Two On Tour

Enough of city life! We’re both ready for the country.

Wednesday 18 June

Our train to Zakopane leaves Krakow shortly after noon. We’re travelling in one of those eight-seat cabins with an adjoining corridor running the length of the carriage. Fortunately, the luggage racks are a generous size, if rather high. I somehow manage to haul our hefty suitcases onto them.

We’re sharing the cabin with four others. Next to us, and largely out of view, are a mother with a young (but mercifully quiet) daughter. Across from us in the window seat is a young woman clutching a large soft toy, and directly opposite us is a bookish twenty-something woman dressed in black. She later turns out to speak fluent English when, just before we reach Zakopane, she politely declines my offer of a McVitie’s dark choclate digestive.

Zakopane is less than 100km from Karakow, but it feels much further. The train isn’t in a rush. It meanders through the rolling summer countryside and loiters at a series of small town stations. For most of the journey I’m preoccupied organising photos and posting a Facebook update. When I finally look up and start paying attention, I can see the Tatra Mountains towering in the distance, marking the end of Poland.

We chug into Zakopane shortly after three on a balmy summer afternoon. We’ve been riding in the rear carriage of the train, so immediately find ourselves entangled with hundreds of other suitcase-wheeling passengers shuffling off the station concourse. Our Airbnb is just three minutes on foot. We’re soon inside and weighing up its relative merits. It’s spacious, bright and well-equipped, but we’re not sure about the ‘rustic’ touches — they look like the owner got bored renovating and left it unfinished. But this is a minor quibble. It’s good to be in a compact town in a fabulous natural setting, and finally out of the big city. And it’s wonderful to be able to shower standing up for the first time in a month.

After settling in, we head out to the local Biedronka supermarket for groceries. It’s packed. I haven’t seen people fighting for space inside a supermarket like this anywhere outside Hong Kong. With our trolley, we alternate between jostling for position with other customers and deferring to the supermarket staff attempting to manoeuvre pallets of stock through the narrow aisles.

We’re not in a rush to explore Zakopane. We’ve been busy every day for nearly two weeks. Now we just want to kick back until we join Kasia for hiking adventures next week. There’s a sushi restaurant no more than two mintes from the flat – perfect. It’s almost empty, but the food is first-class.

Thursday 19 June

It’s been more than two weeks since we took a day to simply recharge and catch up on admin. Today is a day for just that. We leave the flat only to grab more groceries, only to discover that today is Corpus Christi — an important Catholic holiday. The supermarkets are closed. Now we understand why everyone was shopping yesterday as if there were no tomorrow. Fortunately, a convenience store is nearby — and it’s open. Tonight’s chicken drumsticks will have to be replaced by cheap chicken sausages, but we won’t starve. Otherwise, today passes peacefully in the flat: admin, Spanish, and reading.

In the evening, we watch a new Netflix documentary about the Titan submersible that imploded at the wreck of the Titanic two years ago. In this telling, the disaster was a mathematical certainty — a question of when, not if. The blame is laid firmly on Oceangate CEO Stockton Rush. Frankly, it seems a shame that he wasn’t alone in the submersible when it imploded.

Friday 20 June

Today should be a second day of little more than relaxing. It starts well enough when I take a short early morning stroll around our corner of Zakopane in crisply cool sunshine. But when I open my laptop after breakfast, I find yet more work in my inbox. This is nothing to grumble about; it’s just unexpected and forces me to postpone various admin today. I’m also less than happy that my health insurance premium has shot up 30% for the coming year. That works out at 15% a year over the two years I’ve been with AIA. And I haven’t even made a claim. This is clearly unsustainable. I’m following up.

Things look up in the afternoon, when we stroll into the town centre. Zakopane is a truly handsome place. The graceful old wooden houses built in the traditional, decorative Zakopane style sit side by side with newer houses refreshingly built in the same style. An eastern European town would be hard pushed to harbour less evidence of forty years of Communist rule.

The main street is pedestrianised, and on this long public holiday weekend it’s thronged. We potter happily, enjoying the almost festive atmosphere. There’s a buzzing sense that everyone’s here to enjoy a relaxing weekend, and there’s little sign of foreign tourists (there must be some). We eventually settle at an upstairs cafe with a terrace looking out to a commanding view of the Tatra Mountains. I order the cafe’s speciality tea, which arrives in a pint glass with a sprig of rosemary. It’s bright red, and delicious — as is the apple pie with whipped cream.

