Journeyman Diaries
OLOMOUC - KEEPING IT REAL
Yesterday after deciding that if I spent a few more days in Prague I would be disappointed by my waning taste for adventure. I had to gather up the little strength I had (most was sapped by staying up and drinking
Budwar the night before). Miwa, a girl who works in the "tourist industry" in Colorado and who I met the previous week, returned from Berlin and had in tow an elderly gentleman who looked rather lost. They appeared to be negotiating for a room at Hostel Elf - unsuccessfully. After some time, I boldly stepped up and started speaking to him. Turns out his name is Kang and he is a retired teacher from Malaysia. His English was not quite up to speed (needless to say, he had no Czech), he had no Czech Korunas, came in to Prague without booking a hostel at 11pm, and was lugging around a rather heavy suitcase.
I found he also spoke standard Chinese and so communication got a little easier. In the end, Elf 1) didn't take credit cards or euros and 2) didn't have one single bed anyway. So after the grumpy but helpful chap working the desk made some phonecalls, we trotted up the hill to Clown and Bard. Not quite the ideal place for a 60 year old with a heart condition, but it was a bed. During that journey was when I realized his suitcase was quite heavy. But conscience did not allow me to let him carry it up the hill. We had a drink with him on the house via thankful fellows at Clown and Bard. Somewhat embarrassed, I accepted after many refusals a small token of his appreciation. I'll post up a photo of it eventually.
All this to explain that the following morning, it took great amounts of motivation to make the 3 hour journey to Olomouc. After convincing the folks at Hostel Jednota to take a much smaller deposit than normal for my expected guests the coming weekend, I continued to carry the dead 10 year old over my shoulder to Hlavni Nadrazi - the central train station. Expectedly, there was much difficulty in buying the ticket. I took several minutes first to learn the words for tickets, today, day-after tomorrow, I would like to buy, etc. Then boldly went up to the counter where after 30 seconds of fumbling through 5 words of Czech, the ticket-salesman said in English that the domestic train tickets were at a different counter. Temporary relief but not out of the woods yet. After waiting for some time in the domestic ticket line, I found my fumbling through Czech was obligatory as the ticket-lady spoke no English or at least decided to speak only Czech with me. Luckily I had written everything out on a piece of paper beforehand to show her. Got only a one-way ticket for some reason, but happy I got even that.
I feel somewhat ambivalent about language hegemony. I could have gone ahead and just spoke English straight away without the anxiety of learning Czech and probably got the same result. I've appreciated the Czech attachment to their language which stands in contrast with the Belgians - at least the Flemish. The Czechs seem to not bother with English unless absolutely necessary even if they know some. Even though some see speaking English as being hospitable, the Czechs speaking Czech to English-speakers are still very friendly and hospitable. This is a great encouragement to learn Czech for me.
So with ticket in hand, I waited for the track number to appear on the board. My train to Olomouc was 45 minutes late. Then 55 minutes late. 50 minutes later, the track number appeared and the masses of people rushed to the platform. I plodded along with my luggage. Two trains ended up leaving at roughly the same time in the general direction of Olomouc. The appreciation of more or less punctual train service in Belgium increased within the span of 1 hour.
The train trip was uneventful and pleasant in a I'm-so-tired-but-should-keep-alert sort of way. No huge guards with machine guns came in to demand a bribe. Just a cordial stocky woman asking for tickets. The seats had plenty of shoulder room but little leg room. One older fellow sitting across from me tended to slouch and fall asleep thus almost wrapping his legs around me. I don't think he noticed my discomfort. The scenery was pleasant and not unlike north Florida or south Georgia.
By the time I arrived at Olomouc, the sun had been out for quite some time and the combination of my jacket, the heat, and all my luggage was making it a sticky experience so to speak. I was ready to be settled into a hostel. Taking the tram was rather easy. It was a comfortable 15 minute ride to a stop I couldn't pronounce. Then stepping off the tram, I noticed absolutely no maps or telephone booths. And I had only the address of the place. Olomouc did not make it into the Lonely Planet. At the address of the hostel, I found a nice Umbro shop. It was too bad I had more need of a bed than Umbros. So after wandering around for 20 minutes or so, I stumbled upon the internet cafe where I am sitting this very moment and by chance ran into one of the owners of the hostel there. She said they had been expecting me to my pleasant surprise (it's nice to have that kind of personal attention).
Apparently, the sign was tucked away. So immediately to the right of the Umbro shop was the door to the hostel. And up I trudged 3 flights of stairs to a pretty incredible hostelling experience but as I have been sitting here for almost two hours and I want to stay within budget, it will have to wait for another time.
