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.