Warm Evenings

The days continue to unfold out here on the road.  Days of the week have ceased to hold much meaning, existing solely as indicators for departure.   And that, of course, is my excuse for not posting this on time.

Though it’s not quite the same, the cities I’ve visited in many ways seem one.  They are historic and beautiful, they have rivers running through them.  It’s a gross oversimplification, but the process of traveling is just exhausting enough to allow for it.

However, now that we’ve made it to the coast of Poland, it has allowed for a generous break.  Thrusting us out of the city life and just ever so closer to nature.  To mark this latest trip progression, the tunes today will revolve around the sea.

Unfortunately, I’m not exactly thick on time at the moment and will have to largely supply the tracks and leave the explanations for another day.

Seaside – The Kooks

Sailing Away – Madeline Adams

Trains Across the Sea – Silver Jews

Seas Too Far to Reach – Okkervil River

Sailing On – Toots & the Maytals

Beyond The Sea – Bobby Darin

The Golden Gate of Gdansk

We left Warsaw for Gdansk by way of Malbork Castle, an enormous complex left over from the days of the Teutonic Knights. These invited guests turned into the ultimate “unvite.” After the Holy Wars came to a close, these fellows were out of work and needed a job. A unsuspecting Polish regent invited them up north to help him subdue some dirty pagans. They liked the work and liked the land, so they said, “what the H? Let’s just camp out here. There’s plenty of pagans and easy living.” So they did, at least until the massive Battle of Grunwald.

After spending a few hours on the splendid Malbork grounds, we departed for Gdansk. Our train arrived late in the evening. Upon debarking we found a cold, damp, and foggy city. Not exactly the warm beach dreams we had been heretofore harboring.

Our accommodations in Gdansk seem to resemble a large orphanage. There are children of varying age and sex roaming the halls at all hours of the night. And unfortunately these halls don’t do much for eliminating noise. They seem to exist solely as megaphones.

Despite these minor annoyances, the accommodations are quite nice. We’re just one quick block from the main street and mere minutes from every attraction save those commemorating the Solidarity movement.

The first night in Gdansk was spent at Goldwasser, a slightly upscale restaurant on the riverfront boardwalk. It was arguably the best meal I’ve had while in Europe. I don’t often splurge on my dinners while traveling, so it was a nice treat. As for the name, Goldwasser is a liqueur not unlike Goldschlagger. While it also has gold flakes, unlike Goldschlagger, this liqueur is a paragon of smoothness. With the north winds blowing hard over Gdansk, the liqueur was a nice way to warm up our travel weary souls and prepare us for the coming feast.

After a solid night of sleep, Witty and I more or less set out to see Gdansk. We strolled through the Golden Gate and down the Royal Way a bit. After quick rambles around the old mills, we ventured to the Road to Freedom Museum. Though a direct commemoration of the Solidarity movement, this exhibition also recognizes the varied dissent of workers in Poland and other Eastern Bloc countries in the post-war era. It was a nice and informative starter course for the Gdansk experience.

We followed this multi-hour visit with a foray into the world of Polish Milk Bars. Now for those that immediately have thoughts of Malcolm McDowell and A Clockwork Orange, it isn’t quite like that. These establishments are holdovers from the communist era, where certain restaurants were subsidized by the government to ensure that the people would have a decent, inexpensive meal. This particular milk bar, off the main square just north and west of the Neptune statue, specializes in baked potatoes. For those that have patronized a Jason’s Deli, they aren’t too unlike the Pollo Mexicano, et al. For under $8 a piece, we had an incapacitatingly large meal and a pint of beer. I know that ain’t exactly communism, but it is certainly a holdover I could get behind.

Following our meal, we walked the block and a half to St. Mary’s Cathedral, which just happens to be the largest brick church in the world. Given the varied history of Gdansk, it’s somewhat amazing that so much of the interior has survived. While not one of the “best” churches I’ve seen, it is certainly one of the more interesting.

