36 Hours in Kraków
A few months ago, some dear friends who live in Los Angeles let me know that they were going to be in Poland in July--Wraclaw and Kraków, in particular--and asked if I would be available to come meet them. After some light negotiation, we settled on Kraków because a) it's accessible by train (which I prefer to the bus--a lot) and 2) their visit there fell on a weekend. This past weekend, as a matter of fact.
So, Friday morning found me hopping a train and settling in for the 7-ish hour ride to Kraków from Prague. Pleasantly, while this route is heavily traveled in the summer by young people with massive backpacks doing the modern version of the Grand Tour--getting drunk in a succession of ancient European cities--the ride was calm and quiet. Until, somewhere in Moravia, three middle-aged Czech men got on the train. They were clearly going away for some sort of "boys' weekend," and my guess is their first several rounds of drinks had already been consumed. As soon as they settled into their seats, one of them reached into his bag, and pulled out a bottle of clear liquor--likely slivovice--and shots were taken. They were loud, obnoxious, lightly harassing to the young woman unfortunate enough to be seated beside them, and generally disdained by everyone in the train car--even the young people with massive backpacks. Fortunately, after about half an hour, they did wander away--likely into the cafe car--and relative quiet reigned once again. They only returned once before the end of the journey, but when they did, all eyes were on them, because one of their number was, as the Brits say, legless--a fact made even more obvious by the standard difficulty of walking through a moving train car. Mr. Legless then decided to start serenading the car, and both of his friends had, at this point, seemingly sobered up enough to realize they had a problem on their hands. So, they bundled him off again--I think they just went to the vestibule at the end of the car--and only returned once we'd arrived in Kraków, at which point the two "responsible" ones were literally supporting Mr. Legless between them. Way to start off the weekend, guys.
Anyway, Kraków!
Kraków is slightly older than Prague, but the two cities have some strong similarities: both are former royal capitals, both have very well-preserved medieval city centers, and both have been major centers of art and culture off and on throughout the centuries. Kraków, however, is about half the size of Prague, and, fortunately for tourists, almost all its notable sites are within the Old City--Stare Miasto in Polish--and quite walkable from one to the other. Incidentally, while I know no Polish, the little Czech I have learned allowed me to at least glean information from signs pretty readily. Czech and Polish are pretty closely related, the way, for example, French and Spanish are--so if you know one, you might be able to fake the other.
Anyway, what's there to see in Kraków? Well, the photos above show the Market Square, the largest medieval square in Europe. The square is dominated by the Cloth Hall, a Renaissance-era building where the traders who met in Kraków from far-flung places would buy, sell, and trade.
Today, the upper level of the Cloth Hall is home to a branch of the National Museum, focusing on works of Polish art. Meanwhile, the lower level remains true to the building's history, and is devoted to commerce--specifically, the sale of overpriced junk to tourists. In a beautiful and magnificent space, you will find people selling all sorts of cheap (and not so cheap) tourist tat. It's like having the Ocean City boardwalk in the middle of a Renaissance hall. In general, this is my main gripe with Kraków--since everything is centralized in a relatively small area, the various kinds of tourists that a city like this might attract are all on top of each other. This juxtaposition can be amusing, but it can also be disappointing for anyone who wants to lose themselves in the history of the place. For example, at night, the Market Square is swarmed with stag parties, the young people with backpacks, and the kinds of people who seek to make money from them, legally or, as in the case of the young working girl who offered us her services minutes after I had met my friend there, otherwise.
But, let's move on from that.
