Day 3 – July 16th
Barely had my head hit the pillow when my alarm went off. No, no, no, no, no! Well, yes, actually – rise and shine – if not capable of shining then a dull glow would suffice – because at 07:00 we were due to leave for the long car journey to Zakopane, located at the foot of the Tatras mountains that form the natural border between Poland and neighbouring Slovakia. It would be a long trip of around 3 hours, so I got some hot tea and a bit of breakfast down my neck and waited for the car to arrive. Despite last night’s terrific thunderstorms, there was no evidence of this anywhere. The sky was blue and clear, and already it was 25°C and humid.
The car duly arrived at 7-ish; well, let’s be honest here – 8:00. I clambered into my allotted space in the back seat, which contrived to provide even less room than a Ryanair 737, and by the time we hit the motorway that would take us the first part of the trip, the combined effects of a stuffy car, late nights and occasional imbibing meant I drifted off to sleep, waking up briefly during particularly exciting driving manoeuvres to see if we’d crashed. Having ascertained we hadn’t, I drifted back to sleep until we bounced off another lorry.
Snapshot of route, using Google Maps.
In this fashion I passed the first hour and a half, by which time we’d bypassed Krakow on the motorway and were now heading south on Route 47 towards the Tatras. There were few notable towns along the route, so progress was steady; although traffic built up steadily the further we went. The scenery began to change as well; the rolling plains and undulating countryside that I could see at the start of the journey were becoming progressively more hilly, with mountains visible in the distance. Small villages flashed by, all with well kept postcard types houses and immaculate and colourful gardens. From my vantage point in the back seat, which equated roughly to travelling in a wheelie bin, I couldn’t see an awful lot, but what I could see certainly looked attractive.
Around five miles outside of Zakopane we hit a traffic jam, and spent the next hour or so in a queue of cars and coaches that inched forwards foot-by-foot. Zakopane is a major tourist destination in Poland, and attracts 2.5 million visitors a year; not just from Poland but practically everywhere. That’s a lot of people for a town with a population of 28,000 to support. The locals do not want their only road into Zakopane from the north (which is more or less the only way in) widening to dual carriageway status, which is totally self defeating. They want the tourists and their money, in which case – provide the infrastructure. The answer seemed to pass us by as we gently steamed in the immobile car – several trains trundled past on the railway that runs parallel to the road, each depositing it’s wise passengers into the town a good hour before we arrived. If I have the chance to visit the area again – and having only scratched the surface, would love to do so in the future – I’ll come in by train and use public transport to get around.
Eventually we arrived in town and parked up. At last I could get out of the confined car - oh, the relief! For all the tourist invasion, Zakopane is a pretty town. It is busy all year round, as it hosts winter snow sports such as skiing, snowboarding, ice-skating and, for the romantically inclined, horse drawn sleighs. When winter ends, visitors pack away skates and skis, and explore the other opportunities available in the region – mountaineering, hiking, cycling, river rafting or just good old fashioned sightseeing. It was the latter that we were starting with, ascending nearby Gubalowka Hill. There was a choice of walking up (about an hour) or taking the funicular railway. To get to the s
tation meant negotiating a tourist market, selling all the expected tat, plus hunting equipment, homemade cheeses and pickled mushrooms. The cheese is strong and rubbery, but the mushrooms are nicely flavoured, and indeed I brought a jar home. Rather bizarrely for a tourist town, a number of sellers are hawking real live puppies, many of which are St Bernards, a breed that has links to the mountains in the area. I can’t think of anything less appropriate to sell to tourists, but presumably the ‘Ah, it’s so cute’ mentality kicks in. Can’t wait to see some idiot trying to get a St Bernard onto a Ryanair flight as hand baggage.
Being devoid of feelings, I was able to brush these sellers aside and arrive at the station without buying anything. The funicular railway looked inviting, and during the four-minute journey to the top, we glided through a row of fir trees that provide a natural avenue. Views from the car were excellent, as it features large windows all around. There is no driver, so a wonderful view is possible from the front as you ascend.
