A Mythical Place Called Prague...

GROWING up, Prague was one of those mythical places.

Well, not mythical as such, but somewhere mysterious that was the capital of every spelling test nightmare, Czechoslovakia. Sited on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain Prague was one of those places you were unlikely to go to anytime soon.

Nowadays things have changed. Prague is one of the more popular European tourist destinations; Czechoslovakia became the Czech Republic and Slovakia in 1993; while the latest country to give students cold sweats on spelling tests in Kyrgyzstan in central Asia.

There’s always the feeling though that Prague is still somewhere a bit different. Even the language when you enter the Czech Republic goes from vaguely understandable to a mish-mash of z’s, y’s, ř’s, ň’s and š’s. Our guide Amy told us a bit about the language on the way in, with a couple of useful tips to try and remember a couple of words (cheers in Czech sounding a lot like someone saying “nice driveway” quickly).

Before we even hit the Czech Republic we stopped in Dresden, home amongst other things to porcelain, the world’s longest tram and the Wonderbra. Although I didn’t stay here, it is a city rebuilt in the last 60 years after being ¾ destroyed at the end of WWII and was disappointed to miss out after Amy’s description.

Just over the border we then stopped at a former concentration camp at a small town called Terezin. Despite being an internment camp rather than an extermination camp as per Auschwitz 2/Birkenau, it’s still confronting to look at the way the Nazis kept prisoners – and in particular Jewish prisoners – in inhumane conditions.

Eventually we arrived at Plus Prague, our home for the next few days. The first night was pretty quiet, just catching up with a few people that had gone on ahead after Daniel and I left the circuit. The first day in was pretty quiet too, not least because after travelling with Daniel around Scandinavia I had to a) sleep, and b) launder!

Important stuff aside though it was time to head across to the Pražský Hrad (Prague Castle to for us monoglot English speakers). Despite there being a direct tram between the hostel and the castle (tram #12 for those playing at home), Cath and I walked across, not least because the walk entails the Letenské sady, a park superbly located overlooking the Vltava River and the old town. That it’s also a good way of working off those Czech beers (pivo) is another bonus…

After meeting Cath’s friend Jaime in town we then had a wander through the centre, with someone deciding that since it was a relatively nice day and it should only be about 30 minutes or so, we should walk back. Five or six detours and at least one very smelly underpass later and it was decided that someone (me) was an idiot… C’est la vie!

My final day was pretty chilled as well. Stupidly I decided to go to the Communist Museum: not a bad move in itself, but because I procrastinated so much earlier that day I was in the museum while the Czechs played Sweden in a World Cup Ice Hockey semi-final, and missed seeing the Czechs win on penalties on the big screen in the centre of town!

The museum was well worth the effort though. It doesn’t just look at the Communist-era Czechoslovakia, but goes back further to the formation of Czechoslovakia before going right through to the Velvet Revolution of 1989. Throughout it examines what life was like under Communist rule, shows propaganda posters used to discredit the West, and gives examples of how Communists used things like sport to promote their way of life.

For me though the most confronting – and disturbing – part of the museum was the TV room. Here on continuous loop is a film that shows demonstrations, includes footage of Wenceslas Square eerily free of McDonald’s or any other western stores – and police savagely beating their own people. For anyone who thinks that Communism was worthwhile, watch this video and be shocked.

To look at Prague nowadays is to realise how much has changed – and how accessible it really is. The beauty of the city still makes it mythical, but in a better way.

Berlin. No Need For A Witty Title.

THERE were only two things I really wanted to do on this trip.

We’re not talking general wouldn’t-mind-checking-out or hey-that’s-kind-of-interesting things, but two things I really, really, wanted to do.

The first of these was a watch a cricket match at Lord’s in London. Unfortunately that particular pilgrimage for cricket tragics like myself cut short by a bout of weather so foul that the only possible way to alleviate the pain was to go to the pub and watch Australia play in a very warm-looking West Indies.

The other thing was to do Berlin.

Berlin – and Germany’s recent history – has fascinated me since I first looked at an atlas as a young fella and saw maps of Germany over the years. Being very young I had no idea about world history, so couldn’t quite understand how this country had gotten smaller over the years; indeed how it ended up being two countries for a while there.

