GoldInRoute

When we landed in Cork, Ireland, both Brian and I had been traveling for a long time.

I left for Israel May 24, and I had been wandering Europe ever since. In most places, a lot of people spoke English. But there were a lot of places (Bosnia, Istanbul and even Israel) where there was a hefty language barrier that I had some trouble getting over. But after traveling in these countries for long, I’d simply accepted the fact that I’d having a lot of communication problems (usually solved by pointing or making ape-like hand gestures) was part of travel.

So it was with a sort of “oh yea!” joy that I realized, upon our arrival, that for the first time in two months, I would traveling in a country where English was the national language (technically second behind Gaeilge, but official language nonetheless). However, we were quickly reminded of the cost of such a luxury: Our cab ride from the airport (only about 10-12 mins) was nearly 30 Euros.

In Ireland, the regions are divided into counties, which function much like states do in the US. People have a lot pride for their county, and a lot of power is vested in the county level of government.

 Enniscoe House, where Joanna is working this summer

Our first stop was in Cork, a good-sized city on the south coast. But the next morning, we plowed right on the northwest, to County Mayo. My cousin (or cousin-ish relation. When someone asks how we’re related, the easiest way to tell is from the similarly dumbfounded look on both our faces) Joanna is working at an inn there, called the Enniscoe House. She may not have the freedom I do (picking countries with darts, crossing borders like it’s my job), but she’s getting paid to live in the Irish countryside (oh, and to work occasionally).

And the timing worked out great. Not only was I able to go visit her, but she’d been working long enough to be able to take a few days off and tour island with me and Brian! And luckily for us, the Inn had extra room, so they VERY, VERY kindly allowed us to occupy the empty room for no cost at all (which was good — considering 160 Euro/night normal cost would have depleted the rest of my trip budget in about two or three days). And best of all, the rooms came with bed warmers! We didn’t realize this until the next morning, when we woke up and, despite the fact the heat was on low and it was cold outside, it felt like we were sleeping in ovens.

 The garden on the Enniscoe grounds

The inn was truly striking.

It felt like we we had gone from a motel to the Ritz, and we essentially had. Our room in Cork had been a tiny crawlspace with a bunk bed — the only mark of luxury had been a sink. At Enniscoe House, not only did we have bed warmers, but we had an entire apartment: kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms and all.

And the grounds are beautiful. Enniscoe house is situated on 200 acres, including a large lake and a pasture where cows and a few sheep graze. And the land is anchored by a central, historic central house, where meals are cooked and served. Another low slung building extends out of the main house, wrapping its way around an old courtyard. This is where the apartments are located.

 Boats lined up on the lake about 2 mins from the House

The place is run mainly by Susan — an older woman whose proper exterior shields her friendly personality — and her son DJ, who, while not exactly proper, was one of the most generous I met on this trip. He was excited and eager to help us experience the real Ireland. He did just that the second night, taking us to a club in Ballina (County Mayo’s biggest city) that seemed to be just as happening as any you’d find a major US city. It also had a cover to match: 10 Euros! It did come as a bit of a surprise when the place, which had been nearly empty at midnight but packed to the brim at 1:30, completely shut down beginning at 1:45 p.m. This wouldn’t have been so odd, except it doesn’t seem like the Irish actually go to clubs until midnight, leaving them almost no time to get the value out of their 10 Euros enjoy themselves!

Most of the next day was spent just exploring the inn, reading and walking around the grounds. Later that evening, we walked into town to check out a traditional Irish pub. As you can imagine, it wasn’t hard to find. Despite the fact that Crossmolina has one ATM, one mini-grocery store and practically no restaurants, the small town has about four to five pubs.

 That flash of light is about the only spark I saw between the two

So we grabbed a spot at the best-looking one and ordered ourselves some beer (Guinness for Brian, Smithwick’s — pronounced “Smithicks” — for Jo and I). Soon, we were joined by David, a local guy that Jo had meet recently. I think David was hoping to spot a little transatlantic spark, but I think his chances dropped to “unlikely” when he appeared with his polo shirt tucked in.

And I think the spark died went out completely when he pulled out his business card and began asking us what we thought of it. Jo and I came to the conclusion that he fit the definition for “chotch” pretty closely. Poor David.

Nonetheless, it was a fun night, as we hopped from pub to pub (including to one that appeared to be closed — bars are supposed to close at 12:30 am on weekend nights — but opened its doors after a series of not-so-secret knocks). David even drove us home — which was a blessing because considering sidewalks don’t exist outside of towns, we would have had a lovely 30 minute walk, diving into the bushes every time a car came screaming around the narrow Irish turns.

