After almost eight weeks of city hopping, it’s time for a break. So tomorrow, I leave Krakow for three weeks of country-road tripping and some camping in Central Europe: Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia and Slovenia. My friends Taylor, Serge and Daniela are leaving Prague with our Czech rental station wagon tomorrow morning and meeting me in Zakopane, Poland’s resort-town gateway to the Tatra Mountains. After that, I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to access the Internet, but I’ll try to keep this thing as up-to-date as possible.

Today I spent the day in nearby Wieliczka, home of a 600 (at least)-year-old salt mine. Thousands of Polish workers chiseled out 300 kilometers of tunnels, mining salt that would feed Europe for generations. The tour was a bit overpriced but interesting: after climbing down almost 900 stairs, we found ourselves 350 meters below ground level — and that’s not nearly the lowest point of the mine. The tunnels are dotted with dozens of salt figurines the miners carved when the fumes got to their heads, intricate chapels (about 40 in the entire complex) and chandeliers carved from pure salt crystal. Supposedly 700,000 tourists visit the site every year… so they have gotten a little cheesy in some places, adding an art gallery and a sound-and-light show featuring Chopin music and tacky faders. But the place is pretty spectacular, especially considering that it’s in the middle of nowhere. According to our guide, our two-hour tour only covered 2% of the labyrinth. With unmarked doors and passageways all over the place, I see why they make you take guided tours.

Without further ado, as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas plays in the background on the Stranger Hostel’s 12-foot projection screen, I present you with a bit of research I have been holding onto for a while.

Frommer’s First-Half Culture Update

Friends and visitors: Here are a few benchmarks you can use to compare 2004 European life with the American stuff we’re used to.

Food: One of my favorite things to do is walk around grocery stores in search of obscure regional or national eats. Even big supermarkets have specialty departments full of local flair. In France, it’s as easy to buy a tin can of pigeon pâté as it is to buy a roll of toilet paper (which might come in handy after pigeon pâté). Quail eggs, frog legs and snails are everywhere, and one of these days I’m going to try them. Canned tuna salads (my favorite is Salade Niçoise) are popular and easily accessible. Many newer Swiss supermarkets have a cafeteria attached, with cheap sausage and other buffet-style goodies. Swiss stores especially sprawl with cheese — there is a big advertising campaign now for Swiss Gruyère cheese, commonly found atop French Onion soup in the States — while Italian markets are bursting with zillions of varieties of tomato sauce. Produce at supermarkets ranges in quality, but every town has fruit and veggie stands in the streets. The small-time fast food industry has been taken over by the Turks, who run an empire of Döner Kebab stands that could stretch from here to the moon. The perfect kebab sandwich consists of spit-roasted meat in a bun (or crèpe), veggies (lettuce, tomato, onion, and sometimes cucumbers and pickles), yogurt sauce, and if you’re like me, a half-dozen shakes of hot pepper flakes. It’s cheap (1-3 dollars), not too greasy and delicious. And they’re everywhere, usually near the low-rent, train station/bar-and-club districts, but you can get a Döner Kebab in every language from Italian to Polish. The best pizza I’ve had so far was in Florence: focaccia-like bread topped with tasty tomato sauce, melted aged mozzarella, fresh arugula and basil and big chunks of fresh mozzarella and fresh-off-the-vine tomatoes. Heaven on a paper plate. In addition to the European chain Quick, McDonald’s, of course, is still everywhere, KFC is growing and Rennes, France, has a Domino’s Pizza franchise.

Tunes: If it’s popular in the States, It’ll probably be popular here two or three months later. Hip-hop is huge, both in music and fashion. Eamon’s “F-ck It” (played here uncensored, of course) and Outkast’s “Roses” just made their way to the charts here — a few months late. Some entertaining European songs abroad right now are “Buoni O Cattivi” by Vasco Rossi (see the video if you have RealPlayer) and the song of the summer, “Dragostea Din Tei” by O-Zone (see the video on YouTube). Alanis Morisette seems popular in Italy, Avril Lavigne is big in Germany and even my mom could get airplay in France if she puts out a rap album.

Tube: I haven’t had much access to TV in Europe (that’s a good thing), but it’s not much different anymore than anywhere else. Each country still has a few national channels, but most people seem to have satellite or cable systems now, with foreign networks all the way down the channel guide to Fox Sports Net Phoenix. MTV is everywhere, but it’s usually MTV 2 Pop, spinning a mix of American and local crapola, interrupted by 5-minute commercial breaks for cell phone ringtones (the Jamba hippo) and cell-phone dating services. Local news and sports look the same as they do in the States, and are probably of better editorial quality. There is no baseball here; just soccer, cycling, auto racing and a few British imports. The Italian television in my hotel room had more shop-at-home channels than actual programming, selling anything from garden tools to womens’ underwear to Persian rugs. And to the delight of American exchange students, softcore porn usually makes its way on around midnight.

Style: The days of short shorts and tight jeans are over. Baggy capri pants are everywhere, on guys and girls. Jeans are timeless — duh — as are British or American band t-shirts, such from the Nirvana shirt with a stoned yellow smiley face. I’m confused when mothers walk around with their six-year-old daughters clothed in “Angel Booty” t-shirts, but I guess it’s all gibberish to them. Camouflage is increasingly popular, which is interesting, considering that they’re probably wearing it to an anti-war protest later that afternoon. Baseball caps are growing in popularity: usually the Yankees or Dodgers.

Lingo: Butchered English is good for a chuckle here and there. In France, I point you to the Milwaukee Factory Restaurant and the Men Street clothing store. Nothing can possibly explain why there is a generic supermarket brand called Grand Jury. Aren’t the French supposed to be protective of their language? In Prague, Men Shops are condom vending machines and signs like Typical Czech Restaurant make you wonder who’s in charge of that ad campaign. It’s not a 24-hour Mexican joint, it’s Non-Stop Burritos! Restaurants beg you to “distrust all other imitators!” and “let us remedy your hunger!” Television commercials are usually in the local language, but slogans are almost always in English.