On February 1st, Artur and Paweł dropped by to test Artur’s new car, a Daewoo Leganza. A car as huge as a living room, as soft as grandma’s sofa, and burning fuel with such dedication you’d think gasoline was going to disappear from the world the next day. Still, we looked at it with pride. After all, not everyone gets the chance to cross Poland in a Korean limo of the “president of the local lumberyard” class. It wasn’t our first time testing various cars, so I wasn’t surprised. When I asked where we were going, I heard “to Gdansk.” I didn’t take it seriously, as I’d heard lines like that plenty of times before. It wasn’t until we passed Nowy Dwor Mazowiecki that a yellow warning light went off in my head. After passing Plonsk, I knew Gdansk was for real. I called my sister to wish her a happy birthday because I realized I wouldn’t be coming home for the night.
The drive was long. Fortunately, the seats were comfortable, and the trip consisted of constantly passing trucks, villages, and endless speed limits. The Leganza bravely swallowed up the miles, though with every passing maneuver, it made it clear that everything has its limits and we shouldn’t expect miracles.
Winter trip to Hel via Gdansk
We finally made it to Gdansk. Winter had turned the city into a postcard. The townhouses looked beautiful, and the wind reminded us that the Baltic Sea never jokes around. We walked with our hands shoved deep in our pockets, trying to look like tough conquerors of the North, though after a few minutes, all anyone dreamed about was the warm inside of the car.
Since we didn’t have a map with us and had trouble getting to the sea (yes, I know, there is no sea right in Gdansk), I asked a highway patrol unit how to get to the coast. After passing those directions to Artur, who was driving, we made it to Hel. On the map, it looks close, but driving there from Gdansk is like driving to Warsaw. The road to the peninsula dragged on like an episode of your favorite TV show without commercial breaks. Snow on all sides, the occasional car, and an increasingly strong wind. The Leganza glided proudly forward, although at times I felt like the crosswinds were trying to convince it to switch provinces.
Winter by the sea: the seagulls have had enough
We reached Hel. We stood by the sea and immediately understood why there are no crowds of tourists there in winter. The wind lashed our faces with such force that you automatically started wondering if ears were really necessary for survival. The sea was the color of lead, the beach was completely empty, and the seagulls looked like they themselves wanted to fly off anywhere else as fast as possible.
Our stay lasted exactly as long as it took to snap a few photos with a digital camera (with the date set wrong, but who cares), walk a bit down the beach, freeze to the bone, and unanimously agree that we had seen everything there was to see. After an hour, each of us rushed back with the enthusiasm of a marathon runner to the Leganza, which had suddenly become the coziest spot on the whole peninsula.
The return trip in the president’s limo
We started the drive back. It got warm in the car, the windows slowly defogged, and exhaustion began to win out over our earlier enthusiasm. The Leganza never once let us down. It didn’t protest, it didn’t hold a grudge against winter, and it didn’t try to stay by the sea. It just patiently did its job, purring its engine as if it knew it was participating in an event that would become a legend years later.
Along the way, Artur drank about as many energy drinks as I did beers. When I was getting out at my apartment building, he declared that, all things considered, we could just head straight to the mountains.
