From A to Bee(37)

However, all is not lost. I am here in Poland and with bees constantly on my mind, even in this rather dejected and run down city of Lodz (pronounced 'woodge' for some strange reason), I have had some contact with bees and beekeepers.



I took my staff out for a meal last night and, as is so often the case at the moment, conversation switched to bees. I then learned that the Polish for bees is pszczola, or something like that, and please never ask me to pronounce it. Then I got dragged to yet another bar which I have to say, despite most people's thoughts of this former communist state complete with pot holes in the road (true), tractors driving down city streets (true) and rather bland but many government buildings (also true), was amazing. The Beer Hall was the literal translation. Something akin to a jazzy London bar and not at all what I was expecting.



I got marched to the bar where they started talking enthusiastically in Polish. I can get a grasp of most languages and I thought, given the number of Poles in London (after Warsaw, London is Poland's second largest city by population of Polish people), I might understand the odd word – not a chance. Complete gobbledygook. Regardless of what they were saying, in front of me appeared the most fabulous-looking golden beer. The guys pronounced proudly that this was 'honey beer'. Great, I thought, you can even make beer from bees! My newest hobby has now reached new levels. It has no negatives thus far and I have to say the beer was fantastic save its head, which was almost as high as the rest of the beer itself.



Fast forward to today and having been part of an exhibition which was conducted 100 per cent in Polish I was feeling a little bit like a spare part – not to mention a teeny weeny bit hung over (after the euphoria of the honey beer we had decided to try the whiskey bar down the road and eventually got asked to leave at about 4 a.m., and only then did we realise that we were the only ones left in the place – it seems my ability to drink whiskey has dramatically improved this year!). I therefore decided to go for a walk around the complex – imagine a massive World War Two aircraft hangar painted a rather dashing yellow and blue colour – and to my surprise and pleasure, I found they had a flower market outside.



It was incredible with the most amazing variety of plants on sale and all unbelievably cheap. I thoroughly enjoyed looking around and then, to my complete astonishment a clapped-out, flea-bitten camper van grabbed my attention. With its boot door open they had a small stand selling none other than Polish honey. With the rather primitive sign showing a honeybee flying around and the fact that he only had about four jars left (I would like to think that he had sold all of the rest but maybe he hadn't actually sold any) it looked so fantastic I had to go and check it out.



The two gentlemen, who looked a little bemused at the presence of this suited and booted Englishman approaching, were in their fifties, had greying hair and the most fantastic black-as-night moustaches you could ever hope to see. Honestly, it was as if they had been growing their moustaches since they were twenty, as there was just a mass of hair wedged between their upper lip and nose. I would bet they haven't been kissed for decades as a lady wouldn't even get close to their lips.



Given the fact that I had had absolutely no luck trying to speak to Polish people so far, I felt I should give it another go here and try to strike up a conversation about bees with these guys. This was after all the country where 'modern' beekeeping began with Johann Dzierzon. The blueprint of his hive design back in 1838 formed the basis of many of the hive designs used today. I was hoping that our mutual love of bees might see me through the lack of mutual language if they didn't speak English. As I approached, waving perhaps overenthusiastically and said hello, my fears were pretty much confirmed. They looked at me blankly and their lips and moustaches hardly flinched as they said 'czesc', or hello, back to me. My 'How are you? I am a beekeeper too' was perhaps a step too far. More blank stares as the two of them just stood there.



My attempts at sign language were also a bit lame and I felt beaten back by the moustaches. For some reason they didn't understand me when I pointed at myself and then ran around for a bit buzzing away and then pointed at the honey. I think it must have been the suit as other people were now stopping to watch. The look they were all giving me was not dissimilar to the look that Sebastian often gives me when I run around him buzzing. Maybe nineteen-month-old children and Polish gentlemen with monster moustaches have more in common than you might think.



I stopped, resigned to the fact it was never going to work. Having spent all my zlotys I couldn't even buy a jar of honey, which looked a fabulously dark colour. I left defeated but as I bid them farewell, one lifted an arm as if to wave while the other uttered 'pozegnanie', which means goodbye. I felt I had finally connected but it may just be that they were glad to see the back of this rather crazy Englishman. As I walked away, I did turn back for one last look at these moustached Polish beekeepers and they were just looking at each other with a rather strange expression; one then shrugged whilst the other started laughing. I must have made some sort of impression. I am just not sure whether it was a good one.