In the late sun of Saturday the main square of Krakow suddenly fills with young people. They sit cross-legged, or stand in groups. It’s nothing unusual. They are here for the same reason I am here and the same reason they are here, and those few over there are here. But then the young of the square all jump to their feet. They clap as one when the trumpet man plays his song from the church spire. Fall to the ground. Run around with a scream in their throats. Cling to fabric of red. They are all being directed by the earphones in their ears. It’s a show in itself! Is it all for me? Or is it for them?