…at least until I write about it on my blog. So I know I’m breaking continuity here a
little by writing about Krakow now and skipping over Vienna and Bratislava, but
to be honest nothing major happened in either of those places, it’ll take
forever to write about them and I’ve noted down what happened in both those
places so will be able to remember. On
the other hand, Krakow’s activities are beginning to disappear into an
alcohol-induced memory void, so I really need to get those written down.
Just a quick note that none of the images used here belong to me - they were all taken from the Greg & Tom's Party Hostel facebook page. Further, reader discretion is advised - I would recommend skipping the entirety of day two for young readers and those who wish to avoid fairly unsavoury topics such as the Holocaust and french kissing.
DAY HALF
Well, ok. So you have no way of
knowing this, since I didn’t speak about Bratislava, but there was a slight
change in my usual method of transportation in heading for Krakow. Krakow actually isn’t on my eurail pass,
which meant I had to find the cheapest alternative possible, which ended up
being the bus. It was a seven hour
journey, getting into the city just after 3:30pm.
Krakow was once the capital of Poland, though that enviable honour now
belongs to Warsaw. I’d been told Warsaw
was boring (and it was difficult to get to anyway, being a considerable
distance north) but that Krakow was a must-see (which is why I went even though
it wasn’t included on my train ticket).
On the bus in I thought it might be a good idea to check my bus ticket
for the name of the bus station – I mean, I already had a map of Krakow with
the main station marked on it, but it was probably worth making sure they were
the same.
Of course, as soon as I actually paid attention to the ticket I noticed
that the station’s name included the word ‘regionulska’ or something like that,
provoking a moment of panicked staring out the window (at a series of
industrial complexes) thinking we were going to stop any moment in the middle
of nowhere. But the bus kept going,
entering the city centre and coming to a stop at the station I had thought it
would originally.
I followed the crowd down into a tunnel and across to a large modern
shopping centre. I was on the lookout
for an exchange office, but of course they offered very poor rates both at the bus
station itself and in the shopping centre.
My hostel was not very far from the station, so I didn’t pass an
exchange office, unfortunately.
I walked down the street, keeping a lookout for the hostel. I got to the end of the street without having
seen it. Hmm… Another sweep and no hostel. On my third walk down I saw it – a small
unassuming door in the main building with a piece of paper in a plastic sleeve
reading “Greg & Tom Hostel”. Not as
much fanfare as one might be led to expect.
Anyway, I buzzed in and went up to the second floor. I was greeted by the on-duty receptionist,
Adam, who was very friendly and very easily distracted. After being given the brief I was shown up to
my room on the fourth floor. I had
gotten a four bed dorm because every other room had been full when I booked the
previous week (I had specifically been recommended this hostel, so wanted to
make sure I got it). My room was pretty
much empty – that is, I was the only one in it.
So I guess it was empty. Until I
got there. Then it was empty except for
me.
I had to get money at this point so that I could pay for the room, so I
headed off into old town (which was just around the corner) and went to a
street that Adam had recommended for good rates. The town was fairly bustling for a Wednesday
afternoon, and I got a fair glimpse of the beautiful old town. I didn’t stay out long, though – I just
wanted to get the money changed and get back.
So I went in to pay, but fate seemed to want to delay my payment for as
long as it possibly could – the money drawer was jammed (they’d just had it
repaired, and I guess the repairman wanted to get another job for himself ASAP)
and Adam said he would take my payment once he had opened the drawer. I left him standing over the drawer holding a
saw down against the wood.
I hung out in the common room for a bit chatting with a group that had
been there a while already – a British girl and some South Americans. I think one was called Raphael. Then it was dinner time – which was included
in the price of the hostel (it was a really good recommendation). Wednesday night was salad night, though Adam
was all, “I didn’t think salads were enough, so I made some soup too!” When the salads include pasta salads, potato
salads, coleslaw, green salad and one with sausages, it kind of is enough, but
I ate the soup anyway, and it was delicious.
Like a thick potato-y thing with sausages in it and stuff.
Dinner was a great social affair where everyone sat at the big central
table in the kitchen (a no laptop zone) serving themselves from the buffet,
chatting and eating. I met another girl
with a British accent, though she was apparently from Melbourne, two Americans
who were travelling together and some others who clearly didn’t leave much of
an impact on me.
Greg and Tom’s consists of two hostels – I had booked myself into the
regular one, though they also had a party hostel. The different types of hostels is probably a
discussion for another time, but suffice it to say that a party hostel is
exactly what it sounds like – a place that offers plenty of opportunity for
socializing and alcohol. Greg &
Tom’s organized nights out every night, with different themes each night. That night was a vodka tasting, which I
attempted to rationalize as a cultural experience (PS as an interesting
sidenote, the Polish for vodka is wòdka, which I think is hilarious since it’s
basically written like vodka with a central European accent).
