The Cane of Cold

I'm in Krakow. Everything is frozen and walking in the evenings feels like gliding through a thick mass of a cold white substance. Breathing has become a whole new activity where you have to be careful not to give away too much of yourself to the outside. It's as though everything has become a whole new game of math: you carefully measure how much warmth inside you need to the next destination and try to foresee how cold your destination may be. It's constantly taking measurements of temperature, steps, surface slipping risks, and of the ever decreasing range of colors you get to see. Perhaps this is the underlying cause for Christmas lights and the undecided liking for the strangely colored socks and sweaters we all seem to agree to wear at this time of year?

I see the increasing hunger in people's faces as I ride the tram over the steel gray slopes of the city's curves. They all rush to shop, to see, to catch the sun, even if all it offers are the white canes of its winter rays. The hunger of warmth and light combines with the implicit requirement for the Christmas joy, which is to be felt despite the biting cold and the sly drafts inside the city walls. Waking up has become a race of its own, with the first thought - how much longer before the sun goes down? Will I have enough time to get dressed; how much time do I have this morning? Lured outside to feed your lungs and eyes, you still get hit at the back of your neck with the cane of cold. 'Ah, yes,' we sigh as we breathe out. We stand relieved, fooled again, and still amazed with the small offering of light we all long for.

A Sunday Kind of Love

I'm in Krakow. It's a Sunday morning slowly melting into an afternoon before my eyes. There's something I can't ever grasp about the Sunday mornings here. The light seems different, and the people seem more calm and just happy. They all wear their Sunday clothes with pleated dresses and white slippers, as though they were all expecting to rendezvous with the Lord today. I pass the park around the centre and it bursts with families eating ice-cream and chasing their dogs. Even the couples seem different today - from the craziness of Saturday night they've moved to strolls, holding hands, and dreams of future families and perfect homes. The market in front of the cafe I'm writing from is buzzing today. Lots of jackets in indescribable colours and local people trying to bargain for another toy for their kid. Oh Sundays. It always feels like you don't need to be anywhere or with anyone to feel at ease.

Sunday more than any other day is also good for accidental people here. These are random individuals in Krakow I know from somewhere, but never sure from where. This morning as I was approaching the tram stop to get into town I passed a guy, about my age, huge, tattooed from head to toe, and with a pit bull on a ornate leash. 'Matt'? I asked. Sure enough, we went to primary school together. I attempted to compliment on his dog, but as he tried to snap off my hand, I decided to change the subject. We didn't end up having that much to talk about as he escorted me to the tram, but nevertheless enjoyed the Sunday exchange of meaningless questions and answers. On a final note, with a sort of a worry in his voice, he confirmed that I wasn't dating a black man, nodded, and sailed back to his life. Oh Sunday, the things you make us do.

Anyway, I'm here and leaving again in a couple of days. I'm sorting though piles of clothes, electricity converters, letters and photographs. Soon all my folded goods will become my home base with a timer set to unfold in London.

Oh my...

I can't believe I haven't written for so long! Part of the excuse is that I'm in Krakow right now and have abandoned my dear laptop back in Budapest. As for the rest of the time of my blogger absence - no real excuse this time. I'll get back on track as soon as I'm back in Budapest, which is this weekend. Now that I'm about to leave, I already kind of miss Krakow and find myself thinking that maybe I could live here?