There are still bombed out building scattered around the city, but people are well dressed, smiling, and going about their daily routines as if there were nothing amiss. It is rather surreal.
The city itself is really quite easy to navigate, just don’t expect to use any street signs to do it. This was one place where my Lonely Planet book was really worth the money. I just followed the street maps and made it quite quickly to my temporary home; the Manga Hostel.
I loved this place. Sadly, I didn’t spend many days here.It’s easy to get to from the train station. just follow the tram tracks east, then turn left at the park. you can spot it on any map.
Igor, who I called Ivan the whole time I was there and he never corrected me, is a coffee master. If you are hanging around the hostel he will offer to make you Turkish Coffee. Go for it. He is an interesting looking cat with a heart of gold. When you ask him what matters in this world he replies simply, “The soul.” What a stud.
There is a great feeling of fun and family at this place. I recommend you check it out. There are some good parks nearby and I got some running in while I was staying here and I must say, wow. These people are tall.
My boy Justin is always saying that he finds tall girls attractive. I have never seen a larger collection of women over 6 feet tall (that’s just over 1.8 meters) in my life. Whether they were attractive or not is, I suppose, a matter of personal taste. My friend Will seems to think they are.
Oh, yeah… Will.
Will and I ran into each other a few times in the days I was in Serbia. On the day I was planning to go look for tickets to Sofia, he just happened to have a spare one in his pocket and saved me a few Euro. So, with all my homework done for me and a few hours to kill, I wandered off to go check out the castle.
The have taken parts of the old castle and turned them into tennis and basketball courts, which I thought was a great idea!
And of course as soon as I saw this sign I knew I was heading in the right direction.
Just take a walk around the city and you will see some great stuff and a thousand popcorn stands. This is certainly a place I would like to come back to.
So Will and I embark on our great journey, or possibly rather mediocre journey, to Sofia: Land of Mediocrity.
Nothing will ever taste as sweet as Hungarian blackberries.
I would never have known this had I not made the trip. The train ride from Bratislava to Budapest was not bad, long, or particularly smelly; which puts it ahead of the curve. Our arrival in Budapest put me face to face with the first money changers I had seen since South America. Given my lovely track record with their sort, I opted to walk the couple blocks to the ATM to get money to buy metro passes instead of deal with them.
We made it to the underground with money and luggage and left with much less money and unlimited travel passes for the next 72 hours. Considering how much we actually used them, we overpaid by about 12 euro. First lesson learned; Budapest is easily walkable.
The Mandala hostel, our target in Budapest, was relatively easy to find. Simply follow the street signs and don’t try to get anyone to give you cardinal directions; as with most places I have been, no one knows North from any other compass point. After much walking, we arrived at the hostel. Mandala is something I would highly recommend. Lockers big enough to put a full size pack in, decent beds, great staff, decent kitchen, and seemingly always full of characters.
Our first day in Budapest, we rolled out to meet up with Budapest Free Walking Tours. These are run by a couple of locals who decided that people needed to see a better side of their city. All their tours are free, as opposed to many other tour companies that offer a free tour and several pay tours. This is quite a point of pride with their company, though I think that the quality they provide is really the best part of their act. Make sure to go grab some wine with the guides after the tour. They know the answer to any question you might have.
Christina was a fabulously freckled backpacker that Justin befriended the night before and accompanied us on the tour. Afterward, we all rolled to the supermarket and picked up supplies to make sandwiches and chill out at the park with wild firespinning hippies and drug addled locals.
Unfortunately, we didn’t find any of the aforementioned crazies. We did find a dog that was supremely fond of cheese, some toys, and a good shady spot to people-watch.
Eventually, we returned to Mandala Hostel and grabbed our bags to roll out to a friend-of-a-friends place where we planned on staying for a few days.
Always have a pocket compass. I used it constantly, and it is worth many times more than the $10 I originally spent on it.