Gubalowka is another tourist plaza, selling everything that is available at the bottom, but as you may have forgotten to buy a fridge magnet, or missed the traditional Polish dolls, or had to think twice about a wooden spoon with ‘Zakopane’ written on it, here you are presented with another opportunity to purchase them. How thoughtful is that? Should you stride past all this onto the terrace, you are rewarded with the real reason for the ascent – magnificent views over the valley, 1123 metres above sea level (3684 feet) with Zakopane nestling at the bottom.
The weather was now starting to turn, with thick grey clouds rolling in over the mountains, just when I wanted some good scenic views. Thanks a lot. Here's a selection from a brief walkabout.
Picture perfect view, looking towards Zakopane and Poland to the north.
To the south, Slovakia lies across the Tatras.
This is the start of the Rynna; speed and adreneline soon pick up as you descend.
Preparing to depart on a magic carpet ride to the sky.
As the weather was closing in and it was getting quite late we had the car to ourselves. Already the top of Kasprowy Wierch was shrouded in cloud, but that just added to the excitement. Our driver appeared and we set off. I was surprised at just how smooth the ascent was; the sensation was of gliding and the only time I felt motion was when the car would pass one of the huge gantry supports. We ‘flew’ up the mountain, most of which was densely forested. In some areas the lumberjacks had been in and cut down swathes of trees, presumably for construction, as wood is widely used for housing in southern Poland. Hats off to the men who do this work, by the way. It certainly isn’t for the faint hearted. With no vehicular access whatsoever, a long and arduous climb is required just to get to your patch. Then the trees must be chopped down, trimmed up and fastened to horses for the descent. If, after all that, you find that you left your sandwiches at home, you’re going to be more than a tad upset.
The station appeared more quickly than I’d expected, but this wasn’t the terminus, it was merely the way station at Myslenicke Turnie – a sort of halfway house. Here we alighted, crossed the station and waited for the second cable car that would carry us to the top. It wouldn’t just be taking us, however. We watched in interest as a crewman fitted a thick hose to the bottom of the cable car and began pumping. It transpired that all water supplies for the restaurants and meteorological station at the top are supplied by the cable cars. Water is pumped into the first car, and at Myslenicke Turnie, pumped across to the second car. On arrival, the water is then pumped again into holding tanks. Ironically, all the water that undergoes this journey fell as rain on this very summit and had made it’s own way down to the bottom. If they left the lid off the tank, maybe they wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble.
Once watered, we climbed aboard and headed for the top of Kasprowy Wierch. En route, I filmed segments as we rose inexorably to the clouds and present them here:
The clouds slo
wly swallowed us up totally, and it was quite a disembodied feeling to be floating in a sea of absolutely nothing until the station gradually appeared out of the murk. Upon exiting the car, we were greeted by a sign announcing that we were now 1959 metres (6427 feet) high – to put this in context, Ben Nevis is 1344 m (4409 ft).
And still, we weren’t at the summit, although this was a mere 28 metres further up. Having got this far, it would be rude not to. Halfway up, I was panting for breath. The air was very rarefied up here, and not something I’ve experienced before - I live in Lincolnshire, so altitude sickness is reasonably rare. It was a while before I got used to it, but finally, we had reached the top. It wasn’t the end however; nearby a chair lift vanished off into the gloom, although it was shut by now. In good weather it must be awesome.
We now stood on the very border dividing Poland and Slovakia, and the frontier is marked by small white posts with ‘P’ on one side and, yes, you’ve guessed – ‘S’ on the other. Welcome to Slovakia! Not that we could see it. Some pictures were taken, followed by more polite gazing out into the impenetrable murk, before we decided it would be a good idea to go and get some dinner.
