The Pinball Wizard of Krakow

He's a pinball wizard

There has to be a twist

A pinball wizard's

Got such a supple wrist

From Pinball Wizard by Pete Townshend

Rain has been falling steadily in Krakow for the last three days, and the temperature has continued to drop.  We’ve been able to stay fairly active, but cabin fever began creeping into our apartment in the sky, and we needed an antidote.  The kids managed to do a good bit of school work done while Deena and I searched for a restaurant within reasonable walking distance. We discovered Hoang-Hai, a Vietnamese establishment with good reviews —why not?  With a predicted high temperature of 41 degrees accompanied by rain, we got in some layering practice to see if our theories on fighting the onset of an eastern European autumn would hold up, and we struck out around 2:00.

Even with the raw conditions, it felt good to be outside, and a stiff searching wind cleared the cobwebs from our minds seconds from leaving our building.  I always assume that no matter where we roam, the locals will always have the lowdown on tricks to survive the weather conditions in their native lands, and I was eager to learn a few lessons by observing some Krakowiakas in the cold.  To my dismay, most of the people we passed on the sidewalk were in a big hurry because they were woefully underdressed and freezing.  Some had umbrellas, but most did not, and their soaking cloth coats hung uselessly from their pneumonia-bound frames.  I felt that I needed to gather everyone around and share my vast knowledge of synthetic layering and the importance of a waterproof shell, but I decided to leave them to their own devices since the desire for fashion relevance was the driving factor on display all around.

Fifteen minutes later, the warm, garlic-washed air from the Hoang-Hai restaurant wrapped around us as we stepped in from the cold and claimed a table at the back near the kitchen.  The restaurant was deep and narrow with a slender aisle running between four-person tables on either side of two dining rooms.  The floor was covered with dark green commercial carpeting, and small slivers of egg-yolk yellow painted walls were peeking out between decorations of calendars and dragon embossed fans that looked more Chinese than Vietnamese.  For a while, we were the only customers there, but the tables gradually filled up as we studied menus written in Polish and English that extolled the attributes of dishes that seemed to combine several Asian cultures.  We managed to give our order to the Polish waitress just before the place filled to capacity, and she took it back to the kitchen where the Polish cook began stir-frying our meal.  We wondered how many more multicultural layers would be visible before the end of our late afternoon luncheon.  

The food arrived quickly—three big plates heaped with beef and noodles, sweet and sour chicken, Thai-spiced pork, and a generous bowl of savory wonton soup.  Each dish was accompanied by a sticky ball of steamed rice and the Polish version of salad, which is a coarsely chopped slaw of lettuce, cabbage, and carrots drizzled with tangy vinegar.  We dived in and shared everything. When we pushed back from empty plates, we concurred that we had made the right choice for a rainy day meal.  The Asian diners at the table next to us offered sounds of praise as well, which we felt validated our assessment of the food’s quality.  The entire meal with drinks and tip set us back a paltry seventeen dollars, and we agreed that Hoang-Hai was the best Vietnamese, Chinese, Thai, Polish, English restaurant in the world.

We layered up again and hit the streets bound for our next rainy day destination, the Interaktywne Muzeum Flipperów or the Krakow Pinball Museum, my preferred pronunciation.  Growing up in the seventies and early eighties, I loved playing pinball, and even with the advent of more sophisticated video games during this period, I favored playing the silver ball.  I remember riding my bike through the woods to the arcade behind the local shopping center on fall and winter Saturday afternoons with a pocket full of money earned from my paper route.  I was obsessed with figuring out the nuances of the machines amidst the lights and bells and precarious control of the ball, attempting all the while to rack up enough points for a free game and to extend my playing time.  The satisfying pop of the machine sounding like the smack of a bird flying into the glass at high velocity signaled a free game and at the same time, alerted everyone in the arcade to my status as a pinball wizard. I would emerge hours later, overstimulated and broke but already looking forward to next Saturday’s pinball session.  

The Krakow Pinball Museum was located off a main boulevard, through an alley, and down several several flights of stairs.  The front door opened into a central chamber where the attendant held forth behind an antique oak bar.  The girls decided they didn’t want to play, so Joseph and I bellied up to the bar and exchanged fifteen dollars for bracelets entitling us to unlimited play until 11:00 PM.  The museum housed about one hundred games dating back from my wonder years up to the late nineties, and they were lined around two large cavelike rooms with curved ceilings and walls made from bricks exposed by crumbling plaster.  The only light was the collective radiance from the machines creating a warm, inviting glow.  

For the next few hours, I felt like a teenager while I reveled in the games of my youth and experienced machines that were issued after I became harnessed with responsibilities and worldly cares.  I played Dirty Harry, Comet, Fun House, Diner, Dracula, Cyclone, Star Trek, Elvira and the Party Monsters, Corvette, and many more.  I saw Joseph a few times as we met while crossing the rooms, and it looked like he was having fun as well.  The girls were patient and went out shopping for a while and then returned with a boxful of treats from the nearby bakery which I wolfed down quickly so I could return to my playground.  Even though the machines were set for complimentary play, they still signaled loudly when sufficient points were scored for free games, and the frequent popping of my machines let the whole museum know that the Pinball Wizard of Krakow was in town.  What a fun, whimsical way to spend a rainy afternoon in eastern Europe.  I mentioned to Deena that I might like to purchase a pinball machine when we get back home, and while I was perturbed by her lack of enthusiasm, I still began picturing how Elvira and the Party Monsters would look lighting up our bonus-room alcove.