SQUARRITES KRACK OFF 2007

27^th September – 2^nd October

The Keiths arrived at Westbury Park in the dark with plenty of time to spare but found only one house displaying a number. Curtains twitched and fingers reached out to dial 999 as Keithee ventured to make closer inspections. A quick call to Stubbee resulted in directions to Stubbee Towers, park up and rendezvous at the Tavern.

Richie arrived in a dodgy rainmac and covered in sweat, blamed on a fast walk all the way from Penkhull to board the bus to meet up with the independent Chris at East Midlands Airport.

There was much discussion about the 15kg. weight allowances with Steve having to unload part of his Hi-Vis suitcase into Jacko’s case. A better policy of combining the weight of the passenger and luggage to produce a weight limit was proposed and promoted a mass visit to the scales. Most of the Squarry Club appeared to be fully metricated with an average of 100kg. each, though Bill weighed in at 128.

Bill was selected for special treatment and the rest made our usual rear entry onto the plane in the safe knowledge, as Keithee pointed out, that no plane had ever backed into a mountain.

Arrival at Krakow appeared efficient though the carousels were all labelled “No. 1” with something of a lucky dip result.

A labrador was brought through the crowd to sniff at everyone’s crutch and baggage. “Nice doggie” says Richie to prompt the handler to take Chris to the interview room. He was excused the full body search but did confess to smoking a weed called Silk Cut.

Outside to bright sunshine we were greeted by Martin holding a paper with large letters displaying “David Stevens” and were then whisked away to the Hotel Batory.

Rooms were allocated:-

Chris Rushton 02

Keith & Richie 03

Yup & Stubee 31

Keithee & Steve 32

Bill 33

A rapid unpack preceded the first visit to the basement bar and a walk to the Town Square. An orchestral recital at the church of St. Peter & St. Paul was proclaimed to play The Four Seasons but we must have been there on the wrong night and fell asleep to something other than Vivaldi. Frankie Valli never even appeared.

Yup lead the way to the first bar of the evening. The Fischer Pub had been renamed Od Nova and was a simple cellar bar hosted by Magda who was kept busy mopping up the spilt beer. Keithee requested Pink Floyd to be played but got Toto instead. She’d even confuse them with Tonto and the Lone Arranger complained Keithee.

Steve was pleased to find the beer OK despite the lack of lemonade and declared “Its Frothy Man”. Restaurants seemed to be closing all around us and we were pleased to find an Italian that was able to serve an unusual Calzone with cold mushroom filling that managed to satisfy a corner of Stubbee’s appetite.

Friday 28^th. Auschwitz

Alarm clocks had been set for 6:30 with breakfast at 7:00 in order to catch the bus at 8:15.

Our driver Bert turned out to be an ex honorary Stokee having spent some time working for Pointon’s of Cheddleton. He recalled that on one occasion the smell of his load was so awful that the police had been called to escort him out of Birmingham. We talked of cultural differences and learnt that 3 Wright’s pies on top of each other was known as a Bentilee wedding cake.

Richie commented on the state of the buildings that we passed and compared them with Cairo that he had recently visited. Yes, those pyramids haven’t had a lick of paint for years noted Chris.

We called at a filling station to be greeted by a very friendly but obviously flea ridden dog. He soon cleared wide spaces in his search for someone to pat him.

We all bought water to compensate for the excesses of the previous night but Richie went one better and purchased a litre of isotonic power drink.

We joined a group for the film preview at the Auschwitz visitor centre and watched in silence before following our guide through the “Work will make you free” gate. The huge collection of pitiful possessions was moving, though crumpled photos of individual children lost in “The Final Solution” were even more heartbreaking.

We agreed with the guide that it was important to witness the site but felt guilty for finding it fascinating. Auschwitz II Birkenau proved even more poignant. We walked the vast extent of the site to the memorial on the site of the chambers to arrive just in time for a sudden downpour. It seemed a significant place to experience a shower.

Lunch was obtained at Artur’s on the way back. Chris declared that bacon, eggs & chips were always the same and you couldn’t go wrong. It arrived as a yellow mass with lumps. As always, Bill’s meal looked the best though he wasn’t sure whether it was pork, beef or whatever. Richie’s “noodles” arrived as jumbo ravioli dumplings but received great approval.

Bert was asked where the Indian Restaurant was and looked horrified at the prospect of transporting 8 gaseous passengers exuding the results of the previous night’s curry. “Just like driving for Pointon’s” he was reminded.

