Inching toward home

Pittsburgh, PA -> Cleveland, OH -> Detroit, MI

Things improved after Chicago. A good show (with actual paying showgoers!) at a club that was worth a damn (kind of reminded me of Towne Lounge), followed by 8 full hours of dead-to-the-world sleep. 8 hours of VERY necessary sleep.

As the drive to Cleveland was only a couple/few hours away, we took our time in the morning, getting ready slowly, eating slowly, generally moving slowly... and it was so nice. The momentary reprieve from intense schedules was welcome to all.

Now, Cleveland is effing rad. We played at a ramshackle house-turned-club in "the flats," an area south of downtown on the Cuyahoga River, which, as far as I can tell, is most famous for being the place where the river famously burned in a series of famous fires from oil pollution and famous floating debris. Nothing but gas containers and gravel for miles around. It was awesome. And the bands we played with were awesome. Dare I say, we bonded that night with our travelmates, The Best Laid Plans, over beers in the patio at Pat's in the Flats, and we weren't even phased by Jon's particularly nasty hangover. But he was.

The next morning we took our time again, as we had another short drive. We also went to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, which, I have to say, was the highlight of the tour. Whoever put this policy in place should be canonized: touring bands can bring a copy of their CD to the R&RHofF and get in for FREE. AND it's put into the HofF library, which apparently is under construction somewhere. So yes, we all got in free (except Jon, who had to stay in the van because of the barfiness due to alcohol the night before).

Aw, eff this. I just finished writing a blog for Willamette Week. I'm all blogged out.

Nah.

Chicago, IL -> Pittsburgh, PA

To say that it's been a rough couple of days would be underselling my mental agony and physical exhaustion. I tried to count up the hours of sleep I've had in the week that I've been back, but it depressed me too much to really do until now.

You all know how much I need my sleep. I'm barely coherent when I *do* get the requisite 8 hours.

I'm so out of my mind that I just typed the number 9 for the month of May, when we all know that May is 5. And I *really* had to think about it for about five minutes before I figured out why the date looked wrong.

Last night it was less than two hours. It is fortunate that we have six drivers in the car, three of which were far better rested last night than were we.

Our show in Chicago was sparsely attended, and by the time we got out the the suburb where our hotel was, they'd massively overbooked because of a computer glitch so they were unable to honor our reservation. They called all the hotels in the area for us, but they were unable to find a room for less than $275. We slept in the van in the parking lot of the original hotel and managed to go out of our minds with giddy laughter instead of crying ourselves to sleep that night. We probably got in the van at around 2:30am, were all up by 5am, and had to pick up the rest of the party (the other band has been finding places to stay via couchsurfing.com, which we were initially sketchy about, but since they've had such amazing experiences and we've had such horrible ones, we've had to second guess ourselves) at 6am because the drive today was 8 hours (not including breaks) and we lost an hour going east.

This stuff is brutal.

Pittsburgh is a good town, though. Seems interesting even if we hear that the city itself is pretty unsafe (we're in a hotel by the airport, and it seems pretty good!). The show tonight was the best yet, and despite our delirium, we've continued to laugh at things instead of let them get us down. Kind of amazing, really. I have a feeling it's the company I'm with.

Anyway, as I'm stupid exhausted, I must sign off. Only a 2.5 hour drive to Cleveland tomorrow. A good, long sleep tonight, provided my body isn't suddenly used to 4 hours of sleep and decides to wake up at 5:30 am. That would suck.

There are more and more quotable quotes all the time, and I can't keep up with them. (And the internet connection in the van is effed up.) I made a comment about someone's underpants (or seeming lack thereof!) that sent four exhausted idiots into peals of laughter while in the van last night. I'm still chuckling over it.

Oh, and the war wounds continue to add up. I don't think anyone has had too much broken flesh yet, but everyone is pretty battered and bruised up. That's what happens when you're packing and unpacking what must be at least a half ton of equipment every day. My knees are purple, a few spots on my arms are green, I've bitten my fingernails down the to quick, and I can't remember where I am, what day it is, where we played in which city, what happened in which city, or who said what to me with any accuracy of context. Completely wrong words have started coming out of my mouth in sentences that would otherwise be mundane.

So yeah, some sleep.

You can only be *so* straight in the face of Wolverine

Portland -> Rock Springs, Wyoming -> Kansas City, Missouri -> Nashville, Tennessee -> Louisville, Kentucky -> Chicago, Illinois (en route as I write!)

While I could bore you with the mundane details of our two very sparsely attended shows (Nashville & Louisville, the former being an in-store, the latter being an early show with a huge music festival going on down the street), I think that my time would be better spent, and you, dear reader, better entertained if I gave you some quotable quotes instead.

1. Lady at Monell's (AMAZING southern food): "I can't have too much sexy, I have to drive later." The dessert at the table, a sort of chocolate eclair type of thing with vanilla pudding, chocolate sauce, and graham crackers, was nicknamed "sexy" by three very southern ladies. They cracked us up all through dinner.

2. Sarah: "Well, you can only be *so* straight in the face of Wolverine." In a conversation about X-Men, Jon mentioned that Hugh Jackman looked so good as Wolverine that it made him question his sexuality for a moment. I can't blame him, dude is HOT. I kind of think Jackman hit is high point in the X-Men movies and should walk around with those chops all the time.

3. Jacque: "If it's not one thing, it's yer mamma!" She was recounting clever things that a lady from Memphis said to her.

4. Scraggly- mulletted dart-playing beer-drinking freako with a very "country" southern accent, about his beer: "I'm gonna set this right here, baby." I should have offered him a stern warning and reminded him that I wasn't his baby, but I was laughing too hard.

I could also write VOLUMES about the hotel we booked for last night (seriously... it was bad. we ended up leaving and they REFUNDED the room price which means it's not the first time someone had to go...). I'll save that for the Drive from Chicago to Pittsburgh, which will be a doozy with all these peeps.

I know there are a lot more, I just can't think of them.

It's hard to keep up a blog when you actually have people to talk to. Or when you're driving.

I've also been really into puns on this tour. I can't think of any of those, either. I think I'm always pretty into puns, though.

Ok, bye.

Nanno 'n' me

Nate picked me up at 6AM yesterday, which wasn't a problem considering that my eyes popped open at 4:30.

The truly disturbing part is that once during the night, my eyes opened... slowly. I started to make out the painting on my wall and the lamp hanging from my ceiling, and I thought, "Wow, I have a painting just like that on my wall at home... and a lamp just like that, too." It was the first time in all the single-night stays in the last several weeks that I've awoken and not known where I was. And I was in my own bed.

