April 2013 travels in Poland: Lodz, Lututow, Krakow, Nowy Sacz, Warsaw, plus a visit to London, including surrounding areas of Stonehenge, Bath, and Stratford-upon-Avon

1. The Poland Journal
(with a London coda)
April 5-16, 2013
By David Berkowitz

2. Saturday, April 6, 2013
9:22pm (Poland time)
Andel's Hotel Lodz
How many worlds are we in right now?
The Williamsburgification of Lodz: our hotel is a reclaimed factory
in a new, upscale shopping and cultural neighborhood

3. There's the hotel itself, a microcosm among microcosms, a renovated factory that was turned
into one of the nicest hotels in Poland, replete with high ceilings, wrought iron, skylights, and a
sushi bar. The hotel is the heart of the new Manufaktura district, bustling with shops and
galleries and restaurants. It's beside the Poznanski Palace, now a museum (one we couldn't get
into just before closing time), built originally by the second wealthiest factory owner in Lodz
until going bankrupt just before the Nazis took over.
Lodz (pronounced “Woodj” in Polish) once boasted 230,000 Jews (now there are only 300
known Jewish families, while some may be descended from Jewish converts without knowing
it). Most wound up in the 4km-sq ghetto, and then wound up murdered. In recent years,
memorials have sprung up to honor them, such as the chilling Radegast train station that once
served as the gateway for sending Jews to the death camps, and now serves as the most
prominent testimonial to what happened in Lodz. There seems to be an effort to make people
realize what happened in their own hometown. Some families undoubtedly have lived in Lodz
since well before the war. Others, as our guide Piotr noted, were imported later – a Communist
resettlement program to purify nationalities, uprooting ex-pats and sending them back to
where they came from across the Communist bloc.
The smokestack memorial at the Radegast railway station reminding all: “Thou shalt not kill”

4. It's hard to escape the signs of Judaism. Rarely have I felt so Jewish as I have in Poland. Part of it
is because I am here in my fatherland; my people lived here for hundreds of years, so why not
embrace it? Part of it is an act of defiance; I'm the descendant of those who were forced out,
and now I'm back, a testament to those who survived and remember where they come from.
How much of this is a triumph? It's hard to say. It's fascinating being here, and it's hard to gauge
just what emotions one might feel at any given moment. The train from Warsaw to Lodz was
particularly rough. Through the sound of the wheels, I could hear the screams of people who
perished here. I don't know what they were saying, just that they demanded to be heard. It was
a living horror film. I managed to drift to sleep.
The day started in the air. Thanks in part to the NyQuil sleep aid, I managed to crash early on
the 6:30pm flight to Warsaw, passing out by 7pm and sleeping until around 8:30am Poland time
(2:30am US) just before the plane landed. While not perfect, it was one of the better plane
sleeps I've had. Arriving at the airport was easy, though it took a bit to find our checked
luggage, given that the top handle had broken off along the way and it thus wasn't as easy to
identify. It was a rough and tumble crowd on the flight, with lots of feisty, older Poles who
would elbow their way into any spot and not listen to anyone, including flight attendants who
had to flight back with equal force. This is Grandmom's stock – her people. Only by coming to
Poland can I appreciate just how Polish that woman is. Meanwhile, I was surprised to see our
neighboring passenger (who I nicknamed “Featherhat”) need a wheelchair given the gusto with
which he was maneuvering around the plane. C has no clue how I slept so well.
The LOT Polish Airlines flight promoted kosher vodka –
the first of many signs we’d encounter of Poland embracing its Jewish heritage

5. At JFK, we left from Terminal 1, which is not just a United Nations terminal but a UN committee
of a haphazard medley of countries, with airlines from Jamaica, France, Korea, Morocco,
Poland, and Russia's Aeroflot all intermingling. Most of the food is before security, and the
Korean/Aeroflot/LOT lounge [really] wouldn't let us in, so we had to settle for a salad (C) and
sandwich (D) at some sort of wine bar.
Back to Poland: we got through security at Warsaw, and my contact Bartek was kind enough to
pick us up, drive us to the train station, and then have breakfast with us (I had a chicken
sandwich, C had egg whites – a 'large portion' that wasn't so large; my tea was okay but I had a
fresh orange/pineapple/kiwi juice that was delicious). He further gave us the train tickets for
the rest of our journey as well as a phone we could use, and then escorted us all the way on to
the train. Once there, C had to inform a couple of Poles that they were in our window seats.
Later, the train conductor had a very lengthy exchange with them as they clearly didn't have
the right seats, though I slept through most of anything that happened on the train.
We arrived and found a cab waiting for us (thanks to Bartek) and made our way to the Andel
Hotel Lodz, magnificent in its bright, red brick, and they were kind enough to upgrade us to a
suite. This may well be the first hotel room I've stayed in with a switch to heat the bathroom
floor – a nice bonus in this frigid country, with temperatures hovering around the freezing
mark. Granted, there's something fitting about being here in the cold. A dusting of snow was
falling as we stepped out of the Warsaw airport, and snow may well hinder our trip to my
grandmother’s hometown area around Bolkow, but it seems to be a country designed to
require that kind of hardiness. It also makes emotions run even deeper here. It's hard enough
to imagine how people lived in the ghetto in the months and years leading up to their
slaughter, but as we travel around in our warm clothing with breathable fabrics to withstand
rough weather, all the while plenty well fed and hardly exerting ourselves in the slightest, it
makes one wonder how so many people survived such hardships for as long as they did.
The starkness of the extended Polish winter only made the trip more emotional.

6. With our guide Piotr, our main focus today was touring the addresses of C’s ancestors in Lodz.
The homes in central Lodz were once prime real estate but now are in a neglected urban core.
We entered a few courtyards, and in the most neglected building, we went up to the second
floor to see if we could get in an apartment, but no one would let us in. Piotr noted it was due
to the remnants of Soviet times when anyone could have been spying on their neighbor, so a
coldness pervades. While some apartments have been divided and likely renovated, the
buildings themselves remain, and one wonders how long some of them will hold up. We did get
to walk the streets of C's ancestors, and perhaps even some of their courtyards and stairwells,
seeing much of what they saw, albeit during very different times. The graffiti was disquieting,
with many using the symbol of an R and S flanking a Jewish star, a symbol of anti-Semitically
charged slurs about one of the soccer teams. Piotr woefully noted that younger people today
lack awareness of and sensitivity toward what it all means; such graffiti started in the 1950s and
60s. At the last stop on our list, we had just enough time to take a few quick photos outside
when a pack of drunken late-teens or twentysomethings was approaching singing what
sounded like soccer chants, so we decided not to stay long and darted back to the car.
No Jews are here – just soccer hooligans

7. We got to see some other monuments, including Survivor Field from afar, honoring the
survivors of Lodz as well as the righteous gentiles. I got a few quick photos of the monument to
war hero Kosciuszko – also a hero of America's Revolutionary War. There was also the park in
the former ghetto with the statue of Moses and the Decalogue – an unusual sight given
Judaism's aversion to graven images, but striking nonetheless, and Piotr noted it was for the
locals, not the Jews.
This statue of Moses may not play well in a synagogue due to Judaism’s prohibition against
graven images, but it’s important for the locals

