Białowieża bison country: by the numbers

October 11-13, 2013

Żubr.  The Polish word for bison.  It's also a really awkward word to try to get your lips and tongue around.  Luckily we get practice here since there is a beer with the same name, as well as a vodka - żubrówka (they add -ówka to the end of words and suddenly it means a tasty treat made from that item - often times alcoholic).  Żubrówka vodka is fortunately not made from actual bison parts, but is known as bison grass vodka because there is a piece of bison grass in it to give it a bit of color (and flavor maybe).  Someone once told me that a bison pees on all of the grass before it goes into the bottles, but hopefully that's just an urban legend.  Actually, probably a lot of things pee on that grass before it goes into the bottle.  Who cares, I still like it, especially with apple juice (I never thought of that combination before coming to Poland, but it's very popular).  Anyway, since bison show up in Polish culture a lot, it seemed fitting to visit the part of the country where they live.  And Ken and Marta had the idea that we should get a small group to go.  What started out as just a few of us suddenly turned into a big group.  So off we went (of course, with some Żubrówka).  Mark, Ewa and I left Warsaw together expecting to be first to arrive.  But somehow we were almost last.

 

Białowieża

There were 14 of us in the group, and we took 4 cars, had 2 great dogs, and spent 2 nights in a huge house in Swinoroje that Marta found for us.  It was great that there were so many nice people to take care of me, since I was physically unable to do much with my arm injury (actually I was totally fine, just faking it so people would cater to my every request).  They cooked for me, tied my shoes, dressed me, and generally took care of me like I was a small child.  Ok, so nobody dressed me, I did it myself, because I'm actually a big boy.

 

Excited to see bison!

We didn't have much of an agenda, except to relax, walk in the Białowieża forest (the oldest forest in Europe), and enjoy the house and company.  I guess we had false expectations of seeing bison roaming the fields from our living room window, because there are only 500 in the whole region.  When we told our forest tour guide that we wanted to see bison, he said with a straight face "There's been a misunderstanding. If you want to see żubr, go to the zoo".  And that was the end of our dream (but we did go to the zoo and saw bison at least).  But only 500?  That was a surprise.  I guess there used to be many thousands, then it dwindled down to basically none because of hunting, until protection and controlled breeding brought them back into existence.

 

We wanted to see this in the wild 

 

But settled to see them in the zoo

Speaking of numbers, I'll tell you about the trip through these numbers.

1 - As in Uno, a game we played til the wee hours (Renata cheated, and when she didn't win, she threatened to dig some graves for us in the backyard).

2 - The number of Romanian feet dancing on the dining table while others were trying to play Pictionary on said table.  

3 - The number of items our waiter delivered to us in the first hour during lunch after the forest walk.  As in one beer, one water, and one Coke (not counting the 3 tea cups with no water).  In an HOUR.  For 11 people.  We went to a fancy restaurant called Carska, in an old train station, where the Russian Tsar used to go.  We were all tired and hungry, and the service at this place was the world record's worst.  We were in the private back room (which we thought was a good sign), and there was a private-private room that people had to walk through our room to get to.  For every 4 times the waitress went to the private-private room, our waiter came only once (and every time the other waitress opened the door you could hear everyone breathe in the air of hope, then breathe out the disappointment as she politely said "nope, not for you" and entered the private-private room, making everyone in there happy).  And generally our guy didn't do anything even when he came into our room.  He even talked back to us when we complained about how long it was taking ("this isn't a milk bar" was my favorite response of his, and it was kind of funny so I wasn't too mad).  Of course nobody was happy, but once the bread came out (over an hour into our stay), our moods shifted and all was well in the world.  The food turned out to be pretty good (but expensive), and not worth putting up with the service.  It had us reminiscing about the previous world's worse service in Ukraine.  

3.5 - The number of hours it should have taken Mark, Ewa and me to get to Białowieża.

6 - The number of hours it actually took Mark, Ewa and me to get to Białowieża from Warsaw. At least by going the long way through Białystok, it meant 2.5 more hours of Nirvana and Ace of Base sing-a-longs in the car

9 - The number of countries represented by our group. Agnieszka, Ela, Renata, Marta and Ewa from Poland, Russian Julia, Scottish Mark, English Alan, English/Martian Jay (people from Mauritius are called Martians right?), Italian Silvia (insert hand gesture here), Romanian Cristina, Aussie Mark, and Ken and me from US.  I love the mix! (updated - sorry Julia!)

O - That's not a number, that's the shape of a vinyl record.  And vinyl records are still cool.  The house had a record player (that many of us didn't know how to operate) with dozens of classic albums, and it reminded me of playing records at my parents house growing up.  For some reason the only record I can remember listening to as a kid was John Denver and the Muppets Christmas album.  I even have the album on my iPod today.  Don't judge until you listen to it!

10 - The number of zloty I lost to Scottish Mark, playing Poker from 3 to 5 am. Why didn't we just go to sleep?

11 - As in 11pm, the time Aussie Mark had to go to bed after he fell backwards in his chair having too much fun.  Ewa gave him the look, and Mark knew it was time.  And I mean the look of "YOU need to go to bed", not the look of "Hey baby, let's go to bed".   

15 - The number of pieces Aussie Mark cut my schabowy into at dinner one night, because I couldn't cut it myself with my injured arm (thanks dad!).  We found a GREAT meal at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, where the food was super cheap and was made from grandma's kitchen (not my grandma, a Polish grandma).  Oh, how I love Polish grandmas (and my grandma too).   

18 - The number of wheels on the big semi-trucks, or "tir", that stop so the drivers can eat at the truck stops we passed.  "Tir" is the Polish word for semi-truck.  And to prove how simple the Polish language can be, a nice lady in a short skirt that stands on the side of the road waiting for a truck driver to pick her up is called a "tirówka" (see note above about adding "-ówka" to the end of words, and how it turns a word into a tasty treat).  If you don't understand the connection between these ladies and truck drivers, let's just say they are looking for a ride in more ways than one.  

19 - The IQ of the man who stopped his car in the middle of the highway to get out and yell at us for flashing him.  He was making some dangerous passes, so Mark flashed the lights to let him know to stop being an idiot (I guess don't do that next time, Mark!).  Anyway, we showed him who was boss by driving around his car on the shoulder and driving away.  A-hole.  But I guess he could have chased us down and axe-murdered us...luckily he didn't, and we got home safe and sound.  At least we know what not to do next time.  

