Varsovian Stream of Consciousness.

It’s not a list, but it could be. Anything could be. Here’s this weekend:

Northern visitor, fancy start at the Marriott’s “Panaroma” bar on the 40th floor, best views, Irish pub without Irishmen, hipster bar called (what else?) Plan B, liquid apple pie in a back-alley-basement-bar, dancing underground with dogs and smokers, daytime sunlight, a bookstore-cafe with a swing inside, more cafes, cakes, coffee, lawn chairs, crossing the Swietokrzyski Bridge to Praga which is known for grit, exploring remnants of Jewish past, free jazz where one guy scoots back the piano bench and it is called music, Praga’s fanciest cafe which is far from gritty, made to look like a house and you can buy everything inside even the coat hangers, busses are slow so we walk all the way (I mean all the way, 4.3 kilometers) home, stopping at a metallic UFO bar for hipster leg photography, Sunday is (what else?) more sun, a big piano in the biggest park in Warsaw (Lazienki) and a bigger man plays Chopin, the university library’s roof, amazement, more cake, coffee, people watching, Old Town (because no European city is complete without one), many tourists, thirsty, sticky (we all are), and then another UFO-shaped thing but this is wooden and called Unidentified Fountain Object with the best dub-step of the afternoon, Bulgarian dinner, whole fish with an olive (alive?) for an eye, finally finding Plac Zabav hidden beneath a park and a bridge and a forest and unexpectedly good dancing, wet grass, more dogs, walking home, home? Home.