I felt like this guy on my last day in Poland, in some parallel universe where gnomes saddle up pidgeons and fly into the sunset. Mostly because it's quite surreal leaving a place you've spent a bit of time in, possibly forever, with only a backpack. Ewa was in Warsaw for the weekend, so I locked up our apartment and vacated the city alone. I waved a final goodbye to Super-Bum and his buddies in the park, standing conspiratorially in the freezing cold, nursing beers at 10 am. Bought a ticket from the mustachioed ticket guy, who always smiles at my mangled Polish. And shuffled on the bus for a final time.
I think there's some threshold of time where the impression a place leaves on you becomes indelible. It's probably about 6 months. Ewa and I were there for 10 (Tak, Ewa, some of us are still there, I know!). Thus Wroclaw will probably forget me before I forget it.
