"This trip will be unlike any we have ever taken before," says our British friend Elinor as we peruse a colorful brochure spread on the dining room table of her country home near Oxford. "We'll be traveling by Eurostar across the Chunnel, spend a night in Cologne and see the great cathedral, then continue to Berlin, Warsaw and finally Krakow, the highlight of our journey. Every leg of the trip will be by train and we will be joining a group of 20 English train enthusiasts led by a tour guide who is a rail expert." "Sounds like fun," comments my husband, pleased that Elinor has already made all the arrangements. We spend a pleasant afternoon in Oxford capped by double burgers at The Talkhouse on Wheatley Road, and then go to bed early. "The bus heading to London will be leaving precisely at eight," says Elinor. "I am glad we already have our tickets."

The journey to London takes less than two hours. A taxi whisks us to St. Pancras Railway Station on Euston Road. From here a high-speed train makes the seven-mile jaunt that connects to the Eurostar for the 50-kilometer journey under the English Channel. "It's the third longest railway tunnel in the world," Elinor boasts. I strike up a conversation with a friendly couple who is part of our tour. This trip will be their first time out of England and they are both excited and anxious. "Not to worry," I assure them. "Everything has been pre-arranged and you are going love it." We are the only non-Brits in the group and, Nigel, our tour leader, passes out name tags as he introduces each participant. "Where do you live in America?" asks Phoebe, a south-London secretary with coke-bottle glasses. "We live in Los Angeles," I respond. "Lucky you," she sighs. You get to go Disneyland whenever you want!"

The Eurostar crossing takes less than two hours, streaking through the chunnel at nearly 160 kilometers per hour to Calais, France. We continue by rail to Brussels and immediately board a sleek high-speed train that will take us on a 300-kilometer journey to Cologne in less than three hours. "We'll be arriving just in time for dinner at our hotel," Nigel announces. "In the morning you will have a couple of hours to explore the cathedral and even squeeze in some time for shopping before we take a fast train to Berlin."

Cologne's renowned Gothic cathedral is modeled after those in Paris and Strasbourg. Its twin towers ranked as the world's tallest structures up until 1884. Alas, years of neglect have left its exterior badly blackened by acid rain and the cathedral is in the midst of a years-long cleaning project. We wander inside for a quick look at its massive nave, soaring ceilings and stained-glass windows. "The cathedral became an important pilgrimage site after Archbishop Rainald of Dassel brought the supposed relics of the Three Wise Men who viewed the Baby Jesus to Cologne," Nigel discloses.
   

   
"At long last we are coming to the pièce de résistance of our trip!" Elinor sighs as our train pulls into Krakow's train station in early afternoon. "Let's not waste any time," Nigel requests as our group checks into a well-located modern hotel. "We will be walking to the Old Town and there is so much to see!" Half an hour later, we are eagerly en route. "Krakow was not built in day," Nigel quotes an old Polish proverb. "There is evidence of human presence on the banks of the Vistula River that date back to the Jurassic period." To our right I spot one of the city's ubiquitous bagel stands, fronted by a line of customers. "So this is where it comes from," my husband exclaims, eager to sample a bagel. Its crispy crust is sprinkled with poppy seeds, its interior soft and delicate. "A winner," he declares. "Every day over 150,000 bagels are sold in Krakow," Nigel interjects, unable to resist buying his own. "So Krakow is responsible of America's obsession with bagels," I mutter. "Who knew?"

Within minutes we arrive at Rynek Glowny, Krakow's centuries-old Market Square. "You are gazing at the largest medieval square in Europe, dating from 1257," Nigel announces. "It has been continuously rebuilt and spans roughly 200 meters on each side. The surrounding houses were added two centuries later." It is easy to see why this magnificent square is still the beating heart of Krakow. Among several important buildings near the market itself are the Church of the Virgin Mary with its two soaring towers, and a monument to Adam Mickiewicz, Poland's renowned poet and political activist. With Market Square as its core, Krakow reigned as Poland's capital and Europe's undisputed cultural center for several centuries. Unanimously considered one of the world's most beautiful cities, the city was officially declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1978.