Once we made it to Zsofi, our new friend, and her apartment, things just started getting better. Immediately, she invited us to go wakeboarding the next day, then took us out to a good local restaurant and showed us the place to kick it with the locals and dance the night away. Which is exactly what we did.
Late nights became a pattern in Budapest.
The following morning, I wasn’t feeling so hot. Drinking and dancing can do that. Still, I soldiered up and we all met up with some great characters from Peru and Ecuador on the Charles bridge.
Omsck lake is one train stop outside of the Budapest metro train district. This becomes important when you are coming back in and a transport official reminds you that your unlimited local travel pass does not apply at that stop and you need to buy another ticket to get back in to the city. It is home to a Nudist beach, good wakeboarding, and a grouchy grocer that sells the some of the best peaches I have ever eaten.
The wakeboarding place was sparsely populated, as it was still technically the work week, and we got to attempt wakeboarding for much longer than the hour that we had paid for. The cable is run around the lake on a 0.7 kilometer track that runs at 30 kph. I nearly quit several times, as I could hardly function or see straight I was feeling so rough. Finally, I got all the way around the entire track a couple times, even catching air after unintentionally running over one of the jumps. Towards the end of the day, my head hurt so bad, I could barely open my eyes. Lucky for me, we finally got kicked off the course.
There is a much lauded bar named Szimpla, where one can sit in bathtubs, or old hollowed out cars and enjoy drinks and music and conversation. There are a great deal of people here; locals and travelers alike. I didn’t think it was anything interesting, and was much more satisfied with just about anywhere else in the city. Swing by to take a look, but don’t plan on being blown away; there is no chocolate pudding tub.
After two nights, Justin had to leave once again, though this time to head off to Italy and meet some gelato. That meant I was left to my own devices while Zsofi worked, and so I decided to sleep in. J
Near the Western Train Station, there is a large shopping mall containing the only Starbucks in Budapest. It also just about everything else you would expect to find in a mall, but not a szabó, the Hungarian word for seamstress. Sadly, I had ruined yet another pocket is my shorts and needed to have it repaired. Eventually, I found a seamstress who spoke English and was able to fix my pocket overnight. I also found some great spots to go jogging, a fruit and vegetable shop that I returned to daily, and a supermarket that really wasn’t all that super.
Budapest was a blast for me. Hungarian women have quite possible the highest per capita knockout bodies of anywhere I have ever been. It made each day just a little nicer that it would have otherwise been.
Zsofi and I spent a great deal of time hanging out. She was my personal guardian angel. I made breakfast almost every morning with fresh fruits and veggies from the shop down the road, croissants from the bakery and honey from a nearby farm. I have seldom eaten so well while on the road.
Her kitchen was well equipped and clean. All the cabinets were red lacquer just like her finger and toenails. We managed to work our way through some of the wine from her housewarming party, and I slept on a stuffed elephant pillow more often than not. The elephant and I were good friends.
The backup plan Justin and I made for retreat to Mandala was never an option.
Zsofi had a way of getting me to relax and just talk. We slept far too little because we would simply be in the midst of enlightening and engaging conversation until just before sunrise almost every night. Eventually, we started falling asleep mid-sentence on the couch once the days caught up with us.
I read that Hungary was famous for wines before I got there. I was quite happy with what I sampled for the most part, but I feel I need to mention one in particular. Etyeki Kuria. The bottle of Pinot Noir 2008 that we had over dinner one night was the best wine I have ever had. Sadly, A couple days later we bought another bottle of the same and it was not as good. Perhaps, the winery is a little unreliable. I dunno.
Friday was the National Holiday for St. Stephen who initially unified the country some time around the invention of peanuts. Everyone took the day off, and we went back to the Omsck lake to do more wakeboarding and I finally stopped trying to make it around the last corner on my face, successfully completing many laps, before they cut me off. Thankfully. I was getting pretty tired.
