| Trip Log - Prague Day One |
[Dec. 21st, 2006|10:13 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Prague Hostel | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  tired but happy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Blues Traveller | ] |
Trip Log - Prague Day One
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My Travels Begin…
I don’t know if you could call them travels so much. “Travels” implies that I am going to be gone for months and months (like my travels to the Netherlands), and this little expedition is only for 5 days. Nevertheless, I am without companionship, and as I am soon coming to find, the prospect of traveling by yourself magnifies the experiences you have many many times over. Its not that the experiences you have are any different than they would be if you were with someone else, but the prospect of dealing with them all by yourself, the prospect of recognizing that you are in a foreign place, with no idea what is going on, and no one to rely on, forces a self-reliance and a more accurate understanding of your distance from comfort, that I think affords me the right to site the next few days as “My Travels.”
I just finished one of the most satisfying showers I have ever experienced, though I never would have expected it from a hostel in Prague. The shower nozzle was about 2 inches taller than my head, so when I stepped underneath it, all of the water poured directly onto my head and my body. Bryan likes skin breaking water pressure, the kind that makes it hurt when it hits you. I hate that. You have to treat a shower like a standing bath, so the water should be pressurized enough such that you can feel it covering your entire body, but not so strong so as to encourage pain. Some pain is good, but the pain should come from the temperature of the water, not the speed with which it shoots out. Mildly scalding water, such that your skin burns a little as a result, is the ideal temperature for shower water. Temperature control on this shower was very sensitive, so the water always felt perfect. I haven’t slept in 38 hours, and only got 4 hours before that, so the fact that I am tired probably made it feel better as well.
I left Betteke’s party with Chris around 4. We grabbed a cab and he took us back to our respective homes. I said goodbye to Chris for most likely the last time. He says he wants to plan a trip to come out to California. I told him that I would like that very much, but I recognize that most often these things are said, though rarely precipitate action. I hope he has a good life.
When I got back to my apartment, I packed some clothes, putzed around for an hour, and then headed downstairs to catch the bus. Unfortunately the buses don’t run that early on Saturday (Yay Netherlands), so I speed walked the 2 miles to the station, and encouraged some British guy to buy a ticket for me (I paid him back), as the train station ticket office doesn’t open until 9, and the only other way to buy a ticket is through the change machine (Yay Netherlands again) I hopped on the train and tried to sleep, but it wasn’t happening, so I meditated on the happenings of the night, which as you know, was quite eventful. My connecting train to Amsterdam Airport was cancelled, and the only other train running to there was 30 minutes late (Ill point out that these two trains comprise the 2 busiest in all of the Netherlands. Needless to say, Yay Netherlands!). I recognized that I was going to miss my flight, so I did the only thing that I could do in the situation, I took a cab from Utrecht to Amsterdam.
Altogether, it cost me exactly 100 euros, which is obscene. But the prospect of missing my flight would have meant buying a second plane ticket, well worth twice the price of the cab. Sure enough, the cab got me to the airport just before the gate was officially supposed to close, and just in time to hear the announcement that the plane would be delayed by 30 minutes, meaning that I could have taken the train afterall. Whatever, I made the only decision I could make at the time, and even though the train would have been fine, and would have cost 100 euros less, I couldn’t count on the slim chance that my flight would be delayed.
My flight to Prague included a lay-over in Copenhagen, which has been the highlight of my short trip thus far. Dutch people are tall, but they are lanky, and living with them for 6 months did not adequately prepare me for the Scandinavian giants that I faced in Copenhagen. They all seemed very nice and friendly, but I couldn’t help thinking that if an army of Ians went up against an army of Danish people, each one of them could easily squish every one of me with their pinkies. I was surprised to find how expensive everything was at the airport in Copenhagen. I couldn’t find lunch for less than 20 euros, so I gave up the prospect of eating affordable and instead luncheoned extravagantly. I have never tried Beluga caviar, but it is supposed to be the best and most expensive caviar you can buy. I did not try it for lunch, because it was selling for about 120 euros a dish, but suffice to say, the quality of the place where I chose to eat lunch can be characterized by the fact that it was on their menu. In addition to caviar, they boasted the best smoked salmon in the world, which I (in all my worldly knowledge of smoked salmon (which is none)) determined to be true. They had an entire menu dedicated to Balkan salmon, which was special due to its old Russian treatment. There were many different kinds, so I got a platter which included all of them as well a special Balkan beer, which was designed specifically to go with the fish, and had 11% alcohol per volume.
I did not know that smoked salmon could be prepared to be such a delicacy, but it was truly amazing. The beer as well, was more like wine than beer, it so perfectly complimented the fish. I could actually taste the smoked salmon better after I washed it down with the beer. It was amazing, and though it set me back 35 euros, it was totally worth it. I realize that I love food. Really good food makes me happy. I could give a shit about nice cars, or fancy electronic gadgets, but good food is my vice, and where as I am cautious in all other areas of financial spending, I will not hesitate to spend a ridiculous amount of money on excellent food.
Slightly tipsy after the heavily alcohol laden beer, which I now realize was probably intended for crazy big Scandinavian guys, I boarded the plane to Eastern Europe. Our touchdown in Prague was announced via a deep Nordic chuckle from the gigantic Danish Viking sitting next to me on the plane. I woke from my 30 min. nap to wander aimlessly around the Czech airport until finally I found the exit. I changed 100 euros into 2500 Czech dollars, which though not quite as much as it sounds, is still a hefty amount of money in a country where the economy is shot. I caught a cab to my hostel, which with face plastered to window, allowed me the opportunity to briefly check out the huge huge city.
The driver dropped me off in front of a semi-sketchy building in a sketchy area of town, and I experienced my trip’s first quasi panic when I realized that I could not get into the building that was supposed to be my hostel. Upon further looking I found that they don’t actually open until 5, so I figured I would kill some time and walk around. It was about 4, but it was already dark (Which might sound weird to you guys, but is something I have grown accustomed to in the Netherlands) and the prospect of carrying my computer around made me feel paranoid (I don’t know why I brought my computer), so I found a pizza place and hopped in for some food. I ordered a huge tasty pizza, for the equivalent of about 5 dollars, and spent the next 2 hours watching the waitresses interact with the locals, friends, and family members that frequently greeted them. It was here that I determined that my initial assessment of the “sketchy” neighborhood was wrong. It is not sketchy. It is just a normal local area, that I misinterpreted because the country is much poorer than any that I have seen in Europe. The neighborhood, in fact, seemed very nice, and led me to the following hypothesis. The further East I go, the poorer people get, but the more friendly and interpersonally motivated they seem to be.
After pizza I headed back to my room, where I type to you now. I am beat, but I am going to try to hit up a “music bar” before I go to sleep…And I am off. |
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