Krakow FTW

Right, I think it's probably time for the first 'tale of hilarity'. Hmmmm... choices choices.

So it's my last night in Krakow, I've got a flight out of that glorious pool of happy at 10.oo in the morning. Being the responsible traveller that I am, I ask the hostel guy what getting to the airport entails. The friendly chap sorts me out quickly enough - there's a train from the station to the airport, takes fifteen min, there's one at 07.30 and you can buy your ticket on it. Nice one. So off I pop up to my room, get into my onesie and clamber into bed, bag packed and all.

Next morning I amble up to the train station, arriving at 07.25. On noting my train is at Platform 1, I make my way outside, Logically enough, I hop on the train next to the sign with the big '1' on it. It being 07.26, and me being at the end of a somewhat exhausting few weeks, I start to doze. I awake. at 08.00. Shit. Why is the train still moving??

The limited english of a nearby passenger informs me that I am in fact on a train to the Polish mountains - Zakopane to be precise. Lovely. Always wanted to visit the mountains. Probably not two hours before my flight though...

So I hop off at the next stop. Imagine Borat's hometown and you wouldn't be too far wrong. Only less populated. There are 5 trains passing through the station that day, one going back to Krakow, and not til 08.57 at that. Right Howard, you need to get yourself a taxi son. Thankfully, there's a taxi sign outside. I follow it. To a phonebox. Wonderful.

It's now 08.12, my flight is in an hour and forty-eight minutes, and I'm somewhere in the middle of Poland, in a deserted town.

So I spot this amicable looking gent strolling down the road, and I approach him. Pointing to the taxi sign I try vainly to convey my plight. He looks at me. He nods. He points to the phone box. I die a little inside.

Somehow I get him to try call the taxi for me. There's no number for it in the phonebox. Awesome. I see a second soul approach from the squalor, a woman this time. The two of them become embroiled in a sea of polish language, that I only assume was in relation to my predicament.

At 08.22, she beckons me toward her. "Sprecken deutsch?", she ventures. I shake my head. She proceeds to walk me down to the town 'centre' where there is an old Mercedes, a brute of a taxi, parked at the side of the road. Gesturing with my arms, I convince the taxi man that I need to get to the airport. He cocks his head, staring at me quizically for a few seconds, before slowly nodding. I have no choice. I put my bag in the boot, hop in, and off we go.

I'm pretty sure he knows where I want to go, but not certain. And I have no idea how far I'd gone on the train. At about 08.50, I saee a sign for Belice airport. My heart soars. I'm going to make it. Moments later, I'm thanking the man, paying him with my few remaining zilchos and running into the terminal.

Krakow is the greatest city in the world.