Black in Europe: Why I Will Never Go Back to Poland

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Black in Europe: Why I Will Never Go Back to Poland

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I didn’t expect Poland to welcome me with roses and smiles, but I never imagined feeling so out of place. After visiting more than 80 countries, Poland stands alone—the place where my presence felt like a personal offense.

Table of Contents

1. Black in Europe: Why I Will Never Go Back to Poland
2. My Kindness Was Not Reciprocated
3. My Experience as a Black Woman in Poland
4. Auschwitz
5. A Country Seeking a National Identity
6. A Country in Crisis
7. Like it? Pin it!

My Kindness Was Not Reciprocated

The man appeared suddenly, his coat tight and sleeves awkwardly short. As our eyes locked, I smiled out of habit. But his gaze felt like winter—icy and biting. He clutched his coat tighter, his footsteps sharp against the cobblestone, glaring until disappearing around the corner. Welcome to Poland.

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My Experience as a Black Woman in Poland

Touching down in tiny Rzeszów airport, southern Poland greeted us with the scent of wet pavement. Our plans involved pampering spa treatments and sightseeing—ambitious for a quick weekend. Reality proved less indulgent.

I’m A Black Woman Who Travels—a Lot

I’ve navigated language barriers, solitude, and stares before. Poland wasn’t unique in its curiosity, but the vibe was different—heavy, cautious, uncomfortably quiet.

Because I’m Black?

Having had warm experiences elsewhere in Eastern Europe, Poland’s chilly reception was unexpected. Not outright hostile—just quietly unwelcoming, like an awkward dinner where nobody speaks.

Where We Stayed: Park Hotel & Fitness Club Rzeszów

The hotel, enveloped by lush gardens and a duck-filled lake, offered peace. But beyond the tranquility lay a city whose charm dimmed with each uncomfortable stare at sidewalk cafés, each bite of buttery perogies feeling heavier than the last.

My Experience with Polish People

Politeness wasn’t always mutual. Directions were denied, gazes lingering with suspicion. Yet, amidst shadows of prejudice came unexpected warmth: An elderly woman, shuffling over cobblestones, blew me a spontaneous kiss, her toothless grin dissolving tension for a brief, sweet second.

Auschwitz

Auschwitz greeted us with gray skies and persistent drizzle. I felt the sharp gravel crunching beneath my feet, the heavy silence, the chilling dampness. Anger gave way to sadness as I stood beneath the cruel irony of “Arbeit Macht Frei.” The horror was palpable—every brick, every shoe, every bullet hole whispering of loss.

A Country Seeking a National Identity

In Krakow, history felt gentler. Horses clopped rhythmically over cobblestones, cafes buzzed softly, and medieval towers stood elegantly indifferent to modern struggles. The city shimmered under streetlights, yet I couldn’t forget Poland’s conflicting energies: warmth shadowed by distance, beauty tainted by history.

A Country in Crisis

Poland wrestles with identity—caught between progress and prejudice, luxury and tradition. Change is slow. Maybe future travelers who look like me will find a warmer welcome. Until then, my memories are bittersweet.

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