A Polish Week: We climbed a mountain

A Polish friend recommended we spend some time in Zakopane, a resort town deep in the Tatra Mountains along Poland's southern border. From Krakow, Zakopane is two hours south via one of Poland's ubiquitous "mini-buses" (also known as over-sized vans) -- of which I unfortunately lack a picture.

The main drag of Zakopane is like the Jersey Shore of Poland, a snapshot of domestic Polish tourism. A Polish expat we met over dinner explained that Zakopane is part of the country's cultural heart, a once-idyllic mountain town that inspired poets and musicians and is the gateway to the country's best skiing in the winter and the entire region's best hiking in the summer. Now the town is a mess of cheesy tourist restaurants and toy shops selling local souvenirs made in China.

With one full day in Zakopane, we wanted the prototypical Tatra hiking experience: to climb Kasprowy Wierch.  Most people take the cable car up and hike back down.  This is what the morning line for the cable car looked like:

Of course, being young and fit, we would hike up.

The path at the bottom of the mountain was wide and well-groomed, and meandered through a pine forest of babbling brooks that reminded me of Oregon. "This," I said to Jeff, "this is nothing."

After an hour the view looked like this:

And we looked like this:

But then the trail started to look like this:

And there was still half a mountain to go.

An hour later, the trail looked like this:

And I looked like this:

When we rounded another bend and saw how much we still had to climb, I started getting melodramatic.

But Jeff kept his spirits up:

So I tried to follow suit:

This was the point when I realized we were actually climbing a mountain:

The top looked like this:

And this:

We saw nuns:

And brides taking wedding photos:

But then it was time to ride the cable car back down. I don't love riding in cable cars.

In part because trees look pointy from above.

But back in Zakopane we rewarded ourselves with a hearty dinner in a traditional Gorale (Highlander) restaurant. (Bąkowo Zohylina Niźnio, ul. Piłsudskiego 6). Picture rough-hewn wood, sheep skins, taxidermy, fire pits, and folk costumes and beer laced with raspberry syrup.

The food was excellent and hugely satisfying: rich potato pancakes with smoky goulash, skewers of charcoal-grilled lamb and bacon, thick slices of ham with a forest mushroom sauce, a creamy and earthy mushroom soup. And then there's the iconic smoked goat cheese of the mountains, addictive in any form but particularly hedonistic when sliced, fried and topped with cranberry sauce. 

Gorale culture might be over-commercialized for the tourism trade, but who doesn't love a wood-cabin-and-grilled-meat ambiance after a day climbing mountains? 

Obviously, my next Polish installment will have to be all about the food.