Keep calm and pierogi on. What the Fox is this Food?

 

 

We set off south from foggy Kraków in the morning, making a stop at Lidl to stock up on sandwich supplies before hitting the road. Scott wasn’t particularly impressed with Polish drivers, so we decided to focus on the positives: the gorgeous, colourful autumn scenery, the forests, and, before long, the spectacular Tatra Mountains.

Two hours later, we’d crossed the border into Slovakia and arrived at Bachledka, where we planned to tackle a short treetop trail high above the forest. We parked, took the cable car up, and set off on foot. The trail itself was only about 400–500 metres long, but the views were absolutely stunning. Once we’d finished the walk, we continued uphill to the observation tower. And then, for reasons I still don’t entirely understand, I allowed Scott to talk me into taking the mountain slide back down instead of enjoying a perfectly peaceful walk. The thrill cost €3, and I saved myself at least 500 steps. I’m still not entirely sure whether that counts as awin.

After our little treetop adventure, we checked the time and realised we could just about squeeze in a visit toSkalnaté Pleso. So off we went! Not because the mountain was about to close, of course, but because the last cable car gondola down leaves at 4 p.m., and I had absolutely no desire to scramble down a mountainside in near darkness.

We took two different gondolas to reach the top, admired a mixture of snowy and snow-free mountain scenery, and enjoyed a walk around the alpine lake. And then, just when we thought the views were the main attraction, we met a fox. Luckily, this particular fox seemed to be living its best life on a good diet. It was beautiful, well-fed, and more than happy to pose for the camera. A very experienced model, really.

With the mountain adventures behind us, we turned our attention to a rather important question: where on earth were we going to sleep that night? We hadn’t booked any accommodation, so we had to choose between a local village and Poprad. Poprad looked promising in the photos, with a charming old town and what appeared to be a slightly more exciting food scene than the village we’d just driven through. Decision made - Poprad it was!

We arrived, and the entrance to the city felt a little like we were driving into a local industrial estate. Not quite the picturesque Slovakian town we’d imagined. Thankfully, our hotel room had mountain views, which helped improve the situation somewhat. At least the mountains were still doing their job.

I’d picked out two restaurants in advance, figuring we could have a lovely stroll through the colourful old town before deciding which one looked more appealing.

Except there was one tiny problem. The entire city centre was a construction site.

Yes, the whole reason we’d chosen Poprad - its supposedly charming old town - was dug up and fenced off. We could only shuffle along the edges of buildings, and our view of the church was limited to peering through holes in the construction fencing. There genuinely didn’t seem to be a single street in the centre that wasn’t being worked on. So much for our romantic evening stroll through a picturesque Slovakian town.

Since it was still too early for dinner, we decided to visit the local shopping centre instead. It didn’t exactly blow us away either, so we eventually headed to a craft brewery restaurant, hoping that at least the food would redeem the evening.

First, we had to ask for an English menu approximately three times, as our Slovakian skills have yet to reachthe advanced level of deciphering restaurant menus.

Eventually, the food arrived. And, well, let’s just say it failed to make much of an impression. The tartare was described on the menu as being served with “dry and greasy bread”. An intriguing combination, to say the least. It turned out that half the bread slices were toasted, while the other half had been panfried in oil. In a surprising plot twist, the bread turned out to be the best part of the entire dinner. The so-called tartare was essentially minced meat swimming in sauce. The onion rings, supposedly beer-battered, looked as though they’d come straight out of a frozen food packet. The trout, which appeared to have been on a diet, was served on top of some sort of stewed cabbage. The burger was… more or less okay. Not a culinary experience we’ll be writing home about.

We walked back to the hotel, admired the mountains one more time, and went to bed.

Keep calm and pierogi on. Why Learn from My Mistakes When You Can Make Your Own?

