I Heart Prague

Everyone says that Prague is beautiful. And in this case Everyone is right.



We got into Prague two days ago and after five minutes of wandering narrow streets, gazing at the river and the copper spires turned green with age, we stumbled upon an open air performance.

It was modern dance, performed in full suits to harsh repetitive electronic music and with a dozen or so desks as props. Chelsea and I stood entranced for the whole thing. They managed to work in people dropping pages out of phone books from the five story buildings surrounding us and a naked man in a window with a cell phone.



This is the first city where the tacky “I heart 'insert city here'” t-shirts has been tempting. We love Prague.

Also – 1 USD works out to nearly 20 kroner here. And as opposed to Denmark where a similar phenomenon meant nothing, here we got Indian food for two people for less than 10 dollars. As stated: We love Prague.

We spent most of the day, roughly 9ish hours, walking around today.



This though I blame on Paris. A result of our stay in Paris is that we got used to small spaces on city maps taking us a long time to traverse on foot. Paris is huge, so an inch or so on my Paris map is roughly 15-20 minutes walking. But now, in smaller cities, and especially old city centers, we tend to cross whole blocks of the map without noticing – hence we missed Amsterdam’s red light district the first time we walked through it.

So in Prague, when we look at a map with our hostel and the zoo literally on opposite sides and then gauge from our walking the day before that it really wouldn’t be that bad of a trek we shrug our shoulders and head out.



And as we are heading back, it is less of a bother to walk than to try to figure out the bus.

We are safely in the hostel now – tomorrow we take off for Vienna. Our feet hurt and we could stand to do laundry. Soon. But we love Prague. Ciao!

Second Recap

Okay – For everyone’s sanity I’m going to do another recap. We will surely backtrack a little in a few days here, as we have been doing, but I figured it might be good to mention some highlights and where we are now.

Since we left Nice a lot has happened.

We got to Geneva, met my sister (YAY!), climbed a tower (awesome, but we feel like after Monteserrat it takes a lot of stairs to impress us), and witnessed what Chelsea has dubbed simply “The Spew”



After that we went to chill in Heidelberg, and experienced, once more, the power of chocolate and the pure ingenuity of the German varieties of this godlike substance.



From there we hid in Bad Homburg, and with the kind and timely help of the Von Wuthenaus, we recouped.

down time + excellent people = happy Chelsea and Hanna



And then back to Paris. The city of lights and love did not disappoint. Well, actually, considering what we were warned to expect in Paris, we were happily surprised. The people were nice. The streets were as clean as one might hope in a huge city. And of course, there was something of historical/literary/aesthetic/artistic significance on every other street corner.



After an epic misadventure involving a cathedral and twitter (which deserves its own post) we met up with Jane and Kiyash. Who, in turn, addicted us to Pierre Herme macaroons (which we hunted, purchased and consumed on each successive day of our stay in Paris. They don’t ship the macaroons. We were sad.)

And that brings us to Amsterdam. Amsterdam has a certain reputation. In order to fully experience the city we did the only thing possible. We went to the science center! Yes, we spent our one day in Amsterdam playing at the Nemo with a bunch of science happy Dutch children. It was brilliant.



From there we took the sleeper (or tried to) to Copenhagen. After running 3.5 hours late (“too late”, according to our charming conductor) it left us in Padborg.

Never heard of it? Well, neither had we. We arrived in Copenhagen 5.5 hours later than planned with an extra Ethan we picked up along the way. He probably deserves a post too.

That brings us about up to the present. We met Lee yesterday – fellow contributor to Auslander (theforeigners.tumblr.com) and are traveling together today. Assuming his train is on time.


Cheers!

On Recapping

The reader will have noticed, if you are following our journey with any attention at all, that our updates of late have been scarce, or perhaps missing would be more accurate. In the intervening time, a period of a week or so, many things have happened. And while I intend to oblige our readership with more detailed accounts of our more engaging episodes, I feel that it is perhaps necessary to supply some brief overview of highlights so that we do not fall too far behind in informing you of our travels.

(Please note that I have been reading a novel written in the high romantic style, and thus my own prose has taken on a perhaps more indulgent tone than it is wont, and I beg you, dear reader, to bear with me)

Of Fudge and Pheasants

Our most recent update concerns the emerald isle, but if you will permit me I find it necessary to backtrack slightly and say two words about Edinburgh.
It is a charming city, neither too large nor too small, and seemingly built entirely of an imposing grey stone, rather akin to the color of the sky (The English one, at least).

