Florence, an introduction

We arrive in Florence, and into what is truly the Italian leg of the trip. Venice is a city filled with such an "otherness" that it is probably not indicative of what the rest of Italy felt like (however, we would find that each region of Italy can differ vastly from the others). Considered to be the heart of the Renaissance movement, and with the prominent shadow of the Medici family still felt, Florence seems driven by three forces: art, money, and politics. The true beauty of the area, I feel, lies in its surrounding countryside, with its vineyards, stone pines, and cypresses. Once you leave this, you enter into a rather pedestrian outer layer of the city, with many modern complexes and architecture, which is where we stayed. From here, it is about a 15 minute walk into the densely packed historical section of the city, where most of the interest lies, and where most of the tourists gather. At this point, we had been traveling for weeks, but nothing we had seen in prior cities prepared us for the overwhelming gobs of sightseers in Florence. Unlike, say, Rome, Florentine visitors tend to wander free of tour groups, surrounding us in an odd and, to be honest, mostly obnoxious, English cocoon. While I know that I've complained about Americans acting holier than thou about tourism (I've never claimed to not be a hypocrite), I think everyone in our group became increasingly annoyed at having to constantly overhear pretentious and/or clueless people groping their way through the city. My eyes rolled so much, I worried someone would think I was having some sort of seizure.

   So, let's talk a little about that "art, politics, and money." Florence, thanks in large part to the aforementioned Medicis' patronage/greed, has an astounding amount of incredible art, most of it housed in some of the world's most amazing museums. Yes, it really does garner that many superlatives. For me, the art and the history oftentimes outshone the architecture, and, indeed, the city itself. Florence in July is hot, and hot in a uniquely inescapable way. You simply get used to sweating all the time (or, as I once said, "I'm glistening like the top of the Chrysler Building!"), and only lying perfectly still in the shade offered any sort of relief. Along with the heat came the smells, and Florence has the tremendously dubious distinction of being the stinkiest city that we visited. Essentially, about once every few minutes, you got a big whiff of sewage. Once when I was buying gelato, one of these odors wafted by, and I wrinkled my nose. The gelatiere looked alarmed and said, "It's not me, it's...," and pointed down to the sewer grate. Also, being about the height of most people's armpits, I got that odoriferous delight as well. The heat and the smells were compounded by the fact that the main areas of Florence are very dense. Like Venice, it has the small streets (though nothing compared to Venice, where you can get a 'the walls are closing in' feeling), interspersed with courtyards. In most of the historical section, cars are not allowed, excepting taxis and tiny service vehicles. Florence is a bike city, and we're not talking bicycle. And we're not talking 'hogs'. Vespas and Suzukis are everywhere, and everyone, from little old ladies to businessmen in 3-piece suits, zip around in them. Walking down the streets, sometimes it looked like a Japanese motorbike dealer had just parked his entire inventory on the street.

   Where were we? Ah, yes. Politics and money. Everything costs in Florence. Everything. Accustomed to the other nine countries we visited, it was a little disconcerting to be confronted with prices on what was free everywhere else. Additionally, Florence is really quite skilled at breaking things up to maximize their earnings. Many places have "packages" where they put one interesting thing in each package, along with a lot of fluff. So, you have to buy every package if you want to see all of what any logical person would want to. Pretty sneaky, sis. 

   Additionally, the bureaucracy and institutional organization (or lack of it) had me longing for other countries' which I had previously disparaged. Museums, ticketing offices, etc. tend to keep very odd hours. Essentially, the hours are "we are open when we feel like it." Information on the Internet is often wrong or outdated or conflicting with what is officially posted (which might be ignored anyway). Often, people show up to work when they feel like it, and it seems so ingrained that a lot of Italians seem to greet it with a sigh and a shrug. And, while some complain, they'll also participate in it themselves. In addition to the opening and closing times being confusing, Italian (and especially Florentine) sights frequently have a bewildering ticketing system. Here is a typical example.

"I would like to buy 2 adult tickets."

"No, you do that at (names a totally unrelated business/museum that is blocks away)."

"Oh, okay..."

"But they're closed for three hours right now."

"Oh. Well, I guess I can purchase tickets for tomorrow morning..."

"Oh, we're closed tomorrow morning. But, I can sell you this premium ticket for when we open at (names a time that is not on the sign, nor advertised anywhere in existence). With it, you get to join the smaller line."

*Sigh*

So, there's a common exchange. And they don't feel any sort of pressure to improve it because the general attitude seems to be, 'We've got a million of you people. You seem to come no matter what. We don't care if you get a little frustrated or we lose a few of you.'

