Monday we had breakfast. The nice woman asked if we wanted scrambled eggs and sausage. We said "sure." The eggs were great, the sausage was your basic, all-American hotdog. Oh my. About 11:00 we were met at the hotel by our guide, Ewa Pękalska, and soon headed due west from Gdańsk under pleasant skies. We took the more rural, southern route, passing through rolling hills with a mixture of hardwood forests and farms. The chief crop was wheat, with a smattering of alfalfa, potatoes, and corn. From Dąbrówka we drove northwest and joined back to the main route, Polish 6, Europe 28, about 4 km east of Domaradz (formerly Dumröse). Here the countryside was more flat than hilly, and the Poles were combining wheat with a ragtag assortment of combines ranging from modern types with enclosed cabs back in time to those where the driver stood in front. Within minutes we were on the outskirts of Domaradz, pausing for a photograph of the sign. The village is situated south of the highway, and we turned south onto the first street, which was cobbles. The main roads are all cobbles, and they make a square around the village. Many of the buildings had dates on them, and most of them were from the early 1900s through the mid 1920s. At the south end of the village, we turned right heading west. At the next cross street were three large, brick buildings that probably dated to the early 1800s. Ewa thought these were the farm buildings that went with the estate operated by the Zitzewitz family, the nobility, from 1440 through 1945. The brick work was intricate. It appeared that a short wall, probably adorned with a fence, lined the cobble road heading north to the largest brick building. 
Due west of this road is what the current guide book calls the “Manor Park” and is the site of where the manor, or palace, or estate, or mansion stood. While we were standing on the cobbles, a local Pole, maybe 55 years old, came by on his bicycle. He said that his father arrived in Dumröse in 1945 just after the Red Army “liberated” it. Because Dumröse was situated along the main route from Gdańsk to Słupsk, the Red Army was following it toward Słupsk (Stolp). This Pole recalled his father telling him how the Red Army burned many of the buildings in Dumröse, including the manor, which was apparently occupied by the “good, fair, and friendly” manager, who, along with his wife, burned in the fire. An interesting story. Who knows? Remnants of the Manor Park were evident; ivy grew underneath the forest, and several large trees were still growing. 
A massive Fraxinus (ash), three large Pseudotsuga (maybe Douglas-fir), and several large Fagus (beech). Due south of the Manor Park still stood what appeared to be the oldest house in town, occupied by three generations of Poles. At the southwest corner of the village was the church, constructed, or reconstructed, in 1907. From it, heading west, was a tree lined (Quercus, oaks) pathway, probably an old road, that went out to the “Noble Cemetery.” Here, the Zitzewitz family was supposedly buried, although all I could find was a single, large, cross. The local farmer had run a fence across the road, making it difficult to get there. I was the only one who crawled under the fence to investigate. Again, the ground was covered with vinca and ivy. Apparently the daughter of the couple burned in their manor by the Red Army was the last to be buried there, just a few years ago. An interesting story. Who knows? We turned north at the church and followed the cobbles up the western edge of the village. We passed the school, which looks like the original structure from the postcard, and nicer looking homes. These seemed to have been restored more lately, perhaps by people commuting from Słupsk. Where the cobbles rejoined E28 a bar stood on the southwest corner.
We tried to find the “evangelical” cemetery where the German Lutherans would have been, but weren’t successful. It was supposedly “in the woods” to the east of the village. We followed the cobbles east from the southeast corner of the village, but couldn’t find anything in the woods that look promising. It wasn’t on my 1929 map, although the parallel rows of trees stood as silent reminders of where the old roads were located, matching my map perfectly. We then finished our trip into Słupsk and found our hotel, the Villa Intryga (hotel of intrigue situated within a military base). It’s very new, very modern, with a lovely view if you don’t look down into the base. We ate dinner in the hotel restaurant.
Tuesday. After breakfast at the hotel (and avoiding the now infamous “Polish sausages”), we spent the morning in the Słupsk archives, looking for ghosts. The building was a light green, nondescript building. The inside was “hospital green”. We hiked up to the second floor archive room. In it were three Germans who were digitizing every record in the archives, as they say, for future generations. The elder was Georg Nitzke, who was accompanied by a couple that was maybe 50 years old. I think they were excited to talk about something, and the hunt for Doom-rrruse-ahs was on. Within a few minutes we discerned that Lenor Sherdin was probably really a Schardin, Rosinhof was probably really Rosinenhof, and being born in Lauenburg was not a very precise location. Ewa ordered the first set of civil records, the only source available at this archive, and only dating from October 1874. The room smelled of musty books and for the most part, and after the excitement of new people wore off, the only sounds were clicking cameras and the noise made when you turn the page of a quality sheet of paper. It’s much more complicated that I thought, as every little spec on the map had its own source of records, so trying to figure out exactly which records to look through becomes the challenge. About 14:00 we decided to break away and enjoy the sunshine, and drove off to visit Lębork (formerly Lauenburg), a place named on many of my ancestor’s documents. Along the way we found the last White Stork (lifer!)in Poland a top a giant nest; all the rest had already left for Africa. We toured the city center (nicely restored like the others), noted the old wall and St. Jacob’s church, and did a bit of shopping. Rhoda found some nice Polish cotton fabric with an interesting print. We then drove another 15 km northwest to another spec on the map, Pużyce (formerly Püsitz), where my great-great-grandfather Edward (Eduard) was probably born. It was a village of maybe 15 homes, situated on a bit of an S-curve in the road, with lots of children running about. We drove through, turned around and drove back through, heading to the closest parish, which was in Breżno, about 2 km south. The church had been rebuilt in the early 1910s, and was apparently both an evangelical and Catholic church, which makes me wonder if there might be some old Lutheran records still there. We asked the locals where the evangelical cemetery was. As what would become the running joke, it was “in the woods.” 
