matching tracksuits

There’s a new video blog at the New York Times called the Frugal Traveler. Week 10 is a visit to Gdansk Poland.

Why Gdansk? Why not Krakow? Unlike both Gdansk and Warsaw, Krakow was not totally destroyed during the Second World War, and its old town is just that — old. Perhaps the choice of Gdansk came from week 9’s spot: Vilnius, Lithuania. It’s a shorter hop from Vilnius to Gdansk than Vilnius to Krakow.

Still, it’s good to see Poland getting included like this.

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Krakow is full of them.

Some less neglected than others.

In fact, there are narrow streets throughout all of Poland. Indeed, all of Europe. That’s what happens when cities exist for centuries before the invention of the car.

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We made it home yesterday after an exhausting journey. L fell into fits of hysterical screaming on the flight from Munich to Charlotte, and there was mumbling about the plane regarding it — as well as a few comments swirling around our heads while we stood in the passport control line. The temptation to say something was great, but I decided to keep it a win-lose situation (i.e., we win, acting like adults; they lose, acting like children) instead of descending into a useless argument, for there was no win-win situation in sight as tired as we all were.

The trip was exhausting, but we had wonderful memories to keep up our spirits, including two days in the most magnificant (and second most expensive) city in Polska, Krakow.

Florianska Street

K and L at the Florianska Gate

The first thing we noticed, coming by bus, was the new shopping center cum bus stop. When we left in 2005, it looked like this:

Three years — and a surprising amount of initiative — later:

The old bus station was a testament to the hideous nature of Communist architecture, and it was torn down before I even knew it had been slated for demolition. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a couple of hours in that old place now,” I told K.

Also victim of the renovation was the “Dragon Bar” (”Bar Smok”), a milk bar across the street from the old bus station. Filthy does not begin to describe it, and once again, I find myself wishing for a 4gb memory card and a day to photograph it.

As we made our way to the rynek, we noted that some things had mercifully not changed. The opera house still greets visitors after they emerge from the passage under Westerplatte Street.

Opera House

And the corner of Pijarska and Planty streets still looks the same:

We finally made it to the rynek, where L seemed just as amazed as everyone else is they first time they emerge from Florianska Street onto Krakow’s enormous square:

We fed the pigeons,

had a latte,

and watched the people around us. Some were trying to get the best shots with classic Russian equipment:

Zenit — my first real camera

Some were simply passing through:

Two to a bag — classic Krakow style

After a short break, we headed inside the Basilica of St. Mary — what I’d bought the 10-20mm for:

I’d brought a tripod in order to try to get some shots to combine into HDR, but I was kindly informed during my final shot of my first series that tripods were not allowed.

I’m always amazed with the beauty of such places.

And I’m glad the Church so wisely followed Jesus’ command to feed the starving, clothe the poor, and build ridiculously big churches.

We headed down Grodzka Street toward Wawel castle

East Central meets West, Old meets New

Finally, exhausted, we fell into a cafe for some rest, respite from the sun (L was fussy and sweaty), and, most importantly, a chance to meet up with some of our dearest friends, Kuba and Maja:

K & M standing at Kuba’s street in Krakow

We spent our last New Year’s Eve in Polska with K & M in Hel, a little port town at the tip of a long finger of land into the Baltic Sea.

Wojek Kuba takes a picture

Maja — the “maja” of comments here — has been eager to meet the girl for some time, and they hit it off immediately:

Ciocia Maja entertains

Later, at Wawel

The initial excitement of our reunion finally calmed (M was bouncing off the walls with joy!), we all continued down Grodzka Street

to Wawel, the royal castle

Finally, the Girl had had enough, and so we headed out of Krakow

Why are there so few streets this lovely in the States?

to a little town on the city’s outskirts, where K’s brother, D, lives.

We had grilled sausage to accompany a wonderful evening of reminiscing and talking about the “realities” of life in America.

K ponders whether or not that grill is really made out of what he thinks it’s made out of. Any ideas?

When D saw the wonders of a SLR camera’s bulb setting, he took me to a place to get some night shots of Krakow.

Sadly, there was too much light from the street lights to get good shots, but that fact did lead to this:

Thus ended our first day in Krakow.