   And, admittedly, the slowness sometimes forced you to give up and slow down for awhile. And that was something that was nice about being in Italy, the flip side to the frustration if you will. You have to relax. You have no other choice. Calm down, look around, discover some art. For a small fee.

Venice, day 2

The next  day, we catch the (incredibly crowded) bus back to Venice proper, and the first thing Neil and I do is head for the Gallerie Accademia to see lots of illuminated Medieval art, as well as Renaissance pieces, including a lot of Bellini and Giorgione's "The Tempest." The interior of the building of the Gallerie itself is beautiful, and a proper environment for the art.
  While we did this, we sent Kyle to get something to eat, as the museums don't really interest him. When we emerged, he was sitting on the steps, claiming that he couldn't find anything. "We passed a sandwich shop on our way here, " said Neil. We go down the street and Neil and I split a salami sandwich while Kyle gets some kind of wrap.
   Afterwards, we finally find the real Ca Rizzonico (apparently the building we found yesterday is the ticket office, located blocks away from the castle, as per the Italian way), which is right along the canal, and the "staircase" castle, Scala Contarini del Bovolo, located in a small courtyard.
   We proceed to perhaps the biggest tourist draw in Venice, the beautiful San Marco with the bell tower, clock tower, and Museo Correr lining the square filled with pigeons. People stand with their arms outstretched and pigeons land on them. Many children run screaming. Neil tried to lure the birds, but apparently they find him suspicious.
   Right by San Marco's is Doge's Palace, as well as the Bridge of Sighs, so named because it was the bridge across which prisoners would be transported, perhaps seeing their last glimpse of the outside.
    We cross the Rialto Bridge, packed with tourists and stalls trying to hock their wares. Venice's 2 biggest products seem to be Murano glass and Venetian masks, a reminder of their annual carnival masquerades that started in 1162. There are little shops selling both all over the city, and many of the masks are very beautiful and/or interesting (we pass the shop that provided Stanley Kubrick with masks).
   For lunch, we stop at a very small hole in the wall called Cantina du Mori. Neil and I have a glass of wine and an assortment of bites, including bruchetta, anchovies on little toasts, shrimp, and melon with prosciutto, which we eat standing at a wooden bar to the side.
   After eating, we visit the Ca d'oro, a lovely palace on the Grand Canal, and San Giacomo dell'Orio, a church founded in the 9th century.

   All day, we had been debating whether or not to do the ultimate touristy thing in Venice, a gondola ride. Already toying with the idea, when we saw one dock near a bridge and inquired about the price. Feeling like the opportunity to do this might be once in a lifetime, I agreed. The gondelier asked us how we were related. After finding out, he sat Neil and I on the heart-shaped seat in the back and Kyle to the side of his shiny black gondola decorated with golden dragons. As he poled us along the Grand Canal, and eventually the lesser canals, he pointed out the churches of Mary the Nazarene (Chiesa di Santa Maria di Nazareth) and Santa Lucia, as well as the residences of Wagner, Casanova, and Napolean ("You know Casanova? I feel like he is the greatest of all lovers. And not just because he is Venetian"). Every once in a while, he would softly sing, and, as we turned corners, he would shout, "Oooo...eee!" "I am not crazy," he said, "It is how we warn motorboats since we have the right of way."
   Our ride lasted about 1/2 an hour, and then we got gelato, and caught the bus back to Venice Mestre. Tired, we defaulted to the restaurant next to the hotel, which turned out to be run by a Chinese family. Neil and I got mushroom pasta, which had a watery "sauce" obviously made with condensed cream of mushroom soup. It wasn't exactly a great meal. But we did get to see the Chinese family sit down and consume mountains of delicious-looking Chinese food. Oh well. At least we got ice in our drinks, the only time we got any in Europe. I took a picture of it.

