I spent almost exactly 36 hours in Warsaw, arriving at 8PM on a Sunday and departing at 8AM Tuesday. Inspired by the New York Times series, here is my view of a day and a half of exploring Poland’s capital.
What lead me to Warsaw? The desire for another stamp in my passport; curiosity about its rich but dark history; an appreciation for other former eastern bloc cities (Prague, Sofia) and the hopes that it would live up; and, if truth be told, it was the cheapest one-way ticket I could find that would get me from somewhere near Berlin back to New York. I was interested in seeing a city that had been flattened and mostly obliterated during WWII (as morbid as that is), quietly observing its people and cultural quirks, and searching explorer-style for its secret hot spots.
Quick tips for visiting Warsaw
Where to stay
H15 Boutique Hotel comes highly recommended as a boutique, design-forward hotel with great atmosphere and service. I didn’t stay there but trust the insider info on this one.
What to do
My day with Adventure Warsaw was a perfect and fun way to see the quirky side of the city and also take in all the important history.
36 Hours in Warsaw
SUNDAY
8:30 P.M.
Pierogies and Royals
After finding my way on foot from Warsaw’s Centralna train station to the HOSTEL WITT and checking into my room on the fourth floor (walk-up, and not recommended with a lot of luggage), I realized I hadn’t eaten since the banana and chocolate quark I’d gobbled at the Mauerpark flohmarkt around noon back in Berlin. The jolly Polish hostel manager and the Dutch guy splayed on the common room sofa both directed me to the Indian restaurant downstairs, indicating it might be the only place in the neighborhood still open. It wasn’t.And despite being near the center of the city, the streets were dark and quiet as a rural town. Luckily, not too far down the road, I found a Polish pub with a friendly, English-speaking waiter who explained that I could order a plate of mixed pierogis for about 20 pl ($7). The shelf between the table seats and the wall held propped up magazines, three or four deep, and I pulled out the only English one to flip through as I waited. An old magazine called William & Kate: Their Royal Year.
MONDAY
9:00 A.M.
Communist Times
According to tour group ADVENTURE WARSAW, their bright blue ‘Nysa 522’ militia vehicle is one of the main Polish symbols of the communist era. With only a day in the city and not a clue about how to get around, I signed up for their 4-hour (turned 6-hour) ‘off the beaten path tour,’ and the cobalt bus screeched to a halt in front of my hostel at 9 o’clock sharp. Inside was tour guide Marishko (“like Mario! But Polish!”), a mother and daughter from Montreal who were stopping through Warsaw on their way to Budapest, and a professional hula dancer from Hawaii’s Big Island who was brought to Warsaw by a Polish woman (also on the tour) so he could give hula workshops all around the country. Once I’d climbed in and sat on one of the benches running along the side of the vehicle, I noticed there was no air conditioning inside the bus, nor did the windows open. The temperature was already pushing 90 with a projected high of 95. Looking more closely at the Canadians, I noticed their foreheads looked a little damp, and even the Hawaiian native squirmed with discomfort. At our first stop, the Bank Square which is surrounded by ugly communist architecture, Marishko jumped out and ran to the back, opened the rear door, and said that we had to enter and exit the bus in the back “just like in real communist times!” This took some maneuvering – sitting down first while swinging one’s legs out and then jumping to the ground – and I wondered how many stops on the tour there would be…
11 A.M.
Seeing Warsaw Inside Out
…then again, each time we tumbled out the back of the blue bus I was greeted with a pleasant shock of 90+ degree air outside; in contrast with the inside of the bus, it felt like the rush of coolness you get when opening a refrigerator. Luckily, Marishko did a such a great job of giving us an overview of life in Warsaw during WWII and communist times that I was almost able to ignore the sweat dripping down my temples. We visited courtyards and alleyways that showed shrapnel scars from bombings, buildings that hadn’t been cleaned up or fixed in decades because their original owners had been lost in the uprising, and a building on the edge of the former Jewish ghetto that is embossed with images of Jews – those who represent some of the 200,000 killed during the holocaust. Mixed in with the wartime imagery were the stark stone communist influences in the form of statues and carvings on the site of bleak buildings.
1 P.M.
Little Prague
In the afternoon we crossed the river Vistula to Praga, a working class neighborhood that in just the last few years has sprung hipness from growing gentrification. Having gained new residents in the form of hipsters and artists, the city’s nightlife scene has repositioned itself in this part of town. Marishko parked our van in the parking lot of a former vodka factory that now houses art gallery space, and in the open area nearby there was a large rusted dinosaur sculpture alongside a life-sized chess game (which reminded me of another one I found while hiking in Eze, France in the summer of 2010).
On the side of a building on a nearby street was a mural of a giant duck and some other cartoon creatures; it sort of looked like a poor attempt at Berlin-style graffiti art. Aside from this low-key emergence of artsy stuff, Praga still looks fairly down-at-heels. In a nearby atrium between some rundown buildings there was a chicken coop, only inside there were pigeons instead. Marishko said that in Poland, pigeons are treated affectionately and taken care of like pets.
