Written October 2022, Zakopane, Poland
There’s a quiet kind of magic in Zakopane. It seeps into your bones as you sit on a terrace, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, gazing out at the mist-cloaked peaks of the Tatra Mountains. The cool mountain air carries the scent of pine and damp earth, and in these moments, time stretches out endlessly. I find myself contemplating life, not in a heavy or overwhelming way, but in the kind of soft reflection that only solitude can bring.
Broccoli
Every morning at my hostel, The Goodbye Lenin Hostel, I witness something that both amuses and fascinates me—a man, probably in his late forties, sits at the communal table and eats an entire head of raw broccoli for breakfast. No salt, no dip, just crunching through it with a quiet sense of purpose. It’s become one of those oddly comforting constants of my mornings, a reminder that humans are endlessly peculiar and wonderful.
Bilberries
The forests here are full of wild bilberries, tiny and bursting with flavor. On my hikes, I often stop to pick them, staining my fingertips deep purple. There’s something deeply satisfying about foraging for food, about eating directly from the land with no middleman between you and nature. It makes me feel like a small, feral thing, in the best way possible.
Ghost Stories
One evening, the power went out in the hostel. For a moment, the world was swallowed in darkness and silence. But then, laughter filled the space as people fumbled for their headlamps and candles. We gathered in the common room, strangers turned companions, telling ghost stories and sharing pieces of ourselves in the flickering glow. I love how moments of disruption can sometimes create the most unexpected warmth.
Chocolate
Speaking of warmth—Polish chocolate is ridiculously cheap. Like, dangerously cheap. The kind of cheap that has turned my diet into something that is now 90% chocolate. I tell myself it’s fine because I’m hiking every day, but really, I just love the way a square of chocolate melts on my tongue after a long trek through the mountains. It’s a small indulgence, one that feels well-earned.
Hiking
There’s an unmatched serenity in hiking alone. No music, no podcasts, just me and the rhythmic crunch of my boots on the dirt. The solitude isn’t loneliness—it’s a recalibration, a deep exhale for the soul. I walk for hours, feeling the tension in my mind unravel with every step, until I am just a body moving through the world, untethered and free.
Strangers
And then, of course, there are the people. The countless strangers who, in their brief presence in my life, leave behind echoes of their stories. I sit with them in dimly lit hostel kitchens and on hiking trails, listening to them speak of their pasts, their dreams, their heartbreaks. There’s a familiarity in these connections, as if their souls are made of some of the same stardust as mine. It’s a feeling I chase, the reminder that, despite all our differences, we are all just humans trying to make sense of this strange and beautiful world.
Zakopane has given me so much—a place to breathe, to listen, to be. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
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