How Long is this Street?

The plan – go to the Fuji shop and buy a replacement USB cable. I needed to see a Fuji dealer because that was the brand of digicam I had. Luckily, the user manual gave the address of the main office in Warsaw. The street it was on, Aleja Jerozolimski, was close by and it couldn’t be that far up as the number was 178. It was an excellent plan and, as the Poles had a tendency to start work late (most shops don’t open until after 10), I set off at about 11.
I found my street really easily and started along it from the bottom. I expected to find 178 just past the Palace of Culture and Science. I was dealing with city blocks and the number streets in any city tend to be a little haphazard. A quick check opposite confirmed my hypothesis. Number 55 found, 123 to go. It was a warm day, and I carried the camera and my jacket. I’d grab some fluid on the way back. No point arriving at Fuji busting to use the loo.
I started to have doubts about the plan when the tram-tracks diverged from Aleja Jerozolimski and I was only up to #80 on my side of the street. The Palace of C&S was also blurring behind me in the heat haze. I decided a tram ride would be a pleasant treat on the way back. I’d been walking for about 20 minutes. Then the road forked. There was a small amount of confusion as I tried to decide which one was my street – follow the trams or keep going straight ahead? My map ran out about here, but a simple question of a passing pedestrian confirmed my fears. I had to follow the black asphalt road.
On I walked. The sun beat down. I was entering suburbia. Sometime later, I crossed some rail tracks. I was up to 120. The Palace of C&S had disappeared, courtesy of the curvature of the earth. A billboard advertised Bosch power tools at 176. I must be getting close. Nope. The next number was 124. The vultures circled. Tumbleweeds rolled across the broad boulevard. Ahead loomed a shopping complex – #146. By now I’d figured the numbering system – every building is worth one: a bit like hotels in Monopoly. Shacks, bungalows and small palaces were dignified with 124A or 68B.
The last suburb on the back of the mini-map was Ursus, a sort of industrial area. It was further out than Frederic Chopin International airport. I think I passed through it and on to another city. I was rapidly approaching the German border. Considering I was going SW, this was further than you might think. Certainly it was further than I thought. Finally, after a week of steady plodding, I came up to a complex of high-rise offices. The fourth tower was 178. There was also a decided lack of shops. I had a horrible sinking feeling.
I entered the foyer and, in a truly appalling mix of Polish and Russian, asked the guard on reception, “Fuji only has an office here, no shop?” He grunted an affirmative. I thanked him, said “excuse me” and then swore violently in English. He laughed. Some words are truly international. Time to head back to Warsaw. I wondered if my hotel was still there. Time had melted due to the heat and dehydration. I wanted a drink; water, beer, McDonald’s coffee, more than I wanted the toilet.
Naturally, a bus left the stop opposite as I considered crossing the road. Even if I’d sprinted, I’d have missed it. The street was so wide you had to be born on the other side to reach it. I started walking. My thighs were chaffing. I looked like a cowboy minus the horse. The jacket weighed a ton and there wasn’t a hint of a breeze. It took less time to reach the trams than I thought. The ride was a welcome relief for my thighs. On the bright side, my shoes were still comfortable.
Having spent half a day hunting for something I couldn’t find, I celebrated by having a beer. And another beer. Then I tried Polish mead: miod pitnij (Gene Pitney’s brother). Fabulous. It was served warm, and was about the strength of sherry. Unfortunately, when I asked for another, they’d run out. I’d drunk them dry. Fortified, I strolled through the Old City, took some night shots and had dinner in a small cafe specialising in traditional Polish food. So I had something that tasted excellent with mulled miod pitnij. Ever better. The chaffing ceased to hurt. I was so strong and brave I helped translate the menu for a young English couple. Magnificent. I even fell in love with Warsaw all over again.
Next: Free travel.