Month: July 2015
Another Day in the Valley
To the Forest
Berries and Soldiers
Approahing Floriańska
As you emerge from the tunnel that passes under the intersection of Westerplatte, Pawia, Baszowa, and Lubicz streets in Krakow, you emerge into a green park that surrounds the old city center. All tourists who arrive from a train or a bus must walk this way, and it's the logical place for buskers, solicitors, and beggars to line the wide sidewalk and compete for attention. There's always an accordion player or three along the way, numerous students working for a few extra groszy by handing out fliers, and beggars. One tends to grow accustomed to them all. "Dziękuję," you learn to say politely and briskly to the students who are near enough that you can't simply ignore. The buskers merge with the city traffic and the general conversation to form an ignorable element of the soundtrack, unless a given performer is really gifted. And the beggars: they're everywhere. The conscience hardens, especially when you suspect their motives. (Beginning in the nineties, some younger beggars were more honest, holding placards that simply read "Piwo" with "Beer" possibly scratched underneath for foreigners.)
But some of them get to you.
Last week, as we were walking the kids towards the old city center, we passed by an elderly woman sprawled on the sidewalk, her hands shaking violently and her medicines spread out in front of her.
"Why is she shaking?" L asked.
"She's sick, honey," K replied.
We took a few more steps and realized what we'd done.
"Here," I said, giving L a couple of five-zloty coins. "Go take this to her."
The Girl grabbed the Boy by the shoulders. "Come on, E," she said solemnly. They went back and clanked the two coins into the small metal box that held a handful of change. Hopefully, a small, quiet lesson for them.
Birthday Party
Kinga threw a little party for herself for her birthday because I was such a loser that I went back to the States the day before her birthday.
Krakow 2015
Helping with Canning
The Boy loves helping. He insisted on helping Babcia prepare sour cherries for canning.
The Girl got in on the action, too.
Ząb 2015 Redux
Markowe Szczawiny
We had a few false starts -- or at least we had a few situations where the Boy decided he wanted to go on a different trail and had to be convinced to continue on our planned trail.
We had a few situtations where utter exhaustion threatened the whole adventure.
We took a few portraits.
We took a few breaks.
We played a few games, like pretending to be asleep until a little brother approaches, then shouting "Boo!"
And of course we ate a few blueberries, though we knew we probably shouldn't.
All the same, we somehow made it an incredible distiance, especially for a three-year-old, to the shelter, newly rebuilt, at Markowe Szczawiny.
We hadn't really checked beforehand, but the distance from the parking lot to the shelter was a whopping eleven kilometers. That's 6.8 miles. One way. That the Boy made it probably 70% of the way walking on his own is simply incredible.
More incredible even than the views along the way.