It's a long way to Cleveland

Not much else was accomplished following this visit. We figured out our further travel plans (Poznan on Friday afternoon), but that’s really it. The milk bar had stuffed us through and through, so we weren’t exactly looking for dinner. The idea was to find a bar to hide in until we drank up an appetite. After one lacking establishment, we ambled around some side streets until I spotted a non-descript building that seemed to be advertising some beverages on their outdoor tent. Neither of us had any clue what we were walking into, but we both ended up the better for it. I called it the Posse of Poland, but it was much more and much different in a variety of ways. The two glaring similarities: 1) everyone seemed to know each other, from old farts to younger people 2) it was a dive with questionable facilities. Some glaring dissimilarities? There were two very, very adept musicians playing everything from Polish folk songs to Tears in Heaven up front, there was much, much less room. That said, we had a helluva time. Somehow we had found a nice spot plopped down on a worn couch in the front room of the two story bar, near the old farts, the great music, and the bar. After a few pints, Kyle decided he needed to give the guitar a whirl. He approached one of the musicians while they were on break and he was quite receptive to have Kyle play. And play he did. He dropped some jaws with his renditions of “Oh My Sweet Carolina” and “16 Days” before giving it back over to the main act (and if he didn’t later lose his camera on his drunken walk home, I’d show you the photographic proof).

While I was quite content to once again drink my dinner, Euro-style—Witty wasn’t so keen. Fortunately, we’d made some pals at this bar. Notable among the patrons was Pan Krakow (our nickname), a man in love with both pony tails and camo pants. Though we were really seeking a suggestion for an outside establishment, he insisted that we try the food at this bar—in particular, the Polish goulash. Despite our uncertainty about what exactly this was, we ordered it and it was quite tasty. It was a potato pancake of sorts covered in sausage, veggies, and a nice sauce. One never errs when one heeds the advice of the Pan Krakow. Let that be a lesson to you all.

Our plans for Thursday involved an early wake-up call, so I was trying to get ol’Witty to make towards the exit. Eventually, I was able to purchase his cooperation with promises of chocolate desserts in our room. While this was indeed a minor victory, Mr. Wittenberg had an issue with his camera on the way home. Specifically, he lost it. Which means that I too lost some pictures since he was snapping for two. Though this certainly does suck, it’s not the end of the world. As I perhaps vainly tried to remind him, memories don’t have file extensions. So far Poland has been delivering plenty of those memories.

Barechested Mermaid: The Symbol of Warsaw

Warsaw is big. Not Mexico City big by any means, but it’s a large, sprawling city, not that unlike Houston…with out the oppressive humidity, of course. After our first afternoon in Warsaw, I was a bit ambivalent. I could tell why people liked living there (fun, lively metropolis), but I could very easily see why it’s not generally recommended highly for a visit.

Our Tuesday activities changed this slightly. It was raining when we woke up, go figure (after three days of immaculate weather in Krakow, I knew the luck would change at some point). Fortunately, it wasn’t also cold. We made it to the Warsaw Uprising Museum virtually unharmed and ready to learn some stuff.

Though it was mostly rehash for me, it was a quite interesting museum. Certainly one I would recommend to all Americans, and though I don’t know very many, all Brits too. I trust you’ll pardon me if I sound preachy for a moment:

Poland was absolutely bent over by their “allies” in WWII and because of the geo-political realities of the post-war world, their incalculable contributions to the war effort were whitewashed. As a result, the common perception—a perception I too was long guilty of possessing—was that the Poles simply rolled over in the face of the Blitzkrieg, that their defensive battle plan consisted of Don Quixotic horseback charges against tanks. These perceptions are patently false.

Some simplified food for thought:

First, though it might be faint praise, the Polish people held out against the German blitzkrieg much longer than the French nation, despite having a much less well equipped and technologically advanced army than the frogs. Second, Polish airmen almost single-handedly saved Britain from invasion by dominating the German Luftwaffe in the Battle Britain. Third, Poland had the largest underground resistance network and army of any other occupied country—though the total effectiveness of the units were thwarted and not fully realized courtesy of Britain and America cowing to the assertiveness of Stalin; all parties already looking forward to the post war world.

Since the exhibition details the underground uprising, this last aspect is highlighted. After neglecting to air drop supplies with any consistent regularity and while the Soviet troops watched from the other side of the Vistula, the uprising fought off the Nazis to claim much of their city before the Nazi counterattack several days later ended the uprising—I repeat, while the Soviet troops just sat on the other side of the river. This callousness on the part of Stalin should be no surprise, but it I still find it shocking.

