Cracow
I'm sitting in an outdoor restaurant on my last night in Cracow eating the best pierogi I've tasted since arriving in Poland. Panfried oniony goodness. It's amazing how quickly you get used to plucking up the courage to sit and eat alone. It takes a certain air of indifference as well as persistence with the staff who tend to overlook solo diners. The sky has darkened and the market square is brightly lit, the cloth hall dominating the centre. Constant rhythmic clatter of metal horse shoes striking cobble stones makes one look up to see tourists in an open carriage being drawn by beautifully groomed Clydesdales. A bride and groom carefully walk across the cobbled street with a photographer in tow, looking for the perfect shot. As the photographer stands a group of young guys stop, place a CD player on the ground and one by one proceed to show off their break dancing skills as a crowd of onlookers gather. There's the lingering sound of an electronic keyboard across the square improvising a jazz number and soon the bell will chime the hour, following by the requisite trumpeter warning the city of an impending invasion, as he has been doing hourly for decades. The square is a milling multicoloured swirl of tourists. From where I'm sitting I can hear Scottish, Eastern European, American and English accents. Hawkers toss into the air glowing toys which add a magical element and is accompanied by the excitement of children's voices
