Angol hits the bottle.

A surprising number of people have told me that Poland is in transition from a vodka culture to a beer and wine culture. I say 'surprising' because you wouldn't expect the subject to come up so often in casual conversation, but it does - at least is does in my casual conversations.

According to the kind of people who measure this kind of thing, the average Pole drinks 1.59 litres of wine per year. This puts them way down the world rankings in 112th position. By comparison, the top two wine consuming nationalities, the French and the Italians, get through about 50 litres of wine each every year. In fact, the world's number one consumer of wine per capita is Vatican City at a staggering 67 litres per year for each of the 932 people who live there—that's a lot of masses.

If Poland really is becoming a wine-drinking country, it's taking a long time to get there. And I know why: because it's so difficult to buy the stuff. There are essentially two options: the alcohol section of your supermarket or your local alcohol shop, which always has a hilarious name like 'Booze Galaxy' or 'World of Drunkeness.' Neither of them are without their difficulties.

For reasons that have never been adequately explained to me, the alcohol sections in supermarkets are partitioned from the rest of the store. It's a bit like the porn section in a DVD rental store. There's a little gate that you sneak through when nobody is looking. Small children peer over the top and wonder what all the adults are doing in there with strange little smiles on their faces. Having made you selection, you pay at the special cash till and the cash-till lady wraps your purchases in plain paper so nobody can see how evil you are. Then she gives you a receipt, which you immediately stuff in a pocket, throw over your shoulder or do whatever it is you do with receipts to make them disappear. This is a mistake, as you will discover when you get to the normal cash till at the front of the shop to pay for your other, non-shameful, items.

Till lady: Where is the receipt? Did you pay for these? (indicating two bottles of wine wrapped in white paper)

Me: No. I stole them off the shelf, wrapped them in paper and put them on the conveyor belt to confuse you.

Till lady: I'm sorry, I don't understand English humour. JAREK! THIS GUY SAYS HE'S STEALING WINE.

Jarek the security guard approaches.

Jarek: Did you pay for these?

Me: Yes.

Jarek: Why did you say you stole them?

Me: I was joking.

Jarek: Are you an idiot?

Me: No, I'm English.

Jarek: Ah, I see.

The other alternative is the local alcohol shop. The main problem here is that it's impossible to see what they have. These shops are always divided down the middle by a counter. There are hundreds of different kinds of wine on one side and the customers are on the other side, squinting. I have no idea why they bother stocking so many kinds of wine because the conversation always goes like this:

Me: I can't see the wines, what do you have?

Shop lady: Dry or semi-dry?

Me: Dry I guess. Maybe a Merlot from the southern hemisphere.

Shop lady: How much? More than 20 zloty or less?

Me: More, I guess.

Shop lady selects random wine from behind her and plonks it on the counter.

Shop lady: Take this one. Dry, 25 zloty, very good.

Me: This was bottled in Latvia. Maybe you have something else?

Shop lady: We have dry, semi-dry, more-than 20 zloty, less-than 20 zloty.

Me: Okay, I'll try a semi-dry for less than 20 zloty.

Shop lady rolls her eyes and randomly selects another bottle.

Shop lady: Take this one. Very popular.

Me: This is a bottle of Korean champagne.

Shop lady: DO YOU WANT IT OR NOT!?

Me: Give me a crate.

Jamie Stokes