Hradčany - The Deux Parts
One of the so-called magical parts of Prague is the Prague Castle. It is steeped in history and culture, none of which I know of. Anyway, if I started going on and on about history I would hear the cursor creep slowly towards the "X" in the upper right corner of the window. My ignorance comes in handy. Well, if you are really into that history stuff, I'll post some websites. That's what the Rough Guide is for though. The only historical fact I shall disclose now is that sometime in the 20th century, someone in the castle was defenstrated.
I have now been twice two the infamous castle. The walk there is fun if you like crowds and pickpockets. The first is hard to miss, the second I didn't notice but had considered becoming one after seeing how all the targets were. Every hour on the hour in staremesto namesti, the apostles start spinning around the clock, a skeleton yanks the bell chain, and everybody looks up. During the weekends, the tour groups and lead umbrellas multiply exponentially as do the stag parties. It's difficult to walk one block without seeing a young man dressed as a pirate or stripped mostly naked.
Karlov Most is one of the most crowded bridges I've ever seen. Pleasant though and lined with the obligatory artists and trinket vendors. A dixie-land band was occupying the centre the last I checked. Almost immediately after that, the road takes a sharp turn skyward as one ascends towards the castle. On the way, there is the ornate Italian embassy.
At a certain point in the ascent, there is a sharp 150 degree turn and suddenly, you are in front of the castle. We noticed during one of the ascents a bunch of balloons floating just over the precipice of the ramp. Looking for the source, we found we were duped into looking at a beautiful terrace where people were having drinks and eating. A huge sign saying Bazaar Praha beckoned us to join.
I actually don't have very much to say about the castle itself. The St. Vitus Cathedral had lots of nice stained-glass which I looked at for about 5 minutes just before they closed. One other noticeable aspect of the castle was the fading of the paint. Lots of reds, greens and blues fading very nicely. Almost as if it were on purpose. Journeying behind the cathedral will bring you directly into the Castle's gardens. Very pleasant to meander about and past the crowds. Don't tread on the grass though. If you continue past the doll museum (which is very likely - the idea of a doll museum sounds pretty creepy to me), and past the gardens, you'll head through a narrow descent past lots of trinket stalls. Decent trinkets actually.
Somewhere beyond the castle to the right (I have yet to find it again) was a park with a black limestone or calcite wall. Amazing looking. Can't really do it justice by writing about it. I'll try to supply a photo soon. There were several small animals carved into the rock face. Three great owls kept watch over the place. A venerable Czech guard told us in German that the limestone had been around for over 1000 years. A debate ensued in our group whether or not it was man-made. Nothing good came of it.
That's about all I have to say about the castle. Mostly because I've been sitting in the internet cafe for almost two hours. I'm hungry and the minutes are adding up. Til next blog.
UNDERCOVER METROCOPS
I want to tell you about what happened a few days ago. Amongst several countries, mainly those under the influence of Germanic lineage at some time or another, metro systems have been set up in a loosely guarded fashion. In New York, London, or Paris, turnstiles bar the entrance of the despicable character known as the "ride-thief". No such silliness in Prague, Brussels, or Berlin. As all upstanding citizens do, the metro-rider purchases a ticket from a dispenser or a friendly employee of the metro-services. She would then stamp her ticket, thus proving to the authorities that she would in no way need to be still in the metro system one hour henceforth.
Something like that.
On the way to pick up Ms. Edwards from the mafia-infested Hotel Praha in faraway Dejvice, the strength of my character was tested. Several nights earlier, I bought a 12 Kč ticket which would allow me to travel from 60 minutes from the stamped time. After finding out that Sorcha was not about, I ran into the paradoxical situation of needing to buy one more ticket but being unable to do so in a tram. Nor did I have the exact change necessary once I arrived at the metro station. As sometimes happens in Brussels, I sweated out the remainder of the trip.
Thinking smart, I bought a ticket for both Ms. Edwards and me, stamped mine leaving hers for when she boarded the tram, and was on my way. Heading back in the direction of civilization, a post-middle aged fellow was carrying in his hand what looked like a souvenir. A red badge engraved with what I thought were the letters CCCP. Being in a hurry to start my drinking for the evening, I brusquely brushed him off in a matter I reserve for people trying to sell me something I neither need nor want. Moments, no, nanoseconds later, I heard him repeat in English, "ticket control." Slightly embarassed, started pulling my ticket from my pocket and hoping it was still valid. 2 minutes to spare, but wiser to keenly keep an eye out for civil servants in disguise.
NO COFFEE ON MONDAYS
OR WHY I HAVEN'T WRITTEN LATELY
I may have to recap very briefly over some of the things that have happened over the last few days. In the internet cafés when one is trying to stay within budget, often other things take priority. For example, booking hostels for the coming weekend when Kristien, Philippe and Sarah come down or sifting through emails to make sure the next few days go as planned.
This entry will start working backwards, however, to make things even more confusing. I may not even get very far. We'll see.
