Who says Eastern Europe's always cold?

There is little that can beat having sunshine tossed earthward in generous abundance while one is being teased by the light spring breeze. All while having a good friend sit with you by the riverside. Oh that was Heidi and me alright; two bug-eyed girls with giant induced smiles and lots of time to spare.

Here's looking at you!

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see 'em bloom for me and you

And I think to myself,

What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue, clouds of white

The bright blessed days, and dark sacred nights

And I think to myself,

What a wonderful world!

Quite worthwhile, this 15-hour busride

I officially hate buses. Never mind that I got myself booked on yet another one to Basel in 3 weeks.

That said, Prague is beautiful. Touristy, but beautiful in a way that redeems the jacked up prices and restaurant scouts scattered everywhere. I mean, how could you not like this?

The City Hall. Done Art Nouveau style.

These aren't even the most droolsome of pictures; I have to get pictures of Charles Bridge and the aerial view of Prague from Heidi, because my never-say-die camera died on me that faithful day we climbed our little hearts out to the top of the hill.

Prague is also home to certain celebs, and I'm not talking about booty-shaking or pantyless stars like Beyonce or Brits; but stars like Kafka and Mucha.

This little blue house was home to Kafka, one of his many nomadic abodes.

And the hero of all heroes in my book: Alfonse Maria Mucha. (Say it breathlessly and in awe, and you pretty much get how my little heart skips a beat at each Mucha piece I see) He pretty much has his stamp indented all over Prague, like with this stained glass window he designed for the cathedral. I went all around town searching for the missing 'Rose' piece in his Four Flowers Series, and in abso-dayum style, bought a double copy of the 'Lily' picture. I'm counting on you now RW, to restore my happiness!
And while we're on the topic of the cathedral, apparently they threw three Catholic priests through these windows. Our guide actually yelled at Byron not to give himself the same treatment when he attempted to open one of the windows.

Scores of tourists wait beneath the clock tower for a little surprise that comes every hour. I have no idea what this little surprise is because none of us had the patience, nor the bladder power to endure the wait.

See what I mean, this bladder problem? That's me in the middle, flanked by unhappy friends also deprived of toilet-time.

Our bursting bladders and continuous lethargy were really exacerbated by the crazy amount of walking we did, thanks to a guide who obviously thrives on information overload. Someone should have told her we are not history majors, just mere curious tourists. Ulla at her most exhausted looks almost homeless, doesn't she?

But no really, she isn't always so boho-looking. Oh and how could I forget this: the start of each day, Ulla our live-sized Barbie doll getting her impossibly fragile hair combed with tremendous effort!

Dinner on the first night was promised to be "at a beautiful location with delicious food", according to the programme booklet. Well, they got half of that right; the underground tavern was gorgeous and the live music was great, but I can't say the same for a main course that tasted like a grilled version of KFC drumsticks.
That's us, happier with cocktails at the bar than said crappy dinner.

And you can just imagine the delight I experienced when I found out that there wasn't just one Easter Market in Prague. In fact, there were so many markets I still don't know how many there were all over town.

Oh how we feast our CZ krony away.

And this is a common sight at markets in Prague: headless men grilling huge chunks of pork. o_O

At the Jewish quarters, the men (boys) were made to wear Jewish caps before entering. Here's Patrick, whom methinks cuts a rather striking figure as a Jew, despite being very Spanish in reality.The Jewish cemetery.
This sight for me, was very Schindler's List. Remember the last part of the movie?
They recorded the names, birth-and-death dates of all the Czech Jews who died or who were interned during the Holocaust. These fill the whitewashed walls of two whole rooms so it was really quite a massive effort.

Heidi One during the coffee break. She goes Jihad when she's tired.

Oh what a disjointed, confusing entry. Please believe me when I say that Prague is a thousand times more charming than I make it out to be here.

And damn those 15-hour busrides.

Because this is too funny not to post

Celest* says:
my friend hendrik looks like a younger version of josh hartnet
and a better-looking version too

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
but they need to be rich
poor ang mos are as useless as chinese ones
haha

Celest* says:
yeah hendrik is rich!!
ooh, should i have an affair?? HAHAHA

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
haha
well then
YES
AFFAIR AFFAIR

Celest* says:
oh man, i must snap a picture of him
he spent the whole lesson yesterday talking to me
and i earnestly had to give up listening to horizontal mergers to talk to him
HAHAHA

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
lol
yes snap a pic of him
so weiming can eat his heart out

Celest* says:
HAHA
eye candy every single class

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
I WANT
what wldnt i give now for a hot affair.
sigh.