The next day, it was time to say goodbye to our much beloved new home: We were setting off for the coast! We’d decided to spring for a rental car, to allow us to really see Ireland. After a couple bus rides (including one that took us past our destination) and the subsequent taxi ride back, we had our car. Brian, being the only person who could drive a stick shift, was forced to be the driver (another car company had automatics, but you had to 27 to rent from them. Yes, 27. The company is also considering banning red-heads from driving, because they realize that would make just about as much sense as banning 26-year-olds from renting a car.

But more important, we were off! With narrow Irish roads in the rear view (well, front view too), Joanna, Brian and I were heading toward Connemara in County Galway, one of the most beautiful parts of Ireland. And we were hoping for a better outcome with this rental car than with the last. At least this time we could read the signs.

 The inviting roads of Connemara

After a few days in Prague, Brian and I said our goodbyes to Hila and set off for Loket, a small town 2.5 hours southwest of Prague. Brian had a spent a few days there before my arrival in Prague, and he was eager to return.

 Loket’s central castle, where I ate beef goulash

The town, pretty small in size, gravitates around a castle at the top of the hill the town is located on. A river runs around this hill, almost a complete circle, so that the hill has become almost an island. We soon found the Lazy River Hostel, where Brian had stayed before.

The owners of the hostel were the real delight of the place.

Doug is American (from North Carolina) and his girlfriend Bianca is Australian. Together, they run the Lazy River Hostel. Before long, the four of us were sitting around the table, as Brian was catching them up with what we’d done in Prague and Bianca was gently caressing the copy of Harry Potter Brian had brought given her.

 Brian adds his John Hancock to the guestbook

It was already getting close to evening, but Doug suggested we go on a hike.

I hadn’t gotten in any semblance of athletic activity in quite a while (wait…does eating count?), so Brian and I eagerly agreed. After hiking along the river and through mud and old paths for more than an hour, we came up to a rock outcropping. Tentatively ignoring my fear of heights, I joined the group as we climbed atop a rocky perch. From there, we could see for miles really far. According to Doug, a king was even buried up there (which explained the cross).

The view was pretty great, and we signed the guestbook before heading back home.

The next day, our last full one in Eastern Europe, we decided to rent kayaks. I’d been pushing for the idea of rowing again ever since our adventures on Lake Bled in Slovenia. I’d gotten the bug, if it’s possible to get a rowing bug…

 The next day, this was us kayaking the river

We anted up and paid the 20 or so Euros for individual kayaks (it was either that or share a canoe for half the price. But I was guessing we’d want our freedom).

Soon, we were barrelling spinning our way down the river toward the larger town of Karlovy Vary. It was a peaceful ride, and it also took a lot of work (paddeling for four hours is hard, yo!). The ride was without disaster, though, and we picked up pasta to cook in Karlovy and hoped back on the bus.

After dinner, we watched (I could be getting the timeline wrong here) Sicko, Michael Moore’s new movie about healthcare. I thought he definitely went too far in the film, but pretty damn thought provoking. We also watched Lost in Bohemia, which reminded me of the days in high school when I would carry around a camera and just record my friends and I and all the stupid crap we did.

We went out too, to the few bars in town that were open. Bianca soon headed home, but Brian, Doug and I plowed on to another bar. Once there, the bartender began to barrage us with drinks. Despite our insistence against the idea, she continued to bring us shots of god-knows-what. She downed a few herself, because before long she was confessing her love to Brian.

 McGinnes, I love thee

After about 15 minutes of flirting Brian’s way, Doug and I exchanged glances and high-tailed it back home, leaving only Brian, his beloved bartender and some weird old guy at the bar. I don’t think it ended well for any of them.

The next morning (really morning, before 6 am if I remember correctly) we hopped on the bus to Prague, and another to Katowice, Poland, where our flight to Ireland was taking off from. We’d both been in Eastern Europe for almost four weeks, and while we were both aching for the comfort of Western Europe, Eastern Europe had been good to us.

There was so much left to see (I’d still never seen Krakow, Berlin, Vienna, Vilinus, Montenegro), but the time had come to move on. I’d never seen the British Isles either, so I was excited. So with one final customs stamp for a stern-looking Polak, we hopped (er, were driven by bus to) the plane and headed for Ireland and the comfort of a country — the first in more than two months — where English is the native language.

 I take over for bartender Barbara while she flirts with Brian

I was pumped for Prague.

I hadn’t seen Brian in nearly a week, and, even better, my good friend Hila was also going to be in Prague at the same time (we’d planned it that way). I was supposedly going to finally get my hands on the European SIM card that I had ordered nearly a month earlier. I’d also heard a lot of great things about Czech’s capital city — even if half of them were true it would make for a great visit.

 Mmm, bright tiles…

I was worried though. The bad things I’d heard about Prague were that it had essentially turned into a constant Spring Break-style party. Not exactly what I was looking for on my European trip. More of what I look for during Spring Break (and even then it’s a stretch). These fears spiked sharply only moments after I stepped off the train. As I walked out of the station’s front door, I looked to my right and saw two guys about my age leaning against a large sign, exciting pissing behind it.

Mmmmm.

But things got better when I hopped on the subway. A real, fast, modern subway! And unlike Budapest, this one wasn’t under construction. Within about 30 minutes, I was at our hotel (a one-day treat from my dad. Thanks pops!) and found Brian at the computer terminal. The front desk alerted me that (A) my SIM card had arrived and (B) I’d booked the room for tomorrow. They said it was fine, they had a room, but I was sure they were wrong the source of the error being me (they proved to be right of course).

We settled into the room, and Brian settled down his new copy of the latest installment of Harry Potter. I worked on getting my phone to work, which it did. Instead of calls being $1.99 to $3.49 a minute in Europe (via Cingular) they were now .90 a minute, but with free incoming (that’s huge). It would have been a great money saver, had shipping not ended up costing about $80. Nonetheless, I was happy to have a phone that I could worry slightly less about the look on my dad’s face when he got the bill. (Especially after my previous and only other trip to Europe led to a $700 phone bill…sorry Dad).

After about 30 minutes I finally coaxed Brian away from his beloved book, and we headed for Hila’s hotel. Unable to find her, we went for dinner instead. And Brian’s choice (he’d been there earlier) couldn’t have been better: Pepe Nero. It was a posh Italian place, and it had unquestionably the best pizza of the trip. I had a pizza napolitane, which ended up costing only $7. Brian got his usual pizza magherita, which was good too. I’ve never seen someone who eats out so much but enjoys plain dishes so much (favorite pizza: cheese, go-to pasta: with butter, favorite sandwich: turkey, lettuce and mayo). Brian claims he likes it “simple and well done.” Since he was responsible for Pepe Nero, I wasn’t about to argue.

The next morning, I’d put on khaki shorts and a gray shirt. Brian put on the same.

 Wearing matching outfits and flanking Hila

Yayyy. You know those school trips where every kid is forced to dress the same so they’re harder to lose track of? We looked like those people. And to flame his passion for annoying me (he views it as an additional form of entertainment while traveling), Brian said that if I changed shirts, he’d change his to the same color.

Ugh. So off we went to meet up with Hila and her boyfriend, and the four of us (after big hugs and stuff) set off to explore Prague Castle, matching clothes a couple of overly mothered 7-year-old twins. It’s a cool place, but it felt a bit like Disneyland. Totally polished, but beautiful nonetheless. There were some great views from there too. We didn’t have to pay an entrance fee to walk around the grounds, but then again just walking outdoors didn’t provide a ton to look at (though there was a somewhat creepy art installation that consisted of photos of kids naked).

 Homeless Harry Potter fan enjoying Prague

Brian, apparently more captivated by the magic Harry Potter than the magic of Prague castle plopped himself down against a wall there, leaving us to explore the place. I’ve never read a word of the books, but they must be pretty good to get an educated American to look like a somewhat homeless Czech guy.

A passer-by even said “Hey look, even the Czech like Harry Potter!” after seeing Brian. His fascination didn’t end when we went to lunch afterward. Hila, Joe and I talked, while Brian sat there, book upon and ears shut. But so goes the life of a HP addict.

That night, we got another addition to our burgeoning travel posse: Seyward Darby, one of Brian’s friends from Duke. We got along pretty easily. Considering that we’d both killed ourselves working for our respective newspapers in college, we had a lot to talk about (and by that, I mean we mostly made fun of Brian, who left 2 minutes after Seyward arrived to talk to his mum about Harry Potter on the phone). (Double paranthetical! What what! While my newspaper job got me on TV, I only made it as far as state television. SeySey upped the ante Larry King style)

SeySey is spending a year in Prague on a journalismy fellowship, so she was able to show us around almost as well as a local. We all headed off for dinner, with a vague plan to see a movie at 9. Only problem was, we spent about an hour looking, and by the time we found a place (we’d sucked up our pride and returned to original hotel’s restaurant) and got seated, we realized we didn’t have time for a sit-down place. So we all put our heads down and tails between our legs and scuttled quickly out of the place, mumbling to waitresses on the way.

