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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment