A taxi to Auschwitz

Krakow was quite an interesting conference, and much to my surprise I quite liked the town. I spent a lot of my free time in the Square drinking Budvar with a colleague.

In the middle of the square is a cathedral or tower (I’m not good with buildings). Every 15 or 30 minutes, a trumpeter would appear at the upper balcony and play a short piece. In simple terms, it was a labour-intensive clock. All it achieved was to remind Ilke and me how long we had been drinking.

The most memorable moment of the trip came when I arrived at my hotel. Once I had convinced the receptionist that she did actually have a room for me and that the person on their list named “Robert Numford” was most likely, me, she uttered the most bizarre sentence of all time. With a straight face, she said,

“Would you like me to book you a taxi to Aushwitz?”

“No, thank you,” I said.

Mad.