Now, I mentioned earlier that during the walk up Krupowski, I’d observed that there was a huge choice of places to eat. By the time we got back there, it was night and the place humming. Many cafes and restaurants had terraces, and those that didn’t opened their doors and picture windows to entice diners inside. To help you decide, many offered live music in many genres from traditional Polish folk with dancing to Country and Western via Kareoke. I have never been so spoilt for choice in my life when it comes to dining.
As the host seemed to know exactly where we were headed, we strode purposefully up the street, passing each restaurant that seemed even more inviting than the last. Zakopane really comes alive at night, when Krupowki changes gear from selling tourist tat to becoming the place to party the night away. Almost at the top of the street, we were led into a square full of outdoor tables and chairs, and surrounded by individual stalls selling all the sort of barbeque stuff that we’d made ourselves not 48 hours earlier. Except that whereas we’d used good quality meats and cooked them properly, the kebabs (yes, really) that we were served consisted of the cheapest, gristle-filled lumps of meat that were more chewy than chunks of tyres served in a warm condom. It was inedible, and I was absolutely incredulous that in a street packed with restaurants, we were ‘dining’ at the equivalent of a Friday-night-after-pub-kebab van. To add insult to indigestion, we had to walk back past all the thriving, vibrant places that been rejected – all filled, I noticed with a touch of envy, with happy, contented and sated diners, listening to the music and watching pretty dancers. I could not have been less impressed as we returned to the Liberta and formulated the next day’s plans.
Some of the Polish folk dancers we didn't see.
The idea was to take a hike through the Tatras on one of the trails to Morskie Oko, a walk of around 6 – 8 hours but not unduly taxing – well, not all of the time. The views were said to be stupendous, and I could believe this, having climbed to Morskie Oko three years previously, but by an entirely different route. So, with that in mind, I took a much needed long and refreshing shower before retiring to dream about cable cars, funiculars, bobsleighs and of course, Polish girls. Which I might have done, had I not spent the night dreaming about food. Please sir, don’t give me any more!
The car duly arrived at 7-ish; well, let’s be honest here – 8:00. I clambered into my allotted space in the back seat, which contrived to provide even less room than a Ryanair 737, and by the time we hit the motorway that would take us the first part of the trip, the combined effects of a stuffy car, late nights and occasional imbibing meant I drifted off to sleep, waking up briefly during particularly exciting driving manoeuvres to see if we’d crashed. Having ascertained we hadn’t, I drifted back to sleep until we bounced off another lorry.
Snapshot of route, using Google Maps.In this fashion I passed the first hour and a half, by which time we’d bypassed Krakow on the motorway and were now heading south on Route 47 towards the Tatras. There were few notable towns along the route, so progress was steady; although traffic built up steadily the further we went. The scenery began to change as well; the rolling plains and undulating countryside that I could see at the start of the journey were becoming progressively more hilly, with mountains visible in the distance. Small villages flashed by, all with well kept postcard types houses and immaculate and colourful gardens. From my vantage point in the back seat, which equated roughly to travelling in a wheelie bin, I couldn’t see an awful lot, but what I could see certainly looked attractive.
Around five miles outside of Zakopane we hit a traffic jam, and spent the next hour or so in a queue of cars and coaches that inched forwards foot-by-foot. Zakopane is a major tourist destination in Poland, and attracts 2.5 million visitors a year; not just from Poland but practically everywhere. That’s a lot of people for a town with a population of 28,000 to support. The locals do not want their only road into Zakopane from the north (which is more or less the only way in) widening to dual carriageway status, which is totally self defeating. They want the tourists and their money, in which case – provide the infrastructure. The answer seemed to pass us by as we gently steamed in the immobile car – several trains trundled past on the railway that runs parallel to the road, each depositing it’s wise passengers into the town a good hour before we arrived. If I have the chance to visit the area again – and having only scratched the surface, would love to do so in the future – I’ll come in by train and use public transport to get around.
