Prague Day #3: Working his Wort

It’s two p.m. and, I finally found my café, the Tynska Literarni Kavarna on little Tynska Street behind the Church of Tyn, the most picturesque of all spiraled structures in Prague.
There are two Tynska streets, a shop owner informed me as I went round and round on the other Tynska. But I was close, and in my book close counts.

Yesterday’s close did not count in the eyes of three tag-a-longs. As Coach Hall and I turned the semi-correct left and fully-wrong right, our byzantine quest became Kafkaesque. And then the rain fell. And the snickers became guffaws. When we found U Medvidku, a restaurant/bar dating from 1466, it was closed. Little did they know how touchy the subject was for one tour leader. This was not merely a one-hour lost-in-Prague walk. I had waited a whole year for the chance to luxuriate in the top floor micro-brewery featuring the redoubtable Oldgott yeast beer as described in the two-page August 6th Sunday travel section of the L.A. Times. I clipped out this story called “The Ultimate Beer Tour” and taped it to the wall of our living room. (My kids can attest to it.) Bohemia is the Pilsner Capital of the World, and not being a big fan of this soft-water lager style, I reveled in the thought that new brewers were tinkering with the tried-and-true formula. Fortunately, the clouds cleared, U Medkidku would be open in 15 minutes, and we happened upon the most historic café in Prague, the Café Louvre, where Einstein and Kafka and Churchill hung out(but not at the same time)—if that’s what people, in fact, did in the old days--hung out. Bryant ordered the Havana Hot Chocolate, and a chocolate cake—no nuts, don’t worry. Arwin had a cappuccino and ice cream and Coach Hall had likewise a cappuccino featuring the consistently tasty Segafreda coffee beans. I forget what Ryan and I had.

Rejuvenated, we set forth again for the holy grail of brews and were not disappointed. We found Aaron and David loitering inside and we each had one beer. It’s the only beer anyone has had on the whole trip. The quest does not always reward—the gold at the end of the rainbow, the fish at the end of the lure, the . . . hmm, I’m not too good with metaphors. But the heart that beats that rapido beat as one approaches the destination of destinations is worth it. And sometimes, just sometimes, an even more glorious end supercedes the high anticipation. Through the low-slung vaulted ceiling we walked, then sat at long wooden benches, and talked to the brewer, and watched him work his wort. We sipped and tasted and marveled at the sweet foretaste and bitter hop kick. Who cares about a smoothly balanced beer when you have one that gallops down your throat in the kind of royal style those Clydesdales only dream about? Wow. Maybe I can write in metaphors. And the conversation moved from the intellectually deep analysis of the movie Jackass all the way to a brilliant exegesis of Borat. What range we conversationists possess. It will be an afternoon we all will long remember.

And so today I’m traversing solo until 4 p. m. Meeting many at U Fleck U. Earlier I toured the mesmerizing New Kafka Museum, and now I’m eating cheese and bread at this literary hide-away. To paraphrase the N.Y. Times—it’s steps away from the tourists at Old Town Square, but in some ways centuries away. I'd like to tell you more about Franz Kafka, but now it’s onto the Muzeum of Cubizm.

Truly, but wryly,
The Literary Vagabond

Prague Day #2 Continued

Here's a picture of our reenactment of the famous Denfenestration in Prague Castle. We found the exact window, and if you don't know what we're talking about, well, who was your history teacher, anyway? I believe that is Candice being thrown out by Aaron and David.

As we continued beyond the Charles Bridge into Old Town Square and the Astronnomical Clock, Candice, not only landed on her feet but caught the bouquet of flowers from the wedding bride seen on the bridge. My oh, my. Here's another picture of her with the birthday girl, Natasha, who finished off the evening with a fancy meal of goulash and dumplings paid for by her father. (Didn't he pay for the whole trip?) Actually, everyone--including the birthday girl--went to the Karlovy 5-story disco. Reports were positive. No pictures were taken.

Prague Day #2

We pulled into Prague in the early evening, had dinner in the very posh Holiday Inn, and went to bed early. Yesterday--Day Two--was the day to rave about. And rave, I understand, the kids did. Until 2 in the morning. Day Two started with a tour of Prague Castle. This is another awe-inspiring place centered by the Cathedral of St. Vitus. Good King Wenceslas was only good to other Christians we discovered. Prague's religious history is all ramshackle confusion. The Jews were terribly persecuted, as we all know (many kids went to the Old Jewish Cemetery today to see the gravesite of Rabbi Low, creater of the story of Golem), the muslems were enemies and communists expunged much religious fervor. Today 30% are Catholic, 10% prodestant and most are agnostic. Anyway the first architect was French and the place clearly shows a High Gothic style. Later a German took over and the gothic shifts abit. What the kids like is the dark and gloomy aspect which is achieved by tons of sooty polution.

We walked down Golden Lane, originally a peasant's and poor soldier's quarter, but now a cute, multi-colored fairy tale of a lane. We've got some good pictures, don't you think?
That's Lonnie, Drew and Colby looming over the tiny doors. We then crossed the Charles Bridge, everyone's favorite in the whole world it seems. You need to get up early to photograph it without people.

Heidelberg

It’s possible that Heidelberg has surpassed Bruges as the favorite city this far. Yes, it’s been raining. Yes, we have to taxi in to the Alt-stadt. And yes, few found the Universitat courtyard on their first or even second try. But when kids see Hall and I a half block away and start sprinting towards us, waving and drooling over their smart purchase, their cool mountain hike or their surprising--by their own admission—social skills in charming the local school graduates of Heidelberg High—well, you know we’ve hit German pay dirt.