120 - The number of minutes we spent with the guide in the forest.  He started off really grumpy, yelling at us for not knowing where the entrance to the forest was, seemingly trying to run away from us after taking our money, and generally being unpleasant.  But after we stepped into the forest, he transformed and magically became a very friendly and passionate guy, and the tour turned very interesting, listening to him talk about trees, mushrooms that look like a penis, the forest animals, and the history of the region.  Yea, they really did look like a penis.  Of course I took a picture, but I don't want to prove how immature I am by showing it to you. 

140.6 - The number of miles my friend Kelly swam, biked and ran in her Ironman race in Kona, in honor of her late friend Mari.  The race was during our night time on this trip...she started just before we had dinner, and finished just before we ate breakfast the next morning.  I tracked her on GPS and could watch her progress throughout the race...the technology is pretty cool! If you haven't heard Kelly's story, check it out. 

200 - The number of pierogi the Polish girls (and foreign helpers) cooked for dinner, using the mushrooms Ewa, Mark and Aga picked (Ewa is an expert mushroom picker).  And when I say "cooked", I mean that they had a dance party to Saturday Night Fever, while rolling and folding pierogi.  It was quite impressive. Afterwards, Ewa admitted that if we didn't boil the mushrooms for at least 20 minutes, we would have all gotten sick. So I think the dance party saved us. 

 

It took them about an hour to find 2 billion mushrooms

 

Pierogi party

 

They're supposedly cooking right now

587 - The number of times everyone said "Go Huskies" during our card games to support UW's game against Oregon (I got to make a rule in the game and made everyone say it at the end of every sentence).  Unfortunately we lost. Go Huskies.  

1,000,000 - The number of vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow that encompassed us all over the forest.  It's hard to beat the colors of autumn.

 

Colors of autumn

0 - The number of people out of  my 13 travel companions who responded to my request to quote them for this blog. So if you want to know their thoughts, I guess you'll have to ask them.  And if you think this post is boring, it's obviously their fault. 

0 - Also the number of days I want to wait til the next fun big group trip, although I guess I have to stay in Warsaw and work sometimes...  But I'm pretty sure you'll be hearing about another one soon.  Go Huskies!

 

Group hug, until next time...

UK wedding and countryside

"Where's my passport?", asked Mike, at 5:45 am on the day of our departure to London.  Our taxi was supposed to come in 15 minutes. I ignored him, because I had only a couple hours of sleep and was busy packing my stuff (and it's fun to ignore him).  Kristin was in the other room, getting ready as well, packing up her 17 suitcases.  Next thing I notice, all of Mike's clothes are scattered around the living room, and he is checking all of the pockets, compartments, jackets and pants that he can find.  "I haven't taken it out since last week when we went to Krakow".  There's no panic in his voice, just the sound of a sleepy hangover.  So does he really not have his passport?  Apparently not.  Uh oh.  My first thought was that it might still be on the train to Krakow.  But we didn't take out our passports, so that wasn't likely.  I started looking under couches, rugs, TVs, books, bicycles, basically everywhere a passport would NOT be, but I figured it was better than just standing there watching Mike slowly grow into a panic.  The cab was on its way, and he obviously wasn't ready. He checked everywhere.  Then he checked everywhere again.  Note: HE checked "everywhere".   As in only he can confirm that he looked "everywhere", whatever that means.  He only had a small roller bag and a small backpack, so there weren't too many places the passport could be hiding. 

We brainstormed all the places the passport could be, and he kept repeating in his hungover morning voice "Where is it?  I really have no idea" (he's from Quebec so you should say it with a French accent...but a Canadian French accent, because it's different).  He got on the phone with his Embassy (Canada, not France) to find out if he could travel without it.  Even though we were going to somewhere in the EU, he still needed his passport since he didn't have a European ID.  Already 30 minutes late, we decided to go to the airport anyway, to see if there was a way he could travel without it.  Kristin and I checked in, but then I realized that if Mike couldn't travel, I would have to stay in Warsaw with him.  So the agent at the check-in desk convinced me not to leave my bag yet, and to drop it off later if we decided we would travel.  Mike visited the LOT airlines office, then called his Embassy again, before Kristin and I listened to the bad news.  He couldn't fly and he'd have to apply for a new visa at the Embassy in Warsaw on Monday (it was Saturday), with the likelihood of getting the new passport a couple days after that. Basically, that was not good news.  We were going to England for Trish and Stu's wedding on Thursday, so we might at least make it in time for the wedding, but his "future wife" and 1 year old baby were already on their way to London to meet him that day.  They wouldn't be happy.  

We suggested that he check the pockets in his bags again, as now that he was a little more awake, and there was different lighting in the airport, maybe he would find it.  But he insisted he already checked "everywhere".  So, we accepted our fate, and said good-bye to Kristin, as she made her way to the gate, telling her we'd probably see her in a few days.  In my head I was thinking about all the fun we'd be missing out on in UK (but secretly I was glad I would have time to finish a bunch of work I had to do).  As we walked away, Mike made the inappropriate comment: "wouldn't it be funny if the plane crashed and we were supposed to be on it?".  No, actually it wouldn't be funny at all!  He wasn't serious.  At least I don't think he was.  Actually he probably was, but I'm going to pretend he wasn't.

I remembered someone told me that if you don't use your non-refundable flight ticket, it might be possible to at least recover the taxes.  So I went to the LOT ticketing desk to cancel the flight, to try to get some money back, and to figure out options to book the next flight.  I asked the agent if it was cheaper to book a new flight, or to pay the change fee, and she was looking into it.  She said it would be better to just buy a brand new ticket so I was about to tell her to cancel my existing ticket, and we'd just buy new ones when Mike got his passport.  Tickets were going to be around $300, which wasn't too bad for last minute flights.  Then I heard a soft, embarrassed voice behind me (in a French accent): "Tristan...".  I turn around, and standing there, with his dumb Canadian passport in his dumb Canadian hand, is dumb Canadian (French) Mike, with a dumb French-Canadian smile on his face.  I wanted to Canadian slap him.  If he had found it 5 seconds later, my ticket would have been cancelled, and I would have had to buy another one.  But I smiled, turned to the nice lady helping me, said "uhhh, nevermind" and within 2 seconds started running to the check-in counter.  It was closing in 10 minutes, and I still had to check my bag!  And of course, the line was HUGE.  Mike didn't have to check anything, and he already had his boarding pass, so while I was standing in line waiting to drop my bag, dumb Canadian Mike kept asking me "why are you taking so long?"  How not-awesome would it have been if he finally found the passport, but then I missed the flight because I couldn't check my bag in time, because the lady told me not to do it the first time?  Luckily, I got to the front with about a minute to spare, and the same lady who helped me before welcomed me: "I'm glad you're back, what happened?".  I explained that we could fly now because my friend found his passport in the last hour.  She didn't understand what I meant by "found his passport",  At the airport?  How is that possible?  Is he a dumb French Canadian?  The concept of him finding his passport at the airport didn't make any sense to her.  Nor to me, for that matter.  Only dumb French Canadian Mike could FIND his passport at the airport, after losing it somewhere else.  But anyway, we made our flight, and the week in UK began.  And I made him take back his earlier comment about the plane crashing. 

