“Good food is very often, even most often, simple food.”
~ Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly
Kraków. It’s old. Fourth century old.
Put in American perspective, because for Americans it’s always about America, Krakow was the capital of Poland five centuries before a European landed in what would later be the United States. Jagiellonian University was graduating students three centuries before the first Harvard student said to the first ever Harvard prof, “My dog ate my homework.”
Krakow has basked in the grandeur of royalty and been chastened by invaders; Mongols in 1241, Swedes in 1657, Nazi Germany in 1939 and the Soviet Union in 1945. As a part of the Eastern Bloc, Poland was under the yoke of the Soviet Union until 1993. In Krakow, one doesn’t have to look hard to see the remnants and scars left by the latter two.
Today Krakow is a historic treasure, with two of its districts, Stare Miasto (old town) and Kazimierz (the old Jewish Quarter), having been designated UNESCO World Heritage sites, along with other UNESCO Heritage sites within a short drive of the city.
Today, Krakow is also old world made young and vibrant by a large population of college students and a lively cultural and nightlife scene. One can plunge into jazz at the basement Jazz Club u Muniaka, just steps away from a 13th century church.
Arrival
The cabbie brought us to the city from John Paul II International Airport using mostly backroads. There’s a first for everything and this was the first time I’ve taken anything but a highway to or from a major city’s international airport. The ride took us past a few stands of woodland and modest homes until we arrived in the city.
Once in the city itself, the driver looped onto Plac Dominikański, drove one short block and dumped us out. It wasn’t quite that unceremonious. He turned, put his arm on the back of his seat and explained that cars are not allowed onto the old square, and so we would have to walk to our hotel.
Well, that sent a shiver. Whenever we pass tourists trudging along a clogged street, weaving through crowds of tourists, and dragging luggage clattering on cobblestones, I’ve always muttered to myself, “there but for the grace of God …” Now, here in Krakow, God’s grace had apparently run out. Full disclosure, whatever grace I ever had is long past its expired date. Being the heathen that I am, I’ve been on borrowed time. Maybe I’ve just been pulled along on the coattails of my devout wife and in Krakow, God was firing a warning shot across her bow.
The driver must’ve noticed my brief look of terror and said, in a kind voice, “It’s only about 200 meters.” He pointed to our right, “Go up that way to the square, and once you’re on the square, turn right.”
Like most Old World European cities, the first thing you see when you arrive at an old town’s main square is an imposing old church. Kraków is no different. We turned the corner onto Rynek Główny (Central Square) and the gothic spires of St. Mary’s Basilica loomed before us. A magnificent centuries old building unexpectedly presents itself and you’re compelled to pause, marvel and say something like, “Damn! Look at that.” It’s almost like a usual drill except the there’s nothing at all usual about the imposing sight that soars from the square.
The Venetian House is located right on Rynek Główny, in an old building with its own courtyard just inside the front entrance. We arrived well before check in and after leaving our luggage we headed straight for the nearest T-Mobile office. The often spotty coverage that we normally get in the old European cities was non-existent in Krakow. Just like the old days, we were internet blind.
Crossing the threshold of the 15th century Barbican, the old city gate, was like time travel, as just a few blocks outside of Old Town, Kraków turns to modern kitsch at the three story Galeria Krakowska.
Malls all over the world are all more or less the same; tawdry shrines to commercialism and materialism. Malls dot countries around the world but they all scream the same language of shameless consumerism. The same steel and glass and plastic plants, the same garish, blazing light, the same drone of zombie-like shoppers looking for something in particular and nothing at all really, the same food courts serving the same international versions of plastic food, and all of it to the sound of piped in elevator music and semi-hits from long forgotten almost pop stars. For those who aren’t looking to buy, the mall is the land of “I don’t have anything else to do.” To quote Frank Zappa, “Like, oh my god, fer sure, fer sure,”* at Galeria Krakowska we could just as well have been in Encino, California. It was, “like, so bitchin’.” * From “Valley Girl” Lyrics and music by, Frank Zappa and Moon Zappa
The nice man at the T-Mobile shop told us that T-Mobile in Poland is essentially a third cousin many times removed from T-Mobile USA, and all he could do for us, if we wanted internet, was to sell us sim cards for our phones. I got a sim card and Cora decided to just stay tied to me at the hip. “If we get separated, just ask someone for directions to our hotel and I’ll meet you there,” I suggested.
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The Life in My Years 