Krakow

I think it’s a common discovery for most people going abroad: the friends you make in places new are nothing like friends you had in places old. It’s strange at first, since those past friendships established track roads in your minds to the way budding relationships were supposed to go—what it’s understood to ask about, inside jokes, activities partaken in, etc. And these new friendships, well, they rarely stay on the tracks we know.

Tim is one of my few good friends over here, and we certainly contrast in certain areas: he’s a marketing major from Buffalo, loves hockey, not interested in literature or drama, might have been in a frat if he had gone to UT. And it’s easy to find these differences first, if you want to. But he’s very trustworthy, we can tell stories to each other and laugh about the right people together, and drink and watch baseball/football together—I think our common background growing up in houses full of boys and sports is what brought us together.

When you need to, you can be very selective about what type of person becomes your friend. When you need friends, you’re more open. And I’m really glad I’m friends with Tim, and that I decided to journey to Krakow with him. This is contrasted all the more by the fact that we bought group tickets with people from the Caledonian School, who were numbering 20 in total. Why anyone would want to travel in a horde of people is beyond me: you see less, you argue more, you connect less with each of the people you're with. I say 5 should be the limit for traveling parties, 2 and 4 the most ideal numbers.

The train ride to Krakow initially seemed like it would be a disaster. Steve, the Scotsman who had bought are group tickets at a reduced rate, managed not to reserve them. There was a chance we’d be sleeping in the aisle. Eight hours loomed in front of us terribly, but they passed rather drunkenly, and the seats sorted themselves out more or less—we split a coach with some seedy Polish guys who wouldn’t let us sleep as we didn’t let them sleep. I met a swell new teacher at the Caledonian School (one of our hundreds), and we passed the times rather amicably together with some vodka.

When we pulled into Krakow at 5:45 in the morning Tim and I bolted from the group. He had a few hours of passed-out sleep under his belt and I had none but we wanted nothing to do with the group. They were a slow-turning, massy wheel and we were a pair of skates speeding off in the distance. Most everything in the town was closed so early on a Friday so we wandered to our hostel, to reenergize before tackling Auschwitz.

Auschwitz is…Auschwitz does what it’s supposed to. I think the best term to describe how I felt afterwards is punchdrunk. You’re just so mentally battered, and there’s so, so much of it, this death and pain and cruelty is constructed into and over everything and…afterwards your mind is numb save for this depressing, inconceivable truth that humanity is quite capable of such evil. Tim was almost angry at them, the Nazis, for what they did. We both felt physically ill at the end.

One of the most disturbing things about Auschwitz and its mammoth sister extermination camp, Birkenau, is that they’re really quite beautiful. From the right angles Auschwitz looks like the main green of a quaint college campus, and the woods surrounding Birkenau are quite stunning. Only then there’s the electrified barbed wire, and the crematoriums, and “Arbeit Macht Frei.”

One last thing on Auschwitz: though the museums incorporated into the cellblocks are quite modern, the whole place is unheated. It was literally five degrees cooler in the buildings than outside, as if they wanted you to be chilled to the bone by what you saw.

The bus back to Krakow was similarly unheated, and a thick fog had descended over Krakow by the time we returned. We took deserved showers then went next door to Chlopskie Jadlo, what Time referred to as “The Outback Steakhouse of Poland.” Well, it wasn’t so kitschy, but the food was great and a guitar-violin duo serenaded us with hot jazz and folk tunes. By eleven, with more than a few drinks and no sleep in me, I was more than ready to pass out.

The next day we took at a more leisurely pace. We walked around Wawel Castle, which guidebooks describe as “eclectic” but Avimaan defines as “piecemeal.” Tim was gifted a Rick Steves’ Guidebook by his parents last year and used it faithfully throughout our journey, and it was actually a very handy guide for what’s worthwhile and what you can see on your own versus using a tour.

Over the course of the next two days we also wandered around:

(A) The Jewish quarter and its fantastic market.
(B) A “Milk bar,” the name for government subsidized cafeterias. Mmm.
(C) The church John Paul the Second used to preach at and the street he lived on.
(D) The main square, large enough to rival Mexico City’s zocalo.
(E) Café Camelot, where we were served hot beer spiced with vanilla and ginger.
(F) Around KL Cracowia’s stadium, looking for free entrance into the game.
(G) The old Jewish ghetto, where parts of the wall are still left standing.
(H) The university, with as many students as UT.

The other parts of the weekend were filled with American indulgences we can’t get in Prague: a Pizza HUT serving pan pizza and replete with a salad bar (If you’ve never had European pizza, let’s just say it’s a flat disappointment). We watched some football games and drank beer till our heads hurt and our pillows brought sweet, sweet sleep.

All in all Krakow and Poland were great. It’s funny, but I felt far more at home in Krakow than Prague: it’s more inviting, smaller and super-easy to walk around, got a great nightlife, etc. It’s much less seedy. It might get boring after a little while, something that’ll never happen in Prague. But all in all, I give the Poles and their perogis two hearty thumbs up.