Rolling Traveler

5:55 pm. I roll out of the tram, just an inch drop to the platform, so I don’t even bounce. I was right about the new trams being similar models to the German and Dutch ones. They’re low floor trams rather than fully accessible ones, so at some stops, they’re almost level with the sidewalk, but at others, there can be quite a gap. There is a bell beside the door with the lowest floor, and the drivers probably come out to help passengers on and off: I must research that tomorrow.

5:59 pm. That was close. Stupidly, I was rushing across an uneven surface, and my front wheels went into a crack between two paving slabs. The wheelchair bucked forward, not enough to throw me out, but enough to draw attention. I assure people that I’m fine, and feel the blush of anger with myself spreading.

6:12 pm. Dinner with my good friends Marcin and Patrycja at Amalfi, an Italian restaurant that we used to come to once a month when I lived in Wroclaw. There’s a ramp up to the door now, which is a little steep but better than nothing; inside, the place hasn’t changed a bit. Plenty of big tables, pictures and maps of parts of Italy on the terra cotta colored walls, and a great atmosphere. Some of the same staff here too, and they even remember us. Navigating the floor in a wheelchair is a little difficult, as some of the tables are very close together, so we aim for a table near the door.

6:20 pm. Our server comes over, a small, dark-haired woman in her early twenties. We’ve been speaking Polish, so her first comment is a puzzler.

“You speak English.”

“Nie, wszyscy mówimy po polsku (No, we all speak Polish),” I answer, assuming that she’s heard my accent and thinks she’s doing us a favor by offering to speak English.

“No,” she says, “I don’t speak Polish. Can you speak English?”

That’s a new one on all of us. I’ve never met a server in Poland who couldn’t speak Polish! The restaurant is Italian-run, so we figure she’s family, and we accommodate her by ordering in English, but it feels a little absurd, so we can’t help giggling. I feel sorry for her having to deal with our silly mood, and resolve to leave a decent tip.

8:15 pm. Dinner was long, leisurely and delicious, and there’s definitely no room for dessert. Time to walk off some of that Italian goodness.

Wroclaw gets chilly in the evening around this time of year, but tonight is unseasonally mild. We stroll around for a bit, but it’s hard going along the sidewalks, so we drop in to Kalambury, a café and bar known for art shows, poetry readings, and a quiet ambience. There’s nothing on tonight, so it’s not too crowded. It’s also very spacious, so for once I don’t feel like I’m in a maze of tables.

9:20 pm. We’ve walked Patrycja home and are standing in the courtyard of her building, laughing at a warning sign that declares: “No Parking: Danger of Construction Catastrophe” (Nie Parkowac: Grozi Katastrofa Budowlana). Apparently, there’s work being done on the cellars that stretch out under the courtyard, so it can’t support the weight of a parked car in one area, but the wording of the sign is so dramatic that it makes us laugh. We try to take a photo, but it’s already too dark.

It’s been so good to spend this few days with friends, just relaxing away from students, bills and all the everyday things. Good food, conversation and laughter go a long way, and this is exactly what I travel for.

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