It’s already half five, and we’re both full after that hunk of apple pie. Back in the flat, it’s too early to start thinking about dinner. Instead, I sink into the sofa, plug my headphones into my iPad, and spend an hour listening properly to my latest 2025 tunes: checking the lyrics and videos to songs by Little Simz, Loyle Carner and CMAT. This is how I imagined semi-retired life to be, but it’s so rarely worked out this way.

Saturday 21 June

It’s officially summer. In Zakopane, it’s a beautiful bright blue, but temperate day — enough warm sunshine to dry our clothes on the balcony, but cool enough to wear long sleeves when we visit the supermarket to stock up for next week in Kiry. After squeezing several cartons of yoghurt into my already-full backpack, it’s so crammed that I’m forced to walk back to the flat robotically upright as its contents press into my back.

As the sun dips, we amble through the park towards the town centre to join thousands of others parading on Zakopane’s main drag. We’re looking for a suitable restaurant. Several offer live hokey mountain music — we opt to avoid these and settle ourselves at an outside table offering a good view of the passing weekenders. It’s a chilled vibe on a perfect summer evening, with excellent food and beer.

This reverie is slightly spoiled when I’m somehow charged at a marked-up exchange rate despite being certain I opted to pay in Polish zloty when I touched the screen of the card reader. K has retail experience: she says the machines use heat sensors to locate where a finger makes contact with the screen (which explains why they don’t work if you wear gloves). Perhaps my finger was too close to the Hong Kong dollar option, and a poorly calibrated machine misread my currency option? It’s only cost us an extra HK$50. But it bugs me all the same.

Sunday 22 June

Kasia collects us from our Airbnb in Zakopane and drives us the short distance to our guesthouse in nearby Kiry. The crowds in the Tatras this weekend are evident now: the traffic is bumper-to-bumper most of the way to Kiry. When we arrive, the village appears to be one big overflowing parking lot.

The guesthouse is a typical handsome, wooden, Zakopane-style structure. When we’ve unloaded a week’s worth of groceries that now occupy most of the shared kitchen area, Kasia leaves us to settle in while she returns to Zakopane to collect Matthew and his Hong Kong friend Mitch. We wander to a nearby restaurant for a bowl of delicious sour-rye zurek soup.

Back at the guest house, I find myself dozing while the much-anticipated new Pulp album drifts from our portable speaker. At five sharp the five of us, plus Kasia’s dad Włodek — he’s staying just up the road, where he’s organising his annual electronic engineering conference — assemble for an introductory amble up the valley leading out of Kiry deep into the Tatras. As we enter the national park, a shepherd is herding a flock of fifty or sixty shaggy sheep into a pasture. In the golden evening light, it’s a perfect scene.

We walk up the valley. At this late hour, we’re the only ones heading into the park, while hundreds of returning hikers pass us on their way back to the village. Włodek is determined to explain his history of organising his conference in the Tatras every year for over forty years. His English is good and I’m politely all ears, but I’m also trying to pay attention to the magnificent limestone cliffs lining both sides of the valley — the warm evening sunlight illuminating them in all their glory. Unfortunately, this part of the park will be closed from tomorrow to install fibre optic cables up the valley. We won’t be coming this way again.

Włodek has a dinner appointment, so we turn round and return to a far less car-infested village. We sit on the balcony getting to know Matthew (19) and Mitch (20). I thought we were getting along famously, but they soon skulk off and leave us three Gen Xers to ourselves. Kasia discusses hiking routes. We defer to her. Let’s see how tomorrow pans out.

Monday 23 June

Kasia has an ‘introductory’ hike in mind for us. It’s spectacular, but it’s 15km of often tough walking with a 650m elevation gain, which takes us up to within view of the Tatras’ highest peaks.

It starts easily enough, with a stroll through a wildflower-strewn meadow at the bottom of a valley. But it soon gets tougher as we trudge relentlesly up for two hours. The path is busy — and this is just a regular Monday. (The high season isn’t far off, but it’s not quite here yet.) Dozens of fitter hikers pass us as we pause every few minutes to catch our breath.

