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.

Berlin is free

I love it when new experiences come free (see, for example, my notes on London). Don't get me wrong, I am more than happy to shell out for awesome museums or tickets to the ballet - but it's like shopping a sale: you love that cashmere sweater all the more when you know you got it for a song.

Berliner Dom

Berlin is like the Filene's Basement of new experiences.

Antwerp's Heritage: Searching for the Right Words

On our recent jaunt to Antwerp, we dutifully hit all of its World Heritage sites.  But words fail me: there should be a way to describe the theme that connects these, but the best I can come up with is "self-determination."  I don't think that's quite right (besides being rather soporific), so I welcome any suggestions.

First there's the béguinage.  I love this concept.  Back in the late Middle Ages, single women who lived quietly religious lives but did not want to take vows built these enclosed communities within major Flemish cities.  They are like little towns, separated from the male-dominated world by high walls and approachable through only a single door that is locked at night.  Once inside, there's a small church and modest lodgings around a central courtyard.

I find it very meaningful that women were able to create a third way for themselves 800 years ago.  Faced with the choice of being subjected to a husband or to the Church, I too might have opted out, leading instead a simple life focused on service and prayer, one in which I could earn my own living with the help of female friends.  According to UNESCO, the communities were even democratically run, with an elected leader and often an elected council.  A much better solution to the problem of independent-minded women than burning them as witches, imho.

De Boomhut

I have a new love affair. Mom and Lyza will understand: it's with a children's book. And it's Dutch.

We were in Amsterdam on Sunday and invested in a pair of museumkaarts: 45 euros for access (theoretically) to over 400 Dutch museums. (Sounds like a challenge to us.) We broke it in on the Rijksmuseum - Holland's equivalent of the National Gallery.

The Rijksmuseum had a nice little exhibition on recent picture books. De Boomhut - which means "tree house" but is an awesome word in its own right - is a story with no words. Ronald Tolman made an etching of a tree with a house, and engraved it on a series of canvases, which he then sent to his daughter Marije, who drew in the animals and the weather and other details. For me, the book is a story of a growing friendship between two bears over the course of a day, and their delight in the wonder of flamingos and friendship and snow. (I've seen speculation online that the book is really about global warming, but I rather think that cheapens it - why does it have to have a message, other than the joy of seeing the world through a child's eyes?)

I haven't been able to find the book on Amazon, which is a shame, since a book this beautiful deserves a wider audience.


(Illustrations copied from http://elpetittresor.blogspot.com/2010/09/de-boomhut.html)