Saturday, Zsofi and I rolled out to a city called Siófok, on the shore of Lake Balaton. This place was pretty cool. There are a great number of wineries in the area and a great deal of food that is terrible for you. A common ‘peasant’ food is bread smeared with lard and topped with garlic of onions.
I had a blast. We met up with some of Zsofi’s friends and spend the next day and night hanging out with them. I have rarely if ever felt so immediately at ease with a group of friends outside of San Francisco. Conversation was easy, everyone spoke English, and it just clicked. I am so grateful.
Late that night, I ducked out for some dinner and left my camera on the table. Robin saw an opportunity for excellence and seized it. Good Man.
The next day we all went over to the Wakeboarding setup on Lake Balaton that is 1 km in circumference and was broken. So we just hung out and talked and played Frisbee in the lake until the others had to go home. The wakeboarding cable started running about 5 minutes later, so Zsofi gave it a whirl while I played Peter Parker: Cameraman.
FYI: It’s not that easy to catch a train from Balaton to Budapest on a Sunday.
Luckily, good company can make waiting for things just as fun as doing things. On the train back, I pulled out the iPod and a splitter and we watched Alice in Wonderland; sweating in the late summer heat the way that a metal train car will deliver it.
Pro Tip: if you are going out to dinner in Hungary, make sure you do it well in advance of 10 p.m. All the restaurants shut down, and you are left with very few options, quite possibly being forced to eat chicken liver sandwiches on a streetcorner somewhere.
If you are there in season, mid-late summer, find blackberries. I can express how important this is without a great deal of body language, so just trust me.
Find blackberries.
This is the single most sublimely sweet treat I have ever had. Like no blackberry I have ever tasted, they melt like butter, with only a hint of their trademark bitter aftertaste. Perhaps, the greatest meal ever eaten by anyone in Budapest was the night when Zsofi brought home a beautifully ripe Israeli mango and we mixed it with a fresh batch of blackberries in our mouths. Heaven help me!
Sadly, even great things like Budapest must come to an end. I was leaving for Serbia and Zsofi was leaving for London, so we took the last night to roll out to Budepest’s famous spa! It’s not like an American spa or bathhouse, it is more like a hamam, with less abuse from big men in diapers.
The next morning we grabbed a taxi and said our goodbyes on the steps of the train station. I wandered around a bit trying to get some credit put on my cellphone, but as I had spent all my local currency, the store owners would have none of it. Finally, I just slunk off to board the train. During my routine check of all my pockets to make sure I had everything I needed, I noticed something was missing.
My little black moleskin. My lifeline. The train was leaving in 1 minute.
Disclaimer: What I did next is always a bad idea.
I took a second to make sure my bags were all locked up as I usually keep them, so minimal item loss is possible, and took off running with a speed born of madness. I yelled to the conductor that my passport was missing and ran bulldozerlike through the station and back to the shop where I had tried to recharge my phone. Luckily my notebook was right on the counter and I grabbed it, turned around and started running again.
I didn’t even pause at teh ticket gate, just blew past them figuring I was faster than they were if they gave chase. The conductor was no in sight as I neared the train and my eyes kept playing the optical illusion that it was moving away. The rear door was still open and I jumped full speed into the opening, quite nearly scaring the ticket checker into urination as he was waiting on the doors to close behind him. The Irish and Serbian couple I was sharing the coach with were surprised to see me. I just laid my head back, considered what a stupid thing I had just done, and closed my eyes as the train jerked into motion.
Riding the train through the Hungarian countryside, so much was familiar. The hay rolled up in giant bails. Fields, tractors, and farmland; all remind me of places from my youth. The noise from the train was less than peaceful, so I put in my iPod and just enjoyed the view.
The middle aged woman across from me talked in a pleasant manner with her hands. Enthusiastic and smooth her hands accentuated words I couldn’t hear as she filled the cabin with good vibes. Snacking on the grapes i brought with me, I let the miles roll off and remembered the blackberries.
