The bus station is refusing to sell us a bus ticket to Zakopane. Moments ago we had a bus ticket and a bus…now we have neither! How has this happened?!
It has come to pass that we have missed our bus, through feasting. What’s more, our attempts to exchange our ticket were met with such contempt that the infuriatingly nonchalant ticket lady now won’t even sell us a new one!
Surely this isn’t a thing that happens?! This is a bus ticket…buying…place…
Chaos over. Matt has solved the problem and we are a-bus. It is the worst of buses.
Simon has a chair to himself, to spread his vastness across the breadth of the vehicle. I, by contrast, am sandwiched between an enormous, smelly Polish man and a window. Matt finds the lady next to him is so fat that he cannot even sit on his seat. The laughter hurts me.
The rain pours. It slides through the sunroof of the fail-bus and lands, cruelly, all over Matt’s indignant face. This is the worst of journeys…
We manage to find our hostel, via an information hut. Turn out it is filled with antique furniture and myriad dullards. They bore us. Oh how they bore us.
We head back out into the streets, to find food. By this point, the rain is pounding our faces. Should we stop for cakes? We stop for cakes.
Hey, you? You want some cakes?
Hey, you? You want some wasps?
We’ve got both; cake and wasps.
Put them both together, you’ve got cake and wasps.
Eventually, we locate a place for feasting. There are pelts and axes on the walls. An enormous elk head dominates the upstairs, flanked by smaller elk and a boar. We feast on Goulash and beer. There is no hot honey wine, so we purchase coffees and chef cake, to pass the time until the rain subsides.
We venture home at nightfall. What’s this, feats of strength? Punch over 965 newtons to be the strongest man in Poland? Challenge accepted!!
We fail. Time and time again we fail. We vow to return in the morning and succeed.
In preparation, we drink Strong Beer and Maximus vodka. We will be the strongest…