When in Poland

It must have been the salt.
Formed thousands of years ago it quietly lies in the depths of the Earth waiting to be found. No harm to the nature. Just life and wealth to those who are lucky enough to stumble upon it.
And I did. In a way.

Concrete walls ever interchanging with plastic ones. That is what we are used to seeing while crossing Poland.
Even the compulsory black birds of prey (stamped mercilessly at equal distances) seem grotesque and useless. They've always reminded me of seagulls rather than eagles or hawks.
And trapping a seagull seems like an even bigger crime.
That is why turning away from the big roaring stream of trucks was relieving in the first place. That night’s guest house was only a 20 minute ride from Kraków. Finally, something worth seeing after hours of playing "I spy with my little eye" where nothing ever really changes!
But it became clear soon that Kraków would have to wait. Apparently, it had rained here. Hard.
The Carpathian Mountains were the first to remind us our place.

As the GPS led the car further down the cart track, it became somewhat like a proper Cambodian flood. When a robotic voice announced “You've reached your destination" we were going downhill trough sludge and branches with no hopes of ever getting back had this been the wrong road.
And then the track turned to the right sharply.
And there it was.
Mietniów.
Fused with the surrounding mountains in a harmony of earth and sunlight. I could see at least three churches at different levels while there couldn't possibly be more than 500 habitants in this village. With its little houses and terrace gardens it looked very similar to Lichtenstein. Only a bit... friendlier! Even when it started to rain.
The owner of our guest house (with the curious name of Amigówka) excitedly announced that a thunderstorm was expected that night. But no worries - lighting always discharges to the cell tower.
As a tour guide at the nearby Wieliczka salt mines he thoroughly explained the history of this region. The salt had allowed it to prosper and become a center of trade in Medieval Europe.
Even now one could still feel the salt in the air.

I will return to Mietniów. I will go hiking in the Tatras and eat pierogi. I will explore the wooden carvings outside the otherwise modern houses. I won’t hide from the rain. Even if it changes, if you see it differently, to me Mietniów will always be the place that proved: travel is not about the distance or big names. It’s about the search.