Yesterday was lovely weather for driving. Cloudless or little white puffy cumulus clouds the whole way. We made it through Oregon, Idaho, Utah and about 100 miles into Wyoming. I would have been much more impressed with the snowy peaks and brightly colored hills if I hadn't just been in the Alps. All I can say is that these sights (including abandoned cars, rusted out factories, truck stops, and mile-long freight trains with oil tankers) just seem so American. American West. It's like "gritty highway poetry and everyday life" vs. "romantic Baroque gold leaf and sipping tea on the bullet train." We're still in puberty, especially in the western states. Europe seems like an unapologetic and self-aware member of our kin who has settled nicely into late middle age, with all the treasures and trappings of a somewhat turbulent life on display in the paid-for apartment in the old center of town. I knew I should have seen this first. But now, seeing it second, I understand our place in the world a little better. Somehow. I dunno.

Several crossword puzzles, many rounds of 20 questions (I couldn't get "a waffle" and nate couldn't get "a road sign"), espresso, and hundreds of songs kept us awake. About 16 hours after leaving, we parked our exhausted carcasses at the Super 8 in Rock Springs, Wyoming... right after it started to snow.

We named the Sprinter "Step-Mujzah," because our regular van is named "Mujzah" (think Austin Powers: Goldmember, "Fah-jzuh," "Oh, your FATHER???"). Anyway.

When my eyes popped open this morning at 4:30 (3:30 Pacific!), and Nate had told me that we'd just go when I woke up because I'd be up and he could sleep in the car, I tried to wake him, but couldn't. Finally, I half yelled, "Nanno. I'm up." We collected our stuff and left. But I left my pillow.

The thing is, it had snowed during the night. The freeway was wet, but not icy. The whole of Southern Wyoming looked as though someone had gone after it with one of those powdered sugar sifter/sieve things. In the half-light of the early morning, if it had not been for the sagebrush, I would have thought I was driving on the moon. I might have even believed it... seemingly everwhere else on the Earth exhausted in three weeks, why wouldn't I be on the moon?

I love the signs for Sinclair gas station signs because they look all 60s and they have a little dinosaur on them. So you know where your petrol comes from.

It's also strange and somewhat unbelievable to be posting blogs and writing emails from inside a very large van headed down I-80 toward Kansas City, Missouri.

Hellz of bells of burls of bowls

I was sitting downstairs having one hell of a calzone (they truly believe in garlic folks, much to the chagrin of whoever will be sharing my airspace tomorrow), and out of nowhere, bells started ringing.

Now, roaming all over the continent exposes a person to a lot of bells... ringing all the time. On the hour, on the quarter, half and three-quarters hours. All the damn time. And it's kind of nice.

But all the bells in all of Switzerland (or so it seemed) started pealing at once, and they didn't stop. Must have been for 15 minutes (or 30... I had a whole liter of beer with my calzone and that's a decent amount for your dear PR!). And it was LOUD and GLORIOUS!

But when the last clapper of the last lonely bell made the last metallic "ong" sound, I felt my trip was over. That's what I needed... to go out on an "ong."

Ciao tutti. See you at home.

*cough*

Photos are here.

Today is my last full day in Europe. I left Grindelwald this morning with the intention of at least checking out Zurich when I changed trains. It didn’t happen. I was looking forward to my room too much. And it was too warm. And the cities (actual cities, not towns) have all started to look the same.

It seems like not too long ago that I was sitting in my guest room finishing up my bags and talking to Krissy about the trip. But somehow Amsterdam seems like sooooooo long ago. Prague seems like sooooo long ago. Still, the trip went entirely too fast. Weird how that works.

I leave Switzerland at 6:55am, and I leave Amsterdam again at 10:30. I have feelings about it, but I’m not sure what they are yet. Earlier this week I felt pretty satisfied with the trip and was ready to come home. Now, while still satisfied with an amazing trip, I am conflicted about coming home. I would stay an extra few days and go to France if I could. I’ll have to save it for another trip. Home means real life again, and this was a good break from that.

I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever hugged a washing machine before, but I guarantee that I will tomorrow.

The only thing I did wrong was I nearly ALWAYS chose the wrong side of the train for the best view. I don’t think I’d trade slightly better seats for good weather, though. I had amazing weather luck the whole time… a drizzle in Amsterdam, a drizzle in Prague, and clouds leaving Venice as I arrived. It’s been downright warm everywhere I’ve been this week, and that includes the top of the world.

I wonder if I’ll remember the little stuff like the weird key that had to be stuck in the wall for the electricity to work at the Hotel Centauro (and just how long it took me to figure THAT one out), all the different toilet flushing mechanisms, how much I love bread and strawberry jelly, how I always felt like I was on a train, even when standing on solid ground (and how that freaked me out juuuuuuust a little bit when I was using the bathroom inside the Eiger when the train paused at one of the view points en route to the top).

I wonder about a lot more things. This is not the forum for all that, though.

After having fulfilled the dream of traveling through Europe alone, I think next time I'd rather go with someone. After the first few times of turning to find someone to share my excitement and finding no one there, I thought I should consider it next time. I always thought I'd do this alone, and I'm glad I did... but there's no substitute for shared experience.

Tonight I’ll stay near the hotel to eat. Since I already paid for my room and didn’t realize I had, I’ve got a nice wad of Swiss cash to spend on a phenomenal dinner. One last hurrah.

I’ll see you all soon.

There will be more from a different kind of trip in the next few days… the “Great American Road Trip” slash Charmparticles tour. I’ve got to get my head into a different space in a hurry. But I can do that on the plane.

Thank you for reading.

Love ya.

The "Top of Europe"

Photos are here. (That's the middle mountain, Monch.)

There are several things you can do in the Berner Oberland, and they all involve hiking, skiing, and seeing sights. As I’ve already added at least 20 years to my feet and knees on this trip, I opted for the Jungfraujoch and the cog-wheel train that takes you from 3,000 ft to 11,000 feet via a tunnel that was hewn into the Eiger about 100 years ago. And the railway is about 100 years old, too. Fun!

But I didn’t mind it. I would have normally been quite nervous about the whole thing, but I wasn’t. I figured that If the Eiger chose that moment to collapse in on that tunnel, then I probably deserved to go with it. I mean, It’s a tunnel that winds around inside a solid mountain. It’s lasted 100 years. I’m sure it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

There are a few stops along the way where you can look out of windows that sit on the face of the mountain. I mean, if you’re not cool with heights, you’re sooooo not cool with this view. But by the time you get to the top and take the elevator up 300 feet from the in-mountain railway station to the on-top-of-mountain observatory, you’d better be ready for the long look down.

The Sphinx Observatory is situated on a big rock that juts out from the saddle between Monch and Jungfrau (Eiger is the ogre, and Monch is the monk that’s standing between the ogre and the young maiden… that’s Jungfrau… protecting her from the ogre). Snow-capped peaks for miles and miles and miles and miles. And a pollution line… ruddy dusty-looking pollution hanging out below you. It’s weird. Beautiful and terrifying, nature and humankind battling it out everywhere you look.