 Flies preparing for their attack

It turned out to be a much better move to hit the grocery store on the way anyway. Nothing satisfies like yogurt, peanut butter and bread rolls.

We made it to the movie with some time to spare. It was a great venue — an outdoor theatre on an island on the river that runs through Prague. We saw the Wind the Shakes the Barley, a great, though not exactly uplifting film. But I was at least happy to be watching a movie set in Ireland, our next foreign destination. We were a bit worried about the swarms of locusts flies above us, but they surprisingly left us alone once the film started.

Maybe they only enjoy happy movies.

 Two sets of matching pairs

After the movie, we said goodbye to Hila and Joe and walked SeySey home. Though we first took a group photo, as we realized not only were Brian and I dressed the same — so were Hila and SeySey. Then we walked on to our hostel, the Czech Inn (ohhh, touché!), one of the world’s chic-est hostels. It really was, and the beds were indescribably comfortable. After so many hostel beds, it felt like we were swimming in a sea of goose feathers.

I think this was also the night I screwed up my cell phone. I thought I’d lost my PIN code, so when the login screen appeared — I guessed the code. This, apparently, is not a good thing to do. After three missed attempts, the phone “locked.” I had no idea what that meant. So my new SIM card, which my dad and I (I paid customs taxes!!!) had spent more than $100 on was rendered useless. Finally I managed to get the required code from the company the next day.

I also shortly thereafter discovered the sheet of paper with my PIN code of course. Go me.

Lastly, back to those peeing guys. Prague certainly has become party central, and much of that is due to its status as a hub for “stag” and “hen” parties. See, airfare is so cheap and general prices so comparatively low between London and Prague that Brits, when our English cousins have bachelor/ette parties, they now travel overseas to do it (surprisingly, there’s little mention in the reasons for this of the fact that grooms/brides to be are hundreds of miles away from their future spouse during their debauchery…).

 Lovely outfits guys, really. Wonder who got arrested…

The groups, of course, get completely trashed during their visit. And not only that, but there’s a serious tendancy for bad behaivor (think the guy puking in Budapest or the guys peeing at the train station, but that’s a light version). It’s gotten so bad that Prague has become a haven for Brits behaving badly. Hundreds of Brits now get arrested in Prague each year, and according to an article I read in the British Guardian newspaper:

Peter Wickenden, spokesman for the British embassy in Prague, told the Guardian of his concerns about some visiting Britons. He said that he was regularly woken at night by calls to the embassy duty mobile phone. “Last time it was another stag,” said Mr Wickenden. “He had got separated from his group, and he could not find his mates, but had lost his wallet and couldn’t remember where he was staying.” One time, a reveller showed up at the embassy gates, he said, wearing nothing but a bed sheet. “He had somehow lost all his clothes while frolicking about in the middle of Prague and couldn’t remember what happened to them.”

We saw a lot of these parties. Not that it’s hard: Usually they all wear matching outfits (specially made t-shirts for guys, neon boas for girls). They’re certainly helped degenerate the place — especially the town center — a bit. (Check out the comments here)

Prague, overall though, hasn’t lost its charm. It’s still a beautiful place, and it’s historic center has a lot worth exploring. And while it’s not exactly cheap anymore, there are definitely deals to be found (beer is usually cheaper than water, and as cheap as $1 in a pub).

But I certainly would have liked to see what it looked like 10 years ago, before the flocks of tourists and hens arrived.

View my Prague photo gallery here

On the Web site, that is.

I was working on some small improvements, and either I or hackers killed the site. It’s mostly back to good, but there’s still some problems I’m working on before I make any further posts. This would seem to indicate hackers.

Why a humble man with a travel blog is a target, I have no idea. Maybe I did something bad to piss off hackers while I was in Turkey.

Oh well, hopefully it’ll be fixed soon. After three hours of trying, I’m going to bed.

PS. Please leave a comment if you are experiencing MAJOR problems with the site. I know the header up top is messed up (on my computer, the map part is now too high, hanging over the site’s title). But if you see more problems, let me know via comment.

