Travel Journal
Coming to you from all over the world, uncut and uncensored, and unfortunately unedited. Please excuses all spelling and grammar errors, misquotes, malapropisms, etc.
far from the maddening crowds by gonzo - Florence October 2001
So there I was drinking cappuccino filling my brain
with the caffiene intake to keep me going til at least
lunch and down swoop two Iowan women bringing
overbearing friendliness. Yes. Yes. No. No. Oh, Rome
you say? Yes, yes, etc.
Was hard to hold a conversation as the caffeine took
affect and I began to see the Iowan corn growing from
their ears. They pushed on us a book about the Uffizi
- what each piece of art _means_ so that we'd get the
full effect of that stuff hanging on the
walls....couldn't seem to refuse. Promised we'd take
it.
The long long line at the Uffizi. Standing behind the
German. Big, puffing smoke pig. Skin was a pinky
sweaty hue. I thought this can't be a man. And he
turned his head, and I saw that it was a man, but with
a pig's head. I had to back away over the railing to
breathe some fresh air, so that the caffeine wouldn't
completely overtake my system. I knew I had to have
some sort of sense of my surroundings if I was going
to write a report on the _art_.
The art on the walls was no comparison to the moving
alive ceilings. Dancing cherubs. Birds being eaten by
foxes, weasels and cats. Severed boar heads cupped in
Fiorentine flowers. Too much man. Too freaky man. The
world began to spin around me. Got a bad case of
motion sickness. Hot stinky sweaty gym-feeling in the
Uffizi. Needed to sit down man. To chill man.
Fortunately for us, the Uffizi offers an al fresco
cafe with that famous view of the duomo and bell
tower. My caffeine high was slipping, so I ordered
sugar and more sugar. Fanta and gelato.
I knew I was ok, when it seemed the fountain in the
courtyard began to speak...or was it the bird swimming
in it. Went off in search of food. Ordered the Italian
array of food...antipasti, primi e secondi...the
waiter was a Russian in guise of an Italian, man. I
had to sleep off my lunch, but was so hyped up just
laid in bed staring at the ceiling while visions of
hobbits danced in my head.
Next on the list was the Galleria del'Academia which
houses the David. Goliath had nothing against David.
He was at least 20 feet tall. Huge hands and
feet...bigger than his head, man. I was beginning to
feel strange. In one small room, a religious painting
and bodiless angels with six wings. Seemed that they
started to sing and sway, then they were flying at me
man. Swooping down, pulling at my hair. They were
everywhere I tell you. I thought I must warn the
others. Did they not see them swooping everywhere?!?
What was going on?!? Everywhere bodiless angels!!
How I learned to Surf on the Subway or How I learned to eat like a proper Brit
Dobr� Den,
If you are ever in Prague, be sure to eat at the Caf�
Louvre which has a wide variety of breakfast dishes.
This Caf� has been around forever, and in the late 40s
was considered too bourgeois, so they shut it down.
The socialists tried opening it up as a non-alcholic
and non-smoking Caf� which of course, did not work at
all. So, in the sensible Eastern European way, they
turned the caf� into offices. But back in 1992, after
the Velvet Revolution, it was time to bring back the
splendor that was Caf� Louvre...and thank God they
did, because I have been craving a good ole eggy
breakfast like you would'nt believe. We are going to
be there every morning whilst we're in Prague, oh you
betcha!
I almost forgot to mention -yet again- the "tumulting
to your death" escalators in the metro stations. Not
only are they at a steep grade, and seem to go on for
miles, but you must take a running start just to catch
your own piece of stair. Once on, you must grip
tightly the handrail for fear of falling upwards or
downwards at 60 mph. Today I nearly slipped, and I saw
my short life flash before my eyes. I distinctly
recalled the time when I refused to stand up on the
escalator and wanted to ride it sitting down. My
mother tried and tried to urge me, the 3-year-old, to
stand up, but I would not budge. Well, the sharp
little pinch at the end of the ride, taught me that a)
moving escalators are not to be sat on, and b) fear
all escalators for the rest of your life. Luckily, I
am starting to look like a pro on this machines and no
longer count to 3 out loud.