Apparently, the passport was in a secret pocket in his backpack that even he didn't know about.  The passport fairy must have put it there.  


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I was looking forward to this trip for a long time.  Mike and Kristin spent a week in Poland with me, then we were going to meet a bunch of other friends from all over the UK and US for the wedding.  We all know each other from our days working together in San Jose, CA and we've been on several trips in different corners of the world together.  The plan was to spend a night in London, a few days in the country side, go to the wedding, then visit Megan's family in Wales for the weekend.  There were 8 of us travelling together, plus Mike and Pascale's little girl, Amanda.  Marcie, Michael, and Marilyn made 8. 

 

I don't know how Mike left this little one to come to Poland for a week

We had scheduled out roughly what we were going to do and where we were going to stay for the week, and lucky for me, someone else was in charge.  I was pretty busy with work and other stuff that I didn't have much chance to do any planning.  Luckily, I was able to just show up, get into Mike's rental car, sleep where people told me to sleep, and everything was taken care of.  After lunch on the day we arrived, we spent most of the afternoon taking a nap, since everyone had flown in on red-eyes from North America, and we were going to have to stay up all night to party with Trish and Stu.  We joked that it was a combination bachelor/bachelorette party (which they call stag and hen do's in UK), so a combined party would be a "hag party".  It was funny at the time, so it's ok for you laugh a little.  Our hotel was near Trafalgar Square, which meant easy access to lots of shops, food, bars, and stuff to keep us entertained for the day we were in London. I definitely prefer the "cute" streets of London and not the huge attractions, and we got a little of that.  It's always a shock to remember how small Warsaw is compared to these huge cities.  My favorite part about it was that we found a Chipotle, and I was able to get a burrito for breakfast on the morning we left. I was their first customer, standing outside their door 10 minutes before they opened, leaning against the door, with my forehead and nose on the glass.

The dinner and party was fun, at a place called Little Italy in Soho.  The 8 of us met with Trish and Stu, and another friend who lived in San Jose with us, Cath, also joined.  She was visiting her family in UK but lives in San Diego.  After dinner the place turned into a dance club with tons of bachelorette parties (so there was a really good ratio), with 70s and 80s music.  The only downside was that a shot of vodka was either 10 or 15 GBP, depending on the brand.  For 10 GBP you can buy a bottle of vodka in a bar in Warsaw.  I guess we weren't in Warsaw anymore.  But you do get free water in UK, which we don't get in Poland, so that basically made up for the high prices.  No.  No, it didn't. 

 

I still don't know what I'm supposed to do with this

The next day we went back to the airport to pick up rental cars and took off to the Cotswolds.  The Cotswolds are an area in England with rolling hills and gorgeous landscapes that is literally classified as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, according to Wikipedia (seriously, that's a real thing). We stopped in Windsor on the way,to visit the Queen (the flag was up so I guess she was home) on this wet and windy day (but that's not news, it's the UK).  The one surprise is the food we ate was really good.  Meat pies and, well, meat pies, were what I liked.  Amanda the baby had the duck for lunch, as she does (seriously...she eats better than I do).  We drove to our cottage in Willersey without any problems driving on the wrong side of the road (thanks Mike!).  The buildings don't have house numbers so they give the houses funny names, like Yew Tree Cottage (ours) and Turnpike Terrace (they sound like names from video games).  The cottage was really big, with everything we needed.  I slept on the sofa bed downstairs, far away from the snoring, coughing and baby noises.  So even though I didn't have a proper bed, I probably got the best sleep.  We stayed there for 3 nights, playing in iPads, or visiting the village pubs each night ("pubbing", as we call it) - the New Inn and the Bell Inn.  When we went in the New Inn, we obviously looked out of place because everyone stopped and looked at us.  They were really nice in the end, but we felt a bit like we were intruding.  When there are only 2 pubs in the village, and nothing else is open, I guess they get to know everyone.  One entertaining thing was that a drunk "regular" asked Mike if he was Needledrop.  We were all really confused, thinking he was making some weird English joke (or maybe we didn't understand his accent, since English people don't speak English very well).  Turns out Needledrop is a blogger who this guy follows.  He pulled up a picture of him and we all laughed for the next 3 days straight.

 

The Bell Inn, in Willersey

 

Pascale and Needledrop

 

Mike  

Often when you think of places in the world that would be "easy" to visit, you think about countries where they speak English.  Naturally that means it's easier to communicate, read signs and menus, and figure out what is going on around you.  But not really here.  I mean, do they even speak English in England?  I'm not sure.  They use weird words, speak in a weird accent, and all of the town names are tongue twisters. Just a few places we saw along the way: Stow-on-the-Wold, Moreton in Marsh, Evenlode, Chipping Campden, and Aston Subedge.  Like most English towns or street names, they are probably all pronounced completely different than they appear.  Seriously though, do people actually say "I'm thinking of stopping for lunch in Moreton in Marsh" or "The Ikea in Stow-on-the-Wold is really nice"?  Why can't they have normal, easy-to-pronounce names like Kazimierz Dolny and Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki?

In order to find to some smart people to talk to about their so-called English language, we headed to the famous town of Oxford.  I didn't realize it, but Oxford is home to many different colleges, not just one main one.  And the buildings look like Hogwarts!  I felt smart just being there, and found myself muttering "Expelliarmus" from time to time (you're a nerd if you know what that means).  We learned a bit about the strange names here, in that the name Oxford (from 1100 years ago), comes from the combination of oxen and ford (river crossing), because that's what used to happen there.  Ok, so, that actually makes sense.  1 point for England.  Another weird named place we went to is Stratford Upon Avon (the river is called Avon).  Of course, this is where Shakespeare was from, born there in 1564.  You probably didn't know he was that old, since he married Anne Hathaway, and she still looks pretty good for her age (although I didn't like when she cut her hair short in Les Miserables).  Wait a minute, is she French or English?  Anyway, we did the "Stratford Town Walk" tour for 5 GBP around the city, with a very funny older British guy.  I think all older British guys are funny...something about the accent and the fact you can't understand it, but they speak very confidently, and other people laugh, so it must be funny.   I picked up a book they recommended about the origin of the idioms that we use, and how Shakespeare was very influential in those (like something being "Greek to me", tongue tied, or vanishing into thin air).  