I managed to persuade one of the Americans to go with me (peer pressure
for the win) though she still needed to get ready and said she’d follow behind
me (the party was at the other Greg & Tom’s). Apparently she got a better offer (live
music… so I guess it kind of was a better offer) and didn’t end up showing up.
 |
| Christoph and Brent (who is hiding behind the logo) |
The other hostel was set up with a bar and basement room with lounges,
tables and a large TV. I was joined by a
Canadian guy called Brent as I was paying for the night at the bar. He was doing a trip through places like
Budapest and Prague (the big hitters) and was leaving for Budapest (I think…)
on Friday. Initially he had wanted to
stay longer but it turned out both hostels had been completely booked out for
the Friday evening.
Downstairs we met Christoph, an Argentinean that seemed to be drunk the
whole time I saw him, even when he was sober (unless he was never sober… which
is actually a possibility). There was
also a large group of girls, mostly from Australia – Angie, Brooke, Laura,
Vanessa and Lauren (you wouldn’t believe how hard I had to work to remember all
those names).
Michael was our guide. He was a
super charismatic fellow who would disappear for a couple of moments every now
and again before returning with a massive tray filled with shots. The shots were different flavoured
vodkas. There were three flavours, and I
tried all of them. Multiple times. When, five minutes in, I had done three
shots, I started to get a tad concerned that I was going way too quick, though
I then noticed that the flavoured vodkas were only 21% alcohol, which was ok.
So, my assessment on the flavours.
There were three flavours: Pink Grapefruit, Lemon and Cherry. Cherry tasted like cough syrup. Pink Grapefruit tasted, for some reason, like
watermelon (yes it was definitely pink grapefruit – I checked in case they
looked similar), and Lemon tasted delicious.
We had a quick game of flip cup as well, though, unlike the games in
Budapest, we actually had to down a whole cup of beer instead of just measuring
a small amount per game. Oh, and the
game was three cups worth. I’m starting
to get a bit worried about how quickly I was able to down them.
 |
| The full gang |
In a pleasantly tipsy state we started a game of singstar. I started bitching about how I didn’t know
any of the songs and that if there was a Queen song I’d smash everyone singing
it, when Michael pulled out the Queen version of the game. As penance (I guess) I had to play against
him in Bohemian Rhapsody. And I smashed him, which was fortunate, as
I’d been talking myself up way too much just beforehand.
We went out to three clubs that night.
I can’t remember too much about them (shots were produced at each place)
but I can tell you that all of them were packed. On a Wednesday night. From 10:30pm until I left at 4am.
Due to nothing terribly specific happening on that night it might be
worth me giving a bit of an overview of the clubbing scene in Krakow. It’s freaking amazing. As I said before, everywhere we went was
packed with people, all of them are dancing and it’s just a lot of fun.
 |
| Wednesday night is a bit of a quiet one. |
Polish guys have a lot of confidence and are excellent dancers (I’m
talking ballroom dancing style, though adapted to work on the dance
floor). It’s actually more common to see
a girl dancing alone looking for a partner than it is to see a guy (and most of
the guys dancing alone are tourists who haven’t worked out that most girls will
happily start dancing with you if you hold your hand out). So you’re surrounded by people twirling,
grinding, grooving and spinning, all set to a background of… pretty s*** music,
to be honest (just your typical top of pop stuff), but the atmosphere wins out.
The only specific place I can remember the name of was the one we went
to last, Coco’s. It was kind of divided
into three lounges, a bar and a dance floor.
Nothing terribly special to report here.
At some point around 4am I was dragged out by the American girl (whose
name I can’t remember) and Christoph.
Stumbling around the streets we decided to go to another place, but
couldn’t find one and decided that it was probably late enough to head back to
the hostel(s). “Why did we leave?” I
asked.
“I don’t know – I just followed you guys.”
“What? I was following you…” etc
etc. It was just one of those things
that happened for no apparent reason.
Back to the hostel for me then. I
went to bed to an empty room (which was good for me as it meant I didn’t have
to go to the toilet to change into my pajamas – you wouldn’t believe how
comforting it is being able to get changed in a room that actually contains a
bed).
I was able to get a nice couple of hours rest before entering into (I
guess I was already kind of in)
DAY ONE
I could still feel the alcohol buzzing around me when I woke up at
8am. I didn’t want to miss breakfast (or
a shower) so raced around getting myself cleaned up and ready to get out and
about. You probably don’t need to read a
blow-by-blow of my showering experience, so let’s get to breakfast.
It was probably one of the best breakfasts I’ve had so far – plenty of
cereal, bacon (!) and these little stuffed polish sausage thingies. I ate as much as I could because… food.
It was a nice day and there was a free walking tour (which, you may have
noticed is pretty much the first thing I do in any new city) so after breakfast
I made my way up and off to the lovely St Mary’s Church, where the walking tour
was to leave from. It was actually one
of the largest groups I’ve ever seen on one of the tours, a good twenty or so
people (previous largest was Bratislava with only eight).
