Best Spa Town in Poland

The guidebooks are wrong!  They say Krynica Zdroj is the best spa town in Poland, but it's not true.  I'll grant you it's bigger than Iwonicz Zdroj, but it doesn't have half its charm.  Plus, there is a distinct urine smell on the wooden benches, hopefully from dogs.

I'm pleased with myself for walking ten minutes uphill and standing for another ten minutes at the bus stop.  I even manage to find the right bus and get off at the right stop.  This may sound easy to you, but believe me, it's quite a feat when you don't speak the language.

I wander into the old pump house and peek into a treatment room, where they're filling a copper tub with steaming mineral water.  By the way, you can tell the spa patrons from the tourists by their canes.  If anyone stops me at the spa, I just limp away. Works every time.

Of course, there's the requisite whitewashed church with a tall steeple and mosaic tiles on the ceiling dome depicting Jesus and his disciples.  I even say a prayer or two for my family.  I've been to enough churches in Poland to last a lifetime, and a few synagogues as well, and not just to cool off from the oppressive heat, although this is a major draw!

I decide to try the ice cream, but the lines are too long. You can always tell which ice cream is best by the length of the line in front of a nondescript window.  Usually I can cheer myself up with a good lunch, but not today.  The restaurant/gallery is atmospheric, but the food is bland.  I actually leave half of it on the plate, which if you know me, rarely ever happens.

So I decide to pack it in and head back to the bus stop. The ride is uneventful, but naturally I miss my stop and end up at the central bus depot. There I find a little sklep and buy myself a bottle of orange Fanta and a Snickers bar.   Hey, don't judge! They import most of their soda and chocolate here anyway.

Finally, I take a taxi back to the Hotel Cynamon in Nowy Sacz, where the hotel owner makes me a lovely cup of tea, along with some bickies (cookies for you Yanks).  Thankfully, I'm safe in my room when the thunder starts, heralding more rain.  Time to watch Polish TV

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Impresja Krasicyn in Przemysl

I will miss Impresja Krasicyn, my ancient stone and wood mountain retreat on the grounds of a castle in Przemysl, with its friendly dog and two black cats.  Breakfast and dinner are served in its medieval banquet hall, which is set up for a wedding with white silk chair covers and red brocade bows tied around them.

This morning, after a hearty breakfast of savory soup, sausage, fresh baked bread, and jam, I am taking a  private taxi through the winding roads up and down the hills to Krosno.  After trying unreliable and uncomfortable buses and trains, I have found private taxis to be the most effective way to travel in southeast Poland.  Rental cars in Poland are usually manual transmission and too expensive.

On the way, we pass a nun in her habit riding a bike, a couple of small tractors pulling narrow carts full of earth, and a horse trailer.  With its patchwork of small towns, the Polish countryside is beautiful.  Finally we make it to the town of Krosno, which is best known for its glass factory.

I am staying at the Hotel Sniezka, which was built in 1905 as a family home.  With period furniture and wallpaper, it is very atmospheric.  With a modern bathroom and shower, flat screen TV, and free Wi Fi, my room is the best of both worlds.
Time to explore the Rynek.

The Real Rzeszow

Today I got to see the regular Polish people, not the size two, perfectly proportioned, super models who stroll down the touristy squares and promenades.  I have never seen so many church services on a Monday.  My mother would be delighted I'm bombarded with Catholic church services night and day.  What a shame I don't understand a word they're saying! 

I stop at a run down market, which looks like it dates from the communist era, where they sell cotton babushkas and plaid shorts.  I walk past the remnants of old synagogues to parks where they don't bother to rake up the leaves and kids run around the fountain playing hide and seek, yelling "Hee haw."  Here the women are not skinny or glamorously dressed and have hair dyed odd shades of magenta and orange and pencil thin eyebrows.  Here grannies in shapeless house dresses look down at the park from their balconies and old men take off their shoes in the park.  Here old men dress in suspenders and carry old leather briefcases.  Maybe it's just this is not a weekend and people are dressed for work, not to impress.

I see groups of young people congregating around the old well in the Rynek, or town square.  As usual, a few popular kids dominate the conversation, while the rest listen.  Why is there always one kid awkwardly hanging around the group who everyone ignores?  It reminds me of junior high.  Apparently the social rules are the same no matter what language you speak.

Funny how there are signs in the parks commemorating the fight against the Austro-Hungarians and Russians in World War I, but no mention anywhere about World War II.  Sad how I can't forget what everybody else here is trying so hard to deny


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Walking the Promenade in Poland

It's an established fact that Mickey Mouse makes the best ice cream with chocolate sauce in Rzeszow, Poland.  Apparently people queue for hours in a little corridor inside a building in the promenade to eat this specialty.  This is the ultimate reward for walking the promenade.


Walking the promenade seems to be people's favorite activity in Rzeszow.  Of course, you must wear the latest couture and bring along your partner, children, or medium size, well-behaved dog on a leash at a perfectly synchronized stroll.  You must pretend not to notice anyone else who may be watching you.  Of course, you know they're watching, because you're watching them.

If you do happen to see someone you know, then hugs and kisses (three on alternating cheeks) are acceptable.  Otherwise you are oblivious to the other people walking beside you or sitting on benches and sidewalk cafes.  Holding on to the hand of your significant other to establish ownership, you must stroll down to get your ice cream, and then stroll back eating it, without getting any ice cream or chocolate sauce on your perfect outfit.

Clearly I'm spending way too much time on the promenade, but there isn't much else to do.  I could go to the church across the street from my hostel, where I can hear the bells toll and people singing day and night.  I could go to the Polish museums, where all the signs are in Polish.  I could watch the street musicians in the town square.  I could see old B movies in Polish at the cinema.  But I've already done all this.

I even went to the Irish Pub, which is aptly called the Irish Pub, to try to find English-speaking people.  No luck, but I did find a group of Polish people trying to learn English. 

This is not really a tourist city, so the only organized tour is the underground cellars beneath the town square.  There you can see a plastic replica of the remains of some poor Jewish people who supposedly hid there trying to escape the Nazis. 

According they weren't successful, because the guidebooks say only a few hundred of the 24,000 Jews in town survived.  Naturally, they left town.
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