In a move that has reignited a clash between tourism and superstition, Polish authorities have quietly reinstated the infamous bus route 666 to the Baltic resort town of Hel. The route, dubbed the ‘Highway to Hel’ by locals and thrill-seekers alike, was controversially renumbered to 669 in 2019 following protests from religious groups and local residents who claimed the number of the beast was driving away God-fearing tourists. But documents obtained by this paper show that the state-owned bus company, PKS Gdynia, has now reversed that decision, bowing to pressure from tourist boards desperate to capitalise on the macabre appeal.
The route, which runs through the picturesque Kashubian region before reaching the Hel Peninsula, had become a global curiosity. Bus driver Stanisław Kowalski, who has worked the line for 15 years, told me: ‘The number never scared me. But the crowds? They were a nightmare. Selfie sticks everywhere. Now it’s back, and we’re being told to expect even more.’ Sources inside the regional tourism office confirm that the rebranding is part of a calculated strategy: ‘We want to own the dark tourism market. Let the churches moan. The money is in the mouth of hell.’
Local priest Father Janusz Wiśniewski was less sanguine. ‘This is a sin,’ he said, crossing himself outside the Hel parish church. ‘We warned them. The beast brings only temptation and traffic jams.’ And he has a point. The narrow roads of the peninsula are already clogged in summer. Adding demonic branding doesn’t help. Yet the numbers don’t lie. During its brief reign under 666, passenger numbers on the route jumped 40%, with tourists from as far as Japan and Brazil making pilgrimages to ride the devil’s bus.
But there is a darker underbelly. Critics say the route’s revival is a cynical ploy to distract from the region’s real problems: crumbling infrastructure, pollution from the nearby Gdansk refinery, and a housing crisis that has priced out locals. ‘They’ll put a devil on a bus to avoid cleaning the beach,’ grumbled Maria Nowak, a Hel fishmonger who has watched her rent double in five years.
The rebranding has also drawn attention from EU regulators, who are investigating whether the state subsidy for PKS Gdynia violates competition laws. ‘We are looking into whether taxpayers’ money is being used to promote satanic imagery,’ said a spokesperson for the European Commission’s transport directorate, speaking on condition of anonymity. The Polish transport ministry denies any wrongdoing, calling the route ‘a harmless bit of fun that boosts local revenue’.
Meanwhile, the Church has threatened to excommunicate bus drivers who refuse to swap shifts. But the union, Solidarność, has backed its members. ‘Our drivers are not demons. They just want to get people to the beach,’ said union representative Krzysztof Lewandowski.
As I stand at the bus stop in Władysławowo, watching a young couple photograph the 666 sign on the front of an arriving bus, I can’t shake the feeling that this is not just about tourism. It’s about who controls the narrative in a country where the Church and capital are locked in a slow-motion collision. The ‘Highway to Hel’ is a microcosm of a deeper battle: between tradition and commerce, between the sacred and the profane. And for now, the devil is winning. Expect chaos this summer.