8. Piotr dropped us at the hotel at around 5:40. After a stop at a grocery store in Manufaktura, we
headed near the main drag, off Piotrkowska St, to the restaurant Anatewka. It was an unusual
sensory feast from the start, with the Jewish lettering and numerous security system signs in
the window. Inside the front door was a mannequin of a Hasid at a cash register. The room was
bedecked in Judaica – ritual objects, artwork, photos. The owner, who we first met when he
was going around pouring shots of an outstanding honey vodka, later said much was from
Vienna, and that others continually give him more now. C asked our server if the owner was
Jewish, and the server replied, "No, he's an atheist." The music played was mostly Yiddish, with
familiar songs like Az De Rebbe Tantst (“As the Rabbi Dances”), Rebbe Elimelech (“Rabbi
Elimelech”), Oyfn Pripetishik (“On the Cooking Stove”), and Tumbalalaika (some Yiddish even
came back to me – a surreal experience in the middle of Lodz). I wish I could have taken a menu
home – a page just for herring, dishes dedicated to various people, goose, duck, kasha,
beetroot, kosher vodka, Jewish tea with rum, and pages full of delights familiar and unheard of.
C started with a hearty broth soup which was perfect for this weather, while I enjoyed a special
sour herring with pickle and carmelized pears, plus a bit of cheese – fantastic. Then came the
main course, with C getting a chicken thigh, and I had a beautiful spread: half a roast duck
(succulent, with crispy skin), potatoes, cranberries in a baked apple, a side of beets, and
probably more I'm forgetting. I kept eating, and there was constantly more to sample. The
Ukrainian beer Obolon helped wash it down, along with the bit of vodka. Outstanding. But what
a way to make the head spin.
This duck and potato dish was one of the best dishes I had in Poland
(and way up there among any meal I’ve eaten)

9. This is the 19th
century version of multitasking: praying and counting money at the same time
Time to wrap this up. It's hard to make sense of so much of this, but we made it. The biggest
challenge was getting here (perhaps more on that soon). Now it's time to soak in the rest.
Sunday, April 7
8:37pm
Andel's Hotel Lodz, 176
Here's much of the story of today, as told in an email to my father (slightly edited for clarity):
Dad,
Today was really fascinating, and you should really see if there's any way possible you can make
it to the Wielun area. It was amazing what we were able to dig up, and none of it was exactly
where we thought it would be.
We actually didn't go to Wielun at all [the town my grandmother says she hails from]. We did
go to Bolkow [the tiny village where she said the family mill was] just north of there, though we
were told by a friendly local there's another village just east of there that was possibly where
our family was from (though it didn't turn out to be the case). We also saw a bit of Niemierzyn
(possible birthplace of your father) and Skrzynno (birthplace of your grandmother Branna,

10. according to aunt Esther’s testimony at http://www.zchor.org/wielun/berkowicz.htm -- which
you must reread, as I think there's a lot more info now than there was before).
Entering the town (street) where my grandfather and namesake quite probably came from,
I left it moments later
When we were searching for the other Bolkow (now renamed something else), we wound up in
the village of Okalew, There, we were a major attraction at the local market, and one person
called another until another neighbor showed up who seemed to know more about the town
history. Most seemed familiar with the Berkowicz family formerly living there and noted we
owned a windmill, a saw mill, and the water pump at the fire engine. And yes, we had to
convince several people we had no interest in the land – just the history of the family. Our
guide Piotr was extremely helpful with all of that.
The neighbor, whose name was Tadeusz (Tadek), accompanied us for quite awhile after. He
took us to someone's house in a neighboring town and, after he went into someone's house to
check on the situation, had us follow him in. The man there, very Catholic given all the crosses
and Pope pictures on the wall, is also a local historian specializing in fire brigades. He gave me a
copy of the book with the photo in it that's now on the Zchor page, the one with Reuben and
Berek in 1935. The book has many other references to the family, including how many hectares
of land our family owned. This author and historian is named Miroslaw Jedrzejewski, and his
address is in Ostrowek [Note: all the records in the book note it was the property of Dawid
Berkowicz, Branna's father.]

11. Reuben (far left) and Berek (second from right) Berkowicz, when the fire broke out at the mill,
from the book co-authored by Miroslaw
After spending some time with him, we then went on to the next part of the journey. It's
Miroslaw who would love to see you, and on Monday he is going to go to the Wielun museum
where the director might have more info. He will send what he can to my guide, but he would
love to meet you in person, especially as you can understand at least a bit of Polish and are
even more closely connected to the family history. He was incredibly warm and it's quite an
opportunity to get to talk to him, as he knows quite a bit about the area.

12. With my new friends Miroslaw the author and Tadek the local connector
Then we headed out once more. Now, we asked many times about the mill and specifically a
mill that later became a gas station [as has been mentioned often in family lore]. It's pretty
clear to everyone there that they knew about the Berkowicz mill, they knew we actually had
two mills (windmill and saw mill), and they seemed to know pretty well where it was; it was
more of an issue of me not seeking any claim to the land (I told them I'm quite happy in New
York, though Poland is quite lovely, thanks).
What did happen was Tadeusz had us drive to another home nearby. After a bit of convincing,
the man living there (seemingly a farmer, or at least keeping a small farm along with whatever
else he did), agreed to meet us, and the owner continually warmed up. He said that, yes, this
was the Berkowicz property. The house had changed hands several times in the years after the
war. He knew, without us prompting at all, that the house was lived in by a worker from the
Berkowicz mill (presumably the worker who killed [Grandmom’s brother] Avram, but he didn't
know). Whoever lived there wound up moving shortly thereafter to Skrzynno, and probably
lives there still. His family came a few years after the war, originally working the land in hopes
that they could later buy the property, and ultimately they were able to buy it, and it was this
man's father who built the current home and buildings on the land.

13. He took us into the snow-covered field where a mound remains that was the site of the old
windmill. Nothing has been built on top of that site, and one can even see a millstone and a few
remnants of the foundation. He pointed out to another area further away in the same field that
was the site of the sawmill. There was no doubt to him this was the Berkowicz property. He also
mentioned the name [Grandmom’s brother] Berek, and said two women related to him visited
there perhaps in the late 1980s. I wonder if his daughters went out that way.
Our host at the site of what may be the old Berkowicz mill
Home?

14. We left the property owner, declining his invite to have us over for coffee, so we could make
our way to Lututow. There, in the town square, we found the 2010 memorial to the Jews of
Lututow. We know that Branna, Dora, Goldbart, and Dora's 2 kids were all in the Lututow
ghetto before being deported to Chelmno. We also know Uncle Meir spent some time going
back "home to Lututow" when he was in the Ostrowek work camp. [Meir’s wife] Estusha was
born there, and there was a sizable Jewish population. Cousin Oded and others traced much of
our family ancestry to Lututow, and it's even possible, based on a researcher I contacted years
ago, that Meir was born there. After paying my respects at the memorial, we visited the old
synagogue, a building that had various uses since the Holocaust and now seems to be in disuse.
You can read more about Lututow here: http://www.sztetl.org.pl/en/city/lututow/ .
Apparently an "R. Berkowicz" was the cleaner of the synagogue.
A memorial to Lututow’s Jewry, 1650-1942; my family was there until the very end

15. This sums up an incredibly moving day. Our guide, Piotr, would be most happy to help you if
you are able to make it out this way, as he was an able translator and driver, and he now knows
where all the relevant locals and spots of interest are.
See you Wednesday.
Dave
The letter misses a lot. It misses the three pre-teen girls who were fascinated by our arrival, and
the barking dog in Niemierzyn that led a man in a wife beater to come out and approach me
menacingly before I jumped in the car. It misses the adorably fluffy pooch near the author's
home, bouncing around in the snow and waking up the chickens, and then quickly coming to a
rest once we got in the car.
More importantly, it misses the real sense of emotion, and emotional confusion. Today was a
day that could not have been planned better. Our guide, Piotr, may well have had the best tour
of his life – one where he was the link to revealing parts of a family's history, while he is trying
to do this for his own family's history (with many obstacles behind and ahead of him). As a
bonus, he got to show us the more amicable side of his countrymen. Instead of the distrustful
city dwellers in Lodz, we got the kindhearted (albeit initially suspicious – and justly so) locals
who were willing to share what they knew and kept collectively bringing us toward the thrilling
climax at the mill itself. Yet I still don't know what it means for me. It's a place of history for my
family, but close relatives of mine were murdered there. I will never know my father’s cousin
Zygmus, someone who would have been not much older than my father if he had the chance to
live his life. So many possibilities were cut short. And I can't even feel that ill will toward the
Poles themselves. It's this sadness that the homeland is not a land to call home. I did not know
what to make of it, and I'm not sure I'll know for awhile.
The remnants of the family mill

