In Harpers, Garret Keizer suggests a national strike to *do* something to reclaim our country for its people, to show our government that we will not just go on with business as usual while a President claims more and more power for himself and acts against the Constitution, hurting us and not making us safer.
In a talk at Kane Hall in Seattle, Naomi Wolf suggested this strike be a sit-down, with music and banners, but not a march (which could be instigated into becoming violent).
I know very well how hard it is to overcome apathy and the sense of futility, but if we lose the sense that we can affect change then we give up our democracy and become victims. I am the first to admit that I am guilty of this. Keizer writes: "Of all the various depredations of the Bush regime, none has been so thorough as its plundering of hope."
This strike suggestion has been picked up by bloggers and indy-media, but there seems to be no one organizing anything. I am planning on writing my representatives to let them know I am striking and I am planning on voting.
What others are saying about the Nov 6 National Strike:
http://justmyideas.blogspot.com/2007/09/general-strike-november-6-2007-stop-war.html
http://whystrike.blogspot.com/2007/09/keizer-and-striking-on-blogs.html
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2007/9/23/141513/171
Green Party of Canada
http://youthinkwhat.com/we-think-its-time-for-a-general-strike.html
article by Jim Hightower
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
Famous Travel Photographer?
No.
But two of my photos of are now part of online travel guides:
Prague http://www.schmap.com/prague/sights_malstrana/. Click on Golden Lane; there are about 20 photos that automatically scroll.
Budapest http://www.schmap.com/budapest/sights_districtii/. Click on Matthias Church- Ecclesiastical Art Collection.
But two of my photos of are now part of online travel guides:
Prague http://www.schmap.com/prague/sights_malstrana/. Click on Golden Lane; there are about 20 photos that automatically scroll.
Budapest http://www.schmap.com/budapest/sights_districtii/. Click on Matthias Church- Ecclesiastical Art Collection.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Where Should I Go Next?
A says Australia. She wants to live vicariously through me. I understand; I do the same. I was thinking maybe Hawaii. Right now I would just like to get out of town. A little trip to the coast would be lovely. But it is only lunch time and I will be happy just to get outside before I have to get back to work.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
May Day - International Workers Day
May 1st, International Workers' Day, commemorates the historic struggle of working people throughout the world...
http://flag.blackened.net/daver/anarchism/mayday.html
http://www.forward.com/articles/may-day/
http://www.marxists.org/subject/mayday/index.htm
http://www.acpp.org/sevents/0501.html
http://flag.blackened.net/daver/anarchism/mayday.html
http://www.forward.com/articles/may-day/
http://www.marxists.org/subject/mayday/index.htm
http://www.acpp.org/sevents/0501.html
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Poetry Nights with Eeyore
I realized it took me a couple weeks to adjust to being back home after my trip. It happened in stages, but I'm not sure why it took so long to feel completely adjusted. I struggled with fatigue, malaise, low concentration.
My friend Robin told me today, "It's good to hear you all fired up again. Although I must admit I also enjoyed my poetry nights with Eeyore."
Although you really haven't met Eeyore until you've met my dad, I appreciated the sentiment and was glad to hear he enjoys being with me even when I'm Eeyore (and not just when I'm Roo).
I had an amazing night of poetry, music, and community at Bai Pai, which I wrote about on my poetry blog.
My friend Robin told me today, "It's good to hear you all fired up again. Although I must admit I also enjoyed my poetry nights with Eeyore."
Although you really haven't met Eeyore until you've met my dad, I appreciated the sentiment and was glad to hear he enjoys being with me even when I'm Eeyore (and not just when I'm Roo).
I had an amazing night of poetry, music, and community at Bai Pai, which I wrote about on my poetry blog.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Without the Vigorous Scrubbing of Youth
From the beginning, I liked to eat. Mother’s milk, formula, baby food, blender food, sister’s food, dog food…well, I became more discerning as time went on. But before discernment, everything was fuel for my growing and learning. That is still true, but perhaps I have to sample the rotten, the stale, the not-to-my-taste less frequently now than I did so many years ago. How many years ago, I don’t choose to reveal.
What will I reveal? More than you might want to know. Hell, more than I might want to know. But I don’t choose the events; I merely relate them. Does my perception also shape them? As storyteller, am I also part author/creator, part chef? Yes; I am chef, waiter, and customer, epicure. I want to tantalize, feed, fill, and fortify.
