Prague: Pt. 2

It has been a crazy week of transition. Adjusting to a new place, currency, and language – the sum of it all has left me little time to write a blog post. But now we are settled in France, and you will be caught up on everything shortly.

In the meantime: Back to Prague!

Our second full day in Prague, Jacob and I decided to cross the Vltava River that splits Prague in half. The city is well known for the many beautiful bridges that span the river – the most famous of which is Charles’ Bridge. 

The bridge is old, beautiful, and provides wonderful views of the city, but the real fun, as we had been informed, was playing “Spot the Pickpocket”.

Unfortunate though it is, Prague is home to many gangs of pickpockets who prey on unsuspecting tourists. (If you plan on visiting Prague don’t be deterred: simply using common sense should save you from any trouble.) In the meantime, you get to go pickpocket hunting. They are surprisingly easy to spot. Shady looking men, who are clearly not tourists, shuffle around crowded areas, gazing intently at groups of people gawking up at buildings or studying maps. Come on pickpockets – could you be any less subtle?

Anyways, avoiding the pickpockets, Jacob and I made our way over to the other side of the river to make a trek up Petrin Hill. Petrin Hill is a large public park that boasts an incredible view of the city from the top, along with an observatory, monastery, and (oddly enough) a miniature Eiffel Tower.

The view was spectacular. 

As was the beer brewed by the monks at the monastery on Petrin Hill. Probably some of the best we had in Prague – and that’s saying a lot. 

Aside from its bridges, Prague is also well known for beer. I can’t claim to be particularly devoted to beer, but my goodness. Prague was poised to change my mind. The beer was plentiful, cheap, and delicious. We drank a lot of beer in Prague (well – a lot of beer for us… which isn’t saying much).

Jacob and I headed to a nearby alehouse for lunch, and after perusing the menu, settled on a plate of Brawn. We did not know what it was, but we had been assured that it was meat, and it was included in the local specialties.

We received this. 

As it turns out, Brawn is another word for Head Cheese:  various bits of pork meat scraped from head, and bound together with gelatin. Flavorful, but not the most appealing texture.  Luckily, we had these to help wash it down. 

After lunch we went to check out the castle, and spent more time wandering through the streets. 

That evening we went to State Opera House to watch a performance of the ballet Giselle. We had picked up two tickets for an incredibly cheap $15 USD.  The ballet was incredible, the music was flawless, and the theater was breath taking. Apparently in Prague, a cheap ticket doesn’t mean you will be showing up for amateur hour.

The next day we left Prague for what turned out to be one of the most memorable connecting flights of our time so far. Stay tuned!

Prague: Pt. 1

Jacob and I landed in Prague on Monday afternoon after a grueling trek from Sweden that involved dragging our luggage across three different kinds of public transportation. Exhausted, and immensely frustrated that we packed so much crap in the first place (more on that in another post), we dropped off all our stuff and went to take our first bleary-eyed look at Prague.

We saw this.

We were amazed. And overwhelmed by the enormous crowds of tourists.  Unable to process much, we walked until we thought our feet would fall off, and decided to call it a night.

The next morning we started bright and early to catch a free guided tour of the city. Caveat: normally I despise tours. I hate being picked out as a tourist; I love being taken for a local. Being herded around a city with a large group of people gawking up at buildings is NOT my idea of fun. That being said, this tour was awesome.

Our tour guide was a young British expat who spoke and looked like Austin Powers. He was very knowledgeable, an engaging speaker, and had a penchant for acting out historical events a la Eddie Izzard.  Awesome.

Beyond that, it became abundantly clear how few details I knew about Prague. It is amazing how a pretty building can transform when you know the stories it has to tell. I have to swallow my pride and admit that guided tours can actually be a really great thing.

Prague is comprised of a mish-mash of architectural styles that makes for a very visually diverse city. It’s a pretty impressive thing to find Baroque, Art Deco, Communist Functionalism, and Cubism all in one glance. If you are not an architecture buff it means this: Lots of pretty things to look at.

Like this, the only Cubist lamp post in the world. 