16. I knew what to make of the Lodz Jewish cemetery though. That was a memorial site. I couldn't
find great uncle Avram's grave – there were six Avram Berkowiczes buried there, and it was not
possible to find him in one day, especially on a day where much of the cemetery was covered in
snow. I couldn't even find Cara's relative Abram Pitel when we knew which area he was in. Of
the hundreds of graves, none of those legible in Hebrew said Pitel, though many were covered
in snow, some had fallen over, and others were impossible to read. Dodging thorns and
brambles, I still couldn't complete that mission. Yet it was a mission I could take on, and I knew
how to handle myself at a cemetery, albeit one with 180,000 graves, including more than
40,000 who died in the Lodz ghetto.
The Lodz Jewish cemetery covered in snow was one of the more beautiful places I’ve visited,
but it wasn’t so accommodating for finding relatives interred there

17. Here lie the Jews of Lodz.

18. Among the living inhabitants of the Lodz cemetery was this adorable and shy hedgehog
Similarly, I knew what to make of the Lututow memorial. I could place a stone at it, and feel the
loss of way too many in my family, let alone the thousands of others. The church in the square
though – was that the church used as the way station for Chelmno? That part I couldn't quite
process. A synagogue that's now used for perhaps little more than storage is also tough to
fathom, given it's likely the synagogue some family members belonged to until they moved and
were ultimately forced out of Poland, one way or another.
The true meaning of today will probably not be clear for some time. But I am glad it happened
as it did.

19. More:
While it seems anticlimactic to note as much, meals today:
- Breakfast: vanilla wafers – perhaps the best wafers I ever had (devoured a huge pack last night
and this a.m.)
- Lunch: none really. Stopped at McD's by a gas station before heading down to Bolkow area. C
and I got Diet Cokes, and we got "American" fries – thicker cut seasoned fries, served with a
pretty good sour cream sauce, and not at all American
- Dinner: Tumidaj, a side-of-road hotel and restaurant that Drew Carey once ate at. It was
pretty good – had soup with fermented rye barley broth with egg and kielbasa, on the table was
some kind of bread with animal fat spread, a beer called Zywiec (decent, but not as good as last
night's Ukrainian selection), then a plate of potato dumplings (pretty good) and a great fried
cheese dish.

20. Also: Justin Bieber, Sting, and other luminaries stayed in our hotel when performing in Lodz. It's
often the only Polish city they play. Madonna played Lodz but stayed in Berlin instead. I asked if
that offended the Poles and Piotr said she was let off the hook as a celebrity.
Monday, April 8
Hotel Stary, room 500
9:48pm
Today, we checked out of Andel's Hotel Lodz, a remarkable place, even down to the heated
floors in the bathroom. We had a quick breakfast there (me: salmon and trout, OJ, mini
doughnut, mini cinnamon roll, sauteed mushrooms), then checked out and got a ride to the
train station. We picked up a couple Diet Cokes at a newsstand with a magazine featuring a
concentration camp prisoner – typical media fare here in Poland. Then we enjoyed a leisurely
four hour ride through the countryside to Krakow, though I slept for a good deal of it after
reading some. No fighting with feisty Poles for our window seats this time.
Light reading in Poland

21. Then we met our guide, W____, who has a comfortable car but not the most comfortable grasp
on the English language or Krakovian history. But he'll do. He seems like he can get us around
Nowy Sacz, which is the main objective. We checked into Hotel Stary – beautiful, charming,
with a more rustic feel to it and missing a few of the amenities of the last one. We then had
lunch in the Michelin rated restaurant that's part of the hotel – a wonderful meal of salmon
with sour cream and caviar (both of us), a salad (C) and then beet risotto with frozen sour
cream that melted into it (D), along with some outstanding hot bread, and some Perrier.
Then we met W to hit Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter, a lively place today thanks to some March
of the Living groups around, and very, very Jewish – Hebrew and Yiddish writing everywhere, a
good number of Jewish cafes, and quite a few synagogues. We ducked into several including
Remuh, with the cemetery (the "New" synagogue), Tempel synagogue restored with gorgeous
artistic detail, and a couple others. The best find, for me at least, were the sculptures of hasids
by a local artist in a bookstore. The Jew town was quite surprising, and we'd go back later for
dinner.
The stars come out in Kazimierz.

22. The wooden carvings of Jews by Jozef Regula alternated between whimsical and,
as shown in the image above, haunting
After a bit of a detour with our guide, we stopped by the hotel and went walking around the
main market square. It was getting cool by then, after a brief flirtation with jacket-free weather
earlier, but we walked around quite a bit, with the highlight being the incredibly overdone (in a
good way) main church (St. Mary’s Basilica), with such attention to detail going up scores of
feet high, to the point that few could ever possibly discern the subject matter of the paintings
and glasswork toward the top. Remarkable in every sense.

23. In the main square of Krakow’s Old Town (Stare Miasto), it’s possible to get inside someone’s
head for a different point of view
We went to the lauded underground exhibit about the medieval history of Krakow. It was
multimedia exhibition porn, with reality being augmented, virtualized, and twisted in all sorts of
unholy ways. It seemed to tell no story and wasn't particularly interesting until walking out,
where a tunnel passed through the original foundations of the market, which are now
underground – a similar scenario to the subterranean Wailing Wall add-on in Jerusalem. Yet by
then, our senses were shot, and we needed to get the hell out of there.
We then kept walking all around. We saw a bakery with cookies that resembled the Stella Doro
kind with the chocolate pillows in the middle, but the Stella Doro cookies are much, much
better. Oh well. And we saw various sites connected to local legend John Paul II, a Catholic that
the Jews can love – such a perfect icon for this town. We saw the great sculpture of Grunwald.
And all in all, we got to soak in a lot of what the city has to offer, namely a captivating old
European city that somehow didn't get bombed by the Germans and was a once-thriving seat
of government and trade.

24. For dinner, we got a cab to go back to K-town, aka J-town, and ultimately ducked out of a hot
spot with an odd Italian-infused-with-Polish-food menu and went over to a well-reviewed
Jewish spot Ariel – very traditional with lots of decor of pictures of Jews, in what looked like a
100-year-old Jewish dining room, with some odd Greek art scattered around. The best dish for
me was the vodka infused with grass from the bison forest. The gefilte fish had too much jelly
(it was drowned in it) and some odd skin on it that didn't work for me. Then the turkey cutlet
with mushrooms was oddly reminiscent of something – not Grandmom's home cooking but
Swanson's Salisbury steak. Eh, nostalgia's nostalgia. C's Jewish dumpling and chicken with some
kind of plum & mushroom sauce were better.
We headed out, C going straight into the hotel, and me going out looking for dessert. I passed
by places that didn't quite do it for me, and then I settled on a grocery store to get C some Diet
Cokes and then some amazing Milka chocolate-coated cookies. On the way back, I found a
street food stand (Placki Ziemniaczane) where someone was making fresh potato pancakes
with various accompaniments (plain, mushroom sauce, paprika sauce, etc), and I got one with
garlic sauce – just fantastic.
Now that’s a latke!
Now back at the room and winding down, ready for the Nowy Sacz adventure tomorrow.