Our flight departed 15 minutes late but somehow managed to arrive 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Our plan was beautifully simple: land, pick up our rental car, drive to the hotel, and be comfortably settled in our room half an hour later. What could possibly go wrong? Well, quite a lot, as it turned out.

We arrived at the rental car desk, only to discover that Scott's American driving licence was apparently not American enough for Poland. Since he only had his US licence with him, the rental company flatly refused to give us a car. No negotiations, no exceptions, no car. Luckily, not all rental companies are equally enthusiastic about ruining people's travel plans. Avia came to our rescue and happily handed us the keys to a Seat. For approximately double the original price, of course. Because nothing says "welcome to Poland" quite like paying twice as much for the privilege of driving away from the airport.

We eventually made it to the hotel, where we discovered another charming little detail that had somehow escaped our attention during booking. The hotel had exactly ONE parking space. And, naturally, that one parking space was already occupied by somebody else's car. Following the receptionist's instructions, we set off in search of an alternative parking lot. What we found was a pitch-black area behind a half-open gate, looking considerably more like the entrance to an abandoned industrial site than somewhere you'd voluntarily leave a rental car. I actually walked past it initially because the possibility of it being a legitimate parking lot hadn't even crossed my mind. Eventually, a man materialised out of the darkness, opened the gate and casually informed us that the parking lot was closed at night, meaning we wouldn't be seeing our car again until morning. On the bright side, they accepted both cash and cards. How wonderfully modern for a place that appeared to operate somewhere between a secret underground facility and a horror movie set.

With the car safely imprisoned for the night, we dropped our bags in the room and went hunting for dinner. And this is where Poland finally redeemed itself. Scott had what he declared to be the best kielbasa of his entire life. Admittedly, I have no idea how many Polish sausages he's eaten in his lifetime, but he seemed sufficiently impressed for it to qualify as a major culinary event.

Today we had planned to grab lunch at a nearby café, which seemed like a perfectly achievable ambition. Apparently, we were being overly optimistic again. After standing at the entrance for approximately five minutes, waiting for someone to acknowledge our existence and perhaps reveal the complicated secret of whether we were allowed to sit at a table, we gave up. Clearly, lunch was not part of their business strategy. We took our hungry selves to a sandwich café instead, where the revolutionary concept of actually serving customers appeared to be alive and well.

The moment the working day was over, we rushed into the city, determined to squeeze in at least a little sightseeing before darkness swallowed everything. Our first ambitious idea was to climb a church tower and enjoy some lovely views over Kraków. Unfortunately, every other tourist in the city had apparently had exactly the same brilliant idea, and all tickets for the day were already sold out. So much for seeing the city from above. We settled for exploring it from ground level instead, wandering through the streets, admiring the beautiful buildings and popping into shops along the way. Not quite the grand sightseeing adventure we'd imagined, but at least nobody tried to charge us double for walking.

We finished the evening at Moo Moo, where we decided that after a day of work, minor disappointments and failed sightseeing ambitions, we deserved some proper meat. And what an excellent decision that turned out to be! One of the best beef tartares and carpaccios we've had. Absolutely delicious and easily the highlight of the day.

One Lake View at a Time. How Milan Fashion Week messed with our cultural agenda

 

Gerli woke me up at some ungodly hour because she wanted to go back to the local market to buy the same mohair sweaters she had looked at on Saturday and then decided not to buy. Naturally, today she still didn’t buy them, because apparently THAT seller wasn’t there. The other entrepreneur who had turned up instead was selling exactly the same sweaters for twice the price, which was obviously unacceptable on principle.

So we went back to the apartment, woke Saskia up, packed everything and dragged our travelling circus back towards the car park. This was the moment when we discovered that our MG3 had not really been designed with three women and several days of shopping in mind. The boot was already experiencing emotional distress before half the luggage had gone in. Somehow, with enough pushing, rearranging and much optimism, we managed to squeeze everything inside and then went off to find breakfast.