We made our way back to Krakow to the sounds of classical music played as Irish jigs. We left Bert to his music as we exited on the far side of the town so as to save him a long return journey through the rush hour jams.

After a quick shower and in need of some light hearted refreshment we made our way to the basement lounge of the Cat’s Bollocks bar. The music was loud and appeared to make Bill’s ears glow in the dark while Richie sipped a frozen Daiquiris Pink Panther. He described it as a pink pussy only larger. The local girls played electronic darts on a flashing board. Removal of the darts proved more interesting than the game itself but then Jocky Wilson never wore a thong. The quest for the perfect cocktail began and Steve lost his cherry (as well as his umbrella) with a dubious Hawaiian. Jacko ordered a Kamikaze Extreme comprising Vodka, Curacao & Zyklon B that arrived as 8 flaming drinks on a small tray. He was too mean to lose so much to evaporation and blew out the flames and drank the tray.

The Curry House was small and shared a loo with a dubious nightclub in the adjacent arcade. We crammed on one table for a stodgy, powdery cuisine that was distinctly lacking any Eastern delight. Many more drinks were needed to compensate.

Saturday 29^th Zakopane

Assembling all 8 at the same time proved difficult with disappearances for extra clothing after mention of snow in the mountains. Jacko & Richie were first on the bus and sat in the hot seats by the window to fry in the fierce glare of the sun. We made a toilet stop in the foothills and viewed the local handicrafts of goat’s cheese and the curing pelts of several ex-animals. The bear skin turned out to be the pelt of a wild boar but was no less fearsome and definitely not the kind of thing to take home as a souvenir.

The ski lift at Zakopane was undergoing its annual overhaul so Bert led the way through the market by the riverside and on to the funicular rail terminus for the trip to the ridge. He appeared to jump the queue to purchase the return tickets and thoughts of a return on foot through deep snow disappeared. The mountain ridge gave views over the town towards the Tatra mountain ski slopes and was filled with locals who appeared already high on something other than fresh air. We joined them with a glass or two on a boarded veranda to watch the world go by until Bert signalled it was time for lunch at his much recommended café.

Jacko heard mention of donkey kebabs, rat burgers and pig’s kneecaps but settled for the set menu of hot soup served in an un-carriable bowl, followed by pork with lashings of cold fermented cabbage. The toilet had its own mysteries and exhibits and was definitely not worth the entrance cost. We made our first visit to the pedestrianised main street of Zakopane and were surprised to find that the soprano voice of the busker belonged to a man. He seemed to sing “No one knows that I have farted” in an effortless switch from tenor to castrato without adjusting his trousers.

Bert inquired about the thermal baths but was directed to the municipal Lido and on to a Hotel but no luxury swimming was on offer. We had to settle for a visit to the ski jump and a toilet stop in the adjacent all-wooden chalet before returning to the town for more beers in the company of the local revellers who were by now even more joyful. The return journey was uneventful and Steve suggested that Bert drop us off so that we could take a walking short cut through the Shopping Mall.

A bar in a courtyard with seating in the open, within a well furnished gazebo served B52’s with Bailey’s poured immaculately over a cranked spoon over a layer of Cointreau and Kailua to make a perfect mini Guinness. Richie produced a flame to add a hot topping but soon had it licked. Bill returned with a tray of drinks but had “lost his cool” and had to return to the bar to ask the barman what each glass contained. A half buried boat lay in the courtyard and we speculated how it had arrived. ‘I had been giving it some thought and then it just sank in’ said Stubee.

The diners at the Italian Restaurant deep in the basement of a cheap hotel included a group of jolly Brummies and Steve soon had them engaged in Black Country banter. The chef was about to end his shift but was persuaded to stay to produce probably the best meal of our stay in Krakow.

Sunday 30^th Wieliczka Salt Mine & Shindler’s Factory

Our Driver, Martin, deputised for Bert who was the only qualified Public Service Vehicle driver with the Company and was required to drive the bus elsewhere. The journey to the Salt Mine was short and tickets were soon bought for the trip underground to the tune of “Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho” via 48 flights of heavy wooden steps within a casing made of tree trunks to join our guide Kara. The salt bearing rock appeared more like granite and had been carved into large caverns with intricate sculptures and detailed reliefs. The trip back to the surface was thankfully made in a lift cage as we were counted out to ensure that not even the noisy little brat was left behind.

