Katowice, Poland //
Fear and loathing in Upper Silesia
On the trail of industrial ruins in southern Poland
Date June 2009
Posted August 2010
Posted August 2010
Distant rumblings reverberated closely as thick cloud enveloped the sky above. A bright flash signified the coming onslaught, and taking this as a cue the pair of us agreed that now might be the time to try making it back to the car before the clouds unleashed. There was much more to be done this day. The power plant we'd found proved stripped but worthy of our efforts, placed very close to some buildings which were surely still in use. Only one area remained unchecked by us: a bunker or tunnel visible close to the rear gates, curiosity drawing us nearer beneath another security camera, remnants from the plant's days in use we assumed. Peering over the wall presented a straightforward route in, and it seemed as good a time as any. The quiet was pierced suddenly and loudly by a violent hollering, almost not of this world. Turning in surprise I was too shocked to be scared, my eyes trained on a figure emerging from a rundown husk of a security cabin. Dressed in black like a gendarme this Polish security minotaur was angry, eyes burning with venom as he stalked towards us.
Meeting the threat with a sheepish grin I realised quickly that this monster was going to be difficult to placate. Quickly I offered an explanation that we were English 'tourists' but it brought us neither priviledge nor any indication that the beast had a grasp of our language. Feigning compliance we followed the man as he gesticulated towards the hut, positioning himself beside the open door and pointing inside. What, in there? Knowing reefdog wouldn't be keen on investigating the cabin either, I countered the guard's offer by indicating the gates and murmuring an idea in English. Then in a flash we darted past and were vaulting over the top as the animal unleashing a second bout of rage in our direction.
A streak of bright white tore through the blackened skies accompanied seconds later by a deafening crack as thunder ripped across the wasteland and the clouds opened. Rain turned to hail, hammering down as we ran hard down the disused railway line. Eventually discovering a way back to the reasonably safe streets surrounding the works, we could breath again, attracting stares from the local inhabitants.
The morning's entertainment had started at the Kościuszko coking plant in Chorzow. This expansive landscape of half-destroyed concrete hulks illustrated perfectly the post-apocalyptic scenes that seem to fascinate us limitlessly. What is it about these places that draws us in, to the point where a few will venture further than the streets, negotiating a wasteland inhabited by scavenging locals, various wildlife and a multitude of car bumpers, beneath a colliery headstock long since disused? Curiosity. But like all things, curiosity has a limit - follow it too far and you risk pushing way beyond the limit, out of your depth. As it was our entry into that plant had taken us through some pretty suspect areas, characterised by the almost poverty-stricken children playing in the road amongst rusty Yugos, stopping to stare at our shining gold rental car. Later when buying coffee, even using their equivalent of a five pound note seemed to be a monumental event.
The rest of the day was spent touring some of the active areas and sourcing disused premises among them. Two disused coal mines proved frustrating again, in one of them no fewer than four security guards converging outside the building the two of us were hiding in, ready to wade in and do who knows what. A hasty rooftop exit saw us returning back to the never-welcoming back-yard alleys of the local housing. At the second, a similar story: caravans parked inside the perimeter, unsavoury characters going about some business or another, but probably mostly concerned with protecting the remaining scrap from the scavengers (despite the area having only around 2% unemployment).
Before the sun was down we drove to see the Wujek memorial which commemorates the shooting dead of nine miners by Soviet riot police during a strike in 1981. The site is now marked with a big monument which was constructed in 1991, a short while after communism was overthrown in Poland.
Meeting the threat with a sheepish grin I realised quickly that this monster was going to be difficult to placate. Quickly I offered an explanation that we were English 'tourists' but it brought us neither priviledge nor any indication that the beast had a grasp of our language. Feigning compliance we followed the man as he gesticulated towards the hut, positioning himself beside the open door and pointing inside. What, in there? Knowing reefdog wouldn't be keen on investigating the cabin either, I countered the guard's offer by indicating the gates and murmuring an idea in English. Then in a flash we darted past and were vaulting over the top as the animal unleashing a second bout of rage in our direction.
A streak of bright white tore through the blackened skies accompanied seconds later by a deafening crack as thunder ripped across the wasteland and the clouds opened. Rain turned to hail, hammering down as we ran hard down the disused railway line. Eventually discovering a way back to the reasonably safe streets surrounding the works, we could breath again, attracting stares from the local inhabitants.
The morning's entertainment had started at the Kościuszko coking plant in Chorzow. This expansive landscape of half-destroyed concrete hulks illustrated perfectly the post-apocalyptic scenes that seem to fascinate us limitlessly. What is it about these places that draws us in, to the point where a few will venture further than the streets, negotiating a wasteland inhabited by scavenging locals, various wildlife and a multitude of car bumpers, beneath a colliery headstock long since disused? Curiosity. But like all things, curiosity has a limit - follow it too far and you risk pushing way beyond the limit, out of your depth. As it was our entry into that plant had taken us through some pretty suspect areas, characterised by the almost poverty-stricken children playing in the road amongst rusty Yugos, stopping to stare at our shining gold rental car. Later when buying coffee, even using their equivalent of a five pound note seemed to be a monumental event.
The rest of the day was spent touring some of the active areas and sourcing disused premises among them. Two disused coal mines proved frustrating again, in one of them no fewer than four security guards converging outside the building the two of us were hiding in, ready to wade in and do who knows what. A hasty rooftop exit saw us returning back to the never-welcoming back-yard alleys of the local housing. At the second, a similar story: caravans parked inside the perimeter, unsavoury characters going about some business or another, but probably mostly concerned with protecting the remaining scrap from the scavengers (despite the area having only around 2% unemployment).
Before the sun was down we drove to see the Wujek memorial which commemorates the shooting dead of nine miners by Soviet riot police during a strike in 1981. The site is now marked with a big monument which was constructed in 1991, a short while after communism was overthrown in Poland.