The major take-away from the walking tour was: Polish people love making
s*** up. We would constantly be shown
quaint little traditions or odd architectural details that had a completely
made-up story behind them. Examples
include:
Difference in Height
Between the Two Towers of St. Mary’s Church
MYTH: Two brothers designed a tower each – one was better than the
other, and the worse one murdered his brother with a knife (which now hangs
from an archway in the market square).
The brother, riddled with guilt, jumped from the shorter tower he had designed.
TRUTH: One of the towers was the watch tower, and is owned by the city
rather than the church. Of course, as a
watch tower, it would struggle to function if it was right next to another
tower just as high. The knife hanging
from the arch is a reminder of one of the punishments that existed in medieval
Krakow (you can probably guess what it involves).
The Trumpet Playing Every
Hour from the Watch Tower
MYTH: The myth attempts to explain why the trumpet song is cut off
suddenly part way through. The answer,
it claims, is that, at a time when the Mongolian army was approaching, a
watchman raised the alarm with his trumpet but was shot by an arrow, hence the
song being cut off.
TRUTH: Actually not sure what the reason for the trumpeting being cut
off is, but I have been told where the story above originated. An American writer was touring Krakow in the
30s, and had a young girl as his guide.
He asked her why the song was cut off and, as she actually had no idea,
she bulled her way through with the story above. He liked the story so much he took it back
with him and wrote a book that became kind of popular. So there.
The Bonerewski Hotel
MYTH: This hotel used to be called ‘The Boner Hotel’, after its founder,
but when Krakow became a popular destination amongst British stag parties they
had problems with drunk guys coming into the 5-star hotel expecting a slightly
different… erm… service. So they added
‘-ewski’ to the end to try to stop the rather irritating (I’m sure) visits.
TRUTH: Actually, this one’s
apparently true.
Other cool things we saw included the dragon heads on the drains (set up
so that when it rains the dragons spew water) – though in the university they
also had the heads of different students as an analogy for a different kind of
spewing. Krakow’s castle is Wawel Castle,
on the top of the hill near the river.
The cathedral on the hill is a bit of a mishmash of different styles
from different time periods, including Italian renaissance, gothic, medieval
and others. You look up at it and it’s
just a series of different coloured bricks and stone blocks seemingly randomly
stacked into one another.
There’s also an Austrian military hospital (the Austrians seem to have
managed to get everywhere) and a dragon statue.
The dragon statue breathes fire.
It’s in front of a small cave (the Dragon’s Den), the location described
in a local myth about a dragon that would eat female virgins (as you do). Eventually the only virgin left was the
princess (I would imagine you would look to get laid ASAP knowing you risked a
dragon eating you) and the king offered her hand in marriage to whoever killed
the dragon.
After a lot of dashing young heroic men were killed in their quests for
an arranged marriage, a cobbler (it’s always a cobbler) tricked the dragon into
eating a sheepskin filled with sulphur (it’s possible that the guide said
something other than sulphur since he then suggested that it was a very hot
spice, but it sounded like he said sulphur).
The dragon gulped down water from the river to get rid of the spice in
his mouth, but drank too much. And
exploded. So he didn’t even win the Wii.
So, two celebrities from Krakow.
First, former Pope John Paul II was Bishop in Krakow. They REALLY love him there – statues are
everywhere, there’s a window with his face plastered over it where he stayed
once while he was Pope, and you kind of get constant reminders that he was a
local.
The other celebrity was Chopin (though of course he later moved to
France). Chopin has one statue
commemorating him, an art sculpture that is supposed to represent the hammers
and strings in a piano.
Finally, the Australian link.
Kosciuszko was a great Polish hero who fought in many battles for
independence. And we have a mountain
named after him.
After the tour I decided I really needed to buy my train ticket for the
trip back into my eurail zone, Prague. I
headed for the train station and paid a whopping 70 euro for a ticket, making
me feel like perhaps the eurail ticket was better value than it seems. I had to stand in line for what felt like
forever. Just as I got to the front of
the queue, the lady at the service desk I was standing at was beckoned over to
the other desk to help the lady there deal with a pair of… Austrians I think… who
had somehow been issued a ticket for a train that didn’t exist or
something. That’s the kind of problem I
wouldn’t want to have to deal with.
Well, I ended up spending a lot more money on the train ticket than I
expected, so I needed to go straight from the train station back to the
exchange office to get some more money changed over. I was starting to plan out what tours and
things I wanted to do, so went back to the hostel in order to get some bookings
made.
My initial plan was to do Auschwitz in the morning, followed by the
Wieliczka (freaking Polish) Salt Mines in the afternoon. That would leave me in a good position to go
out on Friday and Saturday night without having to worry about having to get up
early or anything for a tour.
Thursday was sausage night, so we all sat around the table eating
sausages. Lots of sausages. Big fat ones.
Sliced an soaked in a tomato stew.
In a salad. Stuffed with cheese.
I kept going up and getting more because… well, I freaking love
sausages. My plan that evening was to do
nothing, so I took my time, chatting with a couple of nice German girls who
were doing medicine, and another pair of Germans, also studying medicine. There was also a pair of primary school
teachers from France on a week’s holiday.