When I was young, able to stand but not able to see over the kitchen counter, I began experimenting in the kitchen. Father made me a stool and Mother placed it in the kitchen. There, on rainy afternoons, I became acquainted with cumin, garlic, and saffron. No, not saffron. That came later in life, I think. There, in the warmth of kitchen and family, I became acquainted with comfort and nutrition, nurturing. I carry that knowledge with me today. Believe me, I do not wish to lead you astray. I do not wish to, but I might. I am only…a chef standing 4 feet, 0 inches at home, where critics are gentle and adventurous.
I went to school, as children do. My parents had taught me that I was smart and capable. School was supposed to sharpen me, but it ground me down. At least, that is how I see it now. But I see that it is lunchtime and my stomach tells me it is time for a little something.
. . .
Please excuse the crumbs and stains. But eating and reading—or eating and writing—is one of the simple pleasures in life. We have control over few things, and that includes stains. So I have stopped trying to stop the encroachment of stains. I still do the laundry and clean the counters, mind you, but without the vigorous scrubbing of youth. I have come to accept imperfection, and I am happier for it. I suggest you do the same.
I live with a dog now. Wolf is my best friend and constant, undemanding companion. I meet other dog-walkers in the city and we stop to chat and sniff the air (and other places we shan’t mention here). I like dogs, and I like people with dogs because I believe they tend to be looser than other people, say those young, urban professionals I see hurrying across the street. Dog people know that stains happen. No one likes them, but you deal with them and move on. No sense crying over spilt milk or dwelling over rotten, up-chucked woodchuck. In fact, it is especially best if you don’t dwell over the latter. Or so I hear from my friends who live in the country. We don’t get many woodchucks in the city. We do get rats and pigeons, though. Some people don’t choose to distinguish between the two, but I do.
What will I reveal? More than you might want to know. Hell, more than I might want to know. But I don’t choose the events; I merely relate them. Does my perception also shape them? As storyteller, am I also part author/creator, part chef? Yes; I am chef, waiter, and customer, epicure. I want to tantalize, feed, fill, and fortify.
When I was young, able to stand but not able to see over the kitchen counter, I began experimenting in the kitchen. Father made me a stool and Mother placed it in the kitchen. There, on rainy afternoons, I became acquainted with cumin, garlic, and saffron. No, not saffron. That came later in life, I think. There, in the warmth of kitchen and family, I became acquainted with comfort and nutrition, nurturing. I carry that knowledge with me today. Believe me, I do not wish to lead you astray. I do not wish to, but I might. I am only…a chef standing 4 feet, 0 inches at home, where critics are gentle and adventurous.
I went to school, as children do. My parents had taught me that I was smart and capable. School was supposed to sharpen me, but it ground me down. At least, that is how I see it now. But I see that it is lunchtime and my stomach tells me it is time for a little something.
. . .
Please excuse the crumbs and stains. But eating and reading—or eating and writing—is one of the simple pleasures in life. We have control over few things, and that includes stains. So I have stopped trying to stop the encroachment of stains. I still do the laundry and clean the counters, mind you, but without the vigorous scrubbing of youth. I have come to accept imperfection, and I am happier for it. I suggest you do the same.
I live with a dog now. Wolf is my best friend and constant, undemanding companion. I meet other dog-walkers in the city and we stop to chat and sniff the air (and other places we shan’t mention here). I like dogs, and I like people with dogs because I believe they tend to be looser than other people, say those young, urban professionals I see hurrying across the street. Dog people know that stains happen. No one likes them, but you deal with them and move on. No sense crying over spilt milk or dwelling over rotten, up-chucked woodchuck. In fact, it is especially best if you don’t dwell over the latter. Or so I hear from my friends who live in the country. We don’t get many woodchucks in the city. We do get rats and pigeons, though. Some people don’t choose to distinguish between the two, but I do.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The Night ran away with the Moon
In this corner...Ding! I meant to go to bed early, but instead I went 4 rounds with my roommate's Epson printer and lost every round - ding! It wouldn't print without a color cartridge - even though it had a black ink cartridge, and was set to print in black ink. I checked every setting I could think of....9, 10! Epson wins! We finally decided it was a very clever - and very devious - marketing ploy by Epson to require consumers to buy color cartridges.
I went a second night of sleeping without sheets (hooray for being a bachelor.) On the productive end, though, I actually made myself dinner - stew with beans, carrots, potatoes, veggie sausage.
