A Perfect Day: Krakow, August 2011

It's been nine months, but I really have to post something about Krakow. In reality, our time in Krakow was split up over three or four days, but in my head, we had one perfect day in Krakow. That perfect day went something like this:

From the train station, our short walk to the old town takes us across the planty for the first time. The planty is a park (yes, the plant-y is a park) that encircles the old town where the city's medieval walls once stood. Shade trees line tidy paths; locals watch passersby from the green benches. There is always something to see in the planty. 

Today it is several hundred young scouts from around Poland, looking homogeneous in their militaristic green and beige uniforms and knee-high socks. It's the 50th anniversary of the country's scouting program, and the President is in town for the occasion. Scout leaders try to corral the kids into scraggly lines while the marching band warms up and the flag bearers smugly congregate in front. I can't help but feel like the towheaded youth are about to storm the castle.

From the planty, it's a quick jaunt through the old town to Market Square, the heart of Krakow. We have timed this perfectly. Only during certain summer months, on certain days, between certain hours can you climb the city watch tower next to St. Mary's Basilica. With even greater temporal precision, we emerge at the top of the tower right before 11 a.m. On the hour, the trumpeter on duty (finishing his 24-hour shift) emerges from his little office and circles the wood-beamed room to play the city's famous hejnał four times - once in each direction.

So there we are on a beautiful summer morning, looking out over Krakow's old town and the bustling Market Square, and right next to us is one of Krakow's (and Poland's) greatest symbols, playing the same short melody that has been played here every hour, every day, for centuries. Awesome.

A Polish Week: Hoodwinked

It's all about the marketing.

So the story about Wawel Castle's chakra goes something like this (and I quote from Rick Steves' Eastern Europe):

Adherents to the Hindu concept of chakra believe that a powerful energy field connects all living things. Some believe that, mirroring the seven chakra points on the body (from head to groin) there are seven points on the surface of the earth where the energy is most concentrated: Delhi, Delphi, Jerusalem, Mecca, Rome, Velehrad ... and Wawel Hill -- especially over there in the corner. Look for peaceful people (here or elsewhere on the castle grounds) with their eyes closed. One thing's for sure: They're not thinking of Kazimierz the Great. The smudge marks on the wall are from people pressing up against this corner, trying to absorb some good vibes from this chakra spot. The Wawel administration seems creeped out by all this. They've done what they can to discourage this ritual (such as putting up information boards right where the power is supposedly most focused), but believers still gravitate from far and wide to hug the wall. Give it a try ... and let the Force be with you.

 

Sounds awesome.  Except I'm pretty sure it was dreamed up by some intern in Krakow's office of tourism.

A Polish Week: When History Isn't History

You can't spend time in Poland without running into WWII. 

Being historically minded, and working (at the time) amongst the institutional legacy of the Nuremberg Trials, I knew I knew everything about WWII when we set off for Poland. I was wrong.

If you go to Krakow, you have to go to Auschwitz. Jeff and I were looking forward to this field trip like an overdue visit to the dentist. It's not easy to get to, and the non-discretionary tour exceeds three hours. That's three hours of depressing statistics, more depressing anecdotes, and filing silently through depressing ruins in the hot August sun. Fun.

Three hours have never passed so quickly. (Jeff will attest.) For one thing, I never realized how much of our cultural understanding of the Holocaust is based specifically on Auschwitz: from Arbeit Macht Frei to the use of tattoos to identify prisoners (which our tour guide insisted only happened here).  

But what I really hadn't understood, and the reason I am grateful I went to Auschwitz, was the magnitude of Birkenau, the death camp next door. Birkenau is an atomic wasteland. I swear there are still no birds there, nothing but long grass and weeds covering what little remains of row after row after row of bunk houses. This is where the train tracks to nowhere enter through the red brick prison gates and stretch a mile down the "sorting platform" to the crematoriums. (One of the smartest things the Nazis ever did was to blow up the gas chambers of Birkenau. I couldn't truly picture what had happened there when all I had to look at was a caved-in pile of rubble.)

But more or less, this was all stuff I already knew. What I didn't know was the story of Warsaw. 

A Polish Week: Feasting on a Farthing

Turns out I like Polish food. Like, a lot.

First, there's the pierogi, which even in its most basic form combines four of my favorite food groups (noodles, mashies, cheese, and bacon fat). Of course, the humble pierogi can be fancified, as the menu of this pierogateria attests to: 

 

Then there are gołąbki (pronounced "go-wabki"), cabbage rolls stuffed with minced beef and onions and rice and often topped with tomato or mushroom sauce. These are hearty comfort food, savory and flavorful and with a texture that melts away (what those in the food industry might call a good "mouth feel").

There's a lot of hunks of meat, like the kotlet schabowy (basically wienerschniztel). While in the mountains, we had a fantastic dish of potato pancakes (akin to latkes) topped with a smoky beef goulash. 

Kotlet Schabowy and bigos (stew), with the ubiquitous potatoes and beer.

And the best part is, you can eat well in Poland for about $5 a day.

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."

A Polish Week: Introduction

Six months ago, Jeff and I took our last grand European vacation -- to Poland.

Why, our friends in the Netherlands asked (and you may be asking, too), would we take a week-long trip to Poland? Granted, it was not as obvious a choice as, say, the south of France or the Greek Isles. But don't underestimate Poland.

First, a disclaimer: both Jeff and I claim Polish heritage. Indeed, even though I am only a quarter Polish, it's the only real "heritage" I've got (I'm otherwise thoroughly American mongrel). It turns out that Poland is our common denominator.

But Poland is also an important part of America. From our revolution to the fall of their communism, our fates and freedoms have been intertwined. Also, when you walk down the street in Warsaw, every other person looks exactly like someone you know. It's frankly a bit creepy.

And then there's Poland's food, spunk, and gripping past. This is my week to share our varied Polish adventures, from the trivial to the profound. Starting with the day we accidentally climbed a mountain...