If the number 666 makes you superstitious, you might want to avoid a bus route a thousand miles away. Poland’s state-owned carrier PKS has resurrected the ‘Hel 666’ service, connecting the inland city of Władysławowo to the seaside resort of Hel. The route, suspended in 2006 because locals feared the satanic connotations would damage tourism, is back. But now British civil servants are calling it a safety hazard.
For the uninitiated: Hel is a real place, a narrow, 22-mile sandbar jutting into the Baltic Sea. The bus number 666 was assigned in the 1970s to mark the road’s length in kilometres. For decades it was a quirk, a dark joke for tourists. Then came the ‘Satanic panic’ of the early 2000s, when a local priest claimed the route was encouraging devil worship. Bowing to pressure, PKS changed the number to 669. But two years ago, a petition with 100,000 signatures demanded its return. The carrier caved.
Now, UK tourism officials are uneasy. The Department for Transport has flagged the route in a travel advisory for Britons heading abroad. While the advisory stops short of a ban, it warns that ‘the number 666, widely associated with the Antichrist in Christian theology, may cause distress to some passengers and could be a target for extremist groups.’ It adds: ‘Travellers are advised to exercise caution when using public transport in the region, particularly services with unconventional numbering.’
This is not just theology. This is money. Hel’s beaches attract more than a million tourists each summer, many from the UK. Polish local authorities fear the reborn 666 bus will trigger a drop in visitor numbers. They’ve demanded the government step in. But PKS says the bus is a money spinner, carrying 60,000 passengers last season. ‘The number is part of our heritage,’ a spokesman told Polish radio. ‘We will not change it again.’
The resurrection of the Hel 666 bus symbolises something bigger: it is a triumph of local sentiment over bureaucratic caution. For now, the service runs three times a day. The drivers are used to jokes about hellfire and brimstone. Some even play heavy metal on the speakers. Passengers snap selfies with the destination board. One pensioner, Barbara Kowalski, told me: ‘It’s silly. It’s just a number. But it makes people smile. That’s what holidays are for.’
Back in Whitehall, officials worry that the route could become a magnet for thrill-seekers putting themselves at risk. They note that the road to Hel is a single carriageway with no hard shoulder, prone to crashes. But the main objection remains the number. The advisory is likely to remain in place until the Polish authorities change it again.
In the real economy, numbers matter as much as wages. A bus number can cost jobs if tourists stay away. Or it can create them if the gimmick works. Local businesses in Hel have mixed feelings. Some sell 666 T-shirts and mugs. Others fret that the association will keep families away. ‘I don’t want my children on a bus to hell,’ one hotel owner told me, only half joking.
So, for now, the highway to Hel is open. The UK says it’s a safety hazard. Poland says it’s just a number. You decide if you get on.
