Today the weather was beautiful and i decided to have a walk along the Wisla river, just next to the famous Wawel castle.

Arriving to Wawel forces you to fight your way through dragon-sellers, giant snickers and Coca Cola parasols... the weather is nice but you think "what the f* am i doing here?!" ...And then, if you look around, you'll know why ...to discover that Wawel belongs to Krakowians, no matter what the concentration of souvenirs sellers is. Indeed, tourists just pass through the "promenade" along the river to get to the castle-visit-take pictures "clik clik"-buy an ice cream-rush to the dragon's den-get back to the centre-to the hotel ... etc ... but Krakovians stay and offer a reflections of what the "art de vivre a la Krakovienne" is.

Families and couples are lying in ther grass all the same. Reading. Playing.Sleeping. Whatever ... Living.
A girl and her dad are throwing pieces of bread to the ducks ... well i should say the dad does, because the girl actually throws more in her dad's hairs.
One takes a picture of his wife while his kid is making faces in the back

I feel i could stay here, night and day, for a long long time... with a book and an open ear to delight myself of the noises around : bike wheels, laughs, discussions passing, ....

Two dozens of grandpas are gathered around some tables, just under the castle ... far enough from it to avoid the souvenir sellers, but close enough to enjoy the river and the view.
What are they doing ? Playing chess.
There ain't no noise except for the clic clac of the timer, a player sipping his teeth while staring at the game, another one lighting a cigarette and taking a very deep breath as if it was to find inspiration to play.
The rythm is incredible ... from sleepy slowness, accompanied by the tension of thinking, to a sudden agitation when one player has found a "coup"
It goes fast, the timer is clicking, no one breathes while the two players are suddenly fighting so harshly, eyes are looking from one part of the game to the other ... and then it suddenly stops ... spectators can breathe at last, before falling back in a deep reflexion.
Some of theses grandpas dressed up for this beautiful day. White hats, suits, ... Players are sitting on the stone benches, curved by the years they nonetheless stand proud, made bigger by their intelligence in the game.
A lot hold their head in their hands while thinking, wrinkling it all the more. From time to time, a head raises ... and then an eyebrow does...which seems to mean "who's this young girl ? What kind of interest can she find in being here whereas all the assembly is made of old men"
This means it's time for me to leave discreetly, to not spoil this moment of beauty.
How many times have i wished to be a teethless grand-father ? You cannot imagine. Well this is another one.

I can not become a teethless grandpa anyway, but i feel (i hope) i can become a Krakowian... it seems easy ... one just needs to be able to enjoy a certain "art de vivre" and "moments".
I can do that.