On the bus home I ran into an acquaintance who used to work at a bookstore with monthly poetry readings. She told me about moving to NY and looking for a job in fashion design. She wasn't worried about making it; she's got a good portfolio. I tried not to be the wet blanket on her parade, but I was thinking: ah, the early 20s.
I went a second night of sleeping without sheets (hooray for being a bachelor.) On the productive end, though, I actually made myself dinner - stew with beans, carrots, potatoes, veggie sausage.
On the bus home I ran into an acquaintance who used to work at a bookstore with monthly poetry readings. She told me about moving to NY and looking for a job in fashion design. She wasn't worried about making it; she's got a good portfolio. I tried not to be the wet blanket on her parade, but I was thinking: ah, the early 20s.
More
I was born in North Carolina, lived an unextraordinary life, much like yours, I imagine. I like to imagine the lives of others, their thoughts, secret hopes and public failures. I suppose you could call me a voyeur, but that is only part of the story. No matter how many fragments a story has, how many roundabouts and detours and dead-ends, somewhere there is a whole. But that whole is different for different people. You participate in the creation of the story, make it unique, unimagined by anyone else. You are important. You matter. No matter how much events, people, and television will seem to add up to you being a cog, a little person, joe schmoe, jane doe. Go home at night and, lying in bed, whisper to yourself that you matter. I only give this advice because I care, because I have been there myself. And I promised I would tell you about myself.
It was a grey afternoon when I was born; mother was napping. It was before Thanksgiving. The house was quiet, no preparations yet in progress. Cypress trees watched over her from the swamp. Brown leaves gathered to muffle sounds, to protect us. I was born and I was loved, like we all hope to be. But there is the way things should be, and the way things are. And it’s not always easy to tell which is which. So I am on guard, watchful for indications that things are not what they seem.
It was a grey afternoon when I was born; mother was napping. It was before Thanksgiving. The house was quiet, no preparations yet in progress. Cypress trees watched over her from the swamp. Brown leaves gathered to muffle sounds, to protect us. I was born and I was loved, like we all hope to be. But there is the way things should be, and the way things are. And it’s not always easy to tell which is which. So I am on guard, watchful for indications that things are not what they seem.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Too Tired to Post
Do I contradict myself again? Alas. Don't want to be too predictable. We all hold inconsistencies, contradictions, and paradoxes within ourselves. There is more to write about my trip, but I have spent my energy doing other things. And my energy doesn't seem to last long, lately. So I leave you with this:
We were born on a November afternoon on a twin bed in North Carolina. Our story really begins, however, hundreds of miles away in a big city—about as different as you can get from the sleepy southern town where we were conceived. But what is a story, if not a journey from one place to another? And what, if not the journey? The end exists, but it is artificial, as we all know. Except for death, and whether that is an ending is still being debated. But I didn’t start telling you this to prosthelytize my point of view…or did I? I will leave that up to you to decide.
There is usually a moment when the course of our journey shifts. Or many such moments, really, but we often don’t recognize them at the time for what they are. Sometimes we do recognize them, feel the gathering force of their power, a giant cartoon snowball picking up everything in its path. I have mentioned some passer-bys, innocent bystanders, walk-ons, stand-ins, wallflowers, backgrounds, bit-parts, accompaniments, appetizers, condiments…we will come back to them. But for now, let’s start with me. No sense in false modesty; I would be lying if I said I didn’t like talking about myself; who doesn’t? Anyone who doesn’t like talking about themselves is hiding something. You can attribute it to whatever you like—being an only child, being the star of the school play, being a lonely person who lives alone, works in what, if not a dead-end job, is at least a detour, roundabout, one-way street or one of those subdivision streets where the houses all look the same. The point is, I will admit to things that many people think, feel, or do, but that they would never admit to. I don’t like lying and I usually don’t see the point. Remember that; it will be important later, when you start to doubt me, start to doubt my version of events.
We were born on a November afternoon on a twin bed in North Carolina. Our story really begins, however, hundreds of miles away in a big city—about as different as you can get from the sleepy southern town where we were conceived. But what is a story, if not a journey from one place to another? And what, if not the journey? The end exists, but it is artificial, as we all know. Except for death, and whether that is an ending is still being debated. But I didn’t start telling you this to prosthelytize my point of view…or did I? I will leave that up to you to decide.
