The plan was to get up at six or so and take some pics of the city before it got going. It was quiet and still. Some pigeons were mumbling on the roof.
I imagined poking my head out the skylight and asking one, "You there, bird, what day is this?" "Why, it's Easter Day, sir." "Heee! The spirits! Now go, pigeon, go to the roof and get that bird in the window." "Cooo! The one as big as me, sir?" "The one that IS you, pigeon. The one that is you."
Tip-toed into the kitchen and made myself some breakfast. Yesterday, I bought a loaf of bread and a brick of something in gold foil. Was it butter? Was it cheese? I'd find out when I opened it. Spoiler warning: It was cheese.
The simple pleasure of pressing spreadable mystery cheese between hot mystery bread. It was just fine. I'm having some trouble finding fruits and vegetables here. Like, the convenience stores will have one or two shriveled apples, an onion, and, like, a brown orange all dumped in a recycling bin.
So far, I've been eating yogurt as a vegetable. Ideally, there will be something at the station tomorrow. I fondly remember the berry boys of the Romanian train system.
This cute old building doesn't have a lot of padding in it. Even my quiet Cherokee steps make loud groans and creaks. The apartment is mostly abandoned, but there's a couple in the room next to me. I've heard their little pigeon murmurs at night. I didn't want to wake them, but you have to live your life. You have to live your life.
Packed up the camera and some seed cakes and clicked out into the real world.
Very still, cool, clear morning. No one around. At one corner, I saw a man slumped over and sleeping. It was absolutely one of the drunks from Coffeeheaven, though we weren't anywhere near there. I recognized the fraying of his beret. We've come full circle, you and I. There were terrible cuts on the nape of his neck.
Walked under a train's bridge. Tram wires cut the sky into blue and white triangles. A cruel little breeze did its best, but my raincoat stayed pure and repelled it. You shall not pass. Go home to the North, little zephyr.
I'm useless with a map. Just... I can look at the map and find where I am and intellectually say, "Well, just stay on Starro St. and don't get off of it, and then make a right, and then you're there." But then I put the map back in my pocket, take two steps, and I'm like, "Was it right at the Staples store and then climb up somewhere?" Map comes back out.
So, I get lost a lot, but I see new things. "Not all who blogger are lost" - Walt Whitman. It's a fun way to do the mess-around, I reckon.
I had intended to go to the Cloth Hall in the Market Square to see if there was any Easter coffee leaking out any eggs, but I was suddenly halfway to Kazimierz, the Old Jewish Quarter. So, that's what I did instead. Like a lot of places in Poland, Krakow had a large active Jewish population, and this particular area was where most of it was concentrated in the golden age.
Now, it's a kind of theme park. All night clubs and synagogues hosting klezmer concerts. Restaurants with "Gefilte Fish Platter" signs in the window. It was a weird feeling. I've never identified with a Mexican before, but it has to be what a citizen of Quintana Roo feels like at a Taco Bell.
The tours buses in Krakow are these cute little golf carts that hold maybe six people at a time. None of those double-decker buses you find in towns with large boulevards. They all say "Ghetto!" and "Schindler's Factory!" on their awnings. Like, I get that people want to see that. Sure. It's just so...
Like, it feels to me the lesson of the Holocaust wasn't, "People sure hated Jews, didn't they? Well, thank goodness that's over. Gimmee ten bucks, and I'll show you where a Jew used to buy his yogurt." The point of the Holocaust is that ordinary people can be convinced to do terrible things to anyone they decide is different. On a grand scale.
The nice man at the grocery store is two more Fox News opinions away from sticking a pitchfork into an unwed mother on food stamps.
I don't know. These were the thoughts I was having while I walked around the empty alleys. Like, there needs to be remembrance, but... this sort of thing feels like exploitation And a continuation of the othering.
But then... I heard this echoing call and response, and it was such a beautiful sound, and I had been hearing it for a while. The lead singer kept letting his voice get real ragged, like held the notes too long, and you could hear the other singers laughing while they answered. My first thought was that it was prayer, Of course. There were temples everywhere.
But it was these marvelous drunks, singing in English about zapiekanke, which is essentially pizza. The guy would sing, "I love zapiekaaaaneeeeeeayyyy," and they would sing back, and he would sing, "I eat it every dayyyyyy-unnh" and they would answer. It was... absolutely perfect.
A van of policemen and I watched them shuffle and drag themselves through the streets. They pulled at their coats and sang. They had obviously been up all night, and their leader was taking them to get hot hangover food. The sight and sound of it was so joyous, I wept. Tears brest fra my een.