25. Tuesday, April 9
Hotel Stary, 500
5:29pm
I slept well last night, aided by the NyQuil, which, combined with Airborne, helped avert the
cold that was coming to me. A couple naps in the ride to and from Nowy Sacz made today
especially restful; that has been a bonus of all the ground transportation. Saturday we had the
train to Lodz, Sunday the ride to Bolkow, Monday the train to Krakow, and today the car to
Nowy Sacz. Tomorrow's a train to Warsaw, and then Thursday and Friday we stay put for a bit –
not a bad change of pace.
This morning, we met W and headed out, me having a pack of Belvita crackers beforehand. We
wanted some breakfast, especially for C, so W had a real treat for us: an old school, Communist-
style milk bar, a dreary breakfast counter with some local specialties in an area near the old
Krakow ghetto where no foreigner would ever think of going. The food – generally dough with
various stufffings or bread topped with cheese or jam, was warm and filling (I had a 'Polish hot
pocket' stuffed with seasoned eggs; C had that and some other kind of stuffed crepe).
The Soviet occupation generally left a bad taste in Poland;
the milk bar offered some of the better tastes of Communis.

26. Then we hit the road. I napped and missed most of it. C said there was a pretty church
somewhere along the way and that W only drove the speed limit (very true – and sometimes
apparently slower, as I could tell on the way back when I only slept for half of it). Then it was
time for Nowy Sacz, starting with the cemetery. We needed a key to enter, which was
unfortunate enough, though the most important thing was that the keeper was home. She
spoke a bit of Yiddish, which didn't help me all that much and didn't help C at all. Few stones
were remotely legible, as most were worn and faded, and a massive number were broken.
Making it worse, the Hebrew emphasized first names over family names, so what I could read
usually wasn't that useful. We did get to meet the resting place of tzadik [a renowned righteous
Jew] Halberstam and family. The tzadik did have visitors recently, as a pilgrimage was there
within the past week or so for the Yahrtzeit (Halberstam's death anniversary). [Aside: I met a
very friendly dog outside who kept giving me his paw. Loved him.] [Aside 2: It’s amazing that
more than one non-Jewish guide we met used the word “tzadik” as casually as if they were
speaking English. Which reminds me of a Jewish joke…]
Cara returns home

27. A surprise across from a cemetery: I made a new best friend
Tzadik Halberstam gets far more mail than I do

28. The cemetery was probably the most depressing I've been to – a bleak setting to begin with,
devoid of life, in disrepair. At least it exists though, unlike the one in Lututow. The site Virtual
Shtetl notes of the latter: "The Jewish cemetery located in so-called Młynek (a settlement that
is presently a suburb of Lututów, on the road from Łódź to Wrocław) was destroyed during the
German occupation, as well as in the 1970s. A gravel and sand quarry followed, and the skulls
and bones that were excavated in it were scattered in the nearby forest and roadside ditches.
The area presently serves as an illegal trash dump."
( http://www.sztetl.org.pl/en/article/lututow/12,cemeteries/1740,cemetery-mlynek-/ )
Compare the Nowy Sacz Jewish cemetery with the cemetery in Lodz, or even the Remuh
Synagogue cemetery in Krakow. It’s one of the bleaker, rougher spots I’ve visited.
And onward we went. We had a quick visit to the site of the old castle or fort for a nice view of
the city. The next stop was the former Orthodox synagogue that's now an art gallery but also a
research center, right in downtown Nowy Sacz. There's a lovely exhibit right now, and we met a
very helpful woman close to our age who spoke great English and filled us in on some of the
local history, and she gave C some useful genealogical info – not a ton, but at least something
to go on about her family's history there.

29. Then we walked through the old city, including the massive town square as big as any we've
seen in Europe or South America, more or less, and the main streets. It's again very charming,
and very European; W noted it was part of Austria for awhile and resembles Austria to a large
degree. I got an obwarzanki along the way – a twisted, O-shaped roll like a bagel, but more of
the thickness of a large pretzel. Mine had some sesame and was really good.
Pope John Paul II greets us from the Nowy Sacz main square.
Then we made it to the records office, where W helped translate. They couldn't do much today,
but C made a personal contact there and has some follow-up action items that she can move
forward with.
Lunch: Restauracja Ratuszowa, right in the main building in the main square. It looked old-
fashioned and pretty local, though menus were also in English and German – a plus. We each
got borscht soup (mine with cabbage dumplings) and pierogi (C: spinach & cheese, D: an
incredible cottage cheese and buckwheat groats, Galician style). I also had flat 7UP (C: sparkling
water).

30. It could be another European capital: the Nowy Sacz main square
We drove a long way for the best pierogies we ate in Poland.

31. Then the trip back. Not too notable, except at some point in the car we did hear Macklemore's
"Thrift Shop," a very hot rap song and my recent favorite. So odd to hear it in Poland. It's funny,
because before we left, I asked C how to say "pop some tags" (a line from the song) in Polish.
Apparently they just listen to the English version.
We headed back to Krakow and stopped by the one remaining gate from the Krakow Jewish
ghetto. It's chilling, looking like large tombstones stitched together into a wall. Later, I'd notice
a ghetto survivor relate the same comment about the walls as he saw them going up, posted in
the Schindler museum. The museum itself, our next stop as we took leave of W, was one of the
more visceral I've been to, one that's made some of the best uses of video and multimedia that
I've seen, along with a disorienting while logical design, and rooms configured to perfectly tell
the story of each subject, from the transparent panels with photos of residents of the ghetto
when describing life there, to the blinding white and the gravel floor in the room about the end
of the ghetto as the last Jews were transferred to a local concentration camp.
The Nazis signaled what was coming with Jewish ghetto walls that looked like tombstones

32. It was beyond intense, and I could have spent a full day there. We went back to our hotel and
rested a bit. Then we hit up the most popular restaurant on TripAdvisor, a sushi joint called
Youmiko with just a handful of seats (we sat at the sushi bar), soft drinks from Hamburg, and
fish from local sources, plus some from Norway. Two Poles were the sushi chefs, serving mostly
excellent creations (including a ridiculously good one with a roll of sorts made of salmon,
topped with salmon tartar). I just wish they served sake; the cherry tea was pretty good.
We settled up – it was $50 total including a generous enough tip, under 150 zlotys – and we
had five rounds of the omakase, maybe more. Whatever it was, we were very full at the end. I
walked C back to the hotel, just next door though the restaurant was hidden in a deep alley
with no signage out front. I went around the block to a well-reviewed chocolate shop,
Manufaktura something, and the mint chocolate bar was pretty intense (and great). After
getting a few Diet Cokes and some Milka cookies at a convenience store next door (a 24 hour
one – there are a number of 24 hour spots around here, something I didn't expect, since it's not
like you see a ton of that outside of NYC beyond some chains like McD's), I made it back to the
hotel. Now I must finally rest, as it's almost 12:30am and we must rise in 7 hours or so to hit
Wawel Castle.
Yes, like Andel’s Hotel Lodz, the sushi bar Youmiko is another sign of Poland’s gentrification;
this may as well be Brooklyn