Almost not worth mentioning, I spent a couple lackluster days in Slovakia to meet up with Justin. We spent a surprising night in Bratislava before abandoning ship and heading to Budapest. We did find a couple fun things in the way of local ornaments.
We had a wild host, who honestly had no business hosting travelers. His place was in complete disarray, and though his heart was in the right place, his place simply was not. I am a firm believer that if you are having people over, you should have toilet paper. The next morning he sang us a brilliant song about how he wanted people to call him and rent bicycles. It was rather surreal.
He did have a really cool light fixture though.
As usual, Justin was the absolute saving grace of the city. I was utterly depressed and he really did his best to make it enjoyable. Without his hijinks, I may have just laid down on the street and stayed there.
That’s a pretty commanding name for a bunch of water.
Joe and I were in magnificent spirits the whole ride to Iguazú. Joking all through the day and laughing at the ridiculous movies on the screen above us in our posh-tastic bus. We weren’t the only ones. One specific laugh pealed out from behind us throughout the ride, and that just made us laugh more.
The land changed around us, from mostly flat terrain with a few trees, into something that might have come from the mountains of North Carolina; doused in pine trees and greenery.
The next morning as the bus was nearing our final destination, Joe and I reviewed our plans; still laughing in synch with our echo from a few seats back. We thought we would need to get a taxi from the bus station in Puerto Iguazú, the nearby city, to our hostel a couple kilometers from town. We got lucky and the bus stopped right at our hostel, The Hostel Inn, and dropped us off along with several other tourists.
The place was hopping. It truly looked like a resort; a giant pool outside complete with lounge chairs holding various bodies and a sound system pumping out some indecipherable garble. Check in took a small eternity because of the press of bodies, and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it but eventually we made it down to our room and met a new sort of traffic jam.
Our little room was home to a Kiwi girl who seemed permanently ensconced in her bed. She made mention of the fact that her iPhone battery was dead, so I offered to let her use my charger. About 47 minutes and a throbbing earache later, we were able to ascertain why her iPhone was dead; the girl’s mouth had no off setting. Somewhere in the onslaught I completely lost track of her name.
Ok bye.
“And then…”
Ok bye.
“Oh you are leaving.”
Ya, bye.
“Ok, so we’ll catch up later.”
Ya bye.
“Sweet, what are you doing tonight?”
Gotta go to the store. Bye.
“All right. Are you going to the barbeque?”
Um, I gotta go catch up to Joe.
“Ok, so are you going to the falls tomorrow?”
On and on it went, until I simply closed the door and chased after a vanishing Joe. We were outside the normal lunch hours for the cafeteria in the hostel and walked off to find some form of a market nearby where we could procure enough food to feed our empty bellies and restart our brains. We found the market something akin to Old Mother Hubbard’s kitchen and were barely able to scrape together enough supplies to make our now famous Danica Patrick Salsa Golf tuna sandwiches with some red peppers on lovely bread con pan.
Back in the kitchen at the hostel, we found a magnificent surprise: Johnny Walker powered Israelis.
They called us out immediately.
“You were the laughing guys.”
Zizi and Dana, busy with making backpacker spaghetti extraordinaire, swirled around us in the kitchen. Zizi carried most of the conversation with Dana simply smiling and injecting a word infrequently. I wrangled up my standby bribery bottle of Johnny Walker, since at this point we had no more border crossings to manage, and we unloaded it on some Coca-cola light and the four of us shared a magnificent repast; knocking down our dranks and staring in horror at the meat con carne being prepared on some dirty wood tables covered with god knows what out the window.
Zizi immediately began laughing. She almost didn’t stop for the next two days.
Joe and I decided to invoke the optional shower and actually get cleaned up for the first time in a couple disreputable days. We each took turns listening to the incessant Gatling chatter from our young Kiwi while the other hid out in the shower.
When we made it back up to the immense lobby, we again met D and Z and decided we should abandon the rapidly filling common area in search of food that wasn’t prepared by a madman with a machete out back.
