Cześć, jak się masz?

Otherwise known as "Hey, how are you?" Just one of the many new Polish phrases I have learned in the less than 24 hours I've spent in Krakow. Others include "One student ticket for the Dragon Cave, please!"

I wish I were joking.

So yes, I arrived in Krakow, Poland after a long and adventure-filled day. I almost didn't make it out of Paris yesterday due to my inability to find the shuttle bus to the Beauvais airport, and then by the time I had found it (and Erin with her boyfriend already in line, on their way to Bremen) I stood in line just long enough to miss the bus for my flight. We took the next bus and arrived at Beauvais approximately two hours later (Erin: "How can they even CALL this Paris Beauvais?") and waited in two more neverending lines at check-in and security, where I witnessed three entire strollers being dismantled and sent through the scanner. You know the bombs are hidden under that spare diaper bag.

Then the real fun began. I shoved my way out of the security crowd and located the boarding "line" (read: mob) for my flight, and noted, with unbridled glee, that it was one of those planes where you go out into the parking lot and climb up the tiny staircase to the cabin! Like a scene out of a 40s war movie! Love it.

What I did not love was Katowice International Airport. Contrary to the claims of the Wizzair website (which by the way is pronounced Weezer in Polish. "Thank you for flying Weezer!") when they said that it was "near" Krakow and "easily accessible by our associated shuttle service," both stipulations proved false. After the first shuttle pulled up, refused to let me on for lack of reservation, and left me sputtering and alone next to a French family who had confirmation emails in their hands but were apparently not on the driver's VIP list, a mild panic set in. I had visions of being trapped in Katowice forever and communicatively limited by the only Polish word I knew-- pąckzi. Which I guess would have helped me survive for awhile, since they were available for purchase in the airport cafe, alongside a tray of kielbasas. But I don't even like pąckzis! I thought with mounting horror. My conversation with Paul a few days prior came back to me suddenly. "Do you consider yourself a person with a general command of common sense?" he had asked. "Yes," I answered after a brief pause. "Then you'll be fine," he had assured. How would a person with general common sense find her way out of a Polish airport? I decided to beg for help.

"Excuse me," I said to the mother in the French family, who had been conversing in Polish with the shuttle driver. "When does the next bus arrive?"
"Une heure et demi," she sighed.

An hour and a half. I went back inside and found an ATM, took out a hundred Polish zlotys, and bought a sandwich. Then with the change I found an internet kiosk and did a Google search for transportation between Katowice and Krakow. I decided that if the next shuttle wouldn't let me on, I would take a bus to the Katowice city center and book a train to Krakow. With this new plan in mind, I went back outside to wait.

An hour and a half later, the second shuttle arrived, and the French family recommenced their arguments with the new driver. They won the battle this time, and as they were boarding the bus I seized my opportunity. "Excuse me for disturbing you, Madame," I said to the mother in surprisingly perfect French, no doubt the product of an panic-induced adrenaline rush, "but would you mind asking the driver if it would be possible for me to purchase a one-way ticket to Krakow on this bus?"

"D'accord," she agreed, and after a minute of rapid conversation with the man I recognized the international sign of approval: he nodded.

Success! I forked over fifty zlotys and hopped onto the shuttle, chuckling to myself at the thought that this had been the one time, two months to the day after I moved to Paris, that my French had proved truly indispensable. In Poland.

We pulled away from the airport and our non-English-speaking driver immediately turned on the radio and selected an American Top 40 station that constituted our background music for the two-hour ride to Krakow. Oh, the supreme irony of it all.

My couchsurfer, a university professor named Robert, met me at the station last night and took me on a whirlwind tour of Krakow nightlife. He gave me maps, a glass of "wodka" (there are no v's in Polish) and coke, and a grammar lesson (I learned "excuse me"-- it's "przepraszam." Go ahead, ask me how to say it! "Thank you" was too hard though, so my politeness has been abruptly terminating after I successfully receive whatever it is I've just asked for.) Apparently my pronunciation wasn't half bad, because Robert told me admiringly that my accent was nearly perfect when I actually got the words right. He attributed it to some sort of intuition from my Polish heritage, but I think it's just that I like to smush all the sounds in words together and you get to do a lot of that in Polish. Today I went for a walk around the Old Town and continually asked for "one ticket" "one pretzel" "one...this" and the vendors replied to me in Polish, which was either a sign that I didn't sound too foreign, or a sign that they didn't speak English. Considering the near misses with the shuttle drivers, I'm betting on the latter. But at least I made it to Krakow, and thanks to Robert's efforts on my behalf at the train station, I now have a ticket to Warsaw. More about that later, along with pictures and descriptions of my travels today. For now though, rest assured that I am alive, oczywiscie. Ja estem cudownie! Pa pa!