Warsaw (Part I)

"So, where about Australia you from?" Asked the Canadian, standing still and relaxed in his cashmere coat, his legs spread out in a wide stance.  

"Melbourne," Replied the Australian, digging his hands further into the pocket of his faded green jacket and his neck deeper into his scarf.  

"The wind - cuts right through you doesn't it?" The Canadian showed his teeth in a crooked smile, his eyes hidden behind black sun glasses.

"Yeah, it's awfully cold." Said the Australian between clenched teeth as a cold wind blew right through us. His tanned skin and short curly blonde hair stood out in Warsaw - it spoke of the golden sun and the deep blue sea. A world away from where we were.  

The three of us stood outside the red brick wall of an old Vodka factory in the district of Praga, waiting for the rest of our tour that went off to buy vodka in a small store attached to the inactive factory. Across the busy street in front of us were residential buildings of no particular character and cars parked everywhere. This district used to be the seedy part of Warsaw until artists moved in and slowly created a bohemian environment. 19th century buildings made from brick still stand here in contrast to downtown Warsaw, which has mostly been rebuilt after having been levelled to the ground by the Nazis during WWII. Destruction didn't reach across the Wisla river to Praga because the Russian army was stationed there, comfortable in it's front row seat to the theatre of Nazi carnage.              

"What brings you over to Warsaw?" Asked the Canadian.

"Thought I'd travel around before looking for a job," Replied the Australian.

"Back in Melbourne?"

"No, In London. Got no attachments in Melbourne."

"That's the way I like to live," replied the Canadian, nodding his head approvingly. His lips stretched again in a crooked smile: "no attachments in life," he punctuated this comment with his hand slowly slicing the cold air across his waist. "So where you heading after Warsaw?"

"Probably Slovakia, I guess. I'd like to eventually get to Turkey and maybe visit some of the countries in the Middle East. Don't know about the visa requirements for these countries, though. Guess I should check up on that."

"Nah, you'll be fine. You can pay for a visa when you get to the airport."

"How'd you know? Did you visit the Middle East?" Asked the Australian.

"Yeah, I went to a few countries there when I lived in Cairo," Answered the Canadian.

"Yeah? What did you do in Cairo?"

"Just hanging."

The Australian jerked his head back a bit back and furrowed his eyebrows. "Just hanging in Cairo?" 

"Yeah," shrugged the Canadian. "Everybody's got to hang somewhere," he added and flashed another crooked smile.

The door of the small vodka store swung open and two middle-aged English men walked out carrying plastic bags. Both calculated out loud how many quids they paid for their bottles, very satisfied with the bargain they got. A young girl walked out next, also carrying a plastic bag. She smiled at the Canadian and walked up to him. 

"So, what Vodka did you get for us?" He asked. 

"Check it out," She answered with a satisfied smile and opened the bag to show him.

Our tour guide walked out last from the store - the only one to come out empty handed. He only had on jeans, a white sweater and a scarf. Walking passed us, he flashed a wide smile and waved one skinny white arm for us to follow him. "Ok everyone, lets go to the open-air market. I know you must be hungry, but just hold on. Trust me, it's worth it. Afterwards we'll have lunch in a milk bar!"