Seven hours on the train standing at the open window as the countryside clickity-clackered by, practicing “Hello” and “Thank you” (cześć, and dziękuję), Yet somehow, when I first needed to use them, those phrases flew out of my brain like the smoke from the cheap Polish cigarettes of my window-mate.
In Germany, I actually heard people complain if they got on the car and it was more than two years old. One of the couples we met and ate dinner with, our third week in country, dryly told us a story (after three bottles of half-dry Reisling) about the disappointing trip to Bachrach in which the train arrived a minute late. One minute. ”This is not what we pay taxes for” they bitterly complained, before ordering another bottle of wine and laughing it off.
The Polish trains? Our German friends would agree; it would take a gallon of Riesling per night, for a month, to get over this trip. I will state up front however that it was cheap. About $30 US for two, second class tickets and a full day of riding the rails.
Eight of us were crammed shoulder to shoulder, knees touching, in a glassed in room, next to another room, next to another and another… with a narrow corridor running the length of the car. Six of us spoke only Polish, two of us English. I tried German, French and Italian, but no one took the bait. So we all smiled and pointed. The old man by the window kept it closed, but every time he got up one of the other seven of us would open it up to relieve the stifling air. Gail’s suitcase and my small pack fit on the racks, but the Polish had to stack their suitcases in the aisle, effectively blocking it (though no one seemed to mind as they moved through, simply climbing up and over the pile as they wandered to the bathroom). About a half-hour into the trip, one of my new best friends climbed over us all and out to the corridor window for a smoke. I decided to join him, as did one other guy. The other five stayed in the suddenly spacious compartment and fell asleep on each other in the stuffy air.
The three of us hung our heads out the open window, letting the air blow in our faces, pointing and smiling and sharing a smoke. For six hours we stood there watching the Polish towns and countryside roll by as the corridor slowly filled with people standing, sleeping or sitting on the luggage. The entertainment was pitching all the suitcases into the compartment onto everyone’s startled legs every time the beverage cart tried to come through, then just as quickly throwing it all back out into the aisle. We shut the window when the rain and speed of the train warranted it, other times we left it open and enjoyed a mild shower. The train lurched, picked up speed, then came to a dead stop randomly. Middle of the woods, at a siding, in a field. No one passed, we just stopped. Another train rattled by, one car in the middle askew, steel wheels off the track yet dragged slowly along throwing up a shower of sparks.
We arrived about a half hour late at our connection station, and I was sure we had missed the train. There were no sign boards, but there was a huge crowd outside in the rain and mud. I asked around until I found someone who spoke any language I did, and found out that our connection was late as well, so we hadn't missed it. All around me people were cursing in French, Spanish, German, Italian and Polish. When the announcement (in Polish) cam that the train was arriving, the Poles raced up into the station first, followed by the rest of us in a stampede.
We settled into another crowded car and swayed slowly along.
I practiced cześć, (czhestkshkte) and dziękuję (denkuulah) over and over until finally, finally we made it to Krakow, only about 45 minutes late, which is really pretty punctual in Poland.
Krakow is a beautiful, old style European city. The city square is huge, so big it has two cathedrals on the edges, another church in one corner of the square, a clock bell tower in another corner, and right down the middle is a palace-like building that is really an old indoor market, full of hundreds of knick-knack shops. A large crowd surrounded some street performers, another crowd over here for a muscician, and groups of people milling here and there by the fountain. In spite of this it feels open, spacious, and is surrounded by cafes.
We had a fun couple of days exploring the old town. I ate pierogies, drank good Polish vodka, and tried to get in touch with my Polish heritage. We ate at an old communist "milk bar" with cheap, filling food, and got lost in the streets twisting around. But you always end up at a city wall, so you just head back in again! There was a church with a line of statues in front of it; the statues looked like the "Surfing Saints."
We climbed Wawel Hill to see the castle, which is the one place all Poles hold as their most sacred ground. Up in the castle, I climbed the bell tower, and reverently placed my hand on the clapper with all the (out-of-breath) Poles. We wandered out of the old town area and into the city, kind of heading towards the old Jewish Ghetto area, got a little lost on the way, mostly chasing down interesting looking streets, and found the areas of town that are not restored. We ate great cookies, ducked into a local bar for cheap drinks when the sky opened up and it poured for half an hour, then we waded through the flooded streets and eventually ended up at the river, where we crossed a modern bridge and walked to the Schlinder Factory.
We found a large, modern mall by the train station, and inside was a wine bar where we had good wine and appertivos. One of the fast food places was called Polskie Smaki.
Later: the Jewish cemetery. You have to cover your head to enter, so I got a loaner yarmulke. The Nazis went through and destroyed the cemetery, knocking down most of the headstones, and over the past 60 years they are (still today) painstakingly repairing what they can, hand chiseling repairs, and most moving, building walls out of the broken pieces they cannot put back together. The “clink clink” of the chisels as you wander the paths through thick woods, ivy covered headstone mounds, fractured tombstones standing crooked, tops lined with rocks… well, it is a solemn sacred place.
We stayed in a nice, quiet guesthouse tucked away down an alley, important for a good night's sleep in a town where 20-somethings go to party all night long.
The parties are in these underground chambers, hidden beneath the city. You enter them through the bars; they are the remains of the old city upon which the new is built. On night we were eating in an empty bar, when up the small stairs (from the kitchen basement, from where the food was being served) came an excited person, then another... then more and more until about 200 people poured out of our "deserted" bar. I went down for a look and was amazed at the huge underground rooms.
Even the last morning as we were walking to the train station at 4am, the bars were still going strong and people were out in the streets.
Anyway, our room was right out of the 70s, quaint, orange and quiet. Mostly we walked; day and night we wandered, happy to be off the train, outside or in a café.
Krakow was an amazing experience, and it ranks right up there with Paris and Venice as the "City Of The Trip" winner. I will return one day.
We went to visit Auschwitz one day; it merits its own blog entry.