Coding a Life in Warsaw: Notes from a Ukrainian Dev at a Growing Startup

When I crossed into Poland with a laptop, a duffel bag, and a Slack welcome message blinking on my phone, I didn’t feel brave. I felt tired, hopeful, and scared in equal parts. A friend met me at Warszawa Centralna with hot tea and a spare SIM card, and we took the tram past glass offices and Soviet-era blocks to a sublet in Mokotów. It was early spring—trees only hinting at green—and I remember thinking, I can grow with this city, if it lets me.

Why Warsaw? The boom you can feel, not just read about

I chose Warsaw because everyone was talking about its momentum. The startup I’d interviewed with—series A, thirty-something people, building a data platform—was opening roles as fast as they could write specs. On my first week, I could feel the tech engine humming all around us: meetups near the Vistula boulevards, founders pitching in post-industrial spaces in Praga, recruiters in line for flat whites at Hala Koszyki. I’d walk by the shiny offices of the big players and think, this isn’t a satellite city anymore. It’s its own center.

The most surprising part was that it still felt affordable in the ways that matter to a junior-to-mid developer: public transport that actually works, decent groceries that don’t drain you, and neighborhoods where you can still build a life without spending every zloty.

Getting legal: from PESEL to residence card

Paperwork was the dragon to slay. Because I’m Ukrainian, my situation started with temporary protection. Step one was getting a PESEL (the national ID number), which makes everything easier—rent contracts, phone plans, e-prescriptions. My employer also needed to notify the labor office that I was employed, which, under the special rules for Ukrainians, was surprisingly quick once we had my details sorted. Still, government portals will always find new and creative ways to time out just as you upload the last PDF.

For long-term stability, I applied for a temporary residence and work permit (the “karta pobytu” tied to my job). That meant a contract, proof of salary, health insurance, and endless photocopies. I booked a biometric appointment at the Mazowiecki office and showed up at dawn with a thermos, along with a dozen other people clutching folders. After the fingerprints and a few questions, I got a stamp in my passport that let me stay while they process the card. Pro tip: travel outside the Schengen area is tricky while you’re waiting—plan accordingly.

My advice: keep a binder, scan everything, and budget time. Processes change, and timelines are… elastic. Always check the official sites, and if your Polish isn’t there yet, bring a friend or colleague who can help translate bureaucratese. It eased my anxiety immensely.

Finding a home: three rules that saved my sanity

Warsaw’s rental market is a sprint. Places go fast, and “nice photos” doesn’t always equal “nice apartment.” I made myself three rules:

1) Walk the neighborhood. I loved Mokotów’s parks and trams, but my second-choice was Wola for its quick commute. Praga feels artsy and a bit wilder; Żoliborz is leafy and calm. Pick your vibe and your tram line.

2) Read the contract carefully. “Kaucja” (deposit) is usually one to two months, “czynsz” is the rent to the landlord, and “opłaty” are building fees and utilities. Ask whether heating is central (cheaper, predictable) or electric (your winter bill can surprise you).

3) Don’t pay before you see it. I used Otodom and Morizon, but I always visited in person, checked water pressure, and stood by the windows to listen for traffic.

My first place was a studio for a trial month, then I moved into a one-bedroom near Pole Mokotowskie with a roommate in the living room until she found her own place. Flexibility helps. So does a foldable drying rack.

Cost of living: what my wallet felt

Warsaw isn’t cheap anymore, but it’s fair. My monthly pass for public transport is worth every złoty, and biking with the city’s rental system is fun when the weather cooperates. Groceries for one person run me less than I expected—Polish dairy is a revelation—and a weekday lunch can still be a pierogi plate without guilt. Coffee culture is strong, and my weakness is a cardamom bun and a flat white on Saturday mornings.

Rent is the biggest line item. I found a comfortable spot without sacrificing much and still save more than I could in Berlin or Amsterdam. That breathing room is what makes the city feel accessible—there’s space to try pottery in Praga, a climbing gym near my office, or a weekend train to Gdańsk without breaking the budget.

Work at a growing startup: speed with heart

My startup feels like a sprint-stage marathon: fast, but we take care of each other. On day one, I misread “czwartek” on the office calendar and showed up for Thursday standup on Wednesday. People laughed with me, not at me, and someone stuck a Post-it on my monitor with the days of the week in Polish.