Hanging over one of the entrances to the Cloth Hall is a knife on a chain. As is often the case in very old cities, there are two separate legends associated with the knife, though one feels more grounded in reality and the other in fancy. First, the real one. At the time of the Cloth Hall's construction, the common punishment for theft was an involuntary ear-ectomy. Why the ear? Who knows. The point was, the knife was hung as a reminder to thieves of what fate awaited them if they were caught. The more fanciful story involves the building of St. Mary's Basilica, seen below. One tower is taller than the other, and the legend (almost certainly untrue), claims that two brothers were in charge of building them, one taking charge of each tower. Well, when the one who was building the smaller tower realized that, due to foundation issues, he would never be able to match the height of his brother's tower, he slew his brother in a jealous rage--using the very knife that now hangs in the Cloth Hall. Once he had done his grisly deed, the builder felt great remorse, and threw himself off the tower he had helped to construct. Like I said, pretty fanciful, but fun nonetheless.
Anyway, the free-standing tower you see in the photo above is all that remains of the old Town Hall. On the other side of the Cloth Hall there's a quite imposing monument to Polish Romantic poet Adam Mickiewicz,
and the roughly 1,000 year old St. Adalbert's Church (Kościół św. Wojciecha) that has stood in the same spot longer than the square around it. (Wait...Saint who? St. Adalbert was a 10th century Bohemian missionary--Bishop of Prague, no less!--who preached in Kraków before going off to Prussia where he was martyred trying to convert the pagan population there. Oops. His Czech name, which is how he is known both here and in Poland, is Vojtěch, and as St. Vojtěch, he is the patron saint of the Czech Republic, Poland, and Prussia. He's also, along with St. Vaclac [Wenceslas] and St. Vitus, one of the three name saints of what is generally just called St. Vitus' Cathedral here in Prague.)
Unlike the several other churches in Kraków, St. Adalbert's was selling tickets to a classical music concert to be held inside later that evening. This is common practice in Prague, but, as my friends and I discovered, not so common in Kraków.
Approximately 90% of Poles are baptized Catholic--that's arguably a higher figure than the Republic of Ireland or Italy. This is the country--and Kraków in particular the city--that gave the world Karol Józef Wojtyła, better known as Pope St. John Paul II. JP2 (as he referred to himself in public at least once) was born not far from Kraków, and spent most of his life before his elevation to the papacy living and ministering in the city. His legacy is everywhere in Kraków, and there are numerous plaques, statues, and museums which testify to his importance.
It's perhaps not surprising, then, that the churches in Kraków, unlike those in Prague or the Czech Republic more generally, are part of the present as opposed to, essentially, relics of the past. Almost none of them allow photographs inside (sorry), and, on the day we were exploring, we encountered multiple weddings, including one at the Basilica shown above *while* dozens of tourists marveled at the truly gorgeous interior. Moreover, many had restrictions as to proper attire for entering--no shorts, for example. And, at the Wawel Cathedral in the Wawel Hill castle complex...
...women with bare shoulders were sold basic shawls for a small fee. Bare shoulders not permitted. Again, the inside was stunning--though very unlike a traditional Roman Catholic Cathedral with the familiar cross structure--but photographs were forbidden. Generally, the religious architecture and even decoration had a distinctly non-Western feel about it. Or, at least, it was very different from the traditional Western European/American styles I've encountered before. And the overall feeling was much more reverential and less touristy than historic churches and cathedrals I've visited in the past.
I could say more about the Castle complex and various other points of interest--and the dragon! and the trumpeter!--but I hope to make it back to Kraków soon, and I need to make sure I have material for *that* blog post. :-)
However, I will recommend the hostel I stayed at. Aside from one night recently where I had to stay at the hostel literally across the street from my flat (long story), this was my first hostel experience, and if they were all like Deco Hostel in Kraków, I might never pay for a hotel again. I had a private room with a balcony, a private bath--mandatory at my age--and the room was charmingly decorated with an Isadora Duncan theme, full of pale blues and swaths of flowing fabric. Indeed, each room was individually themed and named after a famous figure from the 1920s. The whole enterprise felt more like a boutique hotel than a typical hostel--so, if you're ever in Kraków--and why shouldn't you be?--I recommend checking it out.
Back soon--I'm on holiday, so I have time to gather material and write and podcast. Yay!