33. Wednesday, April 10
Hotel Bristol, 536
11:18pm
This morning: up at 7:30, packed, checked out within the hour, and then breakfast at the Milk
Bar restaurant (a modern one; not the Communist era one far outside the Old City). I got
banana crepes with chocolate sauce – really fantastic, and some of the better hot chocolate I've
had, plus fresh squeezed orange juice. I didn't realize the waitress who brought the apple juice
misheard my request for apple fritters. C got a good egg dish. It wasn’t quite like yesterday's
Milk Bar as there was English on this menu – though the clerk didn't quite understand it
nonetheless.
Then we hit Wawel Castle, which may be well restored but it still maintains some of the iconic
touches of Communist bureaucracy. It was beautiful on the outside, and the cathedral was
overwhelming. A big highlight was going down to see the royal tombs, including the ol' hero
Kosciuszko. We also got to see the tomb former Polish president and his wife on the anniversary
of their death – an all the more striking feat given that we also got to join the demonstrations in
Warsaw outside our hotel, all on the same day. There's a conspiracy theory now that the
Russians were responsible for blasting the plane of the nationalistic Poles out of the sky; the
current administration is decidedly warmer with Russia, according to our driver W, who
wholeheartedly believes the Russians were behind the officials' deaths.
The death of the Polish president, his wife, and other senior officials in a 2010 plane crash has
led to conspiracy theories similar in tone to those surrounding JFK’s death

34. We then got some souvenirs and tried to figure out the whole ticket procedure for the rest of
Wawel, which entailed buying tickets to each exhibit piecemeal and then doing timed
admissions at each one. That way we were able to see the armory and the chambers, but not
the royal apartments. The best plan would have been to get the exhibit tickets first and then
see the Cathedral exhibits in between, but the signage was as minimal as the helpfulness of
anyone around the castle. There was a bonus though: we got to see a lot more in the process.
Some royally magnificent artwork adorned Wawel Castle

35. We tried heading to Czartoryski Palace to see the museum, but that was closed and looks like it
won't open any month soon. We had our cab take us straight to the Pharmacy of the Eagle near
the Schindler factory. Outside was an exhibit of empty metal chairs, with each one signifying
the loss of 1,000 Krakowian Jews. The inside of the exhibit was well put together but didn't tell
much of a story. It was more interactive a museum than most, with not just touchscreen
displays and the like, but cabinets and drawers to open and even chemicals and minerals one
could smell, with many hidden stories revealed through exploration. But the story of the
righteous gentile who saved many lives and avoided the Nazis catching on to him wasn't
remotely clear; brochures about the museum told far more of the story, and I bought a graphic
novel based on the autobiography to learn more.
Each chair tells 1,000 stories.
We couldn't find a cab, so we took a 15-minute walk to the Old Synagogue, the oldest in
Europe, dating back to the 1500s, with a thorough exhibit on Judaism itself – some of the best
photos I've seen of pre-war Jews in Europe, and a well assembled 'track' on Jewish athletes in
pre-War Krakow.

36. We then had to head out to get our bags, so we cabbed it to the hotel, briefly stopping by the
main square to look for something quick to eat, to no avail. We'd grab some sandwiches at the
train station. W was there at our hotel to greet us, and we loaded up our bags just as it started
to rain. We fortunately missed the showers, perfectly timing our day. W insisted on
accompanying us until after we got in our cabin, which proved especially useful since the train
was delayed and then switched tracks. After staying with us and chatting a bit, W helped load
us on, and then we were on our way, drifting through the snow-dusted countryside in rural
Poland for about three hours until we got to Warsaw – on time, no less. The chicken sandwich
from the station was edible, and the milk chocolate from Manufaktura last night was quite
good; a Cherry Coke washed it down.
We got a cab to our hotel, Bristol, dubbed the nicest in Poland, and we'd soon see why – it's
outstanding, with that perfect balance of modernity and elegance. We couldn't quite get there
though, as a demonstration with hundreds of people was blocking the plaza in front of the
hotel, and the road was closed [only later would we realize our hotel was literally right next to
the Presidential Palace]. We love a good demonstration and bought pins and flags, though
while I started to shoot photos, a woman was talking to C about how there seemed to be a lot
of crazies in the mix.
We had no idea we’d have so many guests at our hotel

37. After checking in and settling in for a few, enjoying the comforts of what will serve as our home
for the next few days, we headed back out to enjoy the demonstration for a bit more and learn
some new Polish songs. Then we got a cab and headed to the Polonia Palace hotel to see my
dad. We caught up with him for awhile, telling him largely about our adventures in his ancestral
hometown area of Bolkow, much to his amazement about how it all happened. We spent a bit
longer deciding where to eat, and wound up going with U Fukiera, a restaurant largely housed
in a vaulted brick basement that's been the choice of celebrities and dignitaries for decades.
First though, we just managed to get a call from P____ of Lodz, whose family hails from Wielun
as is a contact of another family member’s, as we were leaving the hotel. He had just returned
from the March of the Living tour and was able to join us for dinner.
The food was fine, though nothing special, and hardly worth the price. I had a decent herring in
sour cream dish, and a very good pike/perch over a leek puree and spinach, while C's goulash
and crab crepes were so-so. The conversation was fascinating though, as P has lived on several
continents and achieved a lot of success business-wise before devoting himself in a large way to
helping people understand a slice of what happened before, during, and after the Holocaust. He
has rich knowledge of Poland and Europe, and he shared some of his story: he was a Hasid who
escaped Lodz as a crypto Christian (for a train ride) only to get caught in the Warsaw ghetto and
then Majdanek before building his life in Israel, Cape Town, Sao Paulo, London, Paris, and
ultimately Toronto. It was wonderful company for the evening, and rare for me – while no
stranger to Jews who lived through that period – to hear the thoughts and experiences of a
survivor who was in the eye of the storm, especially one who's not a relative, which makes it
easier to value the person and his story on their own merits rather than with familial
attachment.
A couple of Wieluners back in the homeland

38. Now it is well past time to shut down, as touring is ahead, as well as meeting the other host
behind the scenes, Czarek. It still is amazing that W was paid for courtesy of the Irish embassy.
P noted, "No wonder the country is bankrupt."
Thursday, April 11
Bristol 536
11:57pm
Okay, so it's actually post-midnight on Friday....
Anyway, it's been another great adventure in the land of our forefathers. This morning, we
rushed out (me having set the alarm for PM rather than AM) to meet my father at Hotel
Polonia, getting there just around 9:30 where we met our guide Magdalena, a non-Jewish
Polish woman getting a PhD in Hebrew Studies. She had a wealth of knowledge on Warsaw,
Poland, and Judaism, and proved to be a great person to lead what was mostly a walking tour
through central Warsaw. The first area of note was that of the main synagogue, and there was
something striking about it: it was currently being used as a synagogue. Everywhere else we
went, the Jews were museum exhibitions; here, Jews were using a house of worship amidst an
area that included kosher restaurants and other signs of life. At the local Judaica and kosher
food shop, we bought a gorgeous kiddush cup that works well as its own art piece. My dad
enjoyed meeting a couple of young Hasids who walked in.
Signs of Jewish life in Poland: Hasids shop at the Jewish general store

39. An old building downtown features the faces of the former Jews of Warsaw looking out from
the windows – an exhibition called “I Can Still See Their Faces.” It's architecture as art, and as
sad as it is beautiful. What's especially touching is that this city would want this, or could even
tolerate it. How could any population continually stomach passing by the faces of the residents
who were murdered there? And yet, by a grand church in a bustling area, here they are, looking
out at everyone. They're still there, and yet they're not.

