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Parts of our trip to Poland were indeed harrowing (see previous post here), but much of it was hugely enjoyable. Named one of the most beautiful cities in Europe by Conde Nast, Krakow is a delight. The picture-perfect Old Town has a mediaeval market square, a castle overlooking the river, quaint courtyards and cobbled thoroughfares. Oh yes, and just about everyone under the age of fifty speaks English, which was very helpful because neither of us speak Polish. Plus the food is wonderful, and the majority of menus are written in Polish and English.
Preparations for World Youth Day and a visit from Pope Francis were in full swing when we arrived. A countdown clock in the city centre was counting down the days and hours until the event and Cracovians were gearing up for a large influx of visitors. By the time you read this World Youth Day will be over and no doubt the cleaning up will be well underway. Evening in Main Market Square, to the left is St. Mary's Church with its towers of different types and appearances and beside it St. Adalbert's Church.
The loftier Hejnalica tower is 81 m tall, while its companion bell tower rises to 69 m. Every hour on the hour, a bugler sounds the “Hejnal” bugle-call from the west window just below the spire of the higher tower. Next the same bugle call is played towards the east, the south and the north but each time the melody ends abruptly.
The Henjal, dates back to the Middle Ages when it was played to announce the opening and closing of the city gates. The bugler also played to alarm his fellow citizens whenever he saw a fire or an enemy approaching. The abrupt ending is said to commemorate a trumpeter from Krakow who was shot through the throat by a Tatar archer in 1241 when the Mongols besieged the city. The imposing interior of St. Mary's with its nave and two aisles; in the background is the pentaptych alter by Veit Stoss.
The market square and the streets around it are always busy;
We didn't take many photos of ourselves, but these two should make you smile. I’m not sure why this chap decided to dress me up in his hat and sword, but I got off lightly compared to Terry!
I’ve done lots of reading over the last few weeks, mostly thanks to recommendations from other book bloggers and my local Waterstones. If you want to find out more about any of these, please follow the links.
In a dark dark wood a wonderful debut novel from author Ruth Ware: Review by Curious Ginger Cat
Bloom of youth by Rachel Anderson: This was a spur-of-the-moment charity shop buy which I love. It's funny and yet melancholic and very much of my era set as it is in the 1950s. Ruth and her older sister Mary struggle with the chaos of their parents' attempts to support five children by renting a rambling country house and running it as a holiday home for children. When their father dies, their increasingly desperate mother turns her efforts to the two hapless girls. Eager to marry them off, she plunges them into dancing classes and presentation at Buckingham Palace as phoney under-age debutantes. There are two more books in the series, both now added to my must-read list.
Black eyed Susans by Julia Heaberlin a dazzling psychological thriller, shocking, intense and utterly original. Lit Lovers
84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff: A series of letters sent by Helene Hanff to the staff at Marks & Co, Booksellers in London and their replies to her. I loved it! Reviews at Goodreads
The shepherd's life by James Rebanks: My favourite book of the year so far recommended by my local Waterstones and reviewed by Mark Avery
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks for your company. Just one more holiday snap before I go...
This photograph only came about because I was fascinated by what appeared to be a tiny house dwarfed by a factory or office complex. The larger building is constructed in such a way that it straddles the smaller one. Even odder is the upside-down pig in the centre of the Wisla (Vistula) river. A local tour guide had no idea of its meaning, but an online search revealed the following;
"Mateusz Okonski, a Krakow-based artist, issued a challenge to his city's inhabitants - instead of following the local "tradition" and putting up another horrid monument, he offered a realistic sculpture presenting a dead boar at the stake. He located it in a place full of various meanings: in the vicinity of national sanctities - St. Stanislaus Church at Skalka and the church at Wawel, between two former abodes of the Jewish population - Kazimierz and Podgórze, in the area of the former municipal slaughter-house, which is currently a shopping gallery, on the water that purifies both literally and metaphorically and evokes the topic of passing and change and, finally, on the concrete pillar of the Wanda well, which was a water intake for the formerly existing power plant".
That last piece of information answered the question about the origin of the building, and this confirmed it;
Situated on the banks of the Vistula‚ just above the embankment wall‚ Cricoteka does not try to blend in with its neighbourhood nor gently catch the eye of passers-by. Indeed‚ it stands out like a strange theatrical prop that’s landed on the riverbank as part of a performance. One prerequisite of the original architectural competition was that an existing power station on the site should be adapted and integrated with the new structure. So the architects designed their new building to stretch over the old‚ like a table on two legs‚ with a hole cut through it for the latter’s chimney to poke through. This design was inspired by artist Tadeusz Kantor’s drawing of a bent man carrying a table on his back and his idea of an object or work of art integrated with a human body. via Uncube Magazine Blog
So there you have it!
Next week I will be sharing a delightful guest post by Dagny McKinley.