Our second day was much slower and shorter. It included a walk in the park surrounding the old town,

and K taking a few more shots.

It ended in the old Jewish section of town, at an outside cafe, where still more friends came to meet us.

And thus our not-quite-two weeks in Polska came to an end.

More reflections — not to mention pictures — later.

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Last day in Orawa/Podhale. Tired Girl; semi-eager Cousin W. Only one thing to do — go to Gulbalowka.

Up the inclined railway

Down the metal bobsled-ish ride with Aunt K:

And then a bite to eat.

Grill plus

Cousin W had a crepe:

French Polish

K and I shared potato pancakes with garlic sauce

And something Poles will recognize but I will refrain from describing further:

Kaszanka

We went to the new “line park.”

Brought to you by Alegro, the Polish version of Ebay

Cousin W had a blast on the kids’ zip line.

Then a pony ride,

a group portrait,

and a return to a young lady very happy to see her mother.

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Today we visited Aunt Z in Zab (Tooth) — the highest village in Polska.

A few minutes’ walk from Aunt Z’s and this is the view:

A storm came in quickly:

It passed and I took a walk in Aunt Z’s back yard:

Despite all this — the beauty, the storm, the intensity of the views — people continued working as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

And as much as I would like to write more and add more pictures, the family awaits downstairs.

There might not be another update until Monday. We’ll see.

Now, I have more important things to do, and you do, too. Go find them!

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We could have easily come to southern Poland and not crossed the border into Slovakia and no Pole would say a thing. However, to spend two weeks within 45 kilometers of Zakopane and not spend a day there?! A shame — no, a sin!

Well, truth be told, Zakopane is packed, packed, packed with tourists, and it’s more like a trip to Gatlinburg than anything else. Still, it’s Polish Gatlinburg, and that makes all the difference.

We began our day with a walk in Stzazyska Valley. We left little Cousin S behind because she doesn’t like to walk so much as she likes to be pushed about in her carriage, and not having another Ergocarrier, it seemed like a potential disaster to have both of them with us.

We didn’t get very far before we pulled out the camera. Next to our parking was a herd of sheep. L was so excited she could really hardly stand it.

After a few minutes with the sheep, we finally made it to the trail. It didn’t take long for the views to be come awe-inspiring.

This particular valley leads to the base of Giewont, the Sleeping Knight. Legend has it that, in times of national trouble, the knight awakens and defends the homeland.

“Slept well through September of ‘39,” I laughed. “Oh, it’s just a legend,” K replied, spoiling a perfectly good joke.

Quickly enough, we made it to the base, where the slacker knight is clearly visible.

Well, clearly visible if you know what you’re looking for. Perhaps a more conspicuous knight would have been a more effective prophylactic, but that’s neither here nor there.

If you look at the picture, you’ll see a small cross at the top of the mountain. That’s supposed to be his upper lip. To the right of that is an enormous nose — given the antisemitism of Poland and the accompanying Jewish stereotypes, I’m surprised it’s not called the Sleeping Jew. None the less, you’ll find the knights eyebrow just to the right of the nose. Come to think of it, the Sleeping Marx Brother might be the most accurate name.

I’d probably sell a kidney to live in a valley like this.

We took the opportunity to take a break and relax a moment while sipping instant coffee (5 zloty) and tea (5 zloty — regular, not instant), while Older Cousin W had a Sprite (5 zloty — noticing a pattern?).

Then again, given the fact that things seem to be delivered by horse here might explain the cost. Might.

A quick bathroom stop reminded us that we’re in Poland. We paid 20+ zloty for snacks, but we still had to pay a blasted zloty for the bathroom.

“Do you have a zloty?” I asked K when she said she wanted to go to the restroom.

“You have to pay?” she asked.

“Of course we have to pay! We’re in Poland!” I said, loudly. In Polish. No one said anything.

I guess that’s not much of a converstion starter.

After our break, we began the final 10 minutes to our ultimate destination.

It was impossible to get L to turn around for a picture. Why look at a big stupid camera when you can look at this?

After L had climbed on every rock we’d allowed her (and then back down, and then back up, and then back down, and then back up), we decided we’d better head back or start looking for suitable lodging…

Long-ish exposure

We stopped at the bottom of the trail for a bite to eat and yet another reminder of where we are:

Warning! Refridgerator with lock/castle/zipper electromagnetic. Doors open seller. (Literal word-for-word translation for the fun of it.)

