Tripe soup and bitter coffee in the dining car: a nostalgic ride through Poland on a communist-era train

This unique journey finds its profound context in the Polish parliament’s recent declaration of 2026 as the official Year of Polish Railways. This legislative recognition heralds a double jubilee under way: the 25th anniversary of PKP Intercity, the nation’s leading long-distance operator, and the centenary of Polish state railways, a monumental milestone marking a century of interconnectedness and national development. To commemorate these significant anniversaries, PKP Intercity, in a stroke of brilliant nostalgia, launched a series of retro rail journeys collectively named "Nieśpieszny" – a word that translates evocatively to “Unhurried.”

The "Nieśpieszny" initiative is more than just a marketing gimmick; it’s a living museum on wheels. Every weekend over the spring and summer, with initial runs scheduled until the end of August and more departures likely due to overwhelming popularity, a fully refurbished train from the 1980s embarks on a nostalgic voyage. Each train boasts a livery meticulously matched to its era, evoking the distinct aesthetic of the Polish People’s Republic. These rolling time capsules depart from a different region of Poland each time, traversing the country’s diverse landscapes, from the rugged, mountainous south to the windswept Baltic coast in the north. When my friend Mariusz, intimately familiar with my annual railway pilgrimages to his country, first mentioned this extraordinary opportunity, I jumped at the chance. My ticket to Poznań was secured the very day they went on sale, a testament to the fervent interest these journeys have sparked among rail enthusiasts and curious travelers alike.

On board, the transition felt immediate and complete. Settling into a marmalade-coloured, six-seater compartment, furnished with plush, armchair-like seats, I instantly sensed a uniquely sociable air. This wasn’t the hushed, solitary atmosphere often found on modern, high-speed services. Here, nobody was commuting in a rush; everyone was united by a shared sense of leisure and discovery. Our "unhurried" journey, as the name promised, would take approximately five hours, a stark contrast to the mere two hours a faster, contemporary service would require. This deliberate deceleration was part of the charm, allowing time for conversation, contemplation, and the simple joy of watching the world slowly pass by.

Ready for an early lunch, I stowed my bag and, guided by the tantalizing smell of fried sausages and other hearty fare, headed towards the dining car. This culinary institution, run by the legendary WARS catering company, has been feeding passengers on Polish trains since 1948, enduring through various political and economic shifts. For this special journey, WARS had gone to great lengths to provide menus and plates that were pleasingly vintage, enhancing the retro immersion. After placing my order, I squeezed onto a stool next to a fellow passenger, Anita, and her son. It was only later that I realized her son was Jan Lisiecki, the internationally acclaimed concert pianist, visiting from Calgary but with deep family roots in Gdańsk. "In the 1980s, trains were packed," Anita recounted, a wry smile playing on her lips. "You’d even have people standing in the toilet. This is nothing." Her words painted a vivid picture of a different era, underscoring the contrast between the leisurely space we now enjoyed and the often cramped realities of travel during the communist period.

Tucking into a plate of perfectly fried eggs, potatoes speckled with fresh dill, and a cool cup of kefir – a fermented milk drink ubiquitous in Eastern Europe – I reflected on the experience. It would be easy, I mused, to dismiss the thought of communist-era food, such as what we were served, as bland or uninspired. However, the meal was freshly cooked, robustly flavoured, and utterly excellent, defying any preconceived notions. The simple, wholesome ingredients spoke of a different time, a different approach to sustenance that valued hearty satisfaction. I inquired about another man’s soup at our shared table. "This is flaki," he explained, taking a spoonful of the tripe-based stew, "a classic, very traditional." His enjoyment was evident, highlighting the enduring appeal of these culinary staples.

The landscape we trundled through – an undulating tapestry of wind turbines silhouetted against the sky, dense Scots pine forests, and vast, verdant cabbage fields – was, by itself, largely unremarkable. It wasn’t the scenery that held our collective gaze, but rather the train itself, its meticulously restored, handsome interior, and the sheer novelty of the experience for which we had all signed up. Every detail, from the sturdy compartment doors to the luggage racks, felt authentic. Even the windows, unlike their sealed, modern counterparts, opened fully, allowing us the simple, exhilarating pleasure of poking our heads out, feeling the wind and hearing the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks – a sensory connection to rail travel of yesteryear that modern trains rarely offer. With my phone battery thoroughly dead – in keeping with the theme, there were no obvious sockets to be found in our vintage carriage – I allowed myself to recall some highlights from my previous Polish rail adventures, fully embracing the analogue journey.

Getting to know Poland by train has consistently provided umpteen enjoyable experiences over the years, revealing layers of history, culture, and natural beauty. I’ve crossed the country by rail, from the industrial yet rapidly transforming city of Katowice in the south, a hub of Silesian heritage, to the modernist Baltic port city of Gdynia in the far north. Yet, despite extensive travels, there is still so much more I yearn to see: Lublin in the east, with its fascinating multicultural past and intriguing underground brewery scene, and Zakopane, nestled at the foot of the majestic Tatra Mountains, offering unparalleled access to hiking trails. I know, with absolute certainty, that the extensive and increasingly efficient Polish rail network will get me there.

