The journey had gone well enough, we'd arrived only slightly late at the airport. A subdued panic had set in as we left late and was heightened by missing the turning for the car park and travelling on to the moors beyond the airport. When we had driven past the airport for 10 minutes, reaching a derelict pub on the brow of a hill and seeing beyond nothing but moorland, we knew it was fucked up. "My sister lives not far from here," said B sensing I was stressed, "in fact I once went for a drink in that pub".

"Should I turn round?"

"Yes."

We turned left and finding a car park behind a dealership selling 4x4s to people misguided enough to think West Yorkshire was rough country we headed back on ourselves.

As usual tension flowed out as Stella flowed in and from the airport bar to the skies over Krakow a golden glow warmed and cheered me until the pilot interrupted our alcoholic descent. "Krakow lies in a valley and is prone to fog...in fact it would be illegal under European rules to attempt a landing at present". The street lights below seemed clear enough, I was convinced I'd landed in worse. Beijing had been only a polluted shadow but Air China pilots are clearly made of sterner stuff than budget airline staffers. Budget airline or not our pilot had the smooth yet authoritative voice they must teach at pilot school, "Luckily there is an alternative airport only 40 miles away, a coach will be waiting to take you to Krakow from there. It should only add an hour to your journey".

Katowice airport appeared unprepared for our arrival. There was no coach. A taxi stand sign claimed it was 120km to Krakow. It was already 10pm. The chances of pissing the first night in Krakow up a wall, seemed pissed up a wall.

As people waited for their bags we spotted a van waiting by the curb, the signed said Katowice-Krakow. For £4 we could be taken to either the train station or the town square said the bus drivers' mate. The refugees from the flight all agreed in the town square. Nobody knew where the station was. Money was collected and the organiser spoke to the driver and got off the bus.

The man in the front seat tried to strike up a conversation with the driver, "Good roads", he said waving his arm at the tarmac emerging from the night, "good roads". The driver grunted it was impossible to determine if he was agreeing, saying he didn't speak english or, as seemed most likely from his tone, telling us conversation cost extra. Skoda dealerships and recently built advertising hoarding slid by, the usual paraphernalia of the new Europe.

After some time we arrived at Krakow train station. The driver leaped out and enthusiastically started offloading cases. People asked for the town square, the driver waived his arm vaguely and snarled "is five minutes", jumping back in his bus he was gone. People drifted in the direction of the driver's wave. Some found taxis, others disappeared down side streets, presumably following maps.

The streets were almost deserted and only partially lit, mouldering 19th century apartment blocks were broken up by villas set in grounds. After 10 minutes we knew we were lost. No amount of wishful thinking drew any relationship between the map and the potholed streets we tentatively approached. A young couple studied our map intently for 10 minutes, searching the night skyline for clues as to our destination. After some whispered conversation they turned back to us. "Taxi" they said brightly, pointing back to where we had come from.

Fortunately getting a taxi was easy, after each twist and turn of the journey so far I sensed we were on the home straight as the geography of the city started to relate to the map I glanced at. "Here" said the driver, pulling up outside a hotel. We gladly ran up the steps into a smart reception, if the rooms were as good as the lobby then the trip would have been worth it. "Hello we have a reservation", the receptionist checked the ledger. "Err no I don't think so, the hotel is full".