Sanok: Village People

If Krakow was synonymous with tourism in Poland, then Sanok was the great unknown. Sanok seems to belong to a different world, far away in the southeast and close to Poland's borders with Slovakia and Ukraine.

Below: Little Red Riding Hood sits on the threshold of the Greek Catholic Church of St Onuphrius the Hermit. Greek Catholics still very much practise the Orthodox rite, but recognise the Pope as the head of their church.

For some bizarre reason, we were alighted on the road across from the bus station instead of within it. (We were the only ones to get off there; and apparently the only non-Polish passengers on the bus.) Perhaps there was some toll the driver wished to avoid. In any case, there didn't look to be anybody at the bus station who could levy it. At 8.30pm, we were the only people in the compound.

Shortly after, Dorota arrived with Bono. Dorota owned the property on which we would be putting up for two nights. Bono was her German Shepherd companion, as friendly as its name was iconic. He led the way forward, and Dorota removed the leash once we turned into the home stretch. The guest quarters are set at the back of the house. It was en suite, had a kitchen and could sleep five in two rooms - and we had it all to ourselves.

Sanok: the Bieszczady blend

Set amidst the Bieszczady Mountains which contain one of the easier passages across the Carpathians, the area's strategic value saw it contested centuries ago between Hungarian, Ruthenian (which once referred to the people in the lands corresponding to today's Belarus and western Ukraine) and Polish kingdoms. The movement of people this facilitated also contributed to the area's diversity - Ruthenians, Poles, Jews, Vlachs (a Romanian-speaking people, many of whom were subsequently Slavicized) and various highlander groups that subscribed to neither of the above identities all made their homes in the lands around Sanok.

This all disappeared (like in Vilnius) in the wake of the Second World War. The Jews were murdered. The Poles (who won here) and Ukrainians went hammer and tongs at each other - Stefan Bandera's Organisation of Ukrainian Nationalists (the red and black of which we met at Lviv over two years ago) actively participated in ethnic cleansing operations in these parts. Many highlanders were uprooted and their hitherto distinct identities nationalised according to the state in which they were resettled.

Below: Sanok and the undulating Bieszczady from the edge of the rynek.

Sanok: imagined communities

We came to Sanok to see its open-air museum, which represented an attempt to collect and enshrine a cultural richness previously washed away in blood. The jewels in the skansen's crown are its four wooden churches, carefully reassembled originals from elsewhere in the region. Many of the other buildings exhibited were also made of wood, lending the museum a quaintness which even the day's dour weather could not douse.

Above (top to bottom): Pretend docent checks her facts in front of the Roman Catholic Church from Baczal Dolny; onion domes of the Greek Catholic church from Ropki through bare January woods and its interior.

Bottom (top to bottom): As revealed at the start of the post, the Greek Catholic Church of St Onuphrius the Hermit, originally from Rosolin; its small interior, into which a small village could still pack; a Greek Catholic church from Graziowa, to its left the church belfry from Sierakosce.

We thought we were the only visitors when we arrived, and weren't far off from the truth. In the summer, employees played the part of villagers by dressing up as farmers and blacksmiths within the exhibits. Yet even without them, the guides and workers within the compound easily outnumbered the four other visitors who also chose to come on a grey January afternoon. As we went around looking like we owned the place, we weren't sure if we pretended to stumble across an empty village or if an empty village pretended to be lively.

Above: Panoramas of a reconstructed Galician market square, the first sight after the ticket office.

Below (top to bottom): Romance blossoms as we wait for the tailor outside his shop; Mary frowns as the day's discontent is disgorged into the town well.

The museum provided an idyllic picture of rural and small town life in this part of the world. It couldn't do any more than that. There was nothing (except us) to spoil the peace behind the ticket office - no tax collectors, no brigands, no war, no billeted soldiers, or unruly mercenaries, no plague, flood or fire, no failed harvests or debilitating famine which inevitably ensues, no mice and no lice. (Alright, perhaps the last two were hidden from sight.)

Below (top to bottom): Idylls - the set for Animal Farm, sans animals; the miller's not home; city bumpkins grinning stupidly outside a cottage from Skorodne.

Friends know I'm not a fan of museums. Mary isn't too, and she's got an even shorter attention span than I have. Museums really have their jobs cut out to engage visitors. For me the glass panels, whatever the technological wizardry conjured up to make them bright and noisy, are barriers in more ways than one. Plain and simple, outdoor museums may be judged as no different from their indoor counterparts. Yet at least an outdoor museum dispels the sense of sanitized claustrophobia. This liberation in turn leads to other convictions that, having set aside well-founded doubts of authenticity, believes the mustiness to be truly ancient.