I have also finally mastered the European way of
eating with your fork turned upside down in your left
hand and your knife in your right hand. Sadie, I will
have you know that I can now successfully even pile
food on to top of such fork. But, gosh darn it, it
takes me at least 15 minutes longer to eat a meal, and
the first few weeks were extremely embarrassing as I
am sure I looked like a baby first mastering the use
of the spoon. Luckily no one saw me when I shoved my
food into my chin and not my mouth.
Pr�hy Hradn� (or Prague Castle) is an interesting
stronghold high up on hill overlooking the city. It
was built over centuries and rebuilt many times in
between, so the end result is this strange mismash of
centuries and the corresponding styles. One minute,
you are admiring a baroque facade and the next you are
wandering down a narrow cobblestoned 12th century
street with tiny dwarf houses that look like something
from a Disneyland ride. The St. Vitus Cathedral has
spectacular stained glass windows that have a range of
artistic styles. I recognized Art Deco, Impressionism
and even early Cubism. The cathedral began
construction in the early �15th century but was not
completed until 1929. The gargoyles are also a
wonderment. Each one is unique and represents an
animal or person, and each has its tongue sticking
out. My favorite was the ram with the curly hair and
horns and then a silly expression with its tongue
sticking out. If only I couldv'e gotten up close, I
would've liked to have taken its picture.
It sounds like we are only going to be in Slovakia
from the 22nd to the 24th. I have a feeling I may find
my Grandpa Fritz there, sitting on some pub's front
stoop, still with his suspenders on. I may startle
some old man by flinging my arms around his neck
exclaiming "grandpa!". Or perhaps we will find, that
this part of the family is actually not from Slovakia
and from someplace like Hungary. So far, I have seen
many faces that in some ways are familiar, but, ahem,
none of these Czech women have any of the telltale
Radek signs. For one thing, they are all skinny
minnies, and don't have elephant knees. I will know
that I have reached the motherland when I see some
elephant knees. It was how I knew I had reached the
fatherland in Cork, Ireland when suddenly all of the
men became more handsome and all bore resemblances to
my father, brother and grandfather.
How I almost drop-kicked a Metro Inspector, or How to get arrested in Prague
Ok, first things first. I had a close call tonight as
my title suggests.
After retreating from the Hradcany area and a full
belly of delicious potato dumplings and boiled red
cabbage, I had an "incident" in the Mustek metro
station.
Now, in the Prague metro stations, you only need to
validate your metro pass once unlike Paris, where in
order to get into the station you need to validate
your ticket each time so the little metal gate opens.
And supposedly every once in a while an official will
check your ticket. Well tonight was one of those
nights.
The Lonely Planet guide book warns that there have
been reports of fake officials asking to see your
money who then take off with it. Not to mention, that
there are several people always offering something on
the street. Opera tickets, cigarettes, etc.
Well, as we stepped off the metro train, and headed up
to the passage leading out to the main square, a huge
burly, balding, bearded man waves what looks like to
me a fake plastic class ring and says something in
Czech. I am thinking he wants to sell me a fake
plastic class ring so I wave him off, and then the guy
gets aggressive with me, starts waving his hands at
me...even began pushing me...and if I hadn't heard my
mother say very loudly "Ceri - he's checking for
tickets", I would have yelled out loudly "No" and
drop-kicked the guy like I learned in self-defense. It
is very lucky I didn't do that, but promptly showed
him my pass and sheepishly asked him to excuse my
stupid Americanness, because I probably would have
been instantly arrested, face flat on the dirty ground
with my hands behind my head like in all the Cops
shows. How embarrassed was I? Well, let's just say
that I almost didn't write about it.
The earlier parts of day were quite lovely. We ate
breakfast again at Cafe Louvre (Oh I want to take this
place home with me. Where else can you get a complete
breakfast for only $3?), and was served by the
efficient Czech waiter whose only English was
"Please".
We also ventured to the north train station to buy our
tickets to Trnava, Slovakia. We bought them from
comb-over balding man who add on the following to the
bill:
- 50kc Foreigner Tax
- 30kc For Asking the Same Questions Tax
- 10kc Because You Bug Me Tax
and of course:
- 5kc Because You Have Interrupted Me During Lunch Tax
It would have been cheaper to purchase at the actual
ticket window, but as we did not have enough paper
money, and this travel agency accepted Visa, we had no
choice. All I can say is that he should have some Pivo
(beer) with his lunch.
