August 22, 1998

August 22, 1998, Saturday

In the morning I took one last bus ride into old town. Not wanting to risk another fine by the inspectors I stamped my ticket as soon as boarding and felt quite virtuous. The square and streets were crowded. I wandered through the small shops and bought a couple of gifts.

There were several young couples dressed in traditional costumes on the race stand in the square dancing Polish folk dances. They danced well and kept the crowd entertained. In another corner of the square a band of colorfully dressed musicians played lively Polish tunes. They were trying to sell tapes of their music.

After returning to the hotel and eating my sandwich, I walked along the shore of the river Wista. A fisherman had two lines in the water. He told me there were lots of fish in the river, but he had caught nothing today.

Not far from the hotel and close to the river was a shopping area where I bought chicken to go at a Kentucky fried chicken. On the way back to the hotel I walked through a small park. Back at the river bank the fisherman was reeling in his lines getting ready to leave.

I stopped at the hotel desk and with my new map and asked for help in locating towns that Barbara, my travel agent, suggested I visit in the rental car. The Polish spelling of places was much different than the English version.

The phone rang in my room. They wanted my room. I told them I was staying one more night.

I visited a bookstore--in the center, the ceiling was constructed of Gothic arches. It was a beautiful geometric site more suited to his chapel that the bookstore. It did give the store a touch of class. I went on many narrow stairs into a cellar used as a disco and bar. They were rough stone and brick arches, the foundation for the building above. The rooms were small with the bar in one room and a few tables in another. The place certainly had character.