Today's Date

Despite the lingering thread pointing to Germany at the end of my last post, it is not yet time for Germany; it is time for our last day in the Czech Republic. One thing that was notably absent from my recounting of Prague, but previously mentioned, was the cultural prevalence of beer. What better, then, than to visit Plzeň, where Pilsner Urquell is brewed, and czech it out for myself? 'Urquell' literally means 'original source,' and according to the tour guide as well as Wikipedia, 'most popular lagers produced in the rest of the world are based upon this original beer.' But, this is getting ahead of things.

After a two-hour early morning train ride, Matt and I arrived in Plzeň and were instantly greeted by the wafting scent of the famous brew. This fragrance would wend its way around the city, disappearing just so it could reappear and remind us of its presence. Though our main objective was the brewery, the tour was three hours after our arrival, and the town was ours for the exploring. I guess I shouldn't call it a town; its population exceeds 100,000. Still, because we mostly saw the Old Town Square and surrounding areas, despite the city's vast industrial expanse, it felt like a town.

As usual, a Gothic church loomed over the otherwise open square, today peppered by vendors and pony rides and cotton candy and popcorn. Brightly colored buildings, at once quaint and ornate, bordered the square. It just felt so quintessential. Andean performers created an out of place soundtrack to the experience. We entered the church and discovered that we could go up the tower, the tallest in Bohemia at 102 meters. At the top, I marveled. I looked out over the expanse of Plzeň, buffeted by the wind, and breathed, and sat, and breathed. The Andean music tinkled up from below and somehow it almost fit now.

After visiting the Great Synagogue we returned for the tour. The brewery produces Pilsner, Kozel (a dark beer), Gambrinus, and Rategast (a non-Alcoholic beer), but it is now part of the SAB Miller conglomerate, which is also responsible for delicacies like Steel Reserve, Keystone, and Miller High Life. During the tour we rode in the largest elevator in the country, which fits approximately 75 people and was probably bigger than my dorm room. We tasted barley, malt, and hops. Later, even more excitingly, we tasted unfiltered, unpasteurized Pilsner straight from a giant fermentation barrel. After the tour, led by Ignacious, on his first day and in his lucky shoes, we returned to the square. We visited the City Hall and found a moving memorial to WWII soldiers. Plzeň was liberated by troops led by Patton, and the city has always had very pro-America sentiments. There is actually a monument to Patton somewhere in the city. Here, however, we found photos of mostly American soldiers, how they looked then and now, alongside their written memories of their tour of Plzeň.

By the time we headed back to Prague for the night, hunger had set in, and I gave in to Chinese takeout for the train ride back. It was the first Chinese food I had had since leaving the US, and one of only a handful of occasions when I had eaten 'foreign' food while in Europe. Matt and I snuck up on Ellie on our way back to the hostel and, reunited, the three of us went for dinner/snack at the restaurant we visited on our first day in Prague. Farewell, Czech, soon, finally, hello Germany.

Prague Potpourri

I untie the crackled gold cover of the leather travel journal I bought in Florence, and I think about how much memory and detail time erases. Europe seems ages ago. But then, I will hear the name of a place that used to be foreign, and a mental double take will remind me that it has become familiar. I have been there, once long ago. Little things keep surprising me. Being able to type an @ without a scavenger hunt on the keyboard, toilet paper that is square again, hearing strangers speaking Spanish; I guess these things mean home.


Things my journal says I loved about the Czech Republic:

Despite being mostly incapable of remembering anything other than the words, 'Speak English?, beer, and please,' I love that I understand the pronunciation. One of the things I found overwhelming in Vienna was being surrounded by so much textual information but being unequipped to pronounce it, much less read it. Here, I might have no idea what I'm saying, but I'm probably saying it right enough.
I loved finally having an exchange rate in my favor, with the Kc being about 20 to the dollar.
I experienced what I think was my first and only thunderstorm in Europe on our way to dinner the first night.

The guidebook asserted that once you get a taste of the local cuisine, you will wonder why and how you've never had it. It is delicious. For people who love meat and potatoes sneakily dressed in shockingly rich and intricate flavors. For people who aren't afraid to literally take a stab at a pork knee or neck. The only thing I disliked was a street-vendor prepackaged sandwich I bought against my better judgment, based on a photo that bore no resemblance to the product I received. I had to disassemble it and eat the exterior of the bread and napkin off the chicken inside, which was covered in gobs of some sauce so vividly orange it could probably be used as a homing beacon.

While most of the places we had visited in Europe thus far felt old, Prague felt like a timeline. Or, perhaps more accurately, a time knot. Over five hundred years worth of architectural movements cozily intermingle, leaving one to wonder whether the streets of Prague started out like a gap-toothed baby's gums, with buildings popping up over time to fill in empty spaces. Adjacent architecture ranges from Medieval to Gothic to Art Deco to Art Nouveau to Cubist (the only city with Cubist architecture) to Soviet to Modern to Contemporary. The Municipal House, a resplendent example of Art Nouveau built in 1911, is right next to the Powder Gate, which leads into Old Town, was built in 1475, and across the street from these two structures is a building built in the Soviet era.