We partook of a range of culinary experiences, from an establishment where pizza is made (it referred to itself as a ‘hut’ although I find this odd as it was decidedly more comfortable than the quarters one usually associates with the word) to a tureen of pheasant and venison at a pub and to a most excellent purveyor of fudge.
Our stay in Scotland was brief, and yet complete in that we did have the privilege, while wandering this great city’s streets, to observe a man in traditional dress (a stripped skirt accompanied by all the accoutrements of that country) playing gaily upon his bag and pipes the tune known as “Scotland the Brave”.

Of Ferries and Military Time

It seems to be a requisite for any traveler of esteem to have those stories which are more entertaining in hindsight, and it is one such that I shall now briefly relate with a view to returning to the subject in the future.To be brief I purchased our passage from Britain to Ireland upon a ship. I assumed that this fine vessel departed at 2:45pm, since no sane person would leave at the corresponding time in the a.m.

I was proven sadly wrong.

Of Sweet Wicklow, the Garden of Ireland

Despite arriving with little sleep and at an hour whose very existence is unpleasant to recall, dear Chelsea and I arrived in Wicklow to find that the powers of the universe do indeed reward suffering and perseverance with blessings.Wicklow, with fascinating landscapes, ruins, and the most charming hosts we could have wished for, enchanted us within the hour and drove away thoughts of sleep with alacrity. I would endeavor to describe these wonders, but my poor scribe’s tongue lacks the vocabulary. So I shall simply add a few visual aids.
Of Equestrian Happenings

I have protested to my dearest travel partner that given her lovely and idyllic entry discussing the nature of horses and our first encounter with them on our trip, I should refrain from commenting on the experience. However, she insists, and who am I to refuse the request of a companion and honest friend?

Horses and I harbor a mutual distrust, stemming from their natural preference for contact with humans who know what on earth they are doing and from my own keen self-awareness of this precise lack in my education.

I would also like it to be recorded that the last time I rode any beast it was a camel, and this more than three years ago with the constant help and attention of a staggeringly brave ten-year-old.

However, not to be cowed, I did attempt the same journey which Chelsea recalls so fondly. I will gladly attest to the beauty of the scenery, and also to the bright sunshine which attended it to the glory of both.I must admit myself slightly distracted by my primary objective in this endeavor: not to be dislodged from my mount until such time as it was appropriate and under my own volition.

This objective was complicated by the fact that I never learned to “trot” and that without stricter guidance than was available I did not in fact learn in this particular instance. I am told that I bounced with rather alarming consistency and height, and, I may add, that it was with no small amount of discomfort.

I will not say that I was won over by the experience, but rather that it strengthened my resolve to caulk the gaps in my skill.

Of Buses and Punctuality

Upon our last day in the heavenly Wicklow, we rose before the sun to catch our first of several forms of transportation, this being a bus meant to pick us up at 4:30 am. Upon waiting for said bus to appear with no favorable result to report after half an hour we proceeded both to curse the national buses of Ireland and to alter our plans accordingly.

I shall not bore you with details at the moment, since I already fear that this entry has run verbose. But I will mention that “Children of Dune”, a small bog cat, “brekkers”, timely hot cocoa and friends all played parts in getting us through the mishaps caused by that bus.

On Monuments, Present and Past


Before continuing on the outline of our journey I must pause with an unjust brevity to remark upon the kindness of our hosts in Plymouth, the Englands. Throughout the sadly few days we were able to stay with them their exuberance, concern for our well-being and amiable demeanor enchanted and comforted us upon our journey.

Under their guidance we were conducted to a marvelous garden dominated by strange honeycombed buildings made of some thin and obviously durable material. The purpose of this place seems to be the preservation of the environment in general as well as the cultivation of such optimism as is possible in the face of the impending threats to our planet devised with such careful cunning by ourselves.
Beyond this we fearlessly challenged the elements in an attempt to see a ruin, of which history I was personally enamored, and discovered an alarming number of shops claiming proprietorship by a long dead king and his various relations and counselors. This ruin, was indeed there, diminished somewhat in glory by the hotel set on the hill above it and meant to imitate the structure now battered by time and the elements into so many crumbling walls.
I must not neglect to mention that during this trip we stopped at various points to enjoy such picturesque and charming villages as the countryside offered.

Of Our Current Situation and Disposition

We are currently onboard a ship once more, and pursuing a course for Saint Malo on the coast of France with the utmost expedience. You may assume, dear reader, that we have arrived safely if this is posted, since only in such condition shall your humble writer be able to do so.

I hope that my concise report meets with your approval and that your curiosity is satisfyingly piqued and any anxiety allayed. Until next we meet, au revoir.

