Desperately seeking boozin' in Kraków, Poland

Secreted down deserted alleys, unmarked stairwells and behind rusty iron gates lies Kraków’s remarkable clandestine bar scene. Time Out turns drink-detective to unlock its hidden delights.

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On the surface this is a place for a quiet drink. A very quiet drink. Kraków is a modest city. Although it was once a bastion of political debate and artistic expression – quietly resisting while Poland disappeared and reappeared under the Habsburg, Prussian and Russian empires – these days the city plays it pretty cool, refusing to blab about its business. The architecture is unassuming, the churches and towers are attractive but not over-grand, and landmarks like the fourteenth-century Florianska gate are still functional parts of the city’s make-up. Visitor services for the Auschwitz concentration camp – which thousands come to Kraków for every year – are kept understandably respectful and low-key. And, though the Old Town’s streets are quaint and easy to meander, it takes a real sense of adventure to discover Kraków’s incredible quantity of pubs, bars and restaurants, almost all of which are hidden away, either underground or behind uninviting façades. By day, the Old Town is the place to begin an exploration. The main square, Rynek Glowny, and its centrepiece market, the covered Sukiennice, is all bustle and flow, patronised by tourists and students, pigeons and priests in equal measure. Though Warsaw is Poland’s capital, Kraków is by far the prettier city; unlike its counterpart, Kraków’s buildings and monuments survived World War II untouched. The ancient Town Hall and Mariacki loom over the square, while the well-kept, tree-lined Planty Gardens curve round the Old Town, providing a beautiful circular walk. On every kerb corner, small snack carts sell ringed pretzel-like snacks for one zloty (about 25p) a pop; on busy Florianska, parades of modern shops peddle their wares to a perpetual crowd. As soon as the sun drops, however, the crowds seem to disappear into the hundreds of bars and pubs that seem determined to hide, rather than advertise, their location. It’s a refreshing alternative to a London bar crawl – no club queues spilling out on to the street, no chalkboard signs offering two-for-one specials. In fact, no signs at all. It’s all a bit like the secret speakeasy bars in prohibition-era America, albeit without spinning walls and cigarette trays that transform into Bible racks. Fun hunters must either wait until they see a crowd mysteriously descend down a derelict alleyway or stairwell, scour the internet for hints before setting out, or pump strangers for tip-offs. This is bar-crawling as Inspector Morse would have it.

Statues at the church of St Peter and St Paul

Consequently I spent my first night in the city walking around the empty roads in mounting desperation until I approached a friendly barman in the only obvious bar I could find, the western-style Tram Bar on Stolarska. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told me, ‘I’ve lived here all my life and I don’t know where half the great bars are.’ Apparently even the local listings magazine – hilariously, perhaps litigiously, called Krak Out – never attempts to list them all.

Cutting me a break the bartender advised me to try a spot on Szewska, near the main square. I followed his directions and found an underground brick cavern – accessible only by pulling open an anonymous iron gate and ducking through a low, dripping archway. Edging past two terrifying Slavic bouncers, down a spiral staircase, and into the throng, I discovered that this was where everyone had been hiding all along. Ordering a Zywiec, the popular beer in Kraków, normally costing around £1, I congratulated myself on the find. How many other Brits have made it this far into the underworld, I wondered? How many have dared? (My answer came in the form of an Arsenal chant, delivered with some venom by ten Cockney stag-weekenders in the middle of the dancefloor.)