That instantly recognizable tower was, of course, one of the first things I saw when in Warsaw, and among one of the first I visited. Mainly because when asked what I wanted to do and see in Warsaw, I wanted to opt for something light before getting into the deeper, heavier stuff. I’m not a sensationalism tourist, though everyone does indeed have their own reasons for visiting sights like Auschwitz when they’re in the general area (again, the general area concept depends largely on how you see things and mostly how you perceive distances). I’ve just seen too many people make light of what to some is an ancestral tragedy to just shrug it off. Myself included, but although a huge part of my story does indeed end there, it begins somewhere else, and those places have their own troubles for me that will no doubt (have to) be tackled one day. 

I used to joke that Poland was the one place in Europe where my memories were really my own and of this life alone. France doesn’t count because most parents will take their children to the country which aligns with their passport, to the extent they can. Throughout my childhood and teens there were so many trips to France, a lot of them – especially the earlier ones – tend to all blur together except for a few that stand out. Notably Hyères, where I saw my first Mira Fujita poster of Pierrot and became obsessed with a girl on a tourist boat because she reminded me of the 16-year-old who’d been a friend to my 9-year-old self in Chicago just a few months prior. It was also where I got a beautiful bracelet with my new chosen name (which to this day remains one of my favorites, both the bracelet and the name). 

The irony is of course that once I started engaging with Poland on a deeper level than just the obligatory visit to the relatives which always came with a very generous side of fighting for the inheritance they were stealing from my mother and me even as we were meeting with them and making nice Poland became so much more than just a place where I wanted to get rid of the trauma sustained in what could be termed my ancestral home several decades ago. Part deconstructive sociology project (albeit with very subjective theses and sources), part trauma therapy and 100% social and personal awareness, each visit here should come with its very own blog url. 

But when I was first asked what I wanted to see here for starters, Warsaw was just a place to chill and relax. So I chose the place with the tower because it was a socialist building and I’d only every really seen parts of it here and there. Off to see it we duly went and for two years running every time we decided that now would be a good time to check out the observation deck, the lines were so long we took one look at them and noped out, totally bypassing Café Nero as I still call them, because saying the name of the chain apparently is too much for my addled brain. Plus, I always have loved messing around with names, dropping off significant parts or using the opposite of what they mean. 

In the end,  finally making it to the observation deck less than a month ago must have emboldened one half of us because just a few hours ago the idea of finally having a coffee at Café Nero inside was floated and duly accepted. And I have to say, as far as Café Neros go, this one is very much at the top of my list. It’s small, which isn’t a deal breaker for me, but I really dig the interior and it seems to be one of the few where the staff are actually more than just halfway decent. I mean they’d pass the test of pretty much any place in the UK. Not to mention that the seating really invites you to just melt into where you decided to set up camp. And nearly all the tables provide you with a prime view of the entrance hall, which makes it a perfect site for people watching. Which is ironic because today I just caught glimpses of some café guests. There’s the group that may or may not be Polish and the girl / woman with a pretty cool patterned blue outfit who may have brought her mother or grandmother. Of course the obligatory creep couldn’t be missing from the picture either, but he was thankfully sitting sufficiently far away.

One thing’s for certain, if I ever find myself with nothing to do in the city or have too much time to kill, I am taking myself to this cafe, because between the books and my own interest in people, it’s a safe bet that I’ll be entertained for hours on end.