I descended the mountain.

I kept thinking that people from Switzerland must be so disappointed with Yosemite. I contemplated the tiniest of white croci peering out from under the still snow-matted brown grass from last year, and was continually baffled by the torrents of water plunging off of the sides of the mountains. It something everyone has to see for themselves. It’s glorious.

I bought dinner of bread and cheese at the store in the town. I slept early.

Sputtering in disbelief

Photos are here. (For previous post as well.)

Going through the Berner Oberland for the first time was an experience I wasn’t expecting, and one that I wish I could do again for the first time.

My father was right. I had seen some dazzling things, but it was all [um, something not worth looking at] compared to Switzerland.

Each bend offers higher peaks, deeper valleys, sweeter cottages, and bluer sky. Breathtaking doesn’t cover it. Nothing does.

And then one last curve in the tracks reveals the most stirring and striking thing you've seen yet. You arrive in Grindelwald… in the valley at the foot of the Eiger. It’s a sheer drop from the top of that one, and it’s amazing that anyone has ever climbed it. You stand like a doofus looking at it between the train station and the hotel, and for the first time in your whole trip, you don’t care that you look like a tourist. You snap too many photos of it, then you finally go to your hotel.

So that’s what I did.

I ate some mindblowing fondue and had a delicious beer, and then I went to sleep.

OMG, Switzerland.

Guh. (That kind of says it all.)

I was afraid that I’d be cheated out of some spectacular views today (Thursday) because it was hazy/cloudy in Lugano. As the elevation rose, the clouds burned off, and I sat, mouth agape, trying to wrap my head around how spectacular these Alps are.

I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if Switzerland has a national army of garden groomers on hand to clip every little blade of grass in the alpine meadows. Some rivers look like someone laid a huge piece of crumpled cellophane over some rocks, others look like they’ve had glass laid over them.

There are no words to do justice to the beauty of these mountains. There are very few words to describe how genuinely long the tunnels under them are. The trains emerge from them for about 1.12 seconds, just long enough for you to get an eyeful of the most picturesque thing you’ve ever seen in your life, then back into another tunnel. But it’s mostly just ridiculous views, towering mountains, classic looking Swiss chalet type deals, and goats.

The photos don't begin to capture the awesomeness. I will never be able to afford the camera that can.

I had to change trains in Lucerne, so I decided to skip one departure for Interlaken and try to find that bridge from the poster I had as a kid. Someone gave my sister a travel agency poster for Lucerne (which I grabbed when she moved out… was it Suzi who gave it to her?) many, many years ago and ever since then I’ve wanted to see it. I got about 50 feet from the main entrance to the station and I saw the bridge. In a lake. Filled with swans. And ducks. And yes, crystal clear blue-green water. I walked over the bridge, and there are paintings in the trusses of the roof… I think it must be the story of Lucern or Switzerland or something.

And I said to myself, “Oh man, I could really live here.” Seriously. I mean I could for serious live here. I grabbed a little snack for the train, and am now sitting aboard the “Golden Pass” rail line, waiting for departure. In a town I need to visit again. And again. And again.

On another thought, you’ve really got to hand it to the Swiss. Everything I’ve seen is spotless and charming, what’s modern is nice modern, what’s old is kept up very lovingly, everything is efficient, everyone cordial, and the standard of living looks to be a lot higher than most places I’ve seen thus far. All that and being isolationist (but friendly with neighbors), avoiding the EU, sustaining many different cultures in one country (FOUR national languages?! I’ve never even heard Romansh!) and making awesome watches, chocolate, and cheese.

Sigh.

Seriously, I could live here.

It's a town for spending money

Photos are here.

Fortunately, I don't have cash for Bvlgari.

The train ride today was fairly unremarkable except for two things; the color of the rivers and the height of the mountains at the end. I saw a river that was clear and aquamarine... then I saw a river that was red as vino rosso. Then the Alps start to rise up, and there are a series of lakes in between mountains. If these are the foothills of the Alps, the real thing might make me collapse.

Tonight Lugano, a tiny resort town, tomorrow classic Switzerland in Grindlewald.

For dinner tonight I had the most delightful Caprese and a plate of French's mustard a sublime risotto with saffron. Yurm.

For desert, marmalade tart and cappuccino. The tart tasted basically like an orange fruit roll... the more or less generic ones that used to go in homemade lunches when you were in grade school, but with the flakiest crust I've encountered this side of the Atlantic. And this coffee after dinner thing is awesome, but it's keeping me up nights.

I walked down the hill and intended to take the funicular back up. Sadly, I did not find the funicular at the bottom of the hill! It was a hell of a walk back up the hill!

The bed in my room promises to be the most comfy yet. Oh, dear sleep, thou shalt be mine.

Unable to lose myself

Photos are here.

My second day was pretty much spent trying to get lost. I hopped to the other side of the Grand Canal and walked and walked without a point to my walking, and ended up at the Frari Church. A woodcarving by Donatello, an impressive painting by Titian, Titian himself (well, his ginormous tomb)... all of it in a VERY old church that had timbers spanning the arches. Pretty amazing.

I don't have photos of any of these churches because Italy is apparently pretty conscious about conserving their stuff, unlike other places.

I took the vaporetto out to the eastern end of the city, which is pretty much a huge garden park. Then a vaporetto back a different way with the intention of losing myself in the streets. Didn't happen. I can always get back to the canal. I guess it's hard not to, though.

I tried a place I'd seen the night before for dinner and it was a real let down. The night before, dinner had been leisurely and had taken probably an hour and a half. Each course came out in a rapid fire at this place. Bleh. Oh well.

I walked toward St. Mark's (again, because it's awesome), and in yet another attempt to get lost, I headed down a little alley and heard a man calling out behind me, "no, no... noo." It dead-ended and I turned around to see him half chuckling at the stupid tourist (didn't tell him what I was trying to do). As I walked by him, I said, "Basta Chianti..." meaning I "enough Chianti" as if I was drunk... and he chuckled and said something about that's what happens when you're in Venice, but I didn't turn around again.

Gondoliers singing and paddling (no, I didn't take a ride... the cheapest are about $120 for 40 minutes), candlelit restaurants at the water's edge, a romantic's paradise. When one of the dueling orchestras is playing "Bolero," you know you're far from Oregon... and when the orchestras in St. Mark's Square are playing "Memory" from Cats, you know it's time to leave.

Venice is every bit the fizzy pastel sunsetland portrayed in the watercolor prints sold in the cheesy tourist shops. But it's when the last bit of pink is draining from the velvety clouds that the city gets incredible.

I went and had a good night's sleep.

Il Mare Mediterraneo

Photos are here.

I'd never seen the Mediterranean before, but it's beautiful in color... chalky blue-green. All throughout Venice. When I stepped out of the train station, it FELT different... it had just rained, and it was moist out. Oh yeah, and then there were the buildings jutting out of the water.