It was exactly what I needed for some reason. I wish I had a recording of it. The acoustics were celestial.
A pretty interesting cemetery was all walled off. I found a window but not a door. I asked a boy, "How do you get into the Jewish cemetery?" and he smiled and drew his thumb across his throat. That did not really happen. There was no one to ask except the cops, and I don't talk to the cops. Snitches get stitches!
Made my way out of Jewton and after turning the map into a grimy jelly, I got on the road to Wawel Hill where the kingdom keeps its castle.
Happy little ramble around. The city was waking up, so buses were buzzing, and folks were going for their Easter jogs. I didn't see any children. I passed a lot of churches with open doors, too full to hold the folks who wanted in. They knelt in the doorways and on the stairs.
The castle rose in the distance. Blocky but interesting. The spire of Wawel cathedral rose above it. Very pretty and, like, if you were a medieval person, wouldn't that make you religious? Like, Earth gets these squat bricks, which, you know, sure, they'll keep you safe from a Tatar's spear, but... look how tall the church is, and look how pretty. Wouldn't you rather hang out in this pretty place, this high place?"
I climbed the hill and kicked around in the courtyard.
I really don't know any Polish. Like, I can't even say "thank you" or "excuse me." I know the words for pizza and restaurant, since they were all over the place in Greenpoint, and I know "tak" means "yes" because the Clockwork Princesses taught it to me at the bakery. Oh, and "kawa" means coffee, which is essential. Ha ha, jokes about how people are addicted to coffee are so rich. I say, he says he needs coffee. Oh, that hits the mark.
About the only thing I'll say out loud is "dzien dobry" which is pronounced "jin doe-bree" and means "good morning." Most folks just say "dobry." Morning! Dobry, reverend! Dzien dobry, Wietnam!
For whatever reason, I was cracking myself up near the portcullis thinking about my brother saying, "Dobry aaaand No-bry" which he has never said. I could just hear it in his voice. "So, I ran into the boss at breakfast and he asked me to work on Easter, and I was like, Dobry aaaand No-bry."
I dunno.
Passed a statue of a dragon in the park below the castle, and it spat flame and scared a bird and woke up a drunk.That really happened. Would have gotten a better shot if I'd been expecting it.
Got lost again. The streets weren't on the map, but there were so many restaurants around, it can't have been a "bad" area. Just kept heading away from the Vistula River. Keep the Vistula behind you, and you'll find your way back to the cobblestones - Old Saying!
The city was sure awake now. Trams, slender buses, ladies with coats. In a park, I saw a bird with a bread necklace and killed myself trying to keep track of it. I threw myself into traffic to keep in it sight. Pics came out ok. He had breaded himself.
I'm sure it was my misunderstanding.
Ate it with a plastic knife and fork and watched kids play. There were the usual gold-painted men and folks singing for money. One super old dude sang Tom Jones' "Delilah" and killed it. A clown did that thing where you ask kids to hold your juggling bats and kept dropping them when the kids handed them over. It was very sweet watching the children try to keep up with them all.
A dude on stilts dressed up as Death was high-fiving teenagers.
I went back to the apartment to wash up. Did my laundry in the sink like a person. Then I laced back up and headed out for a serious long walk to Podgorze. The barrow where Prince Krakus, legendary founder of Krakow moulders is supposed to be there. But I was there to see this:
For a lark, I took a different bridge back and was fortunate to discover it was the famous bridge where folks write their names on padlocks and affix them to the railing. It was very sweet. Some were old and rusted, but it doesn't take long to get rusty when you're hanging over a river, I reckon. Still, it was very sweet, and I spent a lot of time looking at the names. A happy accident.
Then I slid on over to another Jewish cemetery. It was quiet and beautiful. Also sad. Birds and ivy. Moss and memories. Most of the stones were broken, and it was very unlikely there were many bodies there. Walls were made out of broken tombstones.
The stones were just piled on top of one another. The ones you could read all had death dates from the late 40s. Huh. I wonder what happened in the 40s. Must have been a plague or something.
It really was very still and beautiful. I was asked to wear a yarmulke as were all the other men who entered. The ladies were assumed to be wearing wigs, I guess.
Outside, on one of the cemetery walls, I saw this graffiti and deciding it wasn't going to get any better than that, and knowing I had some yogurt waiting for me at home, I made my way back. A long day. I crashed hard. Tomorrow I take the train to Wroclaw. It's pronounced Vro-Swav. You crazy for this one, Krakus!
No comments:
Post a Comment