Blog of that guy who’s wandering around. 📸

  • I Visited the Museum of the City of Łódź in the Former Palace of factory owner Izrael Poznański

    Ever since I visited the Museum of Cinematography back in May, I’d been meaning to check out the Museum of the City of Łódź, but something always got in the way—either something unexpected came up, or I arrived in the city too late for it to be worth going in just for a quick visit. But finally, I made it—and I’m so glad I did, because it was fantastic!

    I remember when I first started coming to Łódź some 13 years ago and would see that palace—I was sure it had to belong to the richest factory owner in the city. The building is absolutely massive, lavishly decorated, with a crowd of sculptures perched on the roof and a façade bristling with bas-reliefs. Interestingly enough, even though Karol Scheibler (considered the wealthiest of Łódź’s factory owners) owned around 500 hectares of land—about 1/7th of the city’s area at the time—his palace is smaller and noticeably more “modest” than the Poznański family palace.

    Let’s be real: once you leave Staromiejski Park and reach the intersection of Ogrodowa and Zachodnia, the view is something else. Look to your left—modern glass buildings. To the right—more modern glass. Then turn your head and boom—there it is, the “Louvre of Łódź.” A huge, light-colored, richly adorned building with pointy towers that makes everything around it look kind of ordinary.

    Today, the palace houses the Museum of the City of Łódź, which weaves together several themes: the legacy of the Poznański family (one of Łódź’s most important factory dynasties), the lives of famous locals like Artur Rubinstein (a Jewish-Polish pianist), the broader history of the city, stories of everyday people of Łódź, and the multicultural past of Łódź before 1949—when Poles, Jews, and Germans all shared this urban space.

    In Jewish tradition, surnames didn’t originally exist—aside from a few regional exceptions. People used only first names, sometimes with a “ben” (son of) added, like Yaakov ben Shmuel (Jacob, son of Samuel). It wasn’t until the 18th and 19th centuries that various European authorities started forcing Jews to adopt surnames. Wealthier families could often “buy” prettier-sounding names, like Rosenthal (“valley of roses”). Others had names imposed by officials, often based on professions (Zimmermann = carpenter), father’s names (Mendelson), mother’s names (Edelman), personality traits (Lieberman = loving man), or appearance (Klein = small). In the Poznański family’s case, their name came from a place—Poznań. Izrael’s father, Kalman ben Izaak, was the first to take on the name Poznański.

    In one of the palace rooms, I spotted a replica of Dziennik Łódzki (one of Poland’s oldest newspapers, first published in 1884). Two issues had highlighted mentions of Leonia Poznańska, Izrael’s wife: “A painting by local artist Hirszenberg was won by Mrs. L. Poznańska. Wanting to support the artist, who is currently abroad to further develop his skills, Mrs. L.P. generously donated 75 rubles. This act deserves recognition.” That was about Samuel Hirszenberg, a Jewish-Polish painter. Interestingly, the Poznański family wasn’t really into art themselves, but they supported Hirszenberg’s career anyway—and his works ended up decorating both the dining and ballroom areas.

    What really caught my eye, though, were the little snippets that showed how newspapers back then did the kind of stuff we now do online. “From the telephone station: newly connected this week—private residence of Karol Scheibler on Piotrkowska Street (newly constructed building), and the Natan Kopel company (textile warehouse).” So few people had phones that newspapers actually listed who got connected! Another bit: “A telegram sent from Łódź on the 26th of this month for Mr. Uhlig is waiting undelivered at the Warsaw telegraph office.” And another gem: “The analysis of beer from the Anstadt brewery (by the Warsaw Exhibition committee) is expected to be published in a specialist journal, according to Dziennik dla wszystkich [a newspaper].”

    Another intriguing item: “From Feb 22 to 28, the following number of deaths occurred in Łódź: Children under 15 — Catholics: 26, Evangelicals: 28, Jews: 4 (Total: 58) Adults — Catholics: 15, Evangelicals: 7, Jews: 3 (Total: 25) Overall deaths: 83 — 33 more than the previous week. Child mortality increased by 26 cases, adult by 7.” This made me wonder—was breaking it down by religion a result of tense social relations, or was it just for informative purposes? Also, why separate data for children?

    Another thing that struck me was how charmingly unpolished and human the newspaper language was back then. “Today, on the large pond behind the Anstadt brewery, a big charity skating party will take place. The event starts at 3 PM. Along with a great rink for skaters, there’s a carousel on the ice; a number of sleighs are also prepared for the ladies. A military orchestra will play during the event. At dusk, the pond will be illum—” (I don’t know what comes next because the paper was folded at that point.)

