A gas station in Legnica makes do as the location for me to have a huge panic attack. I ask a gas attendant (called Matt) for a cup of hot water (to cook frankfurters in) and then slip round the side to chain smoke 3 cigerettes and shake for a while. He laughs at the request and when he comes round to meet me we talk about what I'm doing. He tells me he is driving to Munich tomorrow and he can give me a lift west. He says he lives 50m away and I can go sleep in his house while he is working. Suddenly everything is better, I feel good, though simultaneously aggravated and confused, as I am relcutant to get a lift, having become obsessed with cycling every metre of the journey.
A call to my dad makes me realise that I'm being ridiculous, that I need to take the lift, he puts it all in perspective and I don't feel so bad accepting Matt's offer. In fact I'd dare say I feel good, my dad and I decide the point of this journey is more so the getting home with no money than the cycling every bit of it. I accept Matt's offer of staying at his house as well, but his brother doesn't so it seems I can't have it all
Matt is a funny guy. Funny perhaps in a way he doesn't necessarily mean to be though. We sit round the side of the station and chat for some hours. He understands everything I say, but finds it infuriating that he can't express himself properly in English. It very visibly frustrates him and he hits himself on the head sometimes as he tries to talk, while occassionly letting out muffled and prolonged growls as he searches for words.
Another man comes round the corner and joins us for some conversation. He speaks no English, but a bit of German. He is impressed with what I'm doing and insists that I take 20 schlotti and 5 euros. Apparently an English man helped him out once with money when he was in trouble and he's passing it on. I say these things are all circular, like Karma. However really I know that the circle probably stops here with me as I ain't giving no money to no-one. He rolls a joint as well.
Another man joins us and it's now officially a party at the gas station. The joint gets passed round, and I am given some beers as a conversation occurs in English, German and Polish, with at least one person constantly translating as another talks. I can't help but wonder how many fun times are happening each night at gas stations all round the world.
One of the men, Pavel, says I can go stay the night in his house and he'll show me how to get back to the gas station for my ride with Matt in the morning. I take Matt's number and bid him adieu before cycling off with Pavel to his house.
Pavel is an interesting character. He has an incredible affinity for speaking Polish with no real concern as to whether the conversation's recipient has any understanding of what he is saying. He gives me more beers and cigerettes and chats to me constantly for about 3 hours. I am unable to tell you even one thing that he told me, something about the police, his wife and an injection.
I get a break when I go and have a hot bath for an hour. Warm water has never felt so good. I return and Pavel shows me all his grandad's soviet war medals from world war II. He has many and I am impressed, and Pavel continues talking, saying Adolf Hitler a lot, doing a lot of sign language involving rifle firing and occassionly the goosewalk. He turns a sofa into a bed and I go to sleep very happy with the situation, although I am pretty sure that Pavel is an alcoholic.
My beliefs are confirmed when I awake in the morning and grab a nearby glass of water, finding vodka instead. Somehow I manage to swallow it since I didn't want to repay Pavel's hospitality by spitting vodka all over his sofa. I go to his breakfast table with a shot of vodka inside me and wonder if he has one inside him too. He makes a load of sausages for breakfast and seeing how fast I eat them, he gives me more from his plate.
What a guy.
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