Celest* says:
me first!!!

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
haha

Celest* says:
but babe
good news
HE HAS AN IDENTICAL TWIN!!!
hoho, a beefier version
but i prefer lean so you can have the beef

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
i'm not into beefy guys
i want lean
swap la
haha

Celest* says:
TOO BAD
me first
haha

*sueee: has a postcard from Vienna says:
damnit
now i seriously shall think abt gg for Belgium Homestay

-
BEEEG Sidenote: B, you know I still love you! I just have eyes, that's all! <3

NOT funny, daddy!

A Skype conversation I just had with the dadster, while attempting to finalize the dates we're gonna be meeting in Basel:

Dad: Ok wait ah, let me check my departure flight with my secretary. Must make changes.

Dad (returning from lots of murmuring about changing flight plans, booking another night at the hotel, time in Zurich blahblah): Ok, you sort of heard the conversation right? I will try to leave after you so I can send you off at the bus station.

Me: Wah, sounds like you had to make a lot of changes to your original plan ah?

Dad: Ya, what to do. All just to meet you and pass you more money.




o_O Ehhhh, I want to meet daddy dearest because I miss him ok! I can starve for 3 days, I don't care! I just want some love from home, and *ahem* crashing for 2 nights in his hotel room is also not a bad option eh?

Thankfully, the dadster clarified later that he was JUST KIDDING.

:) Can't wait to see you Daddy-O!

Flanders in a flash Part 3: The only reason you should go to Brussels

It's a personal opinion and most people wouldn't agree with me, but I don't think much of Brussels and the only memorable thing that I take away with me each time I step foot into the city for transit purposes is that all the railway stations there reek of pee. So naturally, I avoid going to Brussels for longer than a half-hour train transit.

But insert a live soccer match into the equation, and I can make an exception.

Pictures are grainy and the lighting was bad but what the heck, I had a great time. Even though we spent most of the first half of the match running around the circumference of the entire stadium trying to look for the right entrance and also hanging precariously off bars so we could see above the heads of ang-moh giants.

This is little me trying to tower over hugeass them.

Stealthily we managed to clamber all the way to the front during half-time, and we got an almost uninterrupted view of the rest of the game.

Freekick!

Mesmerized.

Equally mesmerized.

The score at full-time.

-

Thank you for the treat, lovey!

Flanders in a flash Part 2: Antwerp

To Antwerp we set foot,

for filled stomachs and loot.

The city with the mostest

gave us memories of the very richest.

The moment we stepped out of the railway station, this nice old man came up to offer us directions and give us suggestions on places worth visiting in the whole mish-mash of a city that is Antwerp. I could have sworn he was planted there by the tourism office, but he really was an angel.

Olv Kathedrale. Here, I wished I had a camera lens wide enough to photograph the entire entrance in its carved spendour.

The nice old man pointed us towards a market which according to him was "an exotic market", but all in all it was just a huge food-cum-chapalang market. Which of course is totally fine by us, since all we seem to do is look for flea markets everywhere we go. And food is probably at the top of our mutual priority list.

Quite possibly the best churros I've ever tasted. Or maybe I've been too deprived of you char kway (dough fritters) so everything that tastes like crisp fried dough is heaven in my eyes.

Told you we eat everywhere we go.

Does this look like we're in the middle of March? Al'Fresco dining is coming 2 whole months prematurely in Belgium, and it's not a bad thing too. More sunshine, less prozac, innit?

And it was St. Patrick's Day when we were there too. Which explains the men in skirts kilts and the droves of revellers decked out in green all ready for an overdose of Irish brew.

I think the only official touristy thing we did was visit Rubens' House. Ruben being Peter Paul Ruben, the most famous painter Belgium has ever known, and also the late owner of the house which is probably the most inadequate museum you could dish out 4Euros to visit. It must have taken us all of 20 minutes to complete a full walk-through.

And unsurprisingly, we ended our little day-trip with yet another food-related adventure. And this particular episode saw us tirelessly hunting down what the Use-It guide hailed as the best hot chocolate in the whole of Antwerp. The Witzli Poetzli cafe could really use a discernable sign instead of a nude-coloured plaque with beige wording spelling out its famed name.

The hot chocolate was nice, but not nearly the best I've tasted. Sprungli's in Zurich still owns my universe; but if Witzli Poetzli's version can make theboy smile like this, then it will have to do!

And of course we did not end our day there. Us being us, we just had to make a detour to Brussels in the faint hope of catching the Anderlecht game even though the website said they were totally sold out. Sometimes, good faith does see you a long way.