out one and into another

Warsaw is home -- it's where it all began.  It's not a choice, a preference, but the reality. Even if once, a long time ago, it was a very sweet reality.

First though, there is the morning in Krakow. A busy one: a dash to the station to pick up train tickets, a run to the Main Market Square to consider a few gift items, a pause to listen to the trumpeter blow his horn out St. Mary’s tower.






He’s not the only one blowing horns. Two musicians are collecting coins playing traditional stuff in their Krakovian dress.






There is so much that’s traditional and appealing about this city, even though you can’t help but notice the salute to tourism. English speaking tourism. (I had not known that there are those who would drink their beer “hot.”)






On the Main Square, I pass the stone lions at the entrance to the old Town Hall tower. Lions in Poland always remind me that my last name once had the letters "Lew" in it which, in Polish, means lion. I have associations here in Poland that I never once think of when I am in Madison.






Rays of sun hit the side-walk, but it’s a misty sunshine. Gentle and understated. It creates what I so regard as the trademark of a Polish winter – a constant thin, wet layer of mud on the streets and sidewalks, with patchy stretches of ice when the temps fall significantly below freezing. A Wisconsin person would find this odd: how could you have drenched sidewalks on a sunny day? Amazing, isn’t it.



Finally it’s time to leave. [Truly, I found the Unicus to be the perfect little hotel in Krakow. Oh, and did I mention that the only city where I’ve seen more nuns in habit is in Rome, and only on the side of the river that has the Vatican?]





I suggest we walk to the train station. Sometimes I think I put my friends through too much. But I’m doing it for no other reason than wanting to not fake dress Poland in any way. I want her to be seen the way most Poles would see her – with their feet.

The train is on time and our compartment is empty. Monday noon. Who travels this time of day besides tourists? And what tourists are there in Poland in the middle of December? Odd how I’ve grown accustomed to traveling then.


And now we are in Warsaw. And the very first item on the agenda is for me to see my sister and for Diane and Ernest to meet my father.










As we get ready to leave the apartment where my father now lives, where I once lived, where so much that once seemed important transpired and eventually expired, Ernest and my father exchanged glances as if to marvel at it all -- at the absurdity of having gone through so much and being in this place now.






... a theme that Diane, Ernest and I continue over dinner at the Jazz Bistro. Over a glass of Grzaniec Galicyjski.





After, I spend a long time on Skype calming one person on the other side of the ocean and jovially giving a hard time to another (Really? You haven't checked the mailbox in four days? Really? Ed!)