There ARE options for food nearby the resort, but there isn’t much English so be prepared. If you are going kosher, be a lot prepared.
Halfway through the ordering process, our waiter exclaimed he would be bringing Dana a half a chicken. She nodded in agreement, and I asked her if she knew what she had just agreed to. She did not.
The waiter and I went a few rounds, our conversational waters further muddied by the occasional interruption from Dana while Joe and Zizi simply sat back and laughed.
When the food did finally arrive, the salad was somehow un-kosher (something to do with cheese, I think) and the waiter was 2 pesos shy of hostile when we asked him to make it right. By meals end, we had all fed well and managed to knock off two bottles of fantastic, affordable Argentine Red.
Yes; only two.
The mild shenanigans of the hostel’s barbeque had turned into full scale Brazilian madness by the time we returned from dinner. There were two girls dancing around the lobby who appeared to have come straight out of Carnival. Feather, tiny bikinis, impossible bottoms; the works. They were pulling young men out of the crowd and dancing around with them, dragging the excited lads over to a chair and sandwiching the guy between the two of them.
The best part came when one the dancers grabbed an Israeli guy from the crowd, then pushed him towards the chair where he happily sat and gyrated on what he thought was the other dancer girl. It was in fact, another man that had slipped in behind him. It was hilarious to watch; you just have to imagine it.
When the squawking died down, we four sat down and jibberjabbered on the couches for a while, until I realized it was the 5th of May. Cinco de Mayo.
Cinco de Mustache!
Finally, spent from laughing, we all turned in to get some sleep and prepare for our trip to the Devil’s Throat the following day.
Joe and I awoke looking at another 20+ hour bus ride that night, so we repacked our bags and locked them up in the left luggage room of the hostel before rolling out to town to get more magical paper from the ATM machine that was hidden behind a line of dozens of people waiting for what appeared to be the only working bank-o-mat in town.
You must understand that Iguazú Falls is not just cool in Argentina. It is world renowned. If you haven’t heard of it, then you are obviously a social pariah and should be ashamed of yourself. I had been hearing about this place for months from everyone who had traveled through South America. I had also been hearing that you had better just consign yourself to the fact that you are going to get absolutely soaking wet. Completely disregarding this bit of the story, I decided to buy a couple of ponchos for Joe and I before he informed me that he already had one.
In the 36 seconds since I had paid for the ponchos, the shopkeeper seemed to have completely forgotten who I was and that I had purchased it from him and denied me a refund. I was so frustrated I simply fell completely out of any ability to speak Spanish and started speaking English at her. She suddenly remembered me and I was able to get back my diez pesos.
As luck would have it, once our dynamic duo had passed into the park and was looking for directions, we met the other dynamic duo of D n Z, and we joined up to become something of a dynamic Voltron of wonderment and brought laughter and greatness to the park for the rest of the day. The whole park was a wonderland.
La Garganta del Diablo is simply staggering. These falls are so huge, even with a telephoto lens everything looks far away. Standing in the warmth of the sun and the spray from the falls, it is difficult to count the passage of minutes. We sat and stared for quite a while, until finally Joe reminded me only had so much time. I hope the pictures can speak for themselves.
We walked many kilometers that day accompanied often by butterflies and always by laughter.
After a hike or three, we finally got to play in the water. We had to climb over some caution tape to do it, but hey, we came to play.
At the end of a long, wet day, some of us were pretty tired.
Still, D n Z introduced us to some of their friends who had enough energy left over to serenade me with an Israeli lullaby about San Francisco.
Our bus ride, turned into a relative mad dash for the station in town, though we arrived in plenty of time to get some food before the bus left, and even saw D n Z one more time in the terminal as they had come down to sort out some transportation questions of their own. We couldn’t get away from them!
Tickets in hand, in honor of Pato, Joe and I enjoyed a lomito before we hopped our next all-nighter bus with full stomachs and slightly heavy hearts for Buenos Aires and the evacuation.