Sometimes in Poland, the pleasure of the journey is as much about the destination as it is about the railway station itself, which often stands as a monument to history and architectural grandeur. Wrocław Główny, for instance, a magnificent Neogothic structure completed in 1857, is worth a visit alone. Its soaring arches, intricate stained glass, evocative neon signs from the 1950s, and wood-panelled ticket counters transport visitors to a bygone era. It’s a living testament to the city’s rich past, having served as a gateway under German, and later, Polish rule. Similarly, Gdańsk Główny, another photogenic station with its distinctive clock tower and copper-clad turrets, reflects the city’s Hanseatic heritage and its enduring importance as a Baltic port. These stations are not mere transit points; they are cultural landmarks, silent storytellers of Poland’s journey.

Joy also comes from stopping somewhere purely because doing so works seamlessly with certain routes and timetables, serendipitously revealing hidden gems. That was precisely the case when I visited Toruń in north-central Poland. After disembarking the train, I crossed a bridge by foot over the broad Vistula River, and a gloriously panoramic view of the city’s medieval old town, a UNESCO World Heritage site and birthplace of Nicolaus Copernicus, began to open up before me. Shortly after, I wandered into a small, charming museum dedicated to the city’s globetrotting son, Tony Halik, a celebrated adventurer, reporter, and filmmaker. Old photographs in the museum chronicled his epic journey driving a Jeep from Argentina to Alaska between 1957 and 1961, a feat of endurance and exploration that resonated with the spirit of adventure inherent in train travel.

The next day on that previous trip, after taking the train from Toruń north to Gdańsk Główny, I switched trains again for a swift 20-minute hop to Sopot, a charming resort city on the Baltic Sea. A leisurely walk by the sea buckthorn bushes, whose tart berries are a local delicacy, led me to Bar Przystań and its famous fisherman’s soup, a rich, aromatic broth featuring local halibut, salmon, and fragrant herbs. It was there, too, amidst the seaside charm, that I bought my first jagodzianka, Poland’s famous blueberry-filled bun – the quintessential taste of Polish summer and utterly delicious – before reluctantly boarding the train to Katowice, my heart already yearning for another visit.

Back on the current retro train, and with just 45 minutes remaining before our anticipated arrival in Poznań, I returned once more to the lively dining car. The queue was just as long as it had been earlier, a testament to the enduring popularity of the WARS experience, but the staff remained as friendly and efficient as ever, navigating the bustling carriage with practiced ease. The apple pie I ordered was generously fruity, its sweetness a perfect counterpoint to the journey’s gentle rhythm. As I winced slightly, sipping the harsh, grainy coffee, a neighbour at the counter leaned over and offered a knowing smile. "That’s the old, traditional stuff," he said, "still the only coffee my grandma drinks." It was another delightful nod to the past, a taste of authentic history, and thus, entirely forgivable.

I was not keen for the journey to end, yet I eagerly anticipated my return to Poznań. A modern train had delivered me to the city a couple of years ago, when I had fallen for its general buzz and energetic atmosphere, its magnificent Palm House – one of Europe’s biggest greenhouses, a verdant oasis – and the atmospheric milk bar Pod Arkadami, a relic of communist-era dining that continues to offer hearty, affordable Polish cuisine. However, on that prior trip, I had run out of time for the Croissant Museum. A unique trademark of the city, Poznań’s St Martin’s croissants, or rogale świętomarcińskie, are distinctive pastries iced and filled with a rich white poppy seed mixture, and the museum offers engaging baking classes where one can learn the secrets of their preparation. This visit, I vowed, would include a deeper dive into this local culinary heritage.

Our unhurried train, a journey into the past, contrasts sharply with the rapid development of modern rail services across Poland. To keep pace with soaring demand and ambitious infrastructure plans, disused carriages are being extensively revamped, and new, state-of-the-art rolling stock is being sourced from abroad. The nation’s commitment to rail is evident in its recent accolades: in February, Poland proudly won the prestigious 2026 Rail Champion award in Brussels, a significant recognition of its substantial contribution to the development of rail transport in Europe, particularly in areas like cross-border connectivity and investment in green transport solutions. When the future of rail travel is this promising, characterized by innovation and expansion, surely there is nothing wrong with indulging in some good-natured nostalgia, bitter coffee and all, as a way to honour the foundations upon which this modern success is built. It’s a celebration of where Polish railways have come from, and a hopeful glance at where they are headed.

Nieśpieszny journeys currently cost from £20. For navigating Poland’s broader railway system, Koleo, a highly useful mobile app and website, offers comprehensive information and booking services.