Table of contents

• Motorcycle tour in Kashubia, Poland “And I thought Kashubia was a dirty word …”
• Frost damage, water damage, piles of sand, puddle after puddle
• Bye! From the dream.
• The Polish Sahara, the Slowinski National Park
• What is a Kashubian now??

Henniges

30th pictures

Henniges

1/30
Low pressure areas can really spoil a tour. Five days of vacation, but not a sunspot! Apart from the Gdansk region.

Henniges

2/30
Hike in the Slowinski National Park: Because of the many dunes over 40 meters high, the region is also known as the “Polish Sahara”.

Henniges

3/30
The snow-white sand on the Baltic Sea.

Henniges

4/30
Blue sky! This is how you wish the weather for a tour.

Henniges

5/30
Dominik’s low pressure area did not make it to Kashubia. The sun can still be seen here.

Henniges

6/30
The journey lasted four days. A total of 1400 km were covered.

Henniges

7/30
Capital: Warsaw
Area: 312,679 km
Currency: zloty
Population: 38.6 million

Henniges

8/30
The big tour continues.

Henniges

9/30
Watch out!

Henniges

10/30
Poland’s small country roads are sometimes in a desolate state.

Henniges

11/30
Back to basics: Potatoes and fried eggs are considered delicacies.

Henniges

12/30
The road conditions in Poland take getting used to.

Henniges

13/30
Off through the middle: gravel roads are also not uncommon.

Henniges

14/30
Seemingly endless expanses.

Henniges

15/30
The four days weren’t entirely without rain.

Henniges

16/30
Stop at the port.

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17/30
And suddenly it gets cloudy.

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18/30
There is no shortage of small supermarkets.

Henniges

19/30
Painted house fronts are a real change on gray days.

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20/30
Welcome to Kashubia: a wild landscape that could hardly be more varied.

Henniges

21/30
Out into the green.

Henniges

22/30
The wind from the Baltic Sea benefits – wind turbines adorn the landscape,

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23/30
Not bad either: advertisement for back protectors in a Polish motorcycle magazine.

Henniges

24/30
Greetings welcome: On the many lonely country roads you often come across horse and carts.

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25/30
Aunt Emma and her shop: having everything from shoe polish to grapevines.

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26/30
Honey is sold everywhere on the roadside.

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27/30
Of course, the food shouldn’t be neglected.

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28/30
The lonely avenues are often only used by one vehicle a day.

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29/30
Typical Polish village.

Henniges

30/30
Lost again: In nowhere between Butow and Koscierzyna we are surprised by a storm front. Nevertheless, this tour was definitely worth it.

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Motorcycle tour in Kashubia, Poland

Motorcycle tour in Kashubia, Poland
“And I thought Kashubia was a dirty word …”

Ever heard of Kashubians? Me, yes. My father, who worked in construction, mostly used the expression “old Kashubian” when it came to a mischievous colleague. Until May 2013, I thought Kashubia was some kind of swear word. However, this is not entirely true…

Rolf Henniges

05.12.2013

It is May 25, 2013. Today the culprit is Dominik. I could strangle him. Honestly. The week before his name was Christoffer. In general, since the beginning of the year there have been a total of 56 such evildoers who take away our motorcyclists’ desire to drive. These 56 low pressure areas came like a string of pearls and did not give the sun the slightest chance. Just like today. I’m sitting in front of a map of Europe with my best friend Andreas, and we have five days of vacation. Cannot be moved, no chance. “Dominik is everywhere,” grumbles Andreas. “Only up here there should be some sun.” His finger circles around Danzig. I take a closer look at the map. “That doesn’t exist!” I shout. “Do you know the expression ‘old Kashubian’? I thought it was a slang word for rascal. Here, look, that’s where they come from. ”My finger remains on the map. A match’s length from Gdansk is Kashubia, a region as big as the Saarland. “Well then,” grins Andreas, “let’s kill two birds with one stone: We’ll go where the sun shines and we will clarify what the Kashubians are all about …”

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After around seven million liters of water thrown at us with force on the journey, we are on the morning of May 27 at the German-Polish border crossing in Hohenwutzen, near Eberswalde. And that under a bright blue sky. Welcome to the only sunspot in Europe. Poland welcomes us with signs like “Erotic Accessories” or “We’ll buy your car too”. Immediately after crossing the border, the price of petrol lures us to a petrol station with what feels like a hundred pumps. You want 1.32 euros for the liter of super here. A little tip: It is a few cents cheaper inland.

