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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