I Returned to My Grandfather’s Revived Polish Hometown, Once Wiped Out by World War II — Here’s What I Discovered

I traveled to Wrocław, Poland, in search of my grandfather, who was born and raised there when this charming city along the Oder River was known as Breslau, Germany. Armed with a list of his old addresses from the scattered papers he left behind, I attempted to find his former residences. However, the German street names had long been replaced with Polish ones, and the few buildings I managed to locate were all modern.

I probably should have anticipated the challenges of my genealogical search. While Breslau — unlike other German cities like Cologne and Hamburg — remained relatively unscathed during the initial years of World War II, a Soviet bombing campaign from January to May 1945 left 80 percent of the city in ruins.

“We say only eighty percent,” shared Rafal Dutkiewicz, Wrocław’s mayor from 2002 to 2018, at the rooftop restaurant of the Hotel Monopol Wrocław, “because Warsaw was ninety percent destroyed.”

He gestured toward the pastel-colored façades of the Neo-Baroque buildings below us. The Hotel Monopol — where Adolf Hitler once spoke from the balcony and where notable figures like Marlene Dietrich and Pablo Picasso stayed — was among the 20 percent of buildings that survived. These surviving structures are so rare that locals often point them out, though casual visitors might find it difficult to tell them apart from the artfully reconstructed ones, often built according to the original plans.

It’s important to note that Breslau’s destruction was not predetermined. It entirely depended on Hitler’s decision in late 1944 to label the city as “Festung Breslau,” Germany’s final fortress, to be defended at all costs against the advancing Soviets. This designation turned Breslau, which had been a refuge for those fleeing more intense conflicts throughout the war, into a target for bombing and tank assaults in early 1945. Coupled with fierce street battles, this led to the deaths of tens of thousands of civilians. Hitler’s commander in Breslau held out until just three days before Germany's unconditional surrender to the Soviets.

My grandfather, living far away in Houston by then, would never return to his hometown, but I often pondered how he would have perceived the ongoing turmoil in the region even after the war. In July 1945, under Joseph Stalin's orders, the city was swiftly converted from German to Polish, displacing ethnic Poles from Lwów, now the Ukrainian city of L’viv, and relocating them to the city now known as Wrocław. The more than 600,000 Germans residing in what was once Breslau were forced to migrate westward.

It's no surprise that my grandfather's spirit felt so elusive in such a transformed place. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of him in Salt Market Square, in front of the cantaloupe-colored Old Stock Exchange palazzo — one of the few remaining original buildings — where, a century ago, his father traded grain commodities. Today, it stands behind a 24-hour outdoor flower market.

On my first night in town, I found a spot on a bench outside the microbrewery Spiż, savoring an IPA. (Wrocław is teeming with microbrews, kombuchas, cold-brew coffees, and a variety of vegan, gluten-free, and low-carb menu items.) I was captivated by the seamless blend of history and modernity all around me. Once a vital trading hub at the crossroads of the Silk and Amber Roads, this now distinctly Polish city has been ruled by Bohemians, Hapsburgs, Prussians, Nazis, and Communists throughout the centuries. This rich tapestry of cultures and influences gives Wrocław, Poland's fourth-largest city and one of the fastest-growing in the European Union, a sense of magic. Cross the Oder River here — Wrocław, dubbed the “Polish Venice,” features over a hundred bridges — and you find yourself in Prague; pass through this gate, and you're in Vienna. Stroll down this street, and the towering red-brick post office evokes Weimar Germany. Glance northeast, and you’ll spot “Manhattan,” a Brutalist enclave of commercial and residential skyscrapers typical of Iron Curtain-era architecture.

After finishing my beer, I ventured into the Rynek, the city's vibrant pastel-hued central market square, anchored by a Gothic town hall that dates back to the late 13th century. In true Polish fashion, I indulged in a plate of pierogi at the upscale Pierogarnia. Throughout the evening, I witnessed a Hare Krishna procession, a fire juggler, a unicyclist on a rope, and a small protest against the oppression occurring in neighboring Belarus.

I dedicated the next few days to cultural explorations along the Oder, including visits to the National Museum of Wrocław, a charming ivy-clad former German municipal building that showcases one of Poland's largest contemporary art collections, and to Hydropolis, an engaging “water knowledge center” featuring educational displays. In between, I indulged in nearly universally exceptional meals.

Perhaps the biggest revelation for me was the consistently outstanding quality of Wrocław’s culinary offerings. I savored the trout risotto at La Maddalena, which provides a breathtaking view across the Oder towards the (reconstructed) yellow façade of the university where my grandfather earned his law degree in 1921. Then there were poached eggs drizzled with chili butter and dill at Dinette, followed by a beet salad at Mleczarina in the courtyard facing the recently restored White Stork, the only synagogue in the city to survive Kristallnacht. I must also mention the sunflower pâté and flaky cod at Restauracja Tarasowa, a restaurant dedicated to local ingredients situated in Wrocław’s Centennial Hall complex, which features a vast multimedia fountain that hosts spectacular water-and-light shows during the summer.

On my final evening in Wrocław, I meandered down an alley adorned with galleries and artists’ studios to Ruska 46’s Neon Side Gallery, a quaint cul-de-sac decorated with salvaged neon signs from defunct cinemas, hotels, and factories, which also boasts a charming bar called Recepcja. Afterward, I strolled leisurely back towards the river, passing by countless whimsical bronze gnomes — the city has over 600 and counting — honoring the Orange Alternative, the Wrocław-born movement that contributed to the fall of Communism in the 1980s. I concluded my night on Ostrów Tumski, known as the “cathedral island,” which has been inhabited for over a millennium. On any given evening, you can spot groups of nuns admiring the sunset over the river, young seminarians wandering past the rebuilt 13th-century Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, or locals relishing yet another exquisite riverside meal, this time featuring innovative Polish cuisine at Lwia Brama.

Ostrów Tumski is also home to the city’s finest new luxury hotel, the Bridge Wrocław, which boasts stunning river views and, brace yourself, exceptional dining. The Art Hotel, a longtime favorite in the old city, occupies a converted tenement that dates back to the 14th century. Directly across the street is the medieval meat market, which, like much of modern Wrocław, has been transformed into a collection of quaint galleries and artisan shops. If you look closely, you’ll discover statues commemorating the animals that were once butchered there over the centuries.

What would my grandfather, who passed away over fifty years ago, think of his hometown, which has experienced such monumental transformations? It’s a question I realized was impossible to answer. He’s gone, as is his city; even his father’s grave in the New Jewish Cemetery has long since disappeared. But that’s the nature of history — particularly in this tumultuous crossroads of Europe. It tears down and rebuilds, paving over the past with what comes next. Sometimes there’s continuity, sometimes there’s disruption. Yet in Wrocław, a challenging history has ultimately given rise to a place that feels entirely forward-looking.

A version of this story first appeared in the June 2024 issue of Dinogo under the headline 'Wroclaw Reborn.'