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So, Friday morning found me hopping a train and settling in for the 7-ish hour ride to Kraków from Prague. Pleasantly, while this route is heavily traveled in the summer by young people with massive backpacks doing the modern version of the Grand Tour--getting drunk in a succession of ancient European cities--the ride was calm and quiet. Until, somewhere in Moravia, three middle-aged Czech men got on the train. They were clearly going away for some sort of "boys' weekend," and my guess is their first several rounds of drinks had already been consumed. As soon as they settled into their seats, one of them reached into his bag, and pulled out a bottle of clear liquor--likely slivovice--and shots were taken. They were loud, obnoxious, lightly harassing to the young woman unfortunate enough to be seated beside them, and generally disdained by everyone in the train car--even the young people with massive backpacks. Fortunately, after about half an hour, they did wander away--likely into the cafe car--and relative quiet reigned once again. They only returned once before the end of the journey, but when they did, all eyes were on them, because one of their number was, as the Brits say, legless--a fact made even more obvious by the standard difficulty of walking through a moving train car. Mr. Legless then decided to start serenading the car, and both of his friends had, at this point, seemingly sobered up enough to realize they had a problem on their hands. So, they bundled him off again--I think they just went to the vestibule at the end of the car--and only returned once we'd arrived in Kraków, at which point the two "responsible" ones were literally supporting Mr. Legless between them. Way to start off the weekend, guys.
Anyway, Kraków!
 |
| It looks empty because it was fairly early in the morning. Believe me, it doesn't stay empty. |
Kraków is slightly older than Prague, but the two cities have some strong similarities: both are former royal capitals, both have very well-preserved medieval city centers, and both have been major centers of art and culture off and on throughout the centuries. Kraków, however, is about half the size of Prague, and, fortunately for tourists, almost all its notable sites are within the Old City--Stare Miasto in Polish--and quite walkable from one to the other. Incidentally, while I know no Polish, the little Czech I have learned allowed me to at least glean information from signs pretty readily. Czech and Polish are pretty closely related, the way, for example, French and Spanish are--so if you know one, you might be able to fake the other.
Anyway, what's there to see in Kraków? Well, the photos above show the Market Square, the largest medieval square in Europe. The square is dominated by the Cloth Hall, a Renaissance-era building where the traders who met in Kraków from far-flung places would buy, sell, and trade.
 |
| Peering inside the central corridor. |
Today, the upper level of the Cloth Hall is home to a branch of the National Museum, focusing on works of Polish art. Meanwhile, the lower level remains true to the building's history, and is devoted to commerce--specifically, the sale of overpriced junk to tourists. In a beautiful and magnificent space, you will find people selling all sorts of cheap (and not so cheap) tourist tat. It's like having the Ocean City boardwalk in the middle of a Renaissance hall. In general, this is my main gripe with Kraków--since everything is centralized in a relatively small area, the various kinds of tourists that a city like this might attract are all on top of each other. This juxtaposition can be amusing, but it can also be disappointing for anyone who wants to lose themselves in the history of the place. For example, at night, the Market Square is swarmed with stag parties, the young people with backpacks, and the kinds of people who seek to make money from them, legally or, as in the case of the young working girl who offered us her services minutes after I had met my friend there, otherwise.
But, let's move on from that.
 |
| Yes, that's a knife hanging by a chain. |
Hanging over one of the entrances to the Cloth Hall is a knife on a chain. As is often the case in very old cities, there are two separate legends associated with the knife, though one feels more grounded in reality and the other in fancy. First, the real one. At the time of the Cloth Hall's construction, the common punishment for theft was an involuntary ear-ectomy. Why the ear? Who knows. The point was, the knife was hung as a reminder to thieves of what fate awaited them if they were caught. The more fanciful story involves the building of St. Mary's Basilica, seen below. One tower is taller than the other, and the legend (almost certainly untrue), claims that two brothers were in charge of building them, one taking charge of each tower. Well, when the one who was building the smaller tower realized that, due to foundation issues, he would never be able to match the height of his brother's tower, he slew his brother in a jealous rage--using the very knife that now hangs in the Cloth Hall. Once he had done his grisly deed, the builder felt great remorse, and threw himself off the tower he had helped to construct. Like I said, pretty fanciful, but fun nonetheless.
