Follow the Green Fairy
Location: Cesky Krumlov, the Czech Republic
Local Chickens: Numerous
October 24
I'm up early to get out of the hostel of malcontent and find somewhere better. On the other side of town (about a ten minute walk) is a hostel that came highly recommended: The Krumlov House. Upon arriving there I am instantly set at ease by the staff, of whom there are two, a rather introspective Australian cyclist/vagabond named Ian and a wary but good-natured Czech woman named Lutka. This place is tiny and acts as a locus of the positive energy that seems to pervade this entire little town. Hell, the front door itself is carved like a dragon, for crying out loud. I feel at home here.
My first day is taken up by studiously doing nothing. I sit, I read, I play the guitar (which is just lying around the common room). I've been skipping cities and countries so quickly that I need to take a load off, which I accomplish quite handily. Dinner rolls around and several of us head out to dinner. All Americans, for a change. Our party consists of myself, an American Army sergeant named Derek (who is on leave from Iraq), and two Texans, a father and son duo who seem to do more traveling than Marco Polo infused with cocoa roots. The son, Nathan, is academic and soft-spoken, while the father, Steve is loud and speaks with an almost comical Texan drawl. He also happens to be one of the friendliest, most enthusiastic, most well-educated people I've ever met. I like them right from the get-go.
We grab food at a little place called Two Mary's, where the order of the day is roasted rabbit with potatoes and dumplings. De-lish. We then make our way to a local haunt (no pun intended) called the Horor Bar (yes, they spell "horror" with one 'r' here), a basement pub that closelz resembles a cave and has mannequins of the undead draped across the walls. The beer is cheap and tasty, and conversation flows quite well. And that's that until bedtime.
October 25
A few words about the town. Cesky Krumlov (CHESS-kee KROOM-lahv) is a town of about 25,000 people nestled in the hills of the south-western Czech Republic. It is called one of the most beautiful towns in Europe, which I suppose would also make it one of the most beautiful towns in the world. It lives up to the name. The best image that comes to mind is the village in the movie "Chocolat." The everything is closed-in and paved with cobblestones, nestled against a shephard's crook of the Vlatava river. Overlooking the town is the Krumlov Castle, a kind of fairy-tale chateau with the brightly painted tower shooting right up out of the rough-hewn cliffs. It is an interesting phenomenon that immediately after setting foot in town, one is overcome by a sense of peace and well-being, a feeling that it is somehow right to be here. Virtually everyone seems to get this feeling, including myself, despite the fact that I typically am not sensitive to such things.
Today, Derek and I cruise up to the castle to check things out. The grounds are lavish and surprisingly expansive, with a lovely flower and hedge garden. Every other minute reveals yet another breathtaking view of the town. We are quite pleased with it, and after some time head down below the citadel to the river, where we engage in the honored passtime of skipping rocks. This is a very Franz Joseph meets Calvin and Hobbes type moment, with an American soldier as my own personal stuffed tiger. While we're there I flip off the castle. Gotta keep up with my work.
Dinner is yet more delicious Czech food at a place called Satlava, which is built into a kind of cave set-up (typical of local architecture) and adorned with medieval weapons and bear skins on the wall. Very good ambiance to go with my dark beer and four, count 'em four types of meat. We pay yet another visit to the Horor Bar afterwards, then retire.
October 26
Derek bugs out early to head up to Germany, so we say our goodbyes, then Nathan and I take a hike for a while up to an abandoned church overlooking the town. Why is the church abandoned? Who knows? The dark side of me hopes it has something to do with brimstone, or perhaps flying monkeys. At any rate, the hike is lovely, and despite the incline I am reminded of how Nebraska looked hiking there as a child. The view overlooking the town is priceless and we sit and admire it for some time, taking a moment to give it the finger, as well. We climb to yet a higher hill for a picnic of water and cookies while discussing the virtues of "Friends" and "Seinfeld" before heading back.
On the trail up to the church are a number of derelict shrines, fully intact but stripped of carvings and sculptures. I take the opportunity to slither into one and make myself an O-so-pious human statue, no doubt putting great structural fatigue on my plenary indulgence.
After some afternoon chess (which I feel proud at having dominated for the last few days), we're back to Two Mary's for dinner to show some new folks what it's like. Again to the Horor Bar, where I am introduced to The Green Fairy, a.k.a. Absinthe.
Now, Absinthe is a big thing in the Czech Republic. Maybe it was invented here or something. At any rate, Absinthe brewers miss no opportunity to slather their logo feces all over the landscape. Unbeknownst to me, one does not simply shoot Absinthe. Oh, no. There is a highly-ritualized process involving caramelizing sugar and flambaying the whole thing. Upon throwing back the shot, one is informed in no uncertain terms that green is the color of ectoplasm, which tastebuds hate passionately. As bad as the taste is, it does warm your gullet, and 70 proof alcohol plus sugar plus a few miligrams of wormwood (the hallucinagenic ingredient) pack no small kick. I claim success.
