Krakow to Zakopane: Cable Car, Hot Springs & Cheese Tasting

4.81

(138 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

We were barely out of Krakow when the landscape started changing—grey city blocks giving way to rolling fields, then those first hints of mountains. Our driver, Piotr, had this habit of humming along to Polish radio and pointing out things I’d never have noticed (“That’s where they make the best pierogi—no joke!”). By the time we reached Chocholow, I could smell wood smoke drifting from somewhere nearby. The village itself felt like a movie set—timber houses with steep roofs and lace curtains, chickens scratching around. I tried to snap a photo but my fingers were half-frozen (should’ve worn thicker gloves).

The next bit was unexpected: we ducked into a tiny shepherd’s hut for Oscypek cheese and vodka. I’m not usually a fan of smoked cheese but this was different—salty, chewy, almost sweet at the end. Our host poured vodka into these little glasses and grinned as we tried to pronounce “Oscypek” properly. Li laughed when I butchered it; I still think about that moment. Then it was on to Zakopane itself—a jumble of market stalls and people in bright wool hats selling everything from sheepskin slippers to honey. The funicular ride up Gubalowka was quick but my ears popped halfway up; at the top, wind whipped around us and you could see all the way across the Tatras if you squinted through the clouds.

I wandered down Krupówki Street after that—honestly just following my nose toward something frying (potato pancakes maybe?). There’s this energy there: families chatting in rapid Polish, street musicians on accordions, smells of grilled meat everywhere. After lunch (I went for bigos stew), we regrouped for what turned out to be my favorite part—the Chocholow Thermal Baths. If you’ve never sat outside in steaming water while snowflakes melt on your face…well, it’s weirdly perfect. My skin tingled for hours afterward.

The drive back was quieter; most people dozed off or scrolled through their photos. I kept thinking about that first bite of Oscypek and how cold my hands got in Chocholow—small things that stick with you more than any postcard view.