08-10 October 2010 Krakow, Poland
"Whoever saves one life saves the world entire."
-from the Talmud, engraved on the wall of the factory of Oscar Schindler, the German Nazi businessman who saved 1,100 Jewish lives
Last Thursday my two faithful companions and I departed for the city of Krakow, Poland. We were joined by another friend, with whom I had spent six weeks in Madrid and parts of Andalucia. After arriving at the airport in Krakow, it was a fifteen minute train ride into the city center, and a ten minute walk to our lodging at Hostel Giraffe.
In the past, the Duke of Landesberg has come under criticism by his noble peers for his peculiar selection of hostels. His decision in Krakow, however, more than made up for tactical setbacks in the past. In addition to being giraffe-themed, the hostel Giraffe was the home of a hip young crowd, with locals and travelers alike. Locals frequented the hostel for its inexpensive drink prices and wild parties, which we discovered on the second night.
After checking in, we went out to a dinner that exceeded all of our expectations. Polish cuisine, criminally underrated, is a culinary triumph. That Poland was once behind the Iron Curtain still is evident by the prices, which is a happy benefit for all students, who can dine like kings while spending just a few Euros.
The next day we joined a walking tour led by our guide Peter. Peter was a local resident, studying law at one of the universities. I later discovered that my home institution, American University in Washington DC, actually has a program affiliated with the university that Peter attended. We found Peter at the center of a large group of tourists, holding a pole with an advertisement for his tour. He began the tour by briefly summarizing the history of Poland, assuring us that Krakow, the most beautiful city in Poland, was indeed much more beautiful than Warsaw, the most ugly city in Poland. Before we left on our route, Peter asserted that the tour was free, but that we were free to tip him at the end if we felt so inclined. Likewise, if we were dissatisfied, we could write negative reviews or even kick him, which he cautioned against. “I run fast,” he said, “and I have a stick.”
We began in the main square, outside of the Cathedral. At intervals of every half hour or so, a trumpeter plays a brief melody from the bell tower of the Cathedral. The melody was atypical; it ended quite abruptly. Peter informed us of the legend surrounding this tradition. Many centuries ago, Poland was overrun by the Mongols under Genghis Khan (this much of the tale is true). Residents of the city were aware that the Mongols were approaching Krakow, so they posted sentries in the bell tower to warn of a Mongol attack. During one early morning, one such sentry spotted the Mongols entering the city. Taking up a trumpet, he began a signal to warn the city that the Mongol attack was upon them. As it is known, the Mongols were superb archers, and one such archer located the sentry, took careful aim, and fired. His arrow found its mark, and the trumpeter was abruptly silenced mid-note.
The legend is pure fiction. Thought parts of the story have a basis in Polish history, one obvious fallacy is that the Mongol invasion occurred at least two centuries before the Cathedral was built. The legend arose from a local woman who was entertaining a foreign acquaintance. He asked her about the peculiar melody, which prompted her imaginative, but fictional, response. Unfortunately for this woman, the visitor was not an ordinary tourist, but a famous American journalist. Later on, the journalist recounted this story among the other writings he did during his travels, publishing them in a book entitled: “The Trumpeter of Krakow.” The legend prevailed.
From there, we toured the old city, passing through the old city gates, walking down the boulevards, and observing a rich variety of architectural styles, including medieval, gothic, classical, and renaissance style buildings. En route to a famous statue of the Polish Pope John Paul II, we passed an unremarkable secondary institution to which Peter called attention. The school was significant because it was the alma mater of Joseph Conrad, the author of “Heart of Darkness,” a novel about the Belgian imperialism in the Congo that is required reading for every high school class. Though it was designed as a nine year institution, Conrad was only there for two years. This was not because Conrad was a genius, but rather because he was widely viewed as a nuisance, and was expelled after his second year.
