We’re sitting in the kitchen on Piaskowa Góra at poet Anita Jagodzińska’s in Wałbrzych, a Greek salad for breakfast, pickled ginger, peaches, and cherries. Coffee, of course, already brewed in a glass coffee mokka pot. And we’ve been chatting away from the morning about poetry. Haiku is landing on a soy pâté sandwich. And Wałbrzych, the scariest city in the world – as the local taxi driver told us – carries us with its leisurely yet magical rhythm.