KRAKOWSKI, POLANDSKI

I love the Polish habit of addiing 'ski' onto nearly everything... I find out just exactly how widespread this habit is as soon as I arrive to my hostel; within an hour I find myself being asked 'Sharonski, would you likeski some vodski?' and wellski, how can I say no-ski?
(Actually it was a Glaswegian guy that asked me this, so obviously it's a thing travellers latch onto... anyway, the vodka was much appreciated I must say, think I must have Polish blood...). It's a great welcome to the country, almost a rite of initiation, even if I have been planning on detoxing rather than partying here. Wrong choice of city for that, girl!

Krakow really is my kind of place. Not as big as London, Budapest or Paris, but not so small that there's nothing going on - in fact, it FEELS like it's about the same same size as Edinburgh, so it's no wonder I like it so much...

I'm struck by its beauty as soon as I arrive from Bratislava at 9 p.m on a Sunday. I walk to Rynek Glowny gazing at all the beautiful architecture towering around and above me. The first hostel I stay at (before moving to MomoTown in Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter) is situated in this huge and majestic square filled with buskers and human statues by day, so it's here I venture first thing the follwoing morning after sleeping off the effects of some very good Polish vodski and eating a very good breakfast at one of the many 'wegetarianski' restaurants in town (hoorayski!)

Busking here feels strange to begin with. Usually a big square is a great place to begin busking, but here, both tourists and locals are passing by too fast to stop or even look in my direction and I find myself expending a lot of energy just trying to be heard. Thus begins a bit of a 'stop start' busking session - I end up playing a few songs in different locations around the square and surrounding streets for a few meagre coins, always moving on in search of an ever-elusive peaceful place to play.

Four spots on it's still eluding me, although I do find myself being recorded by a smartly dressed woman who's waving a big red microphone in my face. Turns out she works for local radio, and after she's recorded me singing a Simon and Garfunkel song (the beautiful 'Kathy's Song') she asks me my favourite thing about Krakow. Unfortunately, I've only been here since last night and have only seen the square, so that's all I can say - it doesn't feel right somehow to say my favourite thing about her city is vodka, this being the only other Polish thing I've experienced at this point. Anyway, she records me singing another song and then bids me farewell after her partner in crime takes a photo of the scene.

I give up busking in the day time as it seems there's really nothin' doin'. Night time proves to be much more successful, and I play on the famous Florianska street. I move around a bit, but mostly I deposit myself beneath an archway with gorgeous acoustics. My first evening venture goes well, but unfortunalty after this it happens to be raining whenever I go out, so my busking sessions are a bit ad hoc.

One rainy evening I'm singing away beneath the arch as it's the only shelter around, when I'm asked by a tall dude in black jeans, a hoody and a Metallica shirt if I know any Janis Joplin. I sing 'Mercedez Benz' for him and his friends; I love this song and have actually never thought to busk with it, but he loves it, so I play 'Nothing Else Matters' for him just to finish off. The two girls he's hanging out with request Nirvana so we have a good little singalong before it finally gets too cold for me to carry on playing. My fingers near frozen, I begin the walk home about thirty Zloty richer - not enough for a hostel bed but enough for a few good vegie meals, so I'm satisfied.

As I sit writing this today, it is actually wonderful and sunny outside, so perhaps tonight (a Friday!) I'll have more success on Florianska ulca... Whatever the success of my busking pursuits, I know that I love Krakow - the wonderful district of Kazimierz with its bohemian bars in which a new friend and I proceed to drink vodski until closing time, and its shanti crumbling streets exemplifying the quiet pace of this small city. It's in one of these bars that I hear about the death of Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin, and I just won't believe it at first, mostly I think because I feel I'm in such a distant world, almost an unreal kind of place where real life doesn't intrude. It makes me wonder what's happening in my part of the world; a factor which I must admit hasn't occupied me much lately.

I decide to stay another couple of days and release my expectations of having much of a busking income - in such a poor country that has been so pillaged in so many ways, this seems a fair enough sacrifice. As I stay here longer I fall in love with the Polish friendliness and ability to simply get on with things despite all that these beautiful lands have suffered. One gloomy day I visit Auschwitz; an intensely moving experience to say the least and come back into town kind of silent... sombre... wondering how such a thing could actually have happened in such a place.

It's unfortunate I haven't given myself enough timeski to visit the rest of Poland. I do feel like it's a place I'll be back to though; I will eventually be spending at least a week in Krakow alone, but I am happy with this decision as it's just too good a city to try and rush.