 

Oxford 

 

Shakespeare's house

 

Stratford upon Avon

 

One cool chick

Another educational tidbit is that the term "shire" basically means an area of small towns.  Apparently it was not invited by the Hobbits.  So a lot of names in England end with -shire, meaning it's the bigger region of a collection of towns (or villages), like a county.  So Worcestershire is actually a shire that includes the town of Worcester, and it's also where Worcestershire sauce is from.  And that's why we pronounce it differently than it's spelled (Worchester, instead of Worchestersure), because the English don't speak English!

Stonehenge and Bath were a couple other stops during the week.  The Stonehenge audit guide was interesting, but didn't really say much other than "we don't know why or how they built it".  It's still pretty amazing to see.  In Bath, the group walked around while I worked in a coffee shop (nothing interesting to say about that).

 

Amanda loves Stonehenge

 

Even after all these adventures, the main attraction was Trish and Stu's wedding.  We checked into our hotel (the Talbot Inn in Somerset), a nice country inn, with super friendly staff, about an hour before we had to head out.  Living in Poland, I miss places with super friendly staff who actually make you feel like anything is possible, and they actually want to help the customer (you know, like do their job).  We basically had 45 minutes to get ready for the wedding, then headed over to Babington House, a gorgeous place for a ceremony.  It looked like something out of some English movie in the 1900s.  And the wedding itself was great.  The speeches had me dying of laughter (after you figure out what they're saying, those English are so funny!).  We looked at the menu and thought we'd have to choose out of a selection of 3 starters, 3 mains and 3 desserts, but in fact we got all of them.  And not to be outdone by Polish weddings, they also had food and drinks and dancing until 3am (the only thing missing was Polish vodka).  I got a side ache while dancing because I ate so much...I didn't even know that was possible.  We partied all night, and the happy couple was there with us til the end.  They must have been exhausted, but Trish was able to do a little Irish jig with her sisters and mom, and hang out with us til the last person dropped (and most of her 8 siblings stayed til the end as well - yes, there are 9 of them...an Irish family!).  Since we came from all over the world - England, Canada, East Coast, West Coast, Australia, and of course Poland, they wanted to spend the time with us.  We had all scattered after finishing work in San Jose (3-5 years ago), and it just goes to show how much we wanted to be there with them, because they're an amazing couple - the nicest and most accommodating people.  One thing I appreciated about their wedding is that it was on a Thursday, which is a great idea.  After the wedding, you still have the whole weekend to recover! It's great!

 

Talbot Inn

 

Are you kidding me with that wedding chapel?

 

Trish getting jiggy

On hangover Friday we packed up our stuff and headed to Megan's family in Wales (in Rhoose, a village close to the capital of Cardiff).  When we crossed the border into Wales (it's a different country, you know), all of the signs started having even more funny, more unpronounceable words on them. It was like we just went into a strange alien planet, with subtitles. Her parents were lovely and accommodating to let all 8 and a half of us stay there.  Her mom even granted our wish by cooking cottage pie (the beef version of shepherd's pie) and beef cobbler for dinner. It was so awesome I couldn't sleep because my stomach was too full.  Sitting next to Marcie I was always tempted to help her eat her leftovers.  Bad idea!  But also a great idea. 

 

English hangover breakfast, minus the beans

 

What?

 

Someone's cat was walking on the keyboard again

The next day, Megan's dad took us on a tour of Cardiff, first to St. Fagan's castle, next to the open air Welsh History Museum.  One of the guys who used to live in the castle was named Other.  I thought it was that one, but it was the Other one.  I laughed for about 5 minutes, until the security guard-slash-tour guide told me that you don't pronounce it like that.  We thought he was the security guard (he was dressed like one), because he was just standing there staring at nothing.  But once I started giggling at the guy named Other, he corrected me and made a 10 minute speech about the history of the house and the family that lived there.  It was actually pretty interesting, but then I started laughing again.  Sorry to anyone named Other.  The "house" itself was just like Downton Abbey, with sitting rooms that they didn't need, huge bedrooms on display, servants areas with bells that ring when someone needs something, a big kitchen where all the cooks and helpers made the feasts, and on the wall was posted a list of duties for Mr Carson the butler, Mr Bates the valet, Mrs Patmore the cook, and all the maids and footmen. I guess it used to be like that in real life (and maybe still is in some places).  The open air museum was also really cool, with different buildings and styles to show different parts of history, farming, and infrastructure.  Definitely more interesting than walking through a building seeing small scale models and pictures.  In this museum, we actually got to go inside all of the exhibits.

 

St. Fagan's castle

We also took a walk around Cardiff Harbor, which is very modern, and the city center, which is more old-style traditional, with an 11th century castle in the middle of it. We had a good lunch at the harbor, but an even better Indian dinner at Raj Kinara with Megan's parents and Aunt/Uncle, near their house. They were all super friendly and the food was fantastic.  The United Kingdom's national dish is actually Chicken Tikka Masala, so I'm not surprised that the Indian food is good.  Even the power outage while we were waiting for our food didn't dampen the mood.  It was out for entire meal, and it got a bit hot and stuffy, but generally everything went on like nothing happened. Nobody in the restaurant complained, nobody left, even those waiting to be seated continued to wait.  The servers worked extra hard to make everything work, and in the end, we enjoyed the meal by candlelight. I had some lamb and potatoes in a tomato-based minced lamb sauce (lots of lamb in Wales), with rice, salad and naan. I could eat that every day. Every day until my heart stopped I guess.  It was our last big meal in the UK, as the next morning we headed back to London to head home.  It was a great 8 days, and a great way to see more of the UK countryside.  I'm glad that the trip that almost didn't happen, ended up happening without any major hitches.  There's still a lot more of the UK to see outside of London, and I hope to get to more in the future.

 

Cardiff Harbor

 

Dining in the dark

#100: Bike trip to Ciechanów and Maków

This is the 100th entry on this blog since I moved to Warsaw about 3 years ago, which means I've had a lot of stories and experiences to share.  Whether you've read only 1 post, or all 100, 10 times each, I am happy to have you here.  I don't take any of that for granted, as every trip, race, and cultural experience has made my time here something pretty wonderful, and I love sharing it with you. 

The bike trip I want to tell you about is no exception.  Thanks for visiting!

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July 11-13, 2013

When Mark told me about his plans to do a 200+ km bike trip from Warsaw (over a couple days), I assumed he had others going with him.  Or at least his girlfriend.  When he told me he was going by himself, I immediately imposed myself on him, even if he didn't want me to, and even if it would make his girlfriend jealous.  It was for his own good anyway, as I didn't want him to bike alone on the road with all those crazy Polish drivers, or have to drink vodka alone in the hotel bars every night.  I'm so thoughtful that way.  But really it was more for me, so I could explore more of Poland with someone who knew where he was going, and so I could get in a bit of bike training before another triathlon. 

