This is a little street in the Jewish Quarter, a square in shape, actually
Me at the gate to the cemetery. No head cover so I was unable to enter.
Commemorative plaque at the courtyard of the old synagogue
Rynek Glowny
The indoor market in Rynek Glowny
At Krakow airport, small considering it's one of the major ones in Poland, I use my visa card to get some money - there was no time for it at Gatwick - then head into town. After initial orientation difficulties (they kept quiet the fact that all around the train station there is nothing but building work, hardly any paved paths to roll a suitcase on, and there is very little signage in English...). I finally manage to find the right tram, in the right direction, having purchased a day pass. I reach the B&B, settle down in my large and comfortable room, and head straight back out the door to explore the old city. I love it - it has old buildings, squares, market places, a wholly touristic fleet of horse drawn carriages of varying shapes
and sizes, but it feels less frantic or exploited than other, more obvious cities in Eastern Europe. I find an official tourist office and book two guided tours: Auschwitz for tomorrow (Tuesday) morning, and at my mom's insistence, Wieliczka's Salt Mines for Wednesday morning. Next I must get my train ticket to Vienna - I plan to take the night train on Wednesday, to arrive Thursday early morning. The train station is lively, old fashioned, with the mandatory service, provided by grumpy, hairy chinned women. At the international bookings a big Russian man is behind me in line. Well, not quite behind me - in true Russian form he is practically trying to mount me from behind, then progressively sideways, staring curiously at every piece
of paper I produce, my visa card, and all the while carrying on a conversation with an unseen woman he is apparently with, with total disregard to my personal space. I read long time ago in some paper that a Russian man will cross an empty Red Square to step on your foot. I remember chuckling at the absurd image... Not any more. Finally, with tickets, reservations and no permanent damage to my person or dignity I walk over to the Jewish district Kazimierz. A visit to the old synagogue, where I realise
I left my hat behind. Typical! the area is really charming, and at places poignant with plaques on the synagogue courtyard commemorating people and families that lived and thrived there till World War II broke out, and the process of mass murder kicked off. I leave the area deep in thought, and as a result get slightly lost... Later the same evening I come out of the apartment and take the tram back to the old town square. Krakow may be no Prague, but it seems quite lively and happening, even on a Monday night. There are stylish bars everywhere, inexpensive restaurants serving almost any type of food you could possibly desire (with the exception of vegetarian - it's all there but a little harder to find). I take a beautiful Polish dinner at a smart restaurant, sitting out on the terrace as it is so warm outside, despite the light rain that had been falling. I order the zurek soup - it comes served in a round
bread loaf that had been hollowed, filled with the soup then covered by the top slice as a lid. Not only does it look good, it is delicious! I can't help wondering what do they do with all that left-over bread - I hope it is used as animal feed or something, ot it would be such a waste... I follow with the grilled (actually fried, in butter) whole trout, all washed down with the local beer. After paying for my meal I realise I need to draw some more money. The first ATM I use refuses to cough up for me. "It's broken" I delude myself. Off to another one, same result, with a curt message to contact my bank. This really annoys me. What shall I do?! I still have a few zloty, so I decide to stop at the one gay club/bar that could possibly interest me in Krakow (there are only two worth their name anyway) on my way back to the apartment. I walk there, just as well after a hearty Polish meal. I get there - it's located in a narrow, dark street, with nothing but (seemingly) lost souls stumbling here and there, hanging silently and menacingly on the barely lit corners. I try to look confident and sure of myself, but who am I fooling? I get there, having finally found it among the dark doorways, I discover I have barely enough money to get in and maybe even get one drink. As I am in a lousy mood by then, I decide not to stop this time, but catch a night bus or tram home. Damn! Just missed one, next one in 30 minutes. I walk instead. In the room I call my bank, trail through the automated, annoying menus until I reach a real person at the Lloyds TSB helpline. "We detected an unusual activity on your card, so as a precaution we decided to stop it" they explain. But why didn't you try to check it with me first, I vainly plead. No, really, they have my phone no... "Oh, now that it is all cleared up you can go back and use it even right away if you like". I don't like, it is way too late and I have to be up early to visit Auschwitz. Anyway, it's been a long day. I turn in.
No comments:
Post a Comment