Poland

Krakow was the kind of place I kept extending my stay in. The Main Square alone could eat up a whole day — that wide expanse of cobblestone with the Cloth Hall sitting in the middle of it, the Town Hall Tower watching over everything, and Eros Bendato crouching in front of it all like it has something to say. I'd sit at one of the outdoor tables with a coffee and just watch the light move across those cream-and-terracotta facades.

The trip to Auschwitz changed the whole mood of Poland for me. Standing at that iron gate and reading those words hammered into it — there's no way to prepare yourself. The brick barracks, the gravel paths, the absolute quiet of the place. I came back to Krakow that evening and walked through Kazimierz, the old Jewish quarter, without saying much. Ended up at Singer, a bar built around antique sewing machines as tables, red wine in hand, walls thick with old photographs.

Down in the Wieliczka Salt Mine, everything carved out of grey salt — the Last Supper, nativity scenes, whole chapels — felt almost impossible. I kept running my hand along the walls just to confirm it was real. Poland moves between beauty and weight like nowhere else I've been, and that contrast is exactly what stays with you.