40. A pit stop: Kafe Komediowy Chlodna, a very funky, Bohemian coffee shop with some fantastic
and rich hot chocolate.
Then we headed to the Warsaw Ghetto's former walls, and the Ghetto's story became the focus
for much of the rest of the tour. We saw the sculpture that's a rendition of where the Ghetto
bridge used to be crossing the two sections of it (“A Footbridge of Memory”). We saw the
memorial for Mordechai Anielewicz and other martyrs who died in the Ghetto Uprising. We
went to the Umschlagplatz memorial denoting where Jews were shipped off to the camps. And
then there was the massive monument to the victims and fighters, with the emphasis on the
fighters, looking more like Greco-Roman soldiers and Olympians than Jews in a ghetto. It's
empowering, but also puzzling. Did they have to turn Jewish heroes into something they
weren't?
Father and son checking out the memorial demarcating the bridge that spanned the two sides
of the Warsaw Ghetto

41. A look inside the viewfinder
Warsaw Ghetto Uprising memorial

42. A note left by Israelis at a Warsaw Ghetto memorial: “Together we have walked in the footsteps
of the six million. While we walked, they crawled. While we cried, they suffered…”
Ghetto heroes or Greco-Romans?

43. There's a new focal point for Jewish history in Poland: the massive museum opening covering
1,000 years of Polish Jewish history. We got to enter the lobby, and I'd love to come back after
it opens. The emphasis is on the 1,000 years, not just the six of the Holocaust. It's been
fortunate for us that our trip has focused more broadly on Polish and Jewish history and not
just the destruction itself. The Poles have been through centuries of oppression and
occupation; "partition" is all too common a word in Polish history. And yet Poles have made
outsized contributions to America, Europe, and mankind, so let's not forget the destruction, but
let's appreciate who the Polish people are and what so many of them stand for. In my WWII
education, Poles and Germans were all too readily conflated, and it's a great injustice done to
them. The kindness we've felt from the Polish people here also goes a long way.
At the Museum of the History of Polish Jews, we met a fellow New Yorker, who also happens to
be Chief Rabbi of Poland Michael Schudrich (second from right)
We said farewell to Magdalena and also my father. Then we went out for lunch. The Pierrogeria
by the Barbican was closed indefinitely, so we found another spot nearby and had some great
Pierogis – mine Russian style with cheese and - um?, and Cara's with mushroom and cabbage.
Both excellent. I had a beer with some kind of flavored syrup, a thing here (piwo smakowe).
Pretty damn good.

44. C rested up. I then met the hosts who flew us out to Poland (initially for a conference, though
that was canceled). We had coffee (well, I had vanilla tea) in the hotel and we talked shop for a
couple hours.
Then I joined C to rest before heading out in the rain. I enjoyed the evening, getting lost in the
old city for an hour and a half. I picked up some sundries at a Polish gourmet shop that just
opened, and the proprietor was kind enough to walk me through pretty much everything there
and where it came from. His good advice: don't bring horse meat to someone's house for
dinner. They may not eat it. Thank you again, Poles! [While I wasn’t in the market for horse
meat, it was especially good advice in the middle of a tainted horsemeat epidemic in Europe.]
I then spent some time at the striking bronze WWII war monument.
The haunting faces of the Monument to the Heroes of the Warsaw Uprising

45. Then I picked up C at the hotel and we headed across the street to U Kucharzy, one of the
hottest Warsaw restaurants, one my father went to and my Polish hosts recommended. After
waiting a bit in the smoke-filled bar, we got our table, a prime seat right across from the guy
rolling wafers that he'd fill with cream. It was a perfect seat, not near the noise of everyone
else, and in an area that smelled especially good. People kept coming by for a wafer sample,
and C had our waiter give us one as well before dinner. So good. I had a beer, which hit the
spot, and then my fish soup came, which was some of the best soup I've had. C had to wait
awhile for her goat cheese salad, which was pretty good too. Entrees weren't as hot. Her
dorado was so-so, and my duck – a specialty there – was mediocre, with none of the juiciness
or crispiness of the one I had at Anatewka in Lodz. We had a great waiter though. Dessert: we
had a couple more cream-filled waffle cones, but both of us felt they weren't as sweet or
flavorful as the ones before dinner. The meringue cake with berries (currant?) was amazing
though, washed down with some honey vodka. This was the only meal that cost us anywhere
close to $100 total, and still not quite, even with the tip. Now back at the hotel. C had her Diet
Coke. Time to sleep shortly.
Oh do you know the wafer man?

46. Friday, April 12
Bristol, 536
8:41am
A dream:
I'm walking by some ballfield in Poland. A Pole, perhaps in his 60s, starts shouting at me in
English to go home. "But I'm supporting your country," I said. He yelled back, "Go home and
take your money with you." I kept walking, at that point knowing he was not just xenophobic
but anti-Semitic and had pegged me for a Jew. As I was some distance away, he called out, "You
Jews stole everything from us, even our recipes." I was offended enough and far enough away
to tell him, "My grandmother didn't steal her recipes from you." He shot back, "Well then, who
DID she steal her recipes from?" I deadpanned, "A penguin!" The dream ended.
Bristol 536
4:03pm
Once we got moving today around 10, we headed to the Warsaw Rising museum, which is
similar in many ways to the Schindler museum in Krakow. First off, it's not what we expected.
Just as we thought the Schindler factory would be largely about Schindler and it instead told the
broader story of Krakow under Nazi occupation, we thought the Rising museum would be more
about the Ghetto uprising, and instead it told the broader story of the Polish fight – specifically
in Warsaw – to take back its city from the Germans.
Warsaw suffered an even worse fate, as the Germans retaliated against the Polish by leveling
the city (our guide Magdalena had noted German bombs are still found under the city on a
regular enough occasion; they were far more frequently discovered in the 80s and 90s but now
don't even warrant a mention in the news). The Polish in turn fought to get the Germans out of
parts of Lithuania and the Ukraine, and the Soviets thanked them by disarming the Poles,
arresting, deporting, and sometimes killing their leaders, and then, oh, taking advantage of the
flattened and spent Warsaw by taking over the country; the Allied Forces were also too
weakened and appeasing to put up a fight against Russia. This is another museum that could
easily take up a full day, and there's SO much content through the various multimedia and
hands-on storytelling formats that one could probably be there a week or even a month before
watching all of it. While the Schindler museum was even more impactfully designed, with each
room arranged in yet another artful way to convey the atmosphere surrounding the story itself,
the Rising museum holds up plenty well on its own merits, especially compared to other
museums I've been to, historical or otherwise.
Then we were off to the Palace of Science and Culture, a Soviet relic that's generally disliked by
locals, not just because of its reminders of all things Soviet but because so many people were
displaced to create this largest architectural complex in Warsaw. It was so massive that we kept
getting lost looking for the elevators to the top for a view of the city (fine, but nothing too
special). We did get to spend a fair amount of time in the science museum, which must be one

47. of the stranger museums on Earth. There are exhibits featuring old appliances, computers,
telephones, model space shuttles from the USA and USSR, smelting, forestry, and other odd
subjects. In a side room on the top floor, we ran into a curator sitting there who didn't scowl at
us like all the others. Instead, he got up and locked us in a room full of mirrors. Then he took
our picture. And then he spent the next 10 minutes showing us all kinds of science experiments.
I don't think he gets a lot of visitors.
Please go visit the Polish Bill Nye. He is desperate for more visitors.
Rooting for the home team!

