I told her that if — and when — I have my nervous breakdown, or mid-life crisis, or whatever, that this would be where she could find me… Amsterdam. It was honest in that I believe it actually would be true, if I were to have a midlife crisis of some sort, that I would pack a bag, get on a flight bound for Amsterdam, and hunker down (for as long as necessary). I realized almost instantly that telling her was also foolish, at least rather somewhat. It is not as though she objected to my statement — she mostly understood why I would choose Amsterdam — but I am now a bit worried that my future hiding place (if that is what you would call the place you run to in a crisis; a swimming hole) is not a secret anymore. It is known. Maybe that is for the best however. At least she’ll know where I am.

That is what I have to say about Amsterdam.

2009/05/25 12:44pm Pol

I am sitting in a café/bar in Pisz, a small city in rural northern Poland, maybe a couple hours from Gdańsk, formerly known as Danzig. Damn the Germans. I am on my second beer. My second half-liter of Żywiec, pronounced zhivy-itz. The waiter asked me if I’d like the German menu. I asked for the English menu. (I wasn’t going to order anything besides the beer anyway, which I know how to do, but nonetheless.) He said there was no English menu. Mind you, this entire conversation was in English. He brought me a beer. He’s earning a good tip.

It may be well known, I am not sure, but I can attest to the fact that Krakow has a lot of churches. A lot. At any corner, you can count three or more to choose from, and all of them are several hundred years old (or older). Religion is easily identifiable as a very important trait in the lives of Cracovians. Typically when you see a nun (somewhere in the U.S.), you see one, or maybe a small group of two or three, and as a group, they would always be seen together, never apart, as if to say, as a group, together we can not be broken in this world full of infidels. Well, not in Krakow. Nuns and priests walk freely throughout the city streets, and free of ridicule. It was weird. In a more usual circumstance, when I see a nun, I point and laugh. Not in Krakow; only reverence.

Most people speak English in Krakow (or are able to). Maybe not American English, but English enough to understand what you are looking for. Although it sounds unpleasant, making a puzzled look, and saying, “toaleta,” will get you to the restroom.

Life is good in Krakow, at least from the perspective of a traveler to the city. Everything is cheap. The polish dollar — the zwoty — is not like spending Monopoly money. It is like spending Life money in a world where Monopoly money is the benchmark. Does that make sense? It should. The U.S. dollar (USD) is equal to roughly 3.3 zwoty (PLN), or 1 USD = 3.3 PLN. That is the rate as of today at least. Just in that relationship, you can see how a $20 bill in the U.S. is similar to a $50 PLN note. But that is not really the case. The fact is everything is deflated in Poland (at least Krakow). A breakfast meal — eggs and ham — runs you 8 or 10 PLN. That is 3 or 4 USD. That is a good value. A tall glass of beer — maybe a pint in the U.S.; uniformly 0.5L in Poland — runs you 4 or 6 PLN. That is anywhere from $1.50 to $2 in USD. In any bar in any good-sized city in the U.S., a pint of good beer (anything outside of a Budweiser or Coors or Miller) runs you at least $5. Then there is dinner. The finest of establishments — those that require reservations (we went to one) — exhibit incredible value as well. Even if you order some of the finest plates on the menu, it is difficult to spend more than $20 per person including drinks (not including buying an imported bottle of wine).

As a result of such deflation, it is hard not to be a good tipper. In the SF bay area, a tip of 20% is required for standard or better service, and at no point, should a tip of less than 15% be left unless the service was exceptionally poor. The standard rate of tipping in Poland — from our research — is ten percent. Okay. But throw in the deflation, and for a couple of beers (a cost of 10 PLN) and a measly 1 PLN is the appropriate tip. That is 30 cents. It is hard to give anyone 30 cents as a tip for two large beers, often with friendly service.* So we would leave a few zwoty, maybe the equivalent of a dollar or two. It is the least we could do. The food was good. The service was good. Is it the wait-staff’s fault everything is cheap?

What is my point? Travel to Krakow. And watch your dollar magically be multiplied by two or three or four. This phenomenon may be short lived. The euro will be adopted and introduced in this nation very shortly, and the conventional wisdom is that there will be severe inflation, especially in the first few years. Although I’m not sure if that is true.

