Day 22. Monday 18th
August.
Rise and shine and no
kettle or coffee in the room. No big deal and after quick shower it
is down to the communal breakfast room where you can eat as much as
you like and have as many mugs of coffee your caffeine addicted body
craves. The only small snag that we both landed up standing outside
as no smoking allowed.
I was still feeling
rather knackered from the drive, so a leisurely day was planned.
Whilst not in the centre pure, the hotel wasn't that far. Prague
isn't really that large as far as sights are concerned. The river
Vltava (the same one that had the rafts and canoes on when I started
the trip), cuts the city in half. Using the famous Charles Bridge as
a sort of fixed point, we were the fourth bridge up stream and after a
short walk down the drag leading past the hotel, hit the river.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvM1WXYlV2q15DhL9NDZM5t2egLoI3mB4pJPrKLLVUZWLNfdZNDlCvKAkQpafh7GGVFxJzoRHFQxf21h5oP2QGMmpECvfJBy2kBY29cGiRz-XR6D6BDOT6_101Byd_puxKxMqU/s1600/Prague+-05.jpg)
These pics are from the way.. eish.. I stopped at some smoked sausage joint and it was disgusting!!!
Okay we move on...
Casually strolling
along, sometimes the path is along the water front and sometimes set
further back with quite some busy traffic. It was at the first
junction that I solved another of my problems. When I had rocked up
into the centre I had noticed at red lights an awful loud and hectic
ticking noise that penetrated my helmet and only went when I accelerated
away. I had concluded that the poor roller was giving its death
rattle in neutral.
Now I knew what it was.
It was for the blind and drunks to cross the road. The ones incapable
of seeing the little green walking man. The volume would not bother
the deaf but could awake the dead and the sound and speed sent goose
pimples down my back because it sounds just like a flight of locusts
(creatures I have a serious phobia with). Plus, who ever designed the
timing must have been an ex Olympic 100 gold medallist as you had no
way in hell of crossing in time. Then, just as the awful noise stops,
it starts again, this time for the other way! No wonder no one hangs
around street corners here. You would go mad.
I have been here twice
before. The last time with my stepmother Katherine around I think
maybe 96-97. I have little recollection besides we did stay at the
same place from the previous trip – 1991.
Now that had been
something...
I had about a staff of
eight semi-skilled dryliners working for me. One from Tasmania (on a
Brit passport), one a scouser from Liverpool, (profession – cook),
and various motley English and Irish.
My ex Daniella, and I,
along with a less than one year baby, were moving house and I made a
deal with my pirates that if they helped with the move, I would take
them on a firm trip to Prague and pay the accommodation. Job done.
The day we left, saw
Pat ( a paddy) searching in his pigsty for his passport, so he never
went. The others, all well fuelled from the night before, piled into
the Transit van two hours behind schedule and off we went. This was
barely two years since the collapse of communism and it was evident
in the state of the roads and houses.
Cheap hotels did not
exist and through an agency in the centre we were given an address of
a private residence and after much getting lost, turned up at this
house. There we were greeted by an elderly couple, who spoke good
English and to make ends meet had turned the top floor into an
apartment. No mod cons - but clean and comfortable.
I felt a tad sorry for
them. My peasants moaned about the breakfast that came with the
lodging, having no interest in the fare of cold cuts of meat and
bread. They staggered around between sleeps totally drunk, ripped the
bannister off the staircase wall in one session of 'not sure if I was
falling up or down', the Aussie dragged a whore back, and after
bursting one condom had left it on the floor where the old lady
dutifully disposed of it when she made our beds. All in all they
acted worse than animals.
We had struggled to
find places to eat and drink. Many a tin was purchased from small
stands and one eating place was where the local whores hung out
between clients. One drinking place was a working man's joint where a
pot of Budweiser cost next to nothing. Evening entertainment – well
we did find a Jazz club, but got soon bored. Another time we found a
dingy joint underground at some plaza where the local young clientèle
took turns to scream terrible noise into a microphone whilst the
backup 'group' churned out incomprehensible noise.
We used the metro in
and battered Skoda and Lada Taxis back or, as in one night, to pitch
up at what was the only disco in town. It was at tennis club where
the likes of Martina Navratolva and Ivan Lendl had played and
trained. There was a queue to get in and some rather heavy set
doorstops that melted when their hands were greased with West German
silver and we were in.
