Drunk Like A Polish Guy - Lookin For John Fairweather - CycleBlaze

October 19, 2013

Drunk Like A Polish Guy

Late up and feeling hungover. Took a while sitting over coffee to feel well enough to do anything. Consequently it was late before my day began.

Carolina was receptionist this morning, a lot more pleasant than Sebastian, though she let me know that the hostel is fully-booked tonight and I would have to find alternative accommodation.

I go to a hostel in the same street where I stayed one other night. The same nice receptionist is there today and she puts me in the same room as last time. I hope she comes and sits on the side of the bed in the morning like last week, leaning over me to wake me up; when, it had passed the ten o'clock checkout time and I was still asleep.

Looking in the mirror back at the other hostel, its time I had a hair-cut. I ask Carolina where is there a barber shop. She couldn't help. She said hair-cuts are expensive, costing in the region of fifty Zlotys (£10).

I walk to the usual café for lunch. There's a big queue waiting to be served. when its my turn, I have pork with mashed potatoes and a red cabbage salad, and vegetable soup. I take a seat by the window where there's a middle aged Spanish couple at the table next me. They are talking fast and it's only possible to follow part of what they're saying.

From the café, I walk west of the city-centre, hoping to find the street with a cloths market as Is thinking of buying a tee-shirt and also, find a barber shop. Walking along a big road, I see the way I'll leave the city. I checked the long term weather earlier. Monday is to be wet, then the rest of the week is sunshine with highs of eighteen like today, a golden indian Summer day. As I walk along I've that fizzy joy that comes after a night drinking a lot of beer.

I miss the street that the market is on and soon I'm in a city park. I wish I had my camera with me, but often it is better not taking photos, instead, look and enjoy the nature; the golden leaves carpeting the ground everywhere; the tree trunks angle in elegant symmetrical patterns; the red and gold leaves that have yet to fall. There's children on the climbing frame in the playground. There are young couples walking holding hands. And there's a boy walking a tight-rope suspended between two trees.

I walk out the other side and enter a neighbourhood of tenement-blocks with shops at street level. I'm still looking for a barbershop. Soon I'm lost. I pass a grocery shop, a shop with scissors on the sign, a place to buy fabrics, not for cutting hair. I'm about to give up on getting a hair-cut when, I pass by a hairdressing salon and pause. The one customer is removing the apron when I enter and there is no other customers waiting.

The customer pays and leaves and the hairdresser addresses me "Prozja....." she doesn't speak any English so I've to practice with the few words I have, that and a lot of sign language. She takes from the till a twenty Zloty bill to show how much it'll cost which is a lot cheaper than what Carolina told me earlier.

"True cut!" she says when I motion with a closed hand in imitation of clippers. She's attractive and blond and in her thirties and as there's still no customers when we finish, I try keeping a chat going with her. Her name is Zenya and she says something which I guest is her asking where I'm from. I'm right and I tell her. But the lack of common language means we are soon just standing smiling at each other.

I am out in the street again, walking enjoying fall's golden sunshine and, I'm still lost. I see a wide street ahead with trams passing, so I make for it and turn left, knowing that the trams will be going to the centre.

I am soon back in a familiar street and see the Wavel castle ahead. I cross the main square and make for Kazimeirz, to the square with cafes with pavement-seating all along one side. There's a loud group of young Irishmen around two tables pushed together. One shouts out "Ay whas on fire last-nite!" I take a seat at a safe distance further along. I watch one dance about in the street with a phone pressed to the side of his face, trying to get a signal; when he does he shouts "We're in the square! Which square er you in?"

I order a café and write notes for this journal. Last night someone told me there's a saying in Poland, "Drunk like a Polish guy"; they explained its meaning: Polish guys drink a lot at any time of day, but don't seem to let it interfere with there day.

I retraced my steps on Sunday afternoon.
Heart 0 Comment 0
Heart 0 Comment 0
Heart 0 Comment 0
Heart 1 Comment 0
Heart 0 Comment 0
Heart 0 Comment 0
Rate this entry's writing Heart 1
Comment on this entry Comment 0