An unbelievably hot day in Krakow, and I’ve resorted to that last refuge of the English abroad: a straw hat. And if I hadn’t found this in a shop in Prague (that looked so ladylike from the outside that my friend wouldn’t come in with me) I seriously would be wearing a knotted hanky. Really; it’s that hot. Said friend has made his way to Auschwitz, but I’ve only just got to Krakow, and I don’t feel I’ve begun to know it yet, so I want to mooch around here.
Thus it is I find myself in Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter, and so far, my favourite bit of Krakow. The Town Square is grand, certainly; full of horse-drawn coaches and architecture. But the square here is wonderful on a more human, intimate scale. There’s a vibrant little market, quite antiquey, and yes, it’s surrounded by bars and cafés. I didn’t get to visit them all, but I was really pleased to find them, and I’ll be coming back to do a spot of leisurely research I promise. But it’s hot. And I need refreshment. And that’s when I heard The Clash. Rock the Casbah.
I’d been wandering, wondering, along the south edge of the square, and my legs just wandered me in. Just a little place open to the square, and here I am, beardy bloke in a straw boater nodding along to The Clash in a Post Punk Café. (So it proudly proclaims on a sign inside – I didn’t even look at the café from the outside – maybe it’s not actually called the PostPunk Café at all…) There’s a fantastic array of posters, flyers, cd covers all along one wall, and enough British artists to make you feel pride in our heritage, yet the chairs are comfy, there’s flowers on the table, and the slightly punky waitress gave me a friendly smile, so it’s very Post, and I don’t feel too much of a wally. Small. Simple. Comfy. And they did play some really great music. There’s a bigger downstairs, too, so I’m guessing this place comes alive in the evening. I forgot the heat; I read a book and lost myself. Now and then I looked out at the activity in the market square. Clean lines, no fuss and bother. A perfect place to relax.
The coffee? Not bad at all. Small cup, so pretty strong. I was mainly on the bottled water to be honest. If you love Vivaldi or hard house, this may not be your frappuccino. But I loathe techno in cafés, it’s just 21st Century muzak. And I’ve gone thirsty rather than drink in cafés playing the bloody Four Seasons. No, this place worked for me without even trying. It’s an odd identity, with it’s cream leather stools, black varnished tables, neat, pretty flowers, and Psychadelic Furs. But it seems comfortably assured in that identity, and invites you to go with it. An hour later I realised I had.
Recent Comments