Hello, I’m back from my break and looking forward to catching up with you all. If you have a question or would like to leave a comment, please do, I love to hear from you.
Taking a blogging break gave me the opportunity to read some of the books I've accumulated over the last few years. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately I can never resist buying more so the size of my must-read pile remains virtually unchanged! One new book on the list is The Kracow Ghetto Pharmacy by Tadeusz Pankiewicz. I heard about it on a recent trip to Poland and was lucky enough to find a copy at The Oskar Schindler Factory Museum (Fabryka Schindlera). Tadeusz Pankiewicz was the only Pole living and working in the Kracow Ghetto from its inception to its liquidation. I’m sure it won’t be an easy read but when was anything worthwhile ever easy? Having seen the remnants of the ghetto walls and visited Auschwitz and Birkenau the Holocaust is uppermost in my mind.
This is the entrance to Auschwitz with the words “arbeit macht frei” which translated means “work will set you free."
According to the BBC historian Laurence Rees the sign was erected by order of Commandant Rudolf Höss. Made by prisoner-labourers the sign features an upside-down B, which has been interpreted as an act of defiance. We thought we were ready for Auschwitz, but nothing prepared us for the overwhelming sense of sadness that prevails. The feeling of the place seeps into your bones and will not be left behind.
The complex is divided into three major camps: Auschwitz I, Auschwitz II-Birkenau, Auschwitz III-Monowitz and several sub-camps. During the Holocaust gas chambers using Zyklon-B claimed the lives of roughly one million people. Most of the victims were Jews, and the majority killed in this way died at Auschwitz II-Birkenau.
Auschwitz III provided slave labour for the I G Farben plant founded at Auschwitz in 1940. Farben produced synthetic rubber, along with high-performance fuels, various plastics, methanol, nitrogen and pharmaceuticals. The Zyklon B gas used in the gas chambers was produced by Degesch a subsidiary of I G Farben.
Auschwitz II - Birkenau
Entrance to the infamous Auschwitz - Birkenea death camp.
Several of the buildings have been converted from barracks into museum rooms. The rooms are used to house the "Material Evidence of Crime." This consists of piles of shoes, glasses, suitcases, kitchen utensils and the most chilling of all human hair. The Nazis not only murdered millions of men, women and children, they also "harvested" some of the remains. In the early nineteen-forties, a brisk trade emerged between the death camps, and German felt and textile manufacturers who used the hair in the production of thread, rope, cloth, carpets, mattress stuffing, and felt insulators for the boots of railroad workers. According to historians, it's quite possible some of the products are still in use in German homes today. Auschwitz I
The collection of shoes is possibly one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. Most are in the same dark grey colour, but a few are made from red leather, a poignant reminder of the red coat worn by the little girl in the film Schindler’s list. The guide who accompanied us around the museum said it will soon be 'updated' with new interactive exhibits. I’m not so sure that is a good idea. At the moment it is a stark reminder of just what humans are capable of and maybe it needs to remain that way. Shoes and clothing of prisoners found at Auschwitz-Birkenau
Photo Credit: US Holocaust Memorial Museum
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you are planning a visit to Auschwitz expect a tough day in more ways than one. Don’t assume you will find wheelchair access or level paths because you won’t. The site is not disabled friendly. It is also far larger than I ever imagined, and the only way to see it is to walk. We didn't find it too much of a problem, but if you have difficulty getting around do check before finalising any arrangements.
I'm sorry this is a sad post, especially as it’s the first one for a while. I promise the next one will be more cheerful
Not long ago, in Krakow, I discovered the living legacy of Pope John Paul II. I reflect on that, and on the anticipated arrival of Pope Francis to Philadelphia, in today's
Philadelphia Inquirer. The story can be found
here.With thanks, as always, to Kevin Ferris and the thoughtful design team at the
Inquirer. And with thanks to dear Karolina, whose impassioned stories about her childhood home, Krakow, led me across the waters to that beautiful city. And with thanks to Philadelphia, this city that I
love.
By:
Beth Kephart ,
on 6/23/2015
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On another rainy day in Krakow we slipped inside a miniature palace of books. I could have stayed the entire day. I don't know a word of Polish. I didn't know these authors. But the art, the bindings, the printing—it was like stepping back into that time when my mother tucked herself behind a couch and put on puppet shows. It was like sitting with my uncle as he made his fabulous Victorian ornaments—velvet ribbons, pearls, scrapbook faces.
That kind of richness of escape into other worlds.