Update (2:05 GMT): Bless the people at Maia, who host this web site. Whatever I or some hacker did to this site has been fixed, as they simply reverted to an old backup copy of the site. Hooray! Prague post to come shortly…I’m going to celebrate by taking a nap by the lake.

I was in Sarajevo, and I needed to get to Prague. Turns out, that’s much easier said than done. Which is obvious, because saying it takes about two seconds and no effort, and doing it takes about two days and a helluva lot of effort.

To get there, I had to take the once-a-day train to Budapest, then take another train to Prague (those trains run much more frequently). Problem was, there was no night train to Budapest, so I arrive in Budapest at night and have to wait until morning to take the second train. So I planned a short stay in Budapest — booked a hostel (The “Amazing Hostel” — with a name like that, how could it be bad?), figured out how to get there via metro, etc.

Arriving in to Budapest though, the best laid plans of mice and men….

The metro was closed. Yay. Reconstruction. So I tried to figure out how to take the bus line that had replaced the metro. I saw tons of these buses, even helpfully labeled “Metro A” on them. But I couldn’t find the damn place to get on! Nor could I find a place to buy a ticket. So I walked — good thing my killer sense of direction is still intact after all this traveling.

Took me about 30 minutes of walking (luckily Budapest was much cooler than Bosnia’s swelter), where I was greeted with perhaps the most uninviting entranceway I’d even seen. Yet when I found the actual hostel (up a very creepy flight of stairs), it turned out to be one of the nicest places I’ve stayed.

I quickly made friends with some cute British girls, and — all of us famished — pledged to go find some dinner. However, first I had a chance run-in with a guy from … ta-da … Palo Alto! He heard me talking about California and realized I looked familiar. It was David Hoffman, who had graduated from Paly only a year before me and whose little brother (Jay) I knew. Crazy. We chatted for a while, and then I showered and headed off to dinner with the Brits (they also ran into a guy from their university in the same hostel. Small world).

Except by now, it was past 10 p.m., and restaurants were starting to close.

We walked, and walked, and finally found a place. I thought it was cheap (as I thought the exchange rate was 215 HUF to the dollar) and they said apple juice was only 100 HUF. 5o cents for Apple juice! I ordered two, and a glass of wine — listed at 200 HUF. The girls did the same.

Well, we got the bill, and it was about 3,000 HUF more than we expected. After talking to the waitress, she alerted us to the fact that in Hungary, prices are listed by tenths of liters! We should have known this obviously, because “this is how things are done in Hungary.” (Let’s Go people pay attention — it’s things like this that would actually make your books useful). So my $9 dinner turned into a $15 dinner. Budapest was loving my love fast.

After dinner, we started walking down to the river. After rounding a corner, we walked by a cafe where a bunch of Brits were drinking. Just as we walked by, there was commotion and shouting at one of the tables. We turn just in time to see a guy standing up in has chair, hurling puke onto his table. Charming, for sure. (More on the cause of this in a later post). We kept walking.

I wasn’t a huge fan of Budapest so far, but the river area sure cheered me up. It’s classic, classy and beautiful. From there, you can see both Buda (old city, with the castle) and Pest (new side of town), which merged together in 1867 to create Budapest. We wandered along both sides of the river, snapping pictures of the castle and the bridges and the parliament.

The next morning, I got up early to catch my train to Prague. Leaving early (making sure I had enough time) I even had enough to spare time to stop and buy groceries (I had a 9 hour train ride ahead) and they accept Visa! What a treat. Visa hadn’t been exactly easy to come by in Bosnia (though ATMs were everywhere).

On my way to the station, I was reminded of one of Budapest’s biggest faults: It hates pedestrians. The city, unfortunately, has been built for cars (probably due its significant destruction during WWII, which allowed for massive redesigns). The main street through Pest is a six-lane boulevard that is so impossible to cross they’ve built underpasses for pedestrians. So while the cars can drive quickly through town, abated only by occasional traffic lights, pedestrians must scurry underneath like rats. I even saw one place where a massive highway-style overpass had been built for a four-lane road to cross this boulevard, simply so cars would have one less stop light.

It was a striking contrast to many other cities, which so respect pedestrians they’ve banned cars from their city centers to create streets full of cafes and people. I missed that. So it was with much joy that I boarded my train for Prague — I was on my way to be reunited with both Brian and Hila, and Budapest was losing its charm. Though I’ll gladly give it and other parts of Hungary, another chance when I can stay in the country for more than 12 hours.