Letter from the Czech-German-Polish tripoint

The tripoint between the Czech Republic, Germany and Poland is situated in the middle of the two protruding “dog ears” atop northern Bohemia. It’s something of a deader zone as far as tourist attractions are concerned – to the west is the allure of the Lužické mountains, and further still České Švýcarsko, or Bohemian Switzerland; and to are the east the Jizerské, and then Krkonoše mountains. But the small town of Hrádek nad Nisou, just south of the border(s), has its own kind of quaintness, with a well-kept historic square and visible efforts being made to shake-off past industrial grimness, including by playing up it’s “tripoint” location.

Czech-German-Polish tripoint, photo: Mirek256, CC BY-SA 3.0

Boarding the train to nearby Zittau – or Žitava – within minutes we slow to a near crawl. For we have crossed over into Poland. The ticket lady explains that there have been some issues regarding the maintenance of the tiny piece of train track that passes through Polish territory on this otherwise Czech-German line. So the train is forced to travel at a near snail’s pace through the Polish village of Porájow. “It used to be even slower until recently” she explains, “But some repairs have just been made.”

The town of Zittau, Germany is just a few kilometres from Hrádek. To its eastern edge is the Lusatian Neisse river (Lužická Nisa in Czech), which splits off further north from the Oder river - since 1945 this Oder–Neisse line has marked the border between Germany and Poland. Hidden away in the eastern part of the former East Germany, Zittau has more than its fare share of crumbling buildings – the victim of the westward drift of inhabitants, and accentuated by the availability of cheaper labour in Poland and the Czech Republic. But it too has an appealing historical centre, including an Italian palazzo style town hall; built on a slope, it’s easy to lose your bearings here as you often can’t see the horizon from ground level. Out of the town, across the river to Porájow, it’s clear that around here it’s the Poles, not Czechs, offering Germans the cheapest cross-border shopping, with countless stalls and supermarkets containing everything from fruit and veg, to cigarettes, to the usual garden trinkets. North along the Neisse river lies the vast moonscape of a Polish coal mine. It’s an almost apocalyptic landscape the size of a large city. Beyond that, the looming chimneys of the Turów Power Station in the town of Bogatynia. My knowledge of Polish comes in useful when some security guards turn up to tell me I’m not supposed to be here...

Turów coal mine|Photo: Dominik Jůn, Radio Prague International

Walking a couple of kilometers to the south-east, across a field, I find the unusual split Czech-Polish village of Oldřichov na Hranicích and Kopaczów. A tiny river serves to divide these two communities, who each live on a parallel road metres away from their neighbours. Apparently during the Cold War, even such “brotherly socialist” neighbours were separated by a barbed wire – though nothing like as impenetrable or thick as the border with the West. The Czech side looks the better kept of the two sides. Kopaczów feels somewhat deserted. I jokingly ask a local Czech woman whether she enjoys hopping over to Poland for some “pierogi”. She laughs, but shakes her head as if to say: “you’re not from here, are you?”.

Oldřichov, photo: Dominik Jůn

Walking back west, I reach the tripoint. Three staffs in a triangular shape displaying vertically-draped flags of the Czech Republic, Poland and Germany, as well a fourth EU flag in the middle of these. The river prevents any “fun” hopping between the three. There’s no bridge here. A little further on and the Neisse river finally slips into Czech territory on both sides. To the west, Germany continues southwards until the Lužické mountains, their almost v-shaped peaks clearly visible in the distance. Back towards Hrádek, and I come across the large lake Kristýna – a flooded former lignite mine – neighboured by a Wild Western-style camping village called Indiánov. In the summer, this place fills up to bursting point with bathers.

Roaming around these parts, it’s difficult to know how to greet passers by: “dobrý den”, “guten tag” or “dzień dobry”? But if you pick the wrong one, it doesn’t really matter – the people around here understand all three.