Yellow Planes, Grey Skies, and Blueberry Wodka - Kraków, Poland
Kraków, Poland
Although I didn't get to sleep until around 11pm or so, I was more than awake when the alarm went off. Trainline is my app of choice for purchasing trains in the U.K. You order through the phone and pick up your tickets at the station before you leave. It has yet to let me down and the purchasing tickets ahead of time back in America has made the rail travel process painless and easy every time. So, it was with a certain amount of confidence that I walked across the street from my hotel to the station a bit early for my 5:04 train to Stansted Airport (an hour trip), giving me plenty of time for passport, screening, and boarding at the airport. However, upon arriving at the station I was hit by a an unexpected quiet throughout the large station. Instead of the sounds and music normal to a large station, all of the escalators were blocked off, custodial crew sweeping in pairs and a few people sleeping on benches or huddled in the lone open cafe. Only the faint strains of Elton John issuing from hidden speakers broke the general silence. it was very clear that something was up. Trainline didn't show a delay but after some cyber wrestling with the free wifi it became clear that maintenance work this weekend meant that there was no train from St Pancras at this time, and the tube stations were not running to the station that would be my second option. I still had plenty of time, so knowing that my train originally had a connection at Liverpool Street, I found an ATM and determined to get a taxi there and pick up the train from that point. I still had plenty of time to get there as long as I could find a method of transportation. Heading outside I found a and was about to hail a taxi when I noticed a young rail worker directing people to a waiting double decker bus. "I'm trying to get to Stansted" "There is no train to Stansted" she replied, providing the obvious a bit too late for my current situation, "but there will be a bus direct coming over there". She pointed to a queue of people standing by a bus shelter. I glanced at my phone, mentally figuring the travel time with the wait I would have when she pointed "in fact, there it is now". A bus pulled into view and stopped in front of the small group of waiting travelers. The ride would be an hour I knew, and without the transfer to another train. I thanked her and heading over to the bus and handing my pack to the driver, I bought my ticket. Boarding the bus I was again greeted by the talent of Elton John from the bus radio. I took this as a good sign. As long as I followed Sir Elton I reasoned that I would be fine (logic that is usually only found after a lack of sleep or an abundance of alcohol). I found my seat silently along with the others, the only talking coming from a collection of happy and boisterous Russians heading almost instinctively towards the back seats. Elton, having seen my safely on my way, turned the entertainment to a welcome medley of various 80's musicians as we made our way through the early morning streets of London. Upon reaching Stansted Airport (out in the middle of nowhere), we collected our bags and headed inside to the Ryanair counter. Large queues in check in and boarding. After checking my passport and dropping my bag off. I decided to check it anyway, even though I was pretty sure it was under weight and would fit in the overhead - the cost if I was wrong would be impressive at the gate, and this way I could see what the plane was like and decide if I could get it onboard on the way back to London on Thursday. After a quick walk through the duty free section (a winding marble path beset on both sides by perfume, alcohol, cologne, and candy), I arrived in the departure area and sat down for a quick bite. The boarding for my flight was announced 15 minutes after the gate was, so another rush off to the gate was called for. Ryanair only has room for 90 bags in the overhead compartments, so a place in line was key. I had paid five quid for priority seating, but at that price I would imagine that everyone would pay it and I would be out of luck. As I arrived at the gate and saw the long line for boarding, I discovered that there was a small group of fifteen or so people cordoned off in the priority section. Passing all of the glares (I was getting used to the feeling), I marched up and was the tenth in line. Five pounds for priority was best money I have ever spent. Ryanair is absolutely what they advertise - cheaper air travel. The plane decor is an odd yellow and blue (and I mean odd, and I mean everywhere). The seat upholstery is distantly descendent from leather and the seats themselves are NARROW. This is not an issue for people who are normally sized around the waist. However, I am not one of those and I am acutely aware of the distance between armrests. I want to help out the proles behind me, so I stow my satchel and jacket under my seat and leave the overhead for someone else to use. There was a cost for everything - seemingly only the seat belts were complimentary; everything else had a price in pounds and euros. The beverage cart went by twice, but as none was free, only the new or desperately thirsty handed over cash. The rest of us held out, resolute in our desire to keep the cost of this flight down. However, there was quite a bit of wavering when, an hour from the end of the flight, the stewards started selling lottery tickets, with some part of the proceeds going to the underprivileged. At this point the wavering began and soon cash was being passed over. Scratch off games for the children - is it gambling if it is helping the children? I take my chances and pass on the "Lotto for Little Ones" cards, hoping that someone upstairs will forgive me. The clouds beneath us are a solid sheet of white right to where the horizon meets the blue sky. It is as if we are hanging suspended in midair. There is no sense of forward movement until we reach the continent. Two hours into the flight a small twin tailed jet flies by very close, streaking back and to the left, black contrails chasing close behind. That was really close and not something I have seen before when flying. The air smells like bananas. It is so strong that it overpowers the body odor and devil breath that is circulating (is some of that from me?)