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.

Try googling "chakra" and "wawel hill": the story comes up a fair amount, always anecdotally. Then try googling "chakra" and "delhi," or "chakra" and "rome": nothing - except maybe some pages about Krakow and Wawel Hill. And doesn't it seem a little too convenient that four of the chakra points are in Europe, and the remainder are the obvious "holy" cities that an intern in Krakow's office of tourism would think of first when told to make the list sound more legitimate?

Now, I suppose I don't know who the definitive authority on geological chakra is, or if geological chakra is anything more than people's love of making lists (pot calling kettle, I know). I think I only take offense because we actually stood there in the courtyard of the palace, trying to feel the chakra. And because the only people we saw standing thoughtfully in that corner were probably also carrying Rick Steves' in their backpacks.

At least the chakra of Wawel Hill is a harmless form of charlatanism. I'm a bit more p'nnoyed at being hoodwinked by the marketing for the Salt Mines of Wieliczka.

You have to understand, the mines are near the top of everyone's list of what to do in Krakow. Pictures of the caverns are plastered on every tourist handout about Krakow. And they were one of the very first sites inscribed on the World Heritage List!  There's a sucker born every minute.

Perhaps my annoyance would be slightly tempered if we had just bought into one of the tourist packages that includes transportation in a nice coach bus directly to the mines. But no. Why pay for a nice coach bus if there's a public transport to be had?

Problem is, public transport in Poland is in Polish. First we spent 30 minutes trying to find the right bus stop. This took us through the train station, the bus station, a mall, various neighborhood streets, and awkward Pinglish conversations with taxi drivers and policemen. The ticket machine: in Polish. The bus driver: in Polish. An hour later, we were driving out of the city and into a vast industrial suburban landscape of billboards, expressways, and an apparent absence of any building code. The bus filled up, then emptied out. This all took maybe another hour, and only left me with a distinctly forlorn impression of everyday life in Poland.

And then there were the mines themselves. Admission topped $30 - more than the website or the guidebooks had suggested, and twice what our life-changing time at Auschwitz had cost. The right to take any pictures would have been an additional fee (hence the lack of visual aids here). For all this, the mines were just like any other series of caves anywhere else in the world: some big rooms, lots of tunnels, general dankness (only slightly more impressive than the caves outside Maastricht - but not nearly as magnificent as Carlsbad Caverns). Thanks to the ubiquitous marketing materials, the most impressive caverns were anti-climatic (as in, "Huh, it looked larger in the brochure."). And the novelty of walls made of salt wore off almost immediately.

Thanks also to the near-constant pressure to buy stuff, we beelined straight for the elevators as soon as the tour ended. Did we learn anything? Maybe. Did we enjoy ourselves? Not really. Was I pissed at the World Heritage Centre for leading me astray? Yes. Am I a sucker for marketing? You betcha.