Living & Arts

Bringing the Swawk east

In print | April 9, 2009

After being satisfied with my work in Madrid, I have decided it is my duty to share the Swawk with a number of unSwawked countries during Semana Santa or Holy Week, the week leading up to Easter. This column details the first half of my travels to Poland and the Czech Republic.

Liverpool, England

We begin our journey in an overnight layover, sleeping in shifts at the airport in order to best fend off moochers from our prime carpeted sleeping spot next to a slightly creepy John Lennon statue. I wake up to the horrified expression of my friend Patty, who informs me that I had punched her when she tried to shrug my head off her shoulder during the night.

Wroclaw, Poland

After falling asleep on a very understanding Irish man, I arrive in a city that honestly looks like it should be edible. In the Old City, we are surrounded by rainbow sherbet houses with ridiculously high peaked roofs and a gorgeous university established in the 1500s. To add to the preciousness, the city boasts 15 hidden gnomes. My favorite place is Marii Magdaleny Church, which has a Lego-like red and green checkered roof and a Bridge of Penance that we huffed up ten flights of flimsy metal stairs to get to, only to be bludgeoned by pigeons.

Kraków, Poland

Kraków, like the rest of Poland, is overwhelmingly Roman Catholic and the birthplace of Pope John Paul II. The entire city is turned out for Easter. I mean, even the Dunkin’ Donuts has adorable pink bunny doughnuts and stores display elaborate Easter egg trees in their windows. We stumble on churches and cathedrals at every other corner and wolf down pierogies with a priest on one side and two nuns on the other. My friend Patty spent a good five minutes in the old Market Square delightedly counting, “One nun … two, that’s TWO nuns!”

To my delight, the churches here are very simple compared to the grandeur of the Spanish cathedrals. The Franciscan church features vibrantly painted walls in lieu of gilding or marble statues and looks like a giant Easter egg.

Prague, Czech Republic

Prague is divided into Staré Mesto, the Old Town, with its enormous Old Town Square, and the glitizier Nové Město, or New Town. We chose to spend most of our time gawping at the ridiculously ornate buildings clustered around Old Town.

Prague is pretty much where I suffered round after round of geek attacks as I visited sites important to luminaries in Prague: where Mozart premiered Don Giovanni, Kafka’s modest workshop near the dominating Prague Castle or where Rainer Maria Rilke studied.

The Czech ham can also give the Spanish jamón a run for its money. At the Easter Market, I purchased a cut of ham cooked slowly over hot coals. Despite the fact that the ham was roughly 2 inches thick, I proceeded to eat it with a quickness that laid waste to many a plastic spork.
It is also here that we discover that Czech, like Polish, is pretty much impossible to puzzle out and even harder to pronounce due to the most arbitrary pairings of multiple consonants. For example, my favorite dessert, a chewy, piping hot roll with vanilla, cinnamon and caramel, is the trdlnik. Unfortunately, the deliciousness of the dessert has an inverse relationship to the number of vowels in the name. Luckily, I quickly mastered the word for marzipan and spent the rest of my time here eating my way through a menagerie of marzipan animals.

So far, what I really noted here is the absolute quiet in the city. Spaniards are loud, and I am used to being greeted by a dull roar when I enter a bar or a restaurant. The gentle murmuring I hear just throws me off and I almost miss having someone roaring into my ear at any given moment.
Whether it was spending an afternoon in Wenceslas Square (provoking a rousing and off-tune chorus of the namesake’s song), where the people flooded for two weeks in 1989 to oust the communists, or walking along the Charles Bridge on the Coronation Path of the Czech kings, it was easy to feel like I was several centuries back in time. That is, until someone tries to sell me the furry weasel toy chasing a plastic ball that is inexplicably popular here.

Carlsbad, Poland

At Carlsbad, we spent the afternoon in a surreal Disneyland-like resort town while sipping mineral water from tiny porcelain cups dipped into the 14 hot springs in a Wonderland-esque fashion. After only slightly faltering at a particularly foul-smelling spring, our brave efforts are rewarded with hot water with varying degrees of cabbagey-ness. So far, no effects reported from imbibing the water, except extreme discomfort on the two-hour bus ride back into Prague.

For the next week or so, I am traipsing off to Hungary and Austria, and finishing up in Italy in time for Easter. Yes. Italy, the Catholic Spiritual Center. Easter, the holiest day of the year. We are idiots. Barring death by Catholic mob trampling, ta luego!

Tiffany is a junior. You can reach her at tliao1@swarthmore.edu.