Poland's green lung

Susan Smillie floated gently through natural beauty and centuries of history in Poland

Wasser, red,' says Sebastian, pointing out of the boat. We stare at each other in friendly bafflement while my mind contorts.

Red Sea? We're not in Egypt; we're on a lake in Poland. Sebastian is showing us the ropes, and like most Poles in this region, his second language is German, as are the charts and instructions.

I browse the pilot book, spotting the occasional 'Achtung!', and wonder how we are going to navigate this motorboat through Masuria's canals and lakes. I turn to my friend Frederica, who shakes her head; none of her German phrases are useful here. (It transpires that they are not useful anywhere) Sebastian persists until we understand - follow the green and red channel markers. In the morning, he assures us, 'the chief' will explain in English. But the chief is not needed. After a trial with much gesturing, we feel confident - the boat is as easy to drive as a Vespa.

I do prefer the charm of a sailing boat, but can see the benefits of this vessel: comfortable wide saloon, clever, functional galley, bright cabins with en suite showers, and an alfresco fridge and hot shower on deck.

Soon we're heading under bridges and down narrow gully lakes. Yachts surround us, powered by a biting north wind straight from Russia. I channel my inner motorboat captain, overtaking with ease; I've embraced this role with surprising enthusiasm. The radio blares power ballads as I steer, the wind pumping my hair to an equally shocking volume. In this region, 1980s British music is interrupted only by the ubiquitous keyboard beat of 'disco polo', a horrific music genre abandoned by most of Poland in the 1990s, but still popular in the countryside.

Sitting in the north east of the country, near the Russian border, Masuria is dubbed the 'land of a thousand lakes'. It actually has around 4,000, formed by great glaciers in their progress toward the sea, and now linked by canals and natural channels. The area has another moniker, 'Poland's green lung', due to primeval forests and meadows sheltering wolves, lynx, bison and - apparently - bears. So far Masuria's wildlife benefits from numerous nature reserves, a lack of development and a small population; tourists are mainly Poles mad on sailing.

We cruise round gentle bends and past tiny coves lapped by cold, sparkly water, taking in crisp, clean air, enjoying the green wilderness and wondering how long it will remain untamed.

Mikolajki, where the boat is based, is a bustling little harbour with a stylish square at its centre. Much of the town's architecture survived Russian artillery bombardment in the First World War, while its citizens preserved Polish traditions and language despite intensive policies of Germanisation.

The largest town on our route, Gizycko, is also my favourite. Perched on an isthmus between lakes Niegocin and Kisajno, it has an urbane, friendly feel, is big on water sports and sits amid 250 sq/km of forest. We spend hours cycling like maniacal children through damp, aromatic, sun-dappled pine woods. I manage to leap off in spectacular fashion, the bicycle cart-wheeling behind and landing on top of me. Without incident, I negotiate the hand-operated swing bridge (one of only two in Europe) on the Luczynski canal, as we cycle out to Boyen Fortress, built in the mid 19th century and named after the then Prussian war minister.

Gizycko played an essential role in the fight against the Russians in 1914, and the castle served as a military hospital between 1941 and 1944.

It stands as a reminder of Poland's traumatic past; this country has endlessly struggled to retain its identity, with mighty neighbours fighting over it for centuries before the horrors of Nazism.

It is not beautiful everywhere in Gizycko; ugly concrete remnants from the Soviet era are dotted around, but sitting incongruously amid the tower blocks is a 19th-century water tower. After a slow ascent up the winding staircase, past chilling memorabilia - SS rings, swastikas, Nazi medals and documents - we emerge to a dazzlingly bright cafe encircled by French windows opening on to a stone balcony. We gaze over the grey concrete, past the Lutheran churches, the Prussian fortress, and beyond to countryside and lakes that have remained unchanged for centuries.

The food is OK, but the service doesn't warm up. After cycling to Ryn castle, and a quaint pink 19th-century Dutch windmill, we try to relax back on board. Disco polo blares from the place until suddenly the three of us can stand it no longer and spring into action, pulling fenders and untying ropes.

We pass fishermen, probably angling for powan or tench. Turning into a quiet canal flanked by reeds and thick woods, we find an idyllic inlet to moor and watch the sky flame in orange and copper as the sun drops.

Masuria's draw undoubtedly lies in its understated charm - miles and miles of unspoilt forests and lakes. Just don't expect Krakow cool. Things are different in the country.