I don’t remember the fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989 (major world events skipping past most 9-year-olds living in Toowoomba) but even back then the concept of a divided city was, well, weird.

And now I was heading there.

Our first glimpse of the scars of Germany’s recent past was actually our final service stop at a little place called Marienborn. Had we been travelling just over 20 years earlier, this is where we would have stopped to go through East German immigration before continuing onto Berlin. The former customs houses are now an open-air museum, while the masses of light towers and a guard tower meant that it didn’t take too much imagination to realise this wasn’t a place you would’ve wanted to linger back then.

It was then onto Berlin, where after a relatively quiet night at the CityStay hostel bar (only open 23 hours a day!) Daniel and I jumped onboard an Insider/Fat Tire bike tour to learn more about this fascinating city. Amongst the strange things Berlin has to offer was just up the road from the TV tower where the East German parliament used to stand. Authorities have dismantled that old piece of junk as it was full of asbestos, and have decided to replace it with – and I’m not making this up – a replica of the royal palace that used to stand there until just after WWII, even though Germany hasn’t had a royal family since Kaiser Wilhelm abdicated in 1918. Go figure.

During the tour we got to see Checkpoint Charlie, the Jewish Memorial, the Brandenburger Tor (in the death strip during the years of the Berlin Wall), and the Reichstag, as well as a stop in a Tiergarten beer garden for a refuelling stop. That had been the main reason for doing the bike rather than the walk, although everyone who came off the walk raved about it as well!

That night most of the crew – plus a few guides and drivers on days off – came along for the Insider pub crawl. Once again memories are hazy, although what does spring to mind is Daniel doing the caterpillar, and an awesome kebab at ??o’lock after coming back from the Matrix nightclub at the end.

The next day was a mixed bag; although that was always on the cards. Some went down to the Eastside Gallery (the largest bit of the Berlin Wall still remaining); others checked out the Jewish Memorial and the Topography of Terror. I went out to near the bombed-out church near the Zoo to pick up a car for Daniel and I to take us around Scandinavia.

That trip is for another blog away from here… But I tell you what, I’m glad I did Berlin.

Now if only I could get back to Lord’s for a match…

Amsterdamaged!!!

AMSTERDAM has a reputation for carnage.

Hardly earth-shattering news really, but after travelling around for a while you find sometimes things can be exaggerated. True, The Netherlands’ liberal drug laws meant that a few were looking forward to partaking in the local specialties, but surely it can’t be that different to other major cities…

Of greater importance to me though wasn’t what was waiting in Amsterdam but rather who. My brother Daniel is travelling Europe for a couple of weeks, so we’d arranged to meet up in Amsterdam before heading across on Big Blue to Berlin and some randomness. Also waiting was a good friend Jaime, who joined us out on the first night.

The fun started even before we arrived in town. The Amsterdam authorities had decided to hold a big bicycle race in our honour called the Giro d’Italia, which made getting around town was a bit of a mission. Once there Daniel suffered a nightmare that no one ever wants: a cash machine swallowing his one and only ATM card! This naturally caused a bit of concern for the lad, so after sorting out monetary access it was time to join the crew for a bit of a drink and boogie. Ask anyone there about “the caterpillar”…

Our first full day was, like all bar one since I arrived in Europe, cold. Bitterly cold – especially if you’re from Queensland. The one bonus though was that the chill zapped our hangovers as we jumped onboard Mike’s Bikes tour around the Amsterdam hinterland. Dodging around the Giro d’Italia we took in the Vondelpark, the Amsterdam Forest, a lot of canals and the like before heading into a clog and cheese factory with one of the most random dudes running it. It’s hard to explain his jokes, but like this one, they were cheesy…

All that riding around had made us thirsty, so it was off to a brewery; well, the Heineken Experience at any rate. A quick experience of being a beer and a walk around later we were ready to sample some of the stuff, which turned into quite a few more when we arrived in the Leidseplein for the Ultimate Party pub crawl.

At this point we must skip forward to the next day on account of the pub crawl being one big blur. Hazy photos and hazier memories suggest a good night out; certainly everyone enjoyed themselves! This included Daniel, who finally stirred late afternoon to head on out to the Anne Frank Huis. This was our first real introduction to the horrors perpetrated by Nazi Germany, and afterwards Daniel reckoned it was well worth the effort of leaving his warm, cosy bed/bar.

A few beers and a quick trip to the Red Light District to have a look around and it was back to the hostel for a few quiet ones to reflect that yep, Amsterdam certainly has a reputation for carnage.

And that reputation is very well-earnt.

Can't believe I'm in Bruges...

RECIPE for fun: take 40-odd travellers and place into a big blue bus; mix them around a little bit, then sift into random medieval town. Add personal preference of beer, fries and chocolate. Stand back and watch the results…

That was the recipe we used in Brugge anyway. Just over 40 of us jumped onboard the Busabout coach for the first time, with most of us jumping out in the well-preserved Belgian city made infamous by Colin Farrell’s incessant moaning.

First we had to get there. There was already a good crew waiting for breakfast at St Christopher’s when I got downstairs, so everyone had the chance to have a bit of a chat before Driver Dan loaded our bags and guide Nick checked us on. Once aboard I ended up chatting to fellow Brugge-ing Busabouter Lisa, whiling away the hours as we passed through the Somme and Lille before crossing over in Belgium.

Brugge itself was a lot better than Colin Farrell’s character gave it credit for – although had he been part of this crew he might’ve enjoyed himself a lot more. Nick had told us that beer and chips were Belgian specialties, so we wasted no time in trying a few beers before going on to grab some chips (and more beer).

Now full, we set off to explore the town. After the obligatory pics in front of the Belfort, we went down a random street and came across a Tintin store and a chocolate shop. Nothing special about that… but the chocolates were rather interesting. Think of certain parts of the human body (male and female) in chocolate form… Needless, a few brave souls gave them a try!

After that we kept walking down the same street, just chatting away when we came across something none of us were expecting: a fun park! Being a pack of big kids it was straight onto the fun house before Matt, Taleish? and I went on the scariest-looking ride there, screamed our heads off and came out sounding like the cast of The Godfather.

After that the day was pretty chilled. A few took advantage of some free wifi to organise travel plans while Matt and I took advantage of the fact we were in a pool hall to partake in ye olde trash-talking competition with some pool thrown in.

Day two dawned with most people hiring out bikes and going for a cruise down to a Belgian beach; Nick jumped onboard a Flanders battlefields tour; while I took the chance to have a quiet wander around town and catch up on some work-type stuff. Plans to head up the Belfort were thwarted though when I realised my camera battery had somehow gone from full to dead in one day…

Night brought more beer-tasting and quite possibly the worst restaurant lasagne ever! Tempted by a sign advertising €3.50 lasagne we went in, ordered up, then listened to the sounds of the microwave heating it up. To make matters worse Joel and Nick had upsized on account of being very hungry, only to find their €6.50 large was very similarly-sized to our €3.50 medium…

Aah, the joys of travelling… Good thing our recipe for fun was tastier!

Pedestrian in Paris...

I LOVE walking around cities. Or riding bikes. Rollerblading I’m not so keen on, although that has everything to do with a complete lack of coordination on my part.

The reason I enjoy walking/riding is the random things you find when you’re not crammed under someone’s smelly armpit on the metro. You can come across some markets, a hidden gem of a church – or even a gift from Canada to France. You’ll never guess what that one is…

It was with this in mind that I decided to spend my last day in Paris walking from St Christopher’s hostel down to the Seine before turning right and heading towards the Hôtel des Invalides. The sun was out so there were even plans to pop into Sainte Chappelle, the church built to house the crown of thorns worn by Jesus when he was crucified. The church contains stained glass windows that tell Biblical stories, and on a sunny day is supposed to be quite the sight.

Unfortunately it seemed like half of Paris had the same idea, so I went over the Île de la Cité and instead lined up for the Musée d’Orsay. The building itself is an old train station that fell into disuse after electric trains kept getting longer and longer; as an introduction to Paris it would have been quite the sight!

Inside the museum contains many works from Impressionist artists like Van Gogh, Renoir, Cézanne; check out Van Gogh’s self-portrait for an insight into a troubled man. I was also quite taken by Jean-Léon Gérôme’s La Réception de Condé à Versailles showing King Louis XIV and his rather impressive court. Also interesting but for less historical reasons was Thomas Couture’s Les Romains de la Décadence. I’ll leave that one to your imagination…

Having had my fill of culture, it was off to the Hôtel des Invalides where Napoleon awaited. As expected his tomb was very grand – legend has it that because Napoleon was so paranoid about his height, he wanted his tomb set up so that you either had to look up or bow down to see him. Also impressive was the Armouries Museum in the main building itself; but for me the best part was something I had no idea about.

Contained within the Hôtel des Invalides is an excellent exhibition on World War I and World War II. When you first walk in there’s a small amount on the Franco-Prussian War before getting into the two World Wars. I was particularly intrigued as to how they would deal with World War II, given the English-speaking view that the French were on the wrong side of useless (or cheese-eating surrender monkeys if you prefer) during that particular time. As expected it does go quite a lot into Charles de Gaulle and the Resistance movement, but also looks a little at the war in the Pacific.

So that was it for Paris then. I walked back to the hostel, muttering and cursing that perhaps the metro would have been a better idea instead of tramping through the wind and cold, only to remember the afore-mentioned gift from Canada resides in a small park just below the statue of Louis IV on the Île de la Cité. I went in, had a look… it’s a rock!

London's Calling; Paris Answers...

I WRITE this as I wait for that inevitable bane of traveller’s lives to finish: the laundry.

It’s amazing how something that’s so simple back home – add dirty clothes to washing machine, insert powder/liquid, close lid, turn on – can turn into a mission when you’re out and about. Here at St Christopher’s in Paris it’s a two-minute walk to the laundromat, where everything (washers, dryers and laundry powder dispensers) is run through a central payment thingy. Once you know how to work it it’s actually quite easy, but it is a reminder that metaphorically, we’re not in Kansas anymore Toto!

Of course you tend to realise this when you fly for over 24 hours from Australia. Flying Emirates I left Brisbane at 2am on April 29, had brief stopovers in Singapore and Dubai before arriving into London Gatwick around 2000… on April 29, which works out to something like 27 hours in transit (and about 3 years in imagined time when you’re surrounded by screaming children). Fortunately the food was good, immigration was quick and before too long I was tucked away in bed dreaming of the day when someone pays for a first-class ticket…

London itself was a chilled time, visiting friends and paying a first-time visit to the British Museum. In the two years on-and-off I lived in London I’d never made it to this very impressive museum, home to the Rosetta Stone amongst other things. Knowing the popularity of this one exhibit the museum has very thoughtfully put it just to the left of the also-impressive grand chamber just after walking in, which then drags you towards the Ancient Greek exhibit, containing a number of artefacts from the Athens Parthenon that the Greeks would very much like back.

To leave after just seeing these two rooms would be a shame though. Although many rooms were closed the day I went there, I managed to spend a couple of hours wandering aimlessly through rooms detailing Ancient Egyptian life – and death; perused Italian history pre-Roman domination; then finished up with a spot on Enlightenment. All this… for free (although they do have boxes asking for donations).

After this there was a failed attempt to catch Afghanistan playing India in the World Twenty20 Cup, a May Day march through the Strand, and possibly the best steak pie I’ve ever had at the Sussex Gardens near Chiswick. Seriously chunky pieces of steak in a rich gravy with an astounding pastry on top… it’s amazing how much you can fit in even when you’re not hungry!

ALL good things must come to an end though, and on Monday it was off to Paris on the Eurolines bus. This wasn’t too bad, apart from the inevitable hour wait at French immigration as they went through 40-odd passports, had a cuppa, watched Days Of Our Lives, had a smoke, then finally gave us our passports back – in my case minus entry stamp. Not cool.

Here in Paris so far I’ve managed to head across to Cemetrie Père Lachaise, final resting place of Oscar Wilde, Heloise and Abélard… and a singer called James Douglas Morrison. Jim Morrison’s grave was the busiest by far, with a fence around it to stop over-eager fans from getting too close! No such problems with Wilde’s grave, which is covered in lipstick marks; Heloise and Abélard’s merely covered in authentic medieval scaffolding.

There was also the excitement of watching the first coaches of the season pull out and head on their way to Bruges and Amsterdam. Tomorrow I’ll be jumping onboard Big Blue myself to head to Bruges, but later today it’s off to Hôtel des Invalides for another tomb – this time for the most famous short man in history.

Which I’ll do right after the laundry finishes…