The air on platform 2 buzzed with a unique blend of anticipation and nostalgia. Trainspotters, some clad in vintage railway attire, jostled good-naturedly as the morning sun cast a golden glow on the immaculately polished olive-green carriages of the 11:07 service, bound from Warszawa Główna to Poznań. As the last calls for boarding echoed, a man, distinguished by his smart bow tie and crisp braces, zipped past, his enthusiasm mirroring the collective excitement. This was no ordinary commuter run; this was a journey back in time, a deliberate embrace of the past that promised more than just a destination. Poland, a nation with a deep and often dramatic railway history, is currently celebrating a monumental double jubilee. The Polish parliament, recognizing the enduring legacy and strategic importance of its rail network, has declared 2026 the "Year of Polish Railways." This significant designation coincides with two key milestones: the 25th anniversary of PKP Intercity, the country’s principal long-distance passenger operator, and the centenary of the Polish State Railways (PKP). To commemorate these anniversaries and foster a deeper appreciation for rail travel, a captivating series of retro rail journeys, aptly named Nieśpieszny ("Unhurried"), has been meticulously launched. The concept behind Nieśpieszny is simple yet profound: to offer passengers an authentic experience of Polish rail travel as it was decades ago. Every weekend throughout the spring and summer, with departures confirmed until at least the end of August and more likely to be added, a fully refurbished train from the 1980s, complete with its original era-appropriate livery, embarks from a different region of Poland. These routes crisscross the country, taking passengers from the dramatic, mountainous landscapes of the south to the serene, sandy stretches of the Baltic coast in the north. When my friend Mariusz, keenly aware of my annual railway pilgrimages to his homeland, first mentioned this initiative, I didn’t hesitate. I secured my ticket to Poznań the very day they went on sale, eager to partake in this rolling piece of history. Stepping aboard the Nieśpieszny train was like entering a carefully preserved time capsule. The interior immediately transported me to a bygone era. I settled into a marmalade-coloured six-seater compartment, its armchair-like seats upholstered in a fabric that felt both sturdy and inviting. The design ethos of the 1980s, characterized by functional comfort and a certain no-frills charm, was perfectly recreated. There was a palpable shift in atmosphere compared to modern express services. A sociable hum filled the carriage; strangers exchanged smiles, children peered curiously out the windows. Here, nobody was rushing to a meeting or staring intently at a screen. The journey itself was the purpose, a sentiment reinforced by the fact that our "unhurried" expedition to Poznań would take approximately five hours, a stark contrast to the mere two hours it would take on a contemporary high-speed service. This deliberate slowness encouraged connection, observation, and a peaceful detachment from the demands of modern life. Ready for an early lunch, I stowed my bag and followed the irresistible aroma of fried sausages wafting from the dining car. This was the domain of WARS, the iconic Polish catering company that has been nourishing passengers on Polish trains since 1948. Their legacy is deeply woven into the fabric of Polish rail travel, and for this special journey, WARS had gone to great lengths to provide a truly vintage culinary experience. The menus and even the plates were pleasingly retro, evoking memories for older passengers and offering a novel insight for younger ones. Having placed my order, I managed to squeeze onto a stool beside Anita, a fellow passenger, and her son. It was only later that I realized her son was Jan Lisiecki, the internationally renowned concert pianist, visiting from Calgary but with strong family roots in Gdańsk. Our conversation quickly turned to the past. "In the 1980s, trains were packed. You’d even have people standing in the toilet. This is nothing," Anita chuckled, offering a vivid glimpse into the realities of communist-era travel, where trains were not just a mode of transport but often a symbol of limited mobility and resourcefulness. Tucking into my meal of perfectly fried eggs, potatoes generously speckled with fresh dill, and a cool cup of kefir, I reflected on the often-misconceived notion of communist-era food. While some might dismiss it as bland or uninspired, the dishes served on board were freshly cooked, wholesome, and utterly delicious. The simple, hearty fare spoke of a time when ingredients were local and preparation was unfussy. At our shared table, I inquired about another man’s soup. "This is flaki, made with tripe," he explained, taking a spoonful with evident relish. Flaki, a traditional Polish tripe soup, is a dish with deep historical roots, often considered a comfort food and a testament to Polish culinary resilience. As the train gently trundled along, the landscape unfolded outside our windows: sprawling fields punctuated by modern wind turbines, dense Scots pine forests, and neat rows of cabbage fields. While perhaps "unremarkable" in terms of dramatic vistas, the journey itself was less about the scenery and more about the immersive experience of the train. It was the train itself, its handsome interior, and the novelty of it all for which we had truly signed up. Even the windows, a feature largely absent from contemporary trains, could be opened fully, allowing passengers to lean out slightly, feeling the breeze and hearing the rhythmic clickety-clack of the wheels – a simple, sensory pleasure often lost in the hermetically sealed world of modern travel. Over the years, exploring Poland by train has consistently offered me a wealth of enjoyable and insightful experiences. I’ve traversed the country from the industrial heartland of Katowice in the south, a city now rapidly transforming its post-industrial landscape into a hub of culture and technology, all