In a move that has sent shivers down the spines of both demonologists and budget travel agents, Poland has resurrected its infamous 'Highway to Hel 666' bus service. Yes, you read that correctly. A bus. To a place called Hel. Route number 666. It is as if the Polish transport authority decided to combine the works of Hieronymus Bosch with a Timetables app.
The service, which connects the city of Władysławowo to the seaside resort of Hel (pronounced 'Hell', because of course it is), had been shelved last year after what officials euphemistically called 'a summer of unfortunate incidents'. These included a driver who claimed his sat-nav was possessed, passengers reporting a faint smell of brimstone in the upholstery, and a mysterious spike in sales of pitchforks at the local souvenir shop.
But now it is back, and British tourism operators are watching with the horrified fascination of a man who has just discovered his hotel room is above a nightclub called 'The Abyss'. 'We are monitoring the situation with great interest,' said a spokesperson for a major UK travel firm, who asked not to be named for fear of being branded a heretic. 'Our clients are adventurous, but we draw the line at anything that involves a bus route literally named after the Number of the Beast.'
The service, operated by a company with the suspiciously cheerful name 'Sunny Trips', promises 'unforgettable journeys along the Baltic coast'. The ticket price is a modest 6.66 zloty, a detail that has not escaped the notice of numerologists and amateur exorcists alike. 'It is a marketing gimmick, nothing more,' insisted a transport ministry official, while simultaneously crossing himself and touching a small crucifix he kept in his pocket.
Local residents are divided. Some see it as a hilarious nod to the town's unfortunate name, which dates back to the 13th century and has nothing to do with infernal regions. Others worry it will attract 'a certain type of tourist'. 'Last time, we had men in black robes trying to baptise the seagulls,' complained a café owner in Hel's main square. 'And the heavy metal fans were actually quite polite, but they scared the pensioners.'
For British tourists, already accustomed to the devil-may-care attitude of National Express, this presents a unique opportunity. Imagine the postcards: 'Wish you were here. No, really, wish you were here. It is actually quite nice once you get past the name.' Or the photos: standing next to the bus, making horn gestures, while your aunt Brenda looks on in confusion.
The service operates from July to August, which the Polish tourism board has dubbed 'the high season for low comedy'. But there is a serious side. Hel is a beautiful peninsula with pristine beaches, a lighthouse, and a seal sanctuary. It is also home to a military museum, which somehow feels redundant given the bus route's implied theme.
What does this mean for the UK travel industry? Well, if you are a tour operator, you are probably already drafting itineraries for 'Hell's Holidays' or 'Damnation Day Trips'. But be warned: the British press will have a field day. Headlines like 'Bus to Hell: Full Fare to Damnation' and 'Poland's Devilish Commute' are already being written by hacks who think they are being terribly clever.
The real question is: will it be a success? Early bookings suggest yes, particularly among the demographic that finds irony in everything. 'I am going to Hel and back,' said one punter, chortling at his own joke. 'And I am taking the 666 bus, because why not?' That, right there, is the spirit of modern tourism. A bus to a place called Hel, route 666, and a public that cannot resist a bit of cosmic mischief.
So pack your bags, polish your cloven hooves, and remember: in Poland, the highway to Hel is paved with good intentions. And a fair few tourist traps.
