Homeward Bound

We return today, joining the Hurry and Wait crowd, shooting though a flying metal tunnel, back to Seattle. On the right, is a picture of Annika's loving family. From left to right in back is Johnathan, Hans-Walter, Carola, Tabea. On the bottom is Annika, and Deborah.

For a fun song that is all the rage in the Schellenburg family, visit this link to hear Mika singing Grace Kelly: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mC9UzFhNlbA

Auf Wiedersehen from Bob and Gayle

At Annika's Home

We’ve been at home at Annika’s home in Haiger, Germany for the last few days. This small town is about 1 hour north by northwest of Frankfurt. Annika hasn’t changed, she is still the carefree, fun, and full of life precocious young lady we all knew and loved in Sequim. Her family really makes you understand where this comes from. Carola her mother is the loving and universally motherly woman who is the hub of the family, while her father Hans Walter is the rim, reflecting the love between the two via the spokes of Annika and her sisters and brother, Tabea, Deborah, and Jonathan.

One morning I saw a small note on the table that on quick glance was in English. I figured I should read it since it might say something like, “Dear Bob and Gayle, we’ve all gone out to have some fun today, see you later!” Instead it was a note which read, “Darling, I hope you had good sleeps…. (then a bunch of German). Love Deborah”. The message was to her mother telling her about some plans she had for the day.

We don’t see Han’s as much as Carola as he works into the evening at the hospital this week. He is an emergency room nurse. One morning, Hans, Annika, Ben (dog) and Gayle and I, have gone out on long walks in the woods and meadows that surround Haiger. I don’t believe five minutes will pass, before Hans laughs and with his dark swarthy skin, piercing blue eyes, and shiny white teeth, laughs about this or that.

Ben the dog is a devoted member of the Schellenburg family devoted especially to Hans. When Hans had to leave early for a physical, Ben sat on the steps and watched the door, puzzled that he had left without taking him for a walk. Ben to me looks more like a thin happy-go-lucky black bear than a dog.

Yesterday, we went to Cologne to see the massive cathedral, largest in Germany and possibly in Europe, which for the most part was built with 100 workers at a time and took 600 years to complete. Until 1880 it was the tallest structure in the world finally surpassed by the Eiffel Tower and the Washington Monument.

Earlier, Deborah and Annika were having a conversation about churches. Deborah stated that Catholic and Protestant churches are all the same and it’s difficult to tell the differences. Annika winced, gave her that sidelong glanced, and said loudly with her accent, “Heeelllloooo” and something to the fact that they are very different. Annika told Deborah you can always tell because Catholic churches have a chicken on top of the church. When we saw the Cathedral I asked Annika where the chicken was. She said you can’t see it from this angle and I said that

kind of shoots down your chicken church identification theory. “Noooo, you can’t see the very top!” she adamantly explained. I laughed. Annika’s enthusiastic, from the gut directness always makes me laugh.

Later that day we visited the Wallraf-Richartz Museum. It is currently displaying a fascinating exhibit of Impressionistic art. In addition to pieces from Monet, Renoir, Manet, Pissarro, Van Gogh and many others, it shows you the science, technique and history behind the artistic styles. Gayle exclaimed that it is the finest Impressionism exhibit she has ever seen outside of the Orsay in Paris. Here’s a link to the website that is under construction showing the research from this exhibit, it’s worth bookmarking and looking at: http://www.museenkoeln.de/impressionismus/

We returned home via the autoban with Tabea showing us just how fast a Peugeot can really go!

Recently I am trying to cope with a lingering funk. Perhaps it’s easier to travel as pure tourists,
see the sights, make little or no real connections, and make little or no impression. When the trip is over, it’s simply over. Nonetheless, I know that I will forever treasure these moments with Werner and Sieglinde, Annika and her family, Pam and Ben, Laurie and Jim, and of course Linda Lyonova. Still I know that more than likely I will never see many of them again. We can talk, we can write, but the real work is to keep them all alive in our hearts. So I guess when you travel this way, the trip never really ends :))

Timing is Everything

Due to the risk of rain, Seglinde, Gayle and I, decided on a impromptu visit to Nuremberg to visit one church we missed the last time and to go shopping. As soon as we started wandering about the city we ran into a French Day Market. There were crepes, glistening olives, giant wheels of cheese, and of course table clothes. Gayle was delighted to purchase another for our table.

Then we ambled over to the church St Lorenz whose construction spanned 200 years starting in 1270. There is a linden carved annunciation scene hanging from the roof that looks like a Bavarian Christmas ornament. Also there is a stone pillar that was extensively carved with Biblical scenes cascading down the column. Near the bottom, the sculptor kneels holding up the work on his shoulder, tools at the ready to added the finishing touches. As we were getting ready to leave they announced that a wedding would be starting in the next few minutes and to either leave or sit and watch the show.

We decide to stay and soak in the thundering organ wedding music, Gayle and Sieglinde “ohhing” and “awwing” over the tiny bride and tall groom. At the altar, small child like chairs were provided for the couple as they listened to the serious words from the priest. Then the groom a member of a famous Bach choir, sang a wonderful song, his bride spanning the gap between child chairs to comfort him as he sung about his true love.

We snuck out of the wedding and immediately ran into a football rally between the Nuremberg and the Dusseldorf teams. Grunts, wild accusations, and drum beating all lubricated with beer, came from all corners of the central square. We all decided that we must surely leave before the game got ended as our town seemed destined to lose and the confrontations would get beery, beery, bad before the night was over.

We sat for a quick bratwurst that came in pewter plates shaped like a bell. The brats heaped with sweet and sour kraut that is so good here. Half way through our meal the heavens unleashed a might shower or rain, raining so hard that the rain drops leaped back off the cobblestones 10” or more. Meal finished and rain done for the day, we wandered on.

We decided to go an see a IMAX 3D movie about whales and dolphins. On our way over we ran into throngs of people lining the street. "Wow a parade or football pre-game show" we figured. As we snuck to the front, we heard cars coming, and who was there, the Dali Lama, waving to us from his sedan. I am fairly certain his lips said, “Oh my there is Bob and Gayle from Sequim”.

The IMAX 3D was awesome and I recommend doing it. The whales, dolphins, and tiny fish surrounded us, beckoning to be touched. Peering down into a sperm whales eye from 6” away was beyond description.

We wandered around a bit more after the movie and ran into the “Spargel Day’s” (Asparagus Day) complete with Spargel Queen and peeling contest. Standing 6 people deep, we were amazed at how fast one could cut and peel the monster white spargels.

After visiting a few stores, we made our way back just as the soccer ball was put into play in the big game. The walkways were safe from screaming fans, our timing was once again perfect.

A Walk In The Woods, Franconian Style

Feeding the town of Nuremberg is the Pegnitz (sounds like Pig Nits) river hills and valleys. The steep river valleys are a mixture of dense greenery, worn basalt rock formations, and dark dank caves. Werner was kind enough to drive us to the top of a lovely walk though the hilltops and fields full of yellow plants whose destiny is to become canola oil, endless rows of oats, and woods so dense our heads were covered in thatch.

The Franconian Alps must be a hard place to live in the winter. What wasn’t planted for crops was carefully harvested for firewood. We even saw rows over 100 yards long of logs stacked 40 inches wide, 10 feet high, and covered with various kinds of roofing material. At one point, we stopped in front of what looked like a national forest type sign describing the terrain and rules of the park including which flowers are verboten to pick. Surrounding the signs on all sides were rows upon rows of firewood. Don’t pick the wild flowers but please harvest the wood.

