Letter FromnEastern Europenby Rolf DammannnLet’s Go PolandnConversations with those who haventraveled throughout the Eastern Blocnreveal that group tours, not solo travel,nare the rule rather than the exception.nFor a hefty fee, vacation moguls willnrelieve the prospective tourist of threenmajor brain drains: consular relationsn(visas), hotel accommodations, andntransportation. Group tour-guides willnprovide the serious history enthusiastnwith spectacular points of reference,nsuch as the exact location where Vladimirnthe Impaler planted a spike in thenforehead of some nameless peasant.nGray areas are all but eased with thenaid of old standbys such as HarvardnUniversity’s Let’s Go Europe, whichnoffers valuable insight into the realm ofnlocal cuisines and washroom oddities.nIf your idea of adventure, however,nis to foment encounters with localnpolice officials, veer into restrictednareas, pound a few cold ones with EastnBloc soldiers, and subsidize your trip innsome perfectly acceptable ways, younwon’t get much help from that softcovernyou’ve been touting. Based on anrecent sojourn in Poland, I thought itnappropriate to offer some casual advicento those who are flirting with the ideanof driving, rather than flying or railingnfrom West Berlin to the Polish city ofnWroclaw.nFor openers, you will be required tonleave the 750-year-old city for EastnGermany through the Drewitz checkpoint,nso don’t waste the time going tonCheckpoint Charlie (for East/WestnBerlin tralEc only) as you will benturned away. If, upon entering thencomplex of DDR transit routes, younsuddenly realize you have neglected tondiscard publications of a political character,nresist the temptation to concealnthem under the seat—they will benCORRESPONDENCEnfound. I chose to scatter my copies ofnThe American Spectator, Chronicles,nand National Review around the insidenof the car so as to suggest theirnpresence was a mere oversight on mynpart.nAlthough I did not expect the EastnGerman soldiers to recognize AleksandrnSolzhenitsyn on the cover of ThenAmerican Spectator, I was surprised tonfind they didn’t acknowledge the boldfacedn”Marxism: A Dying God” captionnon the Chronicles cover. Moreover,nmost of their attention wasndirected at an art book that featuredntasteful surf scenes with female bathersnand plastic chairs. The border police atnthe Forst and Zasieki checkpoints respondednaccordingly, thus ensuringnthat I could leave the publications withnEnglish-speaking friends in Poland.nIn transit through the DDR, onenmight consider taking a brief but forbiddenndetour, off the highway andninto the surrounding villages. Drivingnat night, we passed an oblong billboardnadorned with the U.S. commander innchief and an upright cruise missile.nSearching for my camera in the back, Inmatter-of-factly glanced out the backnwindow in time to see a set of headlightsnpull out from a side avenue 100nyards to our rear and dim. Expectingnwe would be scanned with binoculars,nI turned on the interior light, raised anroad map for 30 seconds, and woundnmy way back to the highway — a set ofnheadlights in tow. When we reachednthe border, an officer glanced at thenlicense tag and asked me why I hadnstopped 40 kilometers back. Thenphrase “I was lost and reviewing a roadnmap” is an indispensable accessory fornthe East Bloc traveler.nShortly before crossing the EastnGerman/Polish frontier, you are askednto declare, in writing, every goldnwatch, diamond ring, and dollar innyour possession. After completing saidntask, you are asked to give verbal confirmationnof your itemization. Immediatelynafter nodding your head in thennnaffirmative, you are hustled into a brokenndown shed for a game of “hidenand go seek.” Much to my chagrin, thensoldier found the $100 I had “forgotten”nto declare; and to my relief didn’tnbat an eyelid. When he discovered an$50 bill in my friend’s back pocket, henspouted a torrent of abuse, although hennever did confiscate that $50, as isncustomary. I can offer no insight as tonwhy they go through the motions ofnplaying out such charades without actuallynenforcing the rule of law, but itncertainly adds to the charms of a tripnbehind the Iron Curtain.nAt the conclusion of business on thenEast German side, you might elicit ansmile rather than a frown by asking thendistance to Breslau (city in Germannprovince of Silesia renamed Wroclawnby Poles after the war). Refrain fromnasking the same question of a Polishnsoldier on the other side unless youncare for a 15-minute history lessonncovering some 500 years of Prussiannoccupation.nAfter passing through the Polishncheckpoint, attempt to maintain thenposted speed limit for the first 15nkilometers or you will be ticketed.nAlthough the maximum fine is 1,000nzloty, don’t be deceived: the smilingnPolish police officer will gladly handnyou two 1,000 zloty fines — payablenon the spot, of course. Even thoughnthe speed limits change every 5 0 yardsnalong some stretches of road, and evennthough the signposts are literally hiddennbehind bushes, don’t waste yournbreath arguing. Two-thousand zloty isnonly $3.00 dollars on the black marketnanyway.nUnder optimum conditions, the funnbegins with the hunger pangs. Travelingnsouth on a near-deserted roadway,nwe came upon the lone rest stop, somen60 kilometers into Poland. The onlynpeople visible when we pulled into thenlot were three youthful soldiers loiteringnbehind an army personnel-carrier.nInside the cafeteria, as one mightnimagine, were numerous Polish sol-nMARCH 1988 / 37n