Buildings of Görlitz, sorrow of Poland, south towards Prague

I was sad to leave the music and HMV, but excited at the thought of my first visit to Prague.

Monica advised me to detour to Görlitz on the way to Prague. It didn't get bombed, and Monica told me that the people there liked their Jews and protected them, so not even the synagogue was damaged (Monica has plans for that synagogue). However, the inhabitants have been just as assiduous as Dresdeners in renovating their elegant buildings, and the city is a wonderful sight.

Görlitz is on the Polish border, so I drove over the river into Zgorzelec, which though it is only on the other side of a narrow stretch of water is a different, less affluent and rather depressed town. The main roads at frontiers have signs about national speedlimits; this one has a sign in three languages. In English of a sort it instructed me to keep DAYLIGHTS on at all times. I'm not sure what daylights are, and decided headlights on dipped beam are the most likely. Cue my usual rant about translations in the wrong direction. In this area there are probably fewer English-speakers to ask, but perhaps it's an American term.

I stopped for lunch at a cafe which was sadly empty and had the news running on the radio. Though I only know one word of Polish, the topic was clearly the return of the bodies of the government leaders who had died in the plane crash. The staff and few customers were sombre but didn't seem terribly upset. Perhaps they are far from the hysterical cities and less concerned about the inevitable political changes.

Getting food was interesting, unprepared as I was for a visit to Poland. I had no idea of the exchange rate. The menu showed photos of the main dishes, which helped a little, but I still didn't know what the protein ingredient was as they all seemed to be frittered. In the end I flapped my arms and made a noise like a chicken, which successfully ordered a lightly-spiced chicken breast in breadcrumbs with sauteed potatoes and salad. Nicely cooked and very tasty. The tea was excellent, served with lemon. When it came to paying, there was a momentary panic: the waitress refused the card! And I only had a 5-grozny piece once acquired in change and kept in the car for no particular reason. When she accepted euros, I realised why no card: the bill came to less than 7 euros.

The road south follows a small river with fields on each side. Along the bank at intervals there are poles stuck in the ground: those on this side are painted in red and white stripes and on the opposite bank they are red, black, and yellow. The river is narrow enough for a strong long-jumper to leap, and would be easy to swim. To someone who has always lived near the sea, land frontiers seem very artificial and curiously silly.

The road wandered through another small patch of Germany before entering the Czech Republic, each time passing the deserted remains of frontier guard-houses, creating a strangely mixed feeling of ominous echoes and hope. In contrast, the landscape was utterly lovely: forested and mountainous and serene.