But it’s entirely worth it. We eventually emerge over a crest to find ourselves quite suddenly in the alpine uplands:

Our lunch stop, a bustling shelter/cafe, comes as a welcome relief. K and I settle down to our sensible packed lunches, while Matthew tears into a pizza, and Mitch attacks a plate of chicken and chips.

Kasia is keen to press on, up to a mountain lake the best part of hour higher up the track. But the forecast is for thunderstorms later — and dark clouds are already gathering over the highest ground. I’m relieved when Kasia accepts that it’s more prudent to turn around. We gingerly descend back to the valley floor 650m below. It’s been a spectacular hike, but we can’t possibly maintain this pace the rest of the week.

Back at the guest house, we all tuck into a simple comforting supper of pasta and tomato sauce:

Matthew and Mitch are already getting bored, so Kasia offers to take them out for a beer — they appear to require constant supervision. I join Kasia and the boys, while K dozes. By nine, all five of us are already in our rooms, bushwhacked.

Tuesday 24 June

After yesterday’s 15km quest up to the alpine meadows, both of us are tired and sore today. It’s been more than three years since we hiked as ambitiously as yesterday. So, we let Kasia, Matthew and Mitch do their own thing, while we resolve to enjoy a quiet day. The furthest I venture is a few minutes down the road to get some afternoon air, while K nestles in the room.

In the evening, we’re all invited to a barbeque hosted by Włodek’s conference. As the late sun turns everything golden, we’re treated to half an hour of hokey dancing by the local teenagers and pre-teenagers in brightly coloured traditional costumes. The hotel car park is perhaps not the most enticing venue, but it’s outdoors, and it’s a fine evening. The boys get all the complicated Michael Jackson moves, while the girls mostly have little more to do than to jig a bit with their hands on their hips. But it’s diverting enough.

After half an hour of folksy entertainment, everyone’s ready for the barbeque. We tuck into perfectly cooked sausages, pork steaks, and baked potatoes lashed with mustard and ketchup, all washed down with invigorating Okocim beer. But the evening is cooling quickly. It may be the height of summer, but a chill wind is blowing across the village tonight. We stay long enough to be polite, but all five of us take our leave before darkness finally settles.

Wednesday 25 June

We’re up early for the conference’s big day out. (Academic conferences in Hong Kong were never this relaxed, or indeed this much fun!) Shortly after eight, we’re on a coach heading east towards today’s attractions. Our first stop is a brand-new skywalk that purportedly offers magnificent 360-degree views of the Tatras and their hinterland. ‘Purportedly’ because before we can enter, an argument develops between our coach party and the skywalk management, who insist we’ve parked illegally. Rather than move the coach a couple of minutes down the road, we snort, clamber back onto the bus, and head for our next destination. Apparently, Poles don’t do compromise.

Our next stop is the Dunajec River Gorge, another hour to the east. Here, we board 12-person rafts and are punted 18km downriver by a two-man crew. For much of the ride, the river marks the border with Slovakia: others out on the river in canoes and kayaks return to the Slovak bank as we pass a small Slovakian settlement.

The river alternates between smooth, placid stretches, and foaming, fast-moving stretches — not exactly rapids, but rough enough to bounce the raft around and cause me to wonder if my phone should perhaps be in a sealed plastic bag. (I decide to trust our punting team). The limestone gorge is frequently stunning: the cliffs are mostly on the Polish side, while the Slovak side gives way to a steep forested bank along which a popular cycle path runs.

After two hours we reach our destination at Szczawinca and finally remove our backsides from what have for some time become uncomfortably hard seats. Lunch completed, we’re whisked off to our next mission: climbing the Three Crowns, a standalone massif of the Pieniny Mountains rising some 500m above the surrounding countryside. The summit looks daunting, especially given that it’s already gone half three when we start climbing.

It takes our small party of ten — others are climbing via a more challenging route, while yet others have gone to a nearby castle — two hours to reach the summit via a steep zig-zag path through the forest. Near the summit, the path occasionally gives way to patches of open meadow offering stunning views. The final push to the summit is via a narrow steel walkway leading to a windy but spectacular viewing platform hanging over a 500m precipice with a near perfect view of the Dunajec river gorge, the Pieniny National Park and, in the distance, the Tatra mountains. This is what full-time travel is about — it’s all good, but extraordinary moments like this are fleeting.