Saskia ordered an English breakfast large enough to solve a minor humanitarian crisis in Rwanda, although her fruit bowl was absolutely excellent. My eggs appeared to have been manufactured from leftover plastic somewhere in a Temu factory, and Gerli was slightly offended that the amount of avocado on her avocado toast had clearly been reduced to make room for beetroot hummus. Apart from two dogs getting into an argument nearby, breakfast passed without major incident. The most surprising part came when the bill arrived and there was no cover charge. In Italy we had become so used to paying roughly €2–€3.50 per person for the privilege of sitting at a table and using actual plates that this almost felt suspiciously generous.

Then we started driving towards Milan. I messaged our host to say that we expected to arrive sometime between three and four. He replied that this was perfect and that he would be waiting for us at four. I clarified that we would actually arrive between three and four. While we were already discussing practical matters, I also asked whether we could have a separate duvet or top sheet for each person. This turned into a surprisingly complicated issue. Apparently a double bed comes with one set of bedding because, well, it is a double bed. If we wanted an additional sheet, that would cost €30. We decided that for €30 we could probably survive sharing the existing textile arrangement.

We reached Milan, parked the car and went for a walk around the city. After some shopping, the plan was to sit down for a while at the largest Starbucks in Europe. Unfortunately, every tourist in Milan had apparently received exactly the same memo. So we chose another Starbucks nearby. This one was basically a counter with two bar stools. No proper seating. Not even a toilet. Barista very helpfully directed customers to the toilet on the 4th floor of nearby Primark. Barely even a Starbucks in the philosophical sense. Still, we got our drinks and started walking towards the apartment.

On the way, we stopped at the car park and collected part of our luggage. At 14:58 we were standing outside the gate of the apartment, which, to be fair, turned out to be very cool. It is spread over two floors and immediately made us feel slightly better about carrying half our belongings through Milan like refugees from a particularly stylish department store.

For dinner, we decided ordering food would be a better idea than going out again. For Gerli and me, the choice was easy because I had spotted a lobster-roll place earlier, so we ordered some rolls and sweet potato fries from there. Saskia wanted a burger, which is where dinner became more challenging. Eventually we found a place offering burgers with gluten-free buns and placed the order. Estimated delivery time: 25–45 minutes. So far, so normal. About 30 minutes later, the courier reached the restaurant. The burger was not ready. Fifty minutes after ordering, the courier finally was able to collect the food, and the app announced that he was four minutes away. I immediately headed downstairs because there is actually a bit of a walk from our apartment to the gate. I reached the gate. The app still said four minutes. The courier did not move. Then he moved in the wrong direction. Five minutes. Then he stopped. Four minutes. By this point, those four minutes had lasted about fifteen minutes, which was becoming an impressive demonstration of how flexible time can be in Italy. I contacted customer service. They checked with the courier and informed me that he had got stuck in Milan Fashion Week traffic. Of course he had. But he promised to arrive within ten minutes. Eventually, one hour and twenty-five minutes after we had placed the order, we received one cold burger and a portion of fries that had once, in a more optimistic phase of their lives, been warm.

For the cultural highlight of the day, we had selected Milan Dome, the Starbucks next to it - partly to compensate for our earlier rather underwhelming Starbucks experience - and the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II right beside it. A very solid plan.

Unfortunately, all three were effectively closed to normal humans because Milan Fashion Week had taken over the area and access was reserved for the chosen ones.

So much for culture. We went back to Uniqlo instead, stopped at a supermarket, and returned to the apartment.

One Lake View at a Time. How we didn’t see George Clooney

 

 

Yesterday morning started with us still recovering from the day before. Saskia needed roughly an hour just to get out of bed at all. Gerli and I had enough time to go to the shop and come back before Saskia had progressed as far as breakfast porridge. The rest of the day continued at the same impressive pace.