There is usually a moment when the course of our journey shifts. Or many such moments, really, but we often don’t recognize them at the time for what they are. Sometimes we do recognize them, feel the gathering force of their power, a giant cartoon snowball picking up everything in its path. I have mentioned some passer-bys, innocent bystanders, walk-ons, stand-ins, wallflowers, backgrounds, bit-parts, accompaniments, appetizers, condiments…we will come back to them. But for now, let’s start with me. No sense in false modesty; I would be lying if I said I didn’t like talking about myself; who doesn’t? Anyone who doesn’t like talking about themselves is hiding something. You can attribute it to whatever you like—being an only child, being the star of the school play, being a lonely person who lives alone, works in what, if not a dead-end job, is at least a detour, roundabout, one-way street or one of those subdivision streets where the houses all look the same. The point is, I will admit to things that many people think, feel, or do, but that they would never admit to. I don’t like lying and I usually don’t see the point. Remember that; it will be important later, when you start to doubt me, start to doubt my version of events.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Insubordinate Kneecap
A coworker once told me what she learned in her presentations class: public speaking is people's #1 fear. Death is #3.
If you are dead, do you need fear public speaking? Do the angels require you to give a weekly update of your activities in heaven to justify your presence there? Does the devil torture you by making you regurgitate in a position other than one of the four home base positions? It must be he didn't like the holy implications of the steeple posititon (fingertips touching, hands at waist level).
When I'm dead, I hope people remember that my shoe color was two shades darker than my hem and that I never showed an insubordinate kneecap in the office.
If you are dead, do you need fear public speaking? Do the angels require you to give a weekly update of your activities in heaven to justify your presence there? Does the devil torture you by making you regurgitate in a position other than one of the four home base positions? It must be he didn't like the holy implications of the steeple posititon (fingertips touching, hands at waist level).
When I'm dead, I hope people remember that my shoe color was two shades darker than my hem and that I never showed an insubordinate kneecap in the office.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Nose to the smelling salt mines
I liked my metaphors mixed, not shaken.
I was going to go in search of a poetry fix tonight, but I ended up staying home and adding to my travelogue. My notes I kept in my notebook are a bit sparse, but I added some recollections of Prague online. It is easier for me to update the entries and keep them somewhat chronological than just add things willy-nilly as I think of them.
It was difficult to go back to work today, but I think I feel more well-adjusted now (as well-adjusted as I get, anyway).
It rained today. The pink cherry blossoms were all the more stunning against the grey.
I was going to go in search of a poetry fix tonight, but I ended up staying home and adding to my travelogue. My notes I kept in my notebook are a bit sparse, but I added some recollections of Prague online. It is easier for me to update the entries and keep them somewhat chronological than just add things willy-nilly as I think of them.
It was difficult to go back to work today, but I think I feel more well-adjusted now (as well-adjusted as I get, anyway).
It rained today. The pink cherry blossoms were all the more stunning against the grey.
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough
Ezra Pound (1913)
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Jet Drag
Why does going west seem so much harder than going east? I found this to be true when I came home from Ireland, too. I'm usually worn out after these vacations; that probably contributes. I try to drink water and only enough coffee to keep away the caffeine monster. And, although they offer free drinks on international flights, I abstain (which goes against the principal of free stuff). When I get to my destination, I don't sleep until the local time zone says sleep. Tomorrow I go back to work; I hope I remember how to work.
I uploaded more pictures to Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/19255037@N00/sets/72157600005190124/. I am also going back and adding to previous posts. I've added some text to the Budapest entry, and will add more to other entries as time allows. I want to record it before it fades.
The night before I left for home, I dreamt that my cat died. Tamar and Alicia took her to the vet and the doctor told them that this cat had been neglected for a long time (Tamar laughed when I told her this; since I dote on my cat, the idea of her being neglected was funny). I awoke upset and anxious. When I called Tamar from Porland, almost the first thing I asked was, "how's Bird?". "She's fine; she's napping with Alicia."
But, in the area of animal news, there was a pet food recall on brands (that include the ones I feed my cat). Cats and dogs have died and they linked it to the pet food. For those of you with pets, find the FDA press release and links to lists of affected products: http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/2007/NEW01590.html. And sleep better ; )
I uploaded more pictures to Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/19255037@N00/sets/72157600005190124/. I am also going back and adding to previous posts. I've added some text to the Budapest entry, and will add more to other entries as time allows. I want to record it before it fades.