At the bottom of the trail was a crystal clear creek, dotted with toy waterwheels and small cottages. Werner drove the car down to meet us, carefully provisioned with food, drink, and a welcome picnic table beside the creek. Next to the table was a series of arm rests protruding out of and in the creek. Werner explained that this was for people to soak their feet by carefully walking in the creek after they hike. After you have frozen your feet in the alpine waters, above the picnic table on the sloping hillside was a manmade pool of water with a bench sticking out of the center. Water is slowly pumped into the pool, warmed a bit by solar, all this in an effort to start a slow foot thaw.

On our walk out of the narrow valley we witnessed homes and barns built into overhanging rock ledges. The rock faces above, literally drooping over the roofs, seemingly using the buildings for support. The drive home was uneventful except for a stop at a town that has a famous church, a quick stop for those on pilgrimages. There was a relic at the church encased in glass with Mary, but I never did figure out what the relic was. I suppose it was only a one star relic. The plaster work and colors were a delight rather like a combination of Donald Trump and Martha Stewart design. Oddly, the town is just filled with gem, mineral, fossil, and jewelry schmucks. There must be more going on in those caves than I thought.

Dinner was another hit. One meat course is Ursula’s favorite dish when she visits. I’ve put a copy on the slideshow for her in particular. (Ursula, are you out there in cyber space?)

Reflections

We had a quiet time enjoying garden while Werner and Sieglinda completed some forms for the sale of their old car. They are waiting until this weekend to sign the papers on the new car. They are going to buy a Toyota Auris (replacement for the Corolla here in Europe) from a local Toyota dealership. Unfortunately the dealership owner and son are out of town and so they cannot sell any cars until he comes back to sign the papers. The dealership believes that the son will return this Saturday and can sign the papers. Once the papers are signed, Werner must wait until Monday or Tuesday for the car to be prepared. Can you imagine waiting for a stock car from a dealership for ½ a week.

We had some long philosophical discussions. Werner, as Pavel in the Czech Republic, told me that in general Europe wants anyone but John McCain to win. Here they are fearful that he will continue the war and some of the aggressive policies of George Bush. He also is resigned to the opinion that John McCain will win as the Democratic Party is spending all its energy beating itself up.

I asked him about whether the salary difference between CEO’s to entry level workers in Germany are getting farther and farther apart like in the US. Werner is a retired CFO and Head of Personnel for two large toy manufacturers. He said that this is a real problem in Germany. The rich keep getting richer and the poor, poorer. He said that perhaps someday we will have ghettos not for the poor but for the rich. These new ghettos will have schools, hospitals, shopping, and all the wealthy necessities of life, sealed away from the struggles of the poor a renaissance of medieval times, the aristocracy and the peasants.

Later he told me about a good book he finished recently called, “Never Let Me Go” by Kazuo Ishiguro. It’s a fiction book about some future time when there are only three classes of people. There is the rich and powerful and there is the working poor. From the ranks of the poor, young beautiful children are chosen for a special role in society. They are treated by the rich as adoring pets. Good schools, athletics, the best food are lavished on them. Besides being Toys to be played with, these special few are used as living organ donors, giving up kidneys, livers, arms or whatever the powerful need, a living gene pool. So as not to be unkind, the Pet’s have no more than 3 items taken from their bodies before they are lovingly laid to rest.


We have had many enjoyable moments letting Werner practice his English with us. He was reading us a very funny editorial his English teacher gave him. The humorous words and his over emphasis of the 'TH' sound that is missing in German made side busting laughs.

Surfing in Munich

(Second of two new blogs)

What do you think an Ice Bear is? In the south of Germany, the excitement over the baby “Ice Bear” or polar bear at the local zoo is only surpassed by football (soccer). We see signs at all the transportation centers asking us to come see the ice bear. For some reason, I find it so cute to call polar bears, ice bears.

We spent a very long day in Munich today. Apparently there is a special “Bayern”(Bavarian) rate if you catch a train after 9 am and leave after 7 pm. As many as 5 people can go for one price of a mere 36 euros. Sieglinde, as always, took very good care of us as we snacked the two hours moving away from Franconia to Bavaria. There is a big difference between the two areas. Ask any Nuremberger and he will inform you why one is lucky to be Franconian and I know from our visit to Cesky Krumlov that Bavarians have their own list.

I could spin many a sentence describing ornate buildings, the Glockenspiel (musical clock in a tower), churches dripping in ornate finery, and a dazzling market that rivals the best of Provence for vegetables. Instead I will spend some time discussing the “Bier Gartens” and the town park which alone is larger than Sequim.

Around lunch, parched from cobblestones that radiated heat like cinderblocks, we stopped at the Hoffbrau House or “HB”. The main room has an arching ceiling, tattooed with murals depicting gluttony and pretty much drinking oneself silly. When you visit the men’s toilet you are surrounded by two rooms with urinals on three sides of the walls. Then just inside the door on your right is a vomit friendly sink all in stainless and extra deep with splash guards. A comforting thought as I nuzzled my cold brew. As we were leaving, Werner pointed out that the old wooden tables are covered people’s names. “Look most of the names are American!” he said. Alright, Dave, Cindy, Karen, Tom, … etc, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Near the end of the day, we let Werner rest his sore ankle, and Gayle, Sieglinde, and I wandered around the English Gardens. They are only English because an English designer was used. There certainly is nothing formal or refined about them. The park is the largest city park in the world, far larger than New York’s “Central Park”. There is a bewildering maze of trails and waterways. The water coursing through the park comes directly from the Alps, runs under the city, and is bone chillingly cold as it erupts in torrents in several locations. At one such location, surfers line the shore, taking turns, plunging into the maelstrom, moving from zero to what seems to be 30 mph. When they fall, the stream grabs them and sends them downstream into the bushy shoreline.

If you keep walking, there is a stone pavilion on a hill where the king would ride out and meet his mistress for some body surfing and a royal massage. Later you come to a Japanese pavilion which today had an Umpa Band from the Urkraine and a lovely beer garden across the way. I knew we were close to a beer garden as many people were carrying steins of beer to their picnic spots. They pay a healthy deposit to return the steins to their rightful owners.

Moving gradually back our pedometer striking 12,000 steps, I gazed upon acres of sunbathing and frolicking Germans. The same view we witnessed for the last 2,000 steps except the men were not wearing any clothes. I ask Sieglinde about this and she said that this was acceptable in this place. We found Werner in a garden café sitting beside two women with strollered babies, drinking a glass of green tea and reading a good book. We finished the day with nearly 16,000 steps, a mystery and a bounty in each step.

Rothenburg - Germany's Romantic Road

Germany’s Romantic Road is a small collection of towns unconnected by trains or large highways and was for years forgotten. Even WWII bypassed these towns. One of the small towns is called Rothenburg. This weekend they were celebrating the day when the mayor drank a huge tankard of beer in one slug which saved the town from being plundered. This is the 800th year that this festival has been going on, so Washington Irrigation Festival, eat your heart out.

The whole community gathers each year to re-enact the lifestyle and of medieval times. Men were being dragged down the streets for having extra marital sex. We saw children and adults in stocks, loose camp woman resting lewdly outside of tents. Braces of young men guarding the streets with swords and pikes. Drummers, trumpets, and fifes, roused our spirits. There must have been a terrible fight with another town over access to tourist plunder, as some of the men had bandages and bloody head wounds.