Since I couldn't check into my hotel until 1pm, I decided to go to the neighboring island of Lido and get a better look at the Adriatic and have some lunch. I got my 48-hour vaporetto (essentially a water bus) ticket, but decided to walk from the station to the Rialto (main bridge over the Grand Canal) and catch the vaporetto there. The little alleys were quiet and the little squares (campos) were warm. Then I got to the Rialto and everything went apey.

This bridge is easily the largest tourist trap I've yet seen. People everywhere. Shops selling cheap souvenirs everywhere. Nuts crazy ape times.

I caught the vaporetto and headed to Lido, where I instantly fell in love. I think it was the first time I said to myself, "wow, I could really live here." I walked to the other side of the island where the beach is, and I sat, with only a few other people around, looking out at the ocean.

When I finally walked back toward the vaporetto stop, I saw a restaurant all covered in white (I guess) wisteria, a sweet little patio where I HAD to have lunch. I had a pizza with cheese and capers and it was ah-maze-ing.

I finally went back to the main part of Venice and didn't have any trouble finding my hotel (no, I did not use a map... just from the directions I read... more on that later). Hotel Centauro was at the end of a tiny little two-person-wide alley off of Campo Manin. One charming, tall, hot, good-suit-and-haircut-having (no, i didn't fall for it!) desk clerk later, I entered my room.

At first glance, the room was gorgeous. Fabric on the walls, ceilings that were far too high with timbers poking through the top. Yes, gorgeous and wonderful. But Hotel Centauro had its shortcomings, which is why I imagine it was the cheapest thing I could find in the center of Venice.

I had a little chill at the hotel then went walking. Venice really is a special place, guaranteed to melt the hearts of even the most devout cynic. In the late afternoon I walked to St. Mark's Square and got into the basilica with no problem (say what you want about Rick Steves, dude is completely right about everything, including going in the late afternoon/evening to this particular place), which is good because apparently there's usually a huge line.

At first glance, St. Mark's is dingy on the inside. Then you realize that there are all different colors of marble making the walls, that there are golden mosaics in the domes, and the floor is rolling and uneven due to the 1000 years (or so) of the island settling (they built venice on millions of trees cut down and shipped in... which is sooooo hard to believe). It's a beautiful and very Byzantine church, at first very strange to my western eyes. But it's hard not to love.

I then went to the top of the Campanile (the tower at St. Mark's Square) and gazed over Venice (seeing all the way to the Dolomites) and fell even further in love with the place.

Then I toured the Doge's Palace, which I'll just say is quite a bit more impressive than I thought it would be. The largest oil painting in the world resides there, and it's in a spectacular room.

I took a brief break at the hotel, then decided to hunt for food. Now, the thing is, the plan was to "get lost." Literally, I wanted to walk until I didn't know where I was and stop and have dinner and then find my way back. I tried this several times while I was in Venice, but I failed every time. I know I brag about it a lot, but my sense of direction is truly honed, and if I can't get lost in Venice (seriously, more tourists standing with a map out in front of them scratching their heads than anywhere else I've been... in fact I'd hardly seen any until I arrived in Venice).

I had dinner on the patio of a charming little place, eating Caprese with the creamiest mozzarella I've ever tasted, followed by a lasagne Bolognese that makes all other lasagne look stupid. And a small bottle of chianti. Seriously. This meal was amazing. Followed it up with cappuccino and a walk to St. Mark's. Which is truly stunning in the evening.

Honestly, I liked the city in the daylight, but at night... at night, it's breathtaking... and nearly empty. I felt like I pretty much had the place all to myself. Make a note: If you ever go to Venice, DON'T YOU DARE stay on the mainland and just go in for the day. You'll miss the best part.

End of day 1 Venice. Oh, except I got bug bites in the Hotel Centauro. Bastards.

Mom, Dad... recognize the song of the gondolier?

All aboard THE NIGHT TRAIN!

Thank you, James Brown. And don't correct me.

I have to admit, I was a little excited about the night train. There's something about it. Something so old world and romantic about. Yeah, too bad you're with yourself, PR.

I splurged a little so that I could have a sleeper to myself. I wasn't too excited about being stuffed in a sardine tin with a stranger for the night, nor was I excited at the prospect of someone in a six-sleeper taking off with my bag. So, me, tiny room on a train, 12 hours in front of me.

The only problem with the night train is that you can't see the scenery. We went through the Austrian Alps, and I missed them, but more about that in a sec.

I got an approximate (and surprising) 6.5 or so hours sleep on this train, thanks partly to episodes of "The Office" that I remembered to load onto my computer before I left home. But then my battery ran low, and the only outlet in the cabin gave little pulses of electricity every 15 seconds or so.

I fell asleep around 11 and woke up at about 2. I scurried to the window and could make out the shadow of a mountain with snow on top of it. I stayed awake for an hour or so, then fell asleep again.

I woke up at 6:30 and the landscape looked different. We were in Italy. We went over a river that was a beautiful aquamarine color. Definitely different.

A sweet breakfast, three hours, and a two mile long bridge later, we were in Venice. And Venice is DEFINITELY different.

The Schönbrunn & the Prater

Photos are here.

I bought a 12-hour subway ticket, went to the post office after breakfast, mailed a mess of souvenirs to myself back home (phew! lighter backpack!), and then deposited my big backpack in a locker at the station. I still had a whole lot of time to kill before my 8:40 night train to Venice.

My last day in Vienna was spent at Schloss Schönbrunn (Schönbrunn Palace... I DID walk up to the Gloriette... and listened to Toshack Highway and it was PERFECT), where for a whole heck of a lot of years, the Hapsburgs reigned over the whole of the Austro-Hungarian/Holy Roman Empire. To say the place is impressive and sprawling doesn't begin to do it justice. You'll just have to check out the photos.

Still, many hours to kill.

I went back to the centrum, I wandered and wandered. Ended up eating fish and chips at an Australian bar. How... I don't know... ambienceless? Yeah, pretty much. There was a British guy there watching football (soccer) and getting genuinely worked up when no one else in the place seemed to give a tiny rat's ass. It was entertaining. I then saw the most convincing one man band in the street outside the restaurant. That was entertaining as well.

Still having too many hours to kill before the train, I went to the Prater to ride the ginormous Ferris wheel. For those of you that know the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, I'd have to say that this place is roughly Vienna's equivalent, but it seems to be an attractive spot for the really, really slick (I'm assuming) bridge and tunnel crowd of Vienna. Dudes with fake tans, shiny hair, and rhinestones on their shirts. You get the picture. Someone we'd picture as a German listening to hardcore techno and grinding on whatever is around.