The night before I left for home, I dreamt that my cat died. Tamar and Alicia took her to the vet and the doctor told them that this cat had been neglected for a long time (Tamar laughed when I told her this; since I dote on my cat, the idea of her being neglected was funny). I awoke upset and anxious. When I called Tamar from Porland, almost the first thing I asked was, "how's Bird?". "She's fine; she's napping with Alicia."
But, in the area of animal news, there was a pet food recall on brands (that include the ones I feed my cat). Cats and dogs have died and they linked it to the pet food. For those of you with pets, find the FDA press release and links to lists of affected products: http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/2007/NEW01590.html. And sleep better ; )
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Seattle/home
It is good to be home. I arrived at Sea-Tac around 4:45; Tamar picked me up. I made 3 phone calls, showered, ordered Thai food, visited Alicia at work, ate, and crashed at 9 pm. Now it is Saturday and I have had kava/kave/kaffee/coffee and breakfast and I am ready to go back to bed! But I won't, yet. I have errands to do and a new time zone to adjust to. But I will definitely nap before the party (St. Paddy's day, a friend of Tamar's) tonight.
David, thanks again for meeting me in Prague and Vienna. It was really great to see you again...
David, thanks again for meeting me in Prague and Vienna. It was really great to see you again...
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Vienna/Wien
Arg! Blogger is in German. Don't want to bother trying to figure out how to change it. Internet not cheap heir. Ich habe less time in Wein than I wanted. \nothing went as I had planned on Tuesday, so I left Budapest much later than I meant to. Got to see Statue Park, with a collection of communist statues no one wanted anymore after they got rid of the Soviet government. It was an adventure/ordeal getting there on public transportation.
Tommorow I take the train back to Prague and Friday morning I fly home. David is going to meet me in Vienna, we think. I don't have any pictures of Vienna yet, but I will upload some later. When I get home I will most likely upload all my pictures and go back and update my entries. Right now I am too busy! If you didn't notice, though, I have uploaded some more pictures to Flickr. Click on the logo in the sidebar to view them. Miss you guys, but I am having a good time! Man, do my feet hurt at the end of every day! Finally got caught up on sleep last night, though.
Tommorow I take the train back to Prague and Friday morning I fly home. David is going to meet me in Vienna, we think. I don't have any pictures of Vienna yet, but I will upload some later. When I get home I will most likely upload all my pictures and go back and update my entries. Right now I am too busy! If you didn't notice, though, I have uploaded some more pictures to Flickr. Click on the logo in the sidebar to view them. Miss you guys, but I am having a good time! Man, do my feet hurt at the end of every day! Finally got caught up on sleep last night, though.
Nein, Mutter, I did not post at 2 am- that is what time it was Pacific Standard time.
Monday, March 12, 2007
American in Budapest
Me after the night train to Budapest. Notice the hair.
Budapest is romantic. It is also busy and grungy, like a big city. Many of the buildings were stark (but still looked European) and covered in stoot. The higher up on the building, the less sooty it was. I saw many canoodling couples (a lot of PDA).
As you can see, I went to the zoo (on Monday). It was an Art Nouveau zoo, but I was distracted by the animals!
I also went to the thermal baths! Spent several hours there, getting all pruny and relaxed. Men were playing chess in the baths. They had many pools of different temperatures. A Hungarian man told me I was very beautiful; I think he was practicing his English. It was another sunny day. I spent most of my time in the outdoor baths, alternating between the 38 degree Celcius and the 36 degree pools. That's where I was when the sun went down. I also spent some time indoors, in various mineral pools, the sauna briefly, and the very hot steam room.
Tuesday was my adventure/ordeal/meditation in public transportation so I could get to...Statue Park.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Oswiecim/Auschwitz
Oswiecim is the Polish name of the town (pronounced, roughly, "os vee chem"). It was very confusing and frustrating trying to get the bus there. Ended up taking the train. Just getting the ticket took a long time, as I went back and forth between ticket windows, information windows, down corridors and back through them, up and down stairs and across platforms. Seeing and hearing the confusion of other English-speaking tourists made me feel better.
There were many people and tour groups at Auschwitz. Although I'm sure the guides give valuable information, it is still an intellectual experience, not that different from reading a history book. And people have the urge to talk amongst themselves, which also detracts from the experience. I think these things end up being distractions from really thinking about what happened--the most important part of actually visiting Auschwitz--and more, engaging our imaginations and emotions--the real triggers of empathy, and not just pity. To cruise through chatting about how bad it was is to miss the point.