Eventually we arrived in town and parked up. At last I could get out of the confined car - oh, the relief! For all the tourist invasion, Zakopane is a pretty town. It is busy all year round, as it hosts winter snow sports such as skiing, snowboarding, ice-skating and, for the romantically inclined, horse drawn sleighs. When winter ends, visitors pack away skates and skis, and explore the other opportunities available in the region – mountaineering, hiking, cycling, river rafting or just good old fashioned sightseeing. It was the latter that we were starting with, ascending nearby Gubalowka Hill. There was a choice of walking up (about an hour) or taking the funicular railway. To get to the s
tation meant negotiating a tourist market, selling all the expected tat, plus hunting equipment, homemade cheeses and pickled mushrooms. The cheese is strong and rubbery, but the mushrooms are nicely flavoured, and indeed I brought a jar home. Rather bizarrely for a tourist town, a number of sellers are hawking real live puppies, many of which are St Bernards, a breed that has links to the mountains in the area. I can’t think of anything less appropriate to sell to tourists, but presumably the ‘Ah, it’s so cute’ mentality kicks in. Can’t wait to see some idiot trying to get a St Bernard onto a Ryanair flight as hand baggage.Being devoid of feelings, I was able to brush these sellers aside and arrive at the station without buying anything. The funicular railway looked inviting, and during the four-minute journey to the top, we glided through a row of fir trees that provide a natural avenue. Views from the car were excellent, as it features large windows all around. There is no driver, so a wonderful view is possible from the front as you ascend.
Gubalowka is another tourist plaza, selling everything that is available at the bottom, but as you may have forgotten to buy a fridge magnet, or missed the traditional Polish dolls, or had to think twice about a wooden spoon with ‘Zakopane’ written on it, here you are presented with another opportunity to purchase them. How thoughtful is that? Should you stride past all this onto the terrace, you are rewarded with the real reason for the ascent – magnificent views over the valley, 1123 metres above sea level (3684 feet) with Zakopane nestling at the bottom.
The weather was now starting to turn, with thick grey clouds rolling in over the mountains, just when I wanted some good scenic views. Thanks a lot. Here's a selection from a brief walkabout.
Picture perfect view, looking towards Zakopane and Poland to the north. 
To the south, Slovakia lies across the Tatras. Several mountain trails begin at Gubalowka for the more energetic type of tourist, and these are the best way to see the great views as well as work off some of that Polish hospitality! We had other plans, though, and joined the queue for the Rynna, a 750-metre downhill toboggan ride; essentially a dry bobsleigh run. Each person has their own individual toboggan that has a single control, simply being a brake lever that is centrally mounted in the floor. Pull up to slow down; press down to release and go faster.
This is the start of the Rynna; speed and adreneline soon pick up as you descend. The brakes are a little past their prime on some toboggans, so don’t expect anything adventurous like slowing down or stopping – but you are guaranteed a fast and exciting descent around the twists, turns and hairpin bends of the circuit. Toboggans reach up to 40 kph, which is incredibly
fast when you’re sitting on what amounts to a plastic tea tray hurtling down a metal chute. At the bottom of the course, you’re now halfway down the mountain (or all the way if your brakes failed completely). It’s a long haul back to the top, but not to worry – you remain in your toboggan and an attendant hooks you up to a sort of chair lift that tows you comfortably back up the hill adjacent to the funicular. At a bend at the top, the cable is released allowing you to crash into the toboggan in front. The trick is to extricate yourself and leap clear before the next toboggan rams you from behind. Otherwise, you emerge from your toboggan in an undignified display of flailing arms and legs, and end up falling flat on your face in front of the chortling crowd who are waiting for their turn. Do I really need to tell you about my egress from the toboggan? No, I didn’t think so. Just as long as I get my share of the royalties when the clip ends up on You’ve Been Framed Making a Total Idiot of Yourself, we’ll say no more about it.
