In a development that has travel agents reaching for their crucifixes and gin bottles in equal measure, Poland has resurrected its infamous ‘Highway to Hel’ bus route. Yes, the 666 bus, which runs from the northern city of Władysławowo to the seaside resort of Hel, is back in business. For those who think this is a satirical fever dream, I assure you: it is real, it is wonderful, and it is profoundly, beautifully stupid.
Let us savour the sheer audacity. Poland’s transport authority, presumably run by a council of chain-smoking existentialists, decided that what the country’s tourism industry needed was a direct link to a place called Hel. Not just any Hel, but a charming little peninsula that sounds like the underworld’s answer to the Costa del Sol. And to really hammer home the infernal theme, they slapped the number of the beast on the side of the bus. The result? A coach service so gloriously on-the-nose that it makes Dante’s Inferno look like a subtle allegory.
Now, I can already hear the pearl-clutching from the usual suspects. ‘Oh, the blasphemy!’ ‘Think of the children!’ But let us be honest: if your child is more offended by a bus number than by the actual state of modern public transport, then you have parenting issues far beyond the scope of this column. The 666 bus is not a satanic ritual; it is a gimmick, and a smashingly successful one at that. Tourism officials report that bookings are up 40%, with travellers from as far afield as Arizona and Abu Dhabi flocking to snap a selfie with the devilish diesel-guzzler.
Of course, the critics will moan that this is a cheap publicity stunt. To which I say: yes, and? What is tourism if not a series of glorified publicity stunts? The Eiffel Tower is a giant metal phallus; the Leaning Tower of Pisa is an architectural cock-up; and the London Eye is a ferris wheel that costs a small fortune to go round in circles. At least the 666 bus has the decency to be honest about its demonic ambitions. It doesn’t pretend to be a cultural landmark. It says, ‘I am a bus, I go to Hel, and my number is the one from the Bible. Keep your rosary handy.’
One must admire the Polish sense of humour. In a world of sanitised, focus-grouped tourism campaigns, this is a glorious middle finger to political correctness. It is the kind of policy you would expect from a country that gave us the Smolensk joke (too soon?) and a president who named a highway after himself. But I digress. The 666 bus is a masterstroke of branding. It is memorable, it is cheeky, and it is precisely the sort of thing that makes a cynical old hack like me crack a smile over his morning G&T.
As for the locals, they are divided. Some are horrified, fearing that their quiet seaside town will be overrun by black-clad goths and documentary crews from Vice. Others have embraced the absurdity, selling T-shirts emblazoned with ‘I took the 666 to Hel and all I got was this lousy sunburn’. That, my friends, is the spirit. That is the resilience of humanity in the face of a PR joke that has spiralled gloriously out of control.
So, book your tickets now. Pack your sunscreen and your crucifix. And as you board that majestic chariot of flame and diesel fumes, remember the words of the great philosopher George Carlin: ‘Religion is like a pair of shoes. Find one that fits.’ In this case, the shoe is a bus, and it fits Hel perfectly.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have a gin to marry and a bus to catch. To Hel and back, baby. To Hel and back.
