– The lead singer has great make-up," I said instead of answering. – Bye!
– See you soon, grumpy! – And Martin disappeared round the corner.
– Where are we going? – Ales asked me, sitting down in the driver's seat.
– Kobza haus, – I answered. – A taxi is a part-time job, isn't it?
– Hehehe, you got me. Actually, I'm a mechanic, but my son is studying in Warsaw, at university. So, I have to take taxis after work. Education is expensive these days.
– I understand. But Martin must leave great tips, right?
– Yes, yes, my favourite customer, – Ales laughed good-naturedly. – Fasten your seatbelt, please.
We drove on a frankly bad road, which made me shake a little, along with the car.
I'm so used to bad roads!
Ales drove me to the hotel. We didn't speak. He's a great taxi driver – he stays out of trouble. I left him a very good tip, in dollars, which he accepted with a grateful smile, which made me smile too.
Well, doing good is interesting and satisfying, too.
Sometimes.
Three and a half hours had passed since I left the hotel. I'd spent them wandering around the old city. Even in the dim daylight, despite the rain, the puddles, my soaked sneakers and knee-length jeans that made me physically uncomfortable, Gdansk was worth seeing.
Martin was right. It is a very cosy city.
The city was badly damaged during World War II, like the rest of Poland, but the Polish government and patrons of the arts have allocated large sums of money to restore the old buildings to their original state, which is certainly pleasing to the eyes of both tourists and residents of my home country. The old town of Gdansk is a magical, childlike, slightly gloomy, but beautiful fairy tale. The houses are tall, standing in rows, striking in their uniqueness. There is not a single identical or similar to each other house. Each house is chiselled to the last detail, to the last curl on the stucco with folklore elements or human bodies and faces. This is an open-air museum. Everywhere there are paving stones, stone, stone railings, sculptures, everywhere you look at mythical creatures melded with stone. A beautiful long promenade lined with good cafes and restaurants. Ships in the harbour. Reminds me of my youth, when all this was familiar. Now that beauty has given way to technology. And while I love the modern world, the architecture and the convenience that civilisation and the best minds on the planet bring with each passing year, I am suddenly struck with a longing for the past. My youth. At that time nothing had bothered me, but now I was the food of a huge leech sitting inside me.
I wished I'd brought my camera. It would have been wonderful footage. Full of dark beauty. I saw it everywhere. She was all around me. I marvelled at her. My face was drenched with rain, my feet were soaked through, but I had been wandering around the Old Town for the third hour, studying every building, every house, watching the people. The smells of food, coffee, and alcohol wafted from the many cafes, all blending into one rather pleasant aroma, like something native, home, something I had known for a long time. Poland is the country where I was born and where my youth passed. This is its fragrance. It hasn't changed for more than two centuries.
My gaze fell on a large wooden sign that read in large black letters, in old-style Polish, "Martin invites", with a modest "Gdansk's best Eastern European cuisine" underneath. I grinned: only my brother could be such a boaster.
