The warmth of the burgeoning spring afternoon, a gentle caress against the skin, beckoned us outdoors. The sky, a vast canvas of cerulean blue, stretched overhead, promising a respite from the lingering chill of winter. With Joan’s quiet anticipation for a change of scenery, I decided to take her out for the day, with no particular destination in mind. The joy of spontaneity felt freeing—no plans, just a gentle meandering through the city we knew so well. The car, a quiet hum beneath us, glided along the familiar streets, and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves parked near the Rynek, the heart of the city that never failed to offer a sense of timeless comfort.
I helped Joan out of the car, retrieving the wheelchair with practiced ease, and assisted her into it. Her gratitude, though unspoken, radiated in the way she settled comfortably, ready for a leisurely afternoon. A short stroll—just a handful of paces—and we found ourselves at the Rynek, the city’s historic square, now freshly renovated. As we crossed the polished tiles, Joan remarked softly, "It’s been some years since I was last here." I didn’t correct her, although in truth, we had visited only a couple of months ago. There was something endearing in her perception, as if time itself had shifted in the brief interlude since our last visit. Her voice held a note of awe as she observed the changes, "The new flooring is so much nicer now." I couldn’t help but agree. The square, once adorned with cobblestones that had felt both weathered and proud, now gleamed with new, sleek tiles. Yet, in the quiet recess of my mind, I couldn't help but miss the old cobblestones—their rough texture and timeworn edges that seemed to carry the weight of the city’s centuries-old stories. The new tiles were beautiful, yes, but they lacked the charm that the weathered stones had worn with grace over the years.
I pushed the wheelchair around each corner of the square, soaking in the vibrant atmosphere. The market buzzed with life—vendors calling out, tourists wandering, and locals moving through the rhythm of their day. It was a familiar dance, one that I found comforting, each footstep marking time. Once we’d circled the square a few times, Joan seemed content. With a soft gesture, we turned towards Plac Kolegacki, a square that, like the Rynek, had undergone a transformation in recent years. It was hard to believe how different it looked now, thanks to the extensive renovation it had received in the last two years. The square now felt expansive and bright, filled with the kind of modern touches that contrasted yet complemented the history surrounding it.
The day had unfolded gently, and we were both in the mood for a small treat. A friend had recently recommended Hotel Kolegacki for coffee, and with the sun warming the terrace, the outdoor tables now available at nearly every café and restaurant, it seemed like the perfect spot to stop and indulge. We found a table under an umbrella, where the soft breeze stirred the air just enough to keep things comfortable, and ordered two coffees and two slices of cheesecake.
The coffee arrived quickly, a deep brown swirl of warmth. It was better than the brew we’d grown accustomed to at Sowas, but it still couldn’t compare to the bold richness of the coffee we’d enjoyed on our travels in Spain. There, the coffee was an experience—intense and full-bodied, awakening the senses with each sip. Still, the café at Hotel Kolegacki offered a cozy respite from the bustling square, and the coffee was good enough for us to savor in this moment of peaceful pause.
The cheesecake, though—oh, the cheesecake—was something else. Thick, creamy, and decadently rich, it arrived in generous slices that seemed to defy the conventional notion of dessert portions. The flavor was delightful, rich and balanced, with a hint of citrus tang that cut through the sweetness, making each bite a small indulgence. Yet, with that indulgence came a price. At 85 PLN ($22) for two slices, it was undeniably overpriced for what it was. It was delicious, no doubt, but the cost left a bitter aftertaste that lingered longer than I’d like. It wasn’t the sort of experience that warranted a repeat visit. We finished our coffee and dessert with mixed feelings, enjoying the moment but knowing that it wouldn’t be a place we’d frequent often.
By the time we returned home at 16:40 (4:40 PM), the afternoon was drawing to a close. I felt a quiet satisfaction from our simple outing, the afternoon sun slipping lower in the sky. I spent the next hour preparing a new soup recipe I’d been eager to try—Sweet Potato & Ginger. The ingredients had been carefully chosen, and the recipe, though simple, promised a blend of flavors that would be both comforting and warming. I had made a large batch, more than enough to last us for a few meals, and I hoped it would live up to the effort and expense.
As I stirred the pot, the aroma of ginger and sweet potato filled the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but smile. There was something satisfying about cooking a new dish, knowing it had the potential to be something special. I wouldn’t know until tomorrow if it had been worth the time and money, but for now, I was content, the warmth of the day still lingering in my bones, and the promise of a simple, nourishing dinner ahead.
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