Venice, day 1

Kyle has discovered my hidden talent. It is 'train squiggling', as in, "Ann, squiggle your way in there and save us a seat."
  The train into Venice was actually quite nice, as we somehow ended up in a weird in-between car that was technically 1st class. We had an enthusiastic dread-locked conductor, and decided to eat in the dining car. I got the tabbouleh, which came out in a drinking glass.
   When we step off the train in Venice Mestre (the city outside of Venice where we are staying), it becomes very apparent that we're in someplace completely different. Firstly, we've left the relative coolness of the mountains and are smacked in the face with sticky heat (and it's supposed to be in the 90s the entire rest of the trip). In a way, Italy fulfills some of the stereotypes, with a little of the popped collar slickness mixed in with some street-level grunginess.
   We check into the Hotel Centrale, whose interior reminds me a lot of a 2010s version of 'Lucy Ricardo goes to Italy' (but with a working elevator, thank God). The staff is busy and brusque, but the rooms are air conditioned, which is a shocker, and we get our own bathroom. In the bathroom is an odd mini-sink, which we think can't possibly be a bidet because there are no jets, just a regular faucet, and a mystery cord in the shower, which I pull on, but nothing happens. More about these things in Rome.
   Having to buy the tickets from a tobacconist (which keeps very odd 'I open when I feel like it' hours), we take the bus into Venice itself, crossing the water. In a way, exploring the city in the late afternoon/evening like this was a good way to first experience the city, as a great portion of the tourists had cleared out by then. Venice is beautiful in a way completely different from any other place we visited, in a unique, almost ethereal way. It seems like it came out of a fairy tale, or was designed as a set for a movie called "Old World Charm". With winding tiny side streets (we're talking so small that I could put my palms flat on the walls on either side) and large and small waterways, Venice is an incredibly difficult city  in which to navigate, but it is a good city to get a little lost in, as it's not so much a city filled with landmarks; the city itself is the big attraction. And we did not find any of the "Venice smells and has giant water rats" rumors to be true. It is true, however, that Venice is touristy to the extreme. We hadn't heard so much English since London, and certain areas are packed during the day. One amusing incident happened as we were passing over a bridge our second day. An American girl stopped me to ask if I would take her group's picture. "Pho-to?" she enunciated slowly. "We speak English," said Neil, wearing a 4th of July T-shirt. "Oh! They speak English," she tells the group. Still, one of the guys said, "Grazi," in a painful American pronunciation when I was done. "They speak English!"
   We wander through the city a bit, seeing what we think might  be the Ca Rizzonico (but isn't), and finding the Galerie Academia and discovering that it closes early on Mondays. We walk along the Grand Canal and in the surrounding area, seeing a few churches, including S. Maria del Carmelo, S. Maria della Salute, which is a beautiful domed church, and San Travaso and its square. Reaching the tip of the island, we find Punta Della Dogana, a museum with a statue of a naked boy holding a frog in front.
   We get gelato (Neil and I get mango), and explore a bit more before having dinner at Pizza Zola. We are served by a tattooed woman with short hair whom we can't understand well, as she speaks in a rapidfire staccato and seems to take 4 people's orders at once. I get eggplant pizza, and Kyle gets hot dog and french fry pizza. Mine's okay, but not great. Kyle says he wouldn't eat his again.
   We return to the hotel around 8:00, and soon the lights go out, as the power has popped off in our room. Neil goes to tell the front desk, who gets it working again with the directive to not use the plug for the T.V. (which is way up by the ceiling, so why would we?) and to only use the plug in the bathroom. We decide to ignore this ( Neil: "I'm not using my computer in the bathroom"), as we didn't think we had caused it anyway since we had only one light on and one tablet charging. It might have been the girls down the hall, as we heard a hair dryer and giggling right before the power blew.

Zurich

We are headed through some pretty impressive mountains from Switzerland into Italy, which means alternating between amazing scenery and total darkness as we go through tunnels. We made our connection at Bern, even though our train was late getting in and we had to run up and down stairs to catch it. Kyle’s had his daily morning sugar rush, and he and Neil are now playing Pokemon on their gameboys, as they usually are on these train rides. It’s a good time for me catch up.

            Yesterday was our last day in Switzerland, so we’re leaving behind a country that I found clean, classy, organized, and expensive (We’re also leaving behind the German language, which we’re pretty happy about. After spending so much time with Slovak/Czech, German sounds very harsh).

            Yesterday, we took a day trip from Lucerne to Zurich. As the forecast called for pouring rain, the first thing we decided to do was go up into Uetliberg to see the mountains and the view, as hiking in the rain did not sound like fun. We took a tram up and then had a short hike before reaching a good vantage point (for some reason, the path up has these large moose creature lamps). Kyle and I (and Neil up to the 1^st platform) climbed a tower for a fantastic view. We worried that it might be foggy, but it wasn’t too bad.

