Interrail 1: "Maybe, Krakow?"

Stepping off the plane after a pleasant flight, Lewys and I arrived to a grey and bleak Krakow. I had expected blue skies and sun, the forecast predicting temperatures of 30 degrees. I must have read it wrong.

After figuring out tickets and boarding a bus from the airport to the centre (to the inevitable bemusement of the locals).
We wandered around for a bit after booking our night train to Prague tomorrow (no beds left, rage). Lewys had admitted he was slightly apprehensive at first, I was less so, but shared some misgivings. So far it looked like Manchester, only we couldn't understand the signs.

We knew we were staying in the Market Square and so followed the road signs. After turning a corner and seeing the tower of St Mary's Basilica I just grinned. It shone brighter than the McDonalds and KFC we had just walked past.

The square is beautiful, as you can see from the photo. 

Joe Simms, thank you.

Later we were accosted by a man in weird chef's uniform who proceeded to ply us with his wares and lured us into his restaurant. Dinner was delicious, service was lightning quick and the food ridiculously cheap. The whole meal came to about 70 zloty, around 14 pounds, including a pint of Okocim, yet another european lager (Hoppy, not too bubbly and sweetish. Served with a massive head, as is the case the further east you go).

The highlight was my starter - Steak Tartare. A beautiful portion of raw beef (or horse, i'm not sure) topped with a raw egg yolk and garnished with paprika, capers, onion and pickle. Delicious.

 I just hope I don't get food poisoning. 

That was followed by Goulash with Potato pancakes. I think I'm going to avoid anything with paprika in for the remainder of the trip, it's in flipping everything here.

The rest of the night was spent wandering the city. I especially love/hate the way every club promoter begins their art with "Maybe...", as in "Maybe you come Gold Club?" or 'Maybe Strip Club?"

I burst out laughing in one poor girl's face as their hesitant suggestions bounced off us harmlessly. I had half a mind to take a flyer and reply "maybe", but I wasn't sure I could keep a straight face. They've a lot to learn from the Cardiff lot.

A trumpeter plays from the tower of St Mary's every hour. His tune is broken off suddenly to commemorate a 13th century trumpeter who was shot in the throat while warning of an impending Mongol attack. History there for you.

To bed! Tomorrow, Auschwitz. 

Sammy