    I’d honestly love to dive into more archival issues of Dziennik Łódzki, especially from the industrial heyday of the city. I could lose hours in that.

    The dining room (photo below) left the biggest impression on me—it was defaced during the German occupation with Hitler’s portrait and swastikas, but it wasn’t destroyed. It’s richly decorated, with round windows and Hirszenberg’s paintings.

    In one of the rooms, on a desk, stood a bizarre typewriter: the Gundka Modell III. Made by Gundka-Werk in Brandenburg, Germany, this typewriter had no keyboard—just a wheel and a slider that you’d align with the desired character. You’d then confirm the letter with a button on the left side. It was portable but really only suitable for short texts, because it was super slow to type on.

    Down in the basement are exhibits not directly tied to the Poznański family, but more to the general history of Łódź. You’ll find models of the Tp2 steam locomotive, the Herbrand VNB125 tram (the first trams to run in the city), a model of the Łódź Fabryczna train station from 1868–1930, the “Central” shopping complex, a 19th-century weaver’s house, reports (couldn’t figure out by who or for whom), old gear, Łódź resident IDs, a vintage beer bottle, a model of the Poznański Palace, and tons of other stuff.

    I ended my visit with the exhibition “Na wspólnym podwórku” (“In the Shared Backyard”), which explores the multicultural side of pre-1939 Łódź—a city where Poles, Germans, and Jews lived side by side. There are loads of fascinating old photos of the city and its people.

    You can also see replica street signs and manhole covers from the era. Everyday objects from the time. Even full-scale model rooms showing what a typical Polish, German, or Jewish apartment looked like back then.

    And finally, you can stroll into the palace garden to admire the building from outside—the details, the architecture, and the restored historic fountain. The sculpture (a young nude woman) was by Wacław Konopka; the rest by Anastazy Lepla. The fountain was likely created between 1903 and 1910.

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

  • I accidentally discovered the Surindustrialle café-gallery, but unfortunately haven’t been inside yet

    About an hour before this photowalk, I was at the dentist because almost my entire lower wisdom tooth crumbled in the most annoying way, leaving behind a shard of enamel that was stabbing my gum like a spear. I got numbed in two places, he did a filling and cut out a piece of the gum. It’s only a temporary fix — I’m supposed to come back in a while to get the tooth completely removed. I thought it would be hard to focus on the walk, but it really wasn’t — I had a nice time wandering around aimlessly.

    There are a ton of those little faces in Łódź (like in the pic below, top right corner). They seem really simple, but they’re super distinctive and eye-catching. I’m really curious who’s behind them, and if they can be found anywhere outside Łódź.

    Now this one’s easy. I mean the image below, top right corner again — the guy with the “broken” nose. The black-and-white comic style of Krik Kong, a street artist from Gdańsk, is easy to recognize.

    You can find a lot of posters around Łódź by Kacper Ogień. I really like his style — those thick painted lines, expressive and bold, combined with slogans that make you stop and think.

    I had no idea this place even existed. I came from Plac Wolności (Freedom Square), walked into ul. Legionów (Legions Street), and turned into some courtyard, where I saw a bunch of plants and sculptures made out of metal.

    On the sign, I read that it’s a combo of a teahouse, café, and art gallery called Surindustrialle. I started taking pictures of everything that’s set up in the courtyard outside the entrance to the place. There’s so much stuff there, it took me a moment to take it all in.

    While I was taking photos, a guy came out of the place, so I started chatting with him and found out two things. First, that there used to be even more stuff in the courtyard, but they had to move some of it because of renovation works happening in the neighboring library building. And second, the café used to be open all week, but now it’s only open on weekends (Friday 4:00 PM–10:00 PM, Saturday 12:00 PM–10:00 PM, Sunday 2:00 PM–9:00 PM). Sadly, it was Tuesday when I was there, so it was closed, and I still haven’t seen the inside.

    I did some snooping on Surindustrialle’s Facebook and found out a few things: you might run into a duck and a goose there, they serve lemonades, waffles, chocolates, and teas, and they’re completely alcohol-free. Also — sadly — they’re going through another rough patch in their history. I really hope this place survives, because cities need these kinds of initiatives. I’m planning to swing by this weekend, grab some tea, and snap a few photos of the interior.

    There’s a beautiful piece near Pasaż Róży (Róża’s Passage), a sphere made of hands. Sadly, I don’t know who made it, so I can’t link anything, but it blows me away every time I see it.

    And another poster by Kacper Ogień (above, bottom right corner).

    That guy walking with the dog (below) — we talked for a bit, about his husky girl and our husky boy, Zefir.

    Over a week ago I wrote that I still hadn’t caught Maniak Pizza open — that food truck with those weird pizzas that come with cone handles. Well, on this walk I finally did! I love those pizzas!

