A good friend of mine told me it’s acceptable to drink at any time during the day as long as you’re outside. Well, we took advantage of the outdoor seating, and I drank a beer before 11.00 that day.
Lo! And Behold! There it was upon thine shelf, beckoning to me like a shadowy siren.
The homes have a certain aged look, but are built as sturdy as old farmhouses. Fairly tightly packed together, lined by a strip of canola along one side and backed by forested hills, eventually rolling into the Tatras, the village takes on a sort of enchanting mix between centuries-past agrarian and modern rural.
I had gone and got my hopes up that I might limber myself with a savory stout, but I was mistakenly anxious. I nearly cried. My dreams had been dashed on the cobblestone streets of Old Town Krakow.
Disclaimer: The remainder of this post discusses, in some graphic detail, the horrors of Auschwitz-Birkenau. Subject matter is likely to be disturbing to all readers. Actually, it should be. Consider yourself advised.
Add a quiet stream in there, and it’d be golden. No pun intended.
The Polish Home Army had long planned a resistance against the occupying Germans to take back their city, and at this point in the war, the Germans were on the defensive, beginning their rapid retreat back auf Deutschland!
I'm a thirty-something dude living in America's heart of boring - the good ole Midwest. Bad beer and flat fields are our biggest claims to fame outside of sports. We do love our sports, especially when coupled with bad beer in the middle of some flat fields...