Why Krakow?

He pushed my passport back at me while still holding it firmly in his grasp and pointed to the word 'Lebanon'. "What is that?" he asked.

"It's a country." My place of birth, after a lifetime spent in the United States, still identified me even though it's a country I vaguely remember. He looked at me like I was pulling his leg and telling him of a mythical place. He had never heard of it. Is it possible, especially now with the current conflict broadcast around the world at all hours? Was Poland that isolated?

After many more questions, assurances that I was there only to see Krakow, proof that I would be leaving in four days and production of my hotel confirmation, I finally received my stamp of approval. I was the last to leave the customs area and across the gate I could see that most of the passengers had already claimed their luggage and left the airport.

I arrived in the city by 7 a.m., dropped off my bags and headed off to the old town square, about three blocks away. It was starting to get warm and it promised to be a hot and humid day. Krakow was just starting its morning rituals - setting up cafe tables for breakfast, people walking their dogs, obwarzanki (a ring shaped pretzel) vendors rolling in their carts, the occasional tourist strolling across the expanse of the ancient space, backpack in place, and a flurry of activity in the square (the largest medieval one in Europe) getting ready for the upcoming weekend.

I breathed in the tempo of the city, slow and languid, while I contemplated my plan for the day.