fast when you’re sitting on what amounts to a plastic tea tray hurtling down a metal chute. At the bottom of the course, you’re now halfway down the mountain (or all the way if your brakes failed completely). It’s a long haul back to the top, but not to worry – you remain in your toboggan and an attendant hooks you up to a sort of chair lift that tows you comfortably back up the hill adjacent to the funicular. At a bend at the top, the cable is released allowing you to crash into the toboggan in front. The trick is to extricate yourself and leap clear before the next toboggan rams you from behind. Otherwise, you emerge from your toboggan in an undignified display of flailing arms and legs, and end up falling flat on your face in front of the chortling crowd who are waiting for their turn. Do I really need to tell you about my egress from the toboggan? No, I didn’t think so. Just as long as I get my share of the royalties when the clip ends up on You’ve Been Framed Making a Total Idiot of Yourself, we’ll say no more about it.We’d now exhausted the possibilities of the Gubalowka, apart from another tourist rip-off. Should you not wish to purchase your own St Bernard puppy, you can compromise and have your picture taken standing next to a fully grown one (here’s one we prepared earlier) with a small child who had clearly just come straight from an audition for Oliver. The photo is then digitally modified, so that you and the St Bernard, plus the Artful Dodger, are standing halfway up the Tatras in deep snow; presumably awaiting the arrival of the helicopter rescue or possibly Fagin. It’s difficult to work out what’s going on, really. Instead of this, we adjourned to the funicular for the descent. This time I was prepared, and nabbed a front seat to have a go at videoing the ride down the mountain. I’d not used video on my camera until this holiday, but it seemed as good a time as any to start, as I was trying so many new activities this week. (Position mouse over video screen for controls).
How relaxing was that? At the bottom we once again negotiated the souvenir stands, Andrex puppies and a new type of con that hadn’t been seen previously – card trick ‘magicans’ who were conning the crowd for cash, with the help of several easily identified fixers placed within the crowd pretending to be tourists. If you’re going to pretend to be a tourist, it’s a great start to look and dress like a tourist, and not as though you’ve just finished a 12 hour shift on an oil rig. Just a thought. They wouldn’t last five minutes against Del Boy; honestly, talk about amateurish ways of extracting cash from the gullible. After ten years of New Labour Government, I know when I’m being fleeced.
A new sort of entertainment now beckoned – finding a room for the night in town. This wasn’t easy, akin to pitching up in the Lake District in the school summer holidays looking for a nice B&B. The huge crowds evident in the photos with this article demonstrate the problem. We approached the task scientifically by calling at random guesthouses and asking for a room. This got us nowhere, so my hosts began phoning the numbers of each place we passed and making enquiries. Eventually, we got one – it was tucked away from the main road down a long drive, but still very close to the centre. Now this worried me. Firstly, I have a knack of finding truly awful places to stay overnight – the kind of place run by Nora Batty with light switches on timers, baths only permitted on Fridays, notices saying ‘One sheet of toilet paper per day, per guest, use both sides’ and the sort of mattress on the bed that you never, ever, inspect too closely; you know the sort of thing. Secondly, I was concerned that with every hotel absolutely heaving in this busy town, why would one so near the bustling centre be empty? Could it be because it was run by the Polish arm of the Bates Family, or maybe Basil Fawltsky? We’d soon know.
Well, it turned out to be a charming place, called Hotel Liberta, and I can thoroughly recommend it. The room was basic but spotless, en-suite and breakfast was included. There was also a communal room where you could make tea and coffee etc should you require it. We went to retrieve the car, although irritatingly, my hosts kept phoning around trying to secure a better deal. This was madness; it’s not Dragon’s Den! Honestly, some people just don’t know when they’re well off. We had a lovely hotel, in a great location and time spent trying to do pointless deals to save a couple of quid on an already cheap (by UK standards) hotel was wasting time that could be used for seeing things. Get over it. So, the car was recovered from the car park, and brought to the Liberta. After a quick clean up, we set off on foot to discover the town itself.
Zakopane has a principle tourist orientated street, Krupowki, so you can guess what it was filled with. I soon narrowed the entire street down to just four types of business:
Eateries, of every conceivable variety.
Shops selling ski equipment.