Shortly thereafter, and quite understandably, I hit the sack.
October 27
I almost leave today, since most of the people I've been hanging out with are leaving, but I can't bring myself to go just yet. Since my first day here was for meaningless relaxation, I make my last day similar.
I attempt to go see the bears around the castle... oh, yeah, there are bears. They are stationed in a pen that rings the castle, almost as if the people in charge fear Stephen Colbert attacks and wish to frighten him away. There are three of them, big brown bears, prompting me to concoct a scheme involving three bowls of unevenly heated porridge. Unfortunately, come the day, I could neither secure porridge nor find the bears, who seem to have taken the opportunity to start hibernating early. Damn, that would have been funny, too.
Instead I do a little bit of window shopping, spending most of my time in an antique weapons shop. They have some truly sweet merchandise that meets my rather demanding specifications, but sadly it is all way out of my price range. I am amused to find a rack of katanas labeled "Hattori Hanzo," as if "Kill Bill" fanatics are making Cesky Krumlov the destination of their ill-advised pilgrimage in hopes of securing the famous sword.
Some more chess, a nap, and some reading lead up to dinner at a place called Na Louzi, where I have the highly recommended pork steak stuffed with ham and cheese. Pork stuffed with ham? Now that's my kind of twisted animal cruelty. Insult to injury, indeed.
Our after dinner entertainment comes by way of the Gypsy Bar, a tiny hole-in-the-wall place owned and operated by a family of Roma (the local ethnic minority from whom European gypsies spring). I refrain from drinking, being dog tired already after a unwitting caffeine crash, but they have a live band performing that is nothing short of spectacular. There are three Roma on the accordian, string bass, and fiddle, as well as one white boy on the clarinet. They tirelessly crank out energetic Czech folk songs, providing a nice cap to the evening.
We head out to head back, but I and a crazy middle-aged Australian guy named Richard make a slight detour. He has a burning desire to track down some local bud, and I volunteer to keep him company. Sadly, his connection is bad, but we keep spirits up and head back to crash. I'm off to Vienna the next day, and I need my rest.
Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 4
Stupid Tourist Moments: 34
Monuments Flipped Off: 23
Free Food Ganked: 4
Free Booze Ganked: 18
the world isn't so bad if you can just get out in it.
-Bill Watterson, in "Calvin and Hobbes"
Local Chickens: Numerous
October 24
I'm up early to get out of the hostel of malcontent and find somewhere better. On the other side of town (about a ten minute walk) is a hostel that came highly recommended: The Krumlov House. Upon arriving there I am instantly set at ease by the staff, of whom there are two, a rather introspective Australian cyclist/vagabond named Ian and a wary but good-natured Czech woman named Lutka. This place is tiny and acts as a locus of the positive energy that seems to pervade this entire little town. Hell, the front door itself is carved like a dragon, for crying out loud. I feel at home here.
My first day is taken up by studiously doing nothing. I sit, I read, I play the guitar (which is just lying around the common room). I've been skipping cities and countries so quickly that I need to take a load off, which I accomplish quite handily. Dinner rolls around and several of us head out to dinner. All Americans, for a change. Our party consists of myself, an American Army sergeant named Derek (who is on leave from Iraq), and two Texans, a father and son duo who seem to do more traveling than Marco Polo infused with cocoa roots. The son, Nathan, is academic and soft-spoken, while the father, Steve is loud and speaks with an almost comical Texan drawl. He also happens to be one of the friendliest, most enthusiastic, most well-educated people I've ever met. I like them right from the get-go.
We grab food at a little place called Two Mary's, where the order of the day is roasted rabbit with potatoes and dumplings. De-lish. We then make our way to a local haunt (no pun intended) called the Horor Bar (yes, they spell "horror" with one 'r' here), a basement pub that closelz resembles a cave and has mannequins of the undead draped across the walls. The beer is cheap and tasty, and conversation flows quite well. And that's that until bedtime.
October 25
A few words about the town. Cesky Krumlov (CHESS-kee KROOM-lahv) is a town of about 25,000 people nestled in the hills of the south-western Czech Republic. It is called one of the most beautiful towns in Europe, which I suppose would also make it one of the most beautiful towns in the world. It lives up to the name. The best image that comes to mind is the village in the movie "Chocolat." The everything is closed-in and paved with cobblestones, nestled against a shephard's crook of the Vlatava river. Overlooking the town is the Krumlov Castle, a kind of fairy-tale chateau with the brightly painted tower shooting right up out of the rough-hewn cliffs. It is an interesting phenomenon that immediately after setting foot in town, one is overcome by a sense of peace and well-being, a feeling that it is somehow right to be here. Virtually everyone seems to get this feeling, including myself, despite the fact that I typically am not sensitive to such things.Today, Derek and I cruise up to the castle to check things out. The grounds are lavish and surprisingly expansive, with a lovely flower and hedge garden. Every other minute reveals yet another breathtaking view of the town. We are quite pleased with it, and after some time head down below the citadel to the river, where we engage in the honored passtime of skipping rocks. This is a very Franz Joseph meets Calvin and Hobbes type moment, with an American soldier as my own personal stuffed tiger. While we're there I flip off the castle. Gotta keep up with my work.