Poles in the States often comment on how relatively little minor theivery there is in the States. A good example (though not in the States) was in Budapest at the biker camp at which K and I stayed. There was a huge refridgerator filled with soda, beer, juice, and water, with a clipboard beside the fridge. The honor system: write down how many of what you take and pay when you check out. K was shocked. “Do you know how many people would pay in Poland?!” she asked.

Even Dziadek noticed and commented on that in America. Things that would have been chained to something — anything — immobile in Poland were sitting seemingly out in the open in the States.

This refrigerator was just outside the door of the little kiosk, yet locked. I’d wager that in the States it wouldn’t be. Then again, in the States it also wouldn’t have beer next to Coke.

After tanking up, we made our way to Zakopane, parking in the main lot under two bridges and making our way through the market — also under two bridges.

It’s a market where you can buy literally freshly-woven (if there is such a thing) socks.

Or buy relatively-ridiculously cheap hand-crocheted table coverings from the craftswoman herself.

They say Poland is getting too expensive for Americans, and it is. The zloty now trades at 2:1 was opposed to the 4.5:1 it used to. Beer no longer costs 75 cents but instead two dollars. Still, we more or less stole this from the woman; she gave it to us for so few groszy. (Or, to be more correct, “groszych”.)

And what would the market in Zakopane be without a cheesemonger? On every corner.

Beginner

Experienced

Not to mention wooden-toys-leather-hats-cheap-plastic-goods-mongers.

There’s a monger for everything here.

“Krajowy czy miedzynarodowy?” — Can anyone place that quote?

These ladies were ticket mongers. Scalpers, in other words. The large building behind them is the loading ramp for an inclined railway to Golbolowka — we’ll be going there Wednesday. They were offering “no-wait” tickets. And the one in the middle disappeared quickly when I began taking pictures.

Odd.

Next stop: Cmentarz Na Paskowym Wierzchu (Cemetery on Paskowy Wierzch), final resting place of more famous former-Podhale residents than you can shake a gofr at.

Not to mention a few unusual gravestones.

We wondered around a bit, pondered our mortality amidst the cries and whines of tired children, then decided it was time for gofry.

Yeah, it’s just a waffle with whipped cream and strawberry sauce — as if you can append “just” to anything with real whipped cream and tangy-sweet strawberry sauce.

We weren’t the only ones enjoying a sweet afternoon.

“This place is the best place in all Podhale for gofry,” K declared.

We finally found some refrigerator magnets — a habit Dziadek got us into during his visit.

And K and the kids had their picture taken with the man with the easiest job in all Poland. Get dressed up like an old, bronze statue and move only when someone drops a coin in the can in front of you.

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Technically, this post is a day late. And I should be talking about our amazing walk in the Tatra Mountains. But that’ll come tomorrow. In the meantime, Monday’s adventures.

We can’t come to southern Poland and not cross over into Slovakia. It’s beautiful, and cheaper.

First stop: Namestovo.

Namestovo is odd because it doesn’t really have a square as much as it has an L.

Hviezdoslav Square

Slovaks, like many Europeans, think nothing of a beer with friends at 10:30 in the morning. I think it’s more common the further east one travels, but I do seem to remember reading about folks in Spain having brunch with a beer.

We walked around for just long enough for us all to be surprised that it was already 12:00. Lunch — and swings.

Everyone else was talking about what to eat — well, K was talking to the two kids who can express their desires verbally — but I knew from the moment we decided to spend the day in Slovakia: bryndzowe halusky.

Basically it’s dumplings in a creamy sauce, with this particular version having bacon bits and onions added. Smooth, tangy, creamy — I could eat a bucket of this stuff!

I’ve already told K that we’ll have to cross the border once more for a second helping!

Afterwards, it was time to take the kids on a boat ride.

Lake Orawa is an artificial lake. Beneath its waters lie four villages.

In the middle of the lake stands an island with the only surviving remnants of antediluvian Orawa.

A surprisingly-large church that’s been converted to a museum. (We took Nana and Papa here, before they were “Nana” and “Papa”. It was a gloomy day in comparison.)