Imagination is a funny thing. It suffers itself to be led knowingly to fantasies.

Logistics

There are straight buses from Krakow to Sanok, which take about four hours to make the journey. The Old Town is built atop a hill overlooking the San River, with the skansen a 20-minutes' walk northwest and across the San. The helpful staff at the tourist information office, within the old town hall building, will gladly assist with questions.

Above: A map which shows how the exhibits in the skansen are arranged. A more detailed map labelling individual exhibit is available on site.

Krakow: Miracle on the Vistula

From Zakopane, it was a two-hour bus ride to Krakow - city of kings and the great unmissable in Poland. Even before arriving at our apartment to check in, we reckoned we counted more tourists than we ever had in our previous ten days in the country.

Below: St Mary's Basilica, arguably the most recognizable landmark in Poland's most recognizable city.

Krakow: Miracle of the Vistula

Located by the Vistula River and astride the Amber Route linking the Baltic region and Central Europe, Krakow was once upon a time the royal, religious and intellectual capital of Poland. Several thirteenth-century Mongol blitzkriegs saw Krakow razed repeatedly. (The raids are still recalled by the hourly sounding of the Hejnal Mariacki, always breaking off in mid-note to commemorate the bugler whose throat was allegedly pierced by a Mongol arrow.) The foundations of Krakow's late medieval renaissance were subsequently laid by King Casimir the Great (whom we last encountered as the builder of the castles on the Eagle's Nest Trail). His reign saw the expansion of the royal residence on Wawel Hill, where kings were crowned and buried, and the establishment (in 1364) of what became Poland's oldest university.

Below (top to bottom): The courtyard of Collegius Maius in the Jagiellonian University, established as Kraków Academy in 1364 during the reign of King Casimir the Great; the richly-decorated interior of St Mary's Basilica, destroyed during the thirteenth-century Mongol raids and rebuilt under the same Casimir.

The late sixteenth century saw the Polish capital moved from Krakow to Warsaw, as Polish ambitions were turned from Central Europe to the Baltic-Eastern European sphere. Two developments were responsible for this. The birth of the Polish-Lithuania Commonwealth had brought the large eastern empire of Lithuania into the Polish political fold and the coming of a Swedish dynasty to the Polish throne meant Poland now shared Swedish priorities in the Baltic.

The move might have saved Krakow from the wanton destruction visited on so many other Polish cities, in which case Krakow today would be yet another Polish city touting its atmospheric, reconstructed Old Town (like Warsaw's). There is a touch of karmic irony in borrowing an epithet historically used on Warsaw to describe Krakow. The original Miracle of the Vistula celebrated how vastly outnumbered Polish forces in 1920 had defeated what came to be perceived as a west-bound Bolshevik steamroller. 25 years later, the same steamroller flattened Warsaw but did little damage to Krakow.

Below: Krakow's Rynek Glowny, reportedly the largest medieval square in Europe.

Krakow: Multitudes on the Vistula

Our aparthotel (yes, that was what it was called) was north of St Florian's Gate, on the northern edge of the Old Town and the only medieval fortification still standing in Krakow. Much of our sightseeing followed the old Royal Road running from the gate to Wawel. Walking south towards the Rynek, it didn't take us long to encounter the first of many restaurant, museum and tour promoters. Strewn like snares along the streets, these sickle-wielding ghouls and sombrero-tipping caballeros stood forlornly around with leaflets in their hands.

Below (top to bottom): The Grunwald Monument, celebrating the Polish(-Lithuanian) victory over the Knights of the Teutonic Order; the Barbican (foreground) and St Florian's Gate, the northern entrance to the Old Town and the only surviving parts of the city's medieval fortifications; Florianska, the main north-south thoroughfare to the Rynek.

That weekend though, their fancy get-ups were being overshadowed by a big charity event taking place on the Rynek. A stage had been assembled. The media were present. Music from giant speakers drowned all competing chatter. All around town, donations were being collected by a motley crew of volunteers comprising schoolchildren, blonde princesses carrying baskets of flowers, army veterans and a troop of hyperactive golden retrievers dragging their handlers around. There was an air of festivity about the Rynek, with only the presence of armed patrols giving away the spectres of Beirut and Paris. Two days later, a bomb took 11 lives in central Istanbul.

(It wasn't the only big event that weekend, nor all tranquil. On the other end, a crowd of 2,000 had gathered in front of the Radio Krakow building to show their ire at recent moves by the government to take greater control of the media. We learnt about the protests days later, when we left Krakow, and can only be thankful no further disturbance came of it.)