Having made the decision to not go out, I was tragically waylaid by
Adam’s offer to take us for a quiet night at the local watering hole. I should mention something about Krakow –
there are a lot of bars, pubs and clubs.
800 in the old town area, in fact, making it the highest concentration
of bars of any city centre in the world.
As there are so many of them, obviously a lot of them are quite well
hidden down small corridors (often you will come across a corridor that leads
you along to two or three bar entrances), and it was one of these that we went
to that night. The place was small,
though had quite a few people milling about, and very cheap beer.
We stayed there, chatting and drinking for a considerable length of
time. We met a local who decided to
adopt our group – I think he was kind of drunk.
Poor old Adam saw that this guy was being a bit of a lout and tried to
distract him with conversation. We were
assured by the guy that it was a Polish tradition to pour a little beer from a
full glass into someone’s empty glass.
We were then assured by Adam that this was a load of garbage and this
guy was clearly just trying to score some free alcohol (and get the ladies
drunk, it seemed).
He wasn’t dangerous, though, and was very easily distracted by Adam, and
was in many ways quite amusing (though I suppose I didn’t directly have to put
up with him for that much time). We
stayed out at the bar until the nice and early time of… 2am. So, yeah.
An early night.
DAY TWO
At breakfast the next morning I caught up with the two Germans, who also
happened to be booked in to Auschwitz that day.
We headed off to the bus for the 9am departure on what turned out to be
an extremely organized tour with an accompanying babysitter (a typical young
Polish guy – they seem to be the ones with the market cornered when it comes to
tourist-related activities) and a bus complete with TV screen that played a 50
minute documentary about footage taken by a member of the Soviet army that
liberated Auschwitz. It wasn’t terribly
provoking or moving or anything to be honest.
I kind of wish they’d played Night
and Fog instead – that would have been a far more appropriate introduction
and mood setter.
I struggled to remain awake throughout the video having not had a great
deal of sleep over the course of the previous few evenings. When the video ended, I tried to get a nap
in, but unfortunately we were just pulling in to the camp and I had to shake
myself awake (until the freezing weather did it for me as I got off the bus).
For those who aren’t aware, Auschwitz is actually the name of the town
(who on earth would want to liver there now?) where three camps were. Of these, only Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II –
Birkenau remain. This is because, as the
Nazis were leaving in the face of the arrival of the Soviets, they destroyed as
much of the camps as they could in order to cover up the evidence of their war
crimes.
Because of this fact, visiting with a tour group is actually preferable
– you would perhaps struggle to get to both camps without a great deal of
trouble. My tour was to cover both the
first and second camps. We were starting
at Auschwitz I, which is now a museum housed across numerous buildings. At the entrance hall my immediate thought
was, “Oh God, it’s one of those sites.”
There were tourists everywhere.
You couldn’t move but for tourists.
It was wall to wall. Our
babysitter told us we had a ten minute break (during which I went to the loo)
before we were to meet our guides.
The Germans got a German-speaking guide, so I was split up with them for
the duration of the tour. We all
received headsets so that we could hear the guide without her speaking too
loudly (I assume – also, it’s possible that they do this so that you don’t get
mixed up with the sounds of the many, many other guides showing groups around
(seriously… so many guided tours). And
so we went into the camp.
It really was the perfect day to go see a death camp (oh God that
sentence sounds so perverse). There was
a freezing fog dulling everything, the sky was grey and the wind was
biting. The guide, due to only needing
to speak softly because she had a microphone, had a much less rousing,
enthusiastic tone than other guides I’ve had (I guess that’s probably also down
to the fact that instead of telling us stories about competing brothers and
Mongolian invasions she was telling us about the extermination of a race).
What really gets you is the calculated, emotionless cruelty of the
entire operation. Hearing how organized
it was, how carefully records were maintained, how everything was collected
afterwards – it’s a far cry from the more barbaric massacres and wars of the
past (as well as more recent things like terrorist attacks). Somehow this was even more inhuman. The scale, the planning, the organization,
the cruelty, but at the same time the detachment, the lack of passion – somehow
it makes it worse.
Just being there was a numbing experience, but there are a few points in
the museum where it really hits home (and I have to admit that trying to
remember these things has brought me close to tearing up as I write this).
One building contains some of the possessions of those who were murdered
in the gas chambers. It is especially
harrowing to enter a room with an enormous pile of shoes (I’m talking maybe
seven or eight large suitcases full) and realize, on closer inspection, that
they are children’s shoes. Then to enter
another room, a room the size of six rooms, which is completely filled with
shoes. All representing a death in the
gas chambers.
It’s shocking to enter another room and see a space behind a glass
window that is of an equivalent size to the room you are in filled completely
with human hair.
It’s horrifying to see a tin of pellets and have them explain that these
were dropped into the gas chambers and that the gas therefore came from below,
not above, leaving the dying crawling on top of one another to escape its
reach.