There were many rides there that made me sick just looking at them. Exactly what about being flung tens of feet in the air while rotating around a bar does NOT want to make some people puke? I avoided those rides. And not just because mere moments after boarding the Ferris wheel I remembered that they make me a little nervous. Right.

I strolled the park grounds and left for the station at around 7 and got there with a little more than an hour to spare. (And as a little explanation... In German, Vienna is Wien, pronounced veen... so there's why that photo is so funny to me. All evidence is pointing to me loving puns in European languages.)

I found a bottle of Zweigelt in the glorified 7-11 equivalent at the station and boarded the train with the bottle of wine and my Leatherman corkscrew. Woo wee.

The painting in Vienna

Photos are here. (And btw, I should be all caught up with the photos from Prague in the next couple of hours. I figured out a way to streamline my uploading. Plus, all links will now open in new windows... yay!)

First just a note about Vienna vs. Prague: Prague is like Vienna's evil twin. Evil may be too strong word, though. If Vienna is royalty and light, Prague is cunning and dark. Maybe some sinister undertones (not that the city is sinister... it's just that it looks just Eastern European enough that it's disorienting). It's like the twins were separated at birth... like in The Prince and the Pauper. Vienna was raised with every lavish extravagance, and Prague was thrust into communism and is grasping at whatever it can get in the capitalist world. They're nearly equally good cities, though. I'd lean a little toward Prague. I like the darker buildings and the roof lines better. One is acid and one is alkaline and both are very potent.

And I had no idea that Prague is sooo baroque.

Anyway, you get the picture. Now, sweet friends, about today...

Those of you who know about my... err... well, not quite romantic, but maybe symbol-loving? side... the need I have for certain things to mean certain other things... ok, let me start over.

Some of you may be aware of the things I need to see in Europe before I die. There's a painting in Vienna, a sculpture in Rome, and a church in Ronchamp, France. Well, really, there are more things than just those, but those are the three that I have chosen to make a lifelong plan of seeing. I really don't even know why those three are it. There are other things I like more.

Originally, I was going to see them all in one trip, but I figured maybe it would be nice to see them in three different trips, that way I'd have to come back at least three times. Right? Right. I'm in Vienna and today was the day for Correggio's Jupiter and Io. Fantastico!

Also, let me tell you that I knew that there's a King Tut exhibit at the Museum of Ethnology while I'm here, and I was kinda excited to see it.

With all that in mind, why don't you pull up a chair... let me tell you about my day.

I made it kind of a late morning because I was tired yesterday and a lazy start to the day seemed about my speed. My first stop was to be the Spanish Riding School where the world famous crazy jumping Lipizzaner horses have their morning exercises (yep, open to the public for a decent fee). I got there around 11am to find a standing room only crowd and white horses trotting around on dirt in the bottom of an ornate hall. And that's all they did. They trotted. There was one horse that did a few jumps (one of which I caught on video, and I'll try to upload it), but other than that, it was just lusty music, men in old fashioned costumes and... white horses trotting and stopping occasionally.

So, ok, yeah, that's fine... how about we go across the way and see the Hofburg Palace silver collection, Sisi Museum, and royal apartments? Yeah? Sound good? OK! I mean, you can only buy a ticket for all three, you can't just see the apartments, so great!

The silver collection was nice and everything... a shit ton of plates, some silverware, and extraordinarily extraordinary candelabras. Yeah, cool.

The Sisi Museum was, uh, interesting. Thing is, Sisi was Elizabeth, wife of Kaiser Franz Joseph, and someone who (as far as I'm concerned) meant far less to history than, say, Maria Theresa or her son, Joseph. They sure made her up to be a romantic figure... I'll leave it at this: because she was assassinated, and because she was apparently unsatisfied with royal life, she, for some reason, is intriguing to people. Sure, I liked looking at her dresses and hair ornaments, but I would have rather seen historical stuff from Maria Theresa. ANYway...

The royal apartments are lavish and all that, but I guess I was expecting Versailles. Not that I would really know what Versailles looks like, but I think it would be more lavish than this. I found them interesting, but not as over-the-top as I thought they would be.

Ok, across the square to the Naturhistorisches (um, natural history) and Kunsthisorisches (yeah... art history) Museums. They're twin buildings and they're insanely impressive. Outside and also inside... I was almost more interested in the lavish baroque insides of the museums than I was in the contents of those museums.

The Natural History Museum was similar to the one I saw in Frankfurt, but far more elaborate. Rooms filled with rock samples, meteorites, ancient human remains and artifacts, animal bones, and yes... taxidermy. Though the displays were nicer than the other, the animals were not... they were older and more faded... somehow sadder. I liked the museum, but I was excited to get on to the main event... the painting!

I went across the platz to the Art History museum, bought my ticket, checked my bag, and went upstairs. I waded through thousands of pieces from ancient Greece and Rome (yes! very cool!) and went upstairs to the painting gallery. I moved from room to room slowly... looking at paintings by Titian, Caravaggio, Velasquez, Bruegel, Rubens, Vermeer... Italian light studies, Spanish portraits, Flemish landscapes... works I hadn't really thought about since art history classes in college. I had forgotten how much I like The Hunters in the Snow, and how very different northern and southern paintings looked in the 16th & 17th centuries. I think these days I prefer painting of the 19th century because it's less restrained and concerned with perfection... more emotional, just like how I prefer the classical music of the second half of... WAIT. I'm at the end. No green fog. No Io reclined in helpless bliss. I DIDN'T SEE THE PAINTING.

I walked back through the galleries, back through all the northern stuff, even. No green fog, no chunky Io half reclined in rapture. Dumbfounded, I went back down to the ground floor and waited in the information line. In the back of my mind, I considered that there was a cabinet (a smaller gallery on the outside of the main ones, closer to the windows) that I somehow missed. Yeah, that had to be it. I got to the front of the line and asked the little old lady if the painting was in the museum. She didn't understand what I was saying, so I wrote "Jupiter and Io" on a piece of paper, and in her broken English, she said, "Ahh... I think second floor, in smaller cabinet. Italian section." Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back up stairs.

I went through the Italian section again, and again I missed it. I was starting to make another round (this time I would ask the next attendant I saw where the painting was) when I saw it. There was a blank space on the wall with wires hanging down where a painting would be hung. I stepped closer and read the card.

Correggio / Jupiter and Io

Then I read the business card sized notice posted above it. And while I don't know German, I figured it out.

Sent to a special Correggio exhibit in Rome. May 20 - whenever.

Sigh. Nothing I could do.

I considered going to Rome, but the exhibit starts May 20. I'd miss it. I have a feeling it had only been gone a day or two. Meine damen und meine herren, I missed my painting.

Dejected, I went down to the museum shop hoping that they at least had a post card with the painting on it. Nope. Just a calendar. A 2009 date book type thing that I'd never use. Great.

