Morning walks

It seems as though I have been living here for ages, and yet somehow it hasn't even been two weeks. My daily routine has changed very little since I've moved into my flat. Generally I wake up, putt around the house, eat or not eat breakfast, and pile on several layers before stepping out into the cold. When I walk to my morning classes I walk briskly, listening to the rhythm of the street, the voices, the cars, sirens, and most primarily, the clicking of my new boots against the sidewalk. After about ten minutes of tripping over cracks as I peer inside the shops I pass by, I reach the start of a stretch of intense construction: workers smoking cigarettes, jackhammers, deep trenches, and most importantly, a sidewalk that is no longer a sidewalk but a rough, narrow path with little wooden bridges and frustrated people shuffling awkwardly past each other. On especially cold mornings, it's painful to think that if it weren't for this construction, my morning journey would entail simply getting on a warm tram for free and arriving a hundred yards away from my class within five minutes...but I try to appreciate the walk for what it's worth. Often I get stuck behind an elderly woman along the narrow temporary sidewalk, and I listen as the cluck cluck cluck of my shoes decelerate into cluck...cluck...cluck. I am of course overly conscious of the slow woman's thoughts, wondering perhaps if she's worried about being so slow, but of course she isn't, and I'm just too awkward to pass her despite the fact that now people are passing both me AND the old woman. Eventually the construction ends, and I walk through a corner where there are several vendors, one selling bread, the other hats, gloves, and scarves, and the other, cigarettes and magazines. I cross the street when the pedestrian light turns green (the police here are quick to ticket jaywalkers, unfortunately), pass by a tram stop and then the park that circles the city center. And then I am finally on Ulica Sławkowka, just a few minutes' stretch to the main market square. This point in the journey is roughly pictured below (the park, to my left as I pass by).

As I enter the square there are usually already people bustling around, stands selling bread, students walking to class, tourists taking pictures in the morning light, and of course pigeons waddling around cooing and bobbing their heads, freshly awake to start another day of being constantly fed. My classes are generally held in the square itself, building 8, which is quite convenient. As I hurriedly walk in, I continue until I reach the end of a hallway, and then begin climbing 3 sets of stairs. By the second set I am sweating and breathing heavily, as at this point I am usually still bundled up, steaming beneath a thick scarf and hat. Once I finally reach the top I find the rest of my class, waiting for the professor to arrive to unlock the big wooden doors.