It’s terrifying to enter a large stone bunker and see the holes in the
ceiling through which the pellets were dropped before entering the next room
and seeing the immense furnaces where they burned the bodies.
I won’t say too much more, but suffice it to say that, despite the
crowds, despite the tour groups and cameras snapping and all that, the place
retained its oppressive ambience. After
walking around the camp we got on the bus and made our way to Birkenau, about
two minutes down the road.
Birkenau is free to just walk in and look around. There is a large unmanned entrance gate with
a train track that enters and goes straight through the centre of the
camp. Apparently this was a later
addition when they decided that having the prisoners walk to the gas chambers
was inefficient, so extended the line to reach the gas chambers. These chambers are in ruins now, one was
brought down by some of the prisoners when they realized that they had nothing
to lose and would be killed anyway, and the fleeing Nazis demolished the other
five. They remain in a dilapidated
state.
Birkenau was the largest of the three camps. Nowadays it is basically just a few
foundations, maybe sixty stone buildings and around the same wooden ones. The stone ones are slowly beginning to fall
apart – sloppy and rushed design means that they had brickwork too weak to
support the excessively heavy roofing used.
I might just finish this by saying that one of the facts that stuck with
me was that a number of Jews killed in the holocaust had sought asylum in the
West in the early stages of the Third Reich’s rise to power. The nations denied these applications.
I slept pretty much the whole way back.
It had been freezing in the camps and I needed to thaw out and catch up
with my rest. We got back around 3:30pm,
and I went for a rest in the hostel before dinner.
Dinner was pasta, which was good because I was planning to go out that
night on the organized hostel party it was Mad Dogz night. What are Mad Dogz, I suspect you were not
asking but now realize was a legitimate question to ask. Well, let me tell you.
Mad Dogz are a kind of shot. The
reason they are called Mad Dogz, with the pluralisation embedded into the word
itself, is that they come en masse – there is never just one. Never.
And you will not do just one (unless you’re sensible – in which case you
have no place doing Mad Dogz shots).
They consist of three very simple ingredients: vodka, grenadine and two
drops of Tabasco sauce. If that doesn’t
get your tastebuds tingling then I guess you probably don’t like alcohol, sugar
and spicy.
We started in the basement again – the only people I remembered from the
previous night were Lauren, Laura, Christoph, and the party leader. We were later joined by a group of Brits (two
couples) in maybe their early thirties (though let’s just say time… hadn’t
exactly been kind to them, and I suspect their presence at the party probably
wasn’t helping that fact).
There was a shisha pipe on the table that was being passed around,
something that I’ve only really started noticing as quite a popular thing since
being in Central Europe. There are a lot
of cafes that offer shishas. I’d always
just assumed they were illegal, but apparently it’s really no different than
smoking (to be honest, I prefer it to smoking since the shisha doesn’t release
its fumes into the surroundings).
 |
| Flip cup with shots. Why? |
Other than a game of flip cup using shots (which was really hard… shot
glasses are not designed for flip cup) nothing of any real note happened that
night. As with the other night we all
headed out to a club, a place called Mirrors.
It had a pretty cool design, the kind of design that would make me go
crazy if I was drunk, but (un)fortunately I wasn’t (either the shots weren’t
that strong or my alcohol tolerance is seriously getting worryingly high –
probably both, actually). It was this
underground, cellar-like bar with mirrors (which is why I can remember the
name) and one of the most awkward toilets ever.
Because it’s see-through. From
the inside. Yes, it’s a one-way mirror,
so while you’re sitting there s****ing, you can look out at all the people
around you, safe in the knowledge that they can’t see you.
 |
| The only shot of Lauren and Laura with me I could find |
Unfortunately, Mirrors was kind of dead before we arrived. The only dead place I saw the entire time I
was in Krakow.
All these nights kind of blur into one another, but I know that the next
place we visited was one that we’d been to on Wednesday night. We got a bit of dance on and moved on.
At the next place I was dancing on the dance floor, still perhaps not as
drunk as I thought I needed to be, but drunk enough that I was enjoying myself
enough not to go and actively make myself more drunk (effort and money – meh)
when suddenly I was making out with another girl on the dance floor.
 |
| I'm not kidding about the trays of shots - not strong ones though |
That is exactly how it happened.
There was no build-up, I don’t think I ever even really got a good look
at her. One second I’m bouncing around,
next thing we’re swapping tongues. I had
a vague sense of it being a bit gross, but decided it was probably poor form to
pull out, and to be honest I’d have probably struggled to manage to escape
since she’d gotten me in a bit of a wrap.
I basically had no idea what I was doing, and mainly just let her lead
with occasional flourishes of my own. In
the end she separated to rejoin her group (who had been standing right next to
us the entire time – perving, I guess).
I went back to join Laura and Lauren (they were who I had been hanging
out with most of the night) where they gave me a kind of cruel knowing look and
I tried to convince them that I had no idea what had just happened.
 |
| I think I visited this place all three nights... |
Then we were chaperoned to yet another place, actually the same place we
had finished the night before. We sat in
the lounge area, more shots were produced, I did some and then had the tray
spillage poured into my throat (seriously, half the things they do in clubs and
bars here would be illegal in Australia).