For all its size and breadth, Rynek Glowny is welcoming and intimate, crowded with shoppers, costumed musicians and children of all ages, not to mention a huge contingent of pigeons. We enter the two-story arcaded market building in the center of the square. The upper level is lined with carved wooden stalls selling local crafts, souvenirs and regional dolls in traditional costumes. The lower level displays paintings and sculptures from the city's National Museum. Near the market building is a solitary tower, a remnant of Krakow's Old Town Hall that was demolished in the 19th century. Our group gathers half an hour later in front of the square's imposing Gothic cathedral dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. "Please welcome Nadja," Nigel announces proudly. "She will be our local guide during the next three days."
   

   
According to Nadja, St. Mary's is the most significant monument in Rynek Glowny, popular for centuries with the merchant classes. Built entirely of hand-made bricks, its basilica plan features a soaring central nave and two lower side aisles. Inside, a monumental carved altar is considered one of the finest late-gothic sculptures in Europe. "Construction of St. Mary's was begun in the late 14th century, but it took another century to complete its two uneven towers and side chapels," Nadja explains. "According to a popular urban legend, the largest of its five bells was carried to the top of the lower tower without stopping by the athletic son of a local governor of Masovia," she discloses. "Today, the lower tower has firemen on duty who play a musical refrain on a bugle on the hour which serves as a wake-up melody that gives the old quarter of Krakow its unique character."

"You can have dinner on your own here," Nigel suggests as our group scatters to explore the area, stopping to browse in surrounding boutiques and craft shops. We pause to listen to a group of street musicians who have begun to play, followed by an impromptu a cappella ensemble that bursts into a medley of popular local tunes. "Tradition is alive and well in Krakow," I comment. "And Rynek Glowny is one happy place," Elinor proclaims. By now we are good and hungry, but where to go? Dead ahead is a placard for an elegant restaurant named Szara. We peek inside and are immediately taken by its soaring gothic ceiling and long rows of tables with bentwood chairs. According to a menu on view near the entrance, it is Michelin-rated. "I think we found a winner," says my husband. We dine on the light side, loving the ambience and our steaming bowls of delicate mushroom soup, house-made vegetable ravioli and a side of white asparagus, plus Szara's aromatic, just-baked bread. My own memory of Krakow will be forever etched by this glorious afternoon, I conclude as we head to an adjoining side street. First in line is a shop with an alluring window display of Polish and Portuguese hand-painted ceramics.
   

   
Our group piles into a bus early the next morning headed to the Wieliczka Salt Mine, a historic site that has been luring visitors for centuries. "This is a place where industry meets art," Nigel says excitedly. "There is nothing else like it in the world." Today Wieliczka has ceased mining for salt, but continues to generate significant income as one of southern Poland's top tourist attractions, bringing in two million visitors a year. During its centuries of active mining, it boasted some 300 kilometers of navigable tunnels. We squeeze into a rickety elevator limited to eleven people at a time and plunge 200 precipitous meters down a narrow shaft into the mine's main chambers. I notice immediately that it is significantly colder in the bowels of the mine. Overhead, elegant chandeliers illuminate the cavernous space that took decades to hollow out. A group of ten tourists wearing jumpsuits and hard hats are heading off to a distant corner, probably on a special tour that goes deep into the tunnels. Hewn out of salt are numerous chapels with altarpieces. The pièce de résistance is a large relief modeled on Leonardo Da Vinci's "The Last Supper," an exacting copy of the masterpiece that hangs in Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan. It was carved by the talented Anton Wdrokek in 1928. "I have to say, I am quite impressed," Elinor declares. All told, there are 14 chambers at this level of the mine plus a salt lake whose water is reputedly even denser than the Dead Sea's. Tourists can spend the entire day inside the mine. There is even an underground restaurant and a gift shop where the numerous souvenirs all made out of salt. Nigel signals that it's time to leave. Somehow our ascent up the shaft seems steadier and quicker. Back on the bus, I mull over the visit, impressed by how well the Poles have turned their historic mine into such an interesting tourist attraction.

