I have become accustomed to a rather mundane paysage. Green and yellow fields stretch as far as the eye can see, trying to fight against the monochromatic, alabaster clouds on the horizon that dominate the sky for most of the year. This is what characterises the East Midlands – a stretch of flat land with villages, towns and cities dispersed throughout the landscape. It is an area I have called home for the past eighteen years, after my parents decided to emigrate to the United Kingdom.

No emigration journey is spared of emotional and existential baggage. Growing up Polish in the UK meant that my social and cultural identity, to varying levels of extent, has inevitably become plural and entangled. The abstract feeling of nostalgia for a memory of a continuously shifting place lingers in the background whilst you try to negotiate not feeling one hundred percent in either place. There is always something that differentiates you from your home and host setting, even if it’s just a subconscious feeling of distance. It’s like bouncing back and forth in a state of boundless liminality.

At the start of my adulthood I have eventually found consistency by focusing on the known. Not everything needs to be defined by struggle and difference, which are often fuelled by a lingering and abstract sense of fear and anxiety. If anything, I would say I have managed to assimilate well enough to be both proud of my heritage and my own life built in the UK. Inevitably, this sense of stability is not always constant. But one thing that has managed to secure my sense of consistency and ground my identity is my connection to mountains. Perhaps they are rooted in the comfort of my childhood memories, or some abstract force existing as a figment of my imagination. Nonetheless, mountains help me transcend any identity boundaries and help me develop an identity of my own.

Like the UK, most of Poland is actually relatively flat – which came to my surprise as a child. From the few memories I held onto living in Poland and the frequent visits to my family home over the years, my image of the country was well and truly shaped by the abundance of peaks and hills dominating the landscape. My hometown, situated in the Podhale region of Southern Poland, is characterised by a strong ethno-cultural link to this mountainous terrain. As a Podhalanin (Polish Highlander) it is something that is ingrained and reflected in my history and experiences. I still enviously reminisce about the beautiful wood carvings decorating my grandad’s bedroom and being greeted with Oscypek (mountain cheese made from sheep milk) when we visited our family during the holidays. We have our own, thankfully more cheerful, versions of some Christmas carols which we used to sing throughout December. I also remember one time I was forced to play one of them on my violin – ironically, an instrument that is fundamental for folk music coming from this area. Even small differences in dialect – saying I’m going na pole (to the fields) instead of na dwór (to the court/yard) when going outside reminds me that mountains have the power to shape even the mundane.

Luckily, we managed to take some parts of this culture back to our new home. We would return the favour when coming back to the UK by bringing just as much Oscypek to our family friends, sharing a part of our identity with the people closest to us. My mum has also taken good care of documenting my childhood through photographs. Albeit infrequently, looking through the huge stack of photo albums in our living room reminds me of the times when we would hike through the Gorce mountains. One time, a family friend was casually walking with his horse from the valley and I always giggle when I see the photo of me sitting on it with a black highlander hat on my tiny head. Although I was too young to remember, seeing my godmother’s wedding in an ornamental wooden restaurant reminds me of how beautifully the culture fostered around our mountains has been preserved. Even my grandma, occasionally calling us to complain about the terribly dangerous Halny wind coming from the mountains brings me back to my origins for just that short moment.

My love for hiking has definitely come as a result of listening to my mum reminisce about rajdy (hiking expeditions) back when she was in school. She would describe how the whole class, led by her teachers, would hike together for a long weekend in different mountain ranges and bond over the experience. It made me reflect on how much I enjoy being in the presence of mountains and sharing the journey with others. But this feeling permeates beyond the context of my heritage. The act of hiking itself, the preparation of the route, waking up early in the morning to make tea in a thermos flask, cleaning my shoes afterwards – it is something that can luckily be experienced anywhere. Even before arriving in Skopje I was already planning hikes to complete during my time here. Although I have managed to use my hiking boots only twice, thanks to the unpredictable weather in March and April, I reminded myself of how pivotal they have become for my own identity. For me, mountains are so much more than just heritage and nostalgia – they have inevitably become a place of comfort, inspiration and reflection.

I will miss waking up and seeing Vodno in the shadows of the morning fog, or lit up by the beautiful sun, and sometimes soaking in the showery spring days, but it will always symbolise how I have changed and shaped myself during my three months here. It is one of many mountains that I will be able to find solace in throughout my lifetime.

Dawid Kościelniak