After the successful counter attack to reclaim Warsaw, the German Army (on direct orders from Hitler) set about with the systematic destruction of the city and the forced evacuation of all its citizens (not all went, as those who’ve seen The Pianist might know). The idea was to leave Warsaw as nothing more than a “geographic designation.”

And the results are mind-blowing. Roughly 130,000 people died as a result of the uprising alone. The city was in absolute ruins.

Witty and I spent close to five hours in this museum. Probably overkill for most, but we’re both geeks for that kind of thing. Definitely worth a visit. It will be quite eye-opening.

After the museum, we cruised down to the old town for a really late lunch or a quite early dinner depending on perspective. We went to this divine pierogi place. It had been a long time since I had experienced this Polish delicacy. Eating them for dinner with a certain someone used to be a distinct highlight of my life. If you would have asked me seven years ago if I thought I’d be in Warsaw with a Kyle Wittenberg, chowing down on some delicious pierogis, I wouldn’t have agreed. Can’t complain about the turn of events though, can just enjoy it…and those pierogis. I want more.

Following dinner and dessert, we ambled around the more “picturesque” elements of the city. Like the rest of the city, these areas—old and new town—were completely destroyed by the Germans. They were, however, rebuilt after the war with the aspiration of recreating what once was. Though it’s easy to tell that the buildings are modern recreations, the entire area is quite nice. Some of the highlights of our walk before heading back to the hostel: the statue commemorating the uprising, the tomb of the unknown soldier, the little uprisers monument, the two squares—old & new, the Polish White House, and Herberta C. Hoover street. Pretty sure she was Herbert’s twin sister.

…But you’re bringing me down. Not in any truly negative way, in fact it is quite the opposite. If it’s possible, I’ve had too much fun in Krakow. The events of my days here were never that revealing, they were just enjoyable. I walked down the Royal Way, I saw the Barbican, I marveled at the breathtaking grandeur of St. Mary’s Cathedral, I strolled past crowds of beautiful Poles on the Planty, and I explored the downtrodden majesty of Kazmierez. Though St. Mary’s ranks high on my list of most amazing churches now, the rest of the experience was far more mundane, but a positive mundane. Krakow offered a break for my days, but amped up the nights. I met several people from a variety of nationalities, granting interesting conversation (usually). I tasted national drinks like Tatonkas (Zubrowka Vodka and apple juice) and shopped in Krakovian grocery stores. And all of this was in a mere three days. So this trip to Warsaw was an interesting departure.

I traveled with Witty in a car full of Poles: two young children (4ish), their father, an grizzled Grandpa and his middle-aged daughter, both with the features of a Cossack. In the beginning the coach was unbearably warm, but as we progressed northward through the pastoral expanses of central Poland, the temperature in our coach was been tempered slightly.
Our arrival in Warsaw was picturesque. After debarking from the train, it was a short walk to our hostel. Dropping our bags, we headed out to Lazienki Park. This sprawling complex hosts free performances of Chopin on Sunday afternoons. It was perfect. The sun was shining, the performance area was a perfect semi-circle of plant life, pond, and people. It was truly a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of modern Warsaw.

From the concert we cruised around a bit, checking out a former palace teeming with peacocks on the park grounds. After that, we drifted off towards the Marriott’s Champions Sports Bar to try and find the Indy 500 on television. We struck out there and another joint, but to commemorate Memorial Day, we figured we should scarf some burgers and fries at Champions. And this we did, with the aid of a pitcher of beer.
While sitting at Champions, the rain came tumblin’ down. We opted for a taxi back to the hostel and ended up spending the evening in the company of a prideful Russian while catching bits and pieces of the race on my lap-top via internet stream.

It was an interesting evening. Witty was talking about race oriented things I didn’t understand and the Russian was talking about geopolitical things he didn’t understand.  Racing is one thing, but arrogant Russians with no understanding of the world or their own country is another.  Solace was found both in the pints of Krolewskie beer and Witty’s euphoria at the general happenings of the race.

Monday found us celebrating Memorial Day at McDonald’s breakfast.  Somehow, I made it throughout Manifest Destiny (a westward road trip a few months ago) without ever stopping at a Smack-Dees, but two weeks into a Euro trip I find myself eating an egg McMuffin in Warsaw.  Strange, sure…but it was Memorial Day, so I guess it works.

