A Week in Warsaw

Aside from the request at Passport Control that I remove my cap to confirm that I was the bald man in the picture, entering Warsaw was uneventful. I was waved through after having had to buy zlotys at the official rate of 147 to the dollar and declare the amount of dollars I was bringing in. This laxity was a relief in that I was carrying books and letters that might have raised questions, but also a disappointment in that my concealments of encoded names, addresses, and telephone numbers were not put to the test.

The cab driver, a friendly young man, lit up a cigarette and offered me one. I answered “nie palic,” and he laughed gently. The “No Smoking” sign on the Polish airline on which I had flown ...