Yesterday I celebrated my first ever thanksgiving, even if it was belated by two days. Thanksgiving involves, mostly, food. Turkey is key, and until yesterday morning there was not a turkey to be found for love or money in the Czech Republic. The intrepid cooks, my hosts, friends of the friend I'm staying with here, went out the morning of the event and apparently found a freezer bin full of the sainted birds at the local supermarket.
I am of the opinion, though, that they could have done with a quail because there was so much food there that we rolled around for quite some time before venturing out into the darkness, to a wonderful bar that seemed really small even though it was quite large because it filled the old wine cellars of some long-gone merchant above.
After the night, of course, comes the morning. This morning I woke to a call from home, and also to find that my mobile has seen fit to bestow upon me the rights of the globally roaming.
I am very thankful.
30 November 2008
29 November 2008
Another time
I got lost in the winding alleys in the old town yesterday. I ate the most horrible chocolate I have ever tasted, while the wind cut at my face and the street signs winked cleverly. Houses here have plaques or paintings or freizes or sculpture above the doors and they are magnificent.
Prague
The man on the train from Paris assured me in very confident tones that "It is easy to travel in Germany". He was right, but it's far far easier if you can understand German, I assume. It's really odd for me to be travelling and not to be able to make myself understood in at least a broken form of the language.
But I got here alright. And arrived in Prague central station, where not only could I not understand what was being said but I couldn't read the signs at all. After a few false starts and dodgy attempts at signaling my complete ineptitude in Czech - success! I arrived at my friend's house, exceedingly happy to be seeing her after 5 years or so (take the lesson as it is given - I am the world's worst correspondent) and happy to be in Prague.
Allow me to share with you the kinds of things you might be faced with upon entering Prague. Signs that are written in a language that can produce strč prst skrz krk as a functioning sentence. A bureaucratic system that was inherited from communist times. A national cuisine that shuns vegetables.
An absolutely beautiful city, made even more charming because of or perhaps despite all the above. It's the most tourist-y place I've been to so far, there are tour guides and tour groups and accents from all over the Anglophone world, and I think I overheard some Danish too (thanks, SBS and your international crime shows). But it is lovely.
And the beer isn't bad either.
But I got here alright. And arrived in Prague central station, where not only could I not understand what was being said but I couldn't read the signs at all. After a few false starts and dodgy attempts at signaling my complete ineptitude in Czech - success! I arrived at my friend's house, exceedingly happy to be seeing her after 5 years or so (take the lesson as it is given - I am the world's worst correspondent) and happy to be in Prague.
Allow me to share with you the kinds of things you might be faced with upon entering Prague. Signs that are written in a language that can produce strč prst skrz krk as a functioning sentence. A bureaucratic system that was inherited from communist times. A national cuisine that shuns vegetables.
An absolutely beautiful city, made even more charming because of or perhaps despite all the above. It's the most tourist-y place I've been to so far, there are tour guides and tour groups and accents from all over the Anglophone world, and I think I overheard some Danish too (thanks, SBS and your international crime shows). But it is lovely.
And the beer isn't bad either.
26 November 2008
Patisserie
Wait, before I do go to Prague, I've got to tell you about the pastry. And the bakers.
Yesterday I went to the Latin quarter for lunch, and on the way back to the station we stopped at a boulangerie/patisserie to get desert. I've no idea why, we had Vietnamese, and I had pho, so there is really no reason why there was space in me. Must have been the look of the wares, because we went inside, and all we could say was "oooh" - so of course the first thing the baker says to us was "Vous etes Americannes?".
My flute teacher in high school told me a story of when she lived in Paris. She lived above a boulangerie, and they sold religeuses - "nuns", actually choux pastry with chocolate mousse-y stuff inside, one tinier of the same on the top and covered with chocolate. She said she put on 5 kilos simply because of her proximity to these marvels of pastry.
So of course I had to have one of those, and Jen got an opèra - square, also chocolatey - and all the while the baker was joking with us, insisting that Jen called him "jeune homme" (young man, he wasn't) and calling me a marsupial because of my camera bag. I said I nearly was. And in some ways I'm glad that bakeries like that don't exist in Australia because I think that if I lived close enough to a boulangerie I would endeavor to put on more than a paltry 5 kilos.
Yesterday I went to the Latin quarter for lunch, and on the way back to the station we stopped at a boulangerie/patisserie to get desert. I've no idea why, we had Vietnamese, and I had pho, so there is really no reason why there was space in me. Must have been the look of the wares, because we went inside, and all we could say was "oooh" - so of course the first thing the baker says to us was "Vous etes Americannes?".