Anyway, the free-standing tower you see in the photo above is all that remains of the old Town Hall. On the other side of the Cloth Hall there's a quite imposing monument to Polish Romantic poet Adam Mickiewicz,
 |
| Shown here on a less sweltering day. Quite large, isn't it? |
and the roughly 1,000 year old St. Adalbert's Church (Kościół św. Wojciecha) that has stood in the same spot longer than the square around it. (Wait...Saint who? St. Adalbert was a 10th century Bohemian missionary--Bishop of Prague, no less!--who preached in Kraków before going off to Prussia where he was martyred trying to convert the pagan population there. Oops. His Czech name, which is how he is known both here and in Poland, is Vojtěch, and as St. Vojtěch, he is the patron saint of the Czech Republic, Poland, and Prussia. He's also, along with St. Vaclac [Wenceslas] and St. Vitus, one of the three name saints of what is generally just called St. Vitus' Cathedral here in Prague.)
 |
| All my photos were crappy. Thanks Wiki Commons! |
Unlike the several other churches in Kraków, St. Adalbert's was selling tickets to a classical music concert to be held inside later that evening. This is common practice in Prague, but, as my friends and I discovered, not so common in Kraków.
Approximately 90% of Poles are baptized Catholic--that's arguably a higher figure than the Republic of Ireland or Italy. This is the country--and Kraków in particular the city--that gave the world Karol Józef Wojtyła, better known as Pope St. John Paul II. JP2 (as he referred to himself in public at least once) was born not far from Kraków, and spent most of his life before his elevation to the papacy living and ministering in the city. His legacy is everywhere in Kraków, and there are numerous plaques, statues, and museums which testify to his importance.
 |
| St. Mary's Basilica, on the Market Square. |
It's perhaps not surprising, then, that the churches in Kraków, unlike those in Prague or the Czech Republic more generally, are part of the present as opposed to, essentially, relics of the past. Almost none of them allow photographs inside (sorry), and, on the day we were exploring, we encountered multiple weddings, including one at the Basilica shown above *while* dozens of tourists marveled at the truly gorgeous interior. Moreover, many had restrictions as to proper attire for entering--no shorts, for example. And, at the Wawel Cathedral in the Wawel Hill castle complex...
 |
| The cathedral is the one with all the mismatched spires. |
 |
| See what I mean about being mismatched? |
...women with bare shoulders were sold basic shawls for a small fee. Bare shoulders not permitted. Again, the inside was stunning--though very unlike a traditional Roman Catholic Cathedral with the familiar cross structure--but photographs were forbidden. Generally, the religious architecture and even decoration had a distinctly non-Western feel about it. Or, at least, it was very different from the traditional Western European/American styles I've encountered before. And the overall feeling was much more reverential and less touristy than historic churches and cathedrals I've visited in the past.
I could say more about the Castle complex and various other points of interest--and the dragon! and the trumpeter!--but I hope to make it back to Kraków soon, and I need to make sure I have material for *that* blog post. :-)
However, I will recommend the hostel I stayed at. Aside from one night recently where I had to stay at the hostel literally across the street from my flat (long story), this was my first hostel experience, and if they were all like Deco Hostel in Kraków, I might never pay for a hotel again. I had a private room with a balcony, a private bath--mandatory at my age--and the room was charmingly decorated with an Isadora Duncan theme, full of pale blues and swaths of flowing fabric. Indeed, each room was individually themed and named after a famous figure from the 1920s. The whole enterprise felt more like a boutique hotel than a typical hostel--so, if you're ever in Kraków--and why shouldn't you be?--I recommend checking it out.
Back soon--I'm on holiday, so I have time to gather material and write and podcast. Yay!
Become a Patron!
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