The Jewish Quarter and Last Supper

We have largely accomplished our goals (with a misstep or two) and are very satisfied with our trip. So we let Saturday be our wildcard day. We planned to take the Jewish heritage tour, something that had been in the back of our minds since we walked to Wawel Castle on that first afternoon. For those of you who aren't aware, Saturday is the Jewish day of rest and we realized only too late that we were not going to get much touring done. It's not that we didn't know this really -- just a facepalm moment. We decided to explore what we could, anyway.


We started the day with a delicious breakfast from Claudia's bakery and cafe near our hotel. This family establishment has been nourishing and caffeinating us each morning this week, and we were grateful. I think my vacation sleeping habits have begun to wear off on Marcia, as our mornings have started later and later. Apparently, she hadn't slept this late since after her undergrad exams, but by 12:00 we were breakfasted and off, walking to the Jewish quarter. The center city used to be surrounded by a great wall, whose width had a footprint of nearly 30 yards. Now, this same area provided us a pleasant park path to the outskirts on the southeast of Wawel Castle.

We arrived in the main modern square, next to the Old Jewish Cemetery. There were the same sort of shops and restaurants we had seen in the main city square, but the main language was now Hebrew. The Old Cemetery was closed, of course, but we did manage to explore around its high walls and get a peek inside. Further we walked into Jewish territory and began to see more Hebrew and the expected Kosher restaurants started showing up.

Without great surprise, a light drizzle turned into a sloppy deluge so we ducked inside a Jewish bookstore to explore the wares. Inside and down the stairs in the cold stone hallway was advertised a traveling photographic exhibit of the Jewish Ghetto in Cracow, so we took advantage. The exhibit was made up of old pictures, either found in the dirt, in old family albums or even from spoils of war. There were depictions of how poorly the Jewish people were treated as they were lined up and herded onto trains destined for the death camps. But there were also joyous pictures of families at the beach or having a portrait taken; stories of resistance and the culture that survived.

The rain wasn't letting up, but there was one of the golf cart tour guides waiting outside this obscure museum. He was equipped with a plastic rain cover, so I convinced Marcia to take part of the dry, albeit expensive tour of the actual ghetto which was across the river... on our way back to the city square.

The tour was not very involved, but we did see two important parts of the history of the ghetto: Schindler's Factory and The last standing bit of the wall that surrounded the ghetto.



Our guide was undeniably Polish, but had grown up from age 9 to 19 in Portland so he spoke English very well. He was also the first person actually enthusiastic about talking to us. We asked him if he observed the same dearth of Americans as we did. He said that we were the second American group he had ever taken in his year or so of driving the tour-cart. He was particularly pleased to know that we were investigating our heritage. I think this disarmed him a bit from our strong tourist aura because he told us about Gospoda Koko, a true Polish restaurant off the main square in Cracow. We had a place for our last supper in Poland.

The restaurant was hard to find: usually a good thing. It was an unassuming place nestled into an arcade-style alcove. It was hot but it smelled delicious, of beets, cabbage and broth. The menu was all in Polish, so I mainly pointed and prayed. Marcia ordered Borcht and a sort of sausage thing wrapped in crispy-flaked covering. I got what ended up being pork necks with Ruskie perogis. Everything was delicous. We also received the obligatory beet mash with kraut. The past week had been so hot, large meals were unappetizing, but this night was cooler than the rest and a filling meal was welcome. And filling it was. The perogis were little starch balls filled with potato and cabbage and the pork necks were an excellent analog to North Carolina Pork BBQ.

With our bellies full and hearts contented, we took one last tour of the central Cracow square. It was dark by then and the stage they had been setting up all week was surrounded by a throng of Polish tourists. The group on stage was a Polish rock band whose lead singer was a vivacious lady with an electic violin. Combined with a traditional base guitar, drumset and the obligatory accordion, they were really rockin'. I wish I had remembered their name. You can get an idea of what these concerts looked like from the concert roster.

This has been quite a full week and I am happy that we did most of the things that were on my list: Auschwitz, the salt mines, Tatras Mountains(mostly), Bochnia and a communist historical tour. And with all this, we manage to squeak in some Polish food, culture and atmosphere. The major regret I have is that I hadn't learned any Polish for this trip. I think we would have had a lot better communication and would have been able to investigate things much more thoroughly if we had. We have plans to visit Warsaw and the northern areas of Poland, searching for the Orlowskis, and I will definitely have learned at least some Polish by then. But that is another adventure.