Announcements were made by the constable and other petty officials, roasting chunks of meat were being cooked by primitive spits or hung from tripods of steel, muskets were leaning against walls with real dead pigeons hanging from the barrel, and all manner of tradesmen turned a tidy profit making tools, coins, and leather crafts. Soldiers on horses kept order in the street although the disorderly had either passed out or were tied to trees. Most of the men had tankards fitted to their belts and were constantly refreshed by some unknown brew. At one point Gayle was taking a picture of several men resting in an alcove separated from the main passageway by a metal grating. One of the men spied my buxomly bride and raced towards her, howling with frustration because of the bars separating them. Gayle screamed and left the passage howling with fright and laughter.

And yet, as bawdy as the town, as rough and ready, nothing so strikes fear in ones heart as returning to Nuremberg via the autoban. Werner blasted down the slow lane at 130-140 kilometer per hour while cars literally screamed past us topping 200 km. At one point we need to pass a truck going a mere 110 km and Werner slid into the fast lane, pegged the accelerator. I felt we should cut the AC and lean forward like a ski jumper, urging our car ahead before we were flattened from behind by a mere Peugeot. Tomorrow Werner and Sieglinda are going to look for a new car, this one is just too slow!

Let's Do It!

Today we attended Catholic Mass at Werner and Sieglinda’s neighborhood church. The Father, Joseph Pathalil, is from India, a slip of a man, with a smile as warm as the sun. We were introduced as the Americans and he told us that he has lived in Texas and other states and speak English perfectly. As a matter of fact, he speaks 6 languages, although he seemed to mention Texan as one of the dialects he speaks fluently.

As the mass began, two young alter boys stood beside the Father, ghostly apparition looming out of the incense smoke, towering over the priest. At one point one of the boys, leaned way over to the side, his head extended beyond the clouds, greedily drinking in fresh air. They truly appear immersed in the word.

The Father Joseph talked about the many hands of help he has recently received by the congregation. He also spoke about the need for people to be more open to new ideas and change in general. Sieglinda said that whenever someone comes up with a new idea such as periodic prayer sessions with other non-Catholic churches he said, “Let’s Do It”. Some of the ideas included: using altar boys and girls in a wide spectrum of ages and involving them in many aspects of the service; using incense only during special occasions as it cause many people discomfort due to the smoke; allowing woman a central role in aspects of the program; and finally the kneeling rail was more of a leg rest than a kneeling stand.

As he stands at the pulpit, his head arced back, body rocking side to side, open and embracing gestures, he reminds me of Ray Charles. A smile lights up face, his voice a powerhouse any Baptist preacher would desire. Beyond a few Hallelujahs and Amen’s the words were lost on me but the spirit warmed my heart. Hallelujah!

After church we returned to a German feast of roast pork, knuddles and Italian ices with fresh raspberries. Then we took a short siesta and powered on to put the finishing touches to Old Town Nuremberg where we started at the cemetery. Again German efficiency and design can be seen as all gravestones must be made of sandstone and can have bronze or stone shallow bowls where owners can design flowers arrangements. In addition, owners can plant one rose next to the head of the grave. If an ancient spot has become vacant or perhaps overly delinquent in space fees, a plastic card is draped beneath the planter bowl signifying that the spot is now available and to see the office for details. Old spin on the timeshare game.

As we strolled down the paths beside the canals I noticed a sign which read, “Mexican Beach Bar”. Gayle noticed that the sign in German said, “Smokers Welcome”. They have strict laws against smoking in bars and restaurants stated Werner. As a backlash, bars began converting to clubs by charging a very tiny annual fee and now as a private club can allow smoking. The other odd thing we learned today was that jewelry maker’s in German are called “Schmucks”. I of course am a bead maker but Gayle is a schmuck at least in Germany.

Walk in the Woods Octoberfest Style

We started the day with a short walk around a huge wind turbine ducking through forests and various fields of green. Our little walk according to Gayle’s pedometer was over 10,000 steps, with Werner leading the way. I felt so free, wandering about, being steered by our patient guides.

We returned home for siesta and lunch out in the backyard garden, fresh grainy dark German bread, gouda and German blue cheese, tomato and fresh herb salad, and baby lettuce and chive salad with each leaf of lettuce gentle sprayed with wine vinegar and tossed with yogurt and olive oil. So simple, yet everything was so good.

We then traveled to university town that had a large botanical garden and who was celebrating a smaller version of Octoberfest and a carnival. Besides the odd selection of giant pretzels large enough to corral 3 good sized dogs, pork knees on 8 foot long rotisserie spears, and of course beer guzzling students, the Octoberfest visit was a bust. Loud music and youth slowly loosing civil control made for a quick exit. The next day the newspapers talked about the problem of pick pockets at the festival. I did remember someone tugging on my pretzel.

Nuremberg

Today we arrived in Nuremberg to the waiting arms of Werner and Sieglinda. The station in contrast with Prague was part of a small shopping mall all tidy and neat and for a large city, white glove clean. Quickly they whisked us from the downtown section to their small village nestled between two rolling green valleys, a patch of forest here, long strips of fields there, punctuated by a historic old chapel and tied together with walking trails.

Their home was an oasis of calm and peace with lush greenery on all sides and in summer completely engulfed in flowers. Inside was hospitality rivaling the best bed and breakfast and made us feel as honored guests. As we retired for the evening after having a real shower in a room with a genuine washer and shockingly a real dryer, we snuggled into a down comforter that was 8” inches thick. I felt I was sleeping in a cloud. This is very close to a German version of heaven.

----------------- Next Day ----

Today we began part one of two of our visit to Nuremberg old town. Everything of course starts at the top of the hill where the medieval fortress still stands. It sits upon an ancient sea bed that was forced up, a rocky point made up of hard sandstone. Water was a difficult proposition at that time and so a 50 meter well was hand dug. How did they do it I asked Werner and he said it took many hands, a foot a day, and a lot of time. As we reached the highest castle keeps wall, Werner pointed out a horses hoofs impression sunk into the top of the wall. A prisoner the story goes, that was waiting for execution escaped, mounted a horse and flew over the wall, plunging hundreds of feet into the moat to escape. Gee, haven’t I read something like that from a Prague history book? Motto: Don’t let condemned men ride horses in high places.

Slowly we drifted down from the heights, walking among half timbered buildings and cobblestone streets. Much of this was destroyed in WWII. Buildings that were damaged were modernized internally but fixed in the old ways outside. Those destroyed were modernized and the exterior was build of the same type of stone but with one foot in the past and another in the future. Here in Nuremberg the harmony works.

Lunch was miniature Nuremberg Brats in of course a Brat House. These sausages are about as big as the middle finger on my hand. The reason they are so small is because the prisoners in the dungeon were fed these sausages through the keyhole of the cell. This served two purposes, one it’s hard to attack the keeper if your only contact is a sausage sliding in from the door and two, it tough to put a knife inside one of the little sausages to aid in escape. The eight little smoked ones I got with sauerkraut and potatoes were delicious.

After lunch we wandered to one of the central churches. Originally this area was a miserable swamp and thus perfect for the creation of a Jewish ghetto. Years later with the creation of a canal, the swamp was drained and this became prime real estate. City fathers implored the king to do what is right for the city which was drive the jews out, killing nearly 600 in the process and give the property to rich merchants. Who in their generosity gave this ground to the church. Even the “handy” (cell) phone that Werner provided with narration called this a very sad chapter in the town’s history.

Later we wandered down the canals that can be crossed in numerous places with cable, stone and covered bridges. Sieglinda told us that this was her favorite part of the city leaning upon the old wooden rails watching your cares drift away.

