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.

JPII's plaque - and the choir.

We head west from Market Square and pause at the Basilica of St. Francis, the home church of Pope John Paul II. Pilgrims come for JPII; I come for the basilica's brilliant art nouveau decorations, covering the walls and ceilings and spilling into the stained glass windows. There's a little plaque in the back marking the pew where JPII liked best to pray. We sit there quietly for a few moments, listening to the choir practice and watching the golden sunlight stream through the colored glass and light up the rich colors and gold leaf of the painted walls.


(Here's another video, to really help set the mood:)

We cross the planty again and wander further west into Krakow's "new" town. The "new" town is only new in the European sense; the gray apartment blocks on streets lined with leafy trees reminds me of quieter bourgeois neighborhoods in Paris. Here we track down our favorite milk bar for a cheap but memorable lunch. Afterwards we stop by Massolit Books, run by expats out of some rambling townhouses. English-language books, mostly used, tumble off shelves; in the front room, they serve espresso drinks and American-style desserts (rhubarb pie, New York cheesecake). Jeff has read all his vacation books already, so we hunt for a new page-turner. Defeated by the lack of logical shelving order, we settle for a cappuccino instead.

We head back into the old town, window-shopping along cobblestone streets. It's that quiet time in the early afternoon, the universal siesta when the pace of a city slows down. Eventually we find ourselves back at Market Square. At an outdoor cafe right next to the Cloth Hall, we order Zywiec beers and a tatanka (bison vodka with apple juice; tastes like apple pie but without the crust) and settle down under our umbrella for a couple hours of quality people watching. 

Zywiec, tatanka, and the Cloth Hall.

The afternoon is sunny and warm but with a fresh breeze. Nearby, street performers make balloon animals for children while tourists wander in and out of the Cloth Hall's shopping arcade. The low hum of conversations all around is punctuated by the shouts of friends calling across the square and the clopping of the horses drawing couples in carriages. We make a game out of counting Catholic nuns in habits. With the second round, we order a large plate of antipasto: there's no reason to leave any time soon.

As the light starts to get that warm, slanty look, we decide to move on to Wawel Hill, the heart of medieval Krakow. We pop into Wawel Cathedral (Poland's Westminster Abbey) and explore the grounds of Wawel Castle. These are important-places-to-visit, and they feel as most important-places-to-visit do: impressive, fairly interesting, somewhat cold. 

Wawel Cathedral in the golden hour.

But here's where the magic comes in: All the official sites close around 5, but we wander and people-watch for another hour or so afterwards (there is the chakra to check out, after all). By now the light is truly beautiful, and we find ourselves on a promontory over the Vistula River just as the sun is setting over the city. I feel like a million bucks.

As dusk settles in, we head back down the hill to the planty in search of dinner. Pod Wawelem (ulica Sw. Gertrudy 26-29) is close by, with lovely outdoor seating right on the planty. It's a triple hoot. Hoot #1: The pub is a rollicking festive scene, with a German beer hall feel and big strings of lights over the outside tables. Hoot #2: Sitting right alongside the park and at one end of the restaurant's busy terrace, we continue our people watching through the twilight. Hoot #3: Heaping plates of meaty Polish food and giant mugs of Polish beer. Hoot, hoot, hoot.

Having hooted it up, we are most in need of a walk. We end up along the broad riverside promenade that curves below the base of Wawel Hill. It's well lit but fairly empty, just the lapping of the water and an occasional family out for a stroll. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I see fire. "Fire!" my inner child shouts, and claps her hands. But all we are looking at is a black metal statute of the mythical dragon said to live beneath Wawel Hill. "No, really," I insist to Jeff, "I saw fire."

So we wait there, and start to feel like idiots. It's been more than a couple of beats; nothing seems to be happening. As we start fidgeting and suggest to each other that we move on, there's the faintest whirring noise and then a little click - and the dragon is breathing fire at us. My inner child jumps up and down, clapping her hands in delight.

Of course, we have to wait another cycle so I can actually get a picture.

We meander down to Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter south of the old city, where long-derelict buildings have been transformed into a bohemian night scene. Kazimierz looks like a neighborhood that has seen hard times under both the Nazis and the Communists (it has), but its ruins are now considered romantic. Around the heart of the quarter - the Plac Nowy - edgy hipster bars have sprung up, full of young people drinking expensive drinks (at least by Polish standards). 

Take Singer, a bar where all the tables are old-school Singer sewing machines (the wrought-iron-and-wood kind where the machine is hidden below a tabletop). Or Alchemy, where the red walls, threadbare furniture, and flickering candles give the whole place a derelict brothel feel. While the decor is a little affected, it works for us: we take a rickety table next to open patio doors, facing directly onto the lively square, and enjoy the romantic vibe. Jeff looks very handsome by flickering candlelight.

Heading home through the old city, we stop by one last bar around the corner from our apartment. Marked only by a fairly subtle light display on the sidewalk in front of a nondescript door, Święta Krowa is an awesome little underground bar. The place looks like Bilbo Baggins' neighborhood speakeasy: the two small rooms are divided into nooks and crannies, including a couple tiny loft areas and several tables involving pillows in lieu of chairs. Even the bar is diminutive and made out of sticks and thatch. I ask the bartender for something warm, alcoholic, and not too sweet, and he makes me some amazing concoction of rum, honey, steamed milk, and several nutty liqueurs, topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. I curl up with Jeff in a back alcove and groove to the hip jazz fusion music until we are tired enough for bed. (In other words, until it is a little past 10.)

This perfect day was brought to you in large part by Rick Steves and the In Your Pocket Guides. I also want to plug our fabulous digs, the Krakow City Apartments. For a very reasonable price, we got a full, furnished apartment (that could sleep at least four) that was (a) clean, (b) incredibly quiet, (c) right in the old town but also just a short walk to the train station, and (d) four doors down from a 24-hour grocery store.

Final note to allay maternal concerns: We did not actually have 4-6 drinks in one day. Like I said, our time in Krakow was divided across several days (and nights). But doesn't it all add up to a perfect day?