The idea was to ride north through Ciechanów, a town most known these days for its castle and brewery, then head East towards Maków Mazowiecki, near where Mark used to visit his family as a child.  Mark is from Australia but has Polish roots, and spent time at the family's house in the Polish countryside.  He goes on a bike trip every year, and since he hadn't visited this place since he moved to Poland, he figured it was time.  I was happy to tag along.

We headed off around mid-day hoping to arrive by dinner.  Our friends Tyler and Carolyn recently published a cycling guide around Warsaw (ibikeWawa - which you can download now for the very low price of 9 Euros!!), with very in-depth descriptions, directions, pictures and information about various bike paths they've taken around the city.  They have a route to Ciechanów so Mark printed the route and away we went. 

 

Mark gets style points for his reflective shirt

One of the discussions we had prior to leaving was if we wanted to carry tents and sleeping bags with us, or if we'd stay in hotels along the way.  We decided that the small hotels (i.e. Bed & Breakfasts) would be easiest, so we didn't have to carry extra gear.  I also don't have any saddle bags for my bike, so everything I needed had to fit in a backpack. And I definitely wanted to limit my mosquito exposure, so sleeping indoors sounded better to me.  This has been on the of worst years for me regarding mosquitoes (mozzies, as Mark says).  I can't remember a time when I didn't have multiple bites on my legs and neck.  In fact, I sometimes avoid outdoor social events, because I don't want to get malaria (or spend my entire life scratching myself...I'm not a dog). 

Following Tyler's route was pretty pleasant, apart for a few dirt paths and bumpy gravel.  It took us through various towns, some roads that seemed to go in circles, crossing railroad tracks, and through scenic farm lands.  After a bit of "what the heck was Tyler thinking when he said we should go this way???", we realized that it was indeed the best route to take and their directions were spot on (good job guys!).  Because we couldn't go too fast on the bumpy roads, had to stop and check directions periodically, and because we are old and our legs get tired, it took about 6 hours to get to Ciechanów (nearly 90 km).  We passed cows, miniature donkeys, dogs, storks, and old men sitting on the side of the road staring at us.  The weather was perfect for a bike ride - not too hot, overcast to protect us from the sun, but no rain, even though it was in the forecast. 

 

I don't know what these are, but they're funny and I want one

 

 

Stork nests everywhere

In Ciechanów we checked into Baron Hotel, just next to the main square.  Within 5 minutes of checking in, we were sitting in a beer garden next to the brewery with a Ciechan beer in our hands.  My favorite honey flavored beer comes from Ciechanów (Ciechan Miodowe).  But here, they offered all kinds of beers, many of which I hadn't seen in Warsaw.  Of course I tried a new one, so I could tell everyone about the different beer I had at the Ciechan brewery.  And it was pretty good.  Except I don't remember what it was.  So next time I will probably just order honey beer again.  Basically I failed. 

 

I'll just order this one next time

We took a walk around the castle, noticing several groups of locals hanging out in the field next to it, sitting on bales of hay, drinking Ciechan beer.  It must be what people have been doing in this town for the past 1,000 years.  If you weren't lucky enough to live in the castle, you sat outside, getting drunk, waiting for something fun to happen. 

 

The same picture as on the beer bottle!

The great thing about Ciechanów is that there are three kebab restaurants in the main square. So, that's what we ate for dinner.   After biking for 6 hours, drinking a couple beers, and smelling the good ol' brewery smell (I really like it), I could have eaten anything.  We went for the extra large combo plates rather than just a kebab.  Even though the lights in the restaurant kept going out, the food was actually pretty good.  Until I found a small worm (maggot, I guess) slithering around between the cabbage leaves.  Normally I would have been grossed out, because maggots are generally not my friend, but I was so hungry I just ate around it.  Mark was nice and complained politely to the staff there, and they actually gave me my money back (biggest shock of the century).  I was sure to eat all of the meat and fries before they took the plate. 

 

Try to find the worm

Before taking off the next day we did a quick tour of the Ciechan castle.  The castle itself is in the middle of a field with nothing really around it.  It didn't make sense why the castle would have been built there, until we saw pictures of the early days, when there was a moat and natural protection.  There actually wasn't much inside, apart from a visitors center, with a few exhibits of swords and artifacts going back 700 years, and the towers, which you can go in.  The center of the castle itself was just an open space.  We went at 10 am, but the towers didn't open until 11.  Since the towers seemed to be the main attraction, we decided to wait.  We tried to sneak up the staircase on our own, but got yelled at by one of the workers.  It was Polish worker efficiency at its best.  The guy came over to yell at us not to go upstairs, because there was nobody around to watch us to make sure we didn't touch anything.  Then he went back to what he was doing before - standing around with 5 other guys, watching one guy attach a hose to a faucet.  For 20 minutes.  Mark and I competed to make the most sarcastic comments under our breath as we stood there watching.  We enjoyed re-enacting the conversation we thought they were having. The funny thing is that there was nothing in the towers that we could have damaged or touched, so they didn't really need to have someone watch us.  And they locked me in the tower after the guides took everyone around, so they weren't watching us very closely anyway.  Mark had to tell them I was still up there so I could get out! 

 

It takes 6 people to spray water on dirt

 

I was trapped in the tower!

 

It looks better from outside the castle walls

After stocking up on pączki, bananas and Powerade, we headed towards our next stop - Maków Mazowiecki.  My legs were a bit wobbly, as the 90 km from the previous day was probably the most I've ever biked in a single day.  Luckily day 2 would be less than 65 km, so it was a "short" one. It was tough riding on the road on a mountain bike, just because it goes slower than a road bike or a hybrid.  But the hardest was carrying 20 pounds of stuff in my backpack.  So my back and butt hurt more than my legs.  I had to ride standing up for a few kilometers at a time, to keep my back upright and my butt off the seat. 

Because we weren't in a big hurry to get to Maków, we had some time to explore.  We found a little castle and park in Opinogóra, which had a place called a Romantic Museum or something like that.  Mark and I didn't go into the Romantic Museum together, but at least the park was nice to stop in and ride around.  This is one of the great parts of bike trips - the random exploration you can do in places you'd never usually stop or see when traveling by train or car.  You also don't appreciate the smells and the sounds when in a car, but on a bike, we could smell the grass and flowers, and could actually hear the silence, when there were no cars within miles of us.  There were cows, chickens, wheat, corn and fields of hay everywhere.  I got lost in day dreaming many times (luckily Mark doesn't say too many interesting things, so I could ignore him most of the time). 

