The Blue Kiełbasa Van of Kraków

The sun is drawing to an end as long shadows are cast across the street. My wife and I leave our hotel on Józefa Sarego Street and walk along the border of the Kazimierz District, a walk that has become very familiar these last four days. I relish the moment, knowing it will be my last on this sidewalk. We cross beneath the train tracks and arrive at the corner of Grzegórzecka Street. I have one final wish while in Kraków, and that is to visit the blue kiełbasa van.

I read about it online. Some guy shows up every evening between 8:00 pm and 2:00 am in a blue Nysa van and grills up kiełbasa sausages. He's so popular that crowds line up to buy.

We arrive at the spot and as expected there is a short line for the savory links of meat. There, parked on the sidewalk, is the famous blue van. Nysa vans are a relic from the communist era in Poland. They were produced in the city of Nysa and production reached its peak in the late 1970's. When Poland became a democracy the demand for the Nysa began to plummet as the people preferred the safer and more efficient western cars.

An older man with a gray stubble beard and blue ball cap stands outside the van holding two skewers loaded with sausages over an open flame. Next to him are crates full of wood to stoke the fire. I notice that attached to the van is a retracted canopy he can pull out for shelter if it starts to rain. On this evening the skies are mostly clear.

On the window of the van a menu is posted. There are only five items: kielbasa and roll, 17 złoty; kielbasa (only), 15 złoty; orange drink, 5 złoty; tea, 5 złoty; and packaging (to go), 1 złoty. Of course, it's all in Polish, but I am able to understand.

I stand in line and watch the old man as he turns the skewers over the fire, the sausages sizzling and becoming darker. A younger guy moves in and out of the van, assisting the old man. I hear chatter among the people in front of me in line, and between the two kiełbasa men, and I understand none of it.

The line moves quickly and it doesn't take long before I'm at the front. In basic English (of which he understands), I point to the top menu item and say, “Kiełbasa and roll.” I give him 17 złoty and in return he places one perfectly charred kiełbasa onto a flimsy plate with a kaiser roll and a dollop of mustard.

A few feet away from the van stands a tall folding table with a wooden top and no chairs. With my new meal in-hand, I walk over to the table and begin to eat with six other strangers. This is a bizarre, but interesting experience. I don't know where anyone is from because no one is speaking. We all eat in silence.

With a plastic knife and fork I cut off a thick slice of kiełbasa and dip it into the mustard. It is still hot from the flames and very smokey. The outer edge is crispy and slightly tough, while the middle is thick and meaty, much more dense than the kiełbasa sausages sold in the States. I then follow it with a bite of bread.

I am hungry enough I have no problem finishing off the 8-inch long sausage. It is well worth all 17 złoty I paid for it. I now wish I would have bought the orange drink.

The sun has set and the lights of Krakow now illuminate the streets. A blue tram comes down the road and inside I see rows of weary travelers, heads down, waiting for their destination.

Jenelle and I have 20 złoty left and set out to find some ice cream or some other Polish treat. Tomorrow we will leave for good, so we need to spend what we have. It is a perfect ending to a pleasant stay in Kraków. ♠

Morskie Oko

I've been looking forward to this excursion for years now, and today was finally the day it would happen. Would it go as planned, or would weather or something else put a damper on our day?

We took a shuttle from Zakopane to Palenica Białczańska, the starting point for our jaunt into the High Tatra Mountains of Poland. Our destination, Morskie Oko, was five miles away, and there were only two ways to get there: on foot, or by horse-drawn wagon. We chose the latter.

Of course, we had to pay a steep fee for that option⸺200 złoty⸺but Jenelle's back still hurt from her surgery and we didn't want her worn out by having to walk up the mountain.

The path to the lake is paved and the vast majority of people walk it. And there are thousands of them! Young, old, partially crippled, mothers with strollers. It's like a long line of ants on a 5.6 mile path.

We, on the other hand, waited for over an hour for our turn to ride the horses. We weren't going to ride the horses directly, but were to sit in a covered wagon pulled by two horses. The problem was that only so many people could ride in a wagon at once.