My favorite place in all of Prague --  as I say this so many other candidates come to mind; perhaps the calling it the most serene place I experienced would be more accurate -- was Vyšehrad. We took a short, steep, green and wooded walk (with bits of rust) up to and through the walls of this hilltop fortress above the Vltava River. I could have spent all day overlooking the city, far from the hustle and bustle and rustle of life and tourists, but after a picnic brunch we kept exploring. Through ancient gates and a cemetery of the average and famous together in death, we arrived at the Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul. What a surprise. Inside the imposing time-blackened Neo-Gothic church, the walls were covered in Art Nouveau depictions of saints. Before I lapse into rhapsodic art history mumbo jumbo I will move on, but know that for me it was art history magic.

We all took some time apart one afternoon to tend to our diverse interests, and I went to the only museum I saw in the Czech Republic: the Alfons Mucha Museum. I have always loved his art, and here in what at first seemed like a distressingly small (but ended up being a deceptively deep) space, I found much to keep loving. Original drawings, unfinished drafts pulled from the lithography stone, photographs taken in his studio, a childhood painting, medals, even a New York Times article about his visit to the United States. In fact, because the museum was not so so large, I was able to savor everything, read every description, and feel neither rushed nor overwhelmed.

Despite the fact that Prague was fascinating, it left me a little unsatisfied. Looking back there was much to admire and appreciate and much to see that I didn't have time for, those things you add to the 'Next time in Europe' list. I'm not sure what was lacking, or whether anything really was lacking at all. Maybe it was the promise of Berlin just around the corner, the destination I had chosen; the one place I had been itching to get to all along.

The first and last look

Train stations:
the land of hellogoodbye
the land of transit
the land of transitions

Prague

Plzeň

Berlin

Rotterdam

Paris

Nice

Milan

Milan really was the last last look.

Moving Picture Show

The view from the road, through the windows
Not quite here and not quite there yet

Bottom to Top

I started looking at my photos today, and I realized:
a) how much I had already forgotten
b) how much I saw
c) how fortunate I am
and d) how much I can't resist sharing, at least a little bit


Bratislava

Wien

Praha

Plzeň

Berlin

Making it count: travel updates by the numbers

Countries vistited: 4
Austria, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Germany

Languages attempted: 3
German, Slovak, Czech, (but have also used English, Spanish, Italian, and French)

Cities seen: 5
Vienna, Bratislava, Prague, Plzeň, Berlin

Hours spent on trains: 27

Beers tasted: 18 and counting
Urbock 23 Eggenherg ('the cognac of beers'), Wieselburger, Spiegl, Pilsner Urquell, Pilsner Urquell (unpasteurized and unfiltered), Dark Staropramen, Budvar, Budvar Dark, Gambrinus, X33, Pivovarsky Dum's sampler (light, dark, sour cherry, coffee, wheat, banana, nettle, monthly special)
When good beer is cheaper than water, there's just no excuse.

Museums seen: 5
Leopold Museum, Albertina, Secession, Belvedere, Mucha

Misadventures had: 1.5
An epic tale of tracking the nonexistent Parma FedEx the day before my departure, seeking my absentee train ticket, but it all worked out.
Getting fined 700 Kc on a a Prague tram for not having validated the ticket immediately upon boarding

Kilometers walked: uncountable
Ask the soles of my feet. Perhaps they know. Perhaps my maps know. Ask the z's I start to leave on my pillow the second I lay down my head.

Days remaining: 15 (unless the airlines and the volcanoes have something to say about it)
Enough or not enough?


A journal excerpt from Day One:
On the train to Vienna. We cross into Austria, and by 630 I am awoken and don't dare close my eyes again. It is amazing how visually apparent it is that we are in a completely different place. We sure ain't in Kansas no more. I don't mind the gloomy forecast because it makes the current sights so mystically spectacular. Coniferous forests and the mountainside, shrouded in clouds. Every now and then the sun breaks out and that fleeting hint of a blue dawn is all the more spectacular. Along the sides of the tracks it is like a lincoln log playground, and surrounded by so many beautiful green trees it is the first time that the sight of logging doesn't come with a pang of guilt. Silver rivers cut through the verdor and my Seattle companion, Ellie, says it draws home to mind. I spy some brown cows (how now?) and I feel at home, too. The architecture can only be described as quaint and quintessential. Angled roofs, angled wooden accents on pastel siding. Steeples look like ergonomic stacks of ice cream scoops, topped with a shining golden accesory. There is a mysterious phenomenon now known as the Christmas tree on a stick or, more succinctly, the Christmas kebab.
All I can think is that I hope I remember this forever. Day one, maxing out at around five hours of sleep, and already there is so much wonder to behold.