It's our final day in Krakow. We board an eight a.m. tour bus bound for Auschwitz-Birkenau, the Nazis' notorious concentration camp where the Final Solution was implemented on an industrial scale. Nadja has brought along a video monitor to show excerpts of horrific film footage previewing the camp. "Over one million Jews were gassed and burned at the camp, not to mention thousands of Poles identified as enemies of the Reich, Gypsies, and others labeled as undesirable," she enumerates in a somber tone. "But what is beyond comprehension is the industrial scale upon which these crimes were committed, turning the site into a de facto death factory." The bus pulls into Auschwitz with its old brick army barracks and the notorious metal sign, "Arbeit Macht Frei (Work Makes You Free)." The upside down B was a deliberate act of defiance placed there by the prisoners who made the sign. We follow Nadja to several exhibit rooms where piles of suitcases and mounds of eyeglasses are poignant evidence of the enormity of the Nazi genocide. Jews and other victims were treated like sub-humans, their valuables stolen, their dignity denied. We arrive at an exhibit with heaps of baby clothes. Somehow I've managed to control myself up until now. But the baby clothes tear me apart and tears streak my face.
   

   
We reboard the bus and head to Birkenau, also known as Auschwitz II, three and half kilometers away. The bus stops in front of its infamous stone gateway known as "The Ramp" and we walk toward the spot where several rail tracks converge and "the selections" were made. Prisoners gasped their first fresh air in days as they disembarked from stifling rail cars, only to be immediately parceled off. Mothers with children, the elderly, and the infirm were immediately directed to "shower" rooms where they were told to disrobe and wash, only to be quickly gassed by Zyklon B, a deadly toxin created specifically for "The Final Solution." Able-bodied men and younger women were sent to crowded barracks and a brutal existence of forced labor with barely enough food to subsist. The survival rate of these slaves was a few months at best. Some were forced to become sondercommandos, tasked with heaving dead victims into four crematoria, later extracting all the ashes. "On an average day about 8,000 bodies were burned," Nadia reveals. The entire world knows all about this notorious place, but when one is physically at the site, it is even more shocking. "I am so glad I'm not Jewish," says a fellow tour member as she stares at a crematorium. I glare back at her, totally stunned by her insensitivity.

It's been an emotionally exhausting morning. The bus drops us at our hotel and Elinor and I head straight to our rooms to recuperate. "I'll see you in a few hours," my husband announces. "I'm going to walk to Kazimierz to preview what we'll be seeing later." I grab my Krakow guide book to read up on Kazimierz. Located south of the city, there is an area surrounded by the Vistula River that originally contained three medieval settlements. In 1335 King Casimir II declared that this area shall be named Kazimierz, after himself, giving it special privileges. After a series of devastating fires in Krakow's Old Town, many Jews relocated to Kazimierz. They were given permission to build a wall around their community which grew continuously. It soon became known as Oppidum Judaeorum, or The Jewish City. Kazimierz flourished, and by the eve of World War II, its population swelled from 56,000 to 70,000, reflecting the addition of Jews from the surrounding countryside. Alas, by 1943, things became quite ominous. Jews from Kazimierz were forced into a ghetto in Podgoze, a suburb south of Krakow enclosed in barbed wire and stone walls. They were subjected to humiliation, beatings and forced labor. In March 1943, Himmler ordered that the ghetto be liquidated and deportations to Auschwitz began.