It didn't take long for
my lot to suss out that the available women, all good looking, were
prostitutes. It was rife as the people struggled to make ends meet...
So now I looked around
as we progressed. How things have changed. The old buildings all
beautifully renovated, the cars all modern, with many a luxury
auto amongst them. At Charles Bridge, the mass of tourists from all
over the world greeted us in groups of thirty plus following like
bleating sheep a guide holding up an umbrella – a far cry from the
few backpackers and nutters like us from 23 years ago.
Now you had no problem
finding a place to sit outside by the river and eat and drink. The
nearer the bridge, the higher the prices, but still relatively
reasonable compared to say, London. Neither of us had any inclination
to go into museums or art galleries and at one watering hole we
simply chatted our language, Rhodesian, and watched the people and
absorbed the surrounds. Luckily, whilst the sky was 50% covered with
sulking clouds, it stayed relatively warm, and crucially...dry.
Charles Bridge hasn't
changed much. The same offers of artists doing your pencil characters,
stunning photographs and original water colours with scenes of the
city. The prices have changed though. There were some neat bands, and
we didn't stay that long amongst the jostle and crowds. Turning
right, we followed the river back but more on the waterline. Of
course, it strikes up a real thirst and I need more golden nectar.
Day 23. Tuesday 19th
August.
I awoke feeling a bit
woozy in the head. I was soon to find out why. Returning from her
shower, Sue politely asked if I had slept well as she had not.
(Please note, separate single beds.) I know she does have problems
sleeping but -
“a sty full of drunken pigs, snorting and
snuffling intermingled with the shouting of a deranged mad man, gave
cause for me not having a comfortable night's rest.”
Ah, it took a moment to
comprehend but then I promised on Scout's honour I would be the best
Sixpence from now on.
“I hope so,” she
said with a wry smile “because otherwise you will be sleeping in
the foyer. See ya downstairs for coffee.”
After a shower, I
looked up the British Embassy. I suppose I better go see the clowns.
Down in the foyer, Sue
has forgiven me and we are planning the day, when Sue says
“There are a couple
of cops at reception, I wonder if anyone else has had something
stolen.”
A minute later they are
at our table “We are looking for a Mr Greenberg.”
I confirmed that I was
but as for proving it, I only have a photocopy of my passport.
Whilst I went to
retrieve it, I puzzled over the fact that they had found me. I blame
it on last night's rum and coke (Sue brought me some lovely Captain
Morgens that I had to test along with Brut (less the number 33 and a
bottle of the splash on stuff. I had given a Rhodie macho grunt and
said - “In the old days, Brut drove the girls mad with desire.”
Her reply - “It smells bloody awful!”)
I asked the police. I
felt so stupid with the reply. There is me, The Gokwe Kid, the
greatest bush detective of all time, and I had registered at the
hotel with a stolen passport number. Still, what other number was I
suppose to give reception? Make one up? Hah-hah. Since I had the
notebook, I amused them with pictures of me and the Amazon books. I
was glad they were not interested in my blog regarding certain
driving mishaps involving motorways and illegal rollers...
Sue had her passport
photocopied and had to sign a declaration that I am who I am. They
then spent the next 20 mins (they must have been bored) looking on
their smart phones for ceramic shops for Sue to go to and see after she
had explained she wanted to visit handicraft shops.
With that giggle sorted
out and much to the disappointment of the shadenfreude
tourists that I had not been dragged out and beaten to a pulp – we
had brekkies (the same as yesterday) and next stop - British Embassy.
After some paffing
about we find it. Going in (you buzz a bell and the huge heavy, iron
clad door must be pushed with all your might), I asked the heavies
behind the mortar proof glass, the classic opening line - “Hi, Do
you speak English?” (And I giggled stupidly at my own dry wit. Sue
looked at me with disgust.) Luckily the peasants did speak the
Queens...)
I explained the
situation but before I can get to meet those in the know, we had to
dump everything in lockers and go through metal detectors. Eventually
we are in and, after a minute, behind more bullet proof glass, I get
to chat with a Czech. WTF?
She was very helpful.
