I woke to the trumpeter sounding the hour from the top of St Mary's Basilica, a tradition going back to the 13th century when the Tartars attacked the city. This I learnt on a walking tour I joined which visited the main sites of the old town. We started in the main square by St Mary's in which the Cloth Hall stands. Here they once traded textiles, now the stalls sell gifts for tourists. Later we visited the University, or at least the part where it was first housed. A University where Copernicus and Pope John Paul II studied, but where Marie Curie was rejected as she was a women (the Sorbonne was more enlightened). After climbing Wawel Hill we viewed the Cathedral, the adjacent castle and finally looked for dragons! According to folklore a dragon had to be killed in order to build a village on the hill. Everywhere was crowded with tourists and school parties. English was widely spoken.
I sat for a while in St Mary's, admiring the golden altar and star studded ceiling. The many crucifixes I had been seeing reminded me of the Christian teaching that Jesus died so our sins might be forgiven. I wondered what my sins were. My notion of God was vague but I have not killed anyone or stolen anything. I have not lusted after my neighbour's wife or their ass, and I felt I had honoured my parents, especially as my mother was dying. Maybe my sins were those of omission, such as ignoring beggars on the street (although giving money to a charity for the homeless).
Leaving such thoughts behind I joined a food tour (was that the sin of gluttony revealing itself, I was aleady two cakes into the day)? The amiable guide fed myself and several Americans who were on Grand Tours of Europe. There was cheese, sausage, pierogies, sour soup, potato pancakes, apple pancakes and a few other things. To drink there were small shots of quality vodka and a beer. Suitably stuffed I spent my last night in Poland. Next morning I caught an early train to the airport, slightly concerned as it was from platform 4, whereas platform 3 had "airport" symbols. At the airport there was a long, slow queue while the border police took our finger prints and photographed us under the new European Entry/Exit System. As I had both taken when I arrived in Slovakia I wondered why the process was not quicker, or automated the second time.
Finally I was landing at Gatwick, just missing an earlier train home.
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