When we caught the metro to return to the car, a pure white train appeared, with no riders. Werner explained that they are testing this train as it contains no human operators. The doors open, and the cars move between stations automatically. There are cameras that allow operators to watch what is happening but essentially it runs itself. I’ve been impressed with the automation I see everywhere here. Escalators that only move when people step on the first step, automatic lighting that anticipate your lighting needs, auto sensing facets that work without waving your hands everywhere and now robotic trains. Add efficiency to cleanliness to the long list of charms of the German people.

One added note about how friendly people are. On several occasions we heard dialogue of people helping strangers. I was taking a picture of the castle from the walls and a woman was walking down the path in the distance. When she passed me, Werner said she apologized for being in the picture. What was she going to do, jump off the castle walls, horseless? Three young teenagers asked us our advice on some facts for their school history papers. After they finished they ran down the hill, stopped suddenly and ran back up and thanked Werner and Sieglinda for their help. A number of times, people stopped Werner and asked if he was lost, offered unsolicited advice on which metro to take, whether to walk down one street or the other.

When we returned, I attempted to connect my laptop to Werner’s DSL. Unfortunately it requires a special program which he did not have in Vista format. I could download the correct version from the internet, Ahh but there is the chicken or the egg dilemma.

Kutna Hora

Kutna Hora

Recently we visited Kutna Hora which is famous for the silver mines that powered the worldwide currencies in the 13^th century and whose boom in the 18^th century made it a rival of Prague. The other attraction is a nearby Ossuary in Sedlec which contains the bones of 40,000 to 70,000 people. Basically besides the walls, every decoration, every sign, every lamp is made up of bones.

Part of the problem came up when King Otakar II returned from the Holy Lands he brought back some earth from Golgotha (place where Jesus was crucified) and sprinkled the dirt on the cemetery grounds. I’m certain Otakar’s trip didn’t have a tour guide with an umbrella, rather one with a sword. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be buried at that site. Then the black plague hit and worst of all a monk in a “Donald Trump” fashion decided to expand the church, higher and deeper. What to do with all the bones?

Enough is enough; in 1870 Franktisek Rint a wood carver was hired to take care of the bone problem. He created the 4 bell shaped stacks of bones, bone chandeliers, bones stacked like vases, and even his name drawn in bones. This is a very creepy place!

Kutna Hora was the perfect example of a traditional Czech small town. For the mole in us all, they even have a silver mine tour, down into the old shafts. Gayle decided to head underground while Linda and I wandered the city taking pictures of the grand buildings and surrounding views. The only tour available was with a group of Czech teenage school kids, there on a field trip (it looked as though every school in the area was on a field trip that day to Kutna Hora!) Gayle decided to go anyway and to read her way through the tour with the english text they offered. She donned a white miners coat and funky looking leather helmet and set out for the mine shaft with the group of teens and four other non-Czech speaking adults. Fortunately, when they were about to descend into the earth one of the tour guides a tall, slender retired miner named Mr. Matuska, said “English people, kome unto me.” He let the energetic hoard of teens move ahead into the mine with the other guide and gave them the rest of the tour in English and Polish. They followed him through ever narrower and lower ceilinged passages and told them about the lives of 14^th century miners. At one spot a cross had been roughly carved into the wall where a miner had died. There were also small concave hollows where the miners placed their oil lamps as they hammered out the precious silver ore. The mine has been unused for hundreds of years, and the walls have become covered with what look like slimy excretions of limestone. However, they are smooth to the touch and eerily beautiful. He told them that on a previous tour, as the group squeezed through a particularly narrow shaft, he heard a young woman call to him: “Guide, Guide, I’ve lost my breast!” They all laughed, but no one asked about the “rest of the story”! The group ascended from the mine after nearly 90 minutes of twisting and turning just around the corner from where they had started. As they trudged toward the Silver Museum in their coats and helmets carrying their flashlights, they looked as though they had worked a 10 hour shift!

As we were leaving via the train there was a bit of confusion regarding which train tracks. I heard some English speaking and was drawn to a group of two men and two women. Everyone was dressed in black: leather shorts and either vests, or leather jackets, legs multicolor with tattoos, everyone wearing dangling earrings and mascara. “Do you know which track the Prague Train leaves from”? They graciously gave us their advice and in conversation mentioned they were from Vancouver, B.C. They were there to see the bone church. Humm…

On the bus ride to Kutna Hora we met a doctor from the states who left this country just before the Velvet Revolution. The communists allowed her to take only her clothes and her 8 year old daughter. They fled to Austria, saved their money and finally immigrated to America. She said if you really want to see what living under the communists was like watch the 2007 movie, “4 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days”. The movie is about a Romanian woman who seeks to get an illegal abortion. It is subtitled in english.

Linda asked her how they survived under such a repressive regime. “Oh we concentrated on the freedoms we did have. We chose our friends, our furniture, our plants, and were able to buy our own cars”. Since you could not own a home, the people then bought better and better cars, to show status. This apparently is why we see so many big cars here compared with France.

Today Linda returns home to her “Toohy” (Dave) and Gayle and I take the train to Nuremberg to the welcoming home of Werner and Sieglinde. We all agree that Prague is a city that shines in the day and sparkles at night. As Mr. Matuska would say: “Kome unto me, all you tourists!” As the Czech say: “Nashledanou” (goodbye)

Strudel and Paddle boats

We’ve been told that the best strudel in all of Europe is at Sasta Strudel located at Jeseniova 29, Prague 3 (Open on Monday – Fridays). These are not the strudel you might see in a bakery, these are pastry rolls that are 8+ inches long, two high and about 3 wide for $3 or less. They have three flavors, apple, creamy custard, and poppy seed. Our little band has dedicated ourselves to determine the best variety and we all agree it’s the custard (girls) or the apple (the boy). Gee, I guess we don’t all agree.

One unusual aspect of Czech pastries and drinks is that they are not that “let’s get that cavity

going” sweetness we are so use to in the states. The apple ones, for example has tons of nice firm apples, a delicate cinnamon sauce, and a nice hint of sweetness combined with a hint of tartness from the apples. This is something you can eat all day and feel no guilt. Trust me, we ate strudel for breakfast and dinner on two separate occasions and I am guilt free!

Loaded down with treats, we stopped over on Slovanský island to see if the paddle boats are available. We tried to rent them on one of the few pure sunny days and they weren’t open. We figure the owners get more amusement watching tourists circling island on dark, showery, and choppy days.

Today was an overcast day with constant threats of showers and later in the afternoon thunder and lightning. Gayle and Linda have really been looking forward to this. I and the other hand will supervise from the rear seats. All I need is a drum to keep the beat.

As soon as we left the dock, actually as soon as I got into one of the rear seats behind Gayle, and they shoved us off, Gayle noticed that the boat was slowly sinking on the port side. Linda had a whopping 10 inches of clearance on her starboard side and Gayle and I had a measly 4 inches. Immediately she started to tell us how scared she was, how she’s always been afraid of the water, of dying on water that looks like root beer.

Fifteen minutes later, I scooted over behind Linda and the opposite effect happened, 11” for Gayle and 3” for Linda and I. Before she realized I changed positions, she told us how she was getting more comfortable with the paddleboat and was having fun. Then she decided to make a movie and panned the movie to the back to catch me. When she saw that I moved she started to panic. You can see the whole drama on one of the video clips.

When we returned to the docks, the deck hand hooked us with his pole and pulled us in. I told him about a small leak in the back and he grinned at me and said “this happens to boats on the high seas”. Otherwise was everything else OK? I told him he should start carrying dark beer as it would have been fun to have one while watching Gayle implode and the pair paddling me around the river. He said that men don’t drink dark beer. “Young women drink dark beer because it makes their chests larger.” I’ve been drinking dark beer since we arrived, does this mean that I’ll need a training bra when I return? What a time to learn this!