            We descend the mountain and walk along the water to see the Ganymede statue and the flower clock. We see the Swiss National Museum and walk down the famous Bahnhofstrasse (or “shopping mile”, with Prada, Chanel, etc.) to the historic section that lines the river, which includes Stadthaus, Rathaus, Munsterhof, and the 4 churches along the water: Wasserkirche, Fraumunster (with a tall steeple and unremarkable interior excepting the Chagall stained windows), St. Peter’s (with the giant clock in its steeple), and Grossmunster (which is gigantic and impressive and interesting because of its modern stained glass, including geode windows, and its illuminated Bible from the 1500s).

            It is about this time that Neil sees a weird bird and identifies it with a guide. I’m only including this because they made a big deal about “this is the kind of thing your readers want to hear about.”

            A final place we saw was Grossestadt Kleiner Hafner, which used to have prehistoric dwellings in the water, and is now a park with yellow buoys in the river to mark where they used to be.

            We lunch at Café Odeon, and have fried cheese salad (Neil), a swiss-style burger with egg and a hash brown patty instead of a bun (Kyle-who declared it one of the best burgers he’s ever had and started carrying around the little Swiss flag that it came with), and steak tartar (me). While there, we saw a guy drive into a trolley (no kidding) and reminisced about the trip (“Remember that time I had to buy you something that cost one pound, but only had a 20? So then I had pockets of change that I had to keep emptying again and again when I changed money in Belgium. And you were just laughing and laughing…”).

            We have a little trouble getting the check (“maybe if I wear this bread bowl on my head…”), but eventually do, and it’s about this time that the rain really breaks. Neil and Kyle share my umbrella, and I have my slicker from Liverpool. At one point, Kyle ducks into a phone booth for cover (“They’re playing creepy music in here!”)

            Getting back to Lucerne, we decide to get ice cream for dinner (they didn’t seem to be serving real food). Kyle and I get big sundaes called Swiss Chocolate Doodles. Then we wander back to our hostel through deserted streets as everyone is watching the Eurocup final between Spain and Italy. Spain won, which somehow translated into falling asleep to cars honking for 2 hours in Switzerland.

            P.S. Random notes about our hostel in Lucerne: The elevator makes alarming sounds like it’s going to break down every time you use it. The front door looks antique and wooden, but lacks a doorknob, and automatically slowly opens up for you. It is both cool and creepy.

Lucerne

            The next day, we leave Germany and head for Lucerne, Switzerland. At the train station, we eat our breakfasts (Kyle: giant cinnamon roll, Neil: apple, me: pretzel), and boarded the train. The ride was uneventful, excepting the pretentious Americans, a problem I fixed with earphones.

            Arriving in Zurich, we realized that the ticket lady had given us tickets to Lausonne, not Lucerne, and we had to get that straightened out. Once done, we were waiting for our train when a woman with cat eye eyeliner, black hair with blunt-cut bangs, and a cigarette asked us, “Excuse me, are you going to Lucerne?” After we affirmed this, she warned us that this day was Luzerner Fest and there would be thousands of people pouring into town.

            This train ride was also uneventful, excepting the sleeping guy who tried to snuggle up to Kyle, and we pulled into the station and stepped into a postcard. Seriously scenic, Lucerne is surrounded by mountains and has a river running through it, which one can cross by using one of two covered bridges, the Mill Bridge or Chapel Bridge.

            We find our hostel and are informed by a skinny man with an eye patch that our room is not quite ready yet. So we decide to use the time exploring the old city walls, which are quite a hike in the heat, especially going up into a tower for a great view (huffing and puffing).

            We head back, check into our room (double and single beds with a bathroom across the hall. Plain and small, but fine). We head into town, explore Old Town for a bit, and see the lion monument. We investigate the fest a little bit, which is indeed large and packed, and hear some musical acts. One funny thing about the fest was that there were these people selling plastic hearts for charity everywhere. We had already bought one, which I was wearing, but a volunteer still accosted Kyle, grabbing his arm and practically shaking and yelling at him.

            After eating burgers with mystery sauce, and buy Swiss Chocolate ice cream. We took our cones to the riverbank, and were standing in the water when we heard the thunder rumble. Soon, it was pouring, which felt great. Finding shelter for a minute with some other people, we walked back to the hostel during a break in the rain.

            Neil actually went back to the fest after the storm let up, braving the crowds (which were, according to him, even worse), and buying me a mango smoothie and some nuts. When he got back, we heard fireworks going off, so we watched them from a nearby classroom window (they teach hotel management here), from which I also “borrowed” a fan with which to cool our sweatbox of a room down.