In the evening, Jacob and I wandered back to the area of our apartment and into a local park. Hoping to just have a nice walk, we stumbled instead onto a popular local hangout spot. Groups of students studded the grass, all with their ½ liter cups of beer in hand, watching the sunset over an incredible view of the city.

Not wanting to be left out, we got our own beer (Czech beer: two thumbs way up), and joined them.

To Be Continued...

A Change In The Weather

I had written a beautiful post about the changing seasons in Sweden, until Blogspot blitzed me and erased the post. I've tried to remember my sweet, soul satisfying poetry, but I can't. So you are getting the short version. (And you should probably be thanking your lucky stars.)

Our time in Sweden is coming to an end, and we can feel it in the weather.

This is our last week here, and within that week the temperature dropped 10 degrees, the sky clouded over, and it began to rain every day. We can see our breath in the evening, and wake up to frost in the morning.

We are wrapping up our last projects, and making our last forays out into the surrounding countryside.
Thankfully we have had a few lovely days, and for the others - well, the Swedes are serious about their rain gear.

On one particularly perfect day, Jacob and I decided to take the bikes in the other direction. Until then, every time Jacob and I went biking we went in the same direction: down hill. That day, we decided, it was time to brave the hill and see what was beyond the other horizon.

Of course, what we found was magical. Surprised? Apparently every time you turn a corner in Sweden, you discover something breathtaking.

We packed some food, and didn't stop until we found a picnic table in the sun, next to a wide open expanse of river. The air was crisp, a breeze was blowing fairy dust out of the trees (probably pollen, I know, I know), and we were eating fresh apples. Perfection.

 As a last hurrah, our hostess Amy arranged for us to borrow a friend's canoe. Decked out in our rain gear, we drove to a beautiful little cottage sitting right on the edge of a massive lake. It was incredibly picturesque - even amidst the gray and constant drizzle.

We never got to meet the owner of the cottage, but Amy filled us in as we explored the grounds. The Swedes had a particular style of constructing and insulating their houses back in the day - as I suppose you find in most places with buildings over 100 years old. (Jacob and I discovered this intimately as we sanded 133 year old horse crap off a wall we renovated in the Schoolhouse).

This lovely little house (though not quite so old) was built to mirror the Swedish building traditions, complete with moss used as insulation. A pile of boulders was shaped into an outdoor patio, and a sauna sat at the end of the pier with grass growing from the roof.

Braving the rain and the frigid water, I followed Jacob (an Eagle Scout and owner of a canoeing merit badge) and did my best not to tip the boat over. Once out of the cove and floating in open water, we broke out the cookies and coffee and had a "Fika" break. I suppose we have become true Swedes now.

Tomorrow is the last day before the Cafe closes for the summer. On Monday morning, Jacob and I are moving on to Prague, then the south of France. We are chasing the last of summer!

The Fairytale Forest

A few posts ago I left you all with a teaser.

I told you how Jacob and I had hiked up to a place called the "Valley of the Snakes" and flipped out over how surreal it was. It was all too much beauty for my camera as well, which subsequently went on the fritz and wiped all the pictures as soon as we got home.

So we went back. But now we knew what we were getting in to, so we went prepared to do a photo shoot. I lugged two extra pairs of shoes and 2 changes of clothing in a backpack, trying my very hardest not to sweat on the hike up. No one wants to look shiny during a photo shoot.

We got to the forest, and, if possible, it was more magical than before. This is the type of place that only grows more beautiful the more you see it.

It is an "old growth forest", where nature has been left unchecked and uncontrolled. Here, you can find ant hills that are taller than you, and fern forests that look prehistoric. You could probably also find trolls under bridges and unicorns in distant meadows if you looked closely.

The one downside is that where nature is left unchecked, the bugs are also left unchecked. If you stand in any one place too long, you will be overrun by gigantic ants. Just imagine that going on as we tried our best to look like models.

Enough with the talking. Here are some pictures.

Stockholm, Pt. 2

Stockholm was a gift.

It's difficult to explain exactly why our weekend in Stockholm was so amazing. But I think the common factor is this: It was filled with blessings and surprises that far exceeded what we had asked or looked for.