 

Romantic museum (or something like that)

On the second night, we stayed at Gospoda Pazibroda, a couple kilometers away from Maków.  It was a really nice little bed and breakfast, in a beautiful setting, with a great restaurant, and less than $30 for a single room.  I had an amazing steak and potatoes dinner with delicious mushroom soup.  After two long days, Mark and I were exhausted, so after a post-dinner walk, we both went to bed.  We stayed in separate rooms this time, because that's what they had available, but also it was so cheap, it didn't matter (and you know, after the Romantic Museum, it was a bit awkward).  But really, sometimes it's nice to sleep in a room alone.  At least I thought I was alone....  Before I went to bed, I noticed a mosquito in the room.  I checked the window and it was closed, but somehow the little guy got in.  So I chased him around a bit before finally smashing it with a piece of paper.  I had survived most of the trip so far without getting bit, so I had to get him before falling asleep, otherwise he'd devour me. 

 

I ate a great meal, before I became a great meal

I was sleeping peacefully until the sound of helicopters overhead woke me up at 4am.  Wait a minute, that wasn't a helicopter, that was a mosquito flying around my face.  I jumped out of bed, quickly turned on the light and put my glasses on.  I had to hunt him before he bit me. I sat perfectly still, waiting to hear the buzz again (I put my body under the blanket so he couldn't secretly bite me).  I finally saw him approach me, and in one deft stroke, clapped my hands at the air where he flew.  I opened my hands to see if he was there.  Got him.  Now exhale.  I got back up to turn off the light, smiling at my success.  Then a sharp chill ran down my spine and my smile turned into fear. Looking up at the ceiling, I saw something out of a horror movie.  It was my worst nightmare.  The ceiling was covered with mosquitoes (ok there were only 4, but it seemed like a million).  W.T.F.???  I looked around the room for something I could defend myself with. There were no magazines to slap them with, and I could only wish for one of the big bug smasher guns my Aunty Lilly used to have when I was a kid (it was a spring-loaded gun with a flat, soft plastic end that would smash bugs against the wall when you fired it...but we would shoot it at each other, rather than at bugs, because it was more fun that way).  The ceiling was too high for me to smash them with my hand, so I grabbed the only thing that I could throw at them.  My pillow.  Which was white.  As was the ceiling. 

I didn't have time to consider the consequences, as I rapidly launched the pillow towards the ceiling (think Angry Birds) and hit one of them.  It left a nice black smear on the ceiling.  I momentarily did a little cheer in my head. Then the rest of them scattered and were flying all over the room.  Crap.  I sat down on the bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for one to land again.  When it did, I launched the pillow again.  This time, the smudge on the pillow was blood red.  Yup, my blood.  Blood smeared on the ceiling and pillow was gross, but I didn't worry about it...I had a war to win.  After killing the other 3, I thought it was over.  I checked the window again to make sure it was closed...how else were these guys coming in?  It was definitely closed, but upon further inspection, there were 4 or 5 more mosquitoes sitting on the window...on the INSIDE!  I swung wildly at them, getting one, but the others scattered.  So I went back to the bed, to stare at the ceiling again, waiting to see them land.  I was chasing them around the room for the next hour, barely breathing as I tried to listen for the buzz and to wait for them to reveal themselves.  My heart was seriously beating fast during this battle, as if I was in some scene from Lord of the Flies.  In total, I killed 12 mosquitoes between 4 and 5:30 am.  TWELVE.  After which I was so jittery and shell-shocked that it took a while to fall asleep again. 

When I woke up, I looked around the room, which looked like the aftermath of a zombie war.  There were black marks all over the walls and ceiling, mosquito corpses scattered around the room, body parts everywhere, and the pillow case was pretty disgusting (luckily I had two pillows).  I feel sorry for the guy who had to clean my room.  Mark was happy to not have been there. 

And my legs, arms and neck were all itching again.  Dammit.

When I said that Mark doesn't say interesting things, of course that was a lie.  Mark's family has a very interesting story.  As a kid (a LOOOOOOOOONG time ago), he visited Poland many times.  We found the house/land where the family used to vacation, but it has become infested by the overgrowth of bushes and trees.  After the house burned down several years ago, nobody took care to upkeep it.  So, the family stopped visiting.  Mark told stories of playing in the fields, visiting the town, flirting with all the Polish girls, and we even went the corner candy shop he used to frequent.  I found it interesting that the teenage girl working at the shop had Mark's same eyes........  I wonder if that's just a coincidence..........hmmmmmmmm........??????  We also visited the cemetery where most of his ancestors are buried. It took a while to walk around to find it, but since he remembered the tomb being under a tree, that helped narrow down the search (we looked around all the tress).  All the graves were huge and had multiple people living there (I realize that's the wrong word to use, but that's how I want to describe it). Even though his dad survived the war and is buried in Australia, Mark also told about his dad being imprisoned in Auschwitz for being part of the national army (I told you Mark was a kid a LOOOOOOOOONG time ago). His dad didn't really talk about it, as I can imagine it would have been difficult. 

 

Mark's dad has the same picture of himself in front of the tree

 

Exploring the property

 

Paying respects at the Poczman tomb

Mark himself is a bit of an inspirational story.  He's a lawyer by trade (ok, not that inspirational), but after many years living the corporate life (he was even a PwC partner for some time), living in various cities around the world, he decided to take a break from that, moved to Poland to get in touch with his roots, and has been teaching English in Warsaw for a couple years.  It's nice to see someone not get too engulfed in the corporate world, realizing that there are other things in life to enjoy.  And to actually do something about it. 

On the way back to Warsaw we passed through a couple nice places - Pułtusk, a little town on the river with a nice castle and really long market square (supposedly it's the longest market square in Europe), and Serock, just along a huge lake with nice paths around and lots of people doing water sports.  We ran out of bike friendly roads in some parts, so we had to go on the main roads with cars and trucks zooming by.  It was great for training because we were going really fast to get off the road as quickly as possible. 

 

Along the lake at Serock

After riding about 230 km over the 3 days, it felt great to get back to Warsaw.  Our daily mileage (or kilometerage) was 88, 60, and 85 km.  It was great to see Warsaw's surroundings that I hadn't seen before and to take it in more naturally, rather than in a car or train.  It was also great to see a bit of Mark's childhood and heritage, and I'm glad he let me join him.  It was another successful and very enjoyable trip. 

After I wrote this, a friend of mine in the US had just finished a 5,000 km bike ride across the US in 2.5 months.  5 THOUSAND.  I didn't even do 500.  I didn't even do HALF of 500.  So his was almost the same thing as my trip.  Or not.  Check out his feat here.