Salzberg

            “The hills are alive…,” this is the song that is playing in my head as we head into Salzberg for a day trip. Surrounded by the Alps, the setting of The Sound of Music, large enough to be interesting, but still very picturesque, Salzberg is the perfect place to get your Julie Andrews on, as we’ve been trying to get Neil to do since Bratislava.

            Kyle’s breakfast of a cinnamon roll the size of his face fortifies him as we begin our tour at Mirabel Schloss and gardens. The palace is very nice, but the manicured gardens are the real attractions. It is around the fountain here that the Sound of Music children danced. It is also here that Kyle rides a unicorn statue.

            We cross the bridge and head to Monchsberg, built right into the mountain, This takes us up into the Alps, where we have a great view and saw some old city walls. It is here that we also saw a giant nest o’ snails.

            We descend to the Festspielhaus, built right into the rock, which is the stage used in The Sound of Music. Getting back into town, we see some “hunks of art”, including giant pickles. We found St. Peter’s Church, and next to it St. Peter’s Stiftskeller, advertised as the oldest restaurant in Europe, established in 803 by St. Peter’s monks. After peeking in, we went around back and explored St. Peter’s cemetery.

            Right next to some public art, a man standing on a golden ball and a big chess set, is the Dom, a very beautiful and old church whose interior I’m unfortunately only able to get a glimpse of as there’s something going on that day.

            We head towards Residenzplatz, famous as a place of Hitler’s book burnings, as well as having the large fountain. We tried to encourage Neil’s dancing, but no. It is also here that they had the state apartments, as well as the chiming glockenspiel. While walking through, I saw two nuns and almost asked, “So, how do you solve a problem like Maria?”

            Another interesting thing about Salzberg is that you see a lot of people walking around in traditional garb, and a lot of it sold in shops. I don’t know if they all work for the tourist trade or what…

            Then it’s to Alter Market (Old Market) and the Aldstadt, where we catch lunch at Zum Mohren (i.e. “moors”), a restaurant known for serving international food since the 1700s. Franz Schubert and Mozart both are said to have eaten there. Neil and I get Indian food.

            We head through Mozart platz and take a tram up the mountain to Hohensalzberg Castle and Fortress, where we get a great view of the city as well as a tour of the castle, including St. George’s Chapel, circa 1502.

            Our final 2 spots are Mozart’s birthplace and a hill for Neil to sing on. To find this last important one, we pass through a small street fest called “Funkytown”, where we got to hear Austrian funk music, which includes a tuba. We never did find that hill for Neil…

            We get to the train station, where a middle-aged Canadian is very impressed with the 5 words of German I can read from a sign (and yet didn’t want to admit that he was a tourist) and decided to “follow my lead.” Our train turns out to be a double decker (something we’ve been wanting to ride) and we to look at the beautiful scenery as we head back to Munich.

            Once there, we pick up 3 last sites: the amazing Maximilaneum, the Isartor, and Lukaskirche. We also see some Germans on a “beach” along the river. We have a dinner of brats and ribs at a nearby beer garden, and get to see some of Munich’s night life before heading back to the hostel.
P.S. Neil had a dream that he had a mole in the shape of Austria.

Munich

We got to Munich in one piece, bought subway passes, and went into the city to what we thought was our hostel, but it turns out that our hostel was right next to the train station. So, we dragged our luggage back to the subway, backtrack, and are consulting the map when a very nice older Englishman asks us if we need help. We say that we’re looking for the Locarno and think that it’s right over there, and point. “Well, you didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

            We go there, check in, and head out for a little sight-seeing in Munich.

            Munich is a very nice city, to which the closest comparison would be Dresden. Like Dresden, it has a lot of history, but it does not seem to be consumed by it as much. One thing about Munich, at least when we were there, is that it was filled with construction everywhere. “This is how Merkel keeps people working,” said Neil.

            We pass the impressive Palace of Justice and head into the historical part of town. The first thing we see there is St. Michael’s Church. It’s under construction, so we can’t really see the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, another wedding cake church, white and gold and bright and open.

            Afterwards, we proceed to Asamkirche, a church “not for anyone with ADD,” according to Kyle. Small and ornate, it is packed with filigree and odd decorations. One feature is the mummy wrapped in jewels.

            We then saw the Frauenkirche, partly under construction, with its domed twin towers. Almost completely destroyed in WWII, it’s not much to look at inside (though I did get an usher giving me a finger wag for no discernible reason).

            The next place we saw was Marienplatz, a square surrounded by impressive sites. One was the Neues Rathaus, awesomely ornate and with the town’s Glockenspiel with dancing figurines. Also there is the Altes Rathaus (old town hall), and St. Peter’s.