Frost damage, water damage, piles of sand, puddle after puddle

“Shall we exchange money right here at the border?” Poland is in the EU. We can safely pay with euros everywhere, ”I say convincingly and enter Koszalin as an intermediate destination in the GPS. Guided tour: “Shortest way”. Our first kilometers are flanked by houses with the following signs in their front gardens: “Club”, “Bar”, “Drink”. The navigation command “Shortest way” also shows its disadvantage: We drive over the smallest of paths, the asphalt skin of which is peppered with holes. Frost damage, water damage, sand accumulations, puddle after puddle. But the route guidance “shortest route” has another disadvantage: you cucumber through every city center. In Szczecin we are part of a gigantic sheet metal snake for almost 40 minutes, crawling across the streets in slow motion. Almost every second car is dented, every third car is lowered, and almost all of them have a radio antenna. Smoke break. “In my next life, I’ll be a radio antenna seller in Poland,” grows Andreas. “And I’m probably already a millionaire at 25.”

40 kilometers further. We are in the Polish outback, streets made of a mix of sand and cobblestones, no sidewalks, side streets made of pure sand. A supermarket at the entrance to the village: concrete box, painted red, four small white windows. The waitress speaks only Polish. Does not matter. But she only wants Polish money. Nothing with euros. An incident that will turn out to be routine rather than an isolated incident on the further journey. “What a bummer,” growls Andreas, who already felt a delicious ice cream melting on his tongue, “we should have swapped.” The sun is burning. A thermometer shows 28 degrees. We peel. Three layers of fleece were appropriate for the start in the rain, but are superfluous here like a goiter. And it gets a lot hotter.

Henniges

The lonely avenues are often only used by one vehicle a day.

Because SHE comes from a side street. Legs like Gisele Bundchen. Apple buttocks. Head of hair as if painted. No bra. Just a thin top. She doesn’t go. No, it floats. The best, however, is her trousers, leggings in the stars and stripes look. Left leg stars, right stripes. Close-fitting like a body painting. Birds fall silent. Branches turn against the wind. And my heart suddenly misfires. Not that I want to marry this twenty-year-old marvel of nature on the spot and have 83 children with her. No. My photographic gaze has an orgasm. I see the photo of the year: the dirty street, reflecting puddles and this girl who casually holds Andreas ’Arai helmet in her hand and supports him on her thigh. Because the helmet decor is also stars and stripes. Long focal length lens. She stands with her legs apart, a hundred meters away Andreas is roasting his Triumph Street Triple across the street. The photo of the century. This butt. This helmet. Format filling. And far in the background: the triple – tiny.

Bye! From the dream.

“Are you okay?” Andreas pinches me. I will report on the photo idea in a few words. Meanwhile, the girl gets into an off-road vehicle. Bye! From the dream. Go on. At Belgard we turn onto the busy federal road 6 towards Koszalin. Trucks drove towards us, huge plumes of dust in tow. You really don’t know whether this is soot or dust. So much for the EU regulation with the green sticker. The landscape is vast and changeable. Wild forests, hills like bubbles, huge emigrant farms. This area was once one of the most important agricultural surplus areas in Pomerania. On the way to Darlowo, we understand that Pomerania translates as “located by the sea”. The small country road 203 winds through a landscape that has probably not changed a bit in the last three hundred years. Villages without sidewalks, open canals, free-roaming dogs, goats, chickens. Leaning electricity pylons, destroyed fences in front of damaged half-timbered houses. We take a room in Darlowo.