My feet were killing me by this point, and I didn't know where the Museum of Ethnology was (King Tut exhibit), so I decided to go back to the hotel for a rest. I'd go for a stroll in the park later. Or something.

I crossed the street and staring right at me was a 10 foot full-color photo of the iconic image of the gold and blue sarcophagus of Tut. I had found the Museum of Ethnology.

Determined to see something really cool that day (yes, I really had seen some awesome stuff already), I queued up (there were only a few people in line) and bought a ticket that I thought was overpriced before I even went inside. No cameras allowed. Of course, I understand that. Put my bag in a locker? Ok. Let me in, please.

After stopping for a mandatory (pff) 2-minute video about the treasures of the pharaohs (that told us absolutely nothing about the treasures of the pharaohs, but must have been designed just to get folks fired up before being released into the halls), I was released into the halls. All the descriptions were in German, but I'd be damned if I was going to pay another 5 Euros for an audio guide. I went kinda fast through the thing as I couldn't read what things were, after all, I kinda just wanted to see the golden mask thing. And then I got to the end.

Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but don't you think that if the golden masky thing is on the ads for the exhibit, it's reasonable to expect to see the golden masky thing in the exhibit? I think that's perfectly legit. Well, apparently that's too much to ask. It was not there and I felt completely ripped off. Completely. It was all just marketing. I am embarrassed to say how much I paid to see the fucking thing, and I'm feeling like a sucker for not asking if I would actually see what I wanted to see. But how was I to know? AND, they had a big expensive shop at the end of it and I laughed when they wanted me to buy some stuff. In fact, at this moment, I'm a little peeved at myself for not asking for my money back. I mean, cool Egyptian stuff and all, but it was totally false advertising. Honestly, the Egyptian section of the Art History Museum was better.

Back to hotel? Yes, definitely. Nothing else will catch my eye today.

So, to sum up, today really put the "pain" into "painting" and the "oh" into "pharaoh" (as in "oh, you must have seen me coming from a mile away," or maybe just "oh shit," I guess...)

All this makes it sound as if I had a really bad day, but I had to be pretty snarky for the post, didn't I? I was badly disappointed. Twice. But I did see some really good things. So, called it a moody day. The weather has been moody, too. Rain, sun, rain, sun. I kinda like that, though. Never know what you're walking into, and, apparently, that was the theme of the day.

Gelato to soothe my soul tonight, I think.

Another two items

When I turned the water on in the shower this morning, the pressure was enough to push the handheld nozzle thing that I had cleverly pointed down and to the side, up and to the other side, right out of the sliding shower door and directly into my face. For a shocking moment I had no idea what was going on, and then for another shocking moment I stuck my hand out to shut the water off. When I couldn't reach it, I finally got hold of the nozzle and pointed it inward, I sat there for a moment, hair dripping with cold water, and contemplated Rooney's Law (Murphy was an optimist). I should have known then what the day would be like.

Also, I'm about at the end of my rope with "queue jumpers." I think every line I was in today, there were line cutters. Someone may get an elbow to the nose soon. Or at least a stern word from a tired, angry American who follows reasonably established social norms. My inflamed American worldview of reasonably established social norms is indignant. Maybe I'll start speaking in tongues and yell at them that way. Maybe they'll think I'm a crazy Hungarian or something... I hear Hungarians tend to be aggressive, so maybe they'd be scared into submission.

On to Vienna

Day 5

Photos are here.

And here I am. I said goodbye to Vaclav and Vera at the station, and I even got a little choked up. The people I was wary of staying with are now good friends and I hope they come to the US soon.

They’re hilarious. Vaclav had this thing he did every time he had a new beer. I’ll show it to you when I get home.

Czechs eat a LOT. And often. I never once had a hunger pang the entire time I was there. In fact, I really wanted to turn down the 4th, 5th, and 6th meals of the day, but didn't want to offend them. If I said no, they pushed me until I ate.

They also eat fast. I often think that I eat too fast, but these dudes were lapping me at every meal. There's no pause between forkfuls at all.

They drink a lot “for their health and their strength.”

I may not eat or drink for the rest of my trip. For the 4-hour train ride, they gave me a bag with three sandwiches, four apples, two beers, and a bottle of that revolting liquor (Becherovka, said to aid digestion... ha) everyone seems to love. I hate to say it, but that one will even be opened.

Vera told me that the dreams you have on the first night in a new place are about your future. I’ll have to remember the dreams I have tonight in Vienna.

--

After I arrived in Vienna, I rested and then took a walk and stopped into St. Stephen's Cathedral where some kind of concert was being set up. I was kind of excited until I realized it was that sort of modern non-denominational rockin' church kind of choir complete with bad digital piano (Tamara and Brad know what I'm talking about). I left in a hurry.

I got a slice of pizza and a gelato, and I was happy to go to sleep early.

Bohemian Paradise

Day 4

Photos are here.

We woke up early again, and ate breakfast again. Breakfasts were about five types of cheese, four types of bread, ham, fish (from a plastic container, and the only thing I didn’t like out of everything I ate… which is saying a lot considering how picky I am), juice, tea, and on this day, for me, beer. I couldn't get Vaclav to stop serving me beer. I am probably carrying 10 pounds of water weight from all the beer. I can feel it. I don’t think I’ll drink for the rest of the trip. Bah. Don’t get me wrong… I do LOVE Czech beer. It suits my taste perfectly. I will have to see if they have any of it at Belmont Station when I go home.

We left Prague at about 10am and stopped in Stara Boleslav to see the church. Of course, gorgeous. I have photos.

We drove through Mlada Boleslav and Vaclav pointed out the hospital where his son, Wenny (also a Vaclav) works (he’s almost a full-fledged doctor, and will be all the way soon). We stopped at the škoda museum (pronounced Sh-koh-dah… škodas are Czech cars… and I want one) and looked at old cars for a while. It was surprising but nice.

We then went to Mnichovo Hradiště to Wenny’s house and I met him, his wife Petra (Dad: she was wearing her Quality Truss shirt!) and their sons Wenny (another Vaclav) and Miše (I don’t know if that’s how you spell it, pronounced Mee-sha). Little Wenny was quite sick, so we didn’t stay long, but we had lunch and a beer and then Wenny went with us to Bohemian Paradise.

Truly, it is paradise. Sandstone rock formations jutting out of hills that are covered in trees. Our first stop were some castle ruins, part of a system of 30-some-odd castles from the middle ages. We took a tour and lots of photos, and then walked around in the cave-covered area, enjoying the scenery, making jokes about getting lost.

It is worth saying that on the first of May, there are many Czech traditions that must be followed. The first that I encountered was when Vera pulled over on the side of the road and she and Vaclav almost got out. Turns out that a man must kiss his sweetheart under a cherry tree on the first of May. So all day, when we saw cherry trees, Vera and Vaclav had to run under them and have a kiss. It was sweet. Since Petra couldn’t leave the house with a sick son, Wenny had to cut a cherry branch off of a tree and bring it home so that he could kiss her under it. VERY sweet indeed.