Shops selling tourist tat.
Shops selling ski equipment and tourist tat.
Well, it turned out to be a charming place, called Hotel Liberta, and I can thoroughly recommend it. The room was basic but spotless, en-suite and breakfast was included. There was also a communal room where you could make tea and coffee etc should you require it. We went to retrieve the car, although irritatingly, my hosts kept phoning around trying to secure a better deal. This was madness; it’s not Dragon’s Den! Honestly, some people just don’t know when they’re well off. We had a lovely hotel, in a great location and time spent trying to do pointless deals to save a couple of quid on an already cheap (by UK standards) hotel was wasting time that could be used for seeing things. Get over it. So, the car was recovered from the car park, and brought to the Liberta. After a quick clean up, we set off on foot to discover the town itself.Zakopane has a principle tourist orientated street, Krupowki, so you can guess what it was filled with. I soon narrowed the entire street down to just four types of business:
Eateries, of every conceivable variety.
Shops selling ski equipment.
Shops selling tourist tat.
Shops selling ski equipment and tourist tat.
That was it. The street is pedestrianised, and was absolutely packed with jostling visitors. Street entertainers performed at regular intervals, ranging from mildly interesting to the bizarre. My favourite was a seemingly ordinary busker playing a guitar and singing. He had a large sign that I had translated and which read, ‘I am mental. I need psychiatric help. I am saving up to go to a special hospital. Please help.’ Now that was just inspired, and, regardless of his state of mind, he was an accomplished musician. He was no more mad than I am, but that’s not much of a recommendation, really.
The sight of all the on-street eateries made us all hungry, so we stopped at a pleasant looking café with an outside terrace for a late lunch. I wanted traditional Polish, and ended up with a large potato pancake stuffed with a sort of stew that was as filling as it was tasty. All food is made from fresh ingredients, and you could certainly taste the difference.
After lunch, we ambled back down Krupowki and headed towards our next adventure – a trip to Kasprowy Wierch. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but it involved walking around for half an hour looking for a bus station, followed by a manic mini bus ride to somewhere a short distance from town. As we alighted, I spied a cable car station. Ah ha! This looks like fun. In one day I’ve done a funicular and a bobsleigh for the first time; now I was to make my debut in a cable car. Which just goes to show how full and exciting my life has been to date.
The sight of all the on-street eateries made us all hungry, so we stopped at a pleasant looking café with an outside terrace for a late lunch. I wanted traditional Polish, and ended up with a large potato pancake stuffed with a sort of stew that was as filling as it was tasty. All food is made from fresh ingredients, and you could certainly taste the difference.
After lunch, we ambled back down Krupowki and headed towards our next adventure – a trip to Kasprowy Wierch. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but it involved walking around for half an hour looking for a bus station, followed by a manic mini bus ride to somewhere a short distance from town. As we alighted, I spied a cable car station. Ah ha! This looks like fun. In one day I’ve done a funicular and a bobsleigh for the first time; now I was to make my debut in a cable car. Which just goes to show how full and exciting my life has been to date.
Preparing to depart on a magic carpet ride to the sky. As the weather was closing in and it was getting quite late we had the car to ourselves. Already the top of Kasprowy Wierch was shrouded in cloud, but that just added to the excitement. Our driver appeared and we set off. I was surprised at just how smooth the ascent was; the sensation was of gliding and the only time I felt motion was when the car would pass one of the huge gantry supports. We ‘flew’ up the mountain, most of which was densely forested. In some areas the lumberjacks had been in and cut down swathes of trees, presumably for construction, as wood is widely used for housing in southern Poland. Hats off to the men who do this work, by the way. It certainly isn’t for the faint hearted. With no vehicular access whatsoever, a long and arduous climb is required just to get to your patch. Then the trees must be chopped down, trimmed up and fastened to horses for the descent. If, after all that, you find that you left your sandwiches at home, you’re going to be more than a tad upset.