It’s a long march down to the coach, but it soon passes in conversation with Kasia. Halfway down we encounter a wretched, half-dead, baby fox lying in leaf litter just off the path. It’s covered in fat, swarming flies and is a truly pitiful sight. It can clearly see us and makes a Herculean effort to run to safety. It manages two or three paces before it collapses and the flies descend again. There’s nothing we can do.

An hour on the coach delivers us back to Kiry, via Zakopane. After the tiny settlements we’ve become used to this week, Zakopane already feels like the big smoke. We arrive back at our guest house at twilight and immediately set to work fixing a big saucepan of pasta with pesto.

Thursday 26 June

Kasia’s keen for us to get out for another hike, but K is too whacked from yesterday’s conquest of the Three Crowns, and I need to work for a large part of the day. We opt for a quiet one.

The evening is another matter: today is Matthew’s 20th birthday. Together with Włodek, we drive a few minutes down the valley to an impressive thermal bath complex. It’s on an entirely different scale to the thermal baths we visited in Budapest a few weeks ago. And of course it’s built in the graceful, ornate timber Zakopane style.

We wallow in the many pools a few minutes at a time. The two largest pools are outdoors, with magnificent views of the Tatras. On this balmy midsummer evening, it’s pleasantly busy without feeling crowded. The clientele appears to be overwhelmingly Polish, although Kasia will swear the following day she heard several other languages being spoken.

We emerge just before closing time, thoroughly refreshed and relaxed. Together with the remaining stragglers exiting at the last possible minute, we scramble to pass through the turnstile before ten to avoid a late checkout penalty.

Friday 27 June

For our final full day in the Tatras, Kasia drives the five of us over the nearby border into Slovakia. As soon as we cross the border, the ornamental wooden buildings of the Polish Tatras disappear and are replaced by generic structures — not exactly ugly, but plain and functional. The Slovakian roads are also more rudimentary: frequently patched up and bumpy. We both have a sense of being back in Bulgaria.

Our first stop in Slovakia is a 900-year-old Romanesque castle perched high on a rocky outcrop outside the town of Dolny Kubin. We spend two hours gradually making our way up to the oldest and most precipitous part of the castle through the usual displays of armour and weaponry, costumes and jewellery — mildly diverting but hardly mind-blowing. The oldest and highest part includes a small exhibition of movies filmed on location at the castle. I’m immeasurably thrilled to discover that standing out among the fairy tales and fantasy genre movies is Nosferatu, daddy of all horror films. This alone makes visiting worthwhile.

Back on firm ground, we find a nearby pizzeria with a striking view of the castle and settle down for lunch.

Next, we’re off to a supposedly ice-filled cave an hour deeper into Slovakia. Unexpectedly, the ticket office is a 20-minute climb from the car park, which means we’re too late for the two o’clock tour. But it’s not a bad spot to while away 45 minutes waiting for the ticket office to reopen for the three o’clock tour:

Our tickets come with an information sheet printed in English, from which we learn no ice remains in the ‘ice cave’ — it’s all succumbed to global warming. The limestone cave turns out to be another pleasant enough diversion, most notable for being decidedly chilly. The ice may be gone, but towards the end of the tour — in Slovakian, naturally enough — I feel cold enough to pull on my winter jacket, which I’ve sensibly stuffed into my backpack.

Kasia titters at the odd Slovakian vocabulary. Slovakian and Polish are apparently largely mutually intelligible, but the occasional word can sound completely nonsensical: ‘Mind your head’ in Polish is ‘False impression your head’ in Slovakian — at least to Polish ears.

All of us passengers doze as Kasia drives us back over the Tatras into Poland. All those pizza carbs are catching up with us. The moment we cross the border, everything is immediately charming and pretty once again. K and I have used up all our fresh groceries, so we head out for a bowl of soup and an adult refreshment before returning to the guest house to pack.

It’s been a much-needed break from city life. We couldn’t easily have managed any of this without Kasia’s local knowledge. On to Warsaw next, and more welcome Polish hospitality.