We made the 500 meter walk out through a farmer’s field to the forested hill where it was. After World War II, the Germans were essentially kicked out of Poland, and the area they had occupied for several hundred years reverted to Catholic Poles. So, the evangelical cemetery was abandoned, and it looked like it. On the west end was a low, rock wall. The rocks were large and round, but the wall was only about 18 inches tall. Walking in, the cemetery was a jungle of trees, stinging nettles, tall grass, and other plants. One of the locals said that one of the other locals had tried to clean it up a few years ago, which I think meant they had cut down the hardwood trees, because stump sprouts were numerous, adding to the difficulty of seeing much of anything. The ruin of the cemetery was said, but I guess that’s what happens when you are on the losing side in a major conflict, the people who occupy the land have a different faith tradition, and the post-war struggle to just survive, and survive under a Communist system, takes precedence. We could find grave sites, and stones, but none with writing. The only marker still intact was a metal cross, and the name? Hertha Margoretha Domröse, the 9-month-old daughter of a Karl Domröse. A relative? Who knows?We made our way back toward Lębork, skirting the main city to the east. We ate a “mountain lodge” restaurant along E28. The log building had a thatch roof and a large outdoor deck, where we sat, watching the sun set on another pleasant day in Poland.
Wednesday. Today we spent nearly 7 hours flipping pages in old books. We found a bunch of records for an Albert Dumröse, as well as for a Rudulph Dumröse. I have no clue if or how they might be related, but it was interesting to follow their lives recorded in German script. It was also interesting to see Dumroese spelled Dumroese, Dumröse, and Dumrös all on the same record. No wonder there are so many derivations of that name. About 15:00 we headed north and east from Słupsk about an hour to a tiny spot near the coast named Kluki. Here they have assembled an outdoor museum with original buildings from the late 18th and 19th centuries. It was interesting to see what some of my old ancestors may have had for homes and out-buildings. We then drove out to the coast and walked the kilometer to the sandy beaches on the Baltic Sea. It was getting late, a stiff breeze was blowing sand across the beach, so we enjoyed the view of the setting sun for a few minutes, and then headed for dinner. We returned to Słupsk and ate dinner in a restaurant beneath a museum near the old town. It was excellent.Thursday. We hit the books in the archive office one last time. During the last three days we looked at all the records for places mostly south and west of Lauenburg. We really needed to see the records for places east of Lauenburg, but unfortunately they were in Gdańsk in the archive that was closed for the summer holiday. By about noon we were done, and headed east to look for Rosinenhof, the point of departure for the Ludwig Dumröse family when they emigrated in 1885. From Lębork, we headed south on to Cewice under sunny skies. Here we visited the “land office” to get some better directions on how to find Rosinenhof. After WWII, Rosinenhof became Klinka, and about 5 years ago, Klinka was absorbed into Karwica.
We found out that Rosinenhof had always been a rather small spot on the map, and we would soon learn just how small small can be. With directions in hand, we headed south a kilometer or two, and then headed west toward Karwica. This little village, which had absorbed Klinka, was only a smattering of maybe 10 homes in a picturesque place of rolling fields and forests. Ewa asked directions from a local, and we continued another kilometer or south further west. Story had it that a school was part of Klinka. We found the old school building, which had been converted to a home, and its owner. The 60-year-old woman told us we needed to hike back east to find Klinka, so we did. We followed an old two-track through some woods until it re-joined a better gravel road, more woods, and then about 0.25 mile through a field, down into a draw with a small creek, and there was Klinka. It consisted of two buildings: a large home and a smaller barn. The road circled around back and dead-ended in a gravel yard filled with rusting farm equipment. As we past through the gate, an extremely agitated dog with fangs barred snarled and barked from the end of a stout chain. A good, intimidating watch dog. The entrance door was recessed in small alcove, and there sat grandma and grandpa and two grandchildren, one about 4 and another about 18 months. The man was sitting in a stuffed chair, the woman with her back against the wall and feet extending down the two stairs. She had an extremely sharp knife and two bowls, one with fresh pears and one with peeled pears. The pears were small, barely three inches long, and she could peel, divide, and core them into two pieces in seconds. Ewa had a long conversation with this congenial pair, and the grandpa indeed confirmed we were at Klinka, and from where we stood we could see it all. He thought it odd that one would travel all the way from the United States to look at two buildings. I found it odd, fascinating, that the Dumröse family would tell the agent at the immigration center at Castle Garden in New York City that this was their point of origin.We ate dinner at the Restaurant Nostalgia, just 10 minutes east of Domaradz. It was an old mill with a lovely brick exterior and numerous pots of red geraniums. On its west side was the river and dam. The interior was gorgeous, decorated with furniture and furnishings that looked straight from the late 1800s and early 1900s. I ordered the trout that was to be boiled with vegetables in the traditional Polish way…. it came wrapped in aluminum foil.
