In the city centre was a growing memorial- the night before we had seen growing crowds surrounding lit red candles- it was very pretty in the night sky, but sombering. This particular morning the memorial had grown even bigger- with hockey sticks held together in the middle of candles, flags, and Czech memorbilia. Three Czech ice hockey players and one Slovak player were killed in a plane crash the day before, on Wednesday 7 September. It was a passenger plane that crashed after takeoff in Russia. In all, 43 people were killed.
Following a lovely morning in town, we headed back to the car to get back on the road towards Slovakia. As per usual I was walking 50 paces ahead, and at last glance, saw the three boys making their way in my direction. We were a stone's throw from the parking garage entrace and I paused outside the shopping centre to wait for the three of them. I look back and see Paul. I see Mike. But no Costas.
I sighed. Oh boy.
I shrug my shoulders at Paul, and he starts scanning the city square for Costas.
I wander over, "Where did he go? I looked back and the three of you were walking together."
"I don't know! He was right with us," replies Paul.
Mike crossed back to the other side of the street and was scanning the crowds.
We waited, and 10minutes passed
.
.
I spotted Costas across the road, wandering around looking left and right for us.
"COSTAS!" we yell. His head jerks up, he nods, and heads our way.
"Where were you?" we asked in unison.
"I saw a dog. It was a doberman. And then somehow I was in a different parking garage."
We all chuckle... Costas distracted by a dog and inadvertantly ending up in then wrong parking garage.
Later, Costas reflected on his brief separation from the group, "But guys, it was a BROWN doberman, that's much more rare than the black doberman."
Right.
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| Costas and his dog photography |
Mike's earlier time in Prague led him to recommend a trip to Karlstejn's castle, a small town about 40minutes southwest of Prague. Weaving through more small villages, the Karlstejn castle shot up out of the thick forest landscape. We trekked the 2.5km uphill from the parking area to tour this breathtaking castle. Nestled in rolling hills, it was built by the Emperor of Bohemia in the 14th century.
We enjoyed tasty wafters (like at the "spa"), cheap beers, and flavourful sausages on the way back down to the village. Despite the cloudy skies, it was indeed a successful day as we headed off toward Slovakia.
Our stop at the supermarket was an absolute hoot- we couldn't get over how cheap everything was,
"Bonita, we've found the beer, but I don't think we can get too many. We don't want to break the bank."
"What???" I ask.
Mike and Paul start laughing, "Yes, they're 6 kurona each!" That's about 25p. A canister of black pepper was a mere 15p. Wine was only 30kurona- that's ONE POUND for a bottle of wine!!! We had planned to make it out of the Czech Republic that evening, so spent the remaining Kurona we had.
With our coolers stocked and haribo sweets in hand, we headed southeast towards Bratislava. Without yet having chosen a campsite, the skies were getting dark quickly and we realised we weren't likely to make it as far as we had planned and would need to find a new area to spend the night. The beloved Tomtom showed a few options within a thirty minute drive, and we cut off the main motorway into the countryside as the sun was setting across the distant horizon.
Weaving through small towns along narrow roads, we pulled up to a post house and gate just as the last bit of daylight faded. Costas and Mike jumped out to speak with the attendant.
A few minutes pass before they both come back to the car, looking a bit flustered.
"They only take Kurona," says Mike.
"Really, no euros?" I ask.
"Nope, and that's all we have left, right?" replied Mike.
"Yup, euros is it," chimed in Paul, shifting through his change to see if any Czech currency was kicking about.
'Okay well he said there's a restaurant ten minutes away, so we'll head back toward the village to get some," says Mike.
"How much is it for the night?" I ask.
"I don't know, one sec," says Mike, "But he doesn't speak English..."
Costas and Mike spend another few minutes chatting with the attendant. I roll down my window and strain to hear Costas. I don't speak German or Czech or Cyrpiot or anything along those lines- but it sounded like Costas was speaking some smashed up version of them both. I turn to Paul,
"What language is he speaking?" I ask incredulously.
"German, I think," says Paul, "he knows a bit."
Mike and Costas come back again, and Costas gives us the lowdown,
"Ok, so I think it will be about 400 kurona for the night. There is a town, and we need to go get kurona."
Through gesturing and Costas' mashed up German and English, we convinced the attendant to let us unload some things while Mike and Costas drove back to town. That way we could at least get the tents up and get dinner going.
Mike and Costas sped off into the night, with Paul and I standing outside the attendant hut. The whole unloading was a bit rushed and haphazard and we ended up with a sleeping bag, three tents, our stove and gas canister, a pot, a knife, two bottles of beer and three onions. We approached the hut to find out where we could set up camp.