And… that was a bad idea.
I got home without any problem, actually, mainly because the alcohol
hadn’t quite begun to take effect. But
when I got back to the hostel… yeah, you know the drill. I have a vague recollection of returning to
my bed and seeing sunshine out the window, but I’m not sure how that’s possible
unless it took me two hours to get changed into my pajamas.
Which, all things considered, is quite possible.
DAY THREE
I woke up about five minutes too late for breakfast. This was a shame, since the breakfast was
awesome, but I could survive. While
bumming around trying to decide what to do, I was approached by another guy in
my room – a Polish guy, probably in his mid-twenties. He was visiting Krakow from his town a small
way away with a group who were all there for some kind of convention or
something, though apparently they didn’t need to be actually at the
convention. Well, except for one of
them.
Anyway, this guy, who I will call Redbeard because he had a red beard
and I can’t remember his name, offered to show me a bit of Krakow. I was like… sure! Well, that was my day planned.
I should probably also mention that I was still a little bit drunk at
this stage.
It was an interesting day. First
we met all his friends in one of the rooms around reception, though most of
them were still in bed so that lasted only a couple of minutes. Though long enough for them to exclaim their
excitement at meeting an Australian (I’m constantly amazed at the number of
people surprised at meeting an Australian – seriously, there are LOADS of us in
Europe, and we’re not exactly quiet about it).
I went with Redbeard and another guy, who actually was attending the
convention that day, in order to see him to the tram station. I didn’t realize this was what we were doing
at first – I was having a little trouble understanding exactly what I was
taking part in, and for a moment it seemed as though we were all going to be
taking a car trip to a neighbouring town.
Fortunately that was not the case, and after they bought me a little
circle of bread (very popular and easily available from street vendors all
across Central Europe) and saw him off, I began to make my way with Redbeard to
the town centre.
We came to St Mary’s Church, you know, the one the tour guide on
Thursday had suggested I visit? Redbeard
repeated the tour guide’s suggestion, saying it was very beautiful inside. He then said, “Oh, but we don’t want to pay,”
and took me to the entrance for those going to pray.
I was like… “Is this really appropriate,” but then again, I was only
ripping off the Church, and they were clearly making plenty of tourist zloty,
so I took off my hat and went in.
In my mildly tipsy state, I decided it would be a good idea to act very
pious in order to maintain the illusion that I was just there to pray. So as I approached the statue of the
whateveritwas I got down on one knee and made the sign of the cross, though it
ended up being more of a sign of the lopsided diamond than anything else.
The church’s interior was very beautiful, I suppose, though if I’m going
to be completely honest with you I was more concerned with watching out for the
Church Police that I was certain were watching out for faking tourists like
me. Apparently they weren’t, or I was
doing a better job of faking it than I thought, because we got in and out
without spending a dime.
Redbeard next wanted to take me to his favourite bar, because it was
almost midday and CLEARLY ALCOHOL IS A GOOD IDEA. It was just across the market square from the
church so we went. I was given the
choice of light beer or dark beer. I
chose dark.
We chatted about stuff – Redbeard talked about Poland a bit, though I
honestly don’t remember a word of it. We
finished with a decision to go to Wawel Castle, so I downed the rest of my
beer, maintaining the buzz I had been cultivating, and we stumbled off.
Interestingly enough, Redbeard seemed to be even more drunk than I
was. We went up the castle and into the
cathedral there – there was an entry fee that basically allowed you into the
cathedral and up to see the bell (apparently the largest in Poland) and
underground into the crypts. It was
pretty cool, and Redbeard would explain to me under his breath the relevance of
each object – whose grave it was, what the relevance was etc. Though he was basically just repeating what
was written on the placards, I appreciated the gesture.
The bell was big. What else can I
say? You’d hope the biggest bell in
Poland would be big. Though it’s telling
that it’s not the biggest bell in the world.
The stairs up to the bell were clearly added to the tower afterwards, as
they kind of wove awkwardly around older structures and beams. I’m not sure how they used to repair the bell
and stuff if the stairs are modern.
The crypts were a bit of a letdown.
I was hoping for piles of bones and stuff, but in the end there were
just… well, big stone rectangles.
Hopefully there were bones inside the rectangles, otherwise what’s the
point?
Next it was off to the Jewish Quarter, which I should mention is
different to the Jewish Ghetto, which was on the other side of the river. For some reason Jews were always segregated
from everyone else, and as far as I understand this was not by choice. Isn’t it great how we no longer create special
regions for particular ethnic groups to live in? Right guys?
…right?
We kind of saw a synagogue from the outside, but I’m guessing Redbeard
was starting to feel the effects of alcohol wear off a bit because he now
suggested we go find a Jewish restaurant that served a 70% alcohol shot (there
seems to be one of these in almost every country I go to). Well, he suggested we get some Thai food
first, but once he got to the place where the Thai restaurant was supposed to
be, it wasn’t, and so alcohol seemed like a fair substitute.