There is no such thing as an emergency travel document, and if you
hang around a bit (not sure how many weeks), for a cool 110 Euros, we
will give you a new passport. Sod that for a lark – I take my
chances getting home. It was just as well that Sue was lending me
money to get back. Can you imagine working some plan out with these
clowns? I was given a form to fill in, and left and chilled on this
steep road that leads to the Prague Castle. We were eventually served
by an extremely obnoxious waiter who became even more snotty after I
refused to give a tip. Tip of my boot more like it.
Down we went, crossed
the bridge again and wandered into the so called Jewish Quarter. That
was very disappointing. I was puzzled that anything remains after the
NAZIs were there but at one place where they had the ancient cemetery, you had to go in via an old synagogue, now a museum, and
emerge out via the graveyard and for this... they want serious money!
In fact ALL the Jewish sites demanded cash entry. No thanks - I have
no shekels on me.
Wandering, a bit lost,
but no big deal, we make a plan to eat on the river side. Then early
bed...
Day 24. Wednesday
20th August
Rise
and shine with a cup of Tanganda tea – hardly. What’s the plan? I
for one, am sick of walking and popping up to the castle was not my
idea of fun. No problemo. You can catch a tram there. Sue loves
walking. But I explain that with the tram we get to see things as it
goes around the bloody hill. Yeah, one problem though, it seems half
of China and Japan have the same idea and as we get crushed more and
more at each stop, I thought a tin of sardines had more freedom.
So
we wandered around the 'castle' – here it was twice the HQ of the
Holy Roman Catholic Empire and after Hitler took over the joint, gave
a speech from here. (It turns out, he had invited the then PM or
President for a little chat in Berlin and in clear terms had
explained that if he didn't hand over his country just like that –
his Luftwaffe would bomb Prague. The poor bloke suffered a heart
attack there and then and was pumped with drugs to keep him coherent
enough to hand his country over to the NAZIS.)
You
seen one castle you have seen them all. Not quite, but seen it got
the T shirt. It is the same with the churches. If get in free,
exactly how many arches, domes and stained glass windows are going to
hold your interest? Especially when you know the peasants starved as
they built these monstrosities to a non existent deity, whilst those
in power exploited their simple minds and lived the high life...
From
there we searched for the famous Lennon Wall. I am not here to give a
history lesson, but, one china of mine, upon seeing the video I
posted on Facebook , The Gokwe Kid, wrote - 'Very interesting. Where
is this?' - I sometimes despair for the human race. Considering all
my posts were from Prague and his five words of a stupid question -
had he googled two - 'Lennon Wall'...just like that.
From
there we wandered slowly back. We found an open air market. Very sad.
Just junk. 23 years ago, I was in one (now long gone) and there the
locals were flogging anything to stay alive. The retreating Russians
had passed on their uniforms, and I picked one up. Really smart. Two
decades later when I was penniless, I sold it on Ebay for a nice
profit. Sue didn't buy a thing – all tack.
Chilling,
me drinking beer at waterholes (Sue doesn't drink alcohol, an
occasional wine), we grab a bight on the way and rock up at the
hotel. I check the roller, and, I have been robbed again!
In
broad daylight, parked up against the side of the hotel by the door
the cooks use for a quick fag. The gas cooker on the top of the
pannier had been ripped off, but had not been taken. The only thing
knicked – my sleeping bag. I had to laugh. There was a Tesco next
door and I bought another. I made a bit of a gaff, as this was really
for kids, but I didn't care. I will manage somehow...
Day 25. Thursday
21st August
Time
to move on. But first, before I pack, I need petrol. Yeah, play with
one way streets and 40 mins later, totally knackered, I get back and
load up. I say goodbye to Sue and with the sat nav on, soon get lost.
After much wandering around with the dumb thing screaming at me, I
find my way.
Now
I have installed ' no motorways' and much to my amazement land up
going backwards to get forwards. Of course there is logic in this
madness and also why I had been trapped before. Without an absolute,
and very large scaled map, it is impossible to get from A to B
without hitting the forbidden roads. Loads of the old routes have
been converted, so for the peasants on cycles and rollers, you land
up criss crossing all sorts of back roads to get anywhere. Not only
does this make an 80km trip twice as far, you also run the risk of
never seeing a petrol station!
What
happens next is so mad, you think I might have made it up...