I was
standing in the hall of a moving train, watching the Mazovian plain wisp by. Intermittently
a red pine forests would obscure my view, and then, in the blink of the eye, it
would go back to the long yellow grain fields. In Mazovia there’s not much
variation in the landscape, but you can tell you’ve entered Mazury when that
changes. The terrain starts to softly undulate and the energy begins to
localize in the towns between the hills.
A friend of
mine was leaving for his home back in Sweden. He spent 2 years in Poland, and at
this point he felt like he hadn’t dropped anchor here, so he bought a new flat
back in Stockholm and started contemplating his next step. As a going away
present, his colleagues asked him if he would like to visit anywhere. He said, “castles
with sword fighting.” They searched the internet and found the Teutonic castle
at Nidzica. After hearing about it, I decided to join him for the day, because
I too wanted to see castles and knights.
Poland has
an astounding amount of Teutonic heritage. Nearly all of the well-preserved
castles associated with the brotherhood are located within the Polish borders,
with a few exceptions in the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad to the north. One
of the most profound battles in European and world history happened between the Kingdom of Poland and the Teutonic Order in 1410. Called the Battle
of Grunwald by the Poles and the Battle of Tannenberg by the Germans, the
Teutonic loss was a humiliation that simmered in European politics for
centuries and even influenced German propaganda in WW1 as well as the ideology
of Hitler and consequently the German extermination tactics in Poland in WW2 through
‘Operation Tannenberg.’
All of the
Teutonic castles in Poland are located in the north, in a region known as
Mazury, more commonly called the Lake District. It’s an area that is
traditionally considered the most underdeveloped part of Poland. Historically
Mazury belonged to East Prussia, but this region of the Prussian empire was
broken in two after Germany’s loss in WW2, and subsequently divided between the
newly established communist People’s Republic of Poland, and the burgeoning
Soviet Union. Suddenly, Poland had control over land it had never had direct
control over before. Left behind in this stunning yet undeveloped region was
the legacy of the Teutonic Order in the form of many gothic red brick castles.
Arriving in
Nidzica, we were immediately greeted by the most communist brutalist train
station I’ve seen so far in Poland. It was an eerie cement structure with a
seemingly permanently closed cashier. Passing through the inside gave you a
dusty chill down the spine. Exiting onto the street side there was an old red
brick building that signified that we were now in former East Prussia. We
caught site of a tourist information sign, and started to head off in that
direction. Each sign turned us around another corner and pulled us towards the
center of the small town of 15,000 inhabitants. In minutes we were passing
through the main square where they were setting up a stage for a local summer
concert. It’s amazing, when you’re living in Warsaw, you assume that there is
no other activity going on anywhere around in Poland.
Another
sign for the tourist office now pointed us around the castle, which we saw the
towers of when we first entered the square. We thought it was best to get some
information on our return train as well as other ideas on what we could do
around Nidzica before we dived between the castle walls. We walked around the
castle and found a sign pointing us back towards the castle. We walked up the
hill and found another sign pointing us directly into the castle. Finally we
realized that the tourist information office was situated in the middle of the
castle courtyard.
We were
greeted between the walls by costumed knights and medieval village folk, and an
Egyptian snake charmer carrying a 10 foot yellow python. The Egyptian man asked
us in Polish whether we would like to hold it for 15 PLN or not. In the center
of the courtyard a number of the costumed villagers were dancing and singing,
and on the other side of the courtyard we took a seat on a raised wooden pavilion
and watched the show.
My friend
and I ordered a couple of beers, and we started to talk. He told me the story
about his Swedish origins, and about how was actually part German. His
grandfather came from Germany and eventually set up a business in Sweden where
he collected and sold hardened moose droppings to eccentric German tourists.
Soon after, we were invited inside the museum by the helpful tourist
information clerk.
We walked
around the castle for a while and admired the shockingly sadistic medieval
weapons and torture devices. The castle was not heavily guarded so we got into
parts that were apparently closed to normal tourists. We stumbled upon a
darkened room at the top of the castle filled with preset checkerboards that seemed
ready for a tournament to begin soon. Laying on a table was the grand prize, an
authentic forged sword.
Just
outside the castle walls another kind of tournament was taking place. Knights
in unique and different armors were hacking at each other with more real
swords, and referees were deciding who hacked best. We watched as new knights
would enter the ring to challenge the winner, but we couldn’t understand the
scoring standards. The knights would bash each other with the sword, and the
referees would yell stop when they saw fit, and then point to who they thought
was the winner. Some moments seemed downright dangerous as the referee stood
less than a meter away from a swinging sword that would easily lodge itself an
inch deep into his face. The event was enthralling and especially with the
dramatic music from the Lord of the Rings and Star Wars the Phantom Menace
playing over a PA system.
My friend
explained that these kind of events never gain so much attraction back in
Sweden, especially from the older population, and that’s one thing he liked
about Poland. Poles love to get involved with reenactments and they take them
seriously. From the knights of the middle age to the soldiers in WW1, you can
find a lot of dedicated Polish enthusiasts.
As the day
went on we enjoyed our time in the small town, a carefree breath of fresh air
away from the troubles of the big city. Around the courtyard were some pictures
hanging, about the Russian and German soldiers in Nidzica during WW1, and I
noticed in one of them a cemetery that had been built for the fallen during
those battles. It was easy to guess the location of it in the picture, and we
were curious, so we made our way to see if it still existed. On our way there
we realized that if we continued we probably wouldn’t have enough time to catch
our train, so we turned away from it and instead headed towards the station.
While on
the way back we came across another cemetery, the town cemetery, and decided to
take a quick look. The first graves I saw all had German names. All the Germans
were expelled when this land became Polish, so I assumed that they came back
here just to be buried. I looked at one of them, his name was Bernard Ludwig
Otello, and he was born in 1897. He had lived in Nidzica, it was called
Neidenburg when he was living there, for 48 years before being forced to go
somewhere else. He died in 1985, a good 40 years after he left. It’s hard to
imagine being expelled from your land after almost 50 years of memories. The German graves highlighted the German
past, and revealed that this Polish land is close to the hearts of more than
just its current inhabitants.