Konopiste Castle

Definition: Lazy, Lack of Motivation, Not Efficient. Yup that is precisely what happened to Gayle and I yesterday on our trip to Konopiste Castle. Linda decided to go to the Zoo instead. The one hour train trip deposited us at a nearby town and by following the red slash trail markers 2.5 km we arrived at a park extraordinaire. This park is so large, with so many paths that no matter how many people are visiting it would remain quiet and undisturbed.

Slow saunter gave us distant glimpses of wild pheasants and cottony eared red squirrels. We didn’t actually tour the castle instead chose a leisurely walk around the lake (they call it a pond) looking for Rick Steve’s bark enclosed picnic hideaway at the lake which simply did not exist. Personally, Rick Steve’s Prague book has been very skimpy on detail and sometime flat out wrong.

Finally, 2/3 away around, we found the perfect location with a great view of the castle, a flat spot for our picnic blanket, and a good resting spot for the bottle of wine we bought the day before. Because my picnic backpack was so heavy we decided to drink the whole bottle which fueled Gayle into a 45 minute squirrel nap.

Before we left we saw some fisherman walk by with huge fish in their nets. Apparently the lake has an abundance of carp reaching 26 pounds as well as pikes, pikeperch and trenches. The Czech people love to prepare freshly caught oily carp. Yuk.

We power walked back to the train station to catch a specific train. We got there with 5 minutes to spare which was probably a mistake. We should have waited 30 minutes for the next train so we could get a seat. Thus we stood the 60 plus minutes back to Praha, our car’s aisle packed with Prague boys and girls scouts and teen overnighters. About 15 minutes out of the station, the train abruptly stopped in a field and standing passengers started to hang out of the windows. This is the Czech version of air conditioning. This was repeated 30 minutes later in a dark, trash strewn tunnel just outside Praha.

“Where would you like to go for dinner?” After much thought, Gayle and I came up with the creative plan of picking up grilled sausages at the entrance to Kampa park and sit on park benches and Valtva and people watch. Next to the sausage stand was our good friend Linda who was planning to do the exact same thing. Here we are in Prague with a population of 1.2 million people, occupying 496 square kilometers, and we bump shoulders with a fellow Squimite.

Troja and the Flood

Storm clouds unfurled, dropping patches of dense rain over the city. Nonetheless Gayle and I decided to brave the elements and go for a long walk at the Troja Chateau which is located next to the Prague zoo. Linda on the other hand had some serious shopping do. After securing our picnic supplies, we headed out to the chateau. Just before the tram got to our stop the rain started beating a Jamaican tune on the roof . All the exiting passengers ran for cover at the tram stop. Finally the rain stopped and I’ve included a picture of the desperation of the Czechs with the crazy weather lately.

The chateau had all the prerequisite angular gardens with a maze, fountains, sunken grottos enclosing statues at war with mysterious creatures, and carefully pruned hedges. The chateau was russet or dark peach color trim with a white background. We sniffed around and found a wine museum located in an old brick labyrinth beneath the chateau. What quickly became more interesting was the wine tasting and of course wine buying. The young wine maker serving the samples looked just like Chloe from the TV series 24. “Chloe when is Jack coming back?”

We were going to take a long walk back across several bridges over the river and an island and back to the park we explored yesterday. But with all the weather we decided to amble home on trams and the metro.

We walked over to the zoo entrance and watched throngs of families, adults and even young lovers happily enter the park. On the outside was a painting of two elephants on a building. The people of Prague have a special love of their zoo. One of the reasons is that in 2002 there was a huge flood in Prague and large portions of the city were washed away. The story according to Pam our local host, as the water rose, the zoo started evacuating the animals to higher ground. Where is an ark when you need one?

Finally in all the confusion someone noticed that the elephant enclosure now had water to the elephant’s knees. What to do? They could not be moved unless someone went under the water and removed their manacled legs. Since these were all full grown elephants, all nearly 13 feet tall, it was decided to leave them as the water was suppose to start receding soon. Besides no one knew how they might react so someone swimming under water around their legs.

Finally all the attendants were evacuated and the park was abandoned to nature. Later in the day, one of the zoo keepers was allowed to fly over the park on a police helicopter. When he flew over the elephant sanctuary all he could see was the tips of half a dozen trunks just barely sticking out of the water. As the water rose, each elephant perished, the oldest and largest last of all. What a horrible way to die.

A short time after we returned, Linda the Sole Shopper, arrived bearing gifts. Yes I see crystal on the horizon for the Lyon’s too. She told us about hiding out from a massive downpour near the Charles Bridge with an army of penguin like tourists and tour groups. “We were huddled so close for shelter under a series of T-shirt shops that I could only waddle from one position to another as more people stuffed in.

Flight of the Peregrine

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The highlights of the last few days between hurried trips to buy ever more crystal, included trips to the castle, Stromovka park and to the Krizikova Fontana. On a recent walk through the quiet royal gardens we encountered the famous young lady who exhibits and cares for raptors. She told us that peregrine falcons are the fastest animals on the planet. They can reach speeds of 330 miles per hour, pulling 22 g’s: three times more than a fighter pilot is put under in extreme conditions. The fastest variety of peregrine can pluck prey right from the air.

She told us about “Arthur” the eagle owl, the largest variety of owl in Europe. According to Ms Raptor, owls are very stupid birds compared with the other raptors. Also their eyes are too big for their head and thus cannot move. In order to see, they move their heads 270 degrees one way and another 270 degrees the other, totaling 540 degrees. How do they do that? She said that if we had eyes that big they would fall out of our head.

Our only really bad restaurant experience happened that day. The food was fine but we got taken by the management’s unscrupulous practices. The restaurant is on the steps leading to the castle from Nerudova street. I believe this is called Radnicke Schody. As we walked by, young gals ushered us to sit down and have a fine meal of traditional Czech faire or pizza. The sirens called us and we were not strong enough to resist. The café is called, “The Mystic Café” and now we know it is famous for its mystic charges. On the table are plastic cards with pictures of their food entries but no prices. When I asked for a real menu, I got an exasperated look and eventually she returned with one menu, not three, just one!

I read somewhere that you should gauge eating establishments by the beer prices. If the ½ liter is over 30 crowns ($2) stay away. The price here was 60 crowns. As we were eating I watched a German family discussing the bill with chagrin and that knowing look that said, “Liebling, we’ve been had in Czechland, time to fire up the tanks”. Later the table next to us was animatedly discussing their bill. Finally ours came and what should have been around 550 crowns came to a whopping 800. Nothing added, then with the help of the next table that was angry asked to borrow our calculator, we concluded that they charged us 50 crowns for 1/2 cup of soggy potato chips. We were also charged 25 crowns each for sitting down, and all that was topped off with a 15% service charge for basically no service. Even after we figured this all out, the bill was added up wrong (in their favor!). Stay away from the Mystic Café! Moral, never pay more than 30 crowns for beer, don’t listen to callers requesting you to sit for a fine meal, and if they don’t want to give you a menu with prices, run for the door.

The next day we took off for Stromovka park which is north of the old town and is Prague’s largest park. The park includes the very cheesy Luna amusement park. It’s one of those old fun centers that pleads to die quietly but somehow hangs one. After all those “thrills” we wandered through the park, found quiet benches near a stream and a fountain that looked like a Czech version of Old Faithful, and sipped ice cold, dark beer.

