Filtering

Now sitting in an internet cafe on a scruffy Krakow street. I have slept in my new, precarious top bunk bed, eaten some kind of vegetable tart and salad in a lovely old school cafe. I have sat by the river making notes and drinking ice tea. I have sat and let the events of the last few days simply filter, come to some kind of order, declutter themselves in my brain. And this is what I have come up with..

Last thursday night was the last evening when any kind of normality reigned. Feeling the need to fill the space of the evening with something, I went to a concert of Jewish music, music with a kind of intensity that should be experienced with eyes closed. I wandered back up through the city, pausing to watch the cheesy music on the stage that is showcasing Ukranian music as a gesture of polish-ukranian friendship. I retired to the hostel, read some Max Goldt, chatted with a fascinating American woman and wound into sleep sometime after midnight. Breakfast the next morning proceeded as normal, with coffee to be drunk and conversation to be had, this time with a sweet German girl and a sparky chick from Hong Kong. I sat, read my book, did some casual browsing. And waited for the storm to hit. The storm being my dear old friend, the professional.

The professional and I, friends since university, are in many respects at the opposite end of the spectrum, of weath, opinion, lifestyle. In those late nineties university summers, while I drifted from waitressing job to waitressing job she was building a CV. I live in the world of ideas, she a pragamatist. I am happy to wander in two dollar flip flops for days, she has an impressive and dangerous looking collection of stillettos. We share, though, a certain intensity, and a regard for each other that has survived more than a decade; the kind of complicated and dear friendships that we do not plan and that nonetheless sustain us.

That shared intensity made for a weekend of blinding experience. Some flashes: An introductory glass of wine on the market square was followed by a hike up the town hall tower which we felt in our right leg muscles for the day to come. A wander up to the castle, past marrying couples in churches in the jewish district, rain and revelations and poor quality food in Szeroka. A bar at Plac Nowy. Tips from longer term residents and locals lead us to a club, gay friendly and kitch. Spinning and dancing, and wandering. Back to the room for four hours sleep. Boom. The world returns, time for piecemeal breakfast. Time to stumble through the rain looking for a tour company that will bring us to Auschwitz. A rainy bus ride. A solemn couple of hours. Private reflection. Not knowing what to say. Exhaustion. Off into private space. Sore limbs. An unsure heart. Under the shower. On with the heels, do the make-up, drink the sparkly wine. Go.

Dinner in a wonderful restaurant. A wander through bars and clubs looking for fresh experience. Heated discussion of movies. Disappointment in the quest for the new. A return to the old. Back to kitch. Dancing and joy, and impassioned singing and swinging. Impressive couples, whose female halves can bend back elegantly, arching their backs in the arms of their partners. Provocative t-shirts. Virtually no music released after 2000 played. Smooth criminal, simply the best, cotton eye joe, tub thumper. Hours of dancing, talking, all body and joy. Sometime after six am the professional disappears with a companion, the craftsman. I notice a while after, notice that their swinging flowing bodies have left the floor. Walking out into the coridor I catch a glimpse of the inevitable intimacies, they are dancing in front of a deserted door, then kissing. I leave them to it, until my aching feet can stand no more, beg for rest. And we the night warriors walk through the krakow early morning, barefoot, past squares, past the early stirrings of the market square. And they marvel. And I record it, with my camera and my eyes. The little miracles. Back in the door of the hostel, the same gentleman that saw us out the previous night gently laughs and chides us for a return home so late. I crawl, showered into bed. My feet, legs, all is tingle, all is unearthly, detached from my body. The professional pops back out to bid the craftsman farewell. And I drift off into my customary four hours of sleep.

Having missed breakfast, we begin by enquiring from the gentleman as to where we could dine in a brunch like fashion. Nowhere, he responds. Aparently Krakow has not yet discovered the all day brunch. An overpriced panini on the market square, too lazy to travel futher afield. A wander. A grassy seat by the river. Overheared conversations. A glass of mineral water, beautiful, cold, in enveloping sunshine. Shower. Dinner. Impassioned disagreement. The search for jazz rewarded by two tunes. An incongruous discovery; a club with dark clad people, and rotating blond hair and silver chains. Rage against the machine, tori amos, joy division. Almost about to leave, pulled back by the sisters of mercy. Finally out by three. Dancing on the street. Amazed that we are still dancing, three days later. Swinging in front of a cafe to "We built this city on rock and roll". Siezing life. Swatting flies before sleeping, waking. The professional rises and departs. Over breakfast the gentleman laughs and enquires as to the state of my feet. And I recuperate and filter and settle, wait until all the grains have fallen to the bottom before sipping....

Reflections on same tommorow.....that's it for me today. The sunlight still beckons..