The station appeared more quickly than I’d expected, but this wasn’t the terminus, it was merely the way station at Myslenicke Turnie – a sort of halfway house. Here we alighted, crossed the station and waited for the second cable car that would carry us to the top. It wouldn’t just be taking us, however. We watched in interest as a crewman fitted a thick hose to the bottom of the cable car and began pumping. It transpired that all water supplies for the restaurants and meteorological station at the top are supplied by the cable cars. Water is pumped into the first car, and at Myslenicke Turnie, pumped across to the second car. On arrival, the water is then pumped again into holding tanks. Ironically, all the water that undergoes this journey fell as rain on this very summit and had made it’s own way down to the bottom. If they left the lid off the tank, maybe they wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble.
Once watered, we climbed aboard and headed for the top of Kasprowy Wierch. En route, I filmed segments as we rose inexorably to the clouds and present them here:
The clouds slo
wly swallowed us up totally, and it was quite a disembodied feeling to be floating in a sea of absolutely nothing until the station gradually appeared out of the murk. Upon exiting the car, we were greeted by a sign announcing that we were now 1959 metres (6427 feet) high – to put this in context, Ben Nevis is 1344 m (4409 ft).And still, we weren’t at the summit, although this was a mere 28 metres further up. Having got this far, it would be rude not to. Halfway up, I was panting for breath. The air was very rarefied up here, and not something I’ve experienced before - I live in Lincolnshire, so altitude sickness is reasonably rare. It was a while before I got used to it, but finally, we had reached the top. It wasn’t the end however; nearby a chair lift vanished off into the gloom, although it was shut by now. In good weather it must be awesome.
We now stood on the very border dividing Poland and Slovakia, and the frontier is marked by small white posts with ‘P’ on one side and, yes, you’ve guessed – ‘S’ on the other. Welcome to Slovakia! Not that we could see it. Some pictures were taken, followed by more polite gazing out into the impenetrable murk, before we decided it would be a good idea to go and get some dinner.
Now, I mentioned earlier that during the walk up Krupowski, I’d observed that there was a huge choice of places to eat. By the time we got back there, it was night and the place humming. Many cafes and restaurants had terraces, and those that didn’t opened their doors and picture windows to entice diners inside. To help you decide, many offered live music in many genres from traditional Polish folk with dancing to Country and Western via Kareoke. I have never been so spoilt for choice in my life when it comes to dining.
As the host seemed to know exactly where we were headed, we strode purposefully up the street, passing each restaurant that seemed even more inviting than the last. Zakopane really comes alive at night, when Krupowki changes gear from selling tourist tat to becoming the place to party the night away. Almost at the top of the street, we were led into a square full of outdoor tables and chairs, and surrounded by individual stalls selling all the sort of barbeque stuff that we’d made ourselves not 48 hours earlier. Except that whereas we’d used good quality meats and cooked them properly, the kebabs (yes, really) that we were served consisted of the cheapest, gristle-filled lumps of meat that were more chewy than chunks of tyres served in a warm condom. It was inedible, and I was absolutely incredulous that in a street packed with restaurants, we were ‘dining’ at the equivalent of a Friday-night-after-pub-kebab van. To add insult to indigestion, we had to walk back past all the thriving, vibrant places that been rejected – all filled, I noticed with a touch of envy, with happy, contented and sated diners, listening to the music and watching pretty dancers. I could not have been less impressed as we returned to the Liberta and formulated the next day’s plans.
Some of the Polish folk dancers we didn't see. The idea was to take a hike through the Tatras on one of the trails to Morskie Oko, a walk of around 6 – 8 hours but not unduly taxing – well, not all of the time. The views were said to be stupendous, and I could believe this, having climbed to Morskie Oko three years previously, but by an entirely different route. So, with that in mind, I took a much needed long and refreshing shower before retiring to dream about cable cars, funiculars, bobsleighs and of course, Polish girls. Which I might have done, had I not spent the night dreaming about food. Please sir, don’t give me any more!
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