Note: I've posted more photos of Zakopane at kwilhelm.smugmug.com.
My hotel arranged a metered taxi for me, and I arrived at Lviv station in plenty of time for an 8:35 departure. The train pulled in right on time at 8:10, and I shared my compartment with a sleepy young man from Kiev, where the train had started its run the night before. He planned to meet up with friends in Krakow, on the first stage of his trip back to college in London. Neither of us had problems crossing into Poland, and the flat Eastern European plain stretching away on both sides of the border gave no hint that we had changed countries - not surprising, since the land we had left has known several masters over the centuries: Ukrainian Lviv has been both Polish Lwow and Russian Lvov.
Krakow's crazy station had not changed. I still remembered the long trek down the platform to reach the station building, cut off from easy access to the town by a still-in-progress new shopping center. I had hoped to stay in the same B&B I had used in 2004, a couple of blocks from the main square, but even enquiring in February for an early June arrival, had found it fully booked. Instead I settled for a room some five to ten minutes walk from the square, a little bleak, but equipped with fridge and kettle - and another TV with no English-language stations.
After checking into my room, and changing my few remaining hryvnias for zlotys, I headed straight for the main square, Rynek Glowny. While my previous trip to Krakow had featured side trips to Auschwitz, and to the Wieliczka salt mine, a tour of the Jewish quarter, and several admirable churches, it was the memory of Rynek Glowny, a wide square ringed by fairy-tale buildings, that had drawn me back. (I would not brave Auschwitz a second time.)
My difficulty with room reservations should have warned me. While I had arrived by train, Krakow is now a cheap flight destination, easily accessible from no fewer than twelve UK airports, and six in Germany, among others. While there had been tourists in town two years earlier, the big square had easily absorbed them, and the restaurants and cafes had been only half-full. Now the square was mobbed, waves of people surging first one way, then another. And the square was being renovated (shades of Lviv), with the section in front of my favorite cafe torn up. I was reminded, unfavorably, of Prague, a tourist-mobbed town I had vowed to revisit only in winter, if then.
My outlook was not helped by the weather, which turned from gloom to rain. I bought a bus ticket for my next destination, spent some time out of the rain in an Internet cafe, and looked for a moderately priced restaurant for dinner. I settled on the Orient Express, a slightly worn place on a side street, with high-sided booths intended to reproduce a railway carriage. The food easily outshone the decor. A very good chicken liver pate was followed by pork with morels and leeks, and excellent roast potatoes.
Next morning I strolled through the park enclosing the old town before stopping by the museum to pay homage to Da Vinci's Lady with Ermine, and then revisiting the wonderful Art Nouveau frescoes and stained glass in St. Francis' church. Brunch at the Cafe Botanica was equally memorable - a big portion of smoked salmon quiche with coffee and juice. Then, back on the main square, I found a bookshop with a big English language section. Even better, at checkout they gave me a 10% discount for Bookday.
Next morning, after a final coffee on the square, quite quiet at 8:30, I tried what I hoped would be a short cut to the bus station, located on the far side of the train tracks. My maps did not include that part of town, and I wound up having to backtrack, only just catching my bus to the mountain resort center of Zakopane. Since the bus was lightly loaded, and the service was frequent and cheap, it wouldn't have mattered much if I had missed it. Still, I was relieved to settle back and enjoy the scenic ride up into the Tatra mountains.
And what mountains! A whole range, mostly still snowcapped, rose around Zakopane. Most places in town were only a few steps away from a spectacular view. Oddly, the crowds filling the main streets seemed uninterested in the views, being fully occupied with shopping. Booking on the road, I had given up on choosing a well-located pension and settled for the Hotel Sabala, right in the center of the village, where I had a grandstand view of the action. Custom built lockable stalls lined the pedestrian street, and I enjoyed watching the vendors set up in the morning and tear down at night. A constant stream of serious shoppers passed by during the day.
Most of the goods on display seemed to be souvenirs designed with tourists in mind, but there were some serious fur vendors. Fortunately, the mountains were an accessible alternative to shopping. I rode a funicular up into the western range, and while there were yet more stalls where the ride ended, it didn't take me long to leave them behind. With crystal clear air, easy walking along the ridge line road, and breathtaking views of the snowcapped mountains across the valley, I couldn't have been happier.
Later, I took a local bus to Kuznice, where two cable cars took me up to the top of Kasprowy Wierch. Here, higher up (6,519 feet), the air struck cold, and snow turned the scenery stark black and white. An unguarded border with Slovakia was close, but I would be taking a longer route there the next day.
Given the wall-to-wall crowds on the main streets, I enjoyed Zakopane more than I would have expected. Of course, the mountains had a lot to do with it, but my hotel helped too, as did the food. My room had a suitably Alpine feel, and came with a welcome radiator and heated towel rail. The breakfast buffet reminded me of the lavish spread at my local Marriott, although I found the garlic soup at dinner just too garlicky, even though I love the stuff. I still don't have a taste for dumplings, though, whether Polish pierogi or Chinese dim sum, but again, I enjoyed some excellent roast potatoes, and even the fried cabbage.
But I was just taking a quick look at Poland on the way to Slovakia, where I hoped to find fewer people enjoying the same beautiful mountains, despite the rumored cheaper prices. On the day I left there was no through bus to Stary Smokovec, my next stop. Instead, the Polish bus stopped at the border, or almost at the border. Most of the passengers were headed for yet another shopping opportunity just up the road from the stop for the border. I walked through the Polish border post between two cars, crossed a bridge over a mountain stream, rounded a bend, and instead of the expected Slovakian border post, found a shop and a bar and a bus stop. The driver of the minibus parked by the bus stop wanted 25 euros to take me to Stary Smokovec, so I settled in at an outside table for the 90 minute wait for the Slovakian bus. I had no idea whether I was actually in Slovakia, or in some no-man's land between the borders.
Site design and content Copyright 2001 - 2010, Wilhelm's Words
Contact: wilhelmswords.com
Home