 Alex is editor of the In Your Pocket guides in Poland and has written for The Guardian, The Times and The Observer.
Previous Columns
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Contain yourself, Webber Friday 11th June, 2010
"I was left looking like a microwaved cat: eyes melted to goo and a sizzled patch of fur on my head"
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You’d think I’d use this opportunity to write about the World Cup, in particular where to watch it. Two reasons I won’t, first it feels like I’ve spent the last four weeks prattling on about sports bars, and secondly, I’m in Bydgoszcz – not exactly the hottest bed in football by any means. So save the footy for next week, instead I’ve got a bar I’m bursting to tell you about.
The place is in Poznan, and as far as oddities go this place trumps the lot. Now I’ve got to say I’m starting to love my trips to Poz, and that’s partly down to a network of informants who never disappoint. This time they surpassed themselves, tipping me off to a pub in a container – yep, one of those great big things you see loaded onto ships.
Now I’ve got to admit, as curious as that sounds I was a bit worried about finding it – the fear of getting trollied and waking up deposited in China is something I could do without; a great hangover story sure, but something which would land me in a right heap of hassle.
No danger of that however, and that becomes apparent the moment you find it. Set due north of old town, bang in a patch of wasteland, this place isn’t just one cargo trailer, it’s about twenty. Stacked together to form a tri-level arrangement I doubt there’s a ship big enough to carry this place, more importantly I doubt the locals would let them. This has to rate as the best bar I’ve visited for a while, and it’s got a weird factor that’s just too high for numbers.
Interiors here are a work of art, and include such whimsical touches as seats made of tyres and gilt-trimmed thrones. Embellishing all that are some weird purple colours and a spread of nonsense like silvery bean bags that look like debris from space.
It looks fantastic, but I’ve got to admit I wasn’t sticking round for seconds; this had to be the hottest day of the year, and I was left looking like a microwaved cat: eyes melted to goo and a sizzled patch of fur on my head. So fab news they’ve got a beach outside, a thoughtful touch complimented by delicate deckchairs that croak and wobble. The rooftop terrace was where you’d have found me though, gaining access to a room full of bongos.
What a nutty place, with the only downside being the realization that I was the oldest by ten years – considering I’ve been mistaken for a cabin boy before that’s quite distressing, but not nearly as worrying as the fashions on show; some pastel Lacoste just simply won’t do, you’ll need to dress like a Japanese Manga character to truly fit in. Find more on Facebook: search for Kontenerart Art.
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