In the Realm of the Tram Yeti
It appears to be winter in Poland. Either that or there is something seriously wrong with my ability to see colours other than blinding white and grey. I would like to stay indoors until April, but sometimes it becomes necessary to go out. The pub isn’t going to come to me no matter how long I wait; at least those are the preliminary findings of my study.
The greatest perils of the Polish winter are encountered on public transport. I'm not talking about trains, which are a disaster at any time of the year, I'm talking about buses and trams. The problem with buses and trams is that they are heavily used by the kind of ladies who wear fur coats and mohair berets all-year-round. At the first sign of snow, these ladies put a second fur coat over their summer fur coat, wrap eight fur scarves around their heads and head out to do battle. I recently heard them referred to as tram yetis. Wrapped in several layers of dead animal they take up about the same amount of room as a small car. In groups they are an irresistible force similar to avalanches. I got caught near the doors of a tram the other day. At every stop I was carried out of the tram and several metres down the street by the furry flood, before being carried back into the tram and jammed against the ceiling when the tide turned. It took me four hours to escape.
The remarkable thing about tram yetis is that they all appear at the same time, and then all disappear just before Easter. This reflects something I've noticed with Polish people in general: clothing depends on the season and not the actual temperature. The full winter uniform of sensible coat, gloves, scarf and hat appears with the first cold snap and is worn religiously every day until spring. Nobody seems to be affected by changes in temperature. This is my fourth Polish winter, so I have the proper clothes for minus 20, but I can't wear them every day. A couple of weeks ago it was minus 20, and I was comfortable in my full kit, but a week later it was barely zero and I was sweating like Swede in a sauna. There is no way I can wear a hat at temperatures above minus 3 but I was severely told off for this by several tram yetis as I was being carried upside-down from a 108 bus: "Where is your hat young man! You will get sick!" one kindly noted as she expertly felled me with an umbrella blow to the back of
the knee.
I spend quite a lot of my time upside-down or, at least, horizontal during winter, and not just because of the mulled wine. English people are not trained to operate on icy pavements. During my first Polish winter I spent more time on my arse than I did on my feet. I've gradually improved and now average about 50-50. I honestly don't know what I'm doing wrong. For a while I tried following in the footsteps of tram yetis, assuming they must have an instinct for a safe route, but it doesn't work. A 97-year-old grandmother skips swiftly across treacherous ground without incident; I follow and immediately go down with wildly flailing arms and legs as if I've been shot. For a country that regularly experiences snow and ice, the choice of paving material is sometimes bizarre. Steps down to metro stations or underpasses are frequently made of polished marble. It would be hard to imagine a more slippery material even in good weather. I know I will break my neck if I go anywhere near them. The only way is to get down
on my hands and knees and crawl, which at least provides entertainment for the locals.
A very merry Christmas to you all!
Jamie Stokes