Ok, so maybe not that last one, but that’s where I got the recipe, so let’s roll.
First off, this is to make two cups of coffee. Start by taking two heaping teaspoons of Turkish coffee and dropping them into your Turkish Coffee Maker. then add 4 sugar cubes, and two coffee cups worth of water to the mix.
Stir until the sugar cubes are about 50% dissolved.
Put your coffee maker over the lowest flame setting on your stove, and watch it. Eventually, a dark ring will start forming around the edge of the cup. Watch it. This ring will slowly close in on the center of the cup, then start increasing in speed, you want to pull it off of the flame and fill each of o your coffee cups to halfway.
Place the coffee maker back on the flames for about another 15 seconds to boil a bit and put a bit more heat into the coffee. then remove it from the flame and fill the cups the rest of the way.
Ta-daa!
While you don’t need a Turkish girl to make it, you should definitely find some Turkish Delight or some good chocolate to serve with it. It makes all the difference!
Also available upon request, reading the future in the coffee grounds!
In a word that sums up Brno. While I met some cool people and saw a ton of fantastic motorcycles, the city itself was a bit meh. I did have the spectacular good luck of getting to stay with a lovely local girl who introduced me to a number of great people and the sights of Brno, such as they were.
Lenka was a cheerful gem that really shone in an otherwise drab town.
The real reason for coming here was, of course, the MotoGP.
The town itself is relatively well equipped to handle the influx of people and get them to the track. Bus 400 will take you from town right to the Autodromo and back again. It says so right on the back of the ticket. The ticket that I almost didn’t get because it had to be overnighted to me in Prague. It likely cost as much as I paid them for the ticket.
The first day I met some wild Germans with a Huge flagpole with the USA, Texas, and Kentucky flags on it. They were a riot. I shot a ton of photos and was really quite impressed with the Moto2 guys and the way they manage their bikes and each other.
The first time the MotoGP bikes came around the track, I thought I was going to go deaf. They are unbelievably loud. I put in some earplugs immediately and didn’t take them out until it was all over. Here are a couple of shots that show just how physical this sport is. Riders hide entirely from view behind bikes and must perform maasive direction changes in little to no distance on tiny contact patches of rubber.
The day of the race came and I took my place at the side of the track with the other shutterbugs.
I got some fun pictures.
I even managed to catch this little video clip of Pedrosa lowsiding and almost getting destroyed in the middle of the track. To his credit, he jumped up grabbed the bike and ran a few more laps before he finally dropped out to the pit.
The highlight of the day was watching the new guy Spies take to the track. He didn’t do as well as I had hoped he would, but Spies finished in front of Rossi, which does my heart good.
The winners celebratory shenanigans were great. Everything from wheelies, to wielding flags, to a golf putt.
I’m glad I went, though next time I go to a big event like this, I am going to spring for the VIP tent, as it is totally worth it.
Thanks again, Lenka!
Next stop: Bratislava to meet up with the other half of Team Rock ‘n’ Shock.
Yes, it’s true; not everyone is your friend. In fact, while some people may be exemplary citizens who truly understand that the Tourism industry benefits their country and everyone in it, many would rather help themselves to your money and belongings. This is a bit short sighted, I know, but it’s a little hard to reason with someone running full tilt down a dark alleyway with your goods. Better to protect yourself ahead of time, than complain about it after it happens. One of the most oft lost items is the digital camera.
Having lost some camera equipment myself, I’ve devised this foolproof (so far) method of keeping your camera safe from wandering hands. Simply slide the wrist strap of your camera through the belt loop closest to the pocket you wish to store it in, then slip the camera through the loop on the far side. This effectively locks the camera in place.
And then drop it into your pocket.
Yes, when extracting the camera for a shot, it takes a couple of extra seconds. Personally, I prefer this to reaching for a camera that is no longer there.
Hopefully this will help a few people to hold onto their belongings where I and others have not. This can also be used very effectively with almost all modern cel phones, as they have place to attach similar loops.