Did you know that Budweiser actually originated in
Czech Republic?? Yep, it sure did! So, on a side note,
I just wanted those of you who I've scoffed at when
you ordered a Bud, that I have had the original
Budovesky!
We also revisited the Prague Castle, and bought the
ticket that allows you to see all the special stuff
that they keep the regular Joe Schmoes out of. The Old
Palace Rooms were no where near the calibar of
Versailles, but were made for good, sensible, solid
stone and wood, and had quite a medieval feel about
them. The main feasting hall must have held some
fabulous parties...the kind with whole roasted pigs
and giant steins of beer...the kind that take two men
to lift.
We were allowed in the St. George and St. Vitus
Cathedral (why a castle needs two cathedrals is beyond
me), and were privileged to see how the rich get
buried. The priest who refused to tell the king what
the queen had said in confession, and who was then
thrown out the palace window by the king, now has his
bones cramped into a glass case at St. George. There
is something about seeing the legs bones pretzled
around the skull that really gives you the heeby
jeebies. His actual original resting place was in St.
Vitus were they created this magnificent silver tomb
with heralding cherubs and gold sunspires. I bet you
are wondering - wait a second, why does getting thrown
out the window grant you a spectacular tomb? Well, I
suppose that because after his death and burial in the
cementary, people were reporting of miraculous
healings by the gravesite, and so the king quickly
exhumed the grave and built the magnificent tomb we
see today, so that his subjects wouldn't throw him out
the tower window. Or wait, was it St. Wencelas...I
don't know, history is clouded at best, and so is my
memory of it.
Tomorrow, we are going to go see the Infant of Prague,
a real example of bizarre religious kitsche (forgive
my misspelling). This is a giant wax statue of the
Christ Child in a long, long, long fancy schmancy
baptismal gown...Don't worry, I'll bring each back a
porcelain statue or holy card.
Close Call
I deeply apologize for not emailing everyone, but the
writers were on strike and the leading actress had
come down with a cold, but we are back on schedule.
Let's see last time on "Travels with my mother" we
left you with the lovely images of vineyards and warm
sunny mornings, followed by maniac drivers...well not
much has changed.
We have been adventuring about, my mother gripping the
wheel, and me gripping the door and using the
imaginary passenger-side brake.
I have seen goats grazing around the ruins of a castle
where the mistral winds were blowing fiercly
attempting to blow me, the goats and the goat lady
with her fluff dog off the side of the hill, but I
held steadfast. Once the goats realized that I could
speak goat, they accepted me into their tribe and
started following me around as I had been elected as
leader. However, the entrance to the castle was 20FF
with no WC in site so we needed to keep on going. I
bid farewell to my goat friends and promised to write.
That was Thursday.
Friday, we ventured down to Nimes to see ancient ruins
but instead, the ruins were closed or either blocked
off by treacherous traffic, so we strolled and shopped
instead. Bought myself a lovely silk scarf with
butterflies...atrocious colors really, but now I look
completely the part. We left Nimes rather early due to
the traffic, and returned to our villa. Since the
afternoon promised more sun, we snoozed, preparing
ourselves for the market at Uzes.
The market at Uzes proved to be the best in the entire
world, a place where everyone sells what fell off the
back of a truck, a place where you can blow 1000FF
easily, a place that outdoes even Pike Street market.
Needless to say, we did a little shopping. I bought a
sweater to add to my collection of 500.
After eating our lunch of fresh market bread and
rotisserie chicken, we went on a stroll through the
woods behind the estate, thus the close call...Let me
explain.