My flute teacher in high school told me a story of when she lived in Paris. She lived above a boulangerie, and they sold religeuses - "nuns", actually choux pastry with chocolate mousse-y stuff inside, one tinier of the same on the top and covered with chocolate. She said she put on 5 kilos simply because of her proximity to these marvels of pastry.
So of course I had to have one of those, and Jen got an opèra - square, also chocolatey - and all the while the baker was joking with us, insisting that Jen called him "jeune homme" (young man, he wasn't) and calling me a marsupial because of my camera bag. I said I nearly was. And in some ways I'm glad that bakeries like that don't exist in Australia because I think that if I lived close enough to a boulangerie I would endeavor to put on more than a paltry 5 kilos.
An updated opportunity
I called my lovely Breton today, and we have established that I would be welcome for the next time and that my voyage should be a good one. By "we" I mean "she" and by "she" I mean that I think that's what she said. Veronique - I would love to be as free as you one day.
I'm writing this from the apartment of a fantastic American lady, she is the reason that I can stay in Paris and the reason that I could put photographs up onto facebook and here and the reason that I feel a need to buy thousands of cds when I return to Australia. The soundtrack for this post is PJ Harvey, and the particular song is "White Chalk". She's not one of them, because I have (scoff, scoff) of course heard of PJ Harvey, but I have a list as long as my arm of artists I haven't and am now in love with.
For those who read in order to know what I'm getting up to overseas - I'm going to Prague tomorrow, and I spent the day at the Musée Rodin looking at some very expressive sculpture, going to the Tour Eiffel because I somehow missed it the first few times I was here. This afternoon I have been Amélie touristing - the apartment is in the middle of the locations they used for the movie and I now have photographic evidence of my presence at (or near) Palace Video, the cafe where she worked, Abessess metro station, the Sacre Coeur and other key sights.
Til Prague, then.
I'm writing this from the apartment of a fantastic American lady, she is the reason that I can stay in Paris and the reason that I could put photographs up onto facebook and here and the reason that I feel a need to buy thousands of cds when I return to Australia. The soundtrack for this post is PJ Harvey, and the particular song is "White Chalk". She's not one of them, because I have (scoff, scoff) of course heard of PJ Harvey, but I have a list as long as my arm of artists I haven't and am now in love with.
For those who read in order to know what I'm getting up to overseas - I'm going to Prague tomorrow, and I spent the day at the Musée Rodin looking at some very expressive sculpture, going to the Tour Eiffel because I somehow missed it the first few times I was here. This afternoon I have been Amélie touristing - the apartment is in the middle of the locations they used for the movie and I now have photographic evidence of my presence at (or near) Palace Video, the cafe where she worked, Abessess metro station, the Sacre Coeur and other key sights.
Til Prague, then.
23 November 2008
Lost opportunities and loves
Bayeux! Tapestries and medieval houses and cobbled streets and cider and an absolutely amazing place. It is so beautiful and quaint and I bugged Claire to death with my "Oh look at that" 's.
We arrived at night, and each step (despite the Luggage) showed something more wonderful to look at. On cobbled streets past gothic buildings. We finally got to the hostel, and by finally I mean we almost missed it because it looked so much like the other buildings, with an old hanging sign over the door. Bayeux hostel - the best one I have ever been to. We looked through the glass on the door, and there was a tiny little office with red wallpaper and venetian masks hanging on the wall. I suppose they are of the kind used in the medieval festival in July.
Our hostess eventually came, a large Norman lady who ushered us in, gave us a key almost before we'd paid and lead us through the gloom to our room. Off a central courtyard, it was on the first story up a winding set of stairs - and it was really not hard to pretend to be a princess in a tower.
The illusion was almost shattered when we explored some more and found the main street. It has neon lights like any other, pharmacies and bakeries and shops full of cheap clothes. So we went back to the hostel and found that the rooms at the top of the stairs had been sealed with the stamps of the city. It has to have been the plague.
The next day at breakfast we talked to two Quebecois and a Breton lady who was staying for a literary conference in Caen, who invited me to stay with her in St Malo. I wish I could have and I wish that I did, but the train from St Malo to Paris was far more expensive than I could afford and the French had provided us with a strike the next day - so it was either be stuck in Brittany or travel some more. Tant pis, and now that I have her number I'll try to see her again.
Then to see the Tapestry, a long, long, long strip of fabric showing little men bashing in the heads of other little men. The free audio guide takes you through the story (useful if you're not a Latin speaker) at a cracking pace, so we lingered and looked and went backwards and forwards and wondered about the characters in the borders.
We tried to see the war museum, but it was closed and Normandy had decided to give us a taste of the rain. We saw the cemetery instead, and the leaves on the ground were the colour of blood.