On the way tot the next destination, I saw a tree with many colorful ribbons in it. Turns out, on the first of May, young men that are available for marriage put these ribbons in the trees, and then have to guard them all day because others threaten to take down their ribbons. If someone succeeds in getting their ribbons out of the trees, I guess it’s quite a shameful thing.

At our next stop, we walked through a forest and out to a rock ledge where a huge valley could be seen for probably 100 kilometers, and the highest mountains in the Czech republic could be seen on the other side. Beyond those mountains, Poland. Beyond the mountains on the other side, Germany. Again, gorgeous.

We went back to Wenny and Petra’s where the mother of Wenny and Erika (in other words, Vaclav’s ex-wife) met us with the most WONDERFUL potato pancake sort of things (like thin mashed potatoes made into a batter with garlic and marjoram added and then fried to fried goodness) and we ate again. I can not stress how much I LOVED these things. Savory and all the floppiness of a pancake. Amazing.

I was a little weirded out when I realized who this woman was, but everyone got along swimmingly, even if Vera seemed to dial down the crazy just a little when she and Vaclav’s ex (can’t remember the name… probably Erika) were talking. The ex brought out a bottle of (I’m assuming) the same gut-torching alcohol as Tuesday night and just when I was asking if I should sip it this time, the ex shot hers. So, we had several shots and I was drunk. It was a nice evening in their back yard. Perfect weather for it. It made me miss the backyards of Portland a little.

Wenny drove Vaclav’s car (a Skoda) back to Prague, and Vaclav, Vera, and I piled into Vera’s old Mercedes and went back to Prague. I talked up Hawaii and got them excited for it the whole way back.

We went to a grocery store, where I was finally able to give Vaclav some money for everything they were buying (all for me for the train the next day) by telling him that I wouldn’t be able to use it after tomorrow).

We went back to the apartment, where Wenny brought Erika to meet us and we all had some food and alcohol and generally had riotous good times.

A trip to Pilsen

Photos are here.

We got up early because Vaclav had another appointment with the eye doctor (they had forgotten to dilate his eyes the day before, so had to do everything again), and Vera was determined to get me to St. Vitus Cathedral so I could see it before the line got long.

Before heading to the cathedral, they had to go to the post office with the car because there was something being held for Vaclav and they didn’t know if it was a letter or a big package. Turns out it was the package from my parents with all the Hawaiian stuff in it. This was a good way to get the Hawaii dialog going.

We braved traffic in the car this time, and got there before there was any line at all. I’m so glad we went again. It’s beautiful. Huge stained glass windows, one painted by Alfons Mucha (I have one of his paintings at home… classic art nouveau stuff), statues, everything. Even a solid silver statue. Vera asked if I wanted to go up, and I said yes, thinking we were going to a second level inside the church, but it turns out we went up to the tower. Huffing and puffing at the top (300 steps to be exact), we saw all of Prague. Gorgeous. Wonderful.

We went to Vera’s apartment where she had to feed her pet rat (a very nice rat) and we took the subway to Wenceslas square. I must say that after having been on the trams and busses, the subway was awesome. The stations were clean and interestingly designed, all in all quite a treat. But the escalators… because the subway is SOOOO far undergound, they have really, really long escalators. The two times we were on a long one, I got really disoriented and dizzy because I couldn’t see the top or bottom, and my brain was having issues with feeling like I should be standing at a 90° angle, parallel to the posters on the sides of the walls, but all the people were at 45° angles… very strange sensation.

At Wenceslas square, we of course had to have a coffee break and have some cake in a place that was there before the revolution (they, especially Vera, talked a lot about before and after the revolution, but I never really got to hear what it was like under communism), and hadn’t changed at all in many years, which I guess is not typical. We had cake of Prague… sort of two dense cookie-cake circles with custard in between, cinnamon and sugar on top. Very good. Especially with Vienna coffee.

We walked around and I bought souvenirs, then we went back to Vera’s, and then on to Vaclav’s.

Vera’s daughter, Vera (who I’ll call Verushka, since that’s what they called her… sort of an endearing nickname), was singing in Pilsen that night (she’s almost done with her opera studies), so she and her boyfriend Alecz (I think that’s how it’s spelled… pronounced Alesh) picked us up and we were off. Alecz is a sarcastic guy and he speaks good English. He’s a professional cello player. We got along well.

They spoke in Czech all the way to Pilsen, and when we got there, we had dinner at the Pilsner Urquell brewery… more goulash and more beer. All of it very good.

We went to the centrum where we had coffee. Vera and I went to the operahouse (gorgeous, of course) and watched two one act operas, the first a comedy about a slutty wife of a watchmaker, by Ravel, the other a tragedy about a nun whose son has died by Puccini (in which Verushka had “not the main role, but a good role.”) Afterward, we drove back to Prague. We had a beer (pivo) and said goodnight.

The classic sights of Prague

Day 2

Photos are here.

We had breakfast at about 8 am and since Vaclav had an eye doctor appointment, Vera took me up to the castle. We walked through the royal garden and up to the St. Vitus Cathedral. This place is huge and impressive and gorgeous. It’s a Gothic structure, but the buildings around it remind me of photos I’ve seen of Vienna. More 18th century stately stuff. We saw that the line to get into the cathedral was HUGE so we walked around the are for a while, looking at impressive views, making chit chat.

We descended the hill in light rain and headed to St. Nicholas’ Cathedral. It is grand an impressive on the outside with it’s green copper dome, but once we got inside, I almost exploded. Baroque. Baroque style going nuts all over everything. Pinkish marble and grayish marble, gilded everything. Crazy. I know that the baroque style is meant to wow people, but I was completely floored. I don’t know if there’s a word for what I was. I wasn’t expecting it, and I’ve certainly never seen anything like it. You’ll just have to look at the photos.

Vera and I then stopped for coffee (I had a hot chocolate), and Vaclav met us in the café. We went around the corner to eat (I had a breaded pork chop type thing with blue cheese baked into the top). And a beer.

Vera had to go to work, so Vaclav walked me over the Charles Bridge and over to the astronomical clock. It was here that I realized that my hotel would have been close and I would have been staying right in the center of the romantic old city. Oh well. He walked me up to Wenceslas square, and then we stopped for a beer. They were always asking me if I wanted a beer or some food. They have a Hobbit-like eating schedule. They seriously eat ALL THE TIME. I wasn’t hungry when I ate most of my meals.

