It’s been a couple of days since the last blog entry, which, given the track record, feels a little like a mortal sin. After a marathon sightseeing/clubbing combo run, I’m finally rested up enough to write a few words on the bus from Prague to Berlin.
That’s no typo. I’m on a bus. We’re taking a break from air travel in favour of something a little more cost effective (roughly 1/15th the cost) and let’s face it; it’s not a bad way to see a sight or three.
It is, however, just as awkward a way to travel, especially when you’re sat next to not one, but two squealing, chattery toddlers. Only a few minutes ago, a half eaten, half melted, chocolate-covered gummy thing landed upon my person, as if sent as manner by the lord god himself. Honestly. Chocolate rain. One hour down, four and a half to go…
Let’s talk about Prague. First of all, wow. What an amazing place. Never have I seen such intricacy of detail and workmanship in man’s creations, which feel so elegant and natural, that they could be mistaken as natural formations. We took a tram up to the castle yesterday morning, and moseyed at a leisurely pace down to the old town, where streets are narrow and paved in stone, every building is a bazillion years old, and every second door is lined with the same touristy crap – beanies, gloves, and chess sets. They have so many chess sets in Prague, they even have the hexagonal kind that allow three people to play. Even at the most exploitative points, there’s still a culture that makes the visit more than worthwhile.
My left foot. In snow. Yep, snow!
Czech people are an odd bunch, to put it mildly. Unlike the French (don’t mind them), Czechs are patient and accommodating of tourists. It makes sense; tourism is their primary export, and a country that poor can scarcely afford to bite the hands that feed it. Just about everybody in public service speaks English; a fact I’m most thankful for, as, unlike French, I can’t speak a word of Czech, and can barely seem to pick it up as I go. It’s all just that much gobbledegook. But I digress. Czech men can almost be exclusively profiled based upon their generation. The Ys have a lot of that “life sucks but let’s just bloody get on with it” mentality. The Xs are more about the “I will lie, cheat and steal to feed my family”, which you can almost respect if it wasn’t so damned insulting. Anyone older is generally a seasoned patriot, with a beard or some manner of odd facial formation which speaks volumes of “I ain’t changing for no damn body”.
Czech women are a breed apart again. They have a distinct look which is undoubtedly the result of some long line of Czech heritage, and they exhibit it with pride and elegance. Czech women are, collectively, incredibly beautiful, although individually, they exude a quiet sadness which tends to suggest a kind of submission to a life significantly simpler than many of them would desire. They generally wear significantly more makeup than Australian women, which I see as a kind of primitive sense of competition for the acceptance and affection of men who, from what I can tell, are scarcely capable of either. Looking a pretty lady in the eye, on a tram or in the street, gets you a slightly different reaction in Prague than it would in most other places. They still look away with that “oh lordy this is old” demeanour, but they take just a second or so longer to do it, as if in that one second, there’s a longing for some sort of connection they’ve never quite been able to make.
Driving from one part of Prague to another can be like driving from the 14th century to industrial Castle Hill in a matter of minutes. It’s remarkable how the two distinct architectural styles have managed to slot next to each other so effectively. It also clearly helps define which areas are for locals, and which are for tourists. Locals seem to want to have very little to do with the touristy areas, except of course, those who work in souvenir shops, clubs etc. Even they put very little effort into hiding their singular desire to be somewhere else.
Near the Old Bridge
On the way to the bus stop earlier today, we managed to cop a couple of 700Kc (~$45) fines on the train for having the wrong type of ticket. The difference between the ones we had, and the ones we should have had, was a mere 8Kc (~bugger all), but apparently enough to kick a tired, overweight ticket inspector into “I’m doing my goddamn job” mode. It was frustrating to say the least, as the unfortunate incident required an unscheduled ATM withdrawal under the supervision of a man who’d judiciously confiscated our passports, and was wearing a calm but assertive “do it or I bring de biiig trouble” expression on his rather hideous dial. It felt a bit like being paraded in front of a school assembly with your pants around your ankles. At a school you’d just moved to the day before, where everyone still thought you were radioactive and weird.
A bit of shoddy advice from a hostel employee resulted in a 4 hour wait for the bus, so we killed a couple of hours at a pizzeria near the bus terminal. Two pizzas, two pints, a JB and Pepsi, and a glass of strawberry juice set us back a whopping $25. This was after going clubbing the night before with a mere $50 or so worth of local currency, and making a damn fine night out of it. So fine, in fact, that sleep was removed from the picture completely (hence the delay in blog posts!)
Smoking is allowed in clubs and restaurants in Prague, so I was reacquainted with an unpleasant memory of returning home with clothes that stank to high heaven. They still do, and I’m back to my Australian hoodie and jeans, in place of the stinky local apparel.
Cool, huh?
We must be in Germany now, as I see umlauts on street signs through the window, and there’s a 70s movie on the bus’s screen which I’m not listening to, but can see small children baring their private parts in scenes that would have the filmmakers and the viewers behind bars in less liberal parts of the world. On that note, I think it’s time to wrap this rant up and catch a few more Zs before one of these kids crawls onto my lap and does a nice plump poo. Cheerio!
