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Photos from Cesky Krumlov. If any of these are bad, then I give up, cause surely it’s impossible to take a bad photo in such a place as this.
Krumlov. Ok, here’s a couple of shots of Krumlov, to give you an idea of what it looks like.view image 1
view image 2
view image 3
Snowy Krumlov. And here’s one more, but with just a little bit more white stuff.view image
“Dave, wake up. Wake up.” Bec kissed me on the forehead. “Look, it’s snowing.”
“It’s what now?” I asked dosily
“It’s snowing. Look.”
I sat up in my bed in the 8-bed dorm room and looked to the window. All I could see was a blur of white. Of course I’m blind as hell, so everywhere I look is a blur of some colour. I put on my glasses, got up, and walked over to the window. Then I smiled. A great big goofy grin; the snow was pouring down, huge white flakes swirling in the wind and covering up all the colours we’d seen in the past few days. It was only the second place I’d seen snow fall (the first being Winnipeg in Canada, back in March of this year), and what a place to see it. Bec and I were in Cesky Krumlov, 3 hours south of Prague; a stunning old medieval town that wraps itself around the twisting Vltava river winding itself through the old buildings and past the 13th century castle overlooking the town. We’d been there for three days, having left Loket on Monday November 14th, and had spent those days wandering the old streets, exploring the surrounding hills, and playing UNO for money at the hostel.
Righto, just a couple more from Loket.
The Map. This is the photo of the map that we referred to during our wayward hike. Yeah, that green trail you can see, we weren’t on that.view image
Trees. This is about the only photo I took during the hike. It’s of some trees. But hey, I was hiking through a pine forest, what more do you want?view image
Booger. A few nights before we left Loket, we went to see a local blues band at a small pub. They were pretty good, and played covers of classics like Clapton and Cream, Hendrix, James Brown, and some more loungy stuff like Frank Sinatra. But the band had a rather unfortunate name, as you can see at the top left of this poster. view image
The band. And here they are, belting one out.view image
Well, that’s about it for Loket. Back to work then.
Ok, so it’s been a while between photos, but you’re all probably still recovering from that self portrait shot up in the mountains, yeah this one. Nasty, nasty stuff.
So, to get you back in the photo swing, here’s a few from the past few weeks, starting in Poland, and then heading into the Czech Republic.
Let’s pretend for just a minute that you’re in charge of marking the hiking trails around the little town of Loket. Oh, c’mon, everyone likes pretending; Michael Jackson pretends he’s a white woman, Dubya pretends he knows where Canada is, Little Johnny Howard pretends he’s a major player on the world political stage (my apologies to those reading this who are not Australian, and who are currently sitting there scratching their heads. Little Johnny Howard is the Australian Prime Minister, here’s a link to a photo which may perhaps jog your memory, Little Johnny Howard, he’s the one without the eye patch.)
Following the departure of our friends, Bec and I took stock of our situation, and realised we had plenty of time to kill in the Czech Republic. From Czech, our plans were to travel to Germany, onto Holland to meet Dutch relatives of my mum, and then to Belgium to catch up with Dylan and Mieke, who we met in Budapest, before returning to Germany for Christmas and New Year. But with those countries being way more expensive than the Czech Republic, and with us having absolutely no idea how much money we have, thanks to the bumbling beauracracy of our UK bank, we were keen to spend as much time in Czech as possible. And shit, when the beer is this cheap, why wouldn´t you? So to that end, after a couple of extra days in Prague with just the two of us, Bec and I found ourselves on a bus on November 2nd, headed for the tiny town of Loket, a couple of hours West of Prague.
The rumour was that Prague is horribly overrun with tourists, so I was preparing to be knocking about shoulder to shoulder with idiot Europeans wandering in packs following a guide with a raised umbrella like sheep following, well, another sheep. It´s funny on this trip the impact that expectations have had on my experiences. And I guess that´s something that relates to all aspects of life, not just travelling.
It had to happen eventually, and I guess it started when we got to Krakow and some friendly person decided I would be better off surviving an Eastern European winter with a shitty windcheater rather than my toasty warm fleece, and kindly swapped them when I wasn’t looking. The amazing luck we’d been blessed with so far on this little trip could not continue, and so, with a lack of connecting trams passing our hostel on Thursday morning, we walked to the bus station and arrived at 8.35am, five minutes after our 8.30am bus left for the Czech border. Bugger.
Having left Zakopane early Sunday morning, we arrived in Krakow, a few hours north, around lunch time. After the standard ten or fifteen minutes of trying to work out where we were on our map, we were still struggling to work out which way we had to go. Turns out the bus station had moved recently, and moved far enough away from the town centre that we weren’t even on our map, which makes things just that little bit more challenging. Or difficult, depending on what sort of mood you’re in. Eventually, Bec and I found a tram stop that we were confident would serve our purposes, and waited for the number 10 tram to come and take us to the door of the hostel we wanted to stay in. After about 40 minutes of waiting, and seeing every other tram number drive past, we realised that the number 10 didn’t run on Sundays, and we were faced with a 45 minute walk. What is it about public transport with the number 10, and causing Bec and I grief? What did we ever do to the number 10?
Oswiecim is a small place about an hour and a half from Krakow, in the Southwest of Poland. It is quiet, a bit dusty, bathed in yellow leaves falling from trees. Rows of tour buses sit in a parking lot, people depart from them and walk solemnly towards a red brick building. Groups of school kids stand around outside the building, joking and laughing the way only school kids can. It is a clear day, but there is a bit of chill coming in on the wind. The Germans had a different name for Oswiecim during the Second World War. Auschwitz, they called it.
Dave