...but banana is ruling over all. Is banana scented air a ploy on the part of Ryanair to get us to pay their ridiculous prices for food? Wiley! As I look around to see if anyone else is noticing the strong fruit smell, I notice that the woman sitting next to me is, in fact, eating a banana. These seats are too close together and I need some sleep.... Upon landing at Krakow, I get through customs, grab my bag and then get the train to the main station. I have to exit near the old station, as this will lead me to the post office with my train ticket for tomorrow. The Krakow Glowny station is attached to a huge and beautiful four floor mall, and I find myself walking by many brand stores from America and England (the Crocs store was doing great business and I believe I passed two McDonalds before I made it outside. I'm not sure if I should be impressed or ashamed). Once outside, I found the post office where my train ticket had been sent, and I was on my way through the Old Town and to the Hotel Senacki, my hotel for the night (and the last one for the next few days). After checking in, I decided to rest a bit and then walk around. What struck immediately was the grayness of the clouds was somehow mirrored in the people around me. It's not that they are sad, but perhaps "serious" is a better term. The city is gorgeous, and the architecture and history is something Europe displays so well. Krakow square is one of the largest in Europe and is impressive. Old town is amazing. Sitting near a huge bell tower, a sax player belting out a jazz rendition of the Star Wars theme. It would be surreal if it didn't somehow completely fit in. After walking down to Wawal Castle, I make my way to the Jewish Quarter to find a place to eat. I have heard that Starka has a great take on traditional Polish food, so I head that way. After a few turns onto back streets, I find Starka and discover that they are booked solid for the next two days, but since I am alone I am allowed to eat at the bar. I'll take it! After ordering a beer (the local brew which both bartenders unconsciously apologize for), I order a starter and get suggestions on a main. After a short wait, I have a starter of potato soup with sliced almonds, bacon pieces and a hint of horseradish. Only national pride keeps me from licking the bowl clean (well, pride and never having a moment where no one was looking my direction). The main course is a boneless pork knuckle with crispy skin on a bed of sourkraut and a side of mashed potatoes and horseradish. This is also amazing, and while I am finishing up my second beer, I ask what is floating in the vodka bottles behind the bar. I am told that they flavor their own wodka (Polish for Vodka), and that it is banana. Taking this as a sign that I am interested, I am thereafter offered small shots of different house favorites. "this is ginger wodka - very popular" (I can see why) "This is horseradish wodka - it will go nicely with your meal" (it does) "Try the blueberry wodka. It will go well with your cheesecake" (it would go well with anything even if I hadn't already had two pints of lager and an equal number of mini wodka shots) I have noticed that all of the music in the restaurant is in English and that the majority of the customers seem to be foreigners. When I ask one of the bartenders about this, I am told that very few locals come here and that her friends had never heard of the restaurant when she got the job. As I process this (it seemed like a pretty normal establishment to me), the Carpenters come over the speakers. Sir Elton is telling me that it is time to move on. Thanks to the wodka samples, by the time I get up to leave I am inadvertently warmer than my coat is providing and need to walk for a bit to process the food and drink. We had talked about the bartender wanting to travel more, so I leave some extra money for the start of a travel fund and head outside. The prices here are so kind to the dollar that leaving a large tip keeps my guilt away (the whole three course meal and drinks was fifteen dollars). A brisk thirty minute walk sees me back at the hotel, and just in time for a Sunday concert of classical music at St. Peter & St. Paul's Church by the Cracow Chamber Orchestra of Saint Maurice. The concert (five strings and occasionally a pianist, trumpet, or guitar) is fantastic and is conveniently across the street from the hotel. What a fantastic happenstance opportunity (I tend to find impromptu surprises on each trip, and try to take advantage of each that come up) I stumble in and get ready for bed. Tomorrow starts a bit later (so I will actually have a chance to get more than the four hours I got the last two days) but will be heavy. My train leaves for my next stop at nearly 10pm, so as long as the hotel will hold my bags, I shouldn't have long to walk around with them before I leave. It has been a full but good day and no matter what tomorrow holds, I have found a new European city that I would like to come back and explore further. Krakow has impressed me in a very short span of time.