48. After finishing there and exploring the terrace above the city, we headed back to the old city
and stepped into Zapiecek, a pierogi chain that had some great options, including individual
pierogies and a difference between a grandma portion (9) and grandpa portion (11). Cara had 9
steamed Russian ones, and I had 9 fried ones (surprise: mine were better). I also had a great
mulled tea type of drink that was comforting and warm on this cool and rainy day. C then
headed back to the room and rest up, and I went out for a long walk for a couple hours. Fairly
early on, I got a bottle of Jack Daniels honey whiskey for our hosts tonight and then a couple
bottles of Diet Pepsi for C; I'd get a razor later. After hitting the limits of the Old City, I kept
walking – first past a church I hadn't seen, and then past a school just outside the old city, and
then I have no clue where, but it was fun exploring it. I wound up at a beautiful monument of
crosses in a cart, and then at the fun Pegasus sculptures outside the National Library right
across from the Supreme Court, which was adjacent to the bronze monument to soldiers. After
that, I was able to find the Nike monument we kept passing by and got a better look at this
symbol of Warsaw. Then I made it back to the Bristol.
A couple of the more haunting war monuments of Warsaw

49. Pegasus sculptures adorn the lawn of the National Library.

50. Scenes from the Monument to the Heroes of the Warsaw Uprising

51. Bristol 536
11:46pm
Packing up, it will be as strange to leave Poland as it has been to be here. This was an
unexpected trip that arose from unanticipated circumstances, and we didn't expect just how
much we'd enjoy the food, people, history, genealogy, and overall vibrancy of the country. It's
also especially fascinating to visit now, as it still grapples with what it means to be a truly
independent country – as it only emerged relatively recently from the Soviet sphere. Freedom
here is still new, and valued. Cities are still being built and rebuilt. English has replaced Russian
as the second language of choice. Coke has replaced Pepsi, practically everywhere outside of
the Soviet hall of science.
Tonight, we had one more unusual experience here: a home-cooked meal. That's unusual
enough for me as-is, let alone on a trip abroad. One of our trip hosts had us over for dinner at
their suburban home, in a new development on land that used to be owned by Poland's king.
We ate like royalty, having salad, chicken soup, zucchini, red peppers, roasted potatoes, meat,
homemade tiramisu, some desserts that I brought, and probably more – plus lots of wine and
then tea (in a lovely pot no less). American TV was a hot subject once we wrapped up discussing
our trip and what we've gotten out of Poland.
A fine final dinner in Poland (until we make it back again)

52. Now we're back, as I navigate Ryanair's site and policies, C checked in, and we plan to go our
separate ways tomorrow unfortunately. I'm booked on the London Eye, so that'll be a treat.
More adventures to come...
I still can't believe not just that I've been to Poland, but that I'll miss the place. Thank you,
Poland.
Further reading:
The Peasant Prince: Thaddeus Kosciuszko and the Age of Revolution by Alex Storozynski
http://www.amazon.com/Peasant-Prince-Thaddeus-Kosciuszko-Revolution/dp/0312388020
A populist Polish war hero with progressive views on equal rights honed his skills in America’s
Revolutionary War – a war that could have gone quite differently without him. Meet the builder
of West Point, one of Thomas Jefferson’s great friends, and a general whose name George
Washington would spell 11 different ways in his letters.
A Question of Honor: The Kosciuszko Squadron: Forgotten Heroes of World War II by Lynne Olson and
Stanley Cloud
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B001334IVU/ref=r_soa_w_d
How well London would have fared without the service of Polish airmen in World War II’s Battle
for Britain and beyond? Many of Poland’s bravest men and women joined the Allied forces as it
continued to run its rebel government in exile, though the Allies spent six years dragging their
feet before capitulating entirely to Stalin.
A sign from 1944 shown in the Warsaw Rising Museum
playing off Poland’s unofficial motto, “For our freedom and yours”

53. Saturday, April 13
Park Plaza Westminster Bridge, 1339
10:35pm
12 hours ago, I was about to lift off above Poland. It wasn't the easiest ordeal to go through
Ryanair. I got to the ticket counter, having checked in online and my baggage allowance already
covered, but they needed a printed boarding pass – or it would cost $100+ to print one. And
then that had to be stamped at another desk. By the time I went back on line, got through
security, and got a Diet Coke, I then was on a VERY slow passport control line, and by the time I
got to the gate, it was already boarding – though then there was another VERY long wait on the
bus to the train parked way out in some remote spot, and then I had to contend with things like
having a reserved seat on a flight where they don't do that kind of thing, and then having issues
like all bags and jackets up top in exit rows, and the seat in front of me not having a pocket, and
the window shade not going down, and the credit card machine on the plane not working for
my US credit card to buy a train ticket to London, and other odds and ends.
But I got there. And then I got through another slow passport control line to finally get my bag,
get a ticket (again, the card wouldn't work – good thing I got British pounds), and then rush
down to the train with a whole bunch of Poles. The train was modern and pleasant, and for the
30GBP for the train and metro, it was about a quarter of what would have been about $180 US
(with tip) to take a cab to my hotel.
The Liverpool Street metro station for the transfer was dizzying. All kinds of trains, ticket
machines, etc. It was like going from being a country bumpkin to being back in a big city, and a
foreign city, and yet a city where everything is in English and pretty much everyone speaks
English. People say things like "Cheers" and they are saying so sincerely. I finally managed to get
oriented enough to get my Tube ticket and made it to Westminster station, and there the day
began again, as I was right there in front of Big Ben, and the London Eye, and double decker
buses and bobbies and the adorable old taxis and thousands upon thousands upon thousands
of people.
One of my first views of London this trip: the London Eye

54. The weather was actually miserable. It was drizzling and misty when I got off the train, and
within an hour it would start raining consistently. It was cold enough that later I regretted
leaving gloves in my room. But that wasn't stopping a single person, so it seemed, from
enjoying their Saturday in London. And it of course wasn't going to stop me.
I checked into the hotel, one even more conveniently located than I remembered given what's
around here, and the Park Plaza associate, Irona, was helpful in combining two separate
reservations that I had, upgrading my room in the process. The suite's fine, including enough of
a kitchen to use, and I can't say I'll need all the space, but it is fun going in the secret elevator
exclusively to my floor and two others. Really, that's why people would normally get this room
– for the elevator. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
I reworked what I needed to have on me and darted out to the London Eye, picking up my Fast
Track ticket, which was a good investment, especially on this rainy day, as it allowed me to cut a
snaking queue and walk right on to the capsule as it was opening. There, I not only got views of
Big Ben, Whitehall, 10 Downing St, various churches and palaces, modern structures like the
Shard (the tallest building in the EU), and others, but I got to photobomb a lovely Muslim family
enjoying their London tour.
Meet my adopted family!

55. Big Ben from above on a perfectly dreary London day
The Samsung tablet helped orient this new tourist to many of the main sights of London

56. Then I went walking. I went along Whitehall, saw the monument honoring the pilots of the
Battle for London – looking for the Polish squadrons that I'm currently reading about, going
through Trafalgar Square without realizing it was Trafalgar Square, going through Leicester
Square which I thought might have been Trafalgar Square, getting Indian food at Dishoom (a
spot recommended by my friend Nihal on Foursquare), and then taking a leisurely walk home
via the Hungerford Bridge. Dinner: amazing calamari (some of the best I've had), some decent
chicken curry, a couple great glasses of masala chai tea (again, some of the best I've had),
decent garlic naan, and a really oddly spiced cider that wasn't quite drinkable. For such a hot
spot and a filling meal, it wasn't bad at 30GBP/$45.
The Battle of Britain monument, and the insignia for the Polish Kosciuszko Brigade
in the Royal Air Force

57. Walked back and dodged more rain. Enjoyed the views. Then got caught up on email to some
small degree – a start. Touring tomorrow. C got home safe - miss her terribly. Must finally wind
down.
Oh and PS: I went to Marks and Spencer at Charring Cross and got ham flavored chips
(vegetarian), chocolate covered cookies that are mostly chocolate, and a great microbrew
(wheat). Made for a nice dessert.
Monday, April 14
12:49pm
Park Plaza, 1339
Tour day!
This time though, it was all touring, and all as a tourist. Woke at 7am, got ready, and joined a
few people from the hotel getting picked up from different tours for the same company. We
were on the road by 7:30, ultimately to the Victoria bus station. An hour later, our bus of about
37 people was moving, plus the amicable driver and the cheeky but sometimes overly crotchety
50-something Brit (much of his shtick was an act, but his lack of interest in anything others said
seemed authentic).
Our cheeky guide was a little sheepish