Martin took us the short distance to Shindler’s Factory which was surprisingly still a working factory making the same enamelled ware and looking very much as the 1940’s photo. The museum was “closed” on Sunday but the caretaker was up for a bit of freelance enterprise and opened the doors whenever money fell into her hand.

Martin then took a route through the cemetery to the hilltop overlooking the City and produced 16 cans of various beers with nothing in common but a cheap price and high alcohol content. The magnificent views started to blur as we climbed back down to the bus for the trip to the Jewish Quarter.

The flea market was packing up as we settled at a bar for more liquid refreshment and to watch the world go by on His & Hers matching Segways. Yupee appeared from the market café with cheese & ham open rolls decorated with crisps and elephant’s toenails. 3 more rounds of beers were ordered followed by 2 rounds of hot shots.

We made our way via a further round of flaming Sambukas to the Bombay Tandori Restaurant proudly displaying an Indonesian sign, though the waitress confirmed that the chef/owner was a Polish woman with no oriental connection. Richie decided to invest in the fine art market of up and coming artists and bought a dubious Van Gogh from a young footballer. He hoped his footballing skills were better than his talent with a crayon.

We returned to the Od Nova pub where Keithee proudly announced that he was as Pi**** as Fu** and proceeded to invite two strangers to join him with a “966”. “A 96 everybody – trust me”, he announced.

Bill carried him home while Ritchie, assisted by Yuppee, alternated between trying to climb walls and lying down to rest on the pavement.

Monday 1^st October

Chris had left the Pub before the silliness had begun and was surprised to find everyone in various shades of grey at breakfast. Keith recalled the hallucination he had experienced during the night. He had been a prisoner of the Nazis and made to stand naked in a corner. He remembered taking comfort from his faith before descending into a multi-coloured hell. The experience had proved very humbling for both Keith and Steve.

Seeking a quiet day we ambled through the railway station and compared the old and new architecture. The barbican was thronged with students enjoying the culture as we enjoyed the views. A middle aged busker played endless keepee upee in the pedestrianised street and took rest breaks to continue while lying down. Clearly he wasn’t match fit. The falsetto strains of “No one knows that ..” filled the air as we realised the castrato had followed us from Zakopane to sing outside the City Church.

An “official guide” offered to give us a tour of Wavel Castle. He would take us to all the places of interest that would otherwise be unavailable but his expensive offer was declined. “You will regret it when you get lost in the vaults” he sneered.

The Castle turned out to be shut to all on Mondays but tickets were available to view the Cathedral, bell tower and tombs. The bell tower comprised a wooden lattice of heavy timbers clad in stone and copper. The route up involved a zigzag scramble through the claustrophobic gaps of the lattice but was conquered by all including Bill. The tombs proved extensive and equally claustrophobic among the caskets.

The sun shone over the wide River Wisla and we marvelled that there was a further 500 miles of river to the Baltic Sea.

Yuppy felt a little better and risked a 5 zloty sandwich but renewed his nausea at the sight of the mountain of mayonnaise and donated it to Chris. Keith thought that he may be up to trying solids by the evening.

Chris was up for a final night fling but was met with little enthusiasm and he had to settle for a meal at Roosters. Stubbee recalled that a pub in Liverpool Road had been so desperate for trade that the landlady had served beer while topless. She was not a stunner and the business had failed. “Did the drinkers ask if she could put a top on that?” Keithee asked.

Tottenham played Aston Villa on the big TV screens and Yup was unhappy. The kebab he had eaten earlier after dismissing the 5 zloty sandwich was in danger of returning. His steak tasted risky so he kept to just the salad of cabbage, red onion and shredded carrot which was considered a safer bet. Our waitress, Mirala, continued to serve in her very practical outfit of red shorts and sheer blouse and the food appeared to improve. Steve had a wooden platter of ribs and pink chicken legs that were so fresh that they were raw. The pile of debris and bones left on completion filled the platter more than when it was delivered. Chris was still up for a return to the bar in the courtyard but no one followed. “Old Codgers” he muttered.

Tuesday 2^nd October

Bert arrived his usual half hour early at 11:00 for the return to the airport. At the airport the signs dictated Gate 2 but we were directed upstairs to Gates 6-12. Stubee received a total touch up but avoided the rubber glove before returning downstairs to the Duty Free where Yup was found buying a further 2 bottles of Polish Spirit for 65 zloty. The return to East Midlands was uneventful as we said goodbye to Chris and Steve and joined the waiting bus back to Westbury Park.

Best Regards

Jacko