2 P.M.
Bar Mleczny
When we walked into Bar Zabkowski, a traditional Polish MILK BAR, and I realized (duh!) that they didn’t have air conditioning, I hoped the term ‘milk bar’ wasn’t literal. Since the air was nearly as stifling as our breezeless blue bus, I definitely wasn’t craving anything milky. Marishko did all the ordering and we sat and waited at a table in the corner, as the locals at tables surrounding us stared and smiled. Marishko announced that we should all try the fruit compote – “like fruit juice!” – and I said “sure, just something cold,” assuming it would be. Marishko made a face. “It’s boiled, but it’s not always warm…” This was not an assuring statement and sure enough the sweet, red concoction was hot enough to warm my hand through the glass. It was sort of tasty, in a sugary Kool-Aid way, with fruit chunks at the bottom. Marishko then carried over platters of various kinds of pierogies – polish dumplings – filled with various things like meat, cheese, potato, and blueberries. There were also some potato latke-like pancakes and also polish noodles in butter, which tasted sort of like Italian gnocchi.
3 P.M.
In a Pickle
After lunch we walked next door and into a bi-level, dilapidated bar full of junky purple couches and old sewing machine tables. Marishko had told us the tour would cap off with a shot of Polish vodka, the proper way; he asked the group who wanted ‘regular’ and who wanted ‘sweet.’ After the saccharine compote, I chose regular. He came back with a tray full of shots, a plate holding squares of bread topped with something slimy, and a small dish of baby pickles. The sweet vodka was to be gulped on its own while us ‘regulars’ had a three step process to follow: hold the pickle between your pinkie and ring finger, and position the bread – which was topped with chicken fat, I found out – between your thumb and forefinger on the same hand. Your other hand should hold the vodka. The steps are to be done in quick succession so as to masque the taste of the liquor – a bite of bread/chicken fat, vodka down the hatch, and a bite of pickle. I did as I was told. The vodka was the coldest relief I’d felt all day.
4.PM
What’s New is Old
After being dropped off back at Hostel Witt in the steamy blue bus and saying goodbye to my tour compatriots, I began the trek to Warsaw’s Old Town, a couple of miles north. On the way I stopped at the famous CAFE BLIKLE and picked up a jelly donut, Warsaw’s favorite afternoon snack! Blikle sits on busy retail and restaurant corridor Nowy Swiat, where the pastel colored buildings and high-end shops were a shocking contrast to the city I’d seen earlier on the tour. The old town is really the new town, afterall, since after it was completely destroyed during WWII it was rebuilt to look as it had. It was hard to resist a seat at one of the abundant sidewalk cafes, so I plopped down in the main square to rest my feet, drink a Polish beer, and do some people watching before continuing on to explore the narrowing streets and mini shops in the area.
7 P.M.
New Friends and a Polish Hipster Hunt
I went looking for a restaurant I’d read about in the New York Times, ready to treat myself to some modern Polish cuisine after two main meals full of pierogis in less than 24 hours. The thing about Warsaw, however, is that they’re still in a constant state of rebuilding and renovating. Doing this involves a lot of cranes and bulldozers and closed-off streets. I’m pretty adept at navigating a new city using a map, but in Warsaw I’d turn a corner expecting to find a thru-street and instead was met with a large construction site preventing me from following my planned route. Bah! So after an hour of wandering and ignoring my grumbling stomach, I gave up and wandered to a burger cafe called MY OH MY
that I’d read was popular with Warsaw hipsters. I figured since I’d be returning to Brooklyn the next day maybe I should start the process of re-acclimating to my home environment (bagels! hipsters!) plus I was curious to see what a Polish hipster looked like.
My Oh My has modern, girly decor and is famous for their bagel burgers: homemade sausage-y burger in a homemade crusty-soft bagel. I got s spicy one with some jalepenos and a chipotle sauce on top. While I waited for my food a guy at the other end of the long booth asked me in an Australian accent where I was from in ‘the states.’ We started chatting and he invited me to join him. His name was Gavin, he was from Sydney, and he was a naval officer and Nikon camera distributor who had put business on the back burner to go on a 6 month backpacking trip through Europe, plotting his way as he went. I always love meeting Aussies when I’m in a foreign country. Travel is in their blood and it seems like even people with multiple jobs find time and money to make wandering the world a priority. Gavin was Couchsurfing at the apartment of Polish girl named Krystyna who came to join us after a while. She’s a language teacher (Polish and English) who’d moved to Warsaw a few years earlier from a smaller town. The three of us ate bagel burgers, drank some Polish beer, and I even copy edited an application Krystina had brought along for a fellowship that would allow her to live and work on a farm for a few months. Later, they offered to walk me most of the way to my hotel, which was nice, since it had gotten late (And dark).
10 P.M.
Strip Clubs and Switchblades
Back at the hostel, I sat in the common room with the Dutch guy, who it seemed hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch since my arrival on Friday, and the 20 year old Brit who had randomly chosen Warsaw and the Hostel Witt for his first-ever trip alone outside his own country. The Olympics played quietly on the tiny TV in the corner, and the Polish hostel manager was running around excitedly in a pair of tight jeans with his hair heavily slicked. His friend, a smaller guy in similarly tight jeans and t-shirt, watched and waited as he primped. The dutchman suggested I join them; they were heading to a club. “Yes! Come with!” the Polish guy said maniacally. I thought about it for a minute – the ridiculousness that could become a good story, the chance to see the inside of a club in Warsaw – but also thought about my 9AM flight. When the Dutchman told me it was a strip club, and our Polish friend held a switchblade up in the air and yelled ‘aha!’, I knew it was time to put myself, and Warsaw, to bed.
TUESDAY
7 A.M.
Pożegnanie!
I dropped my Witt keys in the box by the door and dragged my stuff downstairs where the taxi was promptly waiting. We drove west through the city and passed an old man sitting on the ground near a tree, affectionately feeding some pigeons. I wanted to yell goodbye to Warsaw out the window in Polish, but realized I hadn’t been there long enough to learn any.