We found the Jewish restaurant without a problem. I assumed we were also going to order food,
but Redbeard said he was going to go meet some of his friends in a place that
served good Polish food soon, so I should go with him there instead for
food. Instead we had a 50mL shot of the
70% alcohol concoction – I’m pretty sure it was Palinka (not as bad as it
sounds – the less strong version I had in Athens was far more difficult to
drink) and a 500mL beer. For those who
are into that sort of thing, that’s around five standard drinks. But who’s counting?
It was time for the long walk to the traditional restaurant we were now
supposed to be going to. I have to
admit, I really struggled with that walk.
Not because I was stumbling around (I wasn’t) but because I was really,
really busting for the toilet. It was
one of those “Oh man I should have gone in the restaurant I really hope this
next place isn’t too far away” moments.
Hmm… Let’s just say it was a
chilly walk.
Anyway, we reached the restaurant and went to meet Redbeard’s friends –
a couple, one of whom was quite pregnant, both of whom seemed a little
surprised to see me. I had assumed
Redbeard had explained that I would be tagging along, but as they spoke only
limited English (Redbeard told me this was by choice – they could speak English
but were embarrassed about getting it wrong) I couldn’t really tell.
They were already eating.
Redbeard ordered both of us another beer and we started looking at the
menu. The thing I really needed to try
was pierogi, a kind of Polish dumpling with filling. Actually, it’s pretty much ravioli
dumplings. I also got a soup, one
Redbeard assured me was very Polish. It
was a kind of pork broth with a big lump of pork in it and bits of vegetable. By vegetable, I pretty much just mean
potato. But that still counts.
Anyhoo, it tasted really good. We
were soon joined by the guy from that morning that we had seen to the
tram. They were all speaking Polish, and
every now and then Redbeard would remember that I had no idea what was going
on, would turn and slur in English a bit of an explanation, then get distracted
by the conversation and keep on going. I
didn’t mind – the place felt like an authentic hangout, and it was nice to just
soak up the ambience.
Suddenly Redbeard announced that we were moving on to another place for
a bit of dessert, so we headed for an Italian restaurant for some
tiramisu. It was all right, though
they’d used sponge instead of those coffee biscuits.
When another couple of people joined, I made my excuses and left. I was keen to join the party again for my
final night in Krakow, and I had begun to feel as though I was intruding as
they were speaking Polish and my guide was completely off his face.
I arrived back at the hostel in time for more dinner. Because food is better than alcohol, I
stuffed my face. It was Polish night,
though I’m glad I had the pierogi while I was out because there wasn’t any to
be had at the hostel. Instead there were
these cabbage-filled fried things (which were yummy) and some salads and stew
(also yummy).
It was time for my final night out in Krakow.
I have to tell you, I find it really difficult to write about these
nights. They tend to be a blur, and they
mix into one another and create a mess of random moments and vague
recollections. What I can tell you is
that Saturday night was the only night where I officially took part in a pub
crawl. As in, the sole purpose was to
crawl around pubs, not do Mad Dogz shots or taste vodka.
 |
| The South American girls, whose names I tragically forget |
Funnily enough, it didn’t pan out too much differently from previous
nights. This time there were a group of
three South American girls and two guys, though I honestly only remember the
guys (and that’s only because I saw them the next day). They were who I hung out with most.
It started with two hours of shots and flip cup and karaoke at the
hostel before we moved along to the first club.
Oh yes, by ‘pub crawl’ they really meant ‘club crawl’. Ah well.
We were joined by another group of pub crawlers and in that group was a
bunch of British guys that I met. One I
will call Baldy, one I will call Glasses and one I will call Tom. Not because that was his name, mind you.
At the first place (which was a place I hadn’t been before) nothing of
too much note happened. OH WAIT YES IT
DID.
 |
| Look at all them cool people. Except the one in the hat. |
Well, I was dancing and I went off to look for some others that I
recognized – the place was a total maze and easy to get lost in, despite being
quite small. Well, I found the Brits and
Glasses had had his face punched. His
glasses had broken, though they had all the pieces and he could technically
still wear them, though only with difficulty.
Then, just as we were being called to move on to the next place, another
guy (with his girlfriend) went up to Glasses and began to push him around. This appeared to my blurry eyes to be
completely unprovoked, but I wasn’t about to let this get in the way of more
potential alcohol and dancing, so I got between them and kind of shuffled
Glasses out of the club. We weren’t
followed – I think the girlfriend was holding back the aggressor.
We went to three more places, but none of them were particularly
memorable. I had a good time, got
buzzed, Glasses (probably shaken after being attacked) drank too much and had a
‘tactical chunder’ on the side of the street (in Australia it’s called a
‘tactical vom’ – and I’ve only learned this since being in Europe – I learned
about the tactical vom all the way back in Barcelona).
 |
| And, as happens, my hat got stolen |
I can’t really remember much about the journey back to the hostel,
though not because I blacked out (I’m fairly certain I didn’t black out once the
whole time in Krakow, and unless you count the thing in Brasov, which I
actually suspect was just me falling asleep in the toilet, I haven’t blacked
out yet in Europe… which is as it should be) but because there was nothing
particularly memorable about it, I was a bit drunk and I had done the trip
countless times already (well… twice before).