On the way back, we got a good look at Namestovo.

Odd — it’s now a lake-front town; pre-flood Namestovo would have been a mountain-top town.

It had always been my understanding that Namestovo more or less was created for the relocation of all those displaced by the creation of the lake. K assures me that it’s not, and there’s no mention of it in Wikipedia. Besides, K made a great point about communist architecture at the time: “Come on — if it had been all built at once, every building would have been identical.”

When we returned to shore, we took a few pictures. It’s fairly obvious the two youngest cousins are getting along swimmingly.

It’s hard to believe that, despite the similarity in size, Cousin S is over a full year older than L. “She’s a brick,” everyone says.

On the way back, we stopped in Bobrov — the Slovakian last town on the Slovakian/Polish border when you cross the boarder at Winiarczykowka, the small border crossing at Lipnica Wielka.

I’d cycled this way countless times when I lived in Poland. Of course, they’ve redone the road in the meantime, which would have made my favorite ride even better: by the time I got to the end of this road on a road bike, I often had to take a break, not because I was tired but because my forearms ached from riding over such a rough road

We also got a clear indication of just how rural this area is:

The view from the Polish side of the border wasn’t much different.

Borders are such strangely arbitrary things. This area is particularly odd. There are masses in Slovakian in the church in Jablonka, yet Slovakian cuisine is really radically different than Polish, even at the borders. The languages are similar (Poles tend to think Slovakian sounds like Polish baby-talk) but the mentalities are different.

When we got home, it was time for the youngest cousins to complete their evening rituals.

The cartoon they were watching is a Czech cartoon about a little mole who has various adventures with rockets and pregnant rabbits. (He helps birth three rabbits in a rather graphic scene.)

Undoubtedly she’s hidden it beneath the bubbles.

As I said, they’re getting along swimmingly.

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Saturday afternoon I found myself in a familiar position: a non-Catholic in a place of honor and attention in a Catholic church. With pictures taken beforehand:

The whole baptism crowd: godparents, parents, grandparents, cousins, with the ladies in traditional clothes.

L in traditional Highlander dress

L is now officially Catholic.

Lighting the candle

She fell asleep immediately the actual ceremony, much to our relief: she’d begun barking like a dog and begging to get down just before the baptism.

We made a friend before going into the church — an elderly lady whom no one knew but who acted as if she’d known all of us our entire lives.

With her speaking the Orawian dialect with a tooth-free mouth, I had no idea what she was saying at any point in the conversation. It was like arriving in Orawa again.

After the baptism, Dziadek took everyone out to dinner.

K and L’s godmother, D, danced a little for us.

Then it was back to the house a typical Polish evening with family and friends: more food, alcohol, talking, joking.

Everyone expresses such surprise when we tell them about teetotalers and the lengths to which some American Christians will go to avoid “sin” (card playing, dancing, etc.). “Poor people,” D’s husband replied. He took it especially hard — he was the designated driver.

An odd thing about Polish designated drivers: while on the whole Poles drink more alcohol than Americans, Polish designated drivers are much more scrupulous about drinking than their American counterparts. I’ve known of many “designated drivers” in America who will drink one small beer, knowing that the’ll still be within the legal limits. Polish desigated drivers don’t drink anything. I had to twist G’s arm to get him to take a sip of the whiskey we’d brought Dziadek.

This teetoalism makes even more sense in Slovakia, where to exceed the legal limit, one needs only 0.0001% BAC. In other words, no alcohol in the system at all. Which is good, if you’ve ever seen how Slovaks drive.

K and the girls in the family insist that we sat talking until 1:30 — not bad for Dziadek and Babcia, who usually go to bed at or before nine.

Next day, more celebrations. We began by playing around in the yard.

The Cousins

Afterwards, we went back to Lipnica for Shepherds’ Holiday — a yearly festival that celebrates regional folk music and culture.

This year it included a mock wedding.

And it ended with a traditional climbing of the May Pole. The safety harness, the emcee explained, was a new addition for EU compliance. Poland is in the EU, and that means certain traditions change — sort of.