I’ll follow up with some thoughts on our day post-McDonald’s soon.  For now, that’s all I have.

After my dinner with Meetesh, Barbara, & Danny, I left for the train station.  It was raining again in Budapest, tinging the departure with the slightest bit of sadness.  It was short lived, however.

With one last goodbye to Budapest, I boarded the train and found my compartment.  It was a sleeper for six, though I only had two other cabin mates.  We were made for a short story or an episode of a sitcom.  There was Anya, a rather atheist and middle-aged Muscovite-cum-Hungarian and Garbo (?), a devout Catholic and retired bus driver from Budapest.  You can’t make this stuff up.  After some preliminary discussions about life and history with Anya, Garbo entered into a seminar about God’s influence on his life.  Since he spoke no English–and I obviously speak no Hungarian beyond three words: mother (thanks to Danny), yes, and thank you–Anya was the go between.  For close to an hour I received translated pontifications with added commentary and slight laughs of disbelief from Anya.

Eventually, Anya gave up and went out into the hall.  I suppressed my natural inquisitiveness and welcomed the silence I had been seeking since my boarding.  Clambering up to my bunk, I found some solace in my spy novel and then somehow found a few hours of sleep.

I woke, bright-eyed at 2AM.  Watched the next to last episode of LOST and then found some sleep again.  Krakow was cold and misty upon arrival.  Navigating the short distance from the main station to Witty’s apartment took no more than ten minutes.  My arrival was less than feted, as he had been out late the previous night.  “There’s your room and bathroom. I’m going back to bed.”

Laughing, I went about my morning–making a blog post, unpacking, decompressing from the trip, etc.  Eventually, the sleeping beauty woke and hustled off to work.  I cleaned myself up and went out for a brief walk.  The sun had broke through the foggy dome, brightening the day and beckoning my presence in the city center.

Counteracting these desires were both my hunger and a general fatigue.  After a quick walk through the old city on the royal way, I looped back through the planty (a green belt of sorts that was once a moat protecting the old city) and towards the main train station.  I knew there was a grocery store somewhere in the mall and figured I should stock up on some provisions as I would be here for the next few days.  Of course nothing is ever easy in Europe, if you don’t have your own bag, you have to buy one of their bags.  And of course I had truly stocked up and had quite a haul of stuff, making the packing of said bag rather difficult and thus cumbersome for my return journey.  Fortunately, the bag never broke and all I received was a sore shoulder by the time I made it home.

After my makeshift lunch in front of the first television I’ve had in weeks (soccer on silent), I decided to forgo the nap and exploit the enchanting weather.  It was the right decision.  Witty lives just mere blocks from the old town, so I set out for St. Mary’s Cathedral.  This is hands down one of the most beautiful churches I’ve ever had the luck of entering.  Words and pictures don’t do it the justice it deserves.

From St. Mary’s I strolled in the direction of Wawel Castel, stopping in to see the interior of the Church of St. Peter & Paul, which was impressive in its own right.  As I made my way up to the Wawel Castle grounds I was able to stop off at an overlook of the Vistula.  While it was exciting to catch a glimpse of such a storied river, the view of the other bank was far from picturesque.  What was once farm land is now nondescript modernity.  Despite the less than winning nature of the view, the advantages of Wawel’s location was immediately apparent, as it commands a great view over the surrounding plains.

While the grounds themselves were quite a gem, the main attraction is the Wawel Cathedral.  As Poland’s national church, it is jam-packed with royal tombs and other crypts housing heroes like Thaddeusz Kosciuszko and national treasures like literary lion, Adam Mickiewicz.  Though the church was covered with Polish schoolchildren and a gaggle of other like-minded tourists, it was still an impressive sight.  Which says a lot considering how much I dislike crowds.

After exiting the cathedral grounds, I loped back around the front side of the castle and back down the western portion of the planty.  Pausing for a few minutes of people watching, I then continued on towards the square for a cold pivo at a cafe called Vis a Vis.  The sun was shining and the cafe view great, so one pivo turned into two before I headed back home to meet Witty and have dinner at his favorite Italian joint.

Unexpected as it was, and despite never getting that nap, the first day in Krakow was a certain success.