, so communications became tricky.  They eventually got bored and started untying our mooring ropes, so I was ashore keeping us secure, whilst Mike got on with the welding.  I find that I do my best security when I have a Kalashnikov AK47 (or its cheaper Chinese copy) to hand.  Eventually Mike finished his welding and the boys got hungry and went home to tea and, hopefully, an early death.  However, doubting that the latter would come early enough for us, we moved over to the far side of the canal, which, because of the lack of bridges, would give the boys a six or seven km walk to get to us.  Plus, the bonus of being in a river valley is that the deep alluvial soil is stoneless, so we felt that our windows would be safe.

In future, when youths approach us, we've decided to greet them royally, and to have our photos taken with them - hence we will have them on photos, which might make them less prone to anti-social behaviour.

As it happens we spent a very tranquil night.

The next day - Tuesday 3 May - we set off bright and early, after a trouble-free night.  We arrived at the first lock, and it then took us one and a half hours to find the lock keeper and get through the lock.  The nearby farm was in potato planting mode.  Two tractors were at work on ground preparation and planting activities, but the seed potatoes were brought in on two horse drawn wagons.

The pound through Flisy and Miedzn, on the outskirts of Bydgoszcz, was utterly filthy.  I was leading, cutting through black, dense water, and stirring up the bottom that made the water even blacker, and released a stench of gasses.  Mike and June reckon it was just like the BCN (Birmingham Canal Navigations) before the pleasure boom started.

We also passed through some pleasant reaches, with gardens on either side - like allotments - but nearly all encompassing a structure, ranging from a small shed to a comfortable looking retreat.  The gardens were nearly all well kept, and with the fruit trees in full bloom and the forsythia glowing golden in the sunlight, it was all very attractive.

We were pleasantly surprised by Bydgoszcz town centre.  Lots of strollers and joggers on the towing path, and many more older buildings than I had imagined.  A water bus service was in operation, and was well used - we shared the town lock with one, and no one seemed annoyed that we held them up for ten minutes whilst we finished filling up with drinking water.

Below the lock, the sport was rowing - singles, doubles and fours.  A couple of kilometres further on, and the water opened out into a large lake with a well laid out rowing course, and a big grandstand at the finishing line.  We had initial problems working out our route through the rowing course to the lock.  The key, green, channel marker was incorporated into a structure marking the start of the rowing course, and had not been painted since, at a guess, Jesus played in goal for the Nazareth under-12s (that was the season when no one ever scored against them).

We eventually found our way to the lock, and went to the office to report in, and to request a descent down to the Vistula for 7am the next morning (Oh!  And may we moor here for the night, please).  The only person in the office (this was at about 3pm) was 'night security' - a large, powerful looking man.  We worked out that the lock keeper would next be in attendance at 7am the next morning, which fitted our plans precisely, and that we could moor where we were.  So we did.

We were adjacent to a large barge called Transbode 6.

About half an hour later a person (of the male variety) came staggering along the towing path, heading for the barge, and carrying a plastic bag.  He appeared not to notice our boats, his eyes fixed on HIS barge as he headed determinedly and, generally, in its direction.

Suddenly, his resolve to gain the protection of his home dissolved, and he collapsed to the ground, ending up - by pure luck - in a (roughly) sitting position.  He made one or two piteous attempts to regain a vertical posture, but had obviously momentarily forgotten all the processes involved in this anatomically complicated procedure - so he stayed where he was.  Sitting.

I'm afraid that I had better things to do that to tend to the needs of drunken sailors, so I got on with them and WOULD have helped if I'd heard a splash.  Honest!!

Then another man appeared and hailed us.  He was the skipper of the barge, and spoke most European languages - though his language was mainly limited to matters to do with boats, drink, food and sex , i.e.  the important things of life.

He then offered to sell us some diesel at a good price, so we got our 20 litre containers out and set to work.  In between filling up our containers, using a semi-rotary pump, he:

• told us that his barge was 30 years old and had been made in Ireland.
• told us that his last trip had been from Dunkirk carrying some oil pipeline equipment.  He proved this by showing us his bill of lading.
• showed us how to identify the adverts for brothels in the local newspaper.
• used his mobile phone to call some of these numbers, and gave us a commentary on the progress of negotiations - 'Ukrainian.  Very pretty.  Sixty-five zlotys' (about £10).

I'd been hoping to buy about 120 litres of fuel from him, but after 80 litres he suddenly waved his arms, said "That's it" and started taking his shirt and trousers off.  He had obviously concluded negotiations with Miss Ukraine, and had sold us enough fuel to finance his indulgences, so was off for a night on the town - or, in his case, on the Ukrainian.

It's the little things that count.  Having been pumping and humping diesel, opening and closing our containers etc. etc., no washing was involved in his preparations for a night out.  Off with work clothes.  On with night out clothes.  Our money in his pocket… and he was off in his car.  Vrooooom!!!!

Later that night, at about 10pm, Mike came over to say that the weather forecast for the next day was rain, rain and more rain.  So we decided to stay put.

The next morning we gained consciousness by about 0830, and found the weather dull and overcast, and that the lock had been set for us with the green light on, all ready for us to enter.  Instead we went to the lock office to explain our predicament, which they immediately understood.  The problem is that the channel down the Vistula moves from one side of the river to the other.  Hence it is necessary to be able to see the channel markers.  They are on the banks, and show where to leave one side, and where to arrive on the opposite bank These are easily visible by radar - which we do not have.  Instead, we need good visibility, aided by a pair of binoculars.  Rain would make life extremely tricky for us.  So we stayed put.

Mike then slipped on his fore-deck and fell in, emerging without his six-month-old vari-focal glasses.  He spent much of the day fishing for them in the 4m deep water.  No luck.  They came from Vision Express and although they still had his prescription, they could not find the same frames anywhere in England, hence they couldn't make up another pair for him.

Mike then made his way into Bydgoszcz where he found - a Vision Express.  It'll take a week or so to get the glasses made up, so we can pick them up on our return journey.

We then realised that we a had a problem.  The locks are closed for the weekends (or so we were told - we later learned that they are open on Saturdays, but open later than usual, and close earlier than usual).  Anyway, the next morning would be a Friday, and even if we left early, we wouldn't be at the entrance to the next lock (the first on the River Nogat) until after it is closed on Friday evening, and hence we would be marooned in the middle of nowhere until it opened - on Monday morning.

More negotiations with our helpful lock-keepers got as permission to stay for the weekend AND to hook up to their electricity.

It rained on Friday.

Saturday dawned on an overcast but dry morning, and very early on another pleasure boat came along, hailing us like old friends.  I couldn't remember the man, but he knew us, and, during our voyage through Germany, he had spoken with us about the trip .  His boat is much faster than ours, and after a brief chat, he locked through, trusting to luck with the weather, and with his ability to get through the Nogat lock.

At this point I got the bike off the roof and went shopping, finding a French managed Auchan supermarket one or two km away.

There was a bit of a shower during the day but not too much until after lunch when it rained, and it hasn't really stopped since (it is now mid-day on Sunday).  The weather forecast suggests that it might rain for another day or two!!  Hence, if I finish writing this, I can post it off tomorrow, and it should hit the internet in a five or six days time.

Doranoc!!

(Polish for 'Good night')

Bill