Peter’s tour concluded at the southern tip of the old section, where a fire breathing dragon statue has been erected. The significance of the dragon was told to me by a coworker at Foratom prior to my visit to Krakow, but Peter’s recounting of the legend was ever welcome. Once upon a time, a dragon terrorized the city of Krakow, eating the livestock of the townspeople and carrying off their young virgin girls. Many valiant men tried to destroy the dragon, only to die in their quest. One man, a lowly shoemaker, envisioned a different set of tactics. Seizing a group of sheep, he smeared sulfur all over their wool, and waited for the dragon to return. When the dragon did come back, it quickly devoured the unfortunate sheep. The sulfur in its stomach began to cause the dragon to experience profound thirst, and the dragon went to the river to quench it. According to the legend, the dragon continued to drink until its stomach burst, sulfur and all, blowing the dragon completely apart. The shoemaker was then hailed as a hero, and later became the leader of the town. Upon his death, they renamed their town after this valiant hero, Krakus, which later became known as Krakow.
After lunch at a perogyi (Polish dumplings) restaurant, we joined Peter’s second tour, which took us into the Jewish quarter and to the factory owned by Oscar Schindler. I remember seeing Steven Spielberg’s film Schindler’s List during an eighth grade social studies class. For those who are familiar with the film, one of the opening scenes, in which the Jews are being processed before entering the ghetto, was shot in the Jewish quarter of Krakow. The factual setting, however, is actually a twenty minute walk from where Spielberg recreated it, due to the presence of more modern buildings bordering the actual area. The area in which it is theoretically set is near the oldest synagogue in Krakow, and also one of the two oldest Jewish cemeteries in Europe (with the other in Prague).
Further along the way, we walked past the largest synagogue in Krakow. This synagogue was founded by a Jewish man named Isaac, around whom there is, of course, another legend. In this legend, Isaac was a poor man, one of the poorest in Krakow. On night he had a profound dream, in which he saw a bridge. Under this bridge was buried a large mound of gold. Having nothing to lose and everything to gain, Isaac journeyed to where this bridge was, only to see it surrounded by soldiers. Being a man of discretion, he approached the commanding officer, and told him of his dream. He promised to divide the profits evenly between himself and the soldiers. The commander indignantly refused his offer, telling Isaac that he too had had a dream. The commander had dreamt of meeting Isaac, a rich man in his dream. Isaac, in the dream, claimed that he had gained his wealth by finding a large mound of gold in his backyard. Dismissing the man now before him, the commander believed that Isaac could not possibly be the same in his dream.
And so it was that Isaac journeyed home, sought the riches in his yard, and claimed them. His newfound wealth made him a very rich man, and as a tribute he constructed the largest synagogue in the city of Krakow. Though the legend has a happy ending, it is once again fictitious, though not entirely invention. In reality, the only difference was that Isaac was already a very rich man; he happened to be the banker to the King.
Following our tours we had an incredible dinner near the main street in the Old Town. The receptionist had informed us that there would be a party in the hostel bar that evening, so the Duke and I went out for a pre-party drink or two. We chanced upon the main drag of Krakow nightlife, and found an amazing underground bar with table “taps” that were at least six feet tall. After a Tatanka, a sweet Polish cocktail, I had a Kamikazee before we returned to the hostel.
The party was alive and well by the time we arrived. Eagle One and Kelly were engaged in a conversation with two Australian girls from our room in the hostel, which I purposefully interrupted. The Hostel Giraffe had a foosball table, and as that is a game at which I am nearly invincible I decided that Eagle One and I were going to reign over the table all night. We started off well enough, and after several more drinks and a stream of opponents our undisputed dominance was yet unchallenged. Teams continuously came to us, and we consistently beat them without effort. At one point, Eagle One left me at the table against two opponents, and at others we played carelessly, but the table was ours again and again. Eventually, two challengers came up and annihilated us 10-3, which brought us back down to earth and back into the party, where for many more hours we carried on long into the morning hours.
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