What Krakov had to offer was more than I could have ever expected. You stand in a city with as much butch and as much brawn than a James Dean movie, yet the arts mixes in with the everyday. That is what I love about a place that is not under pressure to be labelled an upcoming artistic hub. The art grows organically, out the ground and through the walls, so silent just in case the locals notice. Only whispers of the alternative wire it’s way in between the milk bars and vodka lined streets.
Blink and it’s gone, you’re back into Old Town watching the locals play cards. Blink and you could have sworn you dreamt it.