58. After traveling outside of the city, we made our way to Stonehenge just after 10. It
appropriately started to rain and did for almost the whole time we were there – all of 45
minutes. I don't mind London (and environs) in the rain though given the character it adds to
such a rainy place. Stonehenge, though, isn't that interesting in pretty much any weather,
though perhaps the solstice is fun there. I was drawn more to the sheep. Stonehenge may well
be a fantastic ploy by the Brits to get people outside of London and then see how beautiful
everything else is. Perhaps it's a ruse by John Cleese working for the Ministry of Propaganda.
The end of the audio guide, which I mostly listened to for a change (ahh, the joys of being on a
tour group), was all about how if the stones weren't there and there was no mystery about
them, it would still be such a magical place. It's a field. A somewhat chalky field. Lots of grass.
And some adorable sheep. That's it. The only real magic act is the audio guide's enthusiasm.
Elaine: “I went to Stonehenge, yada yada yada, there were some adorable sheep.”
Jerry: “But you yada yada’d over the best part!”
Elaine: “No, I mentioned the sheep.”

59. The point of the whole 12-hour trip: a selfie from Stonehenge

60. Also: I ate a cheese and onion 'hot pocket' - a pasty.
More road tripping, passing tank crossings and other oddities. It was good to hear bits and
pieces of British lore. We then got to Bath, and I stunned our guide with my lack of knowledge
about the white & red flag of St. George. Later on the bus, he'd bring it up again and spell out
St. George's name for me, and I replied, "St. Jeff? St. Jerry?"
Bath is a striking city – so unbelievably beautiful, and so worth staying in for a long weekend.
The Roman museum was fascinating, with all the rich history intact there, though I didn't get to
stay long. An Indian American from Hyderabad originally (now Chicago and/or London) was
tagging along and slowing me down a bit – nice enough chap though, also traveling alone. He
was rather shocked at my carelessness with street crossings; it's much easier in London where
roads tell you which way to look. I got a Thai chicken pasty at a pretty impressive shop, and
then a Caramel Chocolate shortbread slice elsewhere, while soaking in what more of the city I
could.
When in former Rome…

61. After this, I should give up on selfies because they’re not going to turn out better than this

62. More driving, more Spotify on iOS. More cheeky one-liners.
Then we made it to Stratford-upon-Avon, a lovely hippie college town, like Woodstock or
Berkeley or Asheville or Madison or Austin, but one obsessed with Shakespeare, and rightfully
so. At his birthplace, there was a mercifully brief video intro, an also brief performance of a few
passages by a woman in Elizabethan dress while there was OJ and champagne for the audience
(also scones with cream and jam, but I didn't want a raisin scone), and then a quick tour of the
house he was born in – by far the most interesting part. Then I toured around, bought a
wooden duck at the market, soaked in the swan and Shakespeare statues (all in the rain), and
snacked. A gourmet lunch and snack spot (Carlucci’s) had massive flavored meringue cookies,
and as I ate one under an awning around the corner, a few 40-ish British women passed by. I
don't know if one of them was on something, but the last of the three to walk by not only asked
for a bite (and took one out of the cookie), but was hoping for the rest – and I gave it to her, as I
couldn't even finish what I had broken off. I can't tell if she was on drugs or just British.
So yeah, I wonder if a local woman was on drugs, and yet after getting my Shakespeare fix,
THIS is what I was doing on the street?
Made it back to the bus. Drove a couple hours (well, not me) as I read my book on the British
and Americans shafting Poland in WWII. Got back to Victoria station. Walked a bit and wound
up by Buckingham Palace and the gardens – another marvelous sight not even a half hour's
walk from the hotel. Basked in Big Ben's face lit up at night. So beautiful – I mean handsome.

63. A glimpse of the beauty by Buckingham Palace

65. Got back to the hotel. Room service: garlic naan, pineapple juice, shrimp Caesar salad, salmon
tikka with cucumbers and raita. All very good.
Now catching up on lots of work stuff. Winding down soon.
Tuesday, April 16
12:30am
Park Plaza Westminster, 1339
And the final hours in Europe (for this trip) are upon me.
Today: walked an hour this morning to the office of Peerindex, north of the Southwark Bridge,
though I took Blackfriars Bridge to get there. It's a city of wonders at every turn, with the
biggest surprise on this leg being walking past St. Paul's Cathedral. Signs are already popping up
across the city of Margaret Thatcher's funeral; I missed a rowdy protest by an hour or two in
Trafalgar Square Saturday night. Perhaps it's for the best that I didn't want to stay out too late
that day.
A sign of a great city: this is what you find when you’re aimlessly strolling along

66. I had a good 90-minute chat with Peerindex CTO Phil Guest. Then I walked Southwest down to
360i's office. Starving, I grabbed a Chinese chicken and mushroom bun, then a couple Vita Coco
drinks, and then stumbled on the international food stands on Whitecross St. where I bought a
couple brownies, and then a spicy chicken sandwich that proved a bit too messy and spicy to
enjoy.
Made it to the office after a good 45-minute walk or so, thoroughly enjoying it all the way. The
office is in a great little building just north of Covent Garden, and Rob Connolly, the 360i'er
running it, gave me the grand tour, with the team offering a kind reception. I gave a talk for
about an hour on ways to work with 360i and Steak there.

67. A bit later, Rob and I left for dinner. He was going to take me to Dishoon, but alas, I had already
been. He brought me through Covent Garden to an old bar – a wine bar no less – set mostly
underground, Gordon's, where we had a couple glasses of Shiraz. Then we headed across
Hungerford Bridge (the other side of where I crossed before) and stopped at Canteen for
deviled kidney on toast (great), fish & chips (good, but fries better than the fish), some local
beer, and enjoyable conversation – about religion, food, culture, some work, and whatnot.
Made it back to the room. Plenty to catch up on but not terribly behind. Had more chocolate
covered biscuits from Marks & Spencer (same package as before). Quite a delicious lot. Cheers.
Kidneys never looked (or tasted) so good

68. Postscript
Somehow I must have been too exhausted, or perhaps just out of it mentally, to bother writing
up the end of the trip.
Here’s the gist, written a few weeks later (May 5, 2013):
I packed up the next morning and took a fairly short walk back to the Covent Garden area to
visit Google’s office – very much a typical Google space, though I did note they had soft drinks
prominently, rather than fruit juices and the like. I had a great catch-up with former 360i’er
Robert Wollner over a filling spread from Google’s cafeteria.
I’m feeling lucky: a reunion with former colleague Robert Wollner at Google UK

69. Then I had a much shorter walk to 360i’s London office, where I worked for a bit and chatted
with a few blokes before heading around the corner to Hospital Club, a swanky spot similar to
Soho House, founded by tech magnates who reclaimed and renovated the building. There I met
with Andrew Grill, CEO of Kred / Peoplebrowsr, and had a fun discussion about influencer
marketing. Lunch was some kind of fish dish, I believe.
Then I took the Tube to Heathrow, getting through security quickly and well ahead of when the
gate was announced for my flight. Soon, I was one of the first in the waiting area for Kuwait
Airways, where I went through another security check but no passport control. The planes were
standard – neither too modern nor scarily antiquated – but the service in coach was courteous,
I had room to spread out in my row, and even was served a menu for the flight (Halal – no pork
or alcohol).
Kuwait Airways: no alcohol, but adorable safety announcements
Soon enough, I was back home in New York, with a newfound appreciation for the fatherland,
and some fond memories of the UK.
Here’s a phrase not uttered enough: Thank you, Poland. (You Brits are alright too.)
The End