We arrived at night, and each step (despite the Luggage) showed something more wonderful to look at. On cobbled streets past gothic buildings. We finally got to the hostel, and by finally I mean we almost missed it because it looked so much like the other buildings, with an old hanging sign over the door. Bayeux hostel - the best one I have ever been to. We looked through the glass on the door, and there was a tiny little office with red wallpaper and venetian masks hanging on the wall. I suppose they are of the kind used in the medieval festival in July.
Our hostess eventually came, a large Norman lady who ushered us in, gave us a key almost before we'd paid and lead us through the gloom to our room. Off a central courtyard, it was on the first story up a winding set of stairs - and it was really not hard to pretend to be a princess in a tower.
The illusion was almost shattered when we explored some more and found the main street. It has neon lights like any other, pharmacies and bakeries and shops full of cheap clothes. So we went back to the hostel and found that the rooms at the top of the stairs had been sealed with the stamps of the city. It has to have been the plague.
The next day at breakfast we talked to two Quebecois and a Breton lady who was staying for a literary conference in Caen, who invited me to stay with her in St Malo. I wish I could have and I wish that I did, but the train from St Malo to Paris was far more expensive than I could afford and the French had provided us with a strike the next day - so it was either be stuck in Brittany or travel some more. Tant pis, and now that I have her number I'll try to see her again.
Then to see the Tapestry, a long, long, long strip of fabric showing little men bashing in the heads of other little men. The free audio guide takes you through the story (useful if you're not a Latin speaker) at a cracking pace, so we lingered and looked and went backwards and forwards and wondered about the characters in the borders.
We tried to see the war museum, but it was closed and Normandy had decided to give us a taste of the rain. We saw the cemetery instead, and the leaves on the ground were the colour of blood.
19 November 2008
I don't think I could do that again in a hurry
Leaving l'Abri was painful. I don't know how the helpers or workers there can say goodbye to people so often. It must be numbing after a while...
So, I'm in Lyon. The library here has free internet access which is lovely. That's just about all I've seen apart from the enourmous hill between Vieux Lyon station and the hostel. Why do I pick hostels at the top of hills? Poor, Megan, poor.
And tomorrow I'll be back in Paris. I hope it'll make the post-l'Abri fog lift again.
Something more odd than the above lament is sad - here at the internet booth I have been accosted. Accosted and NOT BELIEVED. Accosted, not believed and stared at threateningly by a little old lady with a lot of mascara on wanting me to join the mass at the cathedral and also to look up very strange websites for her. Odd odd odd.
So, I'm in Lyon. The library here has free internet access which is lovely. That's just about all I've seen apart from the enourmous hill between Vieux Lyon station and the hostel. Why do I pick hostels at the top of hills? Poor, Megan, poor.
And tomorrow I'll be back in Paris. I hope it'll make the post-l'Abri fog lift again.
Something more odd than the above lament is sad - here at the internet booth I have been accosted. Accosted and NOT BELIEVED. Accosted, not believed and stared at threateningly by a little old lady with a lot of mascara on wanting me to join the mass at the cathedral and also to look up very strange websites for her. Odd odd odd.
13 November 2008
Hitch hiking around Switzerland
Or rather, just down the hill a little. The 8.12 bus from Villars didn't decide to show its face for half an hour, so taking the fact that shops in Switzerland are closed at 12 and that the particular shop we wanted - the Salvation Army shop in Aigle - is only open for an hour and forty-five minutes from 9 under consideration, hitching seemed the best option.
It's a common mode of transport (modus operandi if you will, thanks Aileen!) around Europe, my Dutch informant Joska tells me, and our experience went by without incident. Our lift was a guy in a little suzuki who spoke french with a german accent, and once he found out that we didn't speak french marvellously we rolled down the gorgeous hill in silence. I hope I've mentioned how amazing the scenery is.
And I finally found an internet cafe! Of sorts - a jazz themed bar playing alternative early nineties rock with a computer that's free with the beer. It's eleven in the morning and while I know it's five somewhere, I'm still on coffee. It doesn't worry the other patrons though. Give me a few minutes more of internet and I suppose I could.
L'Abri is amazing, I really wish that I allowed more time to stay. It's a great shame though that while it provides an amazing place for thought and community, the student funds only cover 30% of total costs and with the financial turbulence or whatever the usual donors aren't. So even when it snows they can't afford to put on the heating, and there's only two showers a week.
I'm getting good at my sponge baths and I've bought a hot water bottle.
02 November 2008
I walked up a mountain today
There's really not that much more I can say. It was amazing, especially the view from the top. L'abri is really fun, and I wish I could say more but I'll save it for another time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