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

  • I picked up a new smartphone grip — Ulanzi CG02 — from the paczkomat (parcel locker). Took it out for a photo walk around Bałuty and Śródmieście in Łódź

    That day I wasn’t planning on going for a walk, but InPost surprised me in the best way — they delivered a package on Friday that I wasn’t expecting in the paczkomat (parcel locker) until after the weekend. Inside was the Ulanzi CG02 smartphone grip. My photo walks can last anywhere from four to eight hours, and holding a phone up for that long makes my fingers go numb.

    This particular walk wasn’t the longest, but definitely not short either. I started shooting at 5:42 PM and wrapped up at 11:55 PM — so a little over six hours. I’m not gonna lie and say there was zero discomfort — holding onto anything in one position for that long will get to you — but it was way more comfortable than trying to grip a phone awkwardly for hours. The price-to-quality ratio of the Ulanzi CG02 is seriously great. The handle part is made of slightly rubberized plastic — feels nice to the touch. The part that touches the phone is super soft and rubbery, and the clamps are strong and rubber-coated too, so your phone sits in there solid and safe.

    The shutter button is right where it would be on a real camera, which is so much better than poking at the screen all the time to take a photo. And bonus: the shutter button is detachable — it sticks on magnetically — so you can use it as a wireless remote. Super handy, since the grip has a flat bottom you can set down somewhere, or you can screw it onto a tripod (it’s got a standard 1/4″ mount on the bottom). It also has a cold shoe on top, so you can attach accessories like a mic or extra light (in case the built-in LED with its 1000mAh battery doesn’t cut it).

    If it were up to me, my dream grip would have an even chunkier handle — maybe even more rubbery — but honestly, this is a fantastic purchase that’s seriously leveled up my photowalk experience.

    While walking, I passed by Galeria Bałucka (art gallery) near Stary Rynek (Old Market Square), which had just closed — need to remember to check it out sometime.

    Łódź is freaking amazing. The longer I live near it and visit it, the more convinced I am. But it’s really important to me to show the real face of Łódź — with all the views you can get here: from amazing museums to one of the most beautiful parks in Europe. From the most modern train station I’ve seen (Łódź Fabryczna) to old tenement houses and wooden add-ons. From polished tourist spots to crumbling buildings just around the corner. From a huge number of awesome bars, street art, and art projects to windows stacked with empty “małpki” (small vodka bottles). I honestly believe you don’t need to sugarcoat anything to show what makes this city special.

    I’ve seen that phrase floating around online — “Łódź to stan umysłu” (“Łódź is a state of mind”) — and I totally agree with it. Though I take it differently than most — not as a diss, but as the highest compliment. Łódź is that state of mind you have when you look at a rundown tenement and see a cozy bar that — with a bit of love — could turn into a place people adore. Łódź is that state of mind when you see a crumbling wall and imagine a gorgeous piece of street art. When you look at an abandoned factory and see a modern shopping center with restaurants. When you see an old palace and imagine a museum dedicated to one of the things this city is known for — cinematography.

    At the very end of my walk, somewhere on ul. Piotrkowska, I spotted a sign pointing down an alley to a craft beer bar I hadn’t heard of before. So I turned in, and found this little gazebo thing lit up with red glowing strips. The lit-up sign with the name — Rademenes — was also red, making for a really cohesive and eye-catching vibe.

    When I saw the Rademenes sign, I had a hunch the name was a reference to something — so when I got home I looked it up on DuckDuckGo, and turns out Rademenes was the name of the talking cat from “Siedem życzeń” (“Seven Wishes”) — a Polish teen series from 1984.

    When I walked in, I saw a guy behind the bar with a black cat on his lap. (Later found out from an article that the cat is also named… Rademenes.) The place was totally empty — later a couple girls came in, but still, pretty deserted for a Friday night right off Piotrkowska. I ordered a Blackcyl from Trzech Kumpli — one of my all-time favorite black IPAs — and kinda couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between the two girls and the bar owner.

    Craft beer bars in Poland usually have a certain aesthetic — sure, every place has its own twist, but you can bet on a few things: white walls, lots of wood (either raw or “sloppily” painted in some artsy way), a bunch of plants, some visual art (paintings or minimalist prints), maybe a neon sign or weird lighting.

    Rademenes looks like a generic 90s Polish beer bar — tiled walls, tacky lamps, random artwork totally clashing with the vibe. Being there — the decor, the emptiness, the sight of the owner doing something on his laptop behind the bar, the sound of his mouse clicking — it all felt like a scene from some surreal arthouse film. That said, I’m definitely going back.

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *