Gdynia
By Douglas Owens
A rush of activity surrounded Eric as the train pulled into Poznań at dusk. Passengers hurried past as he stepped off the platform, dodging the lines of rumbling Soviet-era buses parked outside. Inside the station, the air reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and machine grease—more depot than terminal.
Groups of intoxicated men lingered, their slurred Polish echoing in the tiled halls as Eric skirted around them, noting how their blue caps sat crooked atop unkempt hair.
He found an exchange booth, swapped his dollars for złotys, and sat down to gather his thoughts. At the ticket counter, a line of elderly women shouted at a disinterested clerk who calmly painted her nails. The chaos made him smile. This was not Berlin.
The contrast between the two cities struck him: Berlin had felt crisp, composed. Modern trains zipped beneath glass towers. Fluent English speakers were everywhere. Poznań felt raw—shuttered storefronts, peeling paint, creaky food carts with questionable sausages. Yet that rawness intrigued him.
He was here because change had become his only option.
The early 1990s were a time of upheaval in Eastern Europe. The Berlin Wall had fallen. The Soviet Union had crumbled. Borders had opened. So, too, had something in Eric. His thirties had arrived like a verdict. After years of sputtering relationships, dead-end jobs, and the quiet humiliation of watching dreams fade, he found himself stuck in rural Georgia, working a job he didn’t care about and living a life that didn’t feel like his own.
One Sunday, he read an article in the Atlanta Journal about young Americans moving to Prague for its beauty and affordability. A new frontier, the article promised.
Eric stared at the page, coffee cooling in his hand. Prague. Europe. Possibility. It reminded him of London and Paris in his college days, when everything had felt open. He sat there for hours, the article folded beside him, feeling something stir back to life.
Within days, he was saving every dollar. Took a bartending job. Sold off furniture. Quietly, determinedly, he began his escape.
Six months later, he was on a plane.
As he slowly came back into focus of his current situation, he approached a group of locals outside the station, hoping his basic German would be enough. They pointed him toward Bus No. 7. He thanked them, climbed aboard, and settled into a hard plastic seat.
The bus creaked into motion, rolling into dark, unfamiliar streets. The ride stretched on. Panic crept in. Had he misunderstood?
Then a young woman with large glasses turned and smiled. “You look lost,” she said, in perfect English.
Her name was Alicja, a Polka from Gdansk on her way to visit friends. She offered to help him find his stop and suggested a nearby hotel. As he stepped off the bus, she got his contact information and promised to stay in touch. “You’re close to the city center,” she assured him. “Not fancy, but you’ll be fine.”
Two days later, they met up and wandered through the Stare Miasto, Poznań’s old town, admiring the restored Baroque architecture and the cobblestones scattered along the central square.
Alicja turned to Eric with a smile. “So, do you like it here?”
"It’s fascinating," Eric said. "So different from home. Well… except for that McDonald’s." He gestured toward the golden arches.
She laughed, then hesitated. "But why come here? Most people want to leave."
Eric blinked. "Why go anywhere? To see something new. To feel something different."
"That’s not what I mean," she said, voice softening. "People say Poland is full of history and culture, but to me, it’s just... buildings that survived the war. Textbook names. I don’t feel connected to any of it."
Eric didn’t respond. He wanted to say that history mattered, that this place had soul—but he knew it would ring hollow. Poland was her home. He was just passing through.
They found a small restaurant and lingered over lunch. Alicja told him more about herself. She’d recently returned from the Bahamas, where she’d worked for a cruise line. Coming home had been disorienting. She dreamed of England, or America. Anywhere but here.
Eric understood. He hadn’t come to Poland out of reverence for its culture or history. It was simply his first stop—a new chapter in a story he was trying to rewrite. Like Alicja, he had come because he was searching for something different, something more than the miserable, predictable life he left behind.
Later that week, she invited him to Gdańsk, her hometown. Its streets were beautiful, carefully restored after the war. Gdańsk had become famous during Soviet rule as the birthplace of the Solidarity movement.
As they strolled past a Neptune’s fountain and multiple amber shops, Alicja shared a memory. "When I was a girl, I found a sailor's journal in a shop outside town. Pages full of storms, ports, and distant oceans. I read it over and over."
That journal had changed her. She joined a sailing club, earned a master mariner’s license. The sea had become her escape.
Eric listened, awed by her story.
As they walked along the waterfront, he surprised her with news: he’d just been offered a job teaching English at the Merchant Marine Academy in Gdynia, the Wyższa Szkoła Morska. To her delight, he told her he would have access to their recreational sailing fleet.
Alicja beamed. For the first time since he could remember, Eric felt like he was moving forward with his life.
As the months passed, the cool Baltic Spring soon gave way to early summer. Couples and families began to populate the promenades and boardwalks, and the nearby resort of Sopot buzzed with activity: live music along the waterfront, crowded piwo bars, and busy ice cream shops.
The Trzyy-Miasta (Three City) Sea Festival approached, filling the calendar with regattas and cultural events that celebrate the region’s deep connection to the bounding main.
Alicja had been asked to captain a yacht in one of the major regattas. In the days leading up to it, Eric helped her prepare, watching as she fitted the boat and tweaked her sails with precision.
As Alicja and her crew embarked on another trial run, he began to understand her conflicting sides—her love for the sea while battling her disillusionment with the land. As they untied from the ferrous mooring, Eric watched from the dock as the boat pulled away, slicing through the shimmering icy waters.
As she disappeared into the greyish-blue horizon, he felt something shift. This journey—this place, these people—transformed him far beyond the fervent dreams of his fading past. He had let go of the life that no longer served him.
And found one he never imagined.
END
Douglas Walker Owens is an internationally recognized author and poet. Having retired from civil service, he follows his passions wherever they lead—into literature, music, and journeys across the world.