Friday. By 8:00 we had finished breakfast and bid farewell to the Villa Intryga and were re-tracing our route back to Oliva to retrieve my computer cables. With that mission accomplished, we traveled down Al Zwyciestwa toward Gdańsk. Just before the Old Town, the traffic started choking, but we managed a left turn into the oldest portion of Gdańsk. Old in its heritage, new in its construction, old in its look. Gdańsk was pretty much leveled at the end of World War II, but meticulously rebuilt to its former design and glory. Neo-gothic and neo-renaissance ruled.
Lots of intricate detail and gold leaf. Most of the buildings had elevated terraces or patios in front that led to the main door. We walked the main roads, all only for pedestrians, among the numerous amber and silver jewelry stores and vendors. Gdańsk is renown for its natural amber, which washes up out of the Baltic. At the main canal we looked over at the shells of brick buildings left over from the war, perhaps as a reminder of what was. About 13:00 we stopped at a shop and had some exquisite cake with coffee, and then walked over to St. Mary’s cathedral. 
The bell tower was being restored again, but for 4 Złotych you could climb up to an observation tower and look out over the city. Ewa and I took the challenge. The first third or so of the climb is a circular stairway about 30 inches wide with 8 inch steps. At the top the stairs opened up above the nave, and then it was regular stairs, and a lot of them. At about 400 stairs you climb the last steep 10 out onto the observation platform above the city, and the view was grand. Having burned off a few calories, we had some ice cream and then walked back to the car. Ewa delivered Rhoda and me to the Lezno Palace Hotel in Lezno. It was a palace, or manor, or estate and was now operated by the University of Gdańsk. Our rooms were in the annex, which from the old photos looked like it may have been the old carriage house. We ate dinner on the rear terrace. I had rabbit in mustard sauce.
Saturday. Rhoda and I had a bit of breakfast… the “Polish sausages” again made an appearance. We then walked through the main building (photo). Perhaps the Dumröse estate was similar in design and style. I asked the receptionist to confirm our shuttle to the airport, which she did. At noon we were on station for our shuttle. By 12:15 I asked the reception to call them. By 12:30 we found out the shuttle driver was lost and order a taxi. Fortunately, the airport was a short 10-minute drive and with Rhoda’s business class ticket, we avoided the long line at the counter. The flight to Warsaw was uneventful, and we arrived in a light drizzle. I walked with Rhoda as far as we could. We hugged at passport control. It had been fun to have her along and share the exploration of our heritage. I finally found an exit and walked in a down pour across the street to the airport Marriot. The weather and the thought of a $30 one-way taxi fare diminished my ambition to see old town Warsaw, so I had a bit of dinner and called it an early evening. I had to get up early for my 6:10 flight home.Sunday. After 20 hours to travel, I arrived safely home. Whew, and thank God for business class! Otherwise, the trip would have been torture. Tomorrow, a summary…
Sunday, 23 August. I found Wi-Fi. Read on for a summary of Thursday (the 20th) through today… We left Helsinki under cloudy skies at 12:50 on Blue 1. Despite flying business class, we were stuffed like sardines into an Avro RJ85 with about 100 other poor slobs. Tiny little seats, cold pasta lunch, terrible leg room… pretty under-whelmed by the whole flight to Copenhagen. The only saving grace was the nice young German sitting with us (yes, 3 seats wide in business class). He was very friendly and helped make the time fly by (no pun intended). We had a short lay-over in Copenhagen, and then boarded a small CRJ200 (like the jets from Lewiston to Salt Lake City) for Gdansk. Rhoda and I held down row 2, all the Poles were seated in the last 4 rows of the plane. Nothing but empty seats between row 2 and about row 18. Weird. The food was better and the flight went fast. Before we knew it we were landing in Gdańsk. On approach you could see the older European architecture, and the mostly butt-ugly, square concrete apartment complexes of the Communist, post WWII, era. The old town area of Gdańsk looked inviting from the air.
