Roseanne's Summer Vacation- Chapter 9
Attention passengers. It’s 11:59 a.m. The train has reached Gdynia Main Railway Station. This is the final stop. The train terminates here. Thank you for using the services of Po State Railway Intermediary Cities.
After the onboard announcement, the train suddenly slowed down and came to a halt. The carriages were almost empty because many tourists got off in Gdańsk and Sopot. The group got their bags and stepped onto the platform.
Roseanne was immediately struck by a gentle breeze caressing her cheeks. It was difficult for her to describe it, but the texture of the air had changed. It wasn’t cold, but it seemed less dense and fairly fresh.
Then her ears registered the sounds of seagulls that were circling around the tracks. Back in Bydgoszcz, those birds flew by once in a blue moon, but at the sea, they were permanent residents.
“Look! There are so many of them,” said Natasha.
“Yes. And their calls are very soothing,” Roseanne remarked.
Mr Orville turned to them and said, “Just wait till you see them by the shoreline. The little rascals have no shame and eat anything. They grew accustomed to people so much that they like to be hand-fed.”
The students and their teacher descended the stairs into a wide passageway that led them straight into the main hall of the station. In contrast to Bydgoszcz, the station in Gdynia had an old-fashioned flair, at least in Roseanne’s eyes. The doors were wooden and bulky; there were 1920s-like supports for luggage, stylish archways around the corners, bulky clocks hanging from the ceiling, and a McDonald’s joint decorated with polychrome wall paintings depicting zodiac signs and maps of the world.
“I need to use the toilet, sir,” Milena said, shuffling from foot to foot.
“But you’ve just been in one on the train,” Mr Orville said.
“I haven’t because those angry men were screaming all the time. How am I supposed to empty my bladder when people throw ‘shits’ and ‘fucks’ all the time?”
“You need to go further down the stairs by the McDonald’s. The toilet over there is pay-per-use. I think they accept credit cards.”
Milena nodded, seized Thally’s hand, and ran towards the stairs.
“Is there anybody else who wants to relieve themselves now?” Mr Orville asked.
Roseanne, Natasha, and Nika were silent.
“Okay, then let’s buy tickets for public transport, and we will proceed to the hostel.”
The teacher went into a Relay store because it was a no-brainer to buy tickets in such a place, but the woman behind the counter said he should go to Till number ten because she had none.
The teacher headed across the hallway, passing the IC and Regio tills, until he reached a window with a sign number ten, which—according to the label—sold only public transport tickets.
“I’d like twenty-five half-fare tickets and six normal ones,” he said.
“You want twenty-five half-fare and six normal, no time limit?” the station worker asked.
“Yes. Just give me what I want.” Mr Orville stamped his foot in irritation.
“That’s 84 Po credits.”
Mr Orville took out another envelope. Roseanne couldn’t help but notice it had a thick stack of banknotes inside. Those were the funds for the trip, paid by all participants. Each of them had to pay 300 Po credits. Thus, according to the girl’s calculations, the amount inside had to be 1500 Po credits, which covered the accommodation, food, prospective attractions, and transport, of course.
The teacher took out a 100 Po credit banknote with the image of the mighty Po and gave it to the station worker. He then got change and a small roll of thirty tickets.
“It’s tough being a teacher,” Natasha said to her. “You get to carry all that money and can’t spend it on the things you want.”
***
Everyone reunited outside the station. Mr Orville made sure nobody was left behind and began leading the group across the square.
“I’m warning you. We’re in for quite a walk, so be patient,” he said.
“Can I have a quick smoke?” Nika asked.
“Absolutely not.” He averted his eyes from her.
“Oh, please, sir, please! Don’t let me march through the desert without any water! We’re not at school. Nobody is going to know. There aren’t any snitches here, am I right?”
Roseanne and Natasha looked at her as if she were an alien. Thally burst out in laughter.
“This isn’t Serpico, bitch. We ain’t gonna tell on you,” she said.
“Please, Mr Orville, pretty please!” Nika turned to the teacher again.
“If my eyes don’t see something, then it’s not happening,” he said after a long pause.
“Yes! Thank you!”
