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Husband and I had a wonderful few days all to ourselves in Cracow, Poland. One of the days there we spent some time exploring the Wawel Castle. The castle was beautiful and all that, the buildings were magnificent and yadda, yadda. But, the place holds an ice-cream curse! Not a single sign said anything about this, neither did I find any information about this online before leaving. So now, I’m informing you, just in case you ever find yourself in this royal castle craving an ice-cream.
When in Rome you eat the same ice-cream they eat. That philosophy rarely gets me in trouble, but of course there is the occasional mishap. Husband and I bought an ice-cream each. He chose something safe, international brand, well known from paths travelled earlier. Me, oh no, I’m the tough one. I found something that looked cool, with a name I’ll never be able to pronounce and an illustration that left a bit to imagine. The ice-cream was chocolate covered, I didn’t need more information than that. I unwrapped it with a bit of difficulty as I had the strap to my SLR wrapped around my wrist. I tasted the ice-cream and turned away from the counter. In front of me I saw this:
I needed to take a photo, obviously. I put the ice-cream in my mouth, as one does, and used both hands to steady the camera. As I press the shutter, the ice-cream breaks (!). Apparently it has a soft caramel-filled centre. Chocolate, caramel, vanilla ice-cream, and soft caramel mixes in with long hair. Luckily, sporting a bit of a cleavage I was able to avoid littering the grounds. Needless to say, I, however, did not feel all that clever.
Husband dearest felt sorry for me and bought me a new ice-cream. Chocolate covered again, as chocolate and ice-cream always make everything better. We walked through this gate:
Entered this magnificent courtyard:
We walked to the centre and gazed around. Someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned to look. And there is Ms Trunchbull, or a petite, pretty and Polish version of her, pointing at my ice-cream and then pointing at the bin. The second ice-cream too had to go.
Now, as you can see, the castle holds an ice-cream curse. You might have to be Norwegian, female and in your twenties for it to strike, but you’ve at least been warned. I have not checked other Polish castles, but I cannot guarantee that such a curse might be in effect in other magnificent building across the nation. You’ve been warned!
Anne blabbers 