Transylvanian weekend

Luckily the 2.5 hour train ride from Bucharest to Brasov wasn't as bad as it had the potential to be.  There was a lack of English signs in the Bucharest train station, and the route number of the train we wanted was not listed on the signs at any of the platforms (so it was hard to tell which train to get on).  Turns out that the same train had two different route numbers, because the train split in half somewhere down the line, and went on two different directions.  If you had tickets for a certain route (and train number) you got on one section of the train, and if you had the other route number, you got on a different section.  The section of the train nearest the station (where I was looking) was not the route to the Brasov, so it didn't look like it was the right train.  I don't know if that makes sense, but the bottom line is if you don't know that one train can have 2 route numbers, you can get left behind (and it almost happened).  Luckily a nice man selling magazines noticed our confused faces and showed us to the right train, then tried to sell us magazines. 

Asia joined me for a long weekend in Bucharest and Transylvania, so I wouldn't have to meet Dracula alone (but it turns out she is a vampire herself - more on that later).  Cristina gave us a bunch of suggestions for the city, since she spent several years living in Brasov.  It's always nice to get some tips from a local.  Once we got to Brasov on the train, we took a cab to the Old Town. That's when the scandalous cab negotiations resumed.  The first guy in the taxi line said it would cost 40 lei, so we walked away, Another guy offered the ride for 20 (about $6) so we went with him. We probably could have gone for 10, because it was so close, but it was cheap, and we didn't pay 40, so it seemed like a victory.  It's just annoying that everyone tries to rip you off.

The hotel at Casa Albert is located on Republici, the main walking street of Brasov, in the heart of the Old Town.  As you would expect from the city center of a popular tourist destination, the street is lined by many shops, bars and restaurants.  The staff at the hotel was very nice, researching every question I asked - from bus schedules, tour times, and they even found a guide to take us around the castles (which was the cheapest, quickest, and most convenient option). 

An easy way to see Brasov is to join the free daily walking tour.  It was similar to the tour in Bucharest, so it worked out well (except for that it was a different city, there was a different guide, and they told different stories, so basically it wasn't the same, but you know what I mean).  It was very informative and casual, and definitely worth more than the price.  We walked around the fortified city, visiting the different sides of the walls and gates.  We saw the Black Church, and found several nice views of the city, and the walls surrounding it.  Brasov also has a Hollywood sign high in the hills overlooking the city (or maybe Hollywood has a Brasov sign) that makes for fun pictures.

 

The walls around Brasov

 

The city at the foot of the Hollywood hills

 

Going up Mount Tampa in the cable car

 

Holding on for dear life while reaching out to take a picture of the sign

 

Old Town

It was much nicer and easier to stroll around the city in Brasov than it was in Bucharest, and there was a definite drop in the number of rabid and crazy dogs attacking me. I was able to jog a couple of the days, and one dog even ran WITH me, rather than chasing me.  He followed a few feet behind me, minding his own business like we just happened to be going in the same direction.  Every time I looked back at him, he would turn his head and look around the streets, as if trying to pretend he wasn't following me.  I actually felt a bit lonely after he stopped to sniff around a lamp post and take of business, and left me to jog on my own.  I thought about waiting for him.  

 

Polite dog using the crosswalk

The guide talked about the history of the city - how it was developed by Germans in the 12th century, and how it flourished because of its central location between the West and the Ottomans as a meeting place for traders.  During communist times they said that because the main market square was a good place for protests, they decided to turn it into a parking lot to discourage any such malarkey. 

 

The market square - no protests allowed

We also learned about Vlad the Impaler, a vicious ruler back in the 15th century, who inspired Bram Stoker's 19th century story of Count Dracula.  Vlad was actually called Dracula, but he wasn't a bat and didn't bite people's necks.  He did, however, like to impale people when killing them.  And impale doesn't just mean poking them with a sharp object.  Oh no, it's about the worst thing you could do to someone.  He would literally stick a sharp spear through people's butts, so it would pass  through their body and out the top of their back.  And he would do it so the blade avoided the main organs, and the person wouldn't die for a couple days.  Seriously, how is someone like that so famous?  These days if someone had that fetish, they definitely wouldn't be celebrated the way people celebrate Dracula. At least I hope not. 

The hotel arranged for us to go on a tour of Bran and Peles Castles with someone from the nearby tour agency.  Cristina was super friendly and nice, accommodating all of our needs.  She charged only 60 Euros for the 7 hour trip and wouldn't accept any tip.  Included in this price was transportation in her car between the castles, stopping anywhere we wanted along the way.  She paid for gas and parking, took our pictures, and was happy to let us sleep in the car.  And she had no time table; we just told her how long we wanted to visit the castles and she waited for us outside.  She even bought us some post cards to commemorate the trip.  This was an especially attractive option because there isn't good public transportation connecting Peles and Bran, which means that we would have spent a lot of time getting between the spots, and it might have cost close to the same amount.  I can't believe tour buses haven't organized trips like this (similar to being able to visit Auschwitz and the salt mines in the same day when visiting Krakow).  We saved tons of time in being able to do both in the same day, and I'd highly recommend her if you want to do a similar excursion.  The only problem is that I lost her contact information.  I just remember her agency is next door to Casa Albert. 

Bran castle is the 14th century castle that supposedly inspired Dracula's castle in the stories.  But Vlad probably only spent a couple days there in his lifetime, according to records.  The castle was originally a fortress, then Queen Maria's summer residence. Romania had a royal family from Germany from the 19th century, and the royal family ruled until after WWII when they were expelled by the communist regime. Queen Maria was a British princess who married into the family and became Queen in the early 20th century.  The castle had secret passages, views of the valley, and many rooms and decorations that looked nothing like something Dracula would have in his home/coffin.  The audio guide was not really worth the extra fee, but it did play a lot of scary dramatic music, which was fun. 

At the foot of Bran castle

After learning more about Vlad, I'm not sure if I would want to meet the real Dracula or Vlad (maybe better just stick to Count von Count from Sesame Street). When it comes to Dracula and Transylvania, we were always taught to expect dark, creepy castles, permanent night-time, lightning and thunder, a tall pale man in a black cape with a widow's peak, flying bats and howling wolves, but in fact, Transylvania was a very beautiful and pleasant place - completely opposite of this Dracula world. 