When a team of horses completed the circuit, we would have to wait for them to take a break, drink, eat, and get pampered by their owners. This was quite a tiresome job for them, and they couldn't continue the loop without a rest. Although there were many teams on duty for work, it was a slow process to rotate through them.

Riding in a horse-drawn wagon to Morskie Oko.

Our driver of the wagon dressed in traditional Polish attire, with a brown leather hat and gray sweater. As we moved up the road, the horses' hooves clacked on the pavement. Their tails swooped back and forth, and the fresh scent of manure mixed with cold mountain air.

We passed two brown does feeding off the road, then small rivulets of water coming down the green slopes. As we got higher we passed a much larger waterfall.

Waterfall along the way.

I felt sorry for the horses. Their job was to pull a wagon full of people up a tediously inclining road, and sometimes at a trot. When we passed other teams coming down, I saw sweat on their flanks.

As we got higher on our route, views of the craggy peaks of the Tatras became more splendid. Streaks of snow in the gulleys of the upper slopes still lingered from winter.

At last, after a 3.8 mile ride, our adventure on the horses came to an end and it was now up to us to walk the remaining mile or so up to the lake. In true European fashion, an ice cream shack and restaurant stood beside the road to serve us. Not now. Maybe on the way back.

Morskie Oko.

When we arrived at the lake, the view was just as spectacular as I had anticipated: a beautiful deep-blue pool of water surrounded by majestic mountains. Hundreds of people loitered about the edges of the lake admiring the view and taking selfies. Near the shore was a large wooden “hut” where hungry hikers could buy a sandwich and beer.

After a few quick pictures we moved around to the eastern edge of the lake. A trail made with relatively flat mountain rocks made a circuit completely around the lake. We enjoyed the view as we hiked. A handful of waterfalls tumbled into the lake from random points, most likely from melting snow and springs.

Swiss pines grow along east side of Morskie Oko.

Morskie Oko, the name of this beautiful lake, comes from Polish meaning “eye of the sea.” It has been recognized as one of the most beautiful lakes in the world.

It's about half a mile to the back side of the lake, and it is from here that another trail climbs nearly 600 feet to another lake. This one is named Czarny Staw pod Rysami, or "Black Lake Below Mount Rysy" when translated into English. By this time, Jenelle was doing better than expected, so we decided to make it a go to the upper lake.

Sign on south side of Morskie Oko.

Looking down at Morskie Oko from the trail going up to Czarny Staw.

Cascading stream coming down from Czarny Staw.

The trail was steep and tedious, but was made bearable by elevated views of Morskie Oko, as well as a cascading stream that tumbled down alongside the trail. I was proud of Jenelle. She was doing much better than either of us expected.

Half an hour later we arrived at the second lake, and what a wonderful view it was! Not only did we have the grand view of Morskie Oko, but now the full view of Czarny Staw. Unlike the lower lake, this one was more transparent and had a turquoise ring around it when the sun was out. The center, however, was a dark blue, probably the reason for the lake's name.  At 249 feet, it is the fourth deepest lake in Poland. Mount Rysy, the highest peak in Poland, reigns supreme above it.

Czarny Staw pod Rysami, or "Black Lake Below Mount Rysy" in English.

Mount Rysy, above Czarny Staw, is the highest peak in Poland.

Hikers enjoy the shore of Czarny Staw.

The craggy ridgeline on either side of Rysy serves as the boundary between Poland and Slovakia. If circumstances were different, meaning I were here alone and it was later in the summer, I would have hiked Rysy. Apparently hundreds do it every day during the latter part of the summer. It is a steep ascent, but there are cables to assist the climber.

We spent nearly forty five minutes at Czarny Staw. It was enjoyable to watch the groups of hikers as they lounged around and rested. I was very pleasantly surprised that it hadn't rained. Juicy storm clouds threatened, but with no success. I was worried that by this time we would have been deploying umbrellas and fighting slippery rocks.

Natural platform between Morskie Oko and Czarny Staw.