The store itself, called Bona, was located just down the road from Wawel Castle, but it wasn't a place for tourists. There were pastries in the back, a winding staircase to a stone-faced exhibition room, a reading lounge, and a young woman with impeccable English who helped me understand where Poland is just now, as a reading country. Illustrated picture books like the one I bought, above, exude, she said, a timelessness and also an agelessness; adults find one thing in the story and children another. Young adult books have not yet reached the popularity they have here in the states, perhaps because adults read novels written for adults or spend time with these glorious art-infused picture books. And paper books—the tangible, shelf-able kind—remain a towering favorite, both because of the quality of the art and because digital reading devices can cost up to half a young person's monthly salary.
The number of books in the store wasn't huge. The quality, however, was. It took a long time for me to choose this one, and then another little bit to choose the book I brought home for my friend Karolina, whose stories of a Krakow childhood had brought me to her country in the first place.
This girl on Florianska Street in Krakow, Poland—this girl is loving something. Swooning behind her heavy, lidded eyes. Creating—or recreating—an embrace. What is happening inside her platinum head? Can she ever really tell us?
Love looks like many things. Love takes a fraction of a second to say and a library's worth of fine books to partly parse. In
Kissing in America, Margo Rabb's poetry-riveted novel for young adults, love presents and perpetuates itself in ways both surprising and true.
We think, as we begin, that we are setting out on a journey that will unite the perfect boy with the perfect girl, which is to say two young people whose personal tragedies and imperfections make them deliciously right for one another. Eva, an east coaster, is mourning the loss of her father and the emotional distance of her mother. Will has moved out west to escape his own mother's bankruptcy—and to try to overcome the estrangement with his father. With her genius friend, Eva concocts a scheme that will deliver her to Will's west-coast doorstep. What happens next will teach her lessons she could not have foreseen.
It is a winsome, winning tale—full of Margo's trademark humor and linguistic dignity. It is a story of nuance, of character shades, of a heart pattering and yearning, of a mind settling into a truth. How do we love, and how do we grieve?
Kissing in America is a romance of ideas.
Among the many stories I want to tell about Krakow is the story of that one solitary day in which the sun shone on the main square (Ryneck Glowny), the largest public square in Europe. It is the sort of place where universities showcase their academic wares, kielbasa is fried to perfection, lace makers make their lace, president-elects stump on the eve of their election, crepes ooze with fresh strawberries, trumpeters announce the hour, politicians march, actors perform, bubble blowers blow, and chamber orchestra musicians slip inside the side door of a small historic church to play (we followed them in; we listened).
But on this particular rare sunny day, Ryneck Glowny was bedazzled by the differently abled. They came from far and wide—in wheelchairs, with teachers, with parents. They massed before their own craft huts, dressed in local colors, and performed upon their stage, telling the story of the Krakow dragon and singing traditional songs.
It was exquisite. To sit there among them, to congratulate them on their art, to see this Polish city embrace their shining talents.
The sun had come. So had they.
By:
Beth Kephart ,
on 6/1/2015
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I was away and when I went away, I went away from myself as a writer—extracted myself from the pressures, the confusions, the fears. I read the work of others instead. Walked hours every day through crooked streets with a heavy camera taking photos of
places, of
faces, of
fashion. Ate gelato at any hour. Learned the history of the Polish people, spent time in Schindler's Factory, visited (with a hushed heart) Auschwitz and Birkenau, walked the grounds of Wawel Castle, happily trekked through a dragon's den, and less happily endured the terror of an underground cave with shoulder-wide passageways. Spent beautiful, wonderful, thirtieth anniversary time with the husband who has taken to calling me (I can't imagine why), "Miss Daisy."
(The other husband just calls me "Beth.")
But I had much to do when I returned, and today I've been taking care of some of that business. There's a new afterword to write for
Handling the Truth. Proof pages of
Love: A Philadelphia Affair to read through. A review of a favorite author's book to write. Final preparations for this weekend's events at the
Bethlehem Area Public Library and the
Moravian Writers' Conference. (Join us for the keynote. We would love to see you.) When you go away and then return everything is seen from a new angle. I am aware always, and especially now, of how hard getting writing right is, and how much more I have yet to learn.
While away, I heard from dear Taylor Norman at Chronicle Books that the e-book version of
Going Over—as well as ten other Chronicle books—can now be purchased for $1.99 during the next two weeks. The link to that fabulous opportunity is
here.I also learned about two kind reviews of
One Thing Stolen—the first by my dear friend Florinda, who reads with such extreme care and who writes with such authority. Thank you, Florinda, for
these original, knowing, thoughtful, generous words. You have been such a faithful, important reader of my books. You have understood my purpose.The second review, posted on the Once Upon a Bookcase blog, is
here. I cherish this review because it is written by a reader who wasn't quite sure, when she heard that Nadia was a thief, that this book would be for her. She gave it a chance anyway. And I am grateful.
Survivors. Dancers. Nuns. Priests. Bishops. Kids chasing bubbles. Kids in the rain. Love on the square. Models. Someones political and many offering food.
We will not forget the faces of Krakow or the time that we had there.