Obviously, it is not impossible to rip the camera away and destroy the belt loop. This is just intended to discourage would-be theives and give you enough time to react if someone tries to grab it. As always, be aware in crowded areas and if the crowd suddenly seems to be jostling you a lot, cover all your pockets and take emergency action.
In the Czech Republic, customer service holds a very unique place. In fact it is so unique you may never actually find it.
A deliriously wonderful person, Melinda, once warned me about this. Menus may or may not come. You may have ordered, but that doesn’t mean the food is coming. The check will never arrive unless you ask for it, if even then. Salads are just bowls full of vegetables. Drinks will not be refilled or replaced. Whatever the server brings you must be what you ordered, even if it’s not. I was ready for all this. My friends were not.
Czech food is worth the wait. I had the unique and wonderful experience of befriending a girl named Klara in the USA who ran a Czech restaurant and had ample samples of Czech fare. The goulash is pretty standard Czech food and is well worth experiencing. They have a type of spongy bread called ‘dumplings’ that is served with almost everything, and my favorite dishes have to be the tomato salad and the beef goulash with cranberries!
Our first morning in town, Justin met his roommate… and the random girl who was sharing the bed with him. We just called him Romeo.
Our first night in town was a Saturday and Justin and I were not about to let it go to waste. We set out with a map and barely a clue on how to get around. We made it to a tram stop somewhat near the old part of the city and saw the 4 Seasons hotel. It’s a tactic of mine to use fancy hotels concierge desks when I am in need so we strolled on in to get some directions.
As we entered a spotlessly well dressed man walked up to us and asked in a flawless North American English if he could help us. When we requested a map, he directed us to one of his coworkers and once we were situated he sauntered off to attend to some official business. We are sure he was the King of the 4 Seasons, and we immediately named him Chocolate Jackson.
We walked all around the truly charming and somewhat serpentine old town streets until we found the main square with what is still one of my favorite landmarks in Europe, the fantastic Chapel of someone or other.
Immediately upon entering the main square, disreputable, pushy hawkers began walking up to Justin, sompletely ingoring me, and trying to entice him to come and see the particular female delights at their clubs; each one of them claiming it was the best in Prague. The shortest of the bunch soon became irate when we kept asking him for a place to eat instead of the quickest route to his women.
We did manage to get directions, from a girl offering similar distractions, to a gyro/pizza place that was still open at midnight. The food was terrible, and certainly wasn’t improved by a girl with blonde dreadlocks rooting through the trash can next to us, pulling out a half eaten gyro and chewing it down hungrily. Walking back to the tram stop, Justin and I passed several other shops a couple streets over with much more appetizing fare. Lucky us, neither of us had any appetite left.
The following day, after Justin had seen a little toooo much of Romeo’s next girl, we made a glorious discovery: The Bohemian Bagel. This place was exemplary in many ways. It was the worst customer service we have ever seen; our waitress was constantly angry and annoyed. They had great bagels, bottomless, American-style coffee, and actual pancakes! The Bohemian Bagel is definitely the way to start every day in Prague! If you fancy gaining about 10 pounds a day, eat the “Charles the IVth” breakfast.
After shaking off the maple syrup sugar rush, we managed to make it out of bed and down to what we learned was called the “Old Town Square” and found the Starbucks that serves as a rally point for the Praha branch of New Europe: NewPrague! Our tour guide was a tiny Welsh girl who simply could not tell a joke to save her life and had a smile that would part the clouds.
We had a blast cheering her on and learned a good deal about Prague and Czech as well.
For starters, despite seeming angry and disenfranchised, the Czech people have an excellent sense of humor. When being invaded, they took down every street sign across the country and changed the names of every town to the same name, so the invading armies couldn’t actually find where they were trying to get to. Also, whenever the people disagree wth someone, they throw the offending person out of a window or from a castle wall; an action called “defenestration.” Classic fun. This particular form of demise, according to legend, placed 5 stars in the sky over where a particular priest was killed, making him an instant, though dead, celebrity.