The group made their way through a large crossing and ended up next to a courthouse. Behind it, Mr Orville turned into Wójta Radtkego Street, which led them through numerous shops built in modernist style, a grocery market, and communist blocks of flats straight to the city hospital.
Roseanne played Yellow Magic Orchestra’s “Firecracker” on her phone. The brisk tempo of the melody made it seem in her eyes as if they were British troops marching in a parade. Mr Orville definitely knew where he was heading, and he walked fast.
They entered Kaszubki Square, at which point Radtkego Street crossed Świętojańska Street. Roseanne was quite pleased with the simple, smooth architecture and street layout she hadn’t seen before. Everything was built on a square plan, and the turns weren’t obscured by any buildings, so you had a clear view of where you were going until a large crossing.
As her dad rambled in excitement the other day, Gdynia is one of the youngest cities in the Land of Po. Bydgoszcz was developed over centuries, whereas Gdynia was created from scratch in the 1920s due to economic and strategic reasons. Historians and artists refer to it as ‘the city from the sea’ because, quite literally, large pieces of land were pulled out of the marine clutches, and harbour infrastructure was built on them.
“Look, there’s a landing pad!” Thally said, pointing at the top of the hospital. “If I could find a good YouTube tutorial, like one that actually shows steering and controls, I’m confident I could fly a helicopter.”
“With you in the pilot seat, we would be in for another Black Hawk crash. The bad guys wouldn’t even need to fire a rocket,” said Mr Orville.
“Thanks for having faith in my confidence.” Thally made a sarcastic salute. “Would you like a gamepad for navigation, Captain OceanGate?”
“Hey!” Mr Orville frowned. “I happen to know exactly where we’re going.”
Indeed, they crossed the square where the Biedronka supermarket was, walked down the Świętojańska Street, turned left at the next crossing and found themselves at a large intersection between Kosciuszko Square and John Paul II Avenue. In the distance, they could already see the mast of ships moored at the Southern Pier. But they weren’t going there yet. Mr Orville led them across the long intersection, past a monument commemorating seafarers. They ended up under an apartment complex with ground-floor shops. There was a business space occupied by a telephone company, an IT shop, a real estate agency, and a pub. Mr Orville walked to the side of the building and pushed through thick bushes to reveal an entrance to the hostel. Its name was Hostel Epicentre.
“Wait for me over here,” he told the students, going inside.
The teacher disappeared behind the glass door. He then stood in front of another set of doors and took out his phone.
One would think that there should be some sort of a lobby with a worker on standby, but it wasn’t the case in Hostel Epicentre. Mr Orville was greeted by a tiny, empty corridor. The entry on the right was leading to a beauty parlour, whereas the one on the left—to the hostel—was locked. The teacher carefully read the information pasted on the glass. There was a button attached to call a receptionist, but it did absolutely nothing upon pressing. The piece of paper also had a phone number in case of emergencies. Mr Orville dialled it immediately.
“Hello…” some hoarse voice said on the other end of the line.
“Good morning. My name is Orville Holloway, and I’ve just arrived at your hostel with my student group. Is there anybody who can let us in?”
“Ah… yeah… I remember. But you got your access codes.”
“You mean to the rooms? Yes, I got them via text message yesterday, but the main door is locked. Can somebody open it?”
“We don’t have any staff over there. We run the business from a different place.”
“What do you mean there’s nobody here? What about the money I have to give you for our stay?”
“You can just leave them room upon leaving.”
“Yeah, right. So somebody could steal it. Look, I demand you or anybody who works for you to come over, open the damn door, and get the cash.”
The hoarse voice sighed. “The main door also has an access code. Didn’t you get it?”
“No. I didn’t get it from you.” Mr Orville wanted to add a swear word, but refrained from doing so.
“It’s 1234#. Press it on the control panel, near the handle.”
Mr Orville did exactly that, and there was no effect. “There goes nothing,” he said irritably.
“Wait… oh! We changed the code recently. It’s 4321#.”
“You backwoods bonehead…” Mr Orville whispered, pressing the digits.
“What?”
“Nothing. The code is working.”
“Okay… If you insist, we’ll send over a representative to collect the payment. He’ll be there soon.”
Mr Orville hung up without saying a word. He had had enough of dealing with mentally challenged grifters. “Come on in. It’s open,” he shouted to the students outside.
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