Krakow is one of the most stunningly beautiful cities in the world. Simply said.

* That is not to say we always had friendly service. In fact, it was not uncommon for service to start relatively poor, and then to become better later on during the meal, especially after we left our “sizable” tip.

Note: I wrote this while off-line (using WriteRoom) sitting at a cafe drinking beer in the Polish countryside.

I was able to sleep a few hours on the eleven-hour flight. As long as I can take my shoes off, and more importantly, go blind (what I refer to as taking my contacts off), I can pretty-much sleep anywhere. Blindness is the key. I couldn’t imagine being able to see perfect throughout the day. How could you sleep? When I’m falling asleep, and my contacts and glasses are off, and I half-open my eye, I can’t see a thing, only blurry figures. My eyes may not be perfect, but a blind world is perfect for sleeping. No distractions.

If I had bat-sighted eyes, I would be awake all night, watching the slightest of moves in the still of the night. This is the primary reason I do not consider opting for corrective eye surgery. The other is the dearth of knowledge on any long-term effects or complications. As they say, the jury is still out on that, and just like every other great American, I try to avoid jury duty whenever and however I can.

Note: I wrote this while off-line waiting at the Amsterdam airport. I was finally able to post it here on a free wifi connection at the Warsaw central train station.

As my readers know — and are painfully and often reminded of so — I try to drink local when I travel. (I also try to eat locally, at least sample, but that is less exciting, unless you consider the time spent in the restroom.)

Kona’s ubiquitous Longboard Lager was the choice on draught. (Longboard is the premium beer sold at Oakland A’s games, the same price as a Coors Light, and is also the keg of choice around Maui for home brew, or so it seems.) I also got a six-pack of Kona’s Fire Rock Pale Ale (a first) for the beach, along with Mehana’s Mauna Pea Pale Ale. A stop at a beach-side bar in Ka’anapali included Keoki’s Sunset, an amber ale.

There are only twelve letters in the Hawaiian alphabet. All five vowels, plus H, K, L, M, N, P, and W. That’s right; no R, S, or T. We’d simply be screwed in the final round of Wheel of Fortune.

Let me tell you WHY we are going to Hawaii this week. It all starts with a man from Hope. That is right. Obama. We are on a pilgrimage to his home-state, where the next president — the best president ever — was raised (outside of his time spent in a madrassah in the south Pacific being taught radical Islam*). We plan on sitting outside his childhood home for the inauguration. Unfortunately, we will be on Hawaii time, which is two hours behind California, which is three hours behind DC. So it will be an early Tuesday, but it will be worth it.

And fish tacos, I’ve heard those are good in Maui.

* Unfounded.

When I ventured east for Thanksgiving, it was the first time I set foot in my parents’ house in nearly six years (since mid-January 2003). I was still a graduate student at Berkeley at the time. Since then, I’ve had five jobs, gotten married, bought a house, and welcomed a little puppy into this world. And I also started a fantastic widely-read and heavily-referenced blog. That is what I hear at least.

This is what I drank while in Buffalo…

Genesee Cream Ale. Although the price-point of this beer is more in-tune with the watered-down American lagers we have come to hate, this surely beats them all into submission. The best way to describe it is as a light ale with a lager finish. That is my expert opinion. Genesee gets its name from the river, was founded in 1878, and is based in Rochester.

Labatt Blue. The finest of cheaper Canadian beer. You cannot attend a hockey game in Buffalo without drinking a 24-case of Blue beforehand. It’s not impossible, but it is frowned upon, and it is not recommended.

Flying Bison. There are not many breweries in the City of Buffalo anymore; that is what a half-century-long local recession will do for you. But Flying Bison is still in business, and they make great beer. My father and I stopped at a beer store to pick up this microbrew on our way home from the airport. I drank the Aviator Red (and plenty of it) and the Barnstormer Pale Ale, but missed out on the Buffalo Lager, which my family-members nabbed before I could. (Flying Bison sells a mix-pack that has all three, which is a neat and mostly under-used idea. In fact, I’ve never seen it before.)