The much famed Astronomical Clock is really something of a underwhelming accomplishment. Though it may have been a hit about 500 years ago, in a post-Matrix world, it is really just a place for pickpockets to take advantage of distracted tourists. Take a gander, but keep your hands in your pockets.
While Prague is a magnificent place to wander, chat, and eat, there are certain attractions outside the city that should not be missed. The town of Kutna Hora holds some of these a mere hours train ride to the west. Behold, the Ossuary; the Bone Church.
As the story goes, some dirt was brought here from Jerusalem and so many people wanted to be buried here, that the bodies were simply piling up. Finally, in the last century, some interior decorator decided to put them to use, building ceiling fixtures, pyramids, wall hangings, and other decorations.
Also in the same town is the Basilica of someone or other. This is one of the most visually stunning building exteriors I have seen since the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.
The interior was a bit lacking.
Eventually, everyone must move on, and I was left with a couple days till I was on my own and a chance to meet up with a friend of a friend, Zenon.
Not only is the guys name absolutely fantastic, the man himself is a truly exemplary and friendly person. The time I spent at Zenon’s place was absolutely invaluable. A clean, well lighted place; quiet, and with my own desk. I was tempted to never leave.
Justin and I spent a quiet night strolling around the park near the TV tower and met some of the locals, had a chat with the police, and basically discussed the meaning of life. It was an important night for decompression; it was filled with signs.
On Justin’s last night, we were walking around the Old Town Square when we ran into c pair of girls running around with umbrellas organizing a large batch of tourists to go tour several of the pubs and clubs in the area so we joined in. It was a blast, though I will caution you again, dear reader, that all-you-can-drink is generally a bad idea. Actually, it is always a bad idea. Just trust me.
While dancing the night away, Justin and I met tons of people from all over the world. One of the important ones being another friend of a friend, Sanju. This Malaysian girl kept me company through the whole wild evening out, quietly admiring Justin from across the room, and at one poine told me, while she was staring at Justin dancing, “He is a superstar!” And he was. This man has fun everywhere, no matter what. Justin truly knows how to seize the day.
The following day, after saying goodbye to Romeo’s new friend, Justin rolled off to a meeting in Germany and I enjoyed a little more peace and quiet before making tracks for Brno and the MotoGP!
I started the day with the arrival of a new friend and the passing of an old one.
Standing on my balcony, overlooking the Black Sea on the other side of the world from where I was last year, I realized this place truly holds nothing more for me.
These places and things I have seen and done have been and are nothing without the people who made them special.
Machu Pichu was made magnificent by my friend Mauricio.
Colombia shone because of the people.
Honduras was enlivening rather than threatening because of Araí and Heart to Honduras.
Europe has been amazing,where it has been, not because of the history but the people who share their days and nights with me.
This trip has meaning because of the people I left and the people I have met.
Please take today and tell everyone around you how special they are. I’ll do the same.
Rest in peace, Karl. You always were faster than me.
After an all nighter on the streets of Berlin, 100 year old Polish train cars are not something anyone should be made to face.
The train journey to Krakow was long and arduous. Let’s be honest, Poland can be something of a downer. The country is largely a memorial to WWII and it can hang a bit heavy. I went to Poland with high hopes of a beautiful language and a beautiful people, and was met with neither. Justin fared all right, but it about killed Houda. I’ll try not to spend too much time whining about my time spent there and just give you the highlights in the form of a quick list and some pictoral highlights.
Do not try to ride public transit without buying a ticket. It can go very badly.
Do go to the Wieliczka Salt Mines near Krakow.
Stay in the city center, you will save time and money.
When the locals head for cover, do the same. Rainstorms are no joke.
Don’t spend too much time or money on the castle.
Find a local to help you get involved. There are good things happenings if you know where to look.
If you aren’t feeling it, then just get the hell out.