Dinner was a from a sausage stand whose kielbasa were interestingly scored and then apparently dropped in a fryer giving each dog a crispy fluted exterior. Earlier we went to the ticket office for the Krizikova Fountains that was closed but said would open at 7:30pm. Being very type “A” I went to check it out a little before 7pm and found it open and doing a brisk business. I bought our tickets for the 8pm showing of Andre Boccelli and asked when we could go in. “Please enter at 7:40pm” I was told by the friendly ticket agent.

These fountains combine music, a light show, and colored dancing water. Occasionally they even add modern and traditional dance to the ticket. I returned to our seats at the sausage shack. We kept seeing streams of people entering the fountains and not coming back. Peaked with interest, we ambled over and found the best seats filling up. We got prime seats and noticed that by 7:45 all the good seats were long gone. I wonder if they use sundials in this park for timekeeping.

The show was fantastic and got better as the night sky darkened. If you come here, do come to one of the later performances. As the last song ended, the heavens were so impressed by the water show, they unleashed their own torrent on the exiting crowd. We were pummeled with rain. Our gear wicked up the moisture and our feet found every pothole, some mid-calf deep, as we hustled the ¼ mile to the tram. We arrived home wet and happy with another cherished day under our belts. Earlier in the day we had purchased a bottle of the famous Czech Becherovka, which is a strong liquor made from 23 herbs and spices. We decided a little “nightcap” of this interesting libation would be just the thing to warm us up and lull us into slumber. It did!

Beads and Witches

It’s All About Beads

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In the morning, we decided to visit the famous Czech village for bead making, Jablonec nad Nisou. This small town is about an hour north of Prague by bus. Sitting on the bus the folks in front of Linda decided to have breakfast. The young man pulled out what looked like a clear bar of glycerin soap on a stick. Inside the gelatin-like soap was a slice of ham. As the bus shook the “sandwich” swayed from side to side, front to back, a jello sandwich.

Jablonec has about 50,000 citizens and is a popular stepping stone to winter and mountain activities. It also houses a couple dozen bead stores, small bead factories, and home based bead makers. Here you can buy lampwork beads for $2 - $3 (30-45 crowns) and sacks of crystal beads by the kilogram . The information booth and all the shops were very friendly and for the most part English speaking. Gayle asked each of the shop owners if we could take their picture. They all hesitated, but graciously accepted. The information lady told us she looks terrible as she had just finished crying.

I think Gayle spent nearly 5,000 crowns ($300) and got several pounds of prime lampwork and fancy Czech crystal beads. Linda bought a handful of treasured pieces including some wonderful one of a kind glass buttons. Later on the couch at our apartment, Linda examined all her prizes and said, “All this and I only spent $30. If I knew that I would have bought more!”

One seller who we called the “Badda Bing” Arabic bead man had a huge bead store whose walls seem to lean inward by the sheer weight of the shanks of beads hanging off the walls. I could smell smoke in the air when we walked in. At one point he started a long coughing fit. I happened to be standing next to him and pointed to an open pack of Marlboro cigarettes and told him in a friendly tone, “You need to stop smoking”. He replied, “Yes these things are killing me!” About five minutes later, he lit up.

We asked if we could take his picture and he proudly stood up, opened his arms, smiled, and in my mind I heard him say, “This is my house where I sell beads to native Americans”. And we of course come, bringing the gift of money to the Marlboro man.

Witches Burning Night

Last night we attended an annual Czech event called the burning of the witches. Throughout the country people gather, parade, and dance with witches. Children are adorned with colorful black costumes, black floppy peaked witches hats, and whimsy wands and join the fun. The idea is that on April 30, the people tired of the cold and dark of winter, call out the witches who brew such weather. They lull the beetle and rat infested princesses of darkness into the light, drink beer, roasting a variety of sausages, and finally burn the effigy of the witches thus freeing the

countryside of winter's gloom.

Our own witchy woman (Linda’s email address) frolicked among the other witches wearing black pants, a pink blouse and eating pizza bread. She carries a large black bag where she stuffs misbehaving children. We were clustered near the back of a huge throng of people around the burn site waiting for the flames to engulf the witch effigy, when billows of smoke headed in our direction. Many of the locals fled but I held my ground, being a genuine northwestie having my own wood stove and meat smoker at home. When the smoke cleared I had an unobstructed view of the evil lady.

After the celebration we cleared our lungs with velvety smooth draft beer and watched the sky turn from river blue to cobalt. The darkening skies gave up their lights to the grand palaces and churches that line the river. Where ever we turned the castle and St Vitus cathedral followed us looking more “Disney” than a theme park.

Sitting here by the Valtva it hits me that I am going to miss our time in this warm and friendly land always bathed in light and mystery. For Gayle and I, we fall from the skies to the warm embrace of Werner and Sieglinda, and Annika’s family in Germany, and for Linda her patient, soul mate, Dave.

Krumlov The Departure

Our last day in Krumlov found us walking behind the fortress to the formal gardens. The French gardens have that clipped, manicured look we see in France. Naturally it starts with an over the top fountain streaming water from frogs, nymphes, and unknown mythological gods. This garden certainly doesn’t rival Versailles formal gardens. I give it a three legged cockapoo rating.

Behind this garden is an exquisite summer house for royalty to get away from the pomp of the castle and make shall we say, certain relationships blossom. The pink and white structure has wonderful exterior hooped steps enclosed by intricate ironwork in patterns of flowers punctuated with a fleur-de-lis in the center.

Oddly in front of the royal play house is a small modern stadium that moves 360 degrees with lighting towers on several sides. This structure is used during the summer months for plays and concerts. I am sure it’s very nice, but it’s so inappropriate in its current location.

Behind this area is the formal English gardens. Perhaps by English they meant American, as it’s simply straight pathways between large trees with grass in between. I believe we call this a park. There was a nice pond at the end with great reflective pictures.

The trip home was wild. Fortunately we decided to purchase round trip tickets with reserved seats coming and going. When our bus arrived there was a thriving hoard of people crowding the doorway. A handful of them had reserved seats. After we were seated, more and more people entered for the 3 hour bus ride. Finally all the seats were gone and more passengers were allowed. Standing face to back, face to back, they piled on until people were standing on the steps leading on and off the bus. The last person was so cramped they could only look out the front doorway and from the exterior must have looked like a cut out.

The driver started the engine, adjusted his visor, and started fiddling with his Frank Sinatra album when we heard a small female voice yelling from the back. First in broken Czech and then in stilted English, “Can someone ask the driver where seat 39 is?” The bus started moving, the Czech’s nervously, steely eyed, said nothing. “Hey, your in my seat, I have a reserved seat!”, was ushered from behind. “This is my seat, I don’t own this bus, shut-up”. This continued for 15 minutes and reached a fevered pitch when we made our first stop where 5 people disembarked and 10 people were added.

Finally a young girls started pushing her way to the front and talked with the driver. He immediately pulled the bus over and opened the back door and started shouting at the dead beat who would not give the gal her rightful seat. As the bus started, I looked around, the folks packed around me all had a mona lisa type smile but did or said nothing. I wanted to applaud the justice of the event. The Czech have learned the lessons of patience, justice is not won in a day.

Two in half hours into our sardine factory bus ride a large explosion of sound erupted from under Linda. Did we just hit something or did something hit us? Linda apparently uttered a shallow scream. I looked back and through a small crevice between the standing passengers I saw Linda and she did not appear to be part of the explosion. The driver swerved to the side and got out and checked the bus. Apparently we blew a rear tire. Fortunately for us the bus has dual rear tires so we could continue our commute. He started out slowly, you could hear the tire complain with a “frop, frop, frop”. The bus was leaning towards the left rear. He continued to accelerate, “frop, frop, flip, flip” until we were up to full speed. If that other tire goes you can Czech us off your Christmas lists!