            We pass by the National Theater (also under construction), and see the Residenz Apartments (also under construction), where the Bavarian dukes used to live. We follow that (it takes up a whole block) to the Theatinerkirche, a church with a whole bunch of police officers and a priest questioning a guy outside of it. “Let’s…avoid this crowd,” said Neil. So I went in a different entrance. Turns out there was a protest in there, something about Turkey, and some tension was resulting. “This is a church!” one of the visitors said. The church itself was gorgeous, another wedding cake church, white and bright and huge, surprising after seeing its distinctively mustard exterior.

            Walking the rest of the way around the Residenz, we spot the Staatskanzlei, and make our way to the Hofbrauhaus, a famous beer hall where Hitler himself staged political events, an oompa band still plays, and Mozart and Lenin were said to be regulars. We all get sausage and kraut, when Kyle looks over and says, “This place is really touristy.” Because who should it be but the Whitest Family on Earth from the train (or as Neil calls them, “The Brady Bunch”) puzzling over a menu. “Do you need an English menu?” I ask. “Yes…oh!” says mom as she recognizes me. We get them the menus and I say, “I guess we’re just meant to help you today.” After we finish eating, Neil says to them, “See you later.”

            Now, we had ventured into the city knowing that Germany was playing in the Eurocup that night and, while nothing like Berlin, we had our fair share of soccer hooligans and broken bottles. After dinner, we realized that we were headed into the heart of the beast, Olympic Park. We went there to see the stadiums, which were quite cool, but there was also a giant screen set up to watch the game. So we got to see what 100s of soccer fans look like (by the way, they lost to Italy, which means that Italy will probably be consumed when we go).

            Finally, we head trek to see the impressive Nymphanberg Palace as it starts to get dark.

            By this time, I’m pooped. We take public transport back to the hostel where I basically collapse.

Kutna Hora, etc.

The day after our Prague tour, we take a bus to spend the day in Kutna Hora, a very picturesque and quaint town about an hour away. Stopping briefly at Our Lady of the Assumption church, we proceed to our main reason for going there-the Sedlec Ossuary  (or “Bone Church” as Kyle calls it). Because the land had supposedly been sprinkled with dirt from Golgotha brought back from the Holy Wars, it was a popular place to be interred, especially during the Black Death. With the crypts having thousands of bones that were placed there to make room, in the 1800s a local carpenter was hired to ‘put them in order.’ He decided to build 6 pyramids with the bones, and then dismantled two of them in order to decorate the chapel, arranging intricate patterns of bones along doorframes, making crosses, and other decorations such as a coat of arms and a giant chandelier. It’s truly an experience (and Kyle loved this).

            After we were done with the ossuary, we had some time, so we wandered a bit through town, seeing the plague memorial, the Ursuline convent, St. James, St. Barbara, the Jesuit seminary, the Stone House, and the Italian Court (which used to be the seat of the Czech king). We skipped their cigarette, baby buggy, and alchemy museums.

            Buying some food at a local store, we had a little picnic on the bus stop lawn. Kyle got a Kentucky Baguette because he thought that it sounded interesting (“I bet you they don’t even know what a baguette is in Kentucky. They’d be like, ‘Bag of what?’”).

            We got back to Prague and passed through a little street festival selling local foods. A rusty van with a sound system and drummers had pulled up and interpretive dancers (whose dances included writhing over the van, twitching, and throwing powder on one another) danced. They were probably there to promote Stomp.

            We ate some thin crust pizza with George (ham, cream, and mushroom), and then head for Café Louve (famous for being the place where “thinkers” like Kafka and Einstein used to hang out) for dessert. “Finally, a place for my mental equals,” says Kyle as he eats a giant piece of chocolate cake. I get warm raspberries with vanilla ice cream, nicknamed “Hot Love.”

            Then we go to George’s to pick up our laundry, have some tea, shoot Kyle with nerf guns, and say goodbye.

            The next morning, we get packed and are heading to Munich. At the station, I help the Whitest Family from America find their platform, and later their train car (Kyle: Those people were seriously whitebread). Then a foreign guy asks for help. And when on the train, another guy comes to my cabin for help. I should start a business.

            Oh, and Kyle picked up a (wrapped) Kit Kat off the train station floor and intends to eat it. Kyle said, “You’re going to write about this, aren’t you? Can’t a guy eat floor Kit Kat in peace?” No. You can’t.