Finding Sherwood

So as I was planning our itinerary I realized that in going north we would have to cross through Nottinghamshire, and in doing so would find ourselves close to Nottingham and therefore Sherwood Forest.

My senior seminar this past year was on Robin Hood and it has become a minor obsession of mine. I went to Rochester, NY for the annual Robin Hood conference and found myself, slightly disturbingly, laughing at jokes about medieval lit and Robin Hood made by Robin Hood scholars. It was a disconcerting but pleasant experience.

Aside from that, who can fail to love Robin Hood and his many incarnations? From the Disney fox to Ivanhoe’s shadowy companion, Errol Flynn to Cary Elwes. We won’t go into Russell Crowe at the moment, but only because I still haven’t seen it and could not do justice with my comments. I also choose to pass over Kevin Costner. (Feel free to ask me about that if you want to hear a rant).

Now as it turns out Sherwood is not in fact very close to Nottingham. The nearest train station is Mansfield Woodhouse, about an hour ride north-ish, and from there you have to catch a bus to Edwinstowe and the Sherwood Visitor’s Center.

So our first day of serious travel within England consisted of the train to Nottingham (fairly relaxing) and then another to Mansfield Woodhouse.

I doubt any of you will ever get to Mansfield Woodhouse.


It is a small station. No one, in fact, works there. One cannot buy tickets, obtain any information about the surrounding area, and nor, to my chagrin, could you find a convenient locker in which to leave a few large and heavy packs.

And so Chelsea and I wandered forth from this station with our packs and into the town of Mansfield Woodhouse. Which was empty. It was a Sunday. Nothing was open, and the stares from the few of the populous driving by were alarmed.

By following signs to the town center we did find a bus station, the appropriate bus, and it did show up. When we told the driver we were going to the Sherwood Forest Visitor’s Center his bemused expression changed to one of bored understanding. Of course. We were here for Robin Hood.

There are several different theories on how Robin Hood began, no one has been able to find a likely historical figure to base him on. One theory runs that he is a continuation of a pagan king of summer, a forest spirit. I did not have a particular predilection to this theory, but walking in Sherwood Forest, looking at trees too big for three people to put their arms around, at a woods that is not as vast as it was but still feels deep, I can understand that more.

It was the last day of the Robin Hood festival, and there were kids running around with miniature bows and arrows with suction cups on the tips, there were bright green hats and swordswallowers, a woman dancing to the Korobushka and an alchemist. And of course there was Robin and Tuck, John and the Sheriff.

I tried to stay out of earshot from the actors because while they looked the part, I doubt they were staying much in character. And I wanted to believe in them for a bit, to believe in Robin who walks through the forest, who blows his horn and summons the merry men, who always escapes to annoy the Sheriff one more time.

Mind the Gap

So after spending a week in Britain one does get to notice the differences. Cars driving on the other side takes some getting used to. The impulse to jerk your head warily in the wrong direction is astounding, like it’s all been a joke and this time the car will come from the other direction. Fortunately, in London at least, many of the main streets had useful notes saying “<--look left” or “look right -->” painted onto the asphalt. I wish I could say that after a day or two we no longer needed these, but they continued to be a relief and I miss them in Scotland.

During the intermission of “Warhorse” (a very cool show with massive horse puppets) the snack of choice was ice cream. Now certainly some American theater snacks are messy, but I would dare to say that other than sitting on your chocolate bar so that it melts none is as hazardous as melted ice cream. It was vaguely wonderful to see the older gentleman next to us delicately eating a tiny ice cream with a small spoon.

And lemonade is carbonated.

Now onto language – starting with “concession” which in American theaters makes me think of food and here refers to an elderly person. One can buy concession tickets rather than have a senior discount. “What’s on” is the phrase for events at a certain venue, and “take away” means “carry out” or “to go”.

Our host in the first hostel explained that Oxford St. was where we should go if we needed the “bits and bobs” and he was amused by Chelsea and my insistence on taking multivitamins (third syllable pronounced as in “it” rather than “ite”).

“To let” meaning “to lease” or “rent” gave Chelsea some pause and I have been grateful to my BritComs. They have been useful.

And of course there is the ever popular “mind the gap”, dutifully repeated by the many mechanical voices of the underground and train systems. I will also admit that hearing a very proper and refined woman’s voice inform us that the Piccadilly line terminates at Cockfosters nearly made me giggle at every stop.

As I find/remember more we might get a “Mind the Gap II” but that’s it for now.

Cheers, man.