I do remember getting to my room, though – Redbeard and the friend we
had taken to the tram were there, and tram guy was snoring like a foghorn. I’m not kidding – I’ve heard a lot of snorers
on my travels so far, but this guy takes the cake. It was mindboggling. It was tremendous. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it in
Australia, or wherever you happen to be.
It didn’t worry me, though, cos I was wrecked.
DAY FOUR
I came so close to missing breakfast again, but fortunately the
super-cool girl at reception whose name I very unfortunately can’t remember let
me grab something before she started cleaning up. I met up with the two South American (pretty
sure they were Brazilians) guys from the night before. They were heading into the city to have a
look around, and I offered to show them a couple of things. Basically we just retreaded the areas I had
already been. I took them up to Wawel
Castle and they went into the cathedral.
I didn’t feel any real need to go inside the cathedral again (been there
done that) so made my way back to the dragon statue as I hadn’t managed to get
video of it breathing fire before and wanted a quick shot.
I stood there for eleven minutes recording. There was no fire. I don’t think I was the only disappointed
one. I went up and tried to find the
Brazilians (we had planned to meet up again) but couldn’t see them so decided
to spend the afternoon going to Schindler’s Factory. It was quite a distance away (well… for
Krakow) so I got my walk on and went looking for a bridge.
I found one – a pedestrian bridge.
It was covered with locks. The
kind that lovers put on things when they are in love in order to symbolize how
they would always be together. It made
me feel a bit lonely to see all those locks – I’m talking multiple thousands of
them, dense swarms of locks all the way along a huge pedestrian bridge. I’m getting to the stage in my journey where
I feel I am regularly craving company, and often find it difficult to motivate
myself to do things without someone else going along as well. Especially eating.
But then I thought that at least 50% of the couples who had locked these
locks probably weren’t together anymore and that made me feel better.
The other side of the river was a lot more industrial and drab than the
side I had been staying on, which I guess one ought to expect when the main
attraction is a factory. The factory
itself was pretty plain, but I guess it was worth seeing. Particularly since I had nothing better to
do.
On my way back I thought I saw some kind of bizarre bear-like creature,
but it turned out to be a large dog sitting on its haunches doing a poo. That was a bit of a surreal experience.
I didn’t want to head straight back to the hostel since I was going to
be waiting an awfully long time for my train (10pm) and I didn’t want to impose
on the staff by sitting around in the reception area for six and a half
hours. Instead I went to the shopping
centre opposite and OH MY GOD AM I EVER GLAD I DID.
There was some kind of insane chess competition going on, with huge rows
of tables and seats prepared for the tournament. A lady was running a competition with one of
those games where you have to show how you can achieve checkmate in ‘x’
moves. I watched that for a while, but
to be honest couldn’t work out how the game worked – there were occasions when
I couldn’t see how they worked out the opposition’s moves since they never
seemed to force them into a particular action with check etc.
Anyway, it wasn’t long before the tournament began. I watched from above as hundreds of people
played one another in rapid-fire games.
I watched a couple of games end before noticing a six-year-old boy
playing a very serious looking man. Both
had few pieces left, though to me it looked like the boy was losing. A few minutes later the only pieces left were
the man’s king and the boy’s king and single pawn. Then the boy had a queen. Then the boy won. It was pretty epic.
After that I went back to the hostel.
The girl from that morning was there, so I chatted with her for a bit,
then Adam showed up and explained that he had been to Prague that day – a 7
hour trip each way for maybe 2 hours actually in Prague.
“That seems kind of stupid,” I said.
“It was very stupid,” he said.
I hung out with the guests during their dinner and stuff, but I didn’t
participate in conversation as enthusiastically as I had previously. I was feeling a bit out of place now, as I
didn’t really want to leave but knew I had to.
At 9pm I headed for the station (just across the road) and got on the
waiting train. The conductor came by
and, upon realizing I spoke English, said he would be back to explain how
everything worked.
I only shared the 6-bed couchette with one other person, a Czech who had
been with his Polish girlfriend for the weekend, I guess, and had to go back to
work in the hospital in Prague. He spent
a long time leaning out the window waving – it was cute.
The conductor was really nice – he told me which cabin he was in and
told me to come get him if I needed anything.
He also instructed us to lock the cabin tightly – apparently that train
was commonly occupied by thieves.
We had no problems, though, so I got my first proper night’s sleep in a
week (AHAHAHAHAHA yeah right, I was on a train – I barely slept a wink).
And then I was in Prague, which is where I will be leaving tomorrow, and
I can tell you all about it (or some other place, perhaps) when this story is
TO BE CONTINUED