We did a little shopping and then Gerli found a restaurant next to the cathedral - the same cathedral whose bells we hear approximately eighteen times a day - where apparently all pasta dishes could also be made gluten-free. Excellent. We went there immediately. Once seated, we discovered that yes, they could indeed make the pasta gluten-free, but the options were either cream sauce or snails. Saskia was not exactly overwhelmed with excitement. Since they also had lasagne on the menu, I asked whether they could perhaps just make her a simple Bolognese instead. They could. Even better, Saskia got a warm gluten-free seeded bread roll straight from the oven, while Gerli and I were given an entire paper bag full of normal ciabatta. I ordered carpaccio, and when it arrived Gerli looked at it and asked whether I had forgotten to order actual food.

I had also been looking into operators offering boat tours on Lake Como. Apparently nobody really does big group tours, while the smaller private ones I found were around €600, which seemed slightly excessive for an hour of sitting in a boat. Today, however, we randomly walked into a shop that was selling one-hour private tours for considerably less. Considerably. Everything sounded perfect right up until the moment Saskia announced, “Nope, I don’t want to.” We tried logic, enthusiasm and mild emotional manipulation. Nothing worked.

We walked around a bit more until both younger members of the group declared themselves exhausted and went back to the apartment. I decided to take the funicular up the mountain instead. We had tried doing this the day before yesterday, but the queue had been out the door, so we had sensibly postponed it. This time I arrived at the station and there was nobody there at all. Also, none of the ticket machines were working, which at first looked less promising. Then I noticed signs explaining that, as part of some European mobility day, all rides were free. You might think this would attract crowds. Apparently not. I walked straight in and about a minute later the train started heading up.

The views were fantastic, and I had timed it perfectly for sunset. Coming back down was slightly less elegant. There were a few hundred people in the queue. The ladies behind me kept stepping out of line to admire the sunset and then, on returning, tried to casually slide back in front of me. I put my arm out and pointed firmly behind me with my thumb. For the remaining five minutes, one of them kept looking at me, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. I managed to survive the criticism.

Today’s plan was to introduce Gerli and Saskia to life outside the European Union. And what better place to do that than an outlet village in Switzerland? At 9:45 we headed towards the railway station, and by 10:40 we were standing outside the closed shopping centre waiting for it to open. Eventually we were allowed in, and two hours later our entire haul consisted of one bag of Lindt chocolate. International shopping success.

Things improved slightly in Nike, and then considerably at a Thai bistro, where we had avocado-mango salad, fried rice and avocado-salmon-mango tartare. After that we felt ready to return to Italy.

Meanwhile, I had also booked the boat tour. Enzo was supposed to meet us at the harbour at 5 p.m. The harbour, as it turned out, was not the convenient one right next to our apartment but another one about 1.5 kilometres away, so we had to hurry. Saskia was still not convinced that this boat trip was a good idea. However, as she had temporarily lost voting rights on the matter, she got into the boat anyway.

Enzo immediately took off across the lake at speed, water spraying everywhere. Gerli grabbed the side of the boat, while Saskia, after approximately three minutes, decided that this was actually quite fun and started making TikToks. Enzo pointed out various luxury villas and at one point even let Saskia drive the boat. Gerli did not appear entirely convinced by Saskia’s ability to steer with her right hand while taking selfies and filming TikToks with her left, and she was not especially discreet about expressing this concern.

The hour passed very quickly. More precisely, in about an hour. Enzo helped us out onto a very wet dock, where we put our shoes back on over our now equally wet socks. Also - choosing one-hour tour over two-hour tour meant that we turned around before seeing George Clooney’s villa.

After the boat tour Saskia announced that her activities for the day were officially over, she was going back to the apartment, and we should please bring her water and sushi.

So Gerli and I went for another walk. We wandered through the Old Town, looked around some shops, and somehow ended up in front of a church where there seemed to be some sort of gathering involving a priest, a rainbow flag, a Ukrainian flag and around twenty people. We placed the order for the sushi and then hurried back to the lake one more time to catch an absolutely beautiful pink sunset.