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Published: December 15th 2009
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Day One
December is Eastern Europe at its most forbidding, yet here we are, barreling towards Karlovy Vary (or Carlsbad, as it was formerly called) to take the waters at the largest spa town in the Czech Republic. We have put all our trust in Camilla Parker Bowles, the name we have given to our GPS navigational system. In her genteel British accent, she routes us through the countryside, avoiding all the highways. We think Camilla's on her best behaviour since, reluctant in Amsterdam, she turned truly belligerent in Paris. Ron claimed she was suffering from satellite triangulation problems but I've been thinking she would benefit from hormone replacement therapy. A few kilometres west of Prague, suddenly frisky, she decides to take us on the high road, the low road, the long and winding road, the road to nowhere, and the road less travelled (for good reason). By the time we get to our hotel, Ron has worked up a powerful thirst for schnapps.
Day Two
The local drink is Becherovka but, as I said, we are here to take the waters. There's a strict ritual to this, I learn from the brochure on my bedside table. First, Karlovy
Vary mineral water should be consumed from the traditionally shaped porcelain or glass cups only. Second, the drinking cure includes physical exercise. Thus, the water should be drunk while walking. Third, the drinking cure is a kind of ceremony. We must not disturb the other drinkers. And fourth, the water cannot be used for watering nearby plants. Which is fine by me, as there's not much worth watering in December.
Draped in white bathrobes, we fill our glasses at the font. The water comes through mineral-encrusted pipes and emerges, drop by precious drop, from two rusty taps. Thankfully, it doesn't taste sulphorous, as I expected. Instead, it tastes silky, warm and - somehow - thick. Our choices of treatments include a classical massage, a pearl bath, oxygenotherapy, aerosol inhalation, hydrotherapy of Dr. Kneipp, and gum irrigation. Eee-yew. (C'mon, admit it. I know that's what you're thinking.) Thankfully, we only have to choose four, and can use the swimming pool, the sauna and the Japanese acupressure bath for free. The whole afternoon passes in a state of incense-enhanced bliss. We shuffle up one marble staircase and down another, bathe in silky waters and inhale vapours that smell like the floor
of the moon.
Day Three
On the road to Brno, we take a detour through the town of Trebic. There is persistent fog and a chill in the air, but it doesn't deter us. Instead, it authenticates the experience in a way that a summer's day might not. We visit the Jewish part of town that has been preserved as a Unesco World Heritage Site - a graveyard, two synagogues and a cluster of ancient storefronts and houses, still inhabited. Dark vaulted passageways and concealed staircases yield the surprising sounds of life going on. Cars idle on the street; babies wail from upstairs windows; schoolchildren, in short pants and leather backpacks, return home hungry for lunch. I don't know whether I am comforted or upset by this. After all, every Jew in the city was rounded up and exterminated in the nearby concentration camp of Theresienstadt. Maybe I'm a bit of both.
Our destination, Brno, is not on anyone's tourist agenda. It appears very bleak. But it is home to Robert Krestan, the lead singer for the spirited group of musicians called Druha Trava. Ron has been eagerly anticipating tonight's gig, and following Druha Trava on tour through
the Czech Republic has been a dream of his ever since we hosted them in Vancouver in 2007. We are invited backstage before the performance and get to watch the boys warm up. They stretch and strum, pull on fancy cowboy boots, step out for the requisite last drag on their cigarettes. There is a moment of hush as Robert hesitates at the open door and steps onto the stage. Then, the audience erupts.
Day Four
We leave the hotel in Brno, having seen only one other guest, an American who is building a dog food plant. Our hotel in Prague, by contrast, is home to the Beautiful People: film producers, anorexic models and top executives who linger in the lobby, sipping designer water from wineglasses and tapping away on their laptop computers. The hotel architecture is an impressive mix of glass and chrome, a foil to the old world charm - the crystal, the strudel and all the kitchy-koo - that greets us just outside the door. There is no denying that Prague is a magnificent city and, thankfully, it isn't a stretch to see past the inevitable tourist infrastructure. We walk the bridges by moonlight, stop to hear carolers in the Old Town Square and warm our mittened hands over bakery stall ovens where pastries shaped like bangles roast above the coals.
Our second gig happens on the outskirts of town, twelve metro stops and one bus ride away. If possible, this concert is even better than the first, and we are comfortably seated among the generous audience of everyday Czechs. We clap wildly, snap our photos and inhale a mixture of sweaty armpits and cheap tobacco clinging to polyester. Ron beams. This is as close to being groupies as we are going to get.
Day Five
Snow! It adds another layer of sparkle to a city already outrageously sparkly. The population takes to the streets, bulked up in Bolshevik-era fur-lined hats and clumping boots. Like a dusting of icing sugar on gingerbread, Prague has turned festive for Christmas. We light the first Chanukah candle and head out in search of latkes, which shouldn't be hard to find. Conveniently, this is the home of the potato pancake. We will be sorry to leave before the lighting of the giant menorah on Male Namesti. As hard as it is to imagine that an organic farmhouse in the north of Spain can rival the enjoyment we've had in this luminescent city, we welcome the variety of experience, even if it means sacrificing warmth, comfort and an unaccustomed amount of pampering. It's like Camilla says: "Drive 600 mee-tuhs. Then turn shopply right." So we'll take a sharp right at Barcelona and keep on going, to somewhere new but just as interesting.
I've got rose-coloured glasses and I'm keeping 'em on.
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miri
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Beyond Phenomenal
I can totally visualize the luminescence of Prague, so aptly described. We have enjoyed reading about your fascinating adventures; navigation, Spa, Druha Trava and all; so eloquently written. While you are bundling up 'out East', we are sweltering in the sunshine of Buenos Aires, 'down South'. Ah...the joys of travelling. Onwards and upwards to Espagna. Your idyllic farmhouse awaits! Love, Miri