Mostly, I tried to avoid the large tour groups and not be distracted by the talking of others. But it made me angry when a group a four people were talking loudly in the crematorium. I actually shushed them. One woman rolled her eyes. There was even a sign in three languages asking people to maintain silence and remember that thousands of people were murdered in this very place. Outside, another member of the party got more photos for her photo album.
I wasn't able to really grasp that thousands of people were gassed and burned right where I was standing. Where I did grasp the horror of the Holocaust in a way never before was at the exhibits of articles stolen from the prisoners--glasses, artificial limbs and crutches, shoes, pots and pans. I first saw the mound of glasses out of the corner of my eye, and I had to go to the window and take a few deep breaths before I could look at them--mound of mangled wire, glass lenses and gaps where lenses used to be--these once belonged to people who breathed, who ate and loved and lived their lives before their lives were stolen from them. The room of pots and pans made my throat close.
Everyone wants to know, "how could this have happened?" Can we all assume that we would never contribute, even passively, to this kind of thing? As I wandered on the grounds I wondered: why did it take three years to save the people of Auschwitz? why was it allowed to go on for three years?
Friday, March 09, 2007
Krakow
The night train sleeping on "couchette" wasn't bad. Getting lost in the rain carrying my backpack all over town at 6:30 in the morning kinda was. But I found the main square and my hotel. Can't check in yet, though. I am the person you don't want to sit next to you in the bakery or internet cafe... I will check in and shower around 12, I think.
Showered, rested, and stretched. My room is beautiful!
I see why Rick Steves calls Krakow the next Prague...it is definitelz up and coming, compact with lovelz public spaces.
Had a fancy late lunch on Friday: the meal started with a complimentary tiny glass of hot honey mead (which went to my head), then delicious wild mushroom soup and (avert your eyes, you vegetarians, vegans, and hangers-on) duck entree with veggies. I think the meal was around $15. It would have been a lot more in the States! Internet was also very cheap here, and prices in general were low.
Went to an art museum of the Polish Art Nouveau movement. Museum was a little funky--some exhibits were kinda boring and I wasn't sure how they were related, and the English translations, when they existed, were a bit strange (like the translations in the Prague Museum of Communism).
Afternoon, I walked to Wawel Hill and wandered the grounds around the castle. Apparently, according to believers in chakra, there are 7 places on earth that have convergence of energy, like the 7 chakras of the body. Wawel Hill is one (although it doesn't market itself that way and the guides are, I guess, forbidden to talk about it). People in the know, though, flock here, according to my guidebook. The place were the energy is most concentrated is a wall--it is covered in smudges from the hugs of kooks/believers. Just in case, I touched the wall. I didn't see anyone hugging it, though.
Went to a couple churches--St. Mary's and St. Francis. Services were going on in both when I was there. Poland is, I understand, devoutly Catholic and boasts a high concentration of churches. At all times of the day, it seems, you can find kooks/believers going to church to pray.
Showered, rested, and stretched. My room is beautiful!
I see why Rick Steves calls Krakow the next Prague...it is definitelz up and coming, compact with lovelz public spaces.
Had a fancy late lunch on Friday: the meal started with a complimentary tiny glass of hot honey mead (which went to my head), then delicious wild mushroom soup and (avert your eyes, you vegetarians, vegans, and hangers-on) duck entree with veggies. I think the meal was around $15. It would have been a lot more in the States! Internet was also very cheap here, and prices in general were low.
Went to an art museum of the Polish Art Nouveau movement. Museum was a little funky--some exhibits were kinda boring and I wasn't sure how they were related, and the English translations, when they existed, were a bit strange (like the translations in the Prague Museum of Communism).
Afternoon, I walked to Wawel Hill and wandered the grounds around the castle. Apparently, according to believers in chakra, there are 7 places on earth that have convergence of energy, like the 7 chakras of the body. Wawel Hill is one (although it doesn't market itself that way and the guides are, I guess, forbidden to talk about it). People in the know, though, flock here, according to my guidebook. The place were the energy is most concentrated is a wall--it is covered in smudges from the hugs of kooks/believers. Just in case, I touched the wall. I didn't see anyone hugging it, though.
Went to a couple churches--St. Mary's and St. Francis. Services were going on in both when I was there. Poland is, I understand, devoutly Catholic and boasts a high concentration of churches. At all times of the day, it seems, you can find kooks/believers going to church to pray.
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