At four this morning the forecasted rain began to fall. First a trickle and then a drench fell on the streets. When we finally awoke at around eight it was pouring, which made sleeping another hour seem a better idea than rousing. Radom's grayness was hard to distinguish from that of the sky. When we did finally emerge from our cocoons we were not encouraged. We decided to get up and get some coffee and figure out the day's game plan. Our bikes loaded, donning rain gear, we set out into the pouring rain. The road in front of our hotel, like many roads in Poland, had a trench running down it just left of the curb and rain gutter formed by heavy trucks.
This mid-road canyon forms a perfect conduit for rain water to gather and race towards lower parts. Coincidentally this space corresponds to the place that motorists expect bicycles to ride. The drivers seemed especially impatient with us as we occupied \"their\" part of the lane in order to avoid having to ride through the torrent. They honked, spun their tires impatiently and shouted curses at us with little empathy for our situation. We wandered about town in the downpour getting soaked to the bone in search of coffee and breakfast. We found no such thing; the only recommendation we were able to solicit was McDonald's, which seemed wholly unpalatable.
We gave up and went off towards the train station. I wondered if we should change our name to TrainBrats when we decided to take one all the way to Krakow. It seemed like the only logical option after hearing that there would be rain for the next three days and seeing that the Polish drivers take no mind of cyclists rain or shine. On the way to the train station I nearly became an adornment of a Lada station wagon. The Lada's driver made a left hand turn into me as I raced down a hill to the station. I was so furious as I locked my breaks and slid towards him I cursed at the top of my lungs.
Several other pedestrians witnessing his madness joined me in my futile ravings. This incident led both Andrew and me to the conclusion that the automobile should be deemed illegal in Poland and that everyone should be forced to take public transportation, walk or ride a bike. Getting to Krakow was to be an ordeal from the start. None of the agents nor the information counter spoke English nor were they very patient with our few words of Polish (consisting mainly of town names) and gesticulation. Seeing the ridiculousness of our predicament, a youngster who spoke English beautifully volunteered to act as translator.
Even after this good Samaritan's effort we managed to miss our train. While we waited on the platform a notice announcing that the train would be ten minutes late was displayed on the quay's information screen. At my suggestion Andy happily went off to find us a second coffee and a snack for the train. Just after he ordered coffee the train rolled into the station. I ran to find Andy and we made it back to the platform just in time to watch our train depart without us. Despondently I trudged back to the ticket windows to try a second time to play charades with the rail staff.
Already tired of my antics, but understanding (and laughing about) our situation the information clerk grimaced and gave me the time of the next train. Her facial expression left me wondering if she'd lead me to the platform by the hand and put me on it herself. Regrettably she sent me off to brave the Polish transportation system on my own. This time we'd have to change trains two times instead of once. Our first train seemed to stop every two hundred yards at stations that had more grass than people on the platforms. One phenomenon we've not been able to understand on these small and slow trains is why so many people opt to stay in the baggage cars and drink profusely.
I'm not so worried that they'll steal anything from the bikes as barf on them. While I wasn't watching our bikes to make sure that they were not mistaken for \"in-flight\" bags I gazed out the window. The terrain seemed to change from gently rolling to roller-coaster, from occasional forested patches to mostly wooded with some pastures. Our first transfer put us on a more traditional European style train with compartments. We sat in a car with an older man who looked like my grandpa Jack (long deceased). We were eating chocolate cookies and I shared them with him. We'd been told to place our bikes in the end of the last car near the door since this train had no drunk's baggage area.
There they substantially blocked entry and exit which would not normally be problematic. The train was an enormous and nearly empty. Yet everyone wanted to exit and enter at the door near our bikes, each time risking that Andy's bike would roll out the door onto them on the platform and crush them to death. When I went to the bathroom at the other end of the car I got some idea why there was more traffic than normal through \"our\" door. A huge and sour-smelling woman was blocking the door to the train and the toilet at the other end of the car.
She and her enormous box made it nearly impossible to get to the toilet. I finally slid by her and recall trying to decide which smelled worse, her or the lavatory. When my Grandpa Jack look-a-like stood up to exit the train I grabbed his suitcase and helped him hoist it over our bikes and handed it to him on the platform. He slammed the door and waved goodbye. When I returned to our compartment I noticed he'd left his shopping bag. I grabbed it and ran back to the door that was hopelessly stuck. I tugged at it and yelled to the old man helplessly through the closed door and window.
When Andy and I finally wedged the door open, the train made a warning signal and lurched forward. The bag contained two loaves of bread and some vegetables. I couldn't help but imagine the poor old dude's empty and growling stomach. When we finally arrived in Krakow we were cursed by the conductors for trying to cross the tracks with our bikes. There was, after all, an unmarked ramp nearly a kilometer up the platform. After exiting transit hell, a short ride in the mist through the old town led us to our hotel. There we gladly soaked ourselves in a hot shower before seeking our first meal of the day.
A pizza the size of a trash can lid did the trick for me. A quick spin around the center confirmed my memory of Krakow as one of the great cities of Europe. Great examples of architecture from every era of the city astounded us at every turn. I was unfathomably impressed by how well scaled the old city was for pedestrians and relieved by how little traffic there was. The streets burble with the voices of people out for wild time on a Saturday night instead of ringing with the screaming of tires and engines. The center square is among the most impressive I've ever seen.
At 200m x 200m it stands as one of the largest and liveliest I've been in. Arcades and cafés ring the square and the central market building that sits in the middle. Crowds of weekenders wander about and listen to music, reveling in the town's energy. All this in a heavy mist! Imagine what must happen here when the weather is accommodating?