the way to the bustling Baltic port city of Gdynia in the far north, a modernist gem. Yet, despite these extensive journeys, there remains so much more of Poland I long to discover by rail. Lublin, with its rich history, charming old town, and even an underground brewery, beckons from the east. To the south, Zakopane offers unparalleled access to the breathtaking hiking trails of the Tatra Mountains. I have no doubt that Poland’s extensive and evolving railway network will reliably get me there. As the Nieśpieszny journey progressed, and my phone battery, in keeping with the retro theme, thoroughly died (no obvious sockets to be found, a delightful forced disconnection), I found myself recalling some of the highlights of my previous rail adventures. Sometimes in Poland, the sheer pleasure of train travel lies not just in the journey or the destination, but in the railway stations themselves. Wrocław Główny, for instance, is a destination in its own right. Completed in 1857, this magnificent Neo-Gothic edifice boasts stunning stained-glass windows, charming neon signs from the 1950s that harken back to a different era, and beautifully preserved wood-panelled ticket counters. Its grand scale and architectural details reflect the city’s rich history as a crossroads of cultures and a significant railway hub in Central Europe. Another profound joy of Polish rail travel comes from the serendipity of stopping somewhere purely because it aligns perfectly with a particular route or timetable. Such was the case during a memorable visit to Toruń in north-central Poland. After disembarking the train, I embarked on a picturesque walk, crossing a bridge on foot over the majestic Vistula River. As I did, a gloriously panoramic view of Toruń’s medieval old town, a UNESCO World Heritage site and the birthplace of Nicolaus Copernicus, began to unfold before me. Shortly after, I stumbled upon a small, captivating museum dedicated to the city’s globetrotting son, Tony Halik. A celebrated adventurer, reporter, and filmmaker, Halik’s incredible life story, including his epic journey driving a Jeep from Argentina to Alaska between 1957 and 1961, offered a fascinating insight into Polish wanderlust and resilience. The following day on that previous trip, after taking the train from Toruń north to Gdańsk Główny – another immensely photogenic station, characterized by its distinctive clock tower and striking copper-clad turrets, reflecting the city’s Hanseatic architectural heritage and its profound historical significance as the birthplace of the Solidarity movement – I switched trains for a short, scenic 20-minute hop to Sopot. Sopot, a charming resort city nestled on the Baltic Sea, is famed for its elegant pier, beautiful beaches, and vibrant cultural scene. A leisurely stroll by sea buckthorn bushes led me to Bar Przystań, a local institution renowned for its exquisite fisherman’s soup, a hearty concoction featuring fresh halibut, salmon, and fragrant herbs. It was there, too, that I indulged in my very first jagodzianka, Poland’s beloved blueberry-filled bun, a quintessential taste of summer and utterly delicious, before re-boarding a train bound for Katowice, completing another segment of my rail-bound exploration. Back on the current retro train, with just 45 minutes remaining before our arrival in Poznań, I made one last pilgrimage to the lively dining car. The queue was as long as ever, a testament to the enduring appeal of WARS and its offerings, but the staff remained unfailingly friendly and efficient. The apple pie I ordered was generously fruity, a perfect blend of sweet and tart. As I winced slightly, sipping the rather harsh, grainy coffee, my neighbour offered a knowing smile. "That’s the old, traditional stuff," he explained, "still the only coffee my grandma drinks." It was another charming nod to the past, a taste of authentic Polish heritage, and thus, entirely forgivable. Reluctantly, I prepared for the journey’s end, yet eagerly anticipated my return to Poznań. A previous train trip had delivered me to this vibrant city a couple of years prior, where I had immediately fallen for its palpable buzz and energetic atmosphere. I had explored its magnificent Palm House, one of Europe’s largest greenhouses, and savoured the authentic flavours of the atmospheric milk bar Pod Arkadami. However, I had run out of time to visit the intriguing Croissant Museum. Poznań’s St. Martin’s croissants, locally known as rogale świętomarcińskie, are a unique culinary trademark of the city. These crescent-shaped pastries, distinguished by their rich white poppy seed filling and sweet icing, hold a protected geographical indication status and are central to Poznań’s culinary identity. The museum, I knew, offered fascinating insights into their history and even hands-on baking classes. The Nieśpieszny journey, with its deliberate pace and nostalgic charm, stands in sharp contrast to the rapid and impressive development of modern rail services in Poland. To meet growing demand, PKP Intercity and other operators are actively revamping disused carriages and acquiring new, state-of-the-art rolling stock from abroad. This commitment to progress has not gone unnoticed. In February, Poland was proudly awarded the prestigious 2026 Rail Champion award in Brussels, recognizing its significant contribution to the development of rail transport in Europe. This accolade underscores Poland’s strategic position in the European rail network and its forward-thinking approach to sustainable and efficient transport. When the future of rail travel in Poland is so promising, marked by innovation and expansion, there is surely nothing wrong with indulging in some good-natured nostalgia, with its comfortable compartments, hearty meals, and yes, even that distinctively bitter coffee. It’s a reminder of where we’ve come from, even as we speed towards what’s next. Nieśpieszny journeys cost from £20. Koleo, a mobile app and website, is useful for navigating Poland’s railway system. Post navigation The other side of Croatia: ‘a landscape that could out-Tuscany Tuscany’
