The heart of Poland

A few hours south of Warsaw, the city of Krakow spreads out from a famous hill at its center: Wawel Hill. On the advice of my brother, Josh, who remembers, “loving the feel of the city,” I booked a longer stay in this southern Polish city ready to encounter a bit of the same “feel.”

The old town market and basilica at night.

With Krakow’s economy still trying to reach the levels of other EU nations, I found inexpensive lodging in the heart of the old city. After a quick stroll around an old town alive with languages from all over the world, I felt the same affection Josh had. As the sun began to set, gentle fog cast the city in a magical glow as street lamp light bounced off damp fog and filtered back to the ground. Waiters and waitresses stood outside restaurants luring customers in with heavily accented English descriptions of “one of a kind Hungarian goulash,” “authentic American burgers,” “momma’s pierogi,” “all you can drink liquor, very reasonable,” and “the best pasta rustica outside of Italy” while sounds of various street musicians joined in the cacophony of noise that felt like cheer, or controlled chaos. Time seemed different there somehow: grounded, un-rushed, patient. I happily sunk into Krakow time following one of the inviting waiters to a table overlooking the square where I would be free to sit as long as I wanted. Later that night, a solo violinist in front of the church slipped singular notes through my window, lulling me to sleep.

The next morning, I head south from my hotel towards Wawel Hill, which perches between the edge of the Vistula River and old town. Standing at the hill’s base the straight stonewalls of the fortress at its crest looms before me, dwarfing me from my vantage point. Those stonewalls partially obscure the exterior of a renaissance building tucked inside the castle grounds. Beyond the building, I can just make out spires, all enclosed and urging me to find my way to them. First, I wend my way around the peak covered in architectural treasure so I can get a sense of its size. The website for Krakow calls the prominence the “mecca for every Pole.” On my trek, I realize it isn’t much more than a mound, but the history preserved within the walls contains the heart of Polish nobility and faith.

Archeology discoveries describe a march of time across this mound: markers of pre-historic dwellings before tribes of Vistulan’s left evidence of their encampments here from the 8^th and 9^th centuries. The first Krakow diocese began construction on a hilltop cathedral just after 1000. From the late 1030’s, Krakow was the place of royal residence as the capital of Poland.  From that original construction, subsequent leaders and their eras have added to the structure. Standing in the center of the hilltop fortress, the panoramic view includes architecture in the Romanesque (11-12^th centuries), Gothic (13-14^th centuries), and Renaissance (15-17^thcenturies) styles, with various additional buildings to house personnel added in the 18^th and 19^th century. Somehow the smorgasbord works.

Oddly enough, the thrill of a dragon legend pales in comparison to the first-hand experience of the sights on and about Wawel Hill. The perch provides 360-degree views of the city that is the heart of Poland. Standing on the southwest castle wall, the Vistula River glistens between the sweep of modern Krakow and me. To the south, older sections of the city block my view from the Jewish district and, beyond that stands Schindler’s factory, the renowned site where so many Jewish lives were preserved in WWII. It is a museum today. Standing on the northwest edge of the castle wall gives me a view of the old city, above which loom the irregular towers of St. Mary’s Basilica with their distinctive onion shaped tops.

The next morning, sitting at the small round table of a café in the Rynek Główny (Main Square) of Krakow, I find myself drawn to the imposing view of the towers of Bazylika Mariacka (St. Mary’s Basilica). Aside from the castle cathedral, this late-1200s Catholic Church, has long been the most important religious site in the city. While the view and the square are stunning in their beauty and scope, I’m watching for something much more diminutive in scale, but not in significance.

I hear it before I see it.

The sounds of a bugle echo across the quiet morning square. The haunting call is a type of Hungarian tune called a hejnał. Buglers play the notes every hour from the four compass points of the Basilica’s imposing left tower. The sounds this tune from the north, south, east, and west, in commemoration of a bugler who sounded the tune as an alarm in the mid-13^th Century to warn the city of a Tartar invasion. On the morning that I sip espresso on Krakow time, the bugler cuts the final notes of the refrain, mimicking the abrupt musical halt from that morning in 1241 when his predecessor took an arrow to the neck while trying to wake the city.

The towers hold my attention for some time after the last echo of the bugle sounds. They rise symmetrically for several hundred feet before diverging for the last few stories. The left tower, from which the bugle calls, stands taller than the right with a gothic cupola at the top. The cupola has a tall spire in the center surrounded by 8 smaller spires in an octagon shaped crown. The right tower harbors a clock and features a Renaissance dome surrounded by four smaller domes. The styles seem conflicting in their design and structure at first glance, but blend together as a reflection of the centuries of change the city and Basilica have endured.

Early on my third morning in the city, I walk through enigmatic fog to a local travel bus on my way to the Wieliczka Salt Mine, a mine that has been productive from the 13^th century until 2007. The bus makes its way through the city collecting other travelers before taking us through a more industrial, Soviet-style section of town with rectangular concrete apartment towers, and clothing hanging to dry on windows and porches. I strike up a conversation with the man next to me in an attempt to drown out awful Katy Perry music blasting from the radio. Originally from Namibia, soft-spoken Martin fascinates me. He wants to be an engineer, so he left home at 18 to study in Dublin. Around his studying, he worked a job on the side to pay for travel while he was in Europe. While his area of study hadn’t changed, his location did, and he was now nearly finished with his Master’s degree in Amsterdam. He is in Poland to see the sights; checking off his 50^th country in 6 years. For the 45-minute drive, he speaks of the perspective he has on humanity, progress, and culture. He tells me about his deep respect for difference and individualism, something he’s learned from conversations like the one we have on the bus. Our conversation continues on and off through the entire tour through the salt mines as well as the ride back to the city. Traipsing through tunnels of salt bricks and walls dating back to 13^th Century, I am overwhelmed by gratitude. I’m literally walking through history 135 metres (443 ft) below the earth being encouraged about the prospects for life above ground. This encounter with Martin, in a random bus, in a random country in the world reminds me that there is good in the world, that people value kindness and openness while looking for the riches that exposure to the world around us offers.

Even now, as I try to capture the spirit of my time in Krakow words are failing me. I can give snippets, moments, glimpses, and still feel as though I’ve not conveyed anything well. Here’s what I know. Settling into Krakow for that short week felt peaceful and full of wonder. I walked through history, both recent and ancient, that helped me understand people better. Josh was right; there is so much to love about this city, most of all its soul.