  

Somehow a vampire got into the car

 

Beautiful Transylvania country side (from Bran castle)

Peles castle was also a summer home of Romanian royalty, with advanced technology for its time in the early 20th century.  It had electricity, vacuum cleaner tubes built in the walls, running water, an elevator, various secret passages, and a lot of nice rooms (all things that are awesome still today).  We paid for the deluxe tour (worth it), getting to see more of the castle, and leaving in awe of how impressive it is. Even though the tour and castle were great, we were more obsessed with our tour guide, the vampire.  He was an older man, probably 300-400 years old, with very sharp Dracula teeth. He knew so much about the history of Romania and Vlad, that he must really have been a vampire, because he was living during that time.  When he walked in front of a mirror I was ready to let out a scream if I didn't see his reflection.  But I saw it.  So part of me thinks he's not really a vampire, but I'm sure he is.  He was trying to hide his teeth when he spoke, by keeping his lips closed.  But I saw them once, so I know he's a vampire.  (I don't have any pictures of him because they were forbidden...probably because he is a vampire and doesn't like flash photography!)

  

Peles Castle

After enjoying sarmale and polenta in Bucharest, I was looking forward to more good food.  And there was a lot of it in Brasov.  The first thing I had was a hot dog stuffed into a big pretzel, which was obviously very awesome.  A lot of people recommended the restaurant Sergiana in Old Town, which was also really great.  Other people's pork, stews and sour soups all looked delicious.  The fried pork lard (crackling) was an interesting starter...I could feel my arteries clogging as the soft lard melted in my mouth (I liked the melting sensation in my mouth, so I kept eating it, even though I didn't like the actual taste - or the fact I'll have a heart attack soon because of eating it).  I had a beef stew in a pastry crust, which was very rich and tasted great.  Unfortunately the waiter cut open the top before I could take a picture. 

 

All kinds of pretzels were everywhere

Bella Muzica was another recommended place, serving Romanian and Mexican food (a natural combination), where the Romanian food is probably better than the Mexican (although I couldn't stop eating the homemade chips and salsa).  I had some sort of ragout of beef, pork, bacon, egg and polenta (now THAT's a natural combination), and some really good bean soup in a bread bowl.  They say that beans are the magical fruit, and indeed the soup was magic.  I hear different points of view on if you're supposed to eat the entire bread bowl or not.  They say that the bread could be dirty and is more of a decoration, but I always eat it.  I don't pay an extra two dollars just for a bowl that I can't eat.  The cool part of this restaurant is that they have buttons at each table to press to call the waiter.  It's an especially good idea in Europe, where waiters spend a lot of time ignoring you after you've received your food (and where they say "imediate" when they mean that they'll attend to you when they're bored of standing around doing nothing). 

 

Dining with a vampire (that's blood soup)

Sirul Vamii was the last restaurant of the trip.  It was pretty empty, which was concerning, but the decorations were cool and they were playing hits of the 80s like Toto, Tina Turner, REO Speedwagon and Journey.  With a place like that, who cares about the food?  And since there was polenta, I was happy (the food ended up being very good).  I had to ignore the fact that the manager's 3 year old daughter fell and cut open her head when running around the restaurant.  The woman was in a bit of a panic holding the little girl while talking to the other workers trying to figure out what to do.  The disturbing part was that the poor girl was bleeding all over the place in plain sight for all the customers to see.  Everyone understood of course, but it wasn't exactly what you want to see when eating dinner.  She came back after going to the doctor and was in good spirits, so it seems that everything was fine.  

 

Polenta, eggs, bacon and meat.  

And everything was fine on another successful trip to a new country.  Romania is definitely worth visiting, and like most places I've been to, I'd love to go back. 

 

My trip to Romania

How to Stay Cool When Walking 15 Minutes to the Train to Go to Work in the Summer

I actually dread hot summers.  Not because I don't like warm weather and the sun; I do.  I very much enjoy it on the weekends and when I'm on vacation and can go swimming anytime I want.  I just hate hot weather on Mondays through Fridays between 8 and 9 am.  Because that's when I have to walk to the Metro or Tram to get to work.

If I could wear shorts and a t-shirt to work this wouldn't be an issue, but wearing long sleeve shirts, long pants, carrying a heavy laptop bag and walking 12-15 minutes to the Metro station is my summer's biggest stress.  You may not think much of it, but I go to bed at night worrying "I really hope it's not too hot tomorrow morning...maybe I'll just work from home to avoid the humiliation".

The reason?  Because when I finally get to the Metro on a hot summer day, I am usually dripping with sweat.  I know that's disgusting and that's why I hate it. And it always seems like I'm the only one!

So this week I tried something new, and I want to share it with you.  It's going to change your life.  Now I present to you How to Stay Cool When Walking 15 Minutes to the Train to Go to Work in the Summer (patent pending).

First of all, you have to identify the need. Check the forecast and if it's supposed to be 85 degrees or more that day, there's a good chance you will be sweaty by the time you get to the tram.  So plan for it. Also, you know you'll be hot if you get sweaty just sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast (yes it happens - the sun shines in through the kitchen window, I can't help it). 

Now here's the magic breakthrough: Ice. I tried it this week and it's so simple.  There are a few steps in making this work for you. All of the tips are based on my own personal experience.  You're welcome.

a. Wash your hands

b. Grab a few ice cubes from the freezer and carry them for the walk to the Metro/Tram station - all of them in one hand.  I prefer ice cubes shaped like babushkas.

c. As your hand starts to get unbearably cold, switch the ice to the other hand. 

d. Take the cold water that's left in the first hand, and wipe it on your neck, ears and forehead.  If you have no hair, you can also rub it on the top of your head, which feels amazing.  Resist the urge to lick your hands in public. 

e. Repeat every time your hand feels like it's burning from the ice. 

f, Be careful not to drop the ice cubes - people walking behind you will have to go around you, and will give you strange looks when they see you bend over to pick ice up off the sidewalk.   If you do drop the ice, pick it up very casually, as if it was your car keys.  Look people in the eye as if they're the weird ones for not carrying ice. 

g. After the cubes get really small, put them down your shirt - some in front and some in back.  It's best to do this while nobody is looking.  With my hand on the outside of my shirt, and the ice inside, I like to rub the ice against my chest  for extra coldness.  This may be difficult if you are a woman. Or it will attract a lot of attention.

NOTE: Your shirt will have water streaks on them, and your face will be glistening wet, so some people will think you're sweaty.  Others will notice your content and cool smile and realize that you probably have ice down your shirt and are feeling great.

h. If available, walk through one of the fire hydrant sprinklers with a smile on your face. At this point you are already wet, so it wont matter.  And it's fun. 

i. If taking the tram, get on one of the newer ones.  The air conditioning is much better and will feel great. 

j. Ignore the fact that your hands are numb.  Feeling will come back by the time you get to work.

Disclaimer:  If it's 100 degrees like it is today, none of this will matter and you will still be sweaty.  Sorry.