Mazury, Days 5 and 6, the Wolf's Lair, Boyen Fortress and home

Trouble arose when we reached Ketrzyn on May 3rd, Constitution Day. And it had been such a lovely morning, too. We had descended for breakfast about 8:30, to an empty restaurant. One table was laid for 3 people. As soon as we sat down, we were brought platters of cold cuts and cheese, bread, tomato slices, butter, and wonder of wonders, an entire carafe of coffee, which was actuallyy left on the table for refills. If you're not already aware of this, the American custom of free coffee refills is unheard of in Europe. You pay for each and every cup, ordered individually, extra charge for milk, so this was an astonishing event, and we drank pretty much the whole thing, on principle. We also were offered, and accepted, fresh omelets, plain, but very good. I might also mention that things like butter and jam are also usually extra, so this breakfast was just downright extragavant by Polish standards.
Cheerful despite an overcast day, we walked the few blocks to the bus station, and there was one lone bus idling, which just happened to be going through Ketrzyn, which is the closest town to the Wolf's Lair, Hitler's headquarters for the last 3 years of the war. We hopped on, and 34 kilometers and half an hour later, we were in Ketrzyn. Where the problems began.
The Wolf's Lair is actually in Gierloz, 8 km outside of Ketrzyn. It was about 11 when we arrived at the tourist office, where the nice lady informed us that today, being a holiday, there was only one bus to Gierloz, at 2 p.m., and one bus returning, at 6 p.m. Just about any other day, they ran every hour or so. Our bus from Ketrzyn back to Gizycko was at 2:30, although there were trains as well.
So we splurged and took a taxi. Expensive, but better than hanging out all day waiting for buses. The driver was crazy, passing other cars and tour buses on narrow country roads by driving on the left shoulder into oncoming traffic, but we arrived safely. The Lair is out in the woods, a compound of heavily fortified bunkers that the Germans tried to destroy completely after Hitler's suicide, but had built too well. None of them are usable anymore, but 9 meter-thick steel-reinforced concrete apparently doesn't just fall apart when you blow up 60 tons of explosive inside it. It's all open: you pay at the entrance and then just wander around, though there are well-marked trails, color-coded depending on whether you want the full tour or shorter ones. If you care to disregard the signs that warn of danger, you can enter the ruins of the bunkers and walk the same corridors as Hitler, Eva Braun, Goring, Bormann, SS officers, stenographers, typists, Wehrmacht and Air Force and Naval High Commands all did. Nothing has been maintained or restored, and the forest is reclaiming what it can. I was sorely tempted to pocket a bit of rubble from Hitler's bunker, but restrained myself. It was a fascinating couple of hours, and as the sky cleared and the sun shone and the birds sang, it was difficult to imagine this truly being the center of so much horror and destruction.
Another nail-biting taxi ride, a pleasant nap on the bus, and we were back in Gizycko shortly after 3. The pub across from the hotel had nice tables in the sun, and we had coffee and watched families and couples strolling the boulevard, teens and children shouting and chasing each other and eating ice cream from the shop next to us. Finally, we motivated again, and headed across the canal to the Boyen fortress, a big, vaguely star-shaped brick thing on a hill, built in the early 1800s, used as an outer defensive post for the Wolf's Lair before it fell to the Russians without a shot at the end of the war. Here, too, much of it has been left to trees and bushes: the outer walls are now entirely overgrown, and only the too-regular manner in which it encircles the inner fortress hints at what it once was.
We arrived too late to enter the central part, but had a pleasant stroll around the outer walls, after which we went looking for another sunny table, if there still was one, as it was getting on in the evening. At the canal though, the bridge was open, forcing us to detour slightly to the pedestrian bridge, but interesting enough that we stopped at the pub on the other side. It opens by swinging its entire length on a swivel mounted on one side, so that it rests along the bank, sort of like a pinball flipper at rest. The amazing thing about it, though, is it's operated manually. That is, the 100-ton structure is moved by one man (on this day, the operator seemed to be in his 70s) cranking a series of winches and things by hand. No motors whatsoever. It takes about 5 minutes to complete the operation, but when the time came, sure enough, we could see him cranking away, first by walking around a big, vertical, turnstile-type device, then inside the bridge house, spinning this wheel and that, vaguely reminiscent of Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. Without the fishnets and corsets, of course.
We met up with Philippe for dinner, and called it a night after that. The next day's journey home was long and tedious, though it began well enough with a reprise of that most excellent and unexpected breakfast, and did include a pleasant hour and a half in Olsztyn's rynek again, but since it also had misread schedules, wrong trains, extra hours and legs, pleadings for compassion with conductors (which actually worked-it's very complicated, but about 10 minutes before we were to finally get off the train, a conductor wanted to charge us for an entirely new ticket, but relented, even at risk from his supervisor. Thank you, good sir.), and another taxi ride before I finally walked through my door, almost 16 hours after leaving Gizycko, just over 8 before I had class in the morning, and 12 or so hours since I last ate anything more substantial than peanuts or chips. It was all worth it, nevertheless.