Vaclav called his friend Petr (I think that’s how it’s spelled) because he speaks very good English, and Petr and I talked about the Czech Republic in general. Then he wanted to talk about politics. American politics. Most people I met in the Czech Republic asked me who I was voting for, and I always said, “I don’t know yet.” I figured that was better than offending anyone. Either most assumed I was a Dem, or they don’t understand the system because most of the time, they asked if I was voting for Obama or “Mrs. Clinton.” Petr has some pretty strong feelings about Bush the junior. I have a feeling most people in the world do.

After the beer break, Vaclav walked me around to more churches, and they were all equally spectacular inside.

We then had a break for “typical Czech soup” which was very good, and then went across the street to KFC for some wings. KFC. In Prague. For wings. Hm.

We went back to the flat and I had a nap. Turned out Vaclav had a nap, too.

Vaclav, Vera and I met Vaclav’s daughter, Erika and went to a restaurant called “La Boca” in the centrum where I had my first goulash. Vaclav recommended that I try it because it is a “typical Czech food.” I was a little scared because I’m such a picky eater. BUT! Goulash is amazing. I can’t really describe it… Kind of like a savory stew with some meat (this one had beef and sausage) and dumplings (this one had “a variety of Czech dumplings”) and it is just irresistibly good. Czech comfort food. With beer.

And then, bless their sweet hearts, I think Vera and Vaclav wanted me to have a fun time with some rock & roll in a place where young people hang out in the city. I think that’s why Erika was enlisted to co-sponsor the evening. We ended up in a place called “Harley’s” (after Harley Davidson, of course) where the DJ played American rock and oldies (and not bad rock and oldies, btw… Aerosmith, Tom Petty, Chubby Checker), and we had many more drinks.

Now, is it wrong to assume that something served to you in a shot glass in a bar is, in fact, a shot? I was served something in a shot glass in a bar, and after several rounds of “Na Zdravi” (pronounced nah zz-drah-vee and meaning “to health”) I shot the thing down. It burned my insides and cut them to shreds. When I put the glass down, I saw Vaclav’s almost whimpering face, jaw about on the table, eyebrows up in dumbfounded wonder… apparently this thing was to be sipped. They all laughed at the crazy American. I laughed too. Quite nice.

It was at this point that I went to the bathroom (Erika told me I’d know it because Marilyn Monroe was on the door). Inside the stall, someone had written “Czech me out,” and I found this unbearably funny. It was probably the effect of whatever I’d just had to drink, but I was in peals of laughter they probably heard back at the table. Sigh.

I then (I think to the relief of Vaclav and Vera) said I was getting tired, and we went home. On the walk back to the car, something that was apparently pretty funny happened, but I missed the joke. The sidewalks in the center of Prague are made of square stones arranged in appealing patterns. Erika found one of these stones loose and picked it up and said, “Chee chee” something, and Vera and Vaclav erupted in laughter. She tried to explain it to me, chee chee being what they say to call a cat… and I told her it was a stone… so she said “I have chee chee stone,” which once again caused riotous laughter. I laughed too, but near as I could tell, I was laughing because she had a hat for a cat? I dunno.

We took Erika home, we had a couple more beers at the apartment, and I went to sleep.

Arrival in Prague

I don’t know where to begin.

Photos are here.

First off, leaving Germany. You know that movie Toys with Robin Williams? With all the green rolling hills with a road going through it? That’s what Germany looks like around Rothenburg ob der Tauber. Seriously. With the little roads going through the grass and everything.

I have to say, I was a little bit torn about staying with Vaclav (pronounced Vahts-lahv) and Vera (pronounced Veh-dah, a single-tap “r”) in Prague. On one hand, I was having a fabulous time exploring the continent by myself, and I’m so stubbornly independent that having two people telling me what we will be doing when was not the best thought. On the other hand, the two Czechs and their families have become good friends with my parents and my mother and father gave them a glowing recommendation for hospitality. And I wanted to save some money by staying in their flat.

Any misgiving I had was quickly shorn away by their warmth and humor. These are people that are constantly laughing and really seem to love each other deeply. The only negative I can see about it is that staying so far outside the centrum took a little of the romance out of the city, but I still found it to be impressive and awesome (as in striking the awe chord within me, not as in rad, though it was that, too).

The next several posts are run-downs of my time in CZ.

Photos are here.

Day 1

The train ride to Dresden was nice, but it got nuts after Dresden. We followed the Elbe River through a valley that was ridiculously gorgeous. It was the kind of scenery that would make my mother go right out of her mind. My father would then give my mother a hard time for getting so excited, but secretly, he’d love it, too.

Vaclav and Vera picked me up at the train station and took me to Vaclav’s flat. It’s a four-storey building with a big spiral staircase (not in the romantic sense) going up one side, with each floor having a living space separated from the stairs by walls and doors. I had the second floor all to myself (though in Europe, this is the first floor, as the ground floor is the 0 floor). My own little Czech apartment.

After a snack, they took me on a drive around the city and my jaw dropped at every building we saw. We ended up at a monastery on top of a hill near Prague Castle and we looked at the view. Vera asked me what the word for palm was in English. She then told me to hold my hand out ahead of my eyes with the palm up. “There,” she said. “All of Prague in palm of your hand.”

We then had a beer at the monastery brewery. This is, I think, when the reputation began. I told Vaclav that I really like beer. This would haunt me for the rest of my stay.

We went to the local grocery store and Vaclav proceeded to buy two of almost every kind they had. “We must sample,” he said with kind of a half wink. “You must taste all.”

They paid for all of the groceries. I offered the 500 Koruna bill I had (about $20), but he tapped my hand kindly and said, “Later, later.” They paid for EVERYTHING. I wouldn’t let Vera pay for my souvenirs, so I stopped at a bankomat (ATM) and got money out. I paid for my city transportation ticket (we took busses and trams and subways almost everywhere the first two days), but that was all. Vaclav always said, “Later,” and Vera always said, “When we in Oregon.” All my meals (and there were a lot), all my beers (and there were a LOT), two books, a DVD, attraction entry fees, postcards from attractions, everything else, they paid for. I wasn’t too comfortable with this, but you can bet they’re going to be paid back in spades if they’re ever in Portland.

We went back to their flat (more like a communist era condo), and ate again. It was at this time that Vera asked me, “what month you were born in?”

“September,” I said.

Then she said (I shit you not), “You are virgin?”

And I almost spit my beer out. It took me several moments to realize that she was asking if I was a Virgo. And I was very relieved to tell her that I am a Libra. I was so confused for a second. Almost had a classic spit take. For real.

I was tired. I went to bed.

Gambrinus & Zlatopramen

Only a sec to write, but Prague is amazing. I'll catch you all up when I get to Vienna.

Czech beer is, without a doubt, the most wonderfull stuff in the world. Right up my alley, not bitter, just right.

I also discovered that I love goulash, but I don't love the "fishes" they eat out of a plastic container.

I fear that my hosts have stuffed me so full of food and beer that I may not walk again. We started drinking about an hour ago because today is a holiday. Oh boy!