Henniges

Watch out: Poland’s small country roads are sometimes in a desolate state.

When I wake up the next morning, my skull is booming. My request for vodka orange juice was opposed the evening before. Poland’s national drink – there were 21 different types in the bar – is only consumed neat. For this reason, I’m not sure what I’m seeing right now: a man in shorts and tattered leather sandals is tinkering on the canopy of a four-story building that keeps slipping off his feet. No belt, no rope, no protection. No helmet. Pointed iron pegs lurk below, where a fence probably once lived. “No, you’re not dreaming,” says Andreas, “I see the same thing. Occupational safety is not exactly a top priority in Poland. ”His assessment is true on various construction sites that we pass over further kilometers. Workers use a special flex, the size of a chainsaw, to cut concrete slabs. Nobody wears earmuffs, gloves or safety glasses.

Today’s destination is the Slowinski National Park, also known to insiders as the “Polish Sahara”. We drive on Pomerania’s coastal region close to the sea. Time has not stood still here, but the present has not yet arrived. We meet people in fluttery tracksuits who either walk or ride a bike. Many of them carry overfilled plastic bags or camping gas bottles. Men standing by a huge pile of firewood with a hatchet, and women with headscarves sinking into the wet soil of their large vegetable garden. Agriculture as the basis of life. And while people in Germany are wondering what color the sevenfold thermal insulation should be painted in, or whether they prefer to install triple-glazed windows instead of double, one is happy up here on Poland’s coast if the house has a front door at all.

The Polish Sahara, the Slowinski National Park

Henniges

Hike in the Slowinski National Park: Because of the many dunes over 40 meters high, the region is also known as the “Polish Sahara”.

In the late afternoon we reach Leba. We are told that it is already too late for a trip to the “Polish Sahara”. The park, which you are not allowed to enter with a car, will be closed overnight. Strange, because you can’t break anything here. There is only sand. Plenty of sand, in fact. Over 40 meter high dunes tower over an area of ​​550 hectares. Anyone who has never been to the Sahara before will get an idea of ​​what it looks like there. In full motorcycle gear, we climb the dunes the next day. Sweaty endeavor. “Are we actually already in the land of the Kashubians?” Asks Andreas. “No. If I remember correctly, Kashubia is a 50 km wide and 100 km long incision from the coast between Gdansk and Lebork towards the inland. “

It was not until the afternoon of that day that our bicycles started rolling over the scarred streets of Kashubia. It is stormy. The wind tears the plumes of smoke from the chimneys like a brazen thief. Wild expanse dominates. With places like wasp nests and huge trees guarding time. We drive along narrow forest aisles and finally land in Kartuzy, the Kashubian capital. It is located in the middle of Kashubian Switzerland, a hilly landscape, the throws of which do not rise above 331 meters.

What is a Kashubian now??

It is shortly before sunset and we end up in a small inn. “While we’re here, I’ll ask about a Kashubian specialty right away,” says Andreas and is then served a hot turnip soup. Anyway, the soups here: nut soup, tomato soup with noodles, potato soup, beetroot soup. Everything delicious, everything freshly made. Everything traditional, says the landlord and explains to us: The Kashubian cuisine is fundamentally honest. Everything that the local soil has to offer is used. The raw materials such as fish, meat, eggs, milk, vegetables or fruit are prepared without too much frills. Traditionally, just like the Kashubians are.

The landlord speaks broken German, so I tell him that my father often used the term Kashube. Our landlord looks at the kitchen floor, then says: “Kashube is also a common expression for farmer. This has often been linked to ignorance. We Kashubians have saved our traditions through all the wars and expulsions over the centuries because we never wanted anything other than a piece of fertile land and peace. Is that pejorative? ”We shake our heads. No. Admirable in fact. Because why strive for more than warmth and a full stomach? Well, and maybe a vodka …

Late in the evening, before going to bed, Andreas says: “Tell me, did your father use other expressions?” “Yes. He often said: ‘Off to Wallachia’. “My friend grins to himself:” Well, then we already have a goal for next year, right? “

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