As we鈥檝e had to postpone our travels because of the pandemic, I believe a weekly dose of travel dreaming can be good medicine. Here鈥檚 a reminder of the fun that awaits us in Europe at the other end of this crisis.
My first impression of Krak贸w is that it feels like it must have been really important a long time ago. In fact, it was Poland鈥檚 capital from the 11th through the 16th century. Within its medieval walls, I wander the Old Town, which converges on the main market square, lined with caf茅s and gorgeous architecture.
Vast as it is, the square has a folksy intimacy. It bustles with street musicians, cotton-candy vendors, and the lusty coos of pigeons. A folk band, swaggering in colourful peasant costumes, gives me a private concert. Feeling flush 鈥� not unusual with the low prices in Poland 鈥� I tip them royally. Perhaps too royally. That big tip gets me 鈥淭he Star-Spangled Banner.鈥�
Moments after the band moves on, I hear a bugle call. Just as I find the bugler at the top of the towering St. Mary鈥檚 Church, he suddenly stops playing, and the crowd below applauds appreciatively. His little hourly performance comes with a legend. During the 1241 Tatar invasion, a watchman saw the enemy approaching and sounded the alarm. Before he could finish, an arrow pierced his throat 鈥� which is why even today, the music stops, a bloody subito, partway through.
This is just one colourful tidbit of Krak贸w鈥檚 long history. With the city鈥檚 power waning, the capital was moved to more centrally located Warsaw in the late 1500s. In the 1800s, Poland was partitioned by neighbouring powers. Warsaw ended up as a satellite of oppressive St. Petersburg, the capital of imperial Russia, while Krak贸w was absorbed, for a time, into an Austrian province. Austria鈥檚 comparatively liberal climate helped Krak贸w become a haven for intellectuals and progressives 鈥� including a young Russian revolutionary named Vladimir Lenin.
Krak贸w emerged from the Second World War virtually unscathed. But when the communists took over, they decided to give intellectual 鈥� and therefore potentially dissident 鈥� Krak贸w an injection of good Soviet values in the form of heavy industry. They built Nowa Huta, an enormous steelworks on the city鈥檚 outskirts, dooming it to decades of smog.
I鈥檓 thankful that Krak贸w is now much cleaner 鈥� and freer 鈥� than it was a generation ago. But I鈥檓 also thankful that one charming souvenir of communist times does survive: the milk bar (bar mleczny). And that鈥檚 my next stop. The communist government subsidized the food at these cafeterias to provide working-class Poles with an affordable meal out. The tradition continues today, as capitalist Poland still subsidizes milk-bar meals. I head to the counter, point to what I want, and get a quick, hearty, and very cheap meal. The soup is just a dollar. I鈥檓 happy to discover that while communist-era fare was gristle and gruel, today鈥檚 milk-bar cuisine 鈥� while still extremely cheap 鈥� is much tastier.
After my memorable lunch, I continue walking and end up on Wawel Hill, considered sacred ground as a symbol of Polish royalty and independence. I step into Wawel Cathedral, a stony jungle of memorials that houses the tombs of the country鈥檚 greatest rulers and historic figures. (While I keep thinking 鈥渢his is like the Westminster Abbey of Poland,鈥� I鈥檓 also struck by the ethnocentricity of my Western orientation. I recognize lots of names on the tombs in England and almost none here in Poland.)
Beyond Wawel Hill, I eventually wander into Kazimierz, the city鈥檚 historic Jewish Quarter. At one time, most of Europe鈥檚 Jews lived in Poland. Krak贸w was their social and political base. This is where the big events of the Second World War intersected with ordinary, everyday lives. Businessman Oskar Schindler ran his factory here, saving the lives of more than a thousand of his Jewish workers. Now his building houses an excellent museum that tells the story of Schindler鈥檚 list and the painful era of Nazi occupation.
While most travellers come to see Kazimierz鈥檚 historic museums and synagogues during the day, I stay long enough to see how the neighbourhood changes after the sun sets. Throngs of young clubgoers and an ever-changing array of bohemian-chic food trucks and restaurants bring the streets to life after dark.
Reflecting on my day, I think of the 10 million Americans who trace their roots to Poland. Those who visit their ancestral homeland must feel at home right away. But today, I realized that you don鈥檛 have to be Polish to fall in love with Krak贸w.
鈥擳his article was adapted from Rick鈥檚 new book, For the Love of Europe.
Rick Steves () writes European guidebooks, hosts travel shows on public TV and radio, and organizes European tours. You can email Rick at [email protected] and follow his blog on Facebook.