We’re hybrid: two to three days in the office, headphones on, whiteboard chaos by the coffee machine. The tech scene here is collaborative. Meetups at the Google space in Praga, hack nights in Wola, and Slack communities where someone always has a library recommendation or a spare monitor. I’m mentored by a senior dev from Łódź who rides in twice a week, and I mentor a junior who moved from Lviv. We exchange idioms and code reviews. I’ve grown more in six months than I expected—partly the pace, partly the city’s energy.

Language and culture: tiny wins, funny fails

Polish and Ukrainian are cousins with inside jokes. I can read a menu, but ordering without defaulting to English was a milestone. I once asked for “żółć” (bile) instead of “żółty” (yellow) when buying flowers. The florist smiled and handed me yellow tulips anyway, which I took as an act of kindness and language mercy.

Punctuality is appreciated, shoes off indoors is common, and the Sunday trading restrictions mean you plan your shopping. At first I forgot and ate questionable pantry combinations on quiet Sundays. Now, I love the calm: walks in Łazienki Park, listening to peacocks and kids racing scooters under chestnut trees.

Spring rituals pulled me into the city’s rhythm. This year, Easter fell earlier in April; colleagues brought homemade mazurek to the office, and I dyed eggs with Ukrainian friends. On Śmigus-Dyngus (the wet Monday after Easter), teenagers with water guns ambushed us near the metro, and I squealed like a child. We’re not so different, honestly—joy translates.

Community: Ukrainians holding each other up

I hear Ukrainian on trams every day. There’s comfort in that, but also a pull to make Warsaw home, not just a waiting room. I found my people through a coding meetup, a women-in-tech circle, and the Ukrainian House (Ukraiński Dom), where language exchanges blossom into friendships. The Multicultural Center’s events are a bridge too—drumming workshops, legal info sessions, and cooking nights where pierogi techniques are definitely debated.

What held me up most were small acts: a Polish neighbor lending me a drill, a barista who recognized my accent and slipped me a recommendation list for secondhand shops, a Sunday soccer group where teams are half Polish, half Ukrainian, and entirely chaotic.

Healthcare and practicalities: what I wish I knew sooner

Get your PESEL early—so much plugs into it. With it, e-prescriptions are simple; a doctor sends a code, you show it at the pharmacy, done. My employer’s private healthcare package saved me from long waits for specialists, though the public system has been there when I needed vaccinations and basic care. I’ve learned the names of three clinics where someone speaks English and two where my broken Polish is enough.

Open a bank account that supports BLIK (everyone uses it), and set up a trusted profile (Profil Zaufany) so you can do things online without always showing up in person. Taxes in April used to scare me; now, I block an evening with tea and chip away at it on the government portal. It helps to have a colleague who’s done it before sitting next to you on video call, rolling their eyes at the same screens.

Daily life in spring: parks, pierogi, and the Vistula

April in Warsaw is a patchwork: sun one day, sideways rain the next. When the trees finally flush green, the whole city spills outside. I bike along the Vistula boulevards after work, passing couples with ice cream and students with guitars. Cherry blossoms burst near the university gardens, and kiosks reopen along the river.

On Fridays, our team sometimes grabs dumplings and beer in a courtyard where someone always has a dog. On Sundays, I call my parents and cook borscht the way my grandmother taught me, but I add Polish white sausage in spring and pretend I’m making a cultural fusion masterpiece. I’m learning to like żurek, even if I can’t make it pronounceable on the first try.

If you’re considering the same move: my advice

• Start with documents: PESEL, bank account, and a digital profile. They’re your keys.
• Ask your employer exactly what they’ll handle and what you must do for your residence card. Keep copies of everything.
• Choose housing by commute and neighborhood feel, not just square meters. Visit at rush hour if you can.
• Build two communities: one that speaks your language and one that nudges you into Polish. Both matter.
• Accept that some days you’ll feel out of place. On those days, find a park, touch a tree (seriously), and remember why you came.
• Spring is your ally. Take your laptop to a cafe with a window, watch the rain, and let the city grow on you.

Six months after arriving, I still have moments of homesickness so sharp it surprises me, and bills that make me sigh. But last week, after a good deploy and a walk through Łazienki where the air smelled like wet earth and lilac, I caught myself thinking: I can build a life here that’s not a pause button. It’s a version of home I’m coding line by line—messy, commented, and very much mine.

Best wishes from Warsaw,