It is hunting season...what they are hunting, I do not
know as we always see them eating sandwiches, smoking
and drinking coffee at the side of the road wearing
the chasseur uniform of camoflauge and bright orange
vests (which brings up the point of why the camo; i
think the vest gives away their location, not to
mention their distinct smell of cigarettes). There are
certain areas where they are allowed to hunt, and the
area behind the estate is supposedly not one. Off we
went confidently into the woods, me in my deer-like
costume of black pants and brown sweater and to
illustrate my point to my mother, I leaped and sniffed
like a deer...we laughed, but deep down we feared that
we actually might be mistaked for deer,so started
talking very loudly, singing badly and making "ring
ring" sounds as if to similate bells. We heard shots
off in the distance and our anxiety grew. We found
empty shots on the ground and we quickened our pace
all the meanwhile, talking very loudly...and just as
we see that we are about to make it back to the main
road we here voices and rustling in the bushes...we
laugh our nervous laughs and sing our walking song:
"we're not deer, don't shoot us"...luckily they had
just pulled over to piss, so we were safe although
they did have rifles in the back of the car. That was
our close call. And you all are worried about
terrorist acts? C'mon, we are more in danger of ending
up on a platter with rosemary and accompanied by a
heavy red merlot.
We are moving from our villa today to a hotel in the
small town of Graveson just southwest of Avignon. Just
four more days here before we head up to Paris. So,
that means only four more days of markets!!! We're
hitting them all, don't you worry none. However, this
also means four more days of sparse emails, but we'll
do our best. In Paris, you most certainly will get a
daily account...including the infamous sewer museum
which is actually held in the sewer system so you can
marvel at all the crap that passes through
Paris...mmmmm...and not to mention the Museum of the
Erotic held in a three story building displaying
sexual aids from way back when, before they had the 24
hour adult shops...only in Paris.
Oh and there is so much more to tell about Provence,
so many details that I am leaving out such as:
- All cybercafes here are filled with war game
addicted teenager boys, who hover over you while you
type your email waiting for the computer so they can
blow up their best friend in virtual reality...all
with the sound on, of course, and it is a lunch break
for them so they are all in here; waiting
breathlessly.
- The poultry farm where they are being fattened up
for the holiday season...I yelled out the window: run,
run while you can...but the ducks kept on walking in
their orderly line, and the geese kept on squaking...
Thoughts from England and Wales
Chicago to LDR. The sound of foreign voices fills me with excitement. At last, a place where things are different over a slight veil of familiarity.
Salisbury: The Market Inn Special - Lamb, Apple crumble with custard...comes complete with saucy bouncy barmaid. The game is on downstairs, and every once in a while bursts of yells echo from below.
Llangwy - Wales
Converted bake house feels like I'm in an old novel with a fireplace in the room and exposed wooden beams. Tailed sheep everywhere heavy with wool. Green and red bare mountains dipped with cold lakes -- a good place for a walking holiday.
April 9
Castell y Bere
Crumbly old Welsh castle in the middle of Cader Idris. Nothing to be heard for miles except for bleats of sheep and chirps of birds. Spotted brilliant exotic bird only to discover later it was a common Goldfinch.
Finished the day off with Fish and Chips at the Aberdyfi Walker's Restaurant on A493 directly across the south car park. Delicious fresh cod. Note to self: everyone must try the gravvy over the chips.
We ended the evening with the folk night at the gallery. Three were good a la Irish folk, Taj Mahal (steel guitar) and banjo players...others less than good but humiliating sing along loads of fun. Enjoyed the local color and the colorful hose who recited silly ballads and monologues. The price of admission made worthwhile by the fellow who started a song about a train journey in Ireland but could not remember the rest. Paused, looked up in the air and for a minute for himself to reclaim the verse. After many minutes, he sung the chorus and we all gratefully cheered him back to his seat. Not a boisterous crowd but all were pleased.
April 10
Harlech caste...must see. You are able to climb every available stair to the vertigo-inducing heights of the ramparts. Views over the bay for miles.
Headed over to Pontmerion -- crazy millionnaire built his own town which was used for the TV show, the Prisoner. Feared the bouncing bubbles would hunt us down...
Ancient church down the way -- true medieval wooden beamed ceilings barely keeping the slate roof aloft. Met another friendly dog at the Abbey before the church. Yesterday's dog too. Friendly old guard dogs who love tourist season. Saved Lord Pemborle the cat from a tick today. "Hero of the day."
After spending some time in the Welsh countryside, I become convinced the sheep can speak.