Last night after a second belt-splitting trip to Radegast, there was only brief carousing with Sorcha. Both of us were exhausted (or "jaded" according to her) and called it an early night. The liver-wurst and fried leeks fell far below my expectations but only dented slightly my budget. I have not been keeping to my budget very well lately, but then again there are many other things to focus on. After a brief visit to Marquis de Sade, where the expats seemed to thrive on the bedraggled couches, English-language video rental nook and mood-lighting, I headed back to Elf.
There I ran into two guys who had been driving around the Czech republic from Haarlem and Arnem. They were drinking shots of vodka from collapsable shot glasses. Through covnersations both in Dutch and English, they convinced me to go to Olomouc for two days. I'm still considering that now. Eventually, I was surrounded by Swedish teenage boys. That was the cue for sleep.
žižkov, stáre město, and a bottle of tea
In fact, the darkness only lasted for the few seconds that I had my face pressed against the bed. Once I came to and walked out into the city briefly, I received my first impressions of Prague and they are as follows:
Most of the city is not as beautiful as the image created by the people who harp on and on about the city. The hostel is located in a part of town called žižkov. Mostly small shops and relatively working class and industrial compared to staré město. As I would find out later, the prices are also considerably less. Traffic as it seems is a big problem everywhere in the city. Traffic jams not so much, but the pollution that it causes and inconveniences due to roadbuilding. Many of the historic buildings are not faring well due to the pollution in the air. Graffiti seems to be haphazard, done without taste and generally ugly.
Crime doesn't seem to be overt. Hearsay corruption is a worse problem than street crime. One does get the feeling that non-whites gather too much attention however. Often in major metropolitan cities in Western Europe and the US, non-whites don't stand out or are even the norm. There is also the factor I found out quickly that Americans are everywhere. And they tend to simply speak English to everybody thus continuing my pet peeve of language hegemony. (a secondary pet peeve is impatience with learners of a language which includes czech) It is difficult to walk 50 meters without running into another American.
Nevertheless an American is one of the first people that I spoke to at length in Prague. He is a former journalist named Martin and immediately took me around the city to show me a few useful places. He is a fairly thoughtful character who is rigid and almost aggressively (sometimes nonsensically) defensive of his views. That makes it more fun though. I will be stealing his habit of every once in a while describing some of the characters I meet along the way. You can read his blogs at
.
We crossed the Vitava several times to run errands. Martin was running low on money and wrote some movie reviews for a local English language paper to subsidize his travels. After speeding around the city, we ended up in an expat haven called the Globe. It was a bookstore/cafe/internet bar. It was pleasant but moderately expensive compared to žižkov. Of course, I will not tell you much more because it has been in just about every guide book about Prague I've picked up.
Just before I left, I remembered my bad habit of never asking people's names and asked about Martin's name. Martin then continued being productive and I stumbled my way home alone, slowly starting to get a feel for the city.
JACKKNIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS
Road accidents make you reassess the comforts of being in a motor vehicle. The fellow who was in the truck that jack-knifed and spread itself out across 3 lanes of the Bavarian mountain highway (one of them across a barrier into in oncoming traffic) in the middle of the night notwithstanding. All the drivers and passengers that accumulated slowly over the course of the 3 hours workers took to saw through one part of the truck to get traffic moving again watched the sunrise from the paralyzed highway. It felt like some futuristic traffic jam where sentient automobiles decided to go on strike. The jack-knifed fellow withstanding, I thank the gods for my healthy dose of
sang froid attitude towards the perils of bus-travel through rain-slicked roads. Give a take a few moments when our eurolines driver seemed to be traversing the lanes more haphazardly than usual.
At least I was comforted by the familiar sounds and smells of Flemish youth vomit. I guess the people of Flander's reputation for having amazing drinking abilities takes years of practice first. I was not amazed just yet.
The Prague bus station bustled with activity but provides the common man (and woman) with little direction or help. I scanned the lot for some sign of assistance. Seeing none, I headed indoors. For some strange reason, it was logical that people were friendlier indoors than out. Of course, I hadn't slept very much the night before.
After wandering out beyond the Eurolines office onto the street, I was greeted by the fact that I hadn't brought a map along. After one hour of aimless, I stumbled on the reality that Hušitska, the street that held my bed, was poorly marked and I had passed it several times already. During this time, the strap to my 25 kilo bag broke and I was now carrying it like an overweight dead 10 year old.
The Hostel was clearly marked from the street by the mustachioed hypnotist wearing a sombrero. The staircase hugged a decrepit building but was blanketed overhead by lush vegetation. Greener than anything within several hundred meters (or so I thought). At every landing of the staircase, there was a sign urging me to continue onward and upward. Someone knew that I had very little will to either live or climb. At the top of the staircase was a surly receptionist and leather couches. My mind switched off and all else was black.