The way down was much easier than the trip up. We decided to complete the circuit and take the west side of Morskie Oko. We didn't take nearly as many pictures, so it went a lot faster.

Hiking on the west side gave us new views of the lake and mountains. We enjoyed walking across the base of one of the waterfalls. There I refilled my water bottle.

Looking across the lake at "the hut."

Waterfall tumbling into Morskie Oko.

Looking back across Morskie Oko toward Czarny Staw (not seen) and Mount Rysy.

Looking northeast across Morskie Oko.

When we completed our hike around the lake and again returned to the hut, we had accumulated 3.7 miles. Jenelle was still doing great. Adrenaline must have been kicking in.

Our plan was to hike down instead of taking the horse and wagon. I was excited for this. It was an opportunity to see the mountainside at a slower pace.

We stopped at the lower hut and ordered an ice cream and pannini. It really hit the spot! We sat at a table and watched the hikers on the road.

Eating a snack at a hut about a mile down from the lake. 

Then we continued. We took note of the thick, fairy-like forest with moss growing on the logs. Jenelle noticed the thousands upon thousands of scrape marks in the pavement where horses' hooves clanked across the top.

From time to time we would hear the clapping on the pavement behind us, then would turn around and watch a team and wagon come along full of people. One wagon was singing a song as they passed.

Beautiful forest in the High Tatra Mountains. 

I was most impressed with the sheer amount of people walking the trail, especially families with young kids. One set of parents hauled up little scooters, then once at the top, let their two little girls⸺no older than four years old⸺ride them down. Several parents pushed strollers. It was a level of commitment that I have rarely seen in the States.

Five point four miles later we had made it to the bottom! Our total for the day was 9.1 miles. Luckily for us there was a line of shuttles waiting at the bottom to take us back to Zakopane. ♠

Curse of the Gypsy

(Photo by Jenelle Lacy)

By Margarete Eichler

(Note: The following story is taken from the autobiography of Margarete Eichler, translated into English from her native German tongue. She writes of her Mother-in-law, who was born on Christmas Day of 1864 in a small village in the Kingdom of Prussia. The story of her encounter with the Gypsy lady likely took place near this village, which is now located in northern Poland near the city of Gdansk.)
 

Now I want to write something about my husband's family. Ernst's mother, Klara Mathilde Eleonore Kohland, was married to Johann Dombrowski. They had nine children - three boys and six girls; three died in infancy. Ernst's father became very ill and was confined to his sick bed for a long time. Life was very hard for Ernst's mother. She had to care for her sick husband and her six children. She herself had a sick leg which never healed. Once I asked her how long she had had that sore on her leg and she told me the following story: 

She lived in the country with her parents and her sister. One day gypsies came through the village. They stayed several days and tried to make a living begging for food. Little Klara, her sister, and a few other girls played on the village road. Suddenly they saw this gypsy woman walking by, going from door to door, begging for food. Well, as children are, especially when they have a big mouth and don't like somebody, they yelled after the gypsy woman and called her bad names. Klara, being a good little girl, did not participate in this name calling. The angry gypsy chased the children down the road, she shook her fist at them and threatened them. The children became quite fearful and ran for their lives. 

Only Klara did not run. She reasoned she did not call any of those bad words, so she had no reason to run away. As the gypsy came closer, though, Klara became very frightened, too. The gypsy looked very scary, and Klara looked at her with big, frightened eyes; the gypsy looked to her like a scary witch. She grabbed Klara by the arm, shook her fiercefully, and spoke some awful things to her; she even put a curse on her. Then she let go of her and walked on. Klara was terrified. She ran as fast as she could, crying all the while, tripping and falling. She hurt her leg as she fell. 

The next day the leg was very red and painful. Her mother tried to treat the leg with ointments and compresses - it would not heal. The parents never took the child to the doctor. An open, festering wound developed which never healed; she had the wound until the day she died as an old woman. Her mother told her: "Yes, the gypsy put a spell on you. She cursed you and your leg will never heal."

 

Klara Mathilde Eleonore Kohland.