The First Post from Krakow

I’ve been in Krakow for almost exactly one week, so I think things have percolated enough to get down something. My jet lag is a (not so) fond memory, and my Polish has progressed to…well, it’s progressed.

I’m sitting, right now, on the shore of the Vistula, right below Wawel Castle, and across from the Hotel Polska, the Japanese Museum, and the Jubilat Headquarters. The sun is out, maybe 16 or 17 degrees, and despite the fact that it’s the middle of the workday, people seem to be strolling. Or commuting…I can’t quite get a read on people’s goals here yet. The students—all 200,000 of them—won’t arrive until Wednesday, so the city still has a bit of an older, quieter feel about it.
Apart from that, here are some things that struck me, today, yesterday, or during the 48-hour haze that marked my arrival.

* Bagels. They’re not called bagels here—only in Warsaw—but they’re sold everywhere. Zl1.20, sesame seed, poppy seed, or salt. And damn tasty, if I do say so. They’re a bit less chewy than a New York-style, but I’m not about to criticize something in its homeland.

* Trams. Krakow has a pretty extensive tram system, augmented by busses. It costs about a dollar to ride, and they’re on the validated paper ticket system (i.e. no driver interaction). The nice thing is, the EU has brought a flood of development Euros, which have meant, in terms of transit, a fleet of new, low-floored trams, along the lines, I think, of the ones the TTC keeps talking about buying to replace the Streetcars. The older ones are still in service, and have either a rounded, inter-war look, or a jagged, 70’s, Commie look about them.

* Young British Men. I went out with my hosts and some university friends of their on Friday night, to a nice little café in the Old City, and then to a newer café down the street, for the “Boston Sandwich.” If anyone wants to tell me why this involves marinated pumpkin, I’d appreciate it. But heading home, and even on the sidewalk outside the bar, we encountered the dark side of the zloty-Euro exchange rate: drunk Brits on stag. Imagine a frat boy, maybe pastier and with a slightly higher penchant for violence. Sitting on the sidewalk, or making passes at everything in a skirt, its kind of embarrassing…until I remembered I’m not English. It’s nice to be asked “English or American” and have the correct answer be the right answer, for once.

I have a job interview in a few hours, at a newer school in the old Jewish district. Once things settle down more, and I have a flat, and some Polish skills, come visit. Until then, I’ll keep things interesting. As they say here, Do Widzenia.