Dinner is yet more delicious Czech food at a place called Satlava, which is built into a kind of cave set-up (typical of local architecture) and adorned with medieval weapons and bear skins on the wall. Very good ambiance to go with my dark beer and four, count 'em four types of meat. We pay yet another visit to the Horor Bar afterwards, then retire.
October 26
Derek bugs out early to head up to Germany, so we say our goodbyes, then Nathan and I take a hike for a while up to an abandoned church overlooking the town. Why is the church abandoned? Who knows? The dark side of me hopes it has something to do with brimstone, or perhaps flying monkeys. At any rate, the hike is lovely, and despite the incline I am reminded of how Nebraska looked hiking there as a child. The view overlooking the town is priceless and we sit and admire it for some time, taking a moment to give it the finger, as well. We climb to yet a higher hill for a picnic of water and cookies while discussing the virtues of "Friends" and "Seinfeld" before heading back.
On the trail up to the church are a number of derelict shrines, fully intact but stripped of carvings and sculptures. I take the opportunity to slither into one and make myself an O-so-pious human statue, no doubt putting great structural fatigue on my plenary indulgence.After some afternoon chess (which I feel proud at having dominated for the last few days), we're back to Two Mary's for dinner to show some new folks what it's like. Again to the Horor Bar, where I am introduced to The Green Fairy, a.k.a. Absinthe.
Now, Absinthe is a big thing in the Czech Republic. Maybe it was invented here or something. At any rate, Absinthe brewers miss no opportunity to slather their logo feces all over the landscape. Unbeknownst to me, one does not simply shoot Absinthe. Oh, no. There is a highly-ritualized process involving caramelizing sugar and flambaying the whole thing. Upon throwing back the shot, one is informed in no uncertain terms that green is the color of ectoplasm, which tastebuds hate passionately. As bad as the taste is, it does warm your gullet, and 70 proof alcohol plus sugar plus a few miligrams of wormwood (the hallucinagenic ingredient) pack no small kick. I claim success.
Shortly thereafter, and quite understandably, I hit the sack.
October 27
I almost leave today, since most of the people I've been hanging out with are leaving, but I can't bring myself to go just yet. Since my first day here was for meaningless relaxation, I make my last day similar.
I attempt to go see the bears around the castle... oh, yeah, there are bears. They are stationed in a pen that rings the castle, almost as if the people in charge fear Stephen Colbert attacks and wish to frighten him away. There are three of them, big brown bears, prompting me to concoct a scheme involving three bowls of unevenly heated porridge. Unfortunately, come the day, I could neither secure porridge nor find the bears, who seem to have taken the opportunity to start hibernating early. Damn, that would have been funny, too.
Instead I do a little bit of window shopping, spending most of my time in an antique weapons shop. They have some truly sweet merchandise that meets my rather demanding specifications, but sadly it is all way out of my price range. I am amused to find a rack of katanas labeled "Hattori Hanzo," as if "Kill Bill" fanatics are making Cesky Krumlov the destination of their ill-advised pilgrimage in hopes of securing the famous sword.
Some more chess, a nap, and some reading lead up to dinner at a place called Na Louzi, where I have the highly recommended pork steak stuffed with ham and cheese. Pork stuffed with ham? Now that's my kind of twisted animal cruelty. Insult to injury, indeed.
Our after dinner entertainment comes by way of the Gypsy Bar, a tiny hole-in-the-wall place owned and operated by a family of Roma (the local ethnic minority from whom European gypsies spring). I refrain from drinking, being dog tired already after a unwitting caffeine crash, but they have a live band performing that is nothing short of spectacular. There are three Roma on the accordian, string bass, and fiddle, as well as one white boy on the clarinet. They tirelessly crank out energetic Czech folk songs, providing a nice cap to the evening.
We head out to head back, but I and a crazy middle-aged Australian guy named Richard make a slight detour. He has a burning desire to track down some local bud, and I volunteer to keep him company. Sadly, his connection is bad, but we keep spirits up and head back to crash. I'm off to Vienna the next day, and I need my rest.
Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 4
Stupid Tourist Moments: 34
Monuments Flipped Off: 23
Free Food Ganked: 4
Free Booze Ganked: 18
the world isn't so bad if you can just get out in it.
-Bill Watterson, in "Calvin and Hobbes"
posted by Will Jones at 10:07 AM
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