Stopping at a further then scheduled metro stop we exited the bus. I give the driver a big thumbs up and Linda mumbled, “that’s what happens when you overload a bus”.

We arrived safely to our apartment and the routine settled in. Untaping bruised toes, dental and bathroom queues, and a warmly felt greeting to all, “Good Night Bob, Good Night Gayle, Good Night Linda!”

Cesky Krumlov 2

Today the weather cleared a bit, a few drops trickled down, but mostly sun spots and white billowy clouds. After queuing up for “We We time”, showers, dental care, hair fluffing, toe taping, and discussions on the effectiveness of a high fiber diet, we headed out for the castle. As we walked up the hill, Linda noticed that a guy appeared to be following us. We stopped, and 100 feet back he stopped. We lingered for a photo shoot and he leaned up against a wall watching us. Keep in mind were in a very public place with a smattering of tourists constantly about. This went on for about 20 minutes.

I even took out my camera and took his picture and made sure we locked eyes so he knew we knew who he was (see photo). But he continued to follow us up every cobblestone path we took on the castle grounds. I took out my umbrella and as a the bull elephant protects the women and children by tucking then into a tight cluster behind the bull, I herded us on.

We walked towards one tunnel that leads to another courtyard. I had all of us go inside, wait until he entered, then doubled back out of the tunnel. He stopped and moved back towards the entrance and waited for us to return, with his hood on, face enshrouded by darkness, he looked like the archangel of death. There was only one logical place for us to go and he was content to wait us out.

He is tailing us. The thought came to me, “What would Dave do? Surely he would be near his garage with access to untold sharp and powerful tools”, no help there. Steve our friend would whip out his paragliding wing and fly off the castle walls. Bruce would talk really loud and make the stalker our best friend. I’m not getting any useful neighborly inspiration.

I considered asking the ladies for another umbrella and using them like ninja dragon swords for defense. Testoterone powered me into a “Bruce Lee” like stance. I entered the tunnel alone and walked up to the guy and defiantly asked him why he was following us. He kept saying “prosim” which means “please”. Waving my umbrella like a mad conductor, I told him to stop following us. “Prosim, Prosim”. “See that lady over there (pointing at Linda), she’s connected. You ever watch the Sopranos? Badda Bing!” O.K., somewhere I crossed over the line between fact and fiction, let the reader beware.

When we all exited the tunnel and lingered in the following courtyard our tail was gone. Why watch the Bourne Ultimatum when you can watch the Bob Ultimatum? With our heartbeats buzzing, we felt the need for nourishment and headed for lunch. We were told about a wonderful vegetarian restaurant that sits out over the river. I had fried cheese, with delicately fried assorted vegetables. Gayle had Indian Dahl which was a dense flavor packed lentil dish. Linda went for chilli which had red beans, veggies, and Arabic Bread.

Dinner tonight was another over the top feast. I had a grilled, chicken breast stuffed with blue cheese and smoked ham. Linda had a pork cutlet wrapped in ham, with a delicate layer of blue cheese sauce, sealing the deal. Each of us had a full liter of dark Eggenberg and not so surprisingly befriended 7 German’s sitting next to us. They had moved on beyond beer and were drinking shots of plum brandy and schnapps. They told us that they were celebrating their grandparents at the end of the table and then started laughing. So we topped that by saying Linda was our grandmother, Lindka Lyonova!

As we were leaving we ran into the perky couple of Deon and Candice. We keep bouncing into them around the village. They told us they were “homeless and unemployed” engineers who were staying in England. They will be returning to Australia in a few weeks and are doing a short “walk about” before leaving Europe.

Today we are off to visit the castle gardens and perhaps walk up to the monastery. We all feel that Cesky Krumlov is someplace we would like to return to for at least a week’s visit. There is so much more to eat and drink here. If you come, bring lots of memory cards for your cameras. In 1-1/2 days we have shot 748 photos, talk about picturesque!

Cesky Krumlov 1

We arrived today at Cesky Krumlov which involves a 3 hour bus ride due south of Prague or as the Czech call it “Praha”. We are only a handful of kilometers north of Austria and Germany,the three corners area. The ride was uneventful as we drove through rolling green lush valleys, low hills, and drizzly clouds. After an hour, the driver turned on music that was a mixture of modern pop, polka, but mostly melodic oldies of Bing, and Frank.

This is one of the most romantic and picturesque villages I have ever seen. At one point the three of us are standing on the barbers bridge over the Valtva River turning 360’s shooting one photo after another. You enter the village by crossing the “Horni” bridge. As you can imagine I’ve suffered terribly from the girls over the bridge name. “Oh there is Bob’s favorite bridge…”

It's amazing to imagine the town during the communist period with all the streets and building crumbling to oblivion. Part of the problem was that the predominantly German people who lived here were told to leave and take only 60 lbs of possessions. Entire homes were left totally intact, furniture, food, and homes sparklingly clean as the German owners would have left them. The new inhabitants came from Hungary and Romania. They really took no ownership of their windfall profit and let the homes and even the castle fall to ruin. It was so bad at one point that it was hazardous to walk the streets as walls and timbers covered broken cobblestones.

The Krumlov House Hostel is charming, manned by friendly American’s and Canadians’, and has the most delectable treat you can imagine. It has a walk in, hands free, hot water rich, tiled, shower. The drain is a bit slow, so it even soaks your feet in warm soapy water. Heaven.

Before we hit the cobblestones we stopped at a little café that is famous for hot chocolate. Actually is more like molten chocolate with enough whip cream to keep your spoon from becoming One with the chocolate. Gayle declared it’s better than the $12 brew we had on a famous Paris sidewalk café. Later the next evening, we walked by the café and witnessed the weirdest rock, metallic, head banger music one could imagine. The lead singer was wearing army style shorts and a tee shirt was playing his lips using his fingers. We might hold out for another Paris hot chocolate now.

We had a feast at Mary, Mary’s restaurant. For the same price as a divey dinner in Praha, Gayle and I, got Bohemian Feasts with smoked ham, millet casserole, potato dumplings, sauerkraut, roasted chicken, and a multitude of other morsels. Linda had a millet casserole with smoked ham and sauerkraut. Linda just described it to me again with a big, “Yummmmmm”.

Later that evening we strolled into the Gypsy Bar and Restaurant where each night they have Gypsy folk music. The dark beer from the local brewery Eggenberg was a sweet, toasty nectar. As we waited for the music, we sat next to 8 women from Germany. Linda at first said, “Look at that fiery red headed lady over in the middle, looks like Ursula”. Eventually we all became drinking chums raising our glasses and singing “Prost”. They are from Regensburg and met at a beer garden somewhere. Between 3 or four beers long ago, they committed themselves to lifelong friendships.

Linda told the gal sitting next to us that the fiery red headed gal must be the life of the party. She laughed and passed the message on to her. The red-head told us to wait and before the night is over she will dance to gypsy tunes on the table tops. I told the ladies that Gayle and I were going to Nuremberg in a few weeks. “Oh, that is part of Bavaria but it’s Franconia, not as nice as Regensburg.” More laughter followed by an explanation of local competitiveness between regions, towns and even villages.

Finally, our lungs filled with enough smoke I expected a fireman to rescue us and Linda’s voice getting huskier and huskier, the music started. They had a 4 piece band with the cutest gypsy violin player. Think Latin toned smurf with a wicked bow. Gayle captured a short movie of the band.

Tow of Shame

The Czech people are not confrontational at least in modern times. We started our day in Wenceslas Square. Remember the Christmas song about Good King Wenceslas. The important event that happened in this reasonably ugly and very, very commercial street, was the beginning and pretty much end of the Velvet Revolution. It was here that hundreds of thousands of protesters gathered to shake their keys at the communist party. The jangling must have been so loud and scary that the party packed up their bags and left.

While walking the streets, peering into the shops, filled with tacky crystal and shiny garnets, we witnessed the tow of shame. Watch the video below and see it all first hand!

Friday till Sunday we will be off to Cesky Krumlov a purely medieval town and castle with a romantic winding river. The girls just decided though that today would be a wonderful day to go on a paddle boat for two ride around the Valtav River. I certainly hope this trip doesn't become too bloggable. Think, "Wayward American Tourist Crash Paddle Boat into Charles Bridge!"

Vysehrad

Today we walked about 8 miles or 16300 steps per Gayle and her pedometer. If Prague is a pie, we metro'd the pie in half and walked around one side of half the pie. Our trek started at the crumbling ruins of the old castle of Vysehrad. Construction of the Church of St Peter and St Paul started in the 11th century and ended with the neo-Gothic structure in the late 1895. The Czech make planning a project an art form.

What a perfect place for a picnic or a hot cup of coffee and some fresh baked treats. We enjoyed the latter in a sunken park surrounded by 4 statues, in pairs facing each other 100 yards distant like a football player frozen to stone when their contract got canceled. We were told later that the statues were cut up in slices during WWII when a lost allied plane accidentally dropped a few bombs on Prague. They were too big to haul away, so they sliced them up and moved the chunks to the old castle grounds.

Speaking of stones, we looked valiantly for the “Vysehrad Columns” legend has it that they were thrown by the devil after he lost a bet with a priest. The story goes, “the priest said he can say Mass quicker than the devil can bring a column from Rome to Vysehrad. Then he prayed to St. Peter and he helped him to win the bet”. There is power in those prayers!

Another tale about Vysehrad is that Princess Libuse had an outside bath with a view of the Valtva river. When she tired of her lovers, she had them thrown down a hole in the rocks beside her love nest. This sent her former paramours falling hundreds of feet into the river. It is also said that squire Libuse was sentenced to death, probably for not bathing with the Princess, and asked if he could ride his prize horse Semik one more time. He jumped on his mount and raced for the gates. After finding them closed, he raced towards the cliff and Semik flew over the cliff carrying him down to the river saving his life. There is no account whether or not his mount Semik survived. If not, Semik should have bathed with the Princess since the hole is not that big and it's difficult pushing a big horse down a small hole.

After our snack we wandered over to the old cemetery whose remains include, Mucha (artist), Smetana (composer), and Dvorak (composer). The cemetery rather than feeling lifeless and gloomy was beautiful and full of life. One statue in particular that caught my fancy had three hands coming out of the rock, turning a circular hatch. I can hear someone saying, “Hey let me out of here”. The gravestones did remind me that we lost a good friend and neighbor, Johan Samlowsky. He was always full of life and had a huge giving heart. Our prayers are with his wife Bridgette. It must be hard to lose someone so special!

Alot About Names

Another Sunday has come in gone in Prague. We once again visited the friendly and young international church here. After church we were kindly invited to Laurie and Jim’s house for lunch. She prepared a puffed chicken and cheese enchilada, green beans, and a crisp salad. The Enchilada was mildly spiced and yet very tasty. I hope she sends us the recipe.

Laurie spent the next few hours telling us their story. It was a powerful story that really reflects how God works in our lives if we let him. Miracles do happen, yes, even in our modern today. For the last 11 years, they have toiled at creating a Christian Library in Prague that has both English and Czech translations. There are videos, dvds, access to Logos which is a Christian database that many pastors use, and two multi-purpose rooms the size of a typical master bedroom in a modest home. The rooms are used by people who want to learn English with a Christian slant, children's bible studies, and a multitude of other uses. According to Laurie, the Czech Republic has the highest number or non-Christians than any European country. Naturally, they never have enough funding or enough books to realize the libraries true potential. They are going to be creating a book request wish list, to facilitate donations.

She also told us an enormous batch of funny stories that outline the differences between our cultures. For example when asking a typical Czech official a request that isn’t standard practice the common answer is “not possible”. This same thing happened to us when we went into a bank to see if we could get a 2,000 crown bill broken down. “Not Possible” to make change. You are a bank, correct?

We found out that babies born in the Czech republic have to be named one of the names in the Czech Baby Book of names. Pavel for boys must be on the first 3 pages with Jan on the next three. Think “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” when the father pointed out all the Nicks and Nickies. The duplication of first names is so common that people often say, “we are going to Old Jan's house after church but first I need to stop and get a book from Little Jan and don’t let me forget to give Pastor Jan…” After you account for the sexes there are about 100 approved names so if you wanted your son or daughter’s name to start with the letter “G” you can choose from the boy names of “Gabriel and Gustav” for girls you can choose from “Gabriela, Gita, and Gizela”.

If you want to use a different name like “James” you need to make a petition to the government, which in reality is one lady who researches the names and approves or disapproves. I wonder how many “Not Possible’s” are recorded. Also middle names are not allowed unless you petition The Lady. Few Czechs deviate from the list for one important reason, only the approved names have name dates which you celebrate as a second birthday. I suppose if you're of minimal means, you simply pick the name attached to the date. June 24 is a big day for Jan and friends and five days later all the Pavel’s invite all the Jan’s for another celebration.

In addition, all female last names have “ova” added to the name. For example when Laura Bush visited they called her, “Laura Bushova”. For local people I can envision, “Connie Kinyonova, Nan Burrisova, Julie Comeyova, or Pavla Easyova”. Pavla is one of the cooks at the Oak Table.

She also talked about the problems Czech people have with the concept of free. Basically they are distrustful of anything that is free. I suppose during the communist times, free could come with awfully long strings. Even for their library they charge people a small fee to be a member. This encourages their commitment to the process, a feeling of ownership, and sidesteps the distrust. Laura also said, “You can’t out give a Czech!” If you give them a small gift they will give you 5 back. They are very giving people.

One other final story revolves around the Czech gardeners. For some reason this industry seem rooted in the communist era. She said each spring, four men and 3 women come to a lot near their house to cut the lawn which by now is knee length. A portion of the lawn is rather circular. So the only practical way to approach this is to start mowing in circles from the center out. The last three rows cause grass to shootout onto the sidewalk. The woman’s job is to sweep the sidewalk. Unfortunately each of the latter rounds sends the women scurrying about as the mower blows more clippings on the sidewalk. One more circle and the sidewalk is increasingly full as clippings pile on top of clippings.

Jim told us they haven’t discovered the weed wacker, so late spring, it looks like each building is sprouting a continuous sheaf of wheat around its foundation. Thus the buildings have a sort of modern neo-hamlet look.

One final note, remember our hearty Czech lunch from yesterday. Well it turned out that the Goulash was bad. Apparently one traditional way to make goulash is to make a batch and just keep adding meat and veggies to the endless pot. The remains each day become a starter for the next day. I’ve included a picture of Linda’s dish that I ran through a photoshop food filter which reveals all the bad morsels highlighted in green. Linda kindly shared some of her dish with me. Thus Linda and I made many a trip to the WC. Today though we're definitely on the mend.