
Day 24 – How I almost failed at the border crossing
In the morning, eight o’clock, at the border crossing in Korczowa, Poland. A stern-looking border guard approaches me and speaks to me in Polish. I don’t understand her, but she has the kind of look that tells you: we have a problem. Large signs direct cars and buses to their lanes, but this huge border crossing is apparently not designed for bicycle travelers. „Stay here,“ the woman orders me, pointing to a corner, „dont go away!“