Tonight, Andrew and I will go to London for the weekend; on Sunday, when he flies back to Barcelona, I’m going further afield: to Krakow, Poland, for four days. I chose Krakow for a variety of reasons, most of which are visa-related and too dull and convoluted to recount. More importantly, Krakow stood out because of two dreams I’ve had over the past year or so. In both, I was traveling to Poland—a place I’ve never had any real reason to explore. In the first, I was at an airport without a ticket, overwhelmed at the prospect of choosing to fly anywhere in the world. I chose Poland. There was some distress in the dream: just before boarding the plane, I realized I hadn’t bought a guidebook; it was late at night, and the airport shops were closed. In the second dream, I was on a wooden boat, sailing toward Poland. I was on a canal of sorts rather than an ocean, and voluptuous, elaborately-roofed buildings loomed ahead. That image of the rounded turrets and deep colors of the buildings has stayed with me.
And so, with a few free days, a cheap flight from London, a guidebook, and a room reserved at a nice hotel near the market square, I’m off. The dreams are neither here nor there—strange sensory impressions rather than clues or instructions. They tell me nothing about what to expect. But all I’ve heard and read suggest it will be a very full, very interesting few days.