I will back peddle and fill you in on the other cities later, but I thought you might like some real time news. Tomorrow we’ll be in the City of Spires—Prague. But today Heidelberg seems equally exotic. The onion-top steeples of the old city are set in relief by billowing, moving clouds today, but the real thrill is the castle on the hill. Most walked up the fortress-like Schloss abandoned after the War of the Grand Alliance in 1693. A gradually deterioration of this place—built between 1400-1600-- makes for a great playground.

Some of us started practicing for the Hearts tournament which will commence on our cruise. We headed to the University and played in the commons building. Here’s a picture of Marcelo sneaking a look at Reina’s hand with Candice keeping her eyes on the camera. Watch your cards, ladies.

Abbey Road

Great Art has the power to compel people on pilgrimages. On my first trip to Paris five years ago I headed straight to the Left Bank and the cafes—Café de Flores, Deux Maggot, Brasserie Lipp--frequented by Scotty Fitzgerald and Papa Hemingway. I wasn’t the first and I won’t be the last. When Barb and I moved out to California in 1987 we stopped at Joshua Tree—not to climb rocks, but to find the exact spot U2 stood for their anthemic album of the same name. We weren’t the first and weren’t the last. A book or an album or a painting can be so profoundly intimate that those bespelled are surprised to find others trampling their sacred grounds. On the other hand, the skeptical throngs—the art-adverse philistines among us—not only can’t see the light, they don’t want to look for it, either.

That’s why when I heard Skyer Grey was spearheading a small group towards Abbey Road I was thrilled for her—you don’t see that kind of passion in PV—but worried that the tag-a-longs wouldn’t get it. Yes they knew the Beatles and possibly even seen the famous-to-a-generation album cover. But did they realize how many spins the faithful have taken with this dizzying collection of tunes? The analysis, the wonder, the mystery, the endless symbolism. No not even.

Well, I was wrong. All who went were thrilled with this peregrination. These are the girls who went with Skyler: Amanda Brown, Stena Chang, Natasha Jaffe, Page Maltun, Casandra Robinson, Drew Wyman, Matt Yamamoto and Jennifer Snow. They have some great pictures reenacting the famous street crossing--here's one.

Wryly but Truly,

LV

Speaker's Corner

One thing immediately impressive with this group is the way they charge the city. We have a smart and adventurous group. They are uninhibited, but always travel in small packs--the way we like it. After checking in to the Royal National Hotel in Bloomsbury, many hopped on the tube heading for Speaker's Corner. This is where anyone can get on their soapbox (you have to be at least 8 inches off the ground to speak) and rant on any issue--mostly its politics and religion. While people can get red-faced and arguments ensue, what's great is most adversaries finish with a hug and a smile. There are some kooks for sure--how about that misogynist bold guy holding a poodle, what was his shtick?--but it was a stimulating introduction to Europe. Here's a picture of Eric, Forest, Marcelo, Shawn and Tyrone. Many others made the trip, including Bryant DeRoy who throughly befuddled a religious advocate attempting to convert him.

Flying High, Flying Low

Our trip to JFK and then to Gatwick was smooth. As you recall, I had the boys and Tim, going through Atlanta, had the girls plus a few leftovers. The boys--recovering from the senior breakfast, graduation and grad night (Universal Studios)--were moving in a lovely stupor. Nick Marshall, on the other hand, showed signs of moxie, when he managed to trick the Delta agent with his 52 lbs. suitcase. Slyly he placed it on the scale with one wheel off. Who knew one wheel weighed two pounds? I caught it on camera.

Most slept. Excedrin PM seems to be the drug of choice this year. Props to three trivia players, Tyrone, Forrest and LV--playing under the non de plumes of Gallant, Dom, and Tito respectively--for battling the indefatigable Eric Barnard who played (and often won) all night long. Only a rubik's cube master could zone in for such a sustained time. Here's what Eric somehow knew: that George Eliot and George Sands were actually men, that "So it Goes" is the famous phrase from Slaughterhouse Five, and fission is sometimes a catylist. No one could beat the mysterious Tina, however, who was playing up in seat 5A. We were in the back of the plane, and no one had the guts to walk up and see what she looked like. Not even Mr. Moxie.

Possibly you heard that Rachel Morgan's suitcase didn't arrive from Atlanta. It was a fiasco, but everything's hunky dory now, and she stayed incredibly upbeat. Aaron Sawelson stepped off a curb ungracefully and twisted his ankle. He still hobbles but never complains.

Truly but wryly,
LV

Six Days on the Road . . .

Six days into a rip roaring start has confirmed our hunches about this group: they can function on a high level. We’ve had a boy who sprained his ankle, a girl who lost her suitcase (Delta’s mistake), another girl with a fever, and a boy who lost his camera; however, all the kids are coping, helping each other out, and charging on to the next amazing treasure.

We can’t remember a trip that started with the need to develop new stratagems to propel the trip forward. But I have rather enjoyed it. Fortunately, bad luck has been followed by good. On our second day in London—a tour day that included Westminster Abbey, the changing of the guard, lunch in Leicester Square and the Towers of London—one boy discovered his passport was missing. Fat chance we’d be able to retrace our steps. But I decided to taxi over to St. Paul’s Cathedral--our best bet--and low and behold the minister found it. A Miracle!

Anyway, Johnny Cash sang “Get rhythm/ when you get the blues.” We have our traveling rhythm now. Actually Bruges cured us of any grad night hangover. As I write we are heading in two buses—coaches—across the Belgian border into France. We wait for Paris to cast its spell--or wake us up from the fairy tale that was Bruges.

In the course of the next few weeks I’ll be saying a few words about every European Dreamer (traveler). But I’ll also attempt to do more than merely document the trip. If the literary digressions bore you, skip ahead. Let’s go back to the flight to London and get caught up.

Truly, but wryly,
LV