But it wasn’t only for the music I went. I was hoping to meet a few former students and co-workers. I ran into the superintendent of schools and chatted with him for a few moments, and I met a few students. So odd to see them as adults now. One started speaking to me in the familiar voice (”Ty” instead of “Pan”), then stopped short.

“How should I refer to you?” she asked.

“‘Ty’ is fine,” I replied. “It makes me feel less old than ‘pan.’”

Another explained that he was working in Denmark.

“How’s your Danish?” I asked.

“I don’t speak a word of Danish!” he laughed. “I use the English you taught me.” He used “pan,” but he was always a very respectful young man.

It’s rewarding to know that something I did is having such far-reaching effects. I almost told the young man — who, despite being polite, was something of a slacker — “I’ll bet you wish you’d done your homework more often,” but he might have taken it seriously.

We left around 6:00, when the girl was growing tired, not to mention her parents. We walked back down the parking lot — undoubtedly the most beautiful parking lot I’ve ever seen.

We returned home and returned to our front-yard games.

It was about this time, when the sun was casting long shadows and giving everything a golden glow, that Babcia suggested we take the kids for a walk.

“Maybe they’ll get to see some cows,” she said.

There were no cows, but the light was incredible.

I went ahead and took a few pictures.

Then K and L came running at me.

We took the kids to a field with freshly-mowed hay and tried to take some candid portraits.

With the Tatra Mountains in the background and the children’s laughter, it was difficult to imagine a more idyllic setting.

Who couldn’t sit and look at a view like this for hours daily:

On the way back, our freshly Catholicized little girl got sleepy.

We stopped at a little neighborhood chapel on the way back.

During summer evenings local residents meet at the small chapel to pray.

It also provided a depressing reminder of how Poland is changing. Scratched into the side of the chapel were two common examples of Polish profanity. (I won’t provide a translation. If you know someone who speaks Polish what it means, they’ll probably tell you. Hesitantly, if they’re from an older generation.)

It seemed profane in the truest sense of the word’s meaning. Childish curse words scratched on an object held sacred by many.

Finally, a different kind of sacred:

That pretty much covers Saturday and Sunday. Today — well, I’ll put that off a little bit and return to more important matters here at hand.

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“We need the rain” everyone said throughout the day, but we didn’t need the rain — a handful of days in Polska and we don’t need one filled with rain. But rain it did, all day.

Tomorrow is the baptism, so we did some shopping. First, to a bacowka for oscypek.

Bacowka outside of Nowy Targ

One step inside and you know you’re getting something traditional, something with character and heart.

Fresh cheese

True, it is a little frightening — from hygiene’s point of view — how they make the cheese.

Sheep milk boiling over an open flame

But that’s really just my hyper-clean American safety-sealed conscience speaking. We consume so many germs by the second that it would probably terrify most of us, and put OCD-clean folks into a catatonic state.

The price of oscypek is a good indicator of inflation in Poland. When we bought it before our 2005 departure, one cost 15 zloty; we paid 100 zloty for four of them today.

The price of everything in Poland is on the rise in a way that doesn’t compare to anything America’s experiencing. One friend told us she earns about 2,000 zloty a month, but spends 500 zloty a week on food for their family of five. One whole salary just for food. Add to that gas (we paid 100 zloty — about $50 these days with the falling dollar — for a little less than half a tank of gas, which costs about $9 a gallon), electricity (our electric bill here would be 500 zloty a month, K’s father informs us), and the various other costs and it’s difficult to imagine how anyone can survive in Poland.

Afterwards, we continued with the traditional theme, visiting friends who live in a traditional Podhale home, complete with connected barn.

Landscape?

Or portrait?

K and her university friend played with the children for a while

Putting together the Lego present

and talked for a while

while I snapped pictures

and the kids played.

L and yet more new friends

Lastly, it was back to Nowy Targ to visit my Peace Corps buddy C and his family.

On the way we stopped for ice cream (literally freshly handmade — so good that it’d difficult even to consider describing it), but fighting the rain and a sleepy girl didn’t inspire any photographic moods.

It’s not supposed to rain anymore for a while, so perhaps tomorrow the Girl and I will go to the river and entertain the dog, or maybe we’ll walk to Jablonka’s center for some ice cream. Babcia and K will be busy preparing for the baptism — one of the main reasons for the trip.

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