We’d overslept the day before (a “quick nap” at 9am turned into waking up at 4pm) so at 3am we were wide-eyed, wired, and not fooling anyone by pretending to sleep. Luckily, both of us can fritter away hours online, so we rode out the dark until dawn broke and our stomachs kicked in.

Breakfast at the hotel was a dream: ripe summer fruit, fresh and sweet, plus a spread that could fuel an army. We thought we’d nailed the start of the day. Then Jo realised she’d misplaced our room card, likely collateral damage from her illicit nectarine smuggling. Reception replaced it with a smile.

Crisis averted. Until I lost the second card. Within thirty minutes. Same receptionist. Same sheepish apology.

We packed, checked out, and strolled to the station, bags in tow. At the counter, I proudly secured two first-class tickets to Poznań. Easy. Except we boarded the wrong train. Don’t ask me how. Don’t ask me why. I really don’t want to talk about it. The timetable, the platform, the tickets: none of it added up.

So we spent the ride playing musical chairs, shifting seats at every stop when new passengers turned up to claim theirs. The ticket inspector barely blinked and muttered something like “close enough” and kept walking. At least the train passed through Poznań, so luck was on our side. Bonus: I met an Urban Sketcher who knows Eric (@uskauckland organiser). Small world.

By the time we hauled our bags off the train, sweaty but intact, we were ready for redemption. And Poznań delivered.

Our hotel rooms (side by side, top floor, each with a private terrace) are spectacular. Spacious, sunlit, with gleaming bathrooms. Instant mood lift. After showers and a reset, we wandered out for a drink.

A little pub called our name. The bar snacks? Unusual, brilliant: beef tartare, cheese-heavy toasted sandwiches, and a potato-and-cottage-cheese dish (possibly “kwiq”) that blew us away. Simple, hearty, perfect.

And the people! what a contrast. Warsaw felt buttoned-up, smiles scarce*. Here in Poznań? Everyone’s warm, helpful, alive with colour and style. The city itself is a stunner: from station to hotel, we passed a castle and streets that had us gawking like tourists who’d just stepped off the farm. (Which, let’s be honest, we did.)

We clinked mojitos, devoured our potatoes, then called it an early night. Jet lag wins again.

Now it’s half past eight, and I’m tucked up in bed while Jo edits family videos next door. Tomorrow the real adventure begins: I’m part of the greeting crew for the Oceania contingent at 10am Wednesday, followed by symposium registration at four, and then the big opening.

Wrong trains, lost keys, and all; Poland is winning us over as we settle i to ten days in the beautiful city of Poznań.