As soon as the streetlights came on, I began to prepare for All Souls. I came down to the hotel bar and ordered a glass of Greek wine. I tried, Mother, I just can’t drink the Polish. This will have to do as a kind of sacrament
It is a strange little bar: half alpine cottage with its blonde wood tables, half village nightclub with a wall of smoked mirrors. And a karaoke machine, of course. God knows you get what you pay for, even in Krakow.
In my purse I have a glass vase with a candle inside. I have resigned myself to completing this rite. Still the dutiful daughter. [Read More…]