Fortunately, Kazimierz, like Krakow, escaped bombing and its numerous synagogues and public buildings, two cemeteries and market areas remained empty but unscathed. A few of the synagogues were later turned into history museums. The Nazis were obsessed with documentation and detail, leaving behind an exhaustive record of what took place during the war, including poignant film footage. By now my husband must be having a field day, I imagine as I close my eyes. Two hours later he returns with detailed photos of what he saw. "The entire place is a veritable Jewish museum," he announces.
   

    
At four o'clock our group boards a bus headed to Kazimierz, stopping by its central market. "Please take some time to walk around the area," Nadja requests. "Several synagogues and museums are open to visitors and you can stroll by the cemeteries for a close-up of their old headstones. Our plan is to reconvene in two hours to visit Schindler's Factory and then return to Kazimierz's central square where we will have dinner at Ariel, a charming restaurant with authentic klezmer music."

The entire world has heard of Oskar Schindler, a German from the Sudeten who took over an enamel factory near Kazimierz, adding ammunition shells to its output, so it would be allowed to remain "essential" to the war effort. "Schindler steadily increased the number of his Jewish employees, reaching 1100 by 1944. He provided convenient living quarters away from the ghetto and used some of his profits to feed them," Nadja explains as we peek inside the factory. "Schindler developed a real bond with his Jewish workers. Years later, he specifically asked to be buried on the slopes of Mt. Zion overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem. To this day he ranks as one of "the Righteous among the Nations." Nadja's remarks remind me of a scene from Spielberg's film showing some of his surviving employees placing stones atop Schindler's tomb, a gesture of respectful remembrance. "You must be good and hungry by now," says Nadia, breaking my reverie. "Let's head back to Ariel."

Krakovians have always been proud of Kazimierz and its Jewish legacy. Since 1988 an annual nine-day celebration has been taking place there in late June or early July that honors Jewish culture, Klezmer music and other unique aspects of its once vibrant community. "It was first launched by Janusz Makuch, a self-described "meshugeneh" (crazy person), who while not Jewish himself, became obsessed with all things Jewish," Nadia explains with a twinkle in her eye as we approach Ariel. "This gala celebration includes a variety of concerts, plays, exhibitions, tours and lectures." I suddenly remember having read about it years earlier. Apparently on the final day of the festival, a lively klezmer concert takes place that attracts talent from all over the world. Many European, American, Israeli and Middle Eastern tourists attend. There are bands of musicians, soloists, choirs and dance teachers. "Each year the festival continues to grow in size and stature. "It's unique in the world," Nadja boasts. I am delighted to hear that Jewish cultural life is so passionately celebrated, above all by the Poles themselves as they recover from their years of Nazi and Communist oppression. "Wouldn't you just love to attend the festival one year?" I query my husband.
   

   
Once a tenement house, Ariel has several dining rooms that have been beautifully refurbished. The large upstairs room hosts performances by various ensembles. "Tonight we will be hearing klezmer street songs by three accomplished musicians who are known as the Quartet Klezmer Trio," Nadja boasts. "All are graduates of Krakow's Academy of Music, and their violinist-singer, Magda Brudzinska, has a powerful voice and perfect Yiddish diction." Ariel's menu is enormous and you'd think we were eating at an old New York Jewish deli. But what to choose? We finally decide on a sampling of pierogis, fried kreplach, classic matzah ball soup, and slices of roast goose with cherries. "You won't find all of these in an American deli," says my husband. "But luckily we are in Poland at the source." I sit back and listen to the songs. From Tumbalalaika and Mein Yiddische Mama to a poignant lullaby, this Klezmer ensemble ranks right up there with the world's best!

The return trip to London takes us on a series of trains that traverse southern Germany, arriving by mid-afternoon at the Calais chunnel crossing and connecting to St. Pancras. "We can't thank you enough for putting this trip together," we hug Elinor tightly as a taxi bound for Heathrow pulls up. "Yes, it's been quite an adventure," she says, misty-eyed. It's obvious that Krakow and the discovery of its Jewish legacy have made quite an impact. "On our next trip, let's meet in Israel," she suggests. "I've never been there."