Simply the fact that we had a friend in the area was wonderful. But then the same friend had the generosity to invite us into her home - which turned out to be a beautiful, peaceful home in the perfect location. Then we discover that her father works for the State Department - and suddenly a whole new door opens for Jacob and I to explore a career that was already attracting us.

I could go on - the happy surprises compounded daily. But instead, I will show you some pictures of this beautiful city.

Most of our days were spent exploring districts of the city. One of my favorite areas was Gamla Stan - the old town area of the city. The streets were narrow and cobblestone, filled with cool restaurants and underground, cave-like cafes.

On Saturday we had a very full day of wandering the city. In the early afternoon we found our way to Sodermalm, known as the "arsty boho" district of Stockholm. We walked through the streets for a while, found the one place in Stockholm that sells cupcakes, and stumbled onto a neighborhood "Bloc Party".

If you were wondering where all the late 20-somethings in Stockholm hang out, they were at the Bloc Party. Impeccably groomed and hair styled, congregating in the streets with cigarettes in hand and indie music booming in the background. It was paradise for The Sartorialist.

In the evening we had grand things planned - a reservation at the Stockholm IceBar - a subset of the legendary IceHotel. Sure it may be a bit touristy, but donning parkas and hanging out in a supremely cold ice-room drinking cocktails out of ice-cups was the closest we were going to come to the real dream: a night at the IceHotel in Lapland. So the IceBar in itself was a taste of success in accomplishing our goal. 

We got to the IceBar where we queued up, slipped on our poncho-parka-things and mittens, and marched on in. IceClub is more like it. Music was blaring, colored lights bounced off the ice, and soon the place was packed with people. But everything was made of ice. 

After the IceBar we walked through the city back towards our apartment, only to find that Stockholm was in the midst of a gigantic city-wide Culture Festival. Every square we turned into seemed to hold another free show or concert, with an audience of thousands. The first show we ran across was a modern theater/circus performance, created entirely by women. Scaffolding was raised in the middle of the square, where the female artists blended strange abstract theater with incredible acrobatic feats.

We stayed for a bit, then ventured on. Ten minutes later we were in the midst of a gigantic outdoor club. DJs played from a raised stage that looked down upon thousands of awkward 14 year olds, all of whom were too self-aware to dance.

We turned the corner a block away from the club, to see another massive crowd ahead of us watching a  symphony. This, apparently, is where all those kids' parents were. We debated continuing on but decided against it. We were tired and happy, and walked roughly 8 hours that day.

And to finish up the post, I will share a great line I just read on McSweeny's:

Places blondes don't have more fun: Sweden. (Where they have just as much fun as everybody else).

Stockholm

A couple of weeks ago, a friend from college sent us a message out of the blue. It went something like this: "Hey! It's been a while! I hear you are in Sweden - my family lives in Stockholm, you should come visit!".

Needless to say, we jumped on the opportunity, excited to see a friend as well as get an insider's tour of Stockholm.

So on Thursday morning we took the train to Stockholm and were met by our lovely friend Siobhan.

She took us back to her family's apartment, but the word "apartment" doesn't really do it justice. As it turns out her father is a foreign service Diplomat, working at the American Embassy in Sweden. (Actually, he has the exact same job title as my Grandfather - except my Grandfather worked in other countries and back in the 1950's-1970's. It's hugely exciting for Jacob and I, given our deep interest and fascination with the State Department and all things related to Embassies.)

One of the perks of the job is that the Embassy provides you with housing. Nice housing. Housing that is good for entertaining lots of important people (and housing the odd traveler or two).

I'm in heaven here.

Then we went on a walk around Stockholm. It rained.

Jacob and I love Stockholm. It's easy to get around by walking, public transportation, or biking. There is even a wide two-way bike lane on the side of every major road. There are lots of beautiful buildings, and little districts that we can wander in and explore.

By default of our hosts, Jacob and I were invited to a casual barbeque at the American Ambassador's residence.

The Ambassador's residence.