Paul proclaims to know some numbers in German, but beyond that it was clear we were going to struggle without Costas' pigeon english and gesturing skills.
"Where can we set up the tents?" I ask.
The Czech man, in his mid-twenties, shakes his head, but is smiling, "Deutsch?" he asks.
Paul nods his head, I shake mine.
He natters something to us in German. I look at Paul. He looks confused.
The man can sense our confusion and smiles more, and reaches onto his desk for his laptop computer. He sets it up on the wooden ledge under the single light and turns it to us. While trying to converse with
Mike and Costas, he had loaded a translation software on his computer. He points to the screen.
Paul types in "Where can we erect the tents?"
I'm hovering over his shoulder, "Really Paul? Erect? Use simple english, who knows how this thing translates!" I say laughing.
The Czech man presses enter and reads the translation. His face goes red and he laughs.
"Oh boy..." I say, giggling.
He types something, and presses enter. Paul and I read the translation, "where do you want to"
Paul and I laugh... this might take a while.
The attendant can sense our dismay and reaches back behind his desk and grabs a map, and moves around
to stand between us both. He starts pointing at various areas and speaking quickly... in German or Czech, we didn't really know. We squinted to read the little icons scattered across it- "Showers, or toilets? Are those tents? Is that a cross through that tent?"
The map had colour shading, so I reach for the computer and type in, "Can we camp in the orange area?" and press enter.
Our helpful attendant nods his head vigorously, smiling.
"Great!" I say, smiling. We are all smiling and nodding our heads. It seems to be the only thing we can all do and understand what we mean.
So Paul and I set off along the dirt road, toward the "orange area" of the campground. We turn off onto the grass, with a few caravans scattered about. We hear a growing din, and as we reach the crest of a hill, we see a small lake stretch out beyond us, with a long narrow building sitting in the shadows to the left. From there we can see an outdoor picnic table area jammed with 30 or 40 people, all enthusiastically singing along in Czech to musical instruments. A base, guitars, and shakers. It sounded awesome. And they all sounded like they'd had a few strong Czech beers.
It was pitch dark at that point, but a few light posts provided enough light for us to navigate toward the lake and see the shadows of caravans nearby. After fumbling around with our flashlights to find suitable ground, Paul and I began pitching tents. We were no more than 30m from the big picnic area and loud music, and we could see that much of the group was peering in our direction. Paul and I start laughing when we thought about how ridiculous this must appear to them.... two foreigners rocking up on foot in the pitch dark carrying three tents and a stove.
As time passed Paul and I started imagining the possible scenarios of where Costas and Mike might have ended up.
"Well at least we've got the tents and some beer. I suppose the onions could serve as dinner," I say.
"Yeah, they can always sleep in the car," agrees Paul.
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| Our campsite in the southwest of the Czech Republic. |
With the tents set up, we crack open our beer and take in the quiet evening but the lake. It was nearly 40minutes before Costas and Mike return in Paulina, and Paul and we jump up enthusiastically when they found us. We later realised they'd have no idea where we were within the campsite, let alone whether they even knew the name of the campground and would be able to find their way back.
While I made dinner, the boys went off to collect firewood. This was the first campsite where we could have a fire and Mike and I, the two North Americans, were keen to take full advantage and recreate a camping experience as we know if from back home. After dinner we saddled up around the dirt patch fire pit and enjoyed a short lived but warming campfire.
We later headed over to the picnic area to take in the music. Things were wrapping up, but one friendly man sauntered over and started speaking in...well... who knows which language. Costas stepped up again with his pigeon languages and relying mostly on his german, had a choppy conversation with this stranger.
We managed to say where we were each from- to which he expressed great disappointment, "Ahh
Englisch!" he says as we each say where we are from... America, Canada, England... and then Cyprus. And this man certainly didn't speak Cypriot. Costas translated the rusty conversation- "he speaks Czech, German, Slovakian and Russian, but not English." Our new friend was smiling and shaking his head laughing at us, "Englisch..." he says. How is it possible he speaks four languages and yet we still can't communicate?
He wasn't entirely without English skills, however, as within two minutes of the broken conversation, he steps towards me and opens his arms wide, "I love you," he says with a big grin. I laugh and lean in for a big hug and kiss on the cheek. He pulls away, "I..LOVE...you!" he says proudly. He then went on saying something in one of those four languages- it seemed he was introducing himself to me,
"Ah! Bonita!" I say enthusiastically. He looks at me funny.
I reach out my hand as if to offer a handshake, and say it again "Bo...ni...ta"
"BONITA!" he cheers.
He and Costas share a few more brief exchanges. The patio area had cleared out entirely and he turns to leave, "Ahoj!" he says, "Ahoj," we all cheer back to say goodbye and goodnight.
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