Below (top to bottom): Adam Mickiewicz, who oddly enough never visited Kraków, honoured on a plinth before St Mary's Basilica; The iconic Cloth Hall in the middle of the Rynek, which today houses art galleries, eateries, a long shopping arcade full of souvenir stalls and an underground museum; The old 

We did not go beyond Wawel Hill. There were bleak views from the ramparts over the frozen Vistula River. Within the walls, we trudged warily through the castle grounds in ankle-deep slush. As I admired the tiered arcades in the palace courtyard, Mary played Puzzle Shooter on her phone. My weak remonstrations only drew forth yawns and clamours of hunger. Hell having no fury like a woman starved, we retreated towards the Old Town to find food.

Above (top to bottom): Between the Rynek and Wawel - All Saints Square, neatly bookended by the Franciscan and the Dominican Churches; the Church of Saints Peter and Paul, Krakow's first Baroque building; the frozen Vistula from the castle ramparts.

Below (top to bottom): Standing before the castle grounds; Wawel Cathedral where Polish kings were crowned and buried, and Wawel's gilded centre of attraction; the tiered arcades of the palace courtyard, before Mary was lost to Puzzle Shooter.

Our two days in Krakow passed as quickly as they were spent leisurely. We deigned neither to explore the Kasimierz district to the southeast of Wawel, nor to take trips further afield to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp or the Wieliczka salt mine. In Mary's eyes, the cathedrals and town halls had already started to look alarmingly like each other. We bought no souvenirs too, despite there being more souvenir shops than I can remember.

Except a bottle of cherry vodka purchased from Carrefour, as Mary sought to export Highlanders' Tea far from the slopes of the Tatras.

Zakopane: Tatras high, valley low

I remember stepping nervously off the bus from Krakow at the Zakopane station nearly nine years ago. It was my first solo travel experience, after having started the journey with Ivan who then was Budapest-bound. September at summer's end that year showed still naked rock on most summits in the Tatra Mountains. These were snow-capped when we arrived, though it would be morning before we saw them.

Below: Snow-capped - frolicking on the Kasprowy Wierch ridge.

Highlander

The Tatra Mountains straddle Poland and Slovakia (its highest ridges forming part of the border between the two countries) and are the loftiest parts of the Carpathian Range. This stretches in a wide northwest-southeast crescent from the eastern Czech Republic to southeastern Romania. Mary and I have fond memories of our first Carpathian sojourn in Yaremche, in Ukraine, and she still misses the cottage we spent three nights in. The mountains would continue to loom large over our journey after Zakopane, as we travel across and along them through Slovakia before swinging back east towards Transylvania. But we would write again of them when we come to it.

Zakopane nestled in a valley amongst the northern foothills of the Tatras. Its billing as Poland's Winter Capital is entirely deserved. Staying in an apartment on the main street, we observed the ceaseless traffic of tourists - even at midday under clear blue skies which would have been perfect for skiing or winter walking in the mountains. Tourism is more than a century old here. Their natural beauty aside, the isolation of the Tatras in the nineteenth century meant the region was promoted in a partitioned Poland as a last, untouched bastion of Polishness.

Yet for centuries before that, the town's Goral (highlander in Polish) inhabitants followed a way of life that defied national classification. Found all along the northern Carpathian arc in the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland and Ukraine, perhaps the most famous Goral was Pope John Paul II, who as a young student in Krakow Seminary spent many days walking in the Tatras. Goral culture is Zakopane's other major draw. This is most visible in the horse carriages which line the pavements, driven by men dressed in Goral folk costumes. Elsewhere in town, the culture is loudly proclaimed in souvenir shops, restaurants and an abundance of wooden architecture.

Below: the view from Kasprowy Wierch - somewhere in the thin clouds below lies Zakopane.

Up...

It being winter, a good number of hikes were ruled out through lack of expertise, experience and equipment. There were still walks enough to slake the thirsty eyes of adventurers with nothing more than regular crampons and walking poles (us). Mary's antipathy towards gravity meant we relied on cable-cars and funiculars for headstarts as much as possible. It became clear she took a lot more to walking uphill only after we cleared the tree line, when the views justified the exertion. Two day-trips relied on just such a strategy, bookending one in which we relied solely on our feet (this exception led to a very different outcome - suffice to say footsore wives aren't the most cheerful).

Kasprowy Wierch offered the most economical scenery-to-effort ratio anywhere in the Polish Tatras, as we were whisked by cable-car to, at 1,987 metres above sea level, nearly eye-level with the peaks that surrounded us. We made an effort to arrive very early, and were rewarded with empty paths (shown to be clearly frequented by the compressed snow on its surface) and quiet viewpoints. The highest summits extended majestically to both east and west, unhindered by cloud. A prancing shadow in the distance revealed the presence of a chamois crossing the snowy slopes. We pranced around ourselves until noon, when it looked like half of Zakopane has ascended to the shoulders of the same mountain.

Above (top to bottom): Mary smilingly approves of the only way to properly ascend a mountain; our first sight of a wild chamois on the slopes of Kasprowy Wierch; sitting tight on Liliowe Pass, looking out over Ticha Valley to the northwest. This is the highest point on the ridge, where most regular walkers turn back to the cable-car station.

Below (top to bottom): Panoramas from the ridge between Kasprowy Wierch and Liliowe Pass - looking east from the cable-car station on top, over the Gasienicowa Valley; walking southeast on the ridge towards Liliowe Pass, looking out over the same valley; vistas over the Ticha Valley from Liliowe Pass.

Below (top to bottom): Clear skies and empty paths vanish by mid-day, the cable-cars vomiting a steady stream of visitors onto the mountain top; Mary's deck chair neighbour looks askance at her as she triumphantly holds up a pair of crampons (life-savers on the slippery paths). We have no clear photograph, but the bronze plaque in the centre (just above the window with white words) commemorates the visit of Pope John Paul II to the station in 1997. As a young student in Krakow Seminary, he loved spending time in the Tatras.

Mount Gubalowka was much lower. Set across the valley from the main peaks, it offered a panorama of nearly all the Polish Tatras as they unfurled like a banner to the south. In 2007, I had heartily quaffed a mug of highlanders' tea (a potent mixture of tea and vodka, or rum) before racing light-headed up the gentle slopes of Gubalowka. Mary enjoys the brew, but chose to go up differently. The engineers worked really hard to construct the funicular, she blithely quipped. We should honour their work. This contraption we honoured ferried visitors to 1,123 metres above sea level. Well within walking distance of the town centre, there was always a queue for the funicular. We went late in the afternoon, giving ourselves barely an hour and a half of daylight - enough to watch the peaks set alight in the orange glow of the setting sun. The hive of activity we found at the top bore witness to Gubalowka being perhaps the most family-friendly mountain trip in all the Tatras.

Below (top to bottom): The panorama from atop Mount Gubalowka; everybody has pretty much the same idea of what kind of photographs they'd like to take; Mary uses a pair binoculars for the first time...

...and down

The exception to the two trips taken above was the one to Rusinowa Polana. A alpine meadow located near the border with Slovakia, we had to climb an hour to reach it. It was not Mary's preferred mode of locomotion, and her level of enthusiasm was evident. Low cloud obscured the mountains above, parting briefly here and there to permit glances of the vistas they so jealously guarded. I had wanted to wait out the cloudiness as the forecast had promised, but had to leave to disperse the cloud that had gathered closer at hand.

Above (top to bottom): Walking up from Polana Palenica to Rusinowa Polana; Heidi is not a happy camper. Rusinowa Polana means Rusyns' Field, no doubt referring to the Rusyn (who share kinship with the Ukrainians) herders who'd bring their flocks here seasonally to graze; the clouds sat thickly on the peaks around the meadow, only parting now and then to reveal the vistas they so jealously guarded.

Below (top to bottom): Walking back down to Polana Palenica from where minibuses return to Zakopane; As if willing our feet off the mountains, each downward step saw the ceiling of cloud lifted more clearly. Here, golden light, held back previously as if by a dam, floods the Bialej Wody Valley to the southeast. The far bank belongs to Slovakia.

Ambling down the hillside to where the minibus would take us back to Zakopane, we saw the gray roof above us already pierced in the distant valley by shafts of golden light. Once back in town, Mary resumed her search for highlanders' tea.

My wife cracks irony like a whip.

We could have no complaints about our stay in Zakopane. I had planned for four nights to maximise our chances of getting at least a single day of clear weather. We could count two and a half days which qualified. Crucially, Zakopane also yielded an invaluable lesson, one that would save me a lot of persuasion - plan mountain trips around cable-cars.

Logistics

Zakopane itself is small enough to get around on foot. There are frequent minibuses that leave from around the bus station to the various trailheads leading into the mountains. For the cable-car to Kasprowy Wierch, hail one for Kuznice; for Rusinowa Polana, Morskie Oko. The Gubalowka funicular station is at the northern end of Krupowka, the main shopping street.