Jacob and I rubbed elbows with Diplomats and Embassy staff, wandered around the gorgeous (embassy provided) 1930's era mansion, and had a long conversation with the Ambassador. (He even commended Jacob and I for our travels, and we got to tell him about my Grandparent's Diplomatic work in the Cold War).

Shall I repeat myself? I'm in heaven. In a dream. And so grateful for this totally un-sought-after and  once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to glimpse into the life of the Foreign Service. It's been incredible so far.

The 9 P.M. Walks

9 P.M. has become a special hour for Jacob and I within the past few days.

It all started when, after an evening of lazing around, I bugged Jacob until he agreed to go on a walk with me. We left the house right before 9 p.m, just as it was beginning to get dark outside.

We turned the corner out of the tree coverage and onto the street, where the view opens up to fields on either side and the road leads up a hill. And then we flipped out.

The sky looked like it was swallowed in fire. We had never seen a sunset that saturated the sky so vibrantly with neon oranges and pinks. We kept walking up the road, getting more and more excited the more we saw of the sunset. Finally we took off running, trying to get to the top of the hill before the sunset was gone.

It was breathtaking. This is what we saw:

The picture is poor quality and taken on a cellphone - and of course you know pictures of sunsets never come close to their real-life splendor. But it still gives you some idea of how spectacular this sunset was: incredible enough to make us run.

The next evening we ventured out at 9 P.M. again, hoping we would find another sunset like the night before. Opting out of running, we took the bikes up the hill, and did not find a sunset.

We found this:

Evening fog was rolling in over the fields, making wispy designs and patterns in the air as it flowed between trees and settled over the grass. Jacob even saw three deer leaping through the fog. We stayed until it was almost completely dark, then rode our bikes back home.

And just for good measure, here is another picture from a recent trip to our favorite lake on a stormy hot day.

It seems like everywhere here is the "scenic route". We've just been rolling in the natural splendor, and it never gets old.

I Want You To Know

I want you to know that Jacob and I are really cool, super attractive, artsy, creative, and perfect in just about every way.

I mean, obviously.

But seriously. I've always hated the blogs where people give off the carefully calculated impression that their life is perfect. That is blatantly untrue. It can't be true, because no one's life is perfect, even when you are traveling the world and taking pretty pictures (like the one above).

As amazing as travel is - the thrill of new places and cultures, the beauty of new sights, the experience of new foods - it can all give way very easily to a sense of restlessness. Homesickness. Purposelessness. (Not sure if that is a word). Living out a dream still has it's ups and downs.

So, now that we are on the same page regarding our awesomeness, here are some pictures.

Thursday evening our hosts threw a little party for all of their house guests. (Besides us, there was family visiting from Washington D.C.). In Sweden there is a traditional summer celebration meal: The Crayfish Feast.

The Crayfish Feast is held in August to mark the beginning of crayfish season. The crayfish are served cold after being boiled in vinegar, dill, and other good stuff. They are traditionally served with Aquavit - a caraway-infused vodka (really good - tastes sort of like whiskey). I couldn't believe it when I saw the platter of crayfish - they looked like plastic.

After our first course of crayfish and vodka, we moved on to another traditional Swedish meal: Pickled Herring.

Pickled Herring is right up there next to Swedish Meatballs on the scale of All-Things-Swedish. It is fish which has been preserved in a vinegary-sugary brine, sometimes with a sauce like honey mustard. It is served with boiled potatoes, red onion, and sour cream. All together it's very good.

To further our education, we learned some traditional Swedish drinking songs. I can't actually sing the words for you, but I can follow along the tune while making convincing Swede-like noises.

On Friday Jacob and I took the bicycles 4 km. out to a nearby lake. It was my turn to take the little yellow bike, the same bicycle that Jacob had taken 20 km. to Skinnskatteberg just a few days earlier. Little did I know - that bike is the two-wheel equivalent of a clown car. I barely made it to the lake, hunched over a bicycle intended for someone a foot shorter than me. I still can't figure out how Jacob made it 20 km.

It